by Nancy Radke
He was in his second year of college when he had told Rochelle not to go water- skiing with a group of high school friends. They were too wild, too careless to handle night skiing. But he hadn’t stayed home to make sure she obeyed. She left right after he did—and drowned in the darkness.
His parents had returned from work to find a police car parked in front of their house. When Zack came home from his date, late at night, his father had turned angrily on him.
“Where were you?” his father had demanded. “Why did you let her go with them? Why didn’t you stop her? You were in charge.”
He had no defense. As the oldest child, he had always accepted the responsibility for his brothers and sisters. His date that night meant little. He could have easily skipped it.
He knew Rochelle had sneaked out on him before. Knew it and ignored it. He should have anticipated her rebellion.
He wasn’t going to let anything happen to Jennel. She was as strong-minded as Rochelle. She wasn’t really accident prone. Just impulsive. Still, it worried him. Maybe if he kept saying she was accident-prone, she would be more willing to leave the island.
Every day he had a harder time keeping his hands off her. Why on earth had he promised he wouldn’t touch her? When she knelt in front of him, bandaging his knee, he had to clamp his hands together— not from pain, but from desire. Her hands and her hair brushed against the oversensitive skin on his legs, setting him afire. Yet he had to act like he was unaffected. It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
If he ever made love to her, he would be unable to let her go. He would want more and more, like a person hooked on chocolate, savoring the sweetness of her, believing that it was doing him no harm. And it wouldn’t, until she left him.
She could do her outstanding design work just as well somewhere else. Somewhere safe, away from the island, like in Seattle.
Jennel. Her name was musical, like the low murmur of a wind passing through the trees. He loved to say it, to hear the word. He loved her accent. Playing chess with her had been the most fun he had had in a long time. He would love spending his free hours with her, getting to know her better, enjoying her delightful smile.
Zack pulled himself up short. The picture of his friend, Tony, intruded itself. Would Jennel be like Tony’s wife and hurry back to Boston as soon as she had stolen Zack’s heart? He didn’t think he could take a blow like that. Tony had never really recovered.
He put his hands over his eyes. He had better keep calling her “Boston.” It would help remind him that she wasn’t for him. He needed a lot of reminding lately. He had to get her off his boat before he fell completely under her spell.
The sun reflected off the water and blinded anyone foolish enough to look to the west. Zack had covered his eyes with his hands, although he wasn’t sitting where he could be blinded.
“Does it hurt worse?” Jennel asked, motioning toward his leg.
“No!” He sounded so grouchy, she offered to feed Brutus to get out of his way. Zack told her the amount of food necessary, then watched intently as she went about the simple task. The dog came at her call and gulped the huge portion down with concentrated effort, as if afraid someone might remove the bowl before he had finished.
“Why’d you call Clyde?” she asked. “Why not take your boat there yourself?”
“It’d be dark before we got to Friday Harbor. Clyde’s got radar, which I don’t have, and knows the reefs and the millions of stray rocks out here. The best of skippers can go aground if he gets careless. Even the ferries get stuck now and then.”
“I see.” The water looked deep, but Clyde had shown her the charts when he brought her out. There were rocks and shoals and narrow channels aplenty.
“And with you along, I’d be sure to hit something.”
The funny thing was, he sounded dead serious when he said it. He didn’t believe it, did he? Jennel forbore asking him, not really wanting to know the answer.
He was a contradictory person. At moments, he acted as if he thoroughly enjoyed her company, then a minute later, he would be talking about getting rid of her.
Stretching idly on the seat, he put his leg up on its curved back. “Get your things together,” he drawled. “You can go over with us; save me making a trip tomorrow.”
Her countenance fell. He was as determined to get her off this island as she was to stay. It appeared to be a losing battle— for her.
“Won’t you need help tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.
“Not from you,” he countered. “I’ll hire some men in Friday Harbor to cut up that tree and move it. The chopper will bring in the backhoe, and we should get the trench dug for the cables by tomorrow night. Might even get them laid down and covered over.”
“I could go out with the helicopter,” Jennel suggested brightly. “I’ve never been in one before.” She would cling to even one more night here, irrationally, for she knew one single night wouldn’t make any difference to either of them. Still, it seemed so important that she stay.
Even though she knew she wouldn’t be much help to him with his injured leg, she was unwilling to leave. He was tough, independent, and capable. He didn’t need her unwanted sympathy. Yet there was a strong pull, a tenacious desire to remain that Jennel couldn’t shake.
She might as well have asked Brutus. At least he appreciated being fed and talked to.
“No. Get ready. And fix your hair,” Zack said curtly, as if the sight of it down bothered him immensely.
Jennel had unbraided it in the shower. She always let it down at night. “Why? I’ll just have to undo it again.”
“Fix it anyway!” he demanded.
Perhaps it was just as well she was leaving. If he couldn’t even stand her hair being down, she must be as bothersome to him as a persistent mosquito!
It was quite a chore to do. She’d always been proud of her hair, but if it was going to bother people, especially him— “Maybe I ought to cut it off,” she sighed, vocalizing her thoughts. “I’ve been think—”
“Cut it? No! Why do you want to cut it?” he exclaimed, his eyes clearly astonished at the idea that she would consider such a thing.
Vexed, she glared at him. Normally he was so logical. “It’s...such a bother...and you don’t like it—”
“I said nothing about whether I liked it or not!”
“But, but you said—” She was bewildered and bit her lips.
“You’re reading me wrong. It’s beautiful hair.”
“But you want me to braid it up?”
“Yes.” He nodded sharply. “For Clyde.”
Her bewilderment increased. “What does he have to do with my hair?”
“I want...I just...Oh, forget it,” he grumbled and stared off into space, eyes fixed on a point beyond the small stovetop.
Maybe he liked long hair, but only in braids—and didn’t want his friend to see it down. “If you really want me to braid it, I will.” She didn’t mind, and if it kept him from having a heart attack, she would do it.
“Good.”
Men! She’d never understand them. She took out her long comb and began to attack her hair. He watched, growing more agitated as she carelessly parted it.
“Here, let me,” he said. The request was so unexpected that Jennel wondered if she had heard right.
“I can do it,” she protested, not in the mood to grant any favors whatsoever to him, although her shoulders ached terribly when she lifted her arms.
“I know, but let me anyway.” He didn’t plead with her, just stated it in such a way that it sounded like it was something he really wanted to do.
It would be nice if he wanted to braid it because he liked doing it, although it probably irritated him so much while it was down, he was impatient to get it back up.
She shrugged, then moved to sit on the floor with her back to him as he gently combed through the long black tresses, not quite dry yet.
Closing her eyes with a smile, she soaked up the stroking sensations, as co
ntented as Brutus whenever someone patted his silky head.
She always loved having her hair worked on and this was pure bliss, sending shivers coursing merrily, one after another, down her spine. His strong fingers carefully yet firmly separated the strands before braiding them together into the long coil.
“Do they still have witches in Boston?” he asked suddenly.
“Why, n—” It was a question that one couldn’t answer with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and she barely caught herself before doing so. “They never did have.”
He laughed, a low throaty chuckle of pleasure that sent an answering echo tingling through her. “I bet—”
She never did learn what it was he bet because the radio crackled, coming to life with Zack’s name. He handed her the end of the braid, at the same time meeting her eyes with the quiet, contented look of someone who has discovered some rich truth. She hesitated, wondering what it meant, before going to get the mike. Perhaps Zack had come to some decision— like getting rid of her for good.
There seemed to be nothing she could do about it.
Chapter Nine
Clyde was calling with good news and bad. He couldn’t come, but he had contacted a doctor on Stuart Island who was already on his way and would be there in a few minutes.
“Thanks,” Zack replied cordially. “You’ll still need to get Jennel. Be here first thing in the morning.”
“That I will...as soon as I get my radar running again. Tell Jennel, ‘Happy fishing.’ “
“Fishing?” Zack queried as he handed her the microphone to put back among the array of instruments.
“He keeps telling me I should do some fishing while I’m here. I guess everyone fishes when they get in this area.”
This time there was no lift in her spirits. She could stay another night, but a sad, heavy heart suppressed her spirit. Zack didn’t want her.
The chance to finish her elevations of the dining area and redo the one destroyed when the tree fell, gave her no joy.
She carelessly pinned the braid in place and listened, with some irritation, to Zack’s off-tune whistle. At least he sounded happy.
The doctor arrived shortly thereafter, and Jennel helped him tie up his boat. He was a lean, good-natured man who cruised the islands whenever he could, maintaining a vacation cabin as a base of operation.
He sprayed some local anesthetic onto the worst gash, sewed it up with a deft hand, and bandaged Zack’s knee, talking all the time. It made him happy to see this little island being fixed up and made habitable once again.
At Zack’s insistence, he checked Jennel’s back and shoulders, saying she appeared only to be deeply bruised. His visit was short but thorough, and Zack paid him, for them both, before he left.
While Zack sharpened the saw, Jennel got her duffel bag and took it with her up to the old house when she went to finish washing the dishes. It took up a lot of room in the boat. Until she heard from the Van Chattans, she wasn’t going to start stripping linoleum or do anything of that nature, so she might as well leave the bag in the house. It would also be nice not to have to run down to the boat for a change of clothes whenever she took a shower.
It was stuffy inside the large kitchen, so she opened a window near the sink. The screen was torn, but at this time of year there were few flying insects.
Zack must think she was a Jonah, bringing him bad luck, hence his crack about witches in Boston. It wasn’t her fault that things kept going wrong.
Laughing softly to herself, she ran hot water into the pan. Zack couldn’t get rid of her. How frustrated he must be.
What would he do if he ever found out she had asked Clyde to stay away? Several possibilities came to mind—none pleasant— and she shrugged them off as she finished drying the pans. Leaving the kitchen as neat as possible, she picked up her case containing her color boards and took them back with her. Then she sat on the deck in the last of the light and worked on the damaged elevations, redoing the one destroyed. To make a copy was not too much effort, since the decisions had all been made.
Zack finished and came to sit beside her, seemingly content to watch quietly as she worked, head bent, the long braid now draped down her back. It was a particularly harmonious time of day, with the sun setting red upon the water and the sky purple and pink and—right above where the sun vanished—a clear, pure, luminescent robin’s egg blue, a color impossible to duplicate with paint.
It would be wonderful if they could always share this peace, Jennel thought, marveling at the clarity of the colors in the fragrant air. She had somehow acquired an extra sensitive awareness of sight and sound and smell. Even her skin tingled— on the side where he was sitting.
Zack’s presence effectively sidetracked her train of thought, making her prone to shaky lines and mismatched colors. It was a new experience, and she took it as an indicator of the power of his attraction. At least she was past the age of being tongue- tied when a good-looking male came her way, but the degree of awareness was a strong warning signal as to where her emotions were headed.
And more and more she wanted to release those emotions and follow them. Follow them into those strong arms of his, feel the power of his lips against hers. In spite of the mixed signals she was receiving from him, Jennel felt that Zack was attracted to her...when she stayed out of trouble, and when she wasn’t messing up his things.
To fall in love with him could be so easy, so unwise. If she dropped the restraint she had practiced so far, Zack would take that as a sign of surrender. He would accept her love for a night or two, but still send her away when Clyde came. Of that, she was sure.
If only Zack wasn’t so authoritative; if only she felt like she could talk to him— tell him her problems. She wanted his sympathy, not his advice or criticism. She knew how her father reacted to the problems her mother shared with him. A long lecture first on what she should have done, then advice on how to take care of it, most of what her mother already knew. And after all that, he usually took care of the problem himself.
Just like Zack had done when the tree fell. Her emotions weren’t up to his rejection. If he fell in love with her, maybe he wouldn’t want to send her away, but she couldn’t take that chance. Jennel didn’t want a fleeting affair with any man, even Zack.
With the sun gone, a full moon appeared to light the scene. From the boat they could watch both raccoons and rabbits coming down to the water with their families. The sea birds fished while the shore birds scavenged near the beach. The night was wonderfully peaceful.
It was a time of heightened activity among the wild things, and Jennel put her brush aside to watch and listen to their plaintive calls. She was finished with her work. It had not been a particularly difficult view to re-create.
“Those are very good,” Zack commented as he relaxed near her, making Jennel smile proudly. “But why do you draw in some of the furniture in such detail, while others are mere suggestions?”
Oh, oh...! She heard another warning signal ringing loudly in her mind, knowing Zack was about to learn something else he didn’t know.
“Well?” he prompted, unsuspecting.
Her voice was soft, hesitant, as she tried to soften the impact. “Because...well, because those are the pieces she already has.”
“What?” His body shot out of its relaxed pose. It was as good a double take as she’d ever seen. “John didn’t mention bringing any furniture. In fact, he asked me to furnish the house totally. Appliances, furniture, everything. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but I’m very sure. Some she had already and others we bought before I left New York.”
He looked skyward in a pained appeal for strength. “You’re sorry? How many pieces?”
“Why...twenty-five, I think.” And just so he knew the worse—he might as well hear it all at once—Jennel continued matter-of-factly. “It cost quite a lot to ship them out here.”
“You already shipped them?” He stood up abruptly, then plopped down again.
“
Yes.”
He shook his head. “Why ship them out to a derelict house?”
“I didn’t know that.” Incensed, she raised her voice, frightening a sea gull that had settled on the boat’s rail. The matter had effectively destroyed their fragile peace. “When I—”
“You should’ve made it a point to know!” he retorted, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Now we’re going to have to find some place to store them or send them back—”
“Will you listen!” she interrupted rudely. She could do that, too. He wasn’t the only one inconvenienced by the Van Chattans. If she went any more into the hole, she might as well pull the top in over her.
Zack pressed his lips tightly shut. As long as she had him listening—however reluctantly—he was going to hear her side of things. It was time he knew.
Biting her words off sharply, her finger stressing each point, Jennel laid it out for him. “Mrs. Van Chattan paid for the shipping. She said the place was habitable; that it had been lived in during the past year.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She made no mention at all of the work you’re planning. She gave me the feeling her husband was letting her choose the things for the house. We decided I could store things out here as reasonably as I could in New York, if I had to. All I could go on was what she told me, so don’t blame me so much!”
Surprisingly her tirade calmed him down completely, and he passed a hand through his dark brown hair as if seeking enlightenment. “Huh!” he snorted, disgustedly.
In response to his calmness, Jennel felt the fiery anger lift from her temper and her voice dropped an octave as she observed, “She rarely mentioned him. This whole thing is as much a shock, and as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Don’t think you’re the only one wondering what’s going on. Could be he’s planning to surprise her.”
He gave her an upward, speculating glance. “Maybe so.”
“Or,” she added, as the grim possibility hit her, “maybe he’s planning a divorce, and she doesn’t know anything about it. What if he intends to live in this house without her?”