Nancy
Dilemma: a difficult situation in which you have to choose between two or more alternatives
“People have noticed your car parked outside the house. There’s been gossip. I hope it doesn’t bother you.” She handed him a mug of coffee. Far too strong for her tastes, but it was the way he liked it. It struck her that she knew any number of small things about him—that he liked his coffee black, his beer cold, that he hated mushrooms, rarely bothered wearing a sweater no matter how hard the wind blew, preferred to work with the windows open—but none of the big things.
“Why would it bother me?”
“Most people care what others think.”
He took a mouthful of coffee and slowly lowered the mug. It was obvious from his expression that he didn’t give a damn.
It was one of the many things she liked and admired about him. “You don’t care. I realized that five years ago.” At the time she’d thought it strange that he’d been the one to come to her rescue. She’d never been the type to dream about a hero riding to the aid of a damsel in distress, but even if she had, she never would have cast Scott Rhodes in the key role. It seemed more likely that he would have been the one to put the damsel in a state of distress in the first place.
And yet—
“I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. You’re the only one who knows. Unbelievable really that you, a stranger, know my most intimate secret. I protected my family from all of it.” She’d always protected them. It was the one thing she’d done right as a mother.
He put the mug down and turned back to the job in hand, restoring her window frames.
There were people on the island who talked so much you wondered if death might come before the end of the conversation. And then there was Scott.
He’d always been more of a listener than a talker.
She’d watched in fascination over the weeks as he’d taken apart the sash frames and put them back together. He’d dug out paint and caulk, oiled wood, and secured the glass in the sash. A surgeon operating on a child couldn’t have taken more care.
Not that she’d ever doubted his skills. He knew wood like she knew paint.
He’d built the Morton’s boat a few summers before and a library for Sandra Telford. She hadn’t stopped boasting about it, although she’d whispered that she’d hidden the silver while he was working.
That comment had annoyed Nancy. To the best of her knowledge there had been just the one incident, many years before, where Scott had taken a boat that hadn’t belonged to him. The boat had been returned without a scrape or a scratch, but the police had been involved.
Everyone made mistakes, didn’t they? She’d made major mistakes.
She’d snapped at Sandra and received a curious glance in return.
If Sandra remembered that and happened to notice Scott’s pickup parked outside, she’d probably put two and two together and make six.
Funny to think she and Sandra had once been close. They’d sat side by side in school and told each other everything, two people who had naively thought they were confiding in each other but in truth had nothing of importance to share. Then Sandra had married Bill and Nancy had married Tom and they’d drifted apart.
“I’m only mentioning it now because things have happened that will mean it won’t stay a secret for much longer. I’ve never thanked you properly for what you did—” She broke off. “Or for not talking. You could have made things very awkward for me.”
He reached up to the window and his shirt pulled tight over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. “Why would I have done that?”
“Because that’s what most people would have done. One person tells another, then it trickles through the community and before you know it, the trickle is a stream and the stream flows faster until it bursts its banks. Privacy on an island this size isn’t easy.” Although it was possible, if you worked at it. “That’s probably the reason you choose to live on the water and not on land.”
He didn’t comment on that, but she saw a gleam in his eyes that could have been humor.
In all the weeks he’d been working on the house, she’d never once found his presence intrusive. She didn’t know exactly when he was going to turn up, but she never complained when he did. And it wasn’t only because the work he was doing needed doing so badly, it was because she liked having him around. It made her feel less alone, which made no sense at all because she was an intelligent woman and perfectly aware that she’d never been more alone in her life.
Perhaps she felt comfortable with Scott because he already knew everything there was to know about her, all the parts she’d successfully hidden from everyone else. He knew her failures and her weaknesses. Having nothing left to hide was surprisingly liberating.
She stared at the room they’d been working on. “There are so many imperfections in the walls of this place.”
“Not every imperfection needs fixing.” He wiped his palm on the faded fabric of his jeans. “Sometimes you have to accept the flaw and live with it.”
Were they still talking about the house?
One of the reasons she’d employed him was because he understood the difference between restoration and renovation. He respected the unique details of the original building.
“It’s old, but it has good bones. Like me.” She made the joke, and then felt awkward.
“If you’re worried about the walls, you could paint something to hang there.”
Her heart bumped hard. “I haven’t painted since that night.” Something else she hadn’t told her daughters. Occasionally she spattered paint on her fingers so that Jenna didn’t ask questions. The truth was she hadn’t been to her studio in five years. The drive that had powered her whole life, her existence, was gone. And she missed it. She missed its healing powers, its ability to transport her to a different place. Painting had been a sanctuary, and now her life felt bare and cold.
She turned back to him. “I’ve often wondered why you helped me that night.” She knew she’d never forget it. Not a single, hideous moment. It had been a night of surprises, all of them bad.
He wiped his hands on the cloth he kept tucked into his jeans. “I sailed a boat. I didn’t save the world.”
He’d saved her world.
“You sailed a boat in a hurricane. There was no one else in the air or on the water.”
“If I hadn’t done it, you would have found someone else to take you.”
She knew she wouldn’t.
She’d been desperate.
Scott Rhodes had been her last resort and despite his casual, dismissive treatment of the subject, she suspected he knew that.
“Why did you do it?” It was something she’d asked herself repeatedly, mostly when she was trying to distract herself from everything that had happened. She thought about the mountainous seas and the terrifying howl of the wind. At the time it had seemed as if nature had been reflecting her mood. “Why did you risk your life for me that night?”
“You paid me.”
“Hardly enough for you to risk your life.” She eyed the rip in his jeans. “And you’re not driven by financial interests. You have no responsibilities. No mortgage. No family.”
“You needed help.” He turned back to the wood, smoothing the surface with his hand, his movements slow and sure.
He’d been the same that night. Everything about him had been calm and measured. She’d been terrified, not only by the storm sent by nature but by the one going on inside her, and by the knowledge that the truth was about to be exposed, despite all her efforts. Something about his steadying presence had helped her hold her emotions together.
“You’re kind, but you prefer to let people think you’re moody and a little dangerous. It’s your way of keeping them at a distance.” And she could understand it. There were plenty of people she’d like to keep at a distance. Maybe she should start saying less and scowling more.
She sank onto the chair and saw his quick frown of concern.
There it was again, the kindness he tried to hide.
“We might have to postpone some of the work we were planning. My daughter is arriving soon.” And because there was no one else she could confide in, she confided in him. “I have to tell her the truth. I’ve dreaded this moment. I really hoped it would never come.”
He put down the plane and straightened. “I assume you’re not talking about the state of your window frames.”
“I’m talking about the state of my life. It’s going to be a shock for my daughters, particularly Lauren. She’s been living in England for the past sixteen years.” It made her heart ache to think of what her oldest daughter must be going through right now. “It’s ironic, don’t you think? Just when I think I’ve reached a stage in life where I have no one to worry about but myself, my daughter’s world collapses.”
How much should she tell the girls? How much could she hold back?
The truth came in different sizes, didn’t it? She could tell an extrasmall truth, veracity’s equivalent of a size zero, or she could perhaps offer up a medium. Let’s face it, the whole truth and nothing but the truth—an extralarge truth with a side of blunt—would swamp everyone.
Scott had stopped work and there was a deep furrow in his brow. “How has her world collapsed?”
She sensed she had his full attention and wondered why.
“Her husband died a few weeks ago. It was sudden. And complicated. Turns out he owed a great number of people a large amount of money.” Were they cursed as a family? First she’d been widowed, and now Lauren. How much should she say? What if Lauren didn’t want the whole community knowing her private details? Not that Scott could be described as chatty even at the best of times.
“She’s coming home permanently?” There was a roughness to his tone that hadn’t been there before.
“She needs support.” Should she have insisted on going to the funeral? Lauren had put her off and Nancy hadn’t been able to decide if her presence would make things worse or better. She’d been in an agony of indecision. “She has a child. My granddaughter is sixteen. It’s a terrible age to lose a father.”
His jaw tightened and he seemed about to say something.
She waited, perplexed by his response, but instead of speaking he turned away suddenly, leaving her with the feeling that she’d said the wrong thing.
The problem with not knowing someone well was that you had no idea which subjects to broach and which to avoid.
She knew little about Scott’s family history, although his lifestyle didn’t suggest the presence of a warm, loving family lurking in the wings. She’d heard rumors of foster care and a troubled upbringing.
Maybe he’d lost his father, too. Maybe that was it.
“My daughter is arriving on the ferry this afternoon. Could you give me a ride? I know it’s a lot to ask, but the garage still has my car.” Maybe she was overstepping, but it seemed like the best solution to her. Greg was working and Jenna couldn’t possibly take more time off. “She’ll have luggage and you have room in your pickup. I’ll pay you, obviously. Or maybe I should get a cab—”
“I’ll do it.” He picked up his tool belt. “I don’t want payment.”
“I insist that—”
“I don’t want payment.” Something in his tone stopped her arguing.
“In that case, thank you.”
Once again Scott would be by her side while she tackled something she was dreading.
This time they weren’t sailing into a hurricane, but she knew there was every possibility that the landscape of her life would be entirely altered by what was about to hit.