Two Weeks in August (16 page)

She was bewildered by her reactions to this enigmatic woman. Nina seemed to have no control when she was near, no sense of propriety, and this shocked her. What had happened to the self-contained, controlled person she always believed she was?

Hazy Duncan. It was her fault.

Nina strode to the screen door and watched as her tormenter carefully applied a coat of blue paint to the equipment shed across and to her left.

The rogue was probably toying with her deliberately as she’d heard many married women on the prowl were wont to do. It was classic stereotyping, like a dime-store novel, and Nina felt soiled for having been a part of it.

She watched Hazy’s every move as she applied the paint in a slow, orderly fashion. She seemed thoughtful, emanating a calm, peaceful manner and Nina suddenly found it hard to color her as blackly as she deserved.

Or did she act the part well? An outside observer might think she wasn’t even attached to Mama New. Nina knew better though; she’d witnessed the closeness of their bond and the way Hazy acted with her partner and with Heather. This seemed to be a lovely relationship and being with Heather certainly brought out Hazy’s beautiful mothering side.

A new idea interjected itself. Why had Hazy let her see their closeness? A sudden scowl twisted her features. Why had she been so mean to Nina about her hair? The answer was now obvious.

It was a ploy to keep her partner in the dark about her infidelities and clearly she wanted Nina to accept this marriage and still dally with her on the side.

Because of Rhonda, Nina was vulnerable right now. That’s how Hazy had managed to squirm her way into her sensibilities. Rhonda had done much more than just leave her at the altar, she had left her with a vulnerability that vultures like Hazy Duncan could feast upon.

Moving back again to the kitchen table, she idly fingered the manuscript as her mind again relived the delicious events of the previous evening.

Sighing in frustration, she left the work and changed into her swimsuit. Maybe some sun and sea would cleanse her mind.

Hazy heard Nina leave the cottage via slamming the door and her heart dropped low in her chest. She was still angry, no doubt about that now.

Hazy had debated going to her and apologizing, wanting to somehow bring Nina’s dimpled smile back. Embarrassment kept her away, also procrastination over doing something so awkward. Now it was too late.

Her chin fell and she let out a breath slowly. She never should have lost control that way. But there seemed to be no help for it.

Actually she had wanted to do much more and had to forcibly hold herself in check. What was it about Nina that drew her mind and her body so strongly?

She idly rolled the paint roller back and forth in the pan of paint as she reflected. Perhaps it was because she finally found a woman she had no desire to dissect. She really enjoyed Nina the way she was. Her mind was agile, giving back as good as she got, her emotions were volatile and would certainly never bore Hazy, and her body was as close to perfection as anyone could want.

Most importantly, they seemed to share many of the same interests and had this strong but mysterious chemistry between them. She’d never felt its like before and the novelty excited and puzzled her. It had created in her a deep desire to see where the chemistry would lead.

She carefully spread paint along the weathered boards of the equipment shed, her hands tremulous from the power of her thoughts.

Maybe she should simply indulge this desire. She was long overdue a chance at true love and passion.

A shout from the channel drew her attention and her heart leapt to her throat and fear made sudden sweat dapple her brow as she thought for a moment it was her friend Seth calling to her from the grave—a grave in the guise of a small silver motorboat.

The hailer shouted again and Hazy realized it was only Kerry Clark, younger son of one of the local families. Waving, Hazy walked to the edge of the boat dock and beckoned Kerry to come ashore.

Kerry shook his white-blond head and his large teeth flashed in a smile as he beckoned Hazy to come to him.

Hazy started to walk away and playfully ignore the boy but instead threw caution to the winds. Stripping off her shoes she took a running leap and cannonballed into the lapping waves. Long strokes of her powerful arms soon had her next to the small craft and she greeted Kerry as she swiped water from her face.

“I didn’t think you’d do it, ye damn fool,” Kerry said, shaking his head in amazement. “You’re still as crazy as you ever were.”

He sobered as he studied the older woman’s face. “It’s good to see you, Hazy. And good to see you finally got a bit of the life back in you.”

Hazy grabbed hold of the side of the small boat with both hands and began rocking it sharply back and forth trying to unseat the youth. “I’ll show you life,” she cried, laughing.

“Hey!” Kerry laughed, trying to hold onto fishing gear, beer cooler and boat all at the same time. “What’d I say, sheesh!”

“Is that life enough for you?” asked Hazy as she finally let the boat settle.

“You better leave me alone or I won’t tell you about the shark Billy killed over in Tom’s Cove,” Kerry warned.

“A shark in the cove. No lie?” Hazy’s interest was piqued.

She heaved herself into the boat and the two shared shark stories for some time, allowing Hazy a momentary distraction from soft brown hair and lively coffee-colored eyes.

When Hazy finally eased herself back over the side to return to Channel Haven, Kerry reminded her cheerfully. “See you at Dad’s party tonight.”

Hazy had promised to go to the function several weeks ago yet had forgotten about it until this moment. She groaned inwardly. She was in no mood for partying, but politeness demanded she attend. “See you at eight sharp,” she told Kerry and made toward shore.

As her arms knifed the water and propelled her home, Hazy reconsidered her attitude toward the party. Maybe going out for an evening—something she hadn’t done in a while—would be good for her. Seeing old friends she had been avoiding might be fun, and she could catch up on news from the local grapevine. She’d arrange for a sitter for Heather and take Mama New. She’d really enjoy it.

She smiled and tucked her face into the soft, foamy water. If she kept on like this, she’d ruin her reputation as a crotchety, old recluse.

Chapter 21

Assateague Island beach was surprisingly crowded but Nina soon found her own special niche and settled in to enjoy the sun.

For some time she lost herself in the book her father had sent, an anthology of the past year’s best science fiction stories. But several stories in a row bored her, being rehashes of old ideas and she soon let the book drop to the sand.

Restless, she sought the water and fought the powerful ocean waves until she was bone weary. Then she lazily scouted for shells, scarce this late in the day. The sun beating on her shoulders warmed her completely and the exertion eased a mind that had been sorely troubled of late. Toward sunset, she left the beach humming a happy tune.

As she reached the top of the wooden steps leading to the parking area, she came face to face with Mander.

“Well, hello,” Mander said, “I hoped I might find you here when I didn’t see your car at Channel Haven.”

“Well, hello yourself,” Nina replied teasingly. She was in such a relaxed mood she was able to forgive and forget their argument of the night before. “How long have you been looking for me?”

“This is the third rise I’ve climbed. I was about ready to give up and go without you.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To a party on a friend’s houseboat. Are you up for it?” She watched Nina expectantly.

In good spirits, Nina decided to agree. “Sure, it sounds like fun. One thing though, you have to keep your hands to yourself. We’ll go as friends only, all right?”

Mander frowned at her bluntness. “Okay, whatever you say,” she agreed with a dramatic sigh.

“Do I have time to go back to the cottage and change first?” Nina asked looking down at her wet, sand-spattered suit.

“Oh yeah, I told you we’re not time-conscious on the island,” she replied with a grin.

“You say this friend lives in a houseboat?” Nina asked as they meandered slowly through the parking lot toward her car. “I’ve never been on a houseboat before.”

“A lot of people live in houseboats here. Rental and home prices are steep on Chincoteague—there’s only so much land on an island. With houseboats, people can just pay rent on a shoreline or dock and tie up. I thought about doing it myself. As soon as my lease is up, I might.”

She grimaced at Nina. “I rent an attic apartment from my parents and you can imagine how hard that is for a young out and about lesbo such as myself.”

 
Nina laughed aloud. “Yes, I can see how that would be a problem. I can sympathize too, I’ve lived near my parents since I’ve been out of school. They don’t bother me too much though, we’re very close. They accept my lifestyle completely. Finally.”

They paused next to Nina’s Volkswagen and Mander opened the door for her.

“Listen, since your car is here, I’ll stop for some food to take and meet you back at your cottage, okay?”

They shared a smile of truce. Nina knew there was the chance of peace between them at last and that felt good.

Chapter 22

Even though Nina was
dressed simply in a soft summer dress of pale blue, the blessing of the sun had done its magic. She knew she looked particularly good that evening. Mander seemed impressed by the transformation and puffed up a bit as they paraded in front of her friends.

Aaron Clark, owner of the houseboat and their host for the evening, was an eccentric but lovable painter well into his sixtieth year, Mander had informed her. He was a large, graying man, roughened by the sea. Nina could tell he was from one of the original island families just by his appearance and mannerisms. He certainly didn’t fit her impression of the successful highbrow artist. Clark reminded her more of the stereotypical grizzled sea captain. Much like her Grandpapa Tom.

Lamed by a leg injury, he held a type of court as he limped through the boat. The houseboat was large and already packed with a mass of noisily conversing people. They appeared to be tourists and locals alike.

Obviously, Aaron Clark, as an artist, was much in demand. His many paintings, scattered about the houseboat walls and stacked atop one another at the foot of each wall, were mostly landscapes and seascapes, but a few of his abstract pieces featuring the local marshes intrigued Nina.