Means To An End

by Carol McPhee

  "They made it.” Lori's rare burst of enthusiasm surprised her.

  "I'd like to be here to see how they squeeze out.” The waitress laughed, filled Lori's water goblet, and returned to the kitchen.

  Lori sipped her water and turned back to watch the excitement. The captain reappeared, and with bounding agility duplicated the performance of his mate, winching the yacht's stern securely to another pylon along the cliff's stone wall.

  The two men stood on the deck engaged in animated conversation. The way their arms flung in wide measuring gestures, their concern involved the limiting space they were in. She wondered if they had argued about their destination beforehand, because it was evident the mate was not pleased to be here. The captain's tall, large frame was impressive from this distance, especially with his bone-straight stature. He seemed determined to win the discussion and she saw he finally succeeded. The two men ended the argument and worked to lower an inflatable rubber boat with ZODIAC printed on the side. The pair climbed in and paddled the short distance to the dock.

  Her chin resting on her steepled fingers, Lori followed their movement while waiting for her meal. Her face heated when the captain glanced up at her window as he walked with his mate up the incline from the wharf. At the sight of her, he came to an abrupt stop. She wanted to look away, but something compelled her to meet his brooding scowl. Her head reeled from the impact.

  "Do you know those men?” Lori asked the waitress when she served her a small tossed salad with a tiny loaf of homemade bread.

  "They've been here before, but not with the boat. They came for dinner one night last week.” She bent down and whispered, “I remember because the captain left a big tip, and of course his good looks make him hard to forget.” The waitress moved to tidy nearby tables.

  When Lori looked back outside, the captain was still staring up at her, even though his companion had continued into the sports office beneath the restaurant. Was the man spellbound? Not by her beauty, he wasn't. Nothing about her should attract his attention. To Lori's way of thinking, there wasn't a thing about her to attract anyone. Since the accident, there was less reason than ever to draw a man's eye. But her scar was on the side away from his line of vision—he hadn't seen that she limped.

  She narrowed her eyes and bore down on his mist-bound face, then realized something was vaguely familiar about him. She couldn't remember where she might have seen him. That was the way of her memory the past year. Nothing, except for the anger, stayed in focus long. As quickly as she managed to grasp some tidbit of information, it left her.

  This lack of permanent stability, in addition to her bitterness, forced her delay in returning to work. As the Administrator of Criminal Court Services, her job had always satisfied her. But she believed in justice for all, then. Lately, she'd realized she might never again be able to face entering the building. And did she really care? Yes. She cared. Cared enough to absorb the expense and come to a resort she could hardly afford.

  The man outside lowered his eyes with her inspection, then took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Without looking back up, he placed the cap on his head and chased after his companion.

  Lori absent-mindedly drizzled the house dressing on her salad and sipped the ice water to clear her head. Where had she seen him before? When? She stared into the gloom.

  "Ma'am, you're dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” The waitress seemed concerned she wasn't eating, but the woman had been right. He was not the kind that could be easily forgotten.

  Lori took her first bite of salad and, while chewing it, cut off and buttered a slice of the fresh loaf. This bread smells delicious. The butter melted quickly. It tastes even better.

  She continued eating, but her mind ran rampant. The moment she had seen his thick dark hair, it commanded her attention. She had a habit of noticing men's haircuts and was certain she would never have forgotten that healthy mass. The strength harbored within those frowning eyes twitched every nerve in her body, though. She had seen them before somewhere. He'd seemed shocked to see her, as if he recognized her. Damn. Why can't I remember?

  Lori knew very well why she couldn't remember him or much of anything pleasant these days. Her mind had wedged in the fallout from the disaster that killed her sister and nearly finished her as well. The day after tomorrow would be the one-year anniversary of the event that had changed her life forever.

  A year ago, she'd been a typical professional sprouting her wings in a great job in the revered halls of justice. She'd settled into a life filled with promise and high expectations. Late September had been unseasonably warm and she and her sister, Penny, had decided to pack a picnic lunch for the beach to celebrate one of their last days of single life. They were each getting married in a double ceremony on the weekend.

  As Lori maneuvered the quiet early morning streets out of the city to the shore road, Penny chattered on, happily engrossed in talking of how their lives wouldn't change just because they'd be living apart. Since they were marrying brothers, they would always be close.

  She remembered stopping for a red light on the outskirts and the smile on Penny's glowing face when she looked over at her. Her sister's soft silky voice was always music to her ears. “The light's green. You can go, Lori."

  Lori glanced up and nodded. “Right. Don't be impatient; we'll get there soon enough.” She accelerated.

  Penny's horrified scream and the sound of crunching metal were the last things she remembered until she woke up to the bleeps of hospital monitors. How she wished she could forget those sounds, but they were forever engraved in her mind. They haunted her in the dead of night, even now. The next thing she recalled was the bad memory of a uniformed RCMP officer asking pointed questions. She had answered with great difficulty and pain, thinking, Why don't you do your job and throw the jerk that hit us in jail, instead of badgering me?

  Lori shook the fog from her head. Now, she was filled with resentment toward the legal system. And especially to those who pretended to uphold it. No justice had existed for her in the court.

  She blinked back tears and stared at the boat nuzzled against the cliff. The modern sleek lines and huge size spoke of unimaginable wealth. The boat must have luxuriant space on all three levels. What would it be like to live free to wander on whenever tired of a place? She would love to escape to far away countries and forget what had brought her to this resort.

  And what of the stranger with the sulky glimmer in his eyes? Handsome didn't begin to adequately describe him because it wasn't perfection in his features that abounded, but more the way the individual features blended, giving him a strong presence. His prominent forehead, carrying thick dark eyebrows, also bore the weight of an errant forelock dripping low in spite of his attempt to smooth it back. His neck's hairline kissed the top of his collar in a neat style. The firm jut of his chin broadcast determination. But it was those midnight eyes that had drawn her—even through the mist they'd held a curious spark that appeared ready to dissect the soul of anyone who faced him.

  "You like my yacht?"

  "What?” She jumped. “Oh ... Hello.” Lost in her own private thoughts, she hadn't heard the captain come into the dining room and go to the next table. He tossed his cap onto one of the chairs and pulled out another, facing her. Keeping his eyes on her, he sat down.

  "Your boat is beautiful. I can't quite make out the name on the side.” She had to say something or the silence would embarrass them both.

  "It's called Destiny."

  Lori smiled, wishing it really would be her fate to travel the seas, hair blowing free in the wind, a handsome captain steering her safely. Barely keeping her head above water, she didn't have time for frivolous dreams. She glanced around the room, surprised not to see his companion and also becoming aware that, as yet, they were the only guests in for dinner. Suddenly self-conscious, she finished her salad and sliced off more bread while he perused a brochure retrieved from his pants’ pocket.

  The waitress brou
ght the new guest a menu and poured water into his glass.

  "Is there something on the menu you would recommend?” the captain asked.

  Lori looked up, expecting to see his question directed to the waitress, but his piercing stare was aimed at her. Its intensity got on her nerves. She wished he'd make his own decision and leave her to contemplate how she could stand spending the next fourteen days here amongst strangers. With the silence getting on her nerves, too, she answered. “I'd recommend the smoked planked salmon."

  "Is that what you're having?” he asked.

  "Well, actually, no.” Lori laughed. She'd never tried it and wouldn't be having it now because it was too expensive. The sound of her laughter dismayed her. She hadn't laughed in months. “Ah ... I'm having the stuffed chicken breast."

  He wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned to the waitress. “I think I'll go for the large steak ... rare with fries. And I'd like two glasses of your Masi Costasera, please."

  The man did look like a meat-and-heavy-on-the-potatoes kind of guy. It would take a lot of food to fill that long body. While he smiled at the waitress, Lori studied his rugged face again, glad that the misty air no longer clouded her vision.

  The strongly defined planes and grooves of his face chiseled to a smooth shaven jaw that softened when he flashed a boyish grin. In the light, she noted a few gray streaks sprinkled through his black hair in a salt-and-pepper effect. He was older than her thirty-two years, maybe in his early forties. The rutted, crinkly laugh lines fanning out from his eyes indicated a sense of humor that probably burst out frequently. This was a man who knew who he was and had no qualms about expressing himself or feeling relaxed in the presence of a woman. Why else would he bother striking up a conversation with her?

  For once, she wished she'd taken the suggestion of the doctors and had her scar surgically repaired. She shuddered. It was a constant reminder of how her life had changed, how she was alive to carry on, while Penny was not. If they'd left two minutes earlier, the accident wouldn't have happened. She was the one who had raced back inside their apartment to grab a jacket, knowing she probably wouldn't need it. She deserved the disfigurement.

  Conscious of the silence at the other table, she kept her head down to hide her distressing thoughts and nibbled at her bread. Once the waitress cleared away her plate, she propped her marred cheek on her hand and gazed out the window, no longer seeing anything. No longer wanting to know that world of freedom and adventure existed out there.

  "You do like red wine, don't you?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I should have asked first, but I ordered you a glass of wine. I thought if you didn't speak up and object, it would be all right. It didn't seem appropriate to drink alone."

  "Oh. I thought it was for the man that was on the yacht with you. Thank you."

  "Are you staying in one of the chalets?” The distinctive, gravelly voice intruded before she could return to her rambling thoughts.

  "Yes. I'm staying for two weeks."

  "I see."

  Puzzled by his frown, she turned back to what scenery she could see outside. No, fortunately, he didn't see. He had no idea what had brought her here. He didn't know what she'd gone through and she almost wanted to tell him in a plea for understanding. If it would release the pressurized panic that dogged her life, she'd gladly blurt out the information. But nothing could erase her guilt and discouragement. That's why she was here—to make one last try for closure.

  "Are you on vacation?” he asked.

  "Vacation?"

  "Yes. You know, taking a few days off from the cares of the world."

  "I am taking time off, yes.” But it sure wasn't what she considered a vacation. That implied sun and fun; she expected little fun here. This would be work.

  Scraping the barrel of her bank account, she had come to stay in a chalet at Lochaber Haven in the Eastern Shore region of the province. Although assured her job would be waiting for her, at this point, all she wanted was to be free of the nightmare her life had become. By supplying her own groceries for breakfast and lunch, she could allow herself dinner in the elegant restaurant. If she recovered her emotional balance, she could regain control of her life.

  The stranger remained quiet. Did her scar bother him? Did he expect her to hold up her end of a conversation? Perhaps she could prevent her depression from rearing again if she at least took a stab at being friendly. To be otherwise would be unnecessarily rude and not like how she used to be. She'd been struggling to find her old self. This could be a start.

  "I like to paint landscapes in my spare time.” He didn't need to be told that she hoped painting again might take her mind off her heartaches. “I'm here to put some of the scenery on canvas, Mr...."

  His brow arched skeptically. Did he not believe her? Why should she care?

  "Randall Mc ... McDougall. My friends call me Rand."

  She thought it strange that he hesitated with his last name, but his sudden salute coaxed another smile from her lips. “I'm Lorraine Wheeler; my friends call me Lori."

  "I expect you'll want to paint the rapids then?"

  "And the various coves along the coast,” she answered. “This coastline, undeveloped as it is, is a nature lover's paradise. I never took the time to come here and capture it on canvas."

  His eyes sharpened. She caught a flash of disapproval. Maybe she'd misunderstood. Why would he object? Too insecure to ask, she turned her head and strained to see through the fog. She could barely detect the boat's outline now. She looked back at him. “The fog is so thick it looks like the Destiny has disappeared. You were lucky to make it up the river. This place was well named when they called it a haven."

  "It wasn't much of a problem with all the electronic gear the yacht carries, but the storm whipping up the coast could be serious if it doesn't swing out to sea."

  Dammit, what was it about his expression that seemed so familiar? Baffled by the sober glances he threw her way, she stared at him pleasantly, taking pains to hide her curiosity. “Are you spending your vacation here?"

  "Not really. I'm a writer and working on an ocean adventure story."

  "So are you staying for a while, or are you merely sailing by?” She didn't mean to pry, but her curiosity got the better of her. Interest in anything again brought encouragement.

  "I can write on my own time and in whatever place I happen to be. I haven't decided whether to stay."

  The waitress temporarily interrupted their conversation by bringing a tray, which she set on a stand near him. She passed him his soup and the two glasses of red wine.

  "Would you please give one of these glasses to the lady?” he asked.

  She did so, then removed Lori's dinner from the tray and quietly left. Lori stated matter-of-factly, “You're lucky to have choices."

  It looked like he did whatever he wanted. She envied that freedom.

  "It's more than luck."

  Lori sipped her wine. Her taste ran to inexpensive white wine, but she hadn't had any for a year. This had a delicate bouquet and a pleasing flavor. The experience of living like a member of the elite would do nicely for now. She salted her chicken and when she glanced up again, he was breaking crackers into his soup. She took it as an excuse to stop babbling. It was just as well. She'd come here to regroup, not to entangle herself with a stranger. She needed to think.

  Acknowledging that she was no longer the independent woman she once was had hurt well enough, but to seek counseling for a mind usually filled with confidence had been inconceivable. Because of the explosive anger so firmly entrenched in her heart, she had sought psychiatric help. She took another sip of wine and let her mind drift back to the doctor's office.

  "Do you have any hobbies, Lori? Anything that gives you real pleasure?” The psychiatrist had peered over his spectacles, giving her the impression something was wrong with her if she said no.

  "My work gave me pleasure. But not anymore.” She remembered the vehemence that crept into her tone.
“I don't want to be anywhere near a courthouse,” she'd told him. “Justice is only an illusion and those who act in its name only perpetuate the fallacy."

  The doctor ignored her sharp retort. “I mean, was there something you did for the sheer enjoyment it gave you? Something not work-related?"

  The doctor's fingertips drummed against his desk. The thumping pricked her nerves.

  "I used to love to paint nature scenes."

  "Then why don't you start painting again? The best advice I can give you is to get away from the memories and find something meaningful to occupy your time. Time is the greatest healer of all wounds."

  "I've had almost a year and it hasn't diminished the pain. It's a waste of time coming here.” With that brash statement she marched over the threshold, furious with the world around her.

  The last words she heard him say were: “Sometimes, it helps to replace bad memories with good experiences."

  As she had walked into the warm sunlight, she recognized the dangerous symptoms of the despair in her life—hands that kept actively scrunching into fists or sliding along her thighs to wipe off the sweat, lack of appetite and sleep, sudden hostility. Would she eventually lash out with them? The thought had petrified her, leading her to take one last kick at the can and follow one more expert's advice.

  "Are you from Nova Scotia?” She couldn't believe she had disengaged her intuition and asked the captain another question.

  He swallowed and coughed out a catch in his throat. “No."

  Silence.

  "Have you been in Halifax?” Lori persisted.

  "Hasn't everyone?"

  His reply was quick, too quick. There was no smile brimming his eyes. She'd annoyed him and not much wonder; she'd been too forward. Time for retreat. “That must be why I thought you looked familiar. We've probably crossed paths in one of the malls there."

  Her curiosity stirred even more, but it had to be tempered by the fact that he had answered her questions, though it seemed to be with reluctance. I'm certain I've seen him somewhere. Lori started to eat her dinner, but she consciously fast-tracked the past few months. She came up empty. She'd been too many places to remember everyone she'd seen in the hospital, rehab center, and courthouse. And it wasn't beneficial to remember any of those spots in detail. The faces of medical staff intermingled with those of numerous police officers, all pestering her so they could fill out reports.