Sabrina returned her smile and tucked her chin into her jacket collar. They said hurried goodbyes by the cabin steps. Merry didn’t turn back to look at the cabin as she shuffled awkwardly down the dirt road, her legs cold and stiff. She wasn’t sure where home was, but it wasn’t here at Rita’s cabin.
Chapter 3
Nick raked his fingers through his thick graying red hair. He needed to move. He’d been hunched on the polished wood bench in Dreamer’s cramped galley for over twenty minutes, staring at the crooked nautical clock on the wall without seeing it, his thoughts ricocheting inside his brain. Outside, gusts knocked the boat rhythmically against the dock, while overhead the gulls shrieked, fighting into the push of the squall. He craved a caffeine buzz and considered pushing through the snow-spitting wind to The Twins. The restaurant would be cozy, the air fragrant from just-baked bread and scones, and the coffee would be dark, fresh and hot.
He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. The Twins beckoned, but its comforts might come with eager babbling chatter about Merry coming back.
Merry. When Moira blurted the news, it was all he could do to keep his face from showing how deeply her words rattled him. After three months of hearing nothing from her, Merry was going to reappear. She’d called Moira, but she hadn’t called him.
Damn it, Merry. He punched his fist against the bench.
Back in December, they’d stood close to each other at the tiny Homer airport right before she turned to board the Beechcraft, warmed up and poised to fly to Anchorage. As the plane pulled up, her hand clutched his ever so briefly, and he knew the plane crash in Fairbanks that had propelled her into this new life still terrified her. He wanted to say the right words, to take away her fear, to tell her how he felt about her, but those words wouldn’t come.
She didn’t look at him and her voice pitched low and strained. “Nick, I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I was someone else back home. I need time to work all this out. By myself.” She’d glanced into his eyes ever so briefly, and stepped towards him to give him a quick, hard hug, her head bent low so there was no question of a farewell kiss. He’d just stood there, opening and closing his fists, and she’d walked away.
He’d honored her wish to be left alone while she sorted out the mess she’d made of her life, but in his heart he’d believed that she’d call him soon after she arrived in Florida. She’d told him she loved him, after all. But he knew it was at least partly his fault that she didn’t call. He hadn’t asked her to come back, or told her that he’d be here waiting for her. He needed time to take in the facts that she had a husband, a husband who followed her to Alaska and tried to kill her. She hadn’t lied to him, not exactly, but there was so much she had kept away from him, even after they were lovers. He needed time to tumble the facts around in his mind.
In the first weeks, her absence was a raw wound. After a few days friends stopped asking him if he’d heard from her, since his growling answer made it clear how he felt about that question. His heart was scalded and raw, and he hadn’t felt this way since his marriage fell apart so many years ago. But he carried on. He repaired the boat and he dropped by Scully’s for a beer or two. In his cabin, he started to pull up the floor in the tiny kitchen alcove where a water leak had warped the floorboards. There was always plenty to do.
He shifted his weight on the wood bench and flexed and rubbed his fingers, feeling the callouses grate against one another. He was proud of his hands, glad that they showed he worked hard for a living. It was a questionable vanity, he realized. He had given away more of his time and his soul when he’d battled his way through the world of high finance in California. Every day then had been a monumental push, a conquest or a failure. Since he had walked away from that life, his hands now told a new story of pulling in the long lines and struggling with the corrosive and insistent seas to keep the boat clean and serviceable. Some days he collapsed dog tired, but at night his mind rested peacefully. But not today—today his thoughts tossed and surged like a deep-water ocean storm, without any forward motion or pattern. He had muffled his feelings after Merry left, shoving them aside as best he could when they surfaced, but all the time he had been waiting for her to come back, hoping for some future that made sense for the two of them. But after a few weeks and no word, he hadn’t known if she would come back. After she left, there was only silence. As the weeks turned into months, he buried the pain deeper and deeper.
He stood up too quickly and slammed the side of his head on the corner of the shelf overhanging the bench. The pain was quick and sharp and oddly comforting. He deserved it, and more. What had happened should never have happened. Merry’s absence wasn't an excuse. If only he could erase what he’d done after she left. If he could turn back time, just for a few weeks, to relive that night, to make a different choice. The words to explain it to Merry, to make everything all right now that she was coming back, wouldn’t come to him. He rubbed his head, his eyes unfocused. Maybe those words didn’t exist.
~ * ~
The trip to the hardware store for more sandpaper was a welcome diversion. When Nick strode back down the dock and lunged onto the boat, he almost tripped over the sheet of notebook paper, its edges fluttering around the rock that trapped it in place next to the galley door. Another squall had blown through and wrinkled the exposed edges, but the writing was in ballpoint pen and still legible. He picked it up gingerly, leaning against the cabin to protect the paper from whisking away into the gusty wind.
Nick, I’m back. I’m staying at Sweenie’s. I don’t have a phone right now but the desk can take a message if I’m not there. I want to see you. Merry
The words in the last sentence were more slanted than the words in the rest of the note. He wondered if Merry had hesitated, lifted the pen and let the paper shift, before writing that last line.
His mind went numb. He clutched the note, crumpling the words. Merry was in Homer. She had been right here. She was less than a mile away. He could go to Sweenie’s right now, right this minute, and she might be there.
A wave ascended, peaked and then crashed. Yes, Merry was here. But when she opened the door to him, when she looked up into his face and smiled, what could he possibly say to her?
Chapter 4
Nick leaned against Cass’ kitchen sink, squinting into the late morning sun flooding through the window. A stab of light flashed through the trees as her jeep rocked its way slowly up the rough road toward the cabin. He took a deep breath, waiting. This conversation was long overdue. If there was any chance of moving ahead with his life, going where he wanted and needed to go, he had to talk to Cass about that night. Now, before he found Merry at the motel and tried to explain to her what had happened. He shook his head and cursed. He couldn’t imagine his conversation with Merry, how he’d find the words he needed to say. Even now, what was Merry thinking, since he hadn’t gone to the motel to find her last night? What a bloody mess. He flexed his cramped fingers, trying to release them from their prolonged death grip on the edge of the counter.
When he’d called Cass and she agreed to meet him, she hadn’t said much on the phone, asking him to drop by this morning. She must have been feeling the need, too, to clear the air, to get beyond this. They’d been nodding to each other across the room at The Twins, and offering up distant hellos to each other in strange flat voices. If their eyes met at all, they flickered away in an instant, as if the connection generated a painful electrical shock. They had too much history between them to carry on this way.
He’d been busy. He had lots of good reasons why he hadn’t been by to see her.
He didn’t know the right way to apologize. The words he ran through his head, rehearsing, sounded insincere and vaguely insulting.
I don’t know what got into me. He shook his head. He knew exactly what had gotten into him. Way too much tequila and a deep well of loneliness. Jackass.
~ * ~
He couldn’t even remember most of that night. Moira’s first ev
er “Evening at the Gallery” had fallen flat. Plenty of people showed up, but food was scarce, and the room was chilled and drafty from the constant opening and closing of the front door. Guests drifted around the tables in groups of twos and threes, making awkward small talk while looking longingly at the crumbs on the empty appetizer platters piled next to the cash register. He couldn’t just walk out on Moira. She already wore a sad, haunted look. Couples quickly circled the room, greeting Moira to be sure she noticed they had come, before sweeping back out the door. Nick rocked back and forth on his feet, wondering for the tenth time in ten minutes how soon he could leave without hurting Moira’s feelings.
Brian slid in beside him and pressed a smooth object into the side of Nick’s waist.
“Hey. This’ll help.”
He looked down while Brian angled his body to hide the bottle of tequila from the rest of the room. Nick frowned and resisted a gut urge to step away. What was it about Brian? He was awkward, sure, almost painfully so, but his eyes were always calculating, holding back, as if there were someone else entirely lurking behind that bumbling veneer.
Brian slouched and leaned closer to Nick, whispering while barely moving his lips. “Yep, not much of a party. Should have had more booze.” Nick shrugged and shifted away from Brian’s hunched body.
Should have had more food. Still, a shot of tequila sounded good. He took Brian’s bottle and poured a couple of fingers worth into one of the plastic glasses on the counter behind him.
Damn. It was good tequila. When Brian offered another shot, he took it. The sharp edges of his anxiety softened, the chasm of loneliness and his longing for Merry eased just a bit. As the next shot melted its way down his throat, he realized he didn’t mind being here tonight at all. Hell, he didn’t even mind Brian.
Somehow his glass had gotten filled again, and it was definitely more than two fingers. He downed it.
Two more visitors escaped and Cassandra strolled into the gallery through the door they’d opened. Even from across the room, he could see that she’d been drinking. Her face was moist and flushed, her eyes unfocused. Her forehead wrinkled ever so slightly as she gazed around the room until she saw him, and then it cleared as she smiled. She pulled the drape of her long, red coat around her as she glided towards him, softly bumping against display tables in her way.
“Nick.” Her voice was throaty and her hair reeked of stale cigarette smoke. She stared at the glass in his hand and then back up into his face. She grinned.
“Ahhh...you’vebeendrinking.”
“Maybe.” He smiled down at her. God, she was beautiful. He would bet good money that a wild Gypsy princess was hiding back in her family tree. He had never seen a face so perfectly oval, or skin so rosy and luminescent at the same time. And those wide eyes under that shaggy mane of black hair. No one could help but notice how lovely she was. He rested his arm protectively around her shoulders.
“And where have you been?”
“Oh...” She pushed her hair away from her face, pausing. “Scully’s, for a while. Promised Moira I’d come by. Where is she?”
Nick pointed his chin towards Moira and Brian across the room.
“Oh. Brian’s here.” She shrugged and looked away. “Sure, course he is.”
She turned back to him, stumbling a little over her feet in the process. “So...whatya drinking?”
“Brian’s tequila.” He moved aside so she could see the bottle on the counter behind him. Only about a quarter of it was left.
“Well, at least he’s good for something.” Their eyes met and they both smirked. Cassandra pulled the empty glass out of Nick’s hand and turned to the counter to fill it.
“Whoa, Cass. That’s not wine, you know.” Nick steadied Cass’s arm as she turned back with a full glass.
“Yeah, well, I have to catch up.” Cass took a big swallow and grimaced.
They stood close together, leaning against the table, watching the ebb and flow of the small crowd, sipping from the shared glass of tequila. Nick’s head buzzed and the room tilted and righted itself. Cassandra shifted against him and sighed.
“Got to get home. Will you drive me?”
He looked down at the top of her head, enjoying the warm feel of a body against his. He shook his head.
“Damn, I’ve had a lot to drink. Better to leave the truck here.” He looked across the room. “Jerry’s getting his coat on. Your place is on his way. Let’s see if he’ll give us a ride out.” He negotiated the floor slowly, trying to avoid the display tables stacked perilously high. He almost fell into Jerry, and grabbed the edge of the table by the door to right himself. He needed to sit down, and soon. Words rolled around in his mouth and slurred despite his best efforts. Jerry clapped him on the back. “No problem, Nick. Get Cassandra and we’ll go.”
They were quiet on the ride out. The motion of the car roiled Nick’s stomach and he focused his eyes on the strip of rough road ahead, revealed in the narrow beam of headlights. He thought Cassandra had fallen asleep in the backseat, but she pulled herself out of the car right away when Jerry stopped next to her cabin. He thanked Jerry and followed her through the door.
The tiny cabin was icy cold and dark. Cassandra snapped on an overhead light and disappeared into the bathroom. He tried to focus on the parade of Cassandra’s pots lining the shelves of the open front room she used as her studio, reaching all the way to the ceiling, but the walls started a slow spin. He dropped onto the lumpy couch and wondered where to find a blanket. He wanted to lie down, he needed to lie down, but it was so cold. He tipped his head back against the couch pillows and closed his eyes. Big mistake. The universe started to swirl, and his stomach rose into his mouth. He stumbled out the front door and vomited into the snow.
Frozen air hit his face and tore into his throat. He steadied himself against the cabin wall. Thin monochromatic trees circling the meadow like sentries cast stark shadows in the moonlight. It was very still. He felt a hand on his arm. Cass stood beside him, shivering, wrapped in a fleece robe.
“Nick, are you okay?” Her voice was soft.
He swallowed. He wasn’t okay. He was drunk and lonely and confused. He was supposed to be strong. He wasn’t supposed to be lost and feeling sorry for himself.
He turned and took Cassandra in his arms, resting his head on top of hers. His breathing was ragged. He was so very lonely. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him inside to the kitchen, handing him a glass of water. His hand shook as he drank it. She steered him forward, not stopping at the couch but moving them both gently towards the bedroom. Yes, that’s right, they could just lie together, have the comfort of each other’s warmth, that would help. But when they slipped under the covers, her robe was gone, and his hands found her naked back. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and her bare legs, radiating heat, stretched along the length of his. Her breath, heavy with tequila, washed over his face as she rubbed her forehead against his.
He should have stopped it, right then. But he didn’t.
Chapter 5
The front right wheel of Cassandra’s jeep cratered into another pothole. She bit her lip and slowed to a crawl. The road wouldn’t be graded until late spring at the earliest, but ruts and dips already pockmarked the frozen dirt track and seemed to get deeper and more plentiful each day. When summer finally arrived and the ice fully melted, it might be nearly impassable.
She glanced ahead to where Nick’s pickup was parked crookedly in front of the cabin. Her heart pounded in her chest and she resisted the urge to turn around. No. Got to do this. Her breathing came fast and shallow and she clutched at the steering wheel. Without thinking, she slipped her foot off the gas pedal and the jeep shuddered to a stop. She shook her head and tried to stay calm. It was Nick, for God’s sake, not some stranger. He was the person she knew best in the world. He was the person who always stuck by her. He was the only one she fully trusted.
Her eyes filled with tears. He was the man she loved.
~ * ~
/> When Cass found Nick at the gallery reception that night, she didn’t tell him what had just happened at Scully’s, how she’d skated on the brink of another panic attack. As usual, Scully’s had been overheated and noisy, reeking of sawdust and spilt beer. The deep bass from some old country western song she barely remembered thumped out of the jukebox, the melody eclipsed by the clink of glasses and shouts and laughter from the crowded tables. She and Katy perched on the two barstools closest to the far wall, where they could lean against the sticky wooden counter and talk while the room buzzed around them. Katy was pushing hard, making a pitch for Cassandra to display her work at The Twins. “You know what kind of traffic we get every day. You’ll get great exposure. And I need the place to be more than just a coffee shop. It will be a good deal for both of us.”
Cassandra sipped her beer and nodded, looking away, trying to stall. She needed the money, if there was any to be made. The growing stack of bills on her kitchen table dogged her. Katy had been the manager of The Twins long enough to have some business sense. Moira wouldn’t like the arrangement, though, because The Twins would be competing with the gallery, and Moira too needed every cent she could get. It was complicated.
“Let me think about it.”
Katy sighed but seemed resigned to not getting an immediate answer. She waved to the bartender for two more beers and slumped over the bar, abandoning her business pitch. “Okay, but do really think about it.” She grinned at Cassandra. “Now tell me what you’ve been up to.”
The guy in the ball cap down at other end of Scully’s bar was eyeing them. He watched and smiled over the top of his beer stein while they chatted and pretended they didn’t notice him. He was even attractive in a touristy kind of way, clearly not a local in his clean and tidy puffy jacket.
A Late Hard Frost Page 3