Two Weeks in August (17 page)

The view from the spacious houseboat pleased her as well. Docked at The Burne Marina, the vessel faced a wide expanse of Chincoteague Bay with its darker waters and unadulterated, lighter breezes.

When Nina and Mander had entered the houseboat, Clark had taken her hand in both his knobby, arthritic hands, which still bore traces of hard-to-remove paint, and turned her slowly side to side so he could examine her.

“Well now, aren’t you a lovely thing? What on earth are you doing with Miss Mander here? I can fix you up with ten men better an escort than her without even trying.”

Mander smiled at the old man with good humor as she straightened the waistband of her walking shorts. “Topping the list would be your oldest boy, I’m sure. Face it, Aaron, Harry just doesn’t want to get married.”

Clark grinned like a small boy. “Can’t fault an old coot for trying, now can you? I sure would like to see a grandchild before I pass on.” He turned to Nina. “How do you feel about pale blondes, my dear?”

Nina’s thoughts flew to Hazy and it took several awkward seconds before she realized he meant his son. “Oh, I…” she stammered mindlessly.

“That’s quite all right, my dear,” he said, seeing her bewilderment. “I forget you’re not from these parts. You two go on and enjoy yourselves. There’s plenty of food and drink.” His voice trailed off and he had moved away from them into the crowd.

“So, want to lay bets on how stupid he thinks I am?” Nina whispered to Mander with a sigh.

Mander laughed and took Nina’s hand, pulling her into the crowd. “I wouldn’t worry about Aaron, Nina. The only thing he notices on a long-term basis is his painting. That’s why he’s been so successful, even in places like New York. If ever a man was obsessed with his work, that’s Aaron.”

 
Nina and Mander were soon separated when Aaron returned and whisked Nina off for introductions and Nina felt silly for worrying.

Nina was pleasantly surprised to see many of the older men she had chatted with at the crafter’s fair, including Cyrus Leppard. He raised a toast to her in greeting as Aaron introduced the group. Mama New was there as well, dressed in a lovely teal pantsuit. She was ensconced amid the sailors, conversing brightly and Nina thought her a rose among thorns.

 
After much small talk in which she found herself telling her life story over and over again to each new acquaintance, Nina was finally allowed a respite and wandered aimlessly, admiring Aaron’s works that peppered the houseboat.

Something nagged at her as she studied one of the more abstract of the pieces, but she felt at a loss to pinpoint the vision. The picture was in deep
shades of red and purple with a center semicircle of pale flesh color.

“Do you like that one?” Aaron said as he came up behind her, his cane brushing gently against the worn floorboards.

 
“I like it very much,” admitted Nina, “but there’s something about it. What am I missing?”

Aaron laughed with keen amusement and laid one long-fingered hand on her forearm. “How perceptive you are
,
little Nina—little Grace. Did you know your name is Russian?”

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted with a shy grin. “My Irish father will love that when I tell him.”

“Yes.” The old man nodded knowingly. “Nina is Russian for Anne and Anne means ‘little Grace.’ Now there’s a bit of trivia for you to file away.”

He turned back to the artwork. “About the painting, there
is
something there that is hard to grasp. May I?”

He pulled gently on her right hand, moving it toward the painting. At Nina’s bemused nod, he traced the tips of her fingers gently over the canvas, beginning with the flesh-colored arc. As Nina watched, their hands outlined a lovely dark-haired, tawny-skinned woman lying in the shadows of the deep purples and reds. The flesh-colored area was her bare hip and flank caught in a spot of very bright, localized light.

“Do you see her? My wife?” he asked softly.

“Yes, yes, I do,” Nina whispered. “She’s lovely.”

He released her hand. “Dead these many years but she was quite a woman. Full of mystery, like this painting.”

 
Nina’s hand reached again to explore the mystery as Clark wandered away.

“It took me many hours to figure it out,” said a soft voice behind her.

The voice sent a small shiver along her spine, a shiver that reached up and tightened the muscles of her face. She didn’t even bother to turn. “Hello, Hazy. How are you?”

“Not bad for a woman getting older every day. And you?”

Nina smiled at the painting. “A bit sunburned, but relaxed by a day at the ocean.”

“Good. The island is working her magic.”

The two were silent a long time as they admired Clark’s work. Finally Hazy spoke.

“Do you have time to listen to a story?”

“A story? About what?”

“Just a fable. I feel expansive,” she replied lightly.

“A story.” This interesting woman always caught her off guard. Turning, she decided she’d better escape. “Have you seen Mander? We’ve gotten separated.”

Hazy stared at her, then took a deep swallow of her amber drink. “The last I saw of her, she was watching a tennis match on the telly with a bunch of her buddies. She shan’t miss you.”

“All right then, let’s have your story.” She studied Hazy, noting that she was dressed neatly in a white boatneck shell and white cotton trousers. White canvas deck shoes covered her feet. She was beautiful, seeming to glow against the backdrop of the evening.

“Not here, too many people, let’s move outside.”

Hazy led the way and they slipped through a nearby door onto the outer deck. That too was crowded with earnestly talking people so Hazy impatiently took her hand and led her along the side and across the gangway off the boat.

Moving along the dock where the houseboat was tied, Nina began to worry. They were going awfully far from Clark’s boat. As she was about to speak up, Hazy stopped abruptly and led her down another gangway onto a silent, darkened cruiser.

“Hazy, what are…”

“One moment, just tryin’ to get the lantern lit. There.”

A soft glow filled the fore cabin and Nina could see Hazy outlined against the light as she came toward her.

“Whose boat is this? Are we trespassing?” Nina asked looking about nervously.

“Oh no, I know the owner. It’s all right.” Hazy led her into the cabin.

Anxiety filled Nina. She felt thrust into some surrealistic drawing where everything was shaded, obscure. Like Aaron’s painting. She wanted to pull back and refuse to enter the cabin, but felt helpless, desire for this strange, magnetic woman engulfing her.

There was a double bed recessed in one side of the small, neat room and the sight of it alarmed Nina. She knew, with an awful certainty, that Hazy would have to do very little coaxing to get her there.

As if sensing her alarm, Hazy drew two captain’s chairs together from opposite ends of the room. She positioned them back to back and, with an open hand, welcomed Nina into one.

Nina moved forward cautiously and lowered herself into the chair on her right.

Hazy moved around and sat facing away from her in the other chair.

 
“Hazy? Why are we sitting this way?”

Hazy sighed deeply. “So I can talk to you with a semblance of sanity.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Just listen to me, please?” The pleading note in her voice silenced Nina.

After a brief moment of quiet, her low voice broke the night.

“Once upon a time there was a little duck. This duck grew up in very happy surroundings, floating on the marsh with his brother and sister ducks. Even though hunters roamed the marsh, the little duck felt very secure in the bosom of his family.

“Then one day the duck spied a cute little lady duck. He was very attracted to her, but knew they could never find love because the lady duck was from a very important duck family and her feathers were very white and her beak very orange.

“The little duck, who was from the mallard family, knew he could never be good enough for the lady duck because his feathers were too dull and his beak too muddy. But it was all right. The duck had his family and he knew love would find him someday.

“Then the fine lady duck finally noticed the little dark duck and began to spend time with him. The duck was ecstatic and soon did not pay attention to what he truly felt and believed because he was so swept up in the love and relationship. He couldn’t see the warning signs.

“After the lady duck had made her duck family angry by being with the little dark duck, and after she had totally destroyed the dark duck’s life and emotions, she flew away and went to live with another fine duck on the bay where the duckweed grows greenest.”

 
Nina sighed, deeply saddened by the tale. “Oh, Hazy, so tragic! Why are you telling me this sad story?”

“Shhh, just listen. I need you to listen to me.”

 
Nina settled back, her bare shoulders pressing against the soft cotton of Hazy’s shirt.

“The little duck was, of course, devastated. He moped about for weeks blaming himself. He was short with the members of his family and snapped at the few friends who came to visit.

“One bright sunny day, after the duck had argued with his brother and his mother and father duck, he heard this horrible roar that echoed across the marsh. Investigating, he discovered mother and father duck had been killed by hunters.”

Involuntarily, Nina gasped.

“The family scattered then, all the children coping with their pain and loss, and the little duck, realizing the world was no longer a safe haven, withdrew from everything he had valued before.

“He concentrated on building things and supplying things that other ducks needed even while he mocked these other ducks for needing these things. What did he need with these things? He had no life.

“He did very well, but was never happy again. Then one day, after many years had passed—”