A Dolphin's Gift (2 page)

The mechanic
offered to lock the van in the garage overnight and check the engine the next
day. Nellie contemplated the hodgepodge of clothes, boxes and bags inside the
van and the assorted pieces piled on the luggage rack, and gratefully agreed.
Noticing a blinking yellow VACANCY sign on the opposite side of the highway,
she handed Mike their overnight bags, took Katy by the leash, and headed for
the modest, mom-and-pop motel, hoping they’d allow pets. To her relief, they
did, and before long, all three of them were nestled in bed.

The following
morning, the attendant told her to check back in a day or two for a repair
estimate. Luckily they were in walking distance of the marina. Nellie carried a
suitcase in one hand with Katy's leash wrapped around her wrist, and a sleeping
bag under her other arm, and with the other hand she towed a bag on wheels, and
Mike toted a sleeping bag under one arm and lugged a large bag on wheels behind
him. As they set out, Nellie scanned the area for the mystery car, not
expecting to see it, but to her surprise, and alarm, she saw a tan, four-door,
older-model Ford parked on a side street, just around the corner from the motel
where they stayed. Although she wasn't certain it was the same car, she
recorded the license number.

After a
burdensome walk, they reached the docks where boathouses with enclosed slips
and apartments above stretched out in one direction, and piers with open slips
stretched out in the other. She scanned the lineup of boathouses with enclosed
slips, spotting number sixteen, where the
Isadora
lay moored. She quickened her pace, feeling a flurry of excitement on seeing
the elegant yacht again after so long. At the door to the boathouse, she paused
to let Mike catch up. Smiling, she said in a voiced filled with anticipation,
"Come on, Mike. We're home."

But when she
opened the door and looked at the large vessel, all she could do was stare in
disbelief. Green oxidation hid brass that once gleamed bright, varnish curled
and flaked off the weathered boards of the cabin, dark green paint buckled and
peeled on the window and door frames, the heavy canvas canopy that once covered
the afterdeck hung split from dry-rot, and an array of tools and old rags
littered the once-elegant teakwood deck, now weathered and smudged with dirt.
Nellie closed her eyes, trying to bring back the picture she'd held in her mind
over the years, but all she saw was the
Isadora
in fallen state.

"You sure
that's Uncle Vern's boat?" Mike asked.

"Oh...
yes," Nellie replied, while trying to mask her disenchantment.

"Yuk!"
Mike said. "It's a mess."

Nellie released
the suitcase and turned Katy over to Mike. "Well, it's different than I
remember, but it just needs a little scrubbing to bring it back to—"
Before she could complete her sentence, Katy started barking, broke from Mike's
hold and hurled herself from the dock onto the deck of the
Isadora
.

"Katy!"
Nellie yelped. "Katy come here right now!" But the little dog
continued barking and running in a zigzag path, intent on flushing something
from inside a small life boat that hung from davits above the deck.

"She's
gonna fall off the boat!" Mike yelled.

Before Nellie
could stop him, Mike lunged from the dock to the deck of the
Isadora
and scrambled after Katy. Then
losing his balance, he stumbled. Seeing Mike tumbling toward the edge of the
boat, Nellie screamed….

***

Will Edenshaw
bolted down the stairwell leading from his apartment to the boat slip below,
shrieks, and the incessant yapping of a dog making him quicken his pace. He
threw open the door and was greeted by chaos. "What the hell!"

A woman stood
screaming on the dock while a young boy chased a shaggy-looking dog around the
lifeboat on the
Isadora
.
"Damn!" Will exclaimed, catching sight of the object of the dog's
pursuit. Zeke, his black and tan tabby cat, stood stiff legged atop the
lifeboat, ears laid flat, back arched, claws hooked into the stretched canvas
covering. Will jumped onto the
Isadora
,
scooped up the dog in one arm and the boy in the other, and hopped back onto
the dock.

"Let me go
you big jerk!" the boy yelled, kicking his feet while pounding Will's legs
with his fists. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Will released the
boy, who stood, fists curled, glaring at him. "Give me my dog!" the
boy demanded.

"Better
still—" Will looped a section of line around a cleat "—we'll tie him
up."

The boy gave
Will a scathing look. "My dog's not a him. She's a her."

"Fine."
Will looped the line through the dog's collar and tied it to a cleat. The boy
crouched beside the dog and shot dagger looks at Will.

Will hopped onto
the
Isadora
and walked over to the
life boat. "Come on, Zeke. It's okay now, boy." He reached for his
cat, unhooked the claws of four feet from the canvas, and tucked the animal
under his arm.

It wasn't until
then that he took his first real look at the woman standing on the dock, and
what he saw made his blood pump hard in his veins. Stunning hazel eyes fringed
with thick brown lashes stared at him unwavering. He was vaguely aware of a
fine straight nose, softly rounded cheeks, and a chin that held a hint of
stubbornness.

"You're
Mrs. Reid, I presume," he said, attempting to assess the situation. The
woman was not only a widow, which touched a soft spot inside him, but she also
had a son and a mongrel dog. How does one go about foreclosing on a widow with
a kid and a dog?

"Yes, I'm
Nellie Reid," the woman said, her gaze locked on his. She blinked those
incredible tawny-green eyes several times, and added, "And you must be
Will Edenshaw?"

"That's
right."

"Well, I'm
sorry about Katy," she said.

"Who?"
Will found
himself
struggling to hold his train of
thought. Nellie Reid was more than good looking. And the disarray of
honey-blond hair framing her face reminded him of corn-silk. He could almost
feel it, soft and silky between his fingers…

"Katy, our
dog. She doesn't like cats," Nellie said.

"So I
guessed," Will replied, eyeing the little dog, who stared at him,
unblinking. Just as Zeke was staring at Nellie Reid, the tip of its tail
flicking with displeasure. There were dog people and there were cat people, and
Nellie Reid was obviously a dog person, and he sensed Zeke knew. But he'd
always been a cat person—he'd never owned a dog—and if dogs could glare, the
mutt looking up at him was definitely glaring.

"About the
boat," Nellie said, drawing Will's gaze to her face. "My son and I
will be living on it now, so I'll need to contact someone about moving it to an
open slip."

"That's
impossible," Will replied.

Nellie's eyes
narrowed. "What do you mean impossible? It's my boat. I have title."

"And I had
an agreement with your uncle," Will said, "exclusive use of the boat
for two months."

Nellie lifted
her chin and looked directly at him. "Whatever you claim is without
basis," she said. "Nothing in my uncle's will gives anyone exclusive
right to it except me."

"That's
where you're wrong."

"Do you
have a contract?"

"We had a
verbal agreement," Will said. "In exchange for the work I've been
doing, your uncle gave me exclusive use of the boat for two months."

Nellie's eyes
slowly scanned the
Isadora
, while her
lips turned down in displeasure. She let out a short cynical grunt, and said,
"What work? The
Isadora
looks
terrible. I can't imagine what you've done that gives you use of the boat for
two months."

"She's
been completely rewired, and I've done extensive work both inside and outside
the hull," Will explained, while struggling to hold his temper in check.
The woman looked primed for battle, and he didn't have the time or patience to
deal with her.

"I'm sorry
about that," Nellie said, "but it’s my boat, and my son and I have no
place to go. I assure you, we will be living on it."

Will looked at
the woman with concern. "What do you mean you have no place to go? I
thought you lived in Medford?"

"We do...
That is, we did," Nellie said. "I had to let the apartment go."
She looked at the
Isadora
in dismay.
"Even if there is something to what you're claiming, I refuse to pay for
an apartment when I have a legal right to live on my boat. I'll reimburse you
for your work if you can confirm your hours with a time log, and the cost of
materials with receipts."

Mike tugged at
Nellie's arm. "I don't want to live on that crummy old boat," he
said. "I think I'm going to throw up."

Nellie crouched
in front of Mike. "Remember what Dr. Emery said, honey. Take a deep
breath..." She inhaled in unison with Mike. "In… and out… in… and
out…"

"Is he
sick?" Will asked.

"No,"
Nellie said. "He's upset."

"I still
don't want to live on that boat," Mike whined.

Nellie stood
and pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes for a few moments, then
opened them again, looked at Mike, and said, "We are living on the boat
and that's that! At least it will be a roof over our heads." She looked at
Will then, daring him to object.

Which he did,
since what she was asking was out of the question. "Sorry, I can't allow
it. I have expensive sonar equipment aboard and I'm scheduled to leave here in
two weeks to conduct a whale study."

"And we
have no place to go!" Nellie snapped
,
hands
braced on her hips.

Will looked at
the woman, who'd planted herself squarely in front of him, then glanced down at
the boy's hostile face. The last thing he needed, two weeks before cruising out
of here, was a homeless widow with a kid and a dog taking over the
Isadora
and meddling with his equipment.
He needed peace, and quiet, and time to finish the work on the boat so he could
get up the strait while the orca were still there. One week's delay could mean
failure for his study and loss of funding for the continuation of his research.

But he couldn't
leave the woman and her son standing on the dock. "I suppose you can stay
tonight," he said, then immediately wished he could retract his words.

"That's
exactly what... we intend... to do," Nellie said in a plodding voice.
"Now... is there a store nearby where... we can get some cleaning
stuff—mops brooms... things like that..." her eyelids drifted closed, and
she pressed her hands against her stomach.

"You
okay?" Will asked.

She opened her
eyes and looked at him. "Umm… yes… things just started tilting a little.
I'm fine now."

Will rested his
hand on her shoulder. "You look pale," he said, eyeing her closely.
"When did you last eat?"

She waved her
hand. "I don't remember... that is—"

"You don't
remember when you last ate?" Releasing a sigh of resignation, Will said,
"Come up to the apartment. I was just getting ready to fix some
sandwiches."

"No thank
you," Nellie
clipped,
her voice a little
stronger. "We didn't come here for handouts, only to take possession of
our boat."

Will noted the
uncompromising set of her mouth and the deepening hue of her hazel eyes as she
peered up at him. She might be a half foot shorter than he, and hampered by her
current predicament, but he suspected he was going to have one hell of a time
convincing her that for the next two months the
Isadora
was his, and his alone.

Meanwhile, what
he didn't need right now was Nellie Reid passing out from hunger, leaving him
alone to deal with her hostile son. But she'd also refused to accept his offer
of sandwiches. "Fine then, I'll put the sandwiches on your rent tab, say,
fifty cents for each sandwich and ten cents for milk?"

"That will
be fine," Nellie clipped. "Come along Mike."

Mike stood his
ground, eyes focused on Will. "I'll stay here."

Will peered
down at a defiant young face. "Fine. Suit yourself."

Nellie looked
askance at Mike, now crouched beside Katy. "I'll bring your sandwich
down," she said. "Stay with Katy and don't go near the edge of the
dock."

"We'd
better hurry," Will said, uneasy about leaving the boy unattended near the
boat, with all his tools and equipment on deck. As he climbed the stairs,
followed closely behind by Nellie Reid, he commented, "I suppose you'll be
wanting to sell the
Isadora
now." He felt certain most of her problems would be resolved if she had
money. He could wait until after he'd completed his whale study to collect the
back rent. Once the
Isadora
was
stripped of her old paint and varnish, and refinished to its original state,
and had her brass fittings polished, she'd sell quickly. Older craft with fine
workmanship like the
Isadora
went
fast...

"Sell?"
Nellie's voice was incredulous. "I have no intention of selling. As I
said, my son and I plan to live on it. But first we have to find an inexpensive
place to moor it. And when I have a job, everything will be fine."

Will paused mid-step,
his hand tightening on the hand rail. "You're unemployed?"

She shrugged.
"I was fired."

Great! A
homeless widow with a boy and a dog. And no job! "I see," he said
with a heavy sigh as he plodded up the stairs.

"Well, you
don't really, but that's neither here nor there," Nellie's words trailed
after him. And she was right, Will conceded. It was neither here nor there. He
held a lien on the
Isadora
, so either
way, he’d collect his money.

Once inside the
apartment, he let Zeke slip from under his arm. The cat scampered off, and in
one fluid motion, leapt onto the window ledge. Will went to the refrigerator
and retrieved a tomato, a head of lettuce, mustard,
mayonnaise
,
a jar of pickles, a block of cheese and a platter holding the whittled-down
remains of a ham.