Harbor Nights

by Marcia Evanick

  Ned raised a dark brow and crossed his arms against his chest in a perfect imitation of his mother’s earlier stance. “You are practically standing on Ms. Stevens’ doorstep, and my own mother heard all the shouting.” His square jaw hardened, causing a slight tic beneath his right eye. “How was it like, Lonny?”

  Leland quickly stepped between Ned and his brother. “Now, Ned, calm down. I’ll be the first one to admit we might have stepped over the line of being hospitable to Ms. Stevens.” Leland flashed a quick smile in her direction and hurriedly swiped off his baseball cap. “But it was our livelihood she was writing about. Tempers have a way of getting a little riled when it concerns the paychecks.”

  “I read the article, and in no way did she threaten your jobs or your livelihood. In fact, if you open your minds and really think about it, she might be showing you a way to save that way of life for future generations.”

  “By having the government impose more rules and regulations on us?” cried Leland.

  “Those rules and regulations are already here, and there’s more coming. It’s the nature of that particular beast.” Ned shook his head. “That’s the truth, and there’s nothing that you, I, or Norah’s article can do about it. Either you can be bullheaded and keep fighting a battle you will eventually lose, or you can attempt to be somewhat reasonable about it and try compromising.”

  “We stopped their dredging off the point last month,” boasted Leland.

  “Yes, you did; congratulations,” drawled Ned sarcastically. “Keep doing it, and they will be dredging off the coast of Massachusetts, taking the lobster count from there, and setting your regulations by that dismally low number.”

  “Dredging destroys our breeding stock,” said Oscar.

  “All the damage they do, and they still can’t get an accurate number,” added Russ.

  “They are a bunch of stupid scientists who sit in front of computers all day,” said Lonny. “What do they know about lobsters?”

  “It ain’t fair,” snarled Leland in disgust.

  Ned shook his head. “Who ever told you that life was going to be fair?” Ned relaxed his arms, and the dangerous look left his expression. “Instead of shouting at some poor innocent journalist who was only doing her job, maybe you all should be putting that energy into figuring out a way to get an accurate count without destroying breeding stock.”

  “We already told them how many catchable lobsters there are out there,” said Russ.

  “You have to prove it to them, Russ. They are scientists. They need data and facts, not a bunch of unshaved, ripe-smelling, fresh off the boat lobstermen shouting numbers and stories at them off the top of their sunburnt heads.”

  Norah tried to hide her smile, but she had a feeling that she had failed when Peggy gave her a quick smile and another wink. Peggy looked quite proud and pleased with her son. She didn’t blame Peggy. Ned was not only gorgeous; he also had a brain. She was impressed.

  “I think an apology is in order.” Peggy frowned at the men and started to tap the toe of her boot on the walkway. Peggy looked mean, formidable, and ready to get down to business if the men didn’t comply with her order.

  “I also think Norah needs to be reassured that the next time you guys take exception to her column, you will take your complaints to the Hancock Review office and discuss it with Tom, her boss.” Ned positioned himself on her other side. “I’m sure Ms. Stevens didn’t appreciate finding four angry men on her doorstep.”

  Norah wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to feel insulted. One minute, she was being yelled at by four men, and the next, she had two overprotective bodyguards. Both of whom topped her own five-feet, one-inch height by at least a good twelve inches. She was beginning to feel as if she had moved into the land of giants.

  Before she could think of what to say to regain control of the situation and exhibit some backbone of her own, the men started mumbling hasty apologies.

  “We’re sorry, Ms. Stevens,” muttered Russ.

  “We didn’t mean to scare you or anything,” Oscar added with a small smile that seemed genuine.

  “That’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t really scare me, just gave me a moment of pause, that’s all.” She returned Oscar’s gesture with what she hoped looked like a sincere smile. She was lying through her pearly whites.

  She had been afraid when the four big men had started their shouting, but at least she hadn’t acted like a coward. She had calmly made her mother take Zsa Zsa into the house and close the door. Her first instinct had been to protect her mother, which she had done. Her second instinct had been to run like hell and follow her mother to safety behind a closed and locked door before calling the police. But she had held her ground and faced the men. Thankfully, she hadn’t had to face them alone for long. Before the shouting had gotten out of hand, Peggy Porter had barged onto the scene and taken control of the situation.

  Ned gave her a funny look, almost as if he didn’t believe her. Leland offered his apology, “Sorry, Ms. Stevens.”

  “Please, call me Norah. Ms. Stevens sounds like my mother.” She took a deep breath and finally relaxed. “I must say it is heartening to see my first column get such attention.” She would have preferred to have gotten rave reviews instead of outraged lobstermen, but one simple fact remained—like it or not, people were reading her column. What more could she ask for? “I can’t wait to see what everyone thinks of next week’s column.”

  With only a slight hesitation, Lonny cautiously asked, “What’s it on?”

  “The need for reassessing property values throughout the entire county.”

  Ned looked at her as if she had lost her mind. All four fishermen gaped at her as if she was some ghastly ghoul that had just risen from a grave and needed to be staked through the heart. She was definitely not on the right road to win friends and influence people. Her column, “Views From The Other Side,” was going to make her an outcast.

  There went any hope of acquiring a social life in Maine. Saturday nights were going to be long; boring; and, come winter, exceedingly cold. Maybe she should have used an alias for her byline.

  Peggy let loose with a boisterous laugh as all four fishermen beat a hasty retreat. An assortment of dented and rusty pickup trucks started up and headed down the street. Peggy was still chuckling when she said, “Norah, I think you are going to need some friends.”

  She watched as the last truck turned the corner and disappeared from sight. “I’ll add them to my Christmas wish list.”

  Peggy slapped her arm across Norah’s shoulders and gave her a big squeeze. “That’s the spirit. Men like a gal with a sense of humor, don’t they, Ned?”

  Ned gave his mother a peculiar look. “We like that almost as much as having our properties reassessed for higher taxes.”

  Norah bit her lip to keep from laughing. Ned had picked up that matchmaking gleam in his mother’s eyes, and he didn’t appreciate it. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Ned was big enough to handle his own mother. She had her own mother to contend with.

  Peggy’s smile grew as she stared at her son. “I left a message on your cell phone earlier.”

  “I got it,” Ned said. “That’s why I stopped by before heading home to get cleaned up. You need me to pick up anything on my way back?”

  “Nope, I’ve got it covered.” Peggy turned her attention back to Norah. “We’re having a casual cookout tonight. Just family, but we would love for you and your mother to join us.”

  “I really don’t . . .” She started to refuse the invitation, only to have Peggy interrupt.

  “You both have to come. I won’t accept a refusal,” Peggy insisted. “My son Matthew will be there, and so will the rest of our family. Everyone is dying to meet you, especially my two daughters-in-law.”

  Norah saw the gleam of excitement and determination in Peggy’s eyes and wondered if this was how a tuna felt as it was being reeled in by the feisty woman. It didn’t really matter; Peggy had charged to her rescue earlier
. There was no way she could refuse the invitation. Besides, her mother was looking forward to meeting some of the neighbors.

  “We’ll be delighted to come.” She refused to look at Ned to see how he was reacting to the spur of the moment invitation. “What can we bring?”

  An hour later, Norah found herself sitting on a wooden bench at a picnic table and holding a sleeping two-month-old baby girl. She wasn’t real comfortable holding infants, but no one had asked her feelings on the subject. Amanda’s mom, Jill, had placed the baby in her arms and then gone dashing off to rescue her three-year-old son, Hunter, from a tangle of sticker bushes that lined the back of John and Peggy’s property.

  Jill’s husband, Paul, was supposed to be out front getting Amanda’s stroller from the car. He had disappeared five minutes ago and still hadn’t returned. A fire was blazing in the brick barbeque, but no one was tending to it. Ned’s father, John, the obvious cook for this evening’s meal, if the apron was any indication, had joined Paul in the stroller hunt.

  Her mom and Peggy had instantly hit it off and had disappeared into the house to put some finishing touches on dinner. There had never been a more unlikely pair of mothers. The Mutt and Jeff of the culinary world had been discussing the best way to hard-boil an egg so that it peeled easily as they had entered the house.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, to stay out of those bushes, Hunter? They have sharp thorns.” Jill plopped her three-year-old son onto the wooden table and started to dig through a Winnie the Pooh diaper bag the size of a small canoe.

  Hunter swung his feet and grinned. “There was a bunny under there, Mom. I almost got him.” He held up his little hands until they were about a foot apart. “I was this close.”

  Norah couldn’t help but smile back. Hunter looked so proud of himself. The nasty-looking scratch on his arm didn’t seem to bother him, nor did the smaller one on his cheek. Hunter might have only been three, but he was obviously one of those rough and tumble kids. The boy looked just like his father, only a smaller version. A lot smaller.

  She had thought Ned was a physically big man. His brother, Paul, was taller and, if she wasn’t mistaken, broader in the shoulders. Even Jill looked like a woman who could take care of herself.

  Maybe there were growth hormones in the Misty Harbor water supply.

  Jill smeared some antibacterial cream over the scrapes and then gently placed an Elmo bandage over the longer red one on Hunter’s arm. The Elmo bandage coordinated with the two Big Bird and Cookie Monster bandages already on his knees. “Try not to damage yourself any more today. I’m running out of bandages.” Jill swung Hunter up, placed a loud kiss on his unscratched cheek, and then steadied him on his feet.

  “Daddy, Daddy!” shouted Hunter as he dashed to his father, who was pushing the empty stroller into the backyard. “I saw a bunny!”

  “You did?” Paul Porter swung his son up into his arms. “Was it a big bunny or a baby one?”

  “A big one, but Mommy won’t let me get him.”

  Paul glanced at the scratch on his son’s cheek and chuckled. “That’s because she’s a girl, and she doesn’t want you to get hurt.” Paul tossed Hunter high into the air and safely caught him back into his arms. “Mommies don’t understand the thrill of the hunt.”

  Hunter glanced between his father and his mother with a look of confusion on his face. Jill stood there, raising one brow and glaring at her husband with her hands on her hips. Norah wasn’t sure what was going on, but whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for Paul.

  “But, Daddy,” Hunter said in a loud whisper. “Mommy shot that twelve-point buck on top of our fireplace.” Hunter placed his mouth closer to his daddy’s ear. “You know, the one you always make faces at?”

  Jill grinned. “That’s right, Hunter.” Jill plucked her son out of his father’s arms. “Some mommies understand the thrill of the hunt just fine. They also understand daddies whose biggest buck was only a ten pointer.”

  Hunter laughed as his mother spun him in circles.

  Norah wasn’t sure if she should laugh at Paul’s offended expression or be appalled that she was about to have dinner with a bunch of Bambi killers. Maybe she should stick with the salads to be on the safe side. There was no way she wanted to bite into a burger only to discover her meal had been frolicking merrily through the woods the week before.

  “So this is where the party is?” A man bigger than Paul Porter stepped around the side of the house. A boy a couple of years older than Hunter was perched on his massive shoulders. The pair could have hung Christmas lights from the gutters without a stepladder.

  Ned’s father joined them. He had a small girl atop his shoulders. “Norah, I would like you to meet John Jr., my oldest boy, and his wife, Kay. This is Norah Stevens. She and her mother, Joanna, just moved in next door. Joanna’s in the kitchen helping your mom get the rest of the stuff ready.”

  Kay, who was bringing up the rear of the group, looked like she was about thirty; she was carrying a massive bowl filled with what appeared to hold some kind of salad. The bowl probably weighed more than Hunter, but Kay wasn’t breaking a sweat. “Hi, Norah; hope you like potato salad.” Kay placed the bowl in the center of the table.

  Norah wasn’t positive, but she thought the table groaned. She eyed the bowl with interest. She had seen smaller blow-up pools for kids. “Who’s coming to dinner—the entire state of Maine?”

  Jill and Kay both laughed. “Nope, just the Porter men.”

  She looked at her and her mother’s meager contribution to the cookout and tried not to groan. Here she had thought they had gone overboard on the veggie and cheese trays. With no time to run out to the store or to really make something, they had raided the refrigerator for every raw vegetable in sight. Her mother had made a killer veggie dip, while she had cubed cheeses and sliced up ring bologna and some pepperoni. She had thought the trays would easily serve twenty people. Now she wasn’t too sure if they would suffice as appetizers.

  The feeding of the Porter men could bankrupt a small, oil-enriched kingdom.

  “This little monster is Tyler the Terrible,” John Jr. said as he swung his son off his shoulders and reached for his daughter. “And this little princess is Morgan the Magnificent.”

  Tyler, who was missing a front tooth, growled like a dinosaur. Morgan, who was dressed all in pink, said, “Uncle Matthew calls me Morgan the Menace.” The three-year-old, adorable-looking girl seemed very proud of that assessment.

  Kay rolled her eyes. “Matthew is the menace. That’s the last time I’ll ask your uncle to watch either one of you for a couple of hours.” Kay looked at Jill for support. “Do you believe he was trying to teach Tyler to burp the ABCs?”

  Paul laughed, even though Jill elbowed him in the side. “How far can you go up to?” asked Paul while rubbing his ribs.

  John Jr. beamed with fatherly pride. “He’s up to L, but the M, N, O, P combination is giving him a hard time.”

  Kay elbowed her husband in his side, and by his grunt, Norah had the feeling she had put some weight and muscle behind that sharp jab. Norah almost felt sorry for him. Kay looked like a woman who could win a lumberjack competition. There was nothing petite or delicate about either of Peggy Porter’s daughters-in-law. Kay and Jill both reached the six-foot mark, and while they weren’t model thin, they were definitely curved enough for their husbands to appreciate the fact they had been born men. Both women had long hair that was pulled back in ponytails and not a speck of makeup on. Kay wore a plain gold wedding band and a rugged-looking watch. Jill just had on a silver wedding band. They both seemed to favor denim shorts, T-shirts, and thick-soled sneakers.

  She felt overdressed in a long, crinkly, red and white swirled skirt, a red tank top, and a pair of red leather sandals embellished with a dozen silver coins that jingled merrily when she walked. It was the same outfit she had worn to work all day.

  She looked like a gypsy queen at a lumberjack conference.

  Kay sat down next to
her as Jill took the sleeping infant and placed her in the stroller. Morgan, Tyler, and Hunter headed for the sticker bushes to see if they could spot the bunny. “Kids, stay away from the bushes; I just cleaned you both up.” Kay shook her head as the men went and joined the kids in the hunt. “I swear, sometimes the men are worse than the kids.”

  “Just sometimes?” Jill laughed. “I must have married the wrong Porter. Paul’s worse than ten Hunters.”

  She tried not to laugh as both men and all three kids plopped down on the ground to peek underneath the biggest bush. Peggy’s grass had the same terminal condition as her rosebush. The Porters’ lawn was more brown than green, due to huge patches of dirt showing through little tufts of dried dead grass. Clouds of dust encased the great hunters and were probably scaring off any rabbit within two hundred yards.

  “Where, Daddy? Where?” shouted Morgan as she wiggled her way closer to the bush. “I don’t see him.”

  All four males groaned in unison. “Hush, Morgan, sweetie.” John Jr. whispered in a choked voice. “You will scare him away.”

  Jill and Kay were chuckling softly at the scene. Norah joined them. She could see Paul’s and John Jr.’s shoulders shaking with laughter. “I take it that Morgan isn’t the sportsman of the family.”

  “Morgan has one volume—full blast.” Kay smiled softly at the picture the rest of her family was making.

  “Sh-h-h . . . Morgan, he’s right there,” her father said. “See, he’s all brown with big ears.”

  Morgan tried to wiggle closer, but her father had a hold on the back of her shirt. “Let go, Daddy.” Morgan’s legs started to kick at the dirt and grass. “I want to see him better.”

  “You can see him just fine from there, sweetie.” John Jr.’s grip tightened as Morgan managed to wiggle herself a couple of inches farther under the bush.

  All three women watched enthralled, wondering who was going to win this physically unmatched tug-of-war. Norah’s money was on little Morgan with her blond pigtails and wide smile.