by Mari Labbee
“Matt, what are you doing?”
She had just come into the great room, finally finding the courage to face her fear, only to find him standing inches from the mural, holding up a bloody finger. She froze, her stomach lurched, and her knees turned to pudding.
Hearing her, his head whipped around, a frown on his usually smiling face. “What?”
She stared at his bloody finger and didn’t know what to think. What had he been doing?
“Are you OK?” he asked.
His voice was small and faraway. Her legs began to shake. The ground shifted beneath her. She hadn’t passed out yet, but it was imminent.
Matt watched as the color drained from her face. Oh God, she’s going down. In two quick strides, he was at her side and grabbed her before she fell. The tray slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor.
“There now, I’ve got you,” he said calmly. “Let’s sit you down.”
He led Bri over to one of the windows where he set her on the wide sill. The chairs were outside, and he’d have to go get one.
“OK, here we go. You just sit down right here.”
He helped her balance on the sill. She was compliant, the marionette to his puppet master.
“Are you OK?” he asked, bending over her and looking into her eyes.
She nodded.
“I’m just going to run outside to get a chair.”
The breeze on her back felt good against her hot skin.
He was back a moment later, and she hadn’t moved. He helped her to the chair, and he lowered himself to her eye level, sitting on his heels, so his face was just inches from hers.
Calm down, calm down, she repeated silently in her head. There has to be an explanation.
“You might want to keep your head down,” he said.
She did as he suggested.
After a few moments, he asked, “Are you feeling better?”
She nodded, cleared her throat, and in a raspy voice asked, “What…what…were you doing?”
“Doing?” he seemed confused.
“When I walked in.” She waited as he thought.
“When you walked in? I was…um…I was…looking at the mural.”
“Is that all?”
His brows knit together. “Uh…yeah. I was looking at it, and then you yelled.”
“I yelled?”
He nodded.
“Why?” she continued.
“Why?” he looked confused.
She nodded. “Why were you looking at the mural?”
He started slowly, thinking. “Well, actually, I was looking for the brushstrokes. You’re right about that, by the way. I couldn’t find any. I thought I had seen some in a couple of spots, but I took a closer look, and you’re right. They don’t look like brushstrokes.” He paused. “The colors look a little strange too when you’re up close. Did you notice that?”
Bri pointed at his finger.
“Why…” Her voice broke. “Why is your finger bleeding?”
Matt looked down. He’d forgotten all about his finger, which fortunately had stopped bleeding. And during his rush to help Bri, he had dropped the gauze pad.
“Oh God, there’s a bloody piece of gauze somewhere around here. I’m sorry,” he said, looking over his shoulder, searching for it.
When he turned back around, he saw that she hadn’t taken her eyes off him and she was waiting for an answer.
“Ah, stupid, really. A splinter in the worst spot. But you’d think I drove a nail into it the way it was bleeding.” He laughed. She didn’t.
“I wasn’t paying attention. This sort of thing never happens to me.” He laughed again. “And wouldn’t you know it, that finger. But it won’t slow me down. I promise, boss.” His attempt at joviality was lost on her, and she appeared to be on the verge of tears.
“I…I just saw you there, and it…it…” She stopped at hearing her own shaking voice. She had no idea what a nervous breakdown felt like but imagined she was awfully close to one.
“It…reminded me of…reminded me…reminded me of—” Bri practically bit her tongue to keep herself from blurting out why she had been so surprised. That seeing him standing there with blood on his finger brought back the terrible dream of the woman.
Matt looked at her, concerned.
“Uh…of…nothing, nothing. I think it’s the heat.” She raised the back of her hand up to her forehead, which was clammy despite the heat. “It’s been so hot.”
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to scream it actually, but what would she say?
I had this dream…I was in the great room…but it wasn’t me…I was someone else…and there was blood…the sky…the sky was painted with blood. It sounded absurd at best and completely deranged at worst.
He looked at her, afraid to look away. There was something definitely wrong, and she was either incapable or unwilling to tell him about this, he was sure. This was the second time in just days that she’d almost toppled over for no apparent reason. One moment she seemed fine and the next it was as if she were someone else. For all he knew, maybe she was ill and didn’t want anyone to know about it. Maybe that’s why she had come to live here. But that wasn’t it; he just felt it. When she had walked into the great room carrying the lemonade, and he had turned to look at her, she wasn’t just looking at him. She was looking at him with fear. He hadn’t imagined it. Her eyes were full of fear, and he had no idea what to think of that. Why would she look at him that way?
Bri shifted, took a deep breath, and then gave him a weak smile.
“I’m better now.”
He wasn’t so sure.
“Really,” she assured him, rising slowly from the chair. “See.” She let go of the chair and held her arms out.
He looked at her, unsure, and then he glanced at his watch.
“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s early yet. How about if we just take the rest of today off?” he lifted his finger. “And I am slightly disabled.”
It might not cure whatever is bothering her, he thought, but an afternoon on the Audrey Natalia would come close to doing that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Whittlebee wasn’t much different than Pegottie. He was right about that, and it was smaller, which was saying something.
Bri said little on the ride from Jackal’s Head Point to Whittlebee, content just to look out the window. Matt did all the talking, glancing at her now and then as she stared out at the passing landscape.
The Whittlebee marina was at the southern edge of town on its own little peninsula. As soon as they reached the front gate, Bri looked over at Matt.
“We’re here?”
He nodded.
She sat up straighter and smiled for the first time since they left the house. This had been a good idea. Matt had good instincts.
“If you’re up to it, we’ll take her out for a quick sail.”
“Up to it? Are you kidding?” she exclaimed.
At the very end of the marina, he pulled into a numbered parking spot and threw the truck in park. In front of each parking space, there was a storage pod numbered to correspond with the parking spot.
The far end of the Whittlebee Marina housed the larger boats, and that’s where they were headed. Bri followed Matt down to the end of the dock, her eyes scanning the landscape of tall masts and protracted hulls until they reached the end of the dock, where she gasped.
“Is this it?” she asked.
Standing by the Audrey Natalia, Matt nodded.
“Wow!” she exclaimed.
It had been quite some time since he’d brought someone on board, too long a time, and he loved watching her reaction. He hopped on board and then reached out for her hand. She grabbed hold of it and jumped on board.
The Audrey Natalia had clean, sharp lines. A thin red line at the water ran lengthwise along her dark-blue hull. Polished teak and brass shone in the afternoon sun. The wheel was at the back—or aft (as Bri would learn)—surrounded by an assortment of gauges, beh
ind the shorter of two masts—the mizzenmast, as it was called. The main mast at the front (or bow) rose high enough to pierce the sky.
“This is incredible,” she said, looking up, craning her head far back with her hand up to shield out the sun.
Matt reached out and took the tote bag out of her hand. “I’ll put this down below.”
Her eyes widened. “Below? Oh, I want to see that.”
So far, her reaction was exactly what he had hoped for. Whatever had been weighing on her had evaporated, at least for now.
Just in front of the mizzenmast, Matt opened two louvered doors that revealed a short flight of stairs leading to the cabin below. He let Bri go down first.
The cabin was roomy and wide, which she hadn’t expected. Narrow rectangular porthole windows ringed the length of it, allowing an abundance of natural light in. Matt began sliding them open to let in the crisp sea breeze. One long hallway ran from stern to bow. There was a small but fully equipped kitchen, a dining area and, at the very end of the hallway near the bow, a door that had been left slightly ajar.
“Well, come on in,” Matt said, setting her tote bag on the dining booth.
She had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and not moved farther into the cabin, taking it all in, slightly overwhelmed.
“This is really something, Matt.”
He smiled. And in that smile, she clearly saw that this was his soul, the thing he loved most.
“Thanks. She is.”
The kitchen had a four-burner stove, oven, microwave, and a half-size refrigerator. Directly across the kitchen was a step-up booth that comfortably held at least four diners, and above the booth were two pictures.
“Is this you?” she asked, pointing at them.
He nodded.
“And this is”—she pointed down—“her?”
He nodded again. He wasn’t kidding when he said she had been a wreck. She was worse than Bri had imagined, unrecognizable from the gorgeous sailing vessel they stood in now. In the picture, the Audrey Natalia was hoisted up on two gigantic sawhorse-like contraptions, multiple holes quite visible in the hull, and no mizzenmast, just the main mast. But Matt stood next to her beaming, looking as though he’d just won the lottery.
Next to the booth was a pullout sofa that could accommodate extra sleepers if needed, and across from the couch, a flat-screen TV was attached to the wall. In fact, most everything was attached one way or another. Nothing was left out where it might slide to the floor. Little hammocks held things like salt and pepper and remote controls giving the whole place a whimsical feel. Beneath the TV there was a stereo, a laptop computer, CDs, DVDs, and books.
She walked past the kitchen toward the bow. Just past the kitchen was a bathroom, which she learned was called a “head.” Directly across from the bathroom were two bunk beds with privacy curtains, which she found charming for some reason. Two large drawers under the bottom bunk served as extra storage space.
It was laid out beautifully, optimizing every square inch of space perfectly and in the most logical way. It was a marvel of good design. Reaching the door at the end of the hall, she glanced inside. Obviously Matt’s bedroom. The double bed came to a point where it met the bow of the ship, and it sat atop a built-in base of drawers.
He makes his bed. She thought smiling as she glanced inside. There was something intimate about seeing where he slept, and she didn’t want to linger there too long. But when she turned around, Matt was watching her, apparently unconcerned with her snooping.
“Well,” she said, drawing in a breath, “I know I’m repeating myself but—wow!”
“They designed her well,” he said, looking around the cabin.
Bri followed Matt as he showed her more. She asked lots of questions, and he was a patient teacher. Right was starboard, left was port, the bathroom was a head, the kitchen was a galley, and they were below deck. There was much to learn, and she was soaking it up like a sponge.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.
She nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Once out of the harbor, she helped him raise the sails. He was patient, explaining everything so she would understand. She was an eager student, and they worked well together. In no time, they were under sail and cruising along the coast, sails trimmed for speed, as Matt explained—not that she could ever recite any of what he’d just said.
The Audrey Natalia cut through the mild chop effortlessly. Waves grazed her bow, leaving only froth and mist behind. The wind felt good on Bri’s face, and she tasted the salty air with every breath. The power of the sea vibrated up through the Audrey Natalia. She had never experienced anything even remotely like this.
They cruised northward. Bri sat against the mizzenmast in front of the wheel stand where Matt stood steering. About thirty minutes in, Matt reached over and tapped her shoulder. He pointed to something in the distance. She looked up, and suddenly there it was. Jackal’s Head Point came into view.
She stared at it from the safety of her spot against the mizzenmast, brought her knees up to her chest, and hugged herself, fingernails digging into her arms. The lighthouse loomed. Like a siren, Bri could almost hear it calling. As they got closer to it, though, Matt turned the Audrey Natalia around, tacking into the wind. Bri turned around and looked at him.
“The shallows,” he said, “shouldn’t get any closer than that.”
Though invisible from the ocean’s surface, a shelf of jagged rocks extended out around Jackal’s Head Point. Depending on the tides, it could be farther out than expected at any given time, which was the reason the lighthouse had gone dark so long ago.
They sailed east from Jackal’s Head Point straight out to sea. Bri turned around to look at the lighthouse, and she watched it recede into the distance until finally, it disappeared. Just before sunset, Matt turned the Audrey Natalia inland and back toward Whittlebee.
As they came into the harbor, Matt worked quickly, expertly lowering the sails and turning on the engine to power slowly in. It was obvious he’d done this a thousand times—by himself. That realization made her a little sad. She helped as best she could, which equated to staying out of the way as much as possible, but occasionally Matt yelled out a command that she was actually able to execute.
Once the Audrey Natalia was secured in her slip, Matt turned to Bri.
“So how was it?”
There were no adequate words. “Matt, it was the best afternoon in…in…such a long time. You’re an amazing sailor. It was all so…” She searched for a word, and then she sighed. “Perfect.”
“Well, I thought you might need a little break. Actually, I needed a break too.”
“Oh, right. How is your finger?” she asked.
He’d practically forgotten about it. It wasn’t an injury of any consequence, as far he was concerned.
“Eh.” He looked at his bandaged finger. “Fine.” Then he added, “Are you hungry?”
“Like never before.”
He opened the refrigerator and leaned in to look inside. She lingered on the smooth skin of his arms, wondering if they felt as warm as they looked. He half turned to look at her over his shoulder.
“The choices are salad, sandwiches-or leftover spaghetti, and”—he pulled out a bottle—“I have wine.”
Flustered, she said, “Um…spaghetti. It always tastes better as a leftover.”
Funny, he thought as he pulled the container of spaghetti out; he’d always thought that too.
They sat on the deck, the Audrey Natalia bobbing peacefully on the water, and Bri, who had been very aware of the boat’s movement when she first came on board, barely felt it at all now. Her body moved in sync with the rhythm of the boat. Out of the blue, she began giggling, though neither of them had said a word for several minutes.
Matt looked at her. “What?”
She looked down into her bowl of spaghetti. One hand held the bowl, and the other held the fork she twirled.
“I have to apologize
.”
The memory of the horrible muffin had surfaced.
“For what?”
“For what you endured this morning,” she said, looking into her bowl, embarrassed. “I tasted one of the muffins. You should have said something. I must have forgotten…”
“The sugar.” They finished the sentence in unison.
“Right, the sugar,” she said, twirling spaghetti around her fork. “They were so bad.”
“No, they were horrible,” he said.
Bri’s mouth hung open, but there was a smile there.
“Believe it or not, people used to beg for my cookies and muffins all the time. The people at work and also my neighbor—she loved them. I swear they did. I used to bake all the time.”
“I believe you.”
She looked at him with narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” he stuffed a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and smiled at her.
“Well, I’ll just have to make more to prove it,” she said. “I guess I was distracted.”
“Yeah.”
He waited, wondering if she might volunteer more. He wanted to know what was bothering her. She looked much better, much more relaxed than earlier, but still so breakable.
“So is this a boat, or should I call it a ship?”
He laughed. “Boat. She’s not a ship. She actually qualifies as a yacht.”
“I thought yachts were only those big power boats,” she said.
“Well, technically any boat for pleasure is considered a yacht, and most sailboats are considered yachts, but today yacht pretty much refers to size.”
One of her eyebrows slowly arched up. He continued.
“In the range of thirty feet or more and five tons or more and if you were going for a loan, that’s what they consider a yacht.”