Reluctant Housemates

by Linda Barrett

  She leaned into him and simply rested her head against his shoulder. No arguments. No complaints.

  “Rachel,” he said, loosening his hold. “I really want to test another bulb in the lens. Be right back.” He headed down the stairs.

  Rachel eyed the short flight to the roof. She climbed and pushed the safety bar up and over, then used her key to unlock this door, too.

  She stepped outside and felt she was on top of the world. An elaborate wrought-iron railing surrounded the square platform on which she stood. The wind chilled her, but it also encouraged the clouds to play hide-and-seek with the moon. Some light filtered through and was reflected on the water.

  Footsteps vibrated beneath her, then on the steps as Jack reappeared. She held out her hand and he took it, wrapped her in his arms. “It must have been awful for the women who stood here waiting for their men to come home from the sea,” she said, leaning against him.

  She felt his arms tighten. “Storms at sea are terrifying.” He spoke with certainty, as if he’d experienced it firsthand.

  “In those days there was no sonar, no navigational systems,” she said. “It was really dangerous.” She twisted around to look at him. “But you have all the latest gear on your boat, don’t you, Jack?”

  He kissed her. “I sure do. Not to worry.”

  “Good.”

  “A standard bulb works in the lens,” he said, “so the electricity’s flowing, but I’m going to replace the old floodlight.” He led her back inside. “I’ll check with Bart, but it seems to me that this lamp was here for a reason. I can’t imagine any other house having one.”

  “I’m sure they don’t,” said Rachel. “And it’s no mystery now that I know what that lamp is. It’s the basis of the Sea View House story, or I should say the William Adams family story. The great-great-grandchild of the original William Adams, who founded this town, was caught offshore in a small fishing boat during a thunderstorm.”

  “When was this?” asked Jack.

  “About 1790, I believe. Anyway, the sky was dark and neither he nor his companions could see the direction of land. Lightning flashed high up but didn’t illuminate the ground. Finally, a lightning bolt struck a huge oak, which burned steadily, leading young William and his friends to shore. Right here.”

  “A nice story,” said Jack.

  “Young William decided to build a house on the same spot and to keep a lamp burning in the topmost window—a beacon to any sailor who might need it. He called his home Sea View House. Said it was a lucky house. And that’s how its been known ever since.”

  “Of course,” said Jack, closing the door to the roof, “he didn’t have a Fresnel lamp to reflect light. Not back then.”

  “He probably used oil lamps. A lot of oil lamps to create enough light. Obviously, his progeny improved the system.”

  “It sounds like the Adamses liked to plant themselves in one place,” said Jack.

  “I guess they did,” agreed Rachel, closing the shutters over the large window. “In fact, until about twenty-five years ago, the latest William Adams lived in this house. Then he decided to remodel the house and set up a trust. Bart Quinn and a board of directors have been seeing to it ever since.”

  “Nice story,” said Jack again as they descended the steps. “Bart never gave me the details.”

  Once on the street level, they locked the door behind them and stood on the front porch. “Cup of tea?” she asked, indicating her apartment.

  He covered a yawn. “Sorry. I’d like nothing better, but I’m off early in the morning.”

  She paused by her front door before going inside. “Jack?”

  “Hmm…?”

  “You’re working more than full-time. You’re tired.”

  A sleepy smile crossed his face. “Is that concern I hear? No need to worry. I’ll catch some Z’s tonight and I’ll be fine,” he replied. “I work hard and I play hard. It’s the way I am.”

  “Well, don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

  “Hasn’t happened yet!”

  He started walking down the porch steps, his movements still graceful despite his fatigue. “Good night.”

  “Wait a minute.” He turned and looked at her again. “I want to thank you for what you’ve done for David. It wasn’t just your job, like you said. It was—is—a big deal to us. To my family. But most of all, to David. So, thanks. Many thanks.”

  He didn’t reply. Just retraced his steps until he was abreast of her. “I’d work with him a million times over to see that starry look in your eyes.”

  “Wha…”

  “The one that’s there right now.” His words were softer than summer clouds, his lips just as gentle when they brushed against hers. “So sweet, so sweet,” he murmured.

  Lulled by his soft voice, she swayed against him. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She sighed, pressed closer, and had no desire to move away. Being in Jack’s embrace felt right. Absolutely right.

  HE WOULD DO ANYTHING for her, anything except force-feed information to his students. On the Friday before Thanksgiving, Jack sat at his desk in the science lab staring at the results of the midterm exams his classes had taken the week before. Not a pretty picture. But worse was the image of Rachel’s disappointment when he told her. He closed his eyes and a laughing Rachel appeared behind his lids. Sparkling. Eager. Determined. She wouldn’t be laughing today.

  Well, it couldn’t be helped. He opened his eyes again and glanced around the room. Rock samples. Fossils. Models. He’d brought them in and used them as jumping-off points for lessons. He could spend a year with his earth-science class just teaching the fossil record of the Grand Canyon!

  There was so much for the kids to learn, and he believed they were learning every single day. No, not believed, he knew they were. So what if they couldn’t absorb all the material he presented? That was okay for now. More important, they asked questions. Lots of questions. In general, they were good kids with curious minds. And his attendance rate still held at a record high. He treated these students no differently than he did his college students. He just didn’t understand these test scores.

  He glanced at his watch, gathered his bad news and went downstairs to Rachel’s office. At three o’clock, she’d still be there, then he’d go directly to the marina.

  He caught her studying some work on her desk. She didn’t glance up at his approach, and he enjoyed the moment simply looking at her. Such a delicate profile, each feature so perfect. She was so pretty, so smart…so, so exciting! They’d had such wonderful evenings together over the last few weeks. He’d been careful, however, not to push too hard no matter that the effort was killing him. He’d never taken so many cold showers before in his life. But Rachel was different from any other woman he’d known. Special. Special to him.

  Content to keep looking at her, he didn’t say a word. His heart filled now, and his breath caught in his throat. Electric charges seemed to run up and down his body. The longer he stared at Rachel, the stronger the sizzle. They warmed his whole body…these…these feelings. Feelings for Rachel. God, he must love this woman! That’s what this craziness must mean.

  He raised his head toward her office window. A pale sunlight was fading fast, but it seemed wondrously bright to him. He was in love with Rachel Goodman and could barely believe it.

  “Hi, Jack. Have you been waiting there a long time?”

  His gaze rested on her. All my life, sweetheart. All my life. He didn’t say the words aloud.

  She tilted her head, her expression curious. “Come on in,” she said, stacking her work to the side of the desk and smiling up at him. “What’s on your mind?”

  He wasn’t sure she’d really want to know what he’d been thinking, although her eyes had lit up when she’d seen him in the doorway. But…he couldn’t tell her, not in a principal’s office, for God’s sake. He walked to her desk and held out the test results. “Not what you wanted, I’m afraid.” He watched as she absorbed the grades, unhappy be
cause he’d made her unhappy.

  “Oh, Jack…” She looked up at him, distress all over her face. “I thought you were giving them practice tests—”

  “One,” he said, holding up his index finger. “There just never seemed to be enough time for more. So much else to do with them.”

  But Rachel was shaking her head. “No, Jack, no. You chose to use the time the way you wanted to. We’ve talked about this before. Your classes are not part of an Outward Bound program with exercises on the beach. The goal here is to learn, not to have a good time, or wonder about possibilities yet to come in the world when they don’t even understand the world as it is.”

  She rose from her seat and leaned over her desk toward him. Her brown eyes shone black with emotion. “Your classes are about science! About the basic curriculum that was given to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel.” He took a deep breath. “My ways don’t seem to work here for what you want to achieve,” he began. “And I don’t want to cause problems for the kids, for the school or for you. Definitely not for you.” He longed to stroke her forehead, to erase the furrow that lined it. Instead, he continued to speak as calmly as possible. “Maybe you should find someone else for the job.”

  Her eyes widened, her skin paled, her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Jack got nervous. “I’ll stay as long as it takes you to find a replacement. Don’t worry, Rachel. I won’t leave you in the lurch.”

  Suddenly, she caught fire. She banged the desk with her fists. Her eyes burned, her complexion turned a deep pink, and she whirled from behind the furniture until she stood nose to nose with him.

  “You’ll quit, Jack? Just walk out? Because it’s hard? Because you can’t have your own way?”

  “Hard?” he replied. “This stuff is kindergarten for me.”

  “Sell it to someone who’ll buy, Jack. What I see is a brilliant scientist without a real career because he jumps from one job to another every year.” Her index finger poked him in the chest as her words poured forth. “You’ve got a doctorate, but you’re not tenured at a university. You say you’re writing books, but have you finished one? You’re a quitter, Jack, even in your private life. No ties to a community, no real home.” She whirled away from him and crossed the room.

  His ears pounded as her words penetrated. Is that what she really thought of him? Had he misjudged her after all this time together? And she wasn’t done.

  “At twenty-five,” she said, as she faced him once more, “a person has potential. At thirty-five, no one’s going to care.” She paused a moment, then said, “What happened to you along the way, Jack?” Her voice was husky now, and he saw her swallow hard. And he saw her eyes widen as if she was as surprised by her outburst as he. Maybe she was. But her spontaneous eruption could only mean she spoke the truth hidden in her heart.

  Jack hadn’t thought hearts could really break—just romantic nonsense in books—but something was piercing his thirty-five-year-old chest on the left side. Something was causing him to blink rapidly. Something was making it hard for him to breathe.

  He needed air. Taking a last look at her outrage, he turned and left the room without a word.

  WHAT HAD SHE DONE? Why had she said those horrible things? Rachel stood on the far side of her office, unable to move. Her hand slowly came up to her mouth, as if to prevent speech. Too late for that. She had to go after him, had to apologize for taking out her frustration on him. She took a step and stumbled. Her legs wouldn’t work, her body was tense and clumsy. Her emotions had drained her strength. She inhaled deeply three times, then managed to rush to the main corridor leading to the front door. “Jack?” she called. No answer. She called his name again.

  The hall was empty. In fact, the whole building seemed quiet. She glanced at her watch. Past three-thirty on a Friday afternoon. Of course no one was there. Everyone rushed home to start their weekend. For once, she’d leave on time, too.

  She left her paperwork, grabbed her purse and ran to her car. Maybe she’d catch up with him at the marina. She slipped behind the wheel and made her way up Bay Road, but traffic was heavy. By the time she arrived, she wasn’t surprised to see his empty slip. He and The Wanderer were gone.

  She gazed at his docking place, her heart heavy. She’d have to wait until he got home. Waiting alone…with time to think. It was what she deserved! Jack and she—they were great together! He was wonderful. He cared about the world, he cared about people—about the young and the old. He cared about…her. She thought about all the times he’d held her, kissed her. Perhaps he’d loved her. Until today.

  Until she’d pushed him away—her usual pattern with men. Before they realized she wasn’t as smart or as pretty or as talented as they thought.

  But not this time! Not with Jack. She wanted the ending to be different this time because Jack was different. And because she…loved him.

  But he’d never forgive her for all the words, all the accusations. And she couldn’t blame him.

  She bit her lip and started the ignition, forcing herself to pay attention to the road. But a half hour later, as she paced the floor at Sea View House, she couldn’t remember the drive home at all. Her mind was filled with memories of Jack—from the time she’d first met him as she swam in the ocean on a warm August night. And then again when she’d bumped into him a couple of weeks later after her interview. She recalled the volleyball game, football games, the day on his boat, the night of her flat tires…. He’d been there for her.

  But where was he now? She glanced at the time. Too early for bed. Besides, she had too much energy. She changed into running clothes, donned an extra sweatshirt and let herself out the back door.

  The night was cloudy, moonlight undependable. She retrieved a flashlight and amended her plans from a run to an aerobic walk. The waves looked choppy and the rhythm of the ocean was erratic, not the regular pounding of the waves on the sand. She shrugged. At the end of November, winter was almost upon them. Weather patterns changed.

  She did a three-mile loop, hoping he’d have returned by the time she got back. She jogged the final distance, but no pickup truck stood in the driveway. Disappointment filled her. She felt tears form. She’d give him the biggest apology ever invented. She’d…she’d even cook dinners. Lots of them.

  She entered the kitchen and immediately saw the light blinking on her answering machine. Her fingers trembled as she pushed the button.

  “This is Jack.” His voice sounded impersonal. “I’m staying in Boston tonight with friends. Just wanted you to know I hadn’t drowned.” Click.

  Now the tears rolled down her face. She didn’t try to stop them. She’d hurt him terribly. So terribly, that after doing his work, he’d docked in Boston instead of coming home.

  She finally fell asleep in the wee hours, after taking two aspirin, and after tossing and turning until the covers lay haphazardly on the bed. She heard the newspaper hit the house at some point before dawn, then rolled over and slept.

  Late the next morning, she awoke with swollen eyes. She glanced out the window at a day that looked as gray and overcast as she felt. She crept out of bed slowly, like an old woman, and sadness filled her. After automatically performing her morning ablutions, she plugged in her coffeepot and went to the front porch to get her newspaper. A small carton sat on top of the flattened paper with her name printed in big letters across the top. She looked up and down the street, but no one was in sight, and she brought the box into the house.

  Once in the kitchen, she placed the newspaper aside and opened the flaps of the carton. Bound with a large rubber band was a stack of paper. She pulled it out. A second stack lay beneath. She left that one and focused on the top page of the first.

  A True Tale of The Sea

  by

  Jack Levine

  Jack! Was Jack here? Upstairs? She ran outside the back door, shivered in the cold, only to see an empty driveway again. He must have dropped the manuscript off while she slept. Had he even knocked? She shook h
er head and returned indoors. No, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted her to read.

  She studied the title page again. Under Jack’s name was a note in parenthesis: “Lou—I’m aiming for young adult readers. What do you think?”

  So, this was the purpose of her dad’s research?

  She turned the page.

  This book is dedicated to the memory of

  Kevin McCarthy,

  my best friend, my blood brother,

  always alive in my heart.

  You need to rest now, Kev. Rest in peace.

  And I need to live in peace. Finally.

  The dedication drew her in. Made her blink. She would find the real Jack in this story. Her hands trembled as she turned the pages.

  I always thought my best friend Kevin had everything a guy could want. A great mom and dad. A bunch of little sisters—perfect gofers—and most important of all, generations of seagoing McCarthys behind him. Kevin came from a long line of fishermen. Lobstermen to be exact. His dad ran a lobster boat, and Kevin had learned to pull catches as soon as he could hold a rope. I learned, too. That was the great thing about his dad. He’d take me along with Kevin almost every weekend. Not that I didn’t have a great mom and dad of my own. But I hated that my dad worked in a bank while everyone else’s father worked the sea. When you live on the coast of Maine, lobstering is the natural way of life.

  Rachel barely blinked as she continued to read. Jack was clearly the narrator and his conversational style made the story flow. She began to love these boys! Loved watching them grow up. Their typical adolescent experiences were punctuated with adventures on the ocean. With worries during a bad year and celebrations during a good one. The pages seemed to turn themselves.

  I never thought about our lives changing after we graduated from high school. My dad said I always lived “in the moment.” And now that I understand what the phrase means, I know he was right. I never planned ahead. Back then, all I knew was that one day followed another with the usual stuff—school, girls, football in the autumn, baseball in the spring and trapping lobster on the weekends with Kev’s dad.