A Misty Harbor Wedding

by Marcia Evanick

  Without her prompting, Austin continued to count as his finger pointed out each boat, “. . . twelve, thirteen, fourteen, twenty!”

  Matt chuckled into his cup and hurriedly took a sip.

  “Very good, Austin.” She gave him a big squeeze. “Maybe, if you ask nicely, Mr. Porter would tell you what kind of boats they are.” Surely anyone born and raised on the coast of Maine knew something about boats. She knew the difference between a tug boat and a canoe, but that was about as far as she would trust her nautical knowledge.

  “Call me Matt, and you don’t even have to ask, Austin.” Matt pointed to a small dark green and white boat that was the closest to the shoreline. “That little one is a lobster boat.”

  Austin frowned. “Is not.”

  She glanced at her son in surprise. Austin wasn’t the argumentative type. He might ask questions until she was ready to pull her hair out, but he didn’t sass back. “Austin, why isn’t it a lobster boat?”

  “Lobsters are red with little eyes and big claws.” Austin held out his hands and made pinching motions with his fingers. “You ate one last night, and it tasted yucky.”

  “You had a lobster on the coast of Maine, and it tasted yucky?” Matt sounded like he couldn’t believe it.

  “The lobster had been delicious and worth flying three thousand miles for. Austin took one bite of my dinner and declared it yucky. He preferred his fish sticks and macaroni and cheese.”

  She turned back to her son, who still looked bewildered. “The boat down there catches the lobsters and brings them to the restaurant, where people eat them for dinner.”

  “Do lobsters eat worms like fishes?” Austin was watching the small boat carefully.

  “No, lobsters are caught in traps that lay on the bottom of the ocean.” Matt squatted next to Austin and pointed near the boat. “See those yellow, red, and blue things floating on the water? They are buoys, and attached to them is a real long piece of rope that is also tied to the trap. Each lobster fisherman has his own colors so he’ll know which traps are his.”

  “Mom, can we go get a lobster?” Austin stood back up so he could get a better look.

  “I’m afraid not, hon. We don’t have a boat.” She had taken Austin fishing once before, on Lake Tahoe in Nevada. The entire morning had been a disaster. She couldn’t bring herself to bait the hooks with live worms, and the fish hadn’t been particularly fond of bologna sandwiches. There was no way she was handling a live lobster or throwing one into a pot of boiling water.

  “If you’re staying in town for a while I’m sure you can find someone to take you out for a couple hours. Just ask around down at the docks.” Matt looked pleased with himself for coming up with that solution.

  She knew there was a look of horror on her face, but she didn’t care. Austin started to tug on the sleeve of her sweatshirt and beg, “Please, please, please. Can we, Mom?”

  “Umm . . . then again, maybe you won’t.” Matt must have noticed her expression. “What about your dad, Austin? Maybe he can find a boat and take you out.”

  “Daddy isn’t here.” Austin released her sleeve. “He lives in Texas.”

  “Oh, he couldn’t come on vacation with you?” Matt was looking at her, not her son.

  “We’re divorced.” She pretended to ignore the smile tugging at the corner of Matt’s mouth.

  “How long are you both in town for?” Matt’s short dark blond hair was gently tossed by the morning breeze, while his light blue eyes danced with interest.

  She looked like hell from lack of sleep, while he looked like an L. L. Bean model selling sex on a stick. “The entire month of August and up until Labor Day weekend.” Six glorious weeks nestled in a small fishing village on the coast of Maine. Who could ask for anything more? When the opportunity had come up, she had jumped at the chance.

  “Where are you staying? Not at the local Motor Inn, are you?”

  “No, I’ve rented a house on Hamilton Street.” She had spotted the Motor Inn while exploring the town yesterday afternoon. It wasn’t the kind of place she would willingly stay in for six days, let alone six weeks.

  “Whose? My parents live one street over on Pepperell.”

  “Kathy and Kurt Albert. They left for Colorado yesterday, about two hours after we arrived. They’re visiting their daughter and grandchildren out there.”

  “Jennifer? I heard she just had twin girls.”

  “You heard right. Kathy had to show me about a dozen photos she printed off the computer before she left.” She smiled at the image of the refrigerator back at the house. The entire front of it was covered with baby photos and crayon drawings. Kathy and Kurt now had eight grandchildren. The Alberts’ home was warm, inviting, and totally comfortable. It was the perfect home to vacation in.

  “Mom, what’s that boat?” Austin was pointing to a large fishing boat leaving the harbor.

  “That’s a tuna boat.” Matt grinned, stood up, and waved. “Listen, Austin.”

  In the distance there was a loud mournful cry of a boat horn. Austin’s eyes grew wide. “They see us?” He jumped up and down and started to wave wildly.

  “They sure do.” Matt swooped Austin up and placed him on his shoulders.

  “They can see us all the way up here?” She shaded her eyes from the rising sun and tried to see the people on the boat. The horn sounded again as she spotted what might have been a man in the wheelhouse. He was the size of an ant. “How can they see us?”

  “They know where to look.” Matt lowered Austin back onto his feet as the tuna boat throttled up its engine and headed out to sea. “That was my parents. They always look up here when they head out.”

  “Both of your parents are fishermen?” Having a dad as a fisherman was one thing, but his mother?

  “Yep, mainly tuna.” Matt chuckled at Austin, who was wildly waving to another boat.

  “Your dad’s the captain, and what . . . your mom is the first mate?” It sounded kind of sweet to her. With all the kids grown and out of the house, mom went fishing with her husband to keep him company. Not a bad way to spend your day.

  Whatever she said must have been funny. Matt started to laugh hysterically. “What’s so funny?” Sierra felt her lips twitching. Matt had a wonderful, strong laugh. She wanted to laugh with him, but she didn’t get the punch line. Austin didn’t seem to have her problem. Her son stopped waving at boats and joined Matt in laughing.

  “Don’t ever let my mom hear you call her the first mate.” Matt laughed again at the thought.

  “Why?” Maybe it was an inside joke that only people who lived on the coast understood. Thirty-one years of moving about the country had taught her one thing. Different regions of America had different ways of looking at things.

  “She’s the one who taught my dad the ropes in the business. They own the boat together and are cocaptains, because my father is just as stubborn. Neither would settle for being first mate.”

  She stared at Matt and wondered what kind of woman had raised him. The mothers in her world were on boards of charities and volunteered at their children’s private schools. The women she knew might order tuna in a five-star restaurant but wouldn’t know the first thing about catching one. “Your mother sounds like a very interesting woman.”

  “That she is. You should meet her sometime.” Matt squatted down next to Austin and pointed out one of the ships still docked. “See that shiny white and black boat down there?”

  “Yes,” answered Austin.

  “That’s Lawrence Blake’s whale-watching boat. He handles the boat and about twenty passengers at a time. His nephew is a great guide. You get your money’s worth, and you just might see a whale or two.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Matt stood back up and looked at her. “If you get seasick I would recommend taking something for that before you get on the boat. Lawrence has one speed, full throttle, and the best place to spot a whale is their feeding grounds, about twenty, thirty miles off the coast.”


  “Can we go, Mom?” asked Austin.

  “I think we can manage that while we’re in town.” She didn’t get seasick and Austin would love the adventure. “Any other suggestions, Mr. Porter?”

  “Call me Matt, please. This coming weekend is the annual Maine Wild Blueberry Festival. You can’t miss that.”

  “What do you all do? Sit around and eat muffins?” How did one have a festival about a fruit? A small purplish-blue fruit at that.

  “The day starts off with a parade down Main Street.” Matt looked amused.

  “A parade?”

  “Marching band and all. The theme of course is blueberries. There are a couple floats sponsored by the various growers and agricultural agencies. Parents get into it by making costumes and competing for prizes, and the spectators cheer wildly for the cutest muffin or cobbler.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” No one could make that up on the spur of the moment. “How does one dress a child as cobbler?” The thought boggled her mind.

  “With great difficulty and flair.” Matt chuckled. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s something you don’t want to miss. After the parade it’s on to the town square, where there’ll be tables set up selling everything from pottery to preserves.”

  “All blueberry, of course.” She was starting to look forward to the coming weekend and counting the different things one could do with a berry.

  “It’s their special day.” Matt seemed tolerantly amused by the whole thing. “Later that night there will be live music at the gazebo in the park and the Methodist church has a spaghetti dinner fund-raiser.”

  “Let me guess, with blueberry pie for dessert?” She could picture it now.

  Matt’s smile could melt polar icecaps. It was doing one heck of a job on her knees. “Ah . . . no. By dinnertime everyone is kind of sick of blueberries. The Women’s Guild usually gives you a choice between chocolate cake or orange Jell-O.”

  She tried not to laugh. “Why orange Jell-O? Why not cherry or lime?”

  “They did a survey a couple years back. Seems orange is the overwhelming favorite flavor of Jell-O.” Matt glanced at her son, who was now busy waving to every boat leaving the harbor. “Austin, what flavor Jell-O do you like, red, orange, or green?”

  “Orange.” Austin looked around like he expected someone to hand him a bowl and a spoon. His look of excitement faded when no bowl of Jell-O was forthcoming. “How come no one is blowing their horn at me?”

  “They aren’t looking up here, hon.” She ruffled her son’s hair. “All the people on those boats going out are doing their jobs. They’re busy getting ready to catch all kinds of fish for us to eat.”

  “Why don’t they just fish there?” Austin pointed to the dock area.

  “That’s the harbor, Austin.” Matt squatted next to the boy. “All the docks and the surrounding water is known as a harbor. It’s protected on three sides by land, and it’s really deep.” Matt’s fingers pointed toward the sun. “That’s the Atlantic Ocean. That’s where the whales live.”

  Austin glanced from the harbor to the horizon and then back again. “Boats live there”—he pointed to the docks—“and whales live out there.” He motioned to the horizon. “What lives there?” Austin waved to the body of water on their right.

  She looked where her son was pointing. It was a huge area of water, but off in the distance she thought she picked out a small island or two. The lighthouse was sitting on a high point that jutted out into the sea. Below them, she could hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

  “That, my new friend, is Mermaid Bay.” Matt looked serious.

  “Do mermaids live there?” Austin shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked out over the bay.

  “Legend has it that they do.” Matt gave her a quick wink. “That’s how the bay got its name.”

  “Have you seen one?” Austin looked thrilled with the idea.

  “Not a one, and believe me, I’ve looked for years.” Matt stood up to his full height and stretched. “I’ve got to be heading off to work, Austin. I’m sure if your mom asks around down at the docks, someone can take you out mermaid watching.” Matt looked at her. “Or, if you’re not in a hurry and can wait until Sunday, I can do the honors.”

  “Really? You have a boat?” Austin’s words were tripping over each other in his excitement.

  “No, but I know where I can borrow one.” Matt’s gaze met hers. “Don’t hound your mom, Austin. Let her decide which would be best.”

  She wasn’t positive, but she thought she just had been asked out on a date. A family date. One that included her son. Now that was a change. Most men preferred her undivided attention and privacy. “Thank you, Matt. I’m sure we’ll run into you during the blueberry celebration.” She wasn’t sure if she was going to accept his generous offer to take them mermaid watching or not. “I’ll give you our answer then.”

  “Great.” Matt gave Austin a pat on the shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Austin.”

  “You too, Mr. Porter.”

  Matt shook his head. “The name’s Matt.” Matt gave her a long look before slowly smiling. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  She stood there watching Matt walk away and hid her smile behind her cup. Matt’s coffee tasted horrible, but what he lacked in culinary skills, he more than made up for in the physique department. What Matt did for the back end of a pair of jeans should be classified as the eighth wonder of the world.

  Chapter Two

  Sierra took one look at her son’s mouth and tried not to cringe. It was going to take a week for his purple lips and tongue to fade back to normal. Who knew blueberries had such staining power? She glanced around the park and shrugged. Every kid there had the same purple lips and none of the other mothers looked overly concerned. Maybe they all dipped their kids into a vat of bleach before tossing them into the tub at night.

  So far Austin had consumed a blueberry snow cone, two muffins, and three cups of blueberry punch. He was now eyeing a vendor selling peanut butter and blueberry jam sandwiches. It was lunch time, but one had to wonder how many more blueberries he could fit into his little tummy.

  “I don’t know, hon. Are you sure you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? They have hot dogs and hamburgers over there.” She pointed to a stand set up by the local Lions Club. Half a dozen men were gathered around a fire pit that was billowing smoke, flipping burgers and slapping hot dogs onto buns. They appeared to be doing a brisk business. Experience had taught her that if all the locals were lined up at that stand, that was where she wanted to eat.

  “We are post-to-be eating blueberries, Mom.” Austin tugged his baseball cap, embroidered with MAINE and a humpback whale underneath. The cap was a souvenir from the whale-watching adventure they had gone on Thursday.

  Ever since Austin had spotted a finback whale, he hadn’t stopped talking about whales, boats, and all the other wonders the ocean might hold, real or imaginary—especially mermaids and a talking fish named Nemo. This eventually led the conversation to Matt Porter and his promise to take them out on a boat looking for mermaids. Her son had been looking for the handsome stranger they had met at the lighthouse all morning long. So far, Matt was a no-show.

  She didn’t know who was more disappointed, her or her son.

  “Tell you what, hon. How about I buy you a hot dog and a bag of chips with a blueberry lemonade?” She eyed the burgers and watched as they were slapped onto thick buns with slices of tomato, cheese, onions, and lettuce. Not a blueberry in sight. Her stomach rumbled with delight.

  It took Austin all of two seconds to make up his mind, “Okay.”

  They walked over to the Lions Club stand and took their place at the end of the line. The first week of August in Maine was gorgeous. The sun was shining and a light cool breeze was blowing in off the water. Perfect shorts and tank top weather. By this evening, when the sun went down, she would have to change into jeans and a sweatshirt.

  The Alberts’ home didn’t have air
conditioning, and at first she had thought that might be a problem in August. The past couple of nights she had slept with the windows wide open and buried under the blankets. It was the best sleep she’d had in ages, and she particularly loved waking up in the morning to the cries of the gulls as they went about their morning business.

  “You want ketchup on your hot dog?” she asked. Sometimes Austin liked mustard, but usually it was plain ketchup.

  She was startled and quickly spun around when a deep, familiar voice behind her said, “I’m a mustard and relish man, myself.”

  “Matt!” shouted Austin with delight as he turned with her. “You came.”

  “Sure did.” Matt nodded down to the small boy at his side. “Austin, I would like you to meet my nephew, Tyler. He’s five years old. I figured you two might have a lot in common.”

  “Hi,” said Austin as he moved closer to his mom’s leg. “I’m four.”

  “Do you live here?” asked Tyler.

  “No, we’re visiting.” Austin reached for her hand.

  Her son was always shy around other kids. Austin didn’t make friends easily, because they usually didn’t stay in one place long enough. It was the main drawback of the family business. The intense traveling and moving was the reason she employed Rosemary Thatcher as Austin’s nanny. That and the fact she would be lost without Rosemary.

  When she had been seven and her mother had passed away, Rosemary Thatcher had become her nanny, friend, and surrogate mother. Sierra could barely remember her own mother, but she could describe in detail all the lectures Rosemary had given her over the years. She also remembered all the warm praise, huge bear hugs, and the love. She wanted her son raised with the same memories.

  Rosemary was sixty-one and, even though she would never admit it, getting a little bit slow to be running after a very active four-year-old. When Sierra and Austin headed for Maine, Rosemary flew to Toledo, Ohio, for a long-overdue visit with her family. She missed Rosemary’s company, but she was thrilled to have this time alone with her son. Austin was growing up so fast.