Erin spent a restless night alone in Spence's house. She read in bed until after midnight, then tossed and turned for several more hours. She didn't like to lose control, but every conversation she had with him left her reeling. She could deny the attraction, but Spence conjured feelings she'd prefer to ignore. On one hand, he flattered her with his cajoling and flirtatious manner. On the other, he infuriated her with his indolence and lack of concern.
Most of her clients were scholars, compulsive obsessive types she understood since she experienced a mild version of the disorder. She needed control, and it distressed her that Spence couldn't care less.
She crawled out of bed the next morning, bleary eyed and resentful. She played her cell phone messages while she ate a bowl of cereal. Aidan left another communication, this one belligerent and demanding she return his call. With grim satisfaction, she punched in his phone number. When he answered, she snarled at him. "What gives you the right to call me and tell me what to do? Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?"
Confused, Aidan apologized. "I'm sorry, Erin. I was worried about you. I haven't heard from you in several days. I didn't know if you were all right or not."
She closed her eyes in resignation. "I know. It's okay. I've had a rough couple days and I'm tired. My client is not the easiest person to work with," she said, rubbing her forehead.
"Why don't you pass on this job and come home?" he asked.
"No, I'm not going to do that," she said, taking a deep breath as she defended her decision. "Patricia depends upon me to get the job done, even if it means working with the obstinate ones," she said, referring to difficult clients.
"Well, I'm here if you need to talk," Aidan offered.
His soothing voice calmed her and they spoke about his work in the lab. She let him lead the conversation, not wanting to talk about Stephen Spence and his unsettling behavior. She rang off with a promise to call him in a couple days. Despite the hurt and disappointment he'd caused during the final year of their marriage, she still cared for Aidan.
She decided a stroll would help clear the cobwebs, so she slipped on a pair of flip-flops and walked out the door to the deck. She left the screen door unlocked this time and after several minutes of searching, found the trail through the sea grass that led to the beach.
When she reached the shore, she walked in the waves, her flip flops dangling in her hand. She walked about a half a mile, before turning back. When she neared the house, she paused in the shallows, letting the waves bury her feet in the sand. She felt the tiny coquina shells tickling her toes. She startled, jumping out of the sand when a soft voice spoke next to her.
"I like do that too," the small boy said. He kicked off his sandals and rolled his pants legs over his knees. Then he walked into the shallows and wiggled his toes until the sand covered them. He chortled, which brought his black-and-white border collie careening over the sand dune. The frisky dog joined the fun, bouncing in the water and splashing Erin and the boy. They laughed together at its antics.
The boy measured her, approval in his brilliant blue eyes. "I like the way you laugh," he said. "My name is Jonathan. What's yours?"
"My name is Erin," she said, smiling at the imp. "I'm visiting Mr. Spence."
"I know him. He lives in the big gray house," Jonathan said. "He's a nice man. My daddy likes him a lot."
"Yes, he is a nice man," she agreed, looking around. "Where's your daddy? Isn't he here with you today?"
At that moment, she heard Jonathan's father calling for him. The little boy looked sheepish. "Over here, Daddy," he called.
He turned to Erin, a frown darkening his face. "I forgot to tell him me and Moxie were playing outside. Boy, I'm going to be in trouble now."
Erin watched as his father crested the dune, lifting a hand in welcome. She hoped he didn't assume the worst. That she was a monster trying to steal his child. The little boy understood and slipped his small hand into hers. "Don't worry. He's not mean. I'm not really in trouble," he said.
As his father approached, he called out, "Hi Daddy. This is Erin. She lives next door with Mr. Spence." He whistled the last word through a missing front tooth.
Erin blushed at the words from the mouth of babes. "Well, I'm really not living there," she said as the man stepped closer. "I'm just visiting." Her voice trailed off when he stopped, towering over her. She looked into sad eyes, and melted. The man bent and picked up his son. Erin let go of his little hand and watched as the man hugged the child tight to his chest, his eyes closing in relief.
"Don't ever do that again," he whispered into his son's ear.
"I won't, Daddy," the little boy whispered back.
Erin couldn't help herself. She clasped her hands to her chest, her lips parting as she gasped at the poignancy. She shivered when he glanced over his son's head and caught her staring. He backed away, then swung the boy onto his hip. He snapped his fingers and Moxie sat at his feet, a ball of quivering, silky fur.
Jonathan rested his head on his father's shoulder and turned towards Erin. "Isn't she pretty, Daddy? Like Mommy."
Erin blinked. She swallowed. She couldn't speak. Spence told her about the family's tragedy and to be face-to-face with people who'd experienced such horror overwhelmed her. With the exception of her divorce, her life was a happy one filled with work and satisfaction. She'd never lost a loved one, with the exception of Aidan. But even he wouldn't go away.
The man dipped his head, his blonde hair falling in his face and shielding his eyes. Erin watched him bite his lip, noting the indentation there. He bit his lip a lot.
She stepped aside and turned towards the water. "Well, I've got to be going now. It was nice to meet you, Jonathan. And you too, Moxie," she said, bending to pat the dog's head. It lifted its muzzle and grinned at her. "Goodbye."
As moved towards the house, the man spoke. "I'm Paul Shepherd," he said, extending a hesitant hand to shake hers. Erin paused and placed her hand in his. He pulled his hand back as if burned, then looked away.
She touched her chest. "Erin Andersen. I'm working with Mr. Spence on a project, so I'll probably see you around." She glanced at her watch. "Well, I've got to be going now. It was nice meeting you both."
As she retreated, she heard the boy whisper to his father, then he yelled, "Bye! See you tomorrow." She lifted a hand to wave, then slogged through the sand and sea oats back to the house.
Once inside, she peeked through the window and watched the small family walk the shoreline, hand-in-hand. The dog ran ahead and made them laugh as it pranced in the waves. Soon, they were out of sight. Erin exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. She didn't know how to act around people who'd lost a loved one. She felt awkward and uncomfortable, worrying she would do or say the wrong thing.
She heard the front door open and a high-pitched voice call out, "Yoo hoo. Anybody home?"
Erin leaned towards the hall and watched as an older woman came into the house, closing the door behind her. She tossed her large straw beach bag on the floor next to the door. "Spence? Are you up?"
The woman saw Erin and froze. "Well, hello there," she said, a smile creasing her tanned, lined face. "Don't mind me. I'm Abby, the housekeeper. I'll be in and out in no time."
Erin blushed. "No, that's okay. Take your time," she told the woman. "Mr. Spence isn't here right now."
When Abby winked at her, she realized she'd only confirmed the woman's suspicions.
"No, what I mean is, I'm working with Mr. Spence. I'm here temporarily."
Abby bustled into the hallway and pressed on a panel, revealing a hidden closet. She withdrew a broom and a bucket with cleaning supplies tucked in it. Erin moved to the far side of the island when Abby came into the kitchen. The woman settled into her routine silently, lifting the dirty cereal bowl out of the sink and opening the dishwasher.
Erin rushed to her side. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's my bowl. I'll wash it and put it away," she apologized.
Abby stood, placing her hand on her back. She pinned dark brown eyes on Erin. "Are you planning on cleaning everything before I get a chance to?"
Erin shook her head, frozen in the woman's glare like a deer in headlights.
"Good. Because it's my job, not yours. You go about whatever business you got here and I'll go about mine," the woman compromised. She looked around with suspicion. "Where is the rascal?"
"Fishing."
Abby blew a puff of air then rolled her eyes. "Typical. And he just left you here alone? When's he coming back?
"Tonight."
"Mmmm hmmm." Abby studied Erin, flicking her knowing eyes up and down, noting her casual clothes and sandy feet. "Well, listen here ..., what did you say your name was?"
"Erin."
"Mmmm hmmm, well, listen here Erin. I come by twice a week and it takes me a couple hours to get things straight here. Spence isn't a pig, so I'm in and out. I don't talk to him. He don't talk to me. We stay out of each other's way and that's the way we like it. No offense, but I can't work with someone standing over my shoulder. You got something else to do? Somewhere else to go?"
"No."
Abby shook her head in resignation.
"Actually, I do have somewhere to go," Erin said, backing up and pointing a thumb. "I'll be back later. You'll probably be gone by then."
She raced into her room for her handbag and fished out the car keys. Geesh, between a missing client, an irate ex-husband, a playful little boy and a bossy cleaning woman, Erin didn't know which direction to go.
She decided to enlist Becky's help once she reached the car. She plugged in the GPS receiver and punched buttons, searching for local shops and restaurants. A few minutes later, she drove on Route 12 heading into the small village of Ocracoke. She parked near the harbor, and decided to pass on renting a bike. Instead, she walked and enjoyed the sights. After a long visit to the bookstore, she stopped by the local coffee shop for a beverage and a bagel. Refreshed, she visited the local art galleries and antique stores. After hours of walking, she stopped by the ice cream store, but the harried staff ignored her and she waited ten minutes for someone to take her order. She finally got service and asked for a cone of strawberry ice cream. Then she ambled to the harbor and visited the fish house, watching as local watermen unloaded their catches into large, ice-filled coolers. The ice cream melted in the warm spring afternoon, dripping down her hand and onto the pier. A pelican waddled around her, turning its head to stare quizzically at the dripping mass of pink napkins in her fist.
"No, it's not a fish," Erin said, shaking her hand over a trashcan and depositing the slimy mess. "But it's just as nasty," she added.
Above her head, sea gulls screeched and floated, having followed the fishing boats into the harbor. She squinted into the bright light, then realized she hadn't used sunscreen again. Her arms and legs were pink and the back of her neck was getting red. She ducked into a gift shop and walked up and down the air conditioned aisles looking for sunscreen and a baseball cap. After shelling out more than twenty dollars for the over-priced island merchandise, she continued to explore the village.
She chatted with shop owners, including several who carried signed, limited edition prints by "Ocracoke's own Stephen Spence."
"He is such a sweetheart," one older woman said, adding with a wicked grin, "If I were thirty years younger, I'd give him a run for his money."
The assistant manager, an old man, nudged the owner. "You mean forty years."
She laughed, the clear sound ringing through the gallery. "Who's counting? That man is something else."
Erin's tugged the corners of her grimace into a crooked smile and continued browsing the shop. She had to admit, Spence's prints were spectacular and the most impressive art inventory the local shops carried. His skill surpassed other local painters, whose work hung in the back of most shops.
The afternoon slipped away and soon shops were closing for the evening. Erin made a loop around the harbor before heading back to her car. She inhaled the aroma of two-cycle engine oil, diesel, salt spray and fish. Then, she heard a familiar laugh in the distance and stumbled over a sloppy dock line, coiled around a cleat. When she regained her footing, she looked around until she heard the sound again. Three piers over, a shirtless Stephen Spence unloaded fishing poles from a large, white fishing boat. It had a tall structure crowned with radar dishes and antennas, making the boat look top heavy.
Erin made her way towards Spence, pausing at the entrance of the pier where a sign warned trespassers to stay clear of the private boats. As she hesitated, Spence jumped from the boat and handed a cooler to a tall, dark-haired man with a hawk nose. She couldn't hear their conversation but they laughed once more and the tall man walked away, heading Erin's way. Behind him, Spence caught a glimpse of her and waved.
"Well, hey there sweetheart. Come on down and look at my boat," he invited.
Erin passed the tall man with a brief nod, then continued on to Spence.
As she approached him, he called out, "Nomar! Hey man, make sure you rub those fillets with olive oil before you blacken them."
Erin paused. Nomar? As in Nomar Garcioparra? Oh well.
As she approached Spence, she noticed his sun-streaked hair was tousled by the wind and he wore a pair of sunglasses. His feet were bare and he wore a faded, torn pair of board shorts. He looked liked a beach bum, with the emphasis on "bum."
He looked gorgeous.
Spence jumped back on the boat and held a hand for her, waiting for her to close the short distance. "Come on aboard," he said, cupping his hand in invitation. "I'm still putting things away. You can help."
Erin put her hand in his and stepped onto the gunwale of the boat. It rocked and she felt her balance shift. Afraid she would fall between the boat and the pier, she squeaked. Spence caught her around the waist and plucked her from her perch. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I gotcha."
On solid footing, Erin backed out of his arms. "I'm not your sweetheart," she growled, tossing her handbag onto a nearby cushion.
Spence laughed until a coughing fit started, then he punched his chest a couple times. "Man," he said, tears coming to his eyes. "I'm not used to those Cuban cigars."
Erin frowned. "I didn't know you smoked."
But Spence was heading to the bow of the boat and didn't hear her. She watched as he hoisted a yellow and white bait bucket, water rushing from its holes. He slid a hand inside and pulled out several shrimp. Looking up, he caught sight of a fat old pelican waiting on the pier. Spence tossed the shrimp and the pelican caught them with ease. As soon as he reached back into the bucket, sea gulls spotted him and began to circle. He tossed the unused bait, one shrimp at a time, into the air and the gulls caught each one. He threw one last handful to the pelican, then dumped the water from the bucket.
He untied the bucket's line from the stanchion and returned aft, where Erin waited. As he walked past her, she noticed a fine white powder dusting the freckles scattered on his shoulders and back. "What is that stuff?" she asked.
At his confused look, she wiped a finger on him and held it up.
"Ah, salt," he said. "Haven't had a shower in a couple days."
Erin looked at her finger and then rubbed it on the leg of her shorts, her lip curling. She put her hands on her hips and turned in a semi-circle watching as he moved around the boat, closing lockers, retying fenders, testing dock lines. She spied the ladder leading to the super structure. "May I go up there?" she asked, pointing.
At his nod, she started up the ladder. When she neared the top, she turned and caught him watching. "Are you looking at my bum again?"
"Yes ma'am," he said. "You've got nice legs."
She shook her head, not as disgusted as she'd like to pretend. "Well don't." She climbed the ladder and pulled herself into the small caged area where a white captain's chair faced an enormous panel filled with electronic gauges. She sat in the chair and swiveled, enjoying the view of the harbor and marina from above. She had to admit, it was pretty cool. From her new vantage point, Erin studied Spence as he cleaned the boat. She admired the corded muscles of his arms and back as he hefted a plastic garbage bag onto the pier. It clunked with the distinct sound of empty cans and bottles.
"Hope you're hungry," he called out.
"Why? Are you taking me out to dinner again?"
"Nah, got some fresh fish," he said. "We caught some tuna."
"And you're telling me this because ...?" Erin let the question taper off, emphasizing her lack of interest in fresh fish.
Spence mounted the steps to the structure, then leaned first one way, then the next, making the boat list. Erin clutched the captain's chair, unsettled by the slight rocking motion. "Quit that!" she demanded. "It's not funny."
He jumped off the ladder and laughed again. "You're a prissy thing, aren't ya? Don't like fish. Don't like rocking boats. What else you don't like?"
"Lazy people!" she spat, then swung onto the ladder and clambered down. "Bullies. Pigs. Jerks," she continued before reaching the bottom and turning to face Spence. "Want me to go on?"
He held his hands up, palms out. "Truce," he begged. "I'm sorry for scaring you."
Erin crossed her arms and frowned at him. "You didn't scare me."
"Maybe. Just a little," he suggested.
She glanced around as if interested in anything except him. "Where's Mike Wolfson? I thought you went out with him? And that other guy?"
"Karl," he supplied. "I let them off at Kitty Hawk. Saves 'em a ferry ride. So, how you know Mike?"
Erin picked up her handbag. "He's from my hometown. He went to school with my sister. Now, show me the best way to get off the boat, please."
Spence scooped her in his arms, stepped onto the gunwale and then down to the pier in one fluid motion.
Erin gasped and clutched at his arms, her hands slipping on the salty residue. "How dare you," she sputtered.
"You asked for the best way. I showed ya," he said. He tossed a cooler onto his shoulder. "Hand me that trash bag," he added.
Erin lifted the bag by the yellow plastic ties, hefted it, then gave it to him. "I'm amazed you caught any fish. Is this thing filled with beer bottles and cans?"
"Aw nah," he assured her. "We don't drink that much. There's some water bottles in there and soda. I'd never drive 'Belinda' drunk."
She followed in his wake, looking back at the boat's transom and the rich illustration there of a pinup girl and the name "Belinda."
She couldn't resist. "Who's Belinda?"
"My first grade teacher," he said. "You never forget your first love."
------------------------------ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ --------------------------
Hey, what's up? I hope you're enjoying my book. Please don't forget to vote, comment, share! Thank you so much!