By The Sea, Book Three: Laura (22 page)

So she wiped down the table and began
hurrying through her work while Neil sat opposite, working on the
math lessons which had become surprisingly enjoyable for him to do.
(So enjoyable, that he had already declared his intention of
becoming a scientist like Albert Einstein.)

When Sam didn't return by the time Laura
turned out the lights at ten, she wasn't surprised; the bars didn't
close until after midnight. But midnight came and went, and it
wasn't until three in the morning that a knock came on her door,
and with it, the news that Sam had got into a fight with some
sailors at the Blue Moon, a favorite haunt for navy enlisted. The
sailors, and Sam, had all been tossed from the bar and had resumed
their fight on the street, where Sam had had the bad luck of
falling off the curb into the path of a truck that was backing up.
He died instantly, the officer at the door seemed truly sorry to
say.

After he left, Laura sat shocked and alone
at the kitchen table, waiting for daylight to tell Neil the awful
news and then begin the process of burying the man who, if he had
had the choice, would have preferred to go down with his ship at
sea.

It was over: Sam's life, and her marriage of
a decade with him. Her sense of guilt and sorrow was profound. If
she hadn't taken the
Virginia
offshore … if she had simply
followed the plan to sail along the coast, who knows? Maybe they
would have avoided the fatal storm altogether. That one, anyway.
She might have delivered her cargo, been handsomely paid, and
returned triumphant with Sam's schooner to Newport.

But would she have returned at all? With or
without wrecking the boat, Laura would have fallen in love with
Colin. Could she have given Sam his boat and then taken away his
son? It was a hypothetical question for which she had only
hypothetical answers.

One of them was yes.

But instead the
Virginia
was wrecked,
and Sam was dead, and Colin was gone. Waves of unbearable sadness
washed over her, but the house was small and Neil's room was close;
she must not cry. She took a deep breath, then folded her arms
across the table and laid her forehead on them, and thought of what
had been, and what might have been.

And then she did cry, but softly, so that
she wouldn't wake her son.

Christmas Eve, 1937

The storm arrived as forecast, with a few
big, pretty flakes at dusk. Within an hour the ground was covered
and the snow was piling up fast, driven by a wind that struck fear
in the heart of fishermen still out on the water, but which had a
certain undeniable charm for landlubbers, coming as it was on
Christmas Eve.

In another hour, the snow was knee deep.
Neil was thrilled. Holding aside the lace curtain in the front-room
window, he wiped the steam from the pane until it squeaked. "Mom,
look how it's coming down! Oh, man, the sledding's gonna be
so
good at the park. And no school for a week! Could it get
any better?"

Smiling, Laura carried a box of paper and
ribbons into the kitchen, where she began wrapping a gift for her
co-worker, an older widow and school colleague who had become a
close friend. Irene had invited Laura and Neil to join her and her
grown children for Christmas dinner the next day, testimony to how
comfortable the two women were with one another. Laura and Irene
had this in common: they had lost their husbands in the same month
and then had helped one another through the grieving process. It
would be fair to say that Laura was farther along that path,
because Irene had been married more than twice as long as Laura and
had clearly adored her Edward.

To cheer her friend up on this most
emotional of holidays, Laura had shopped with extra effort and had
found a pretty little porcelain Hummel figurine of a little girl
with needles and yarn and called "The Knitter." Irene was both a
knitter and a collector of figurines; it seemed like a perfect fit.
Apparently there were different Hummels scheduled to be produced by
the German manufacturer. Hopefully Irene would find some joy in
collecting them.

"Mom! We
can
go sledding tomorrow,
right? Before we have to go to dinner? Because I really can't stand
to waste a single day of this."

"As long as you know you'll be on your old
sled," Laura called out— because that was the drumbeat she'd had to
listen to, ever since the first snowflake fell: sled, new, sled,
new, sled, new. "I do not think Santa will be bringing you a new
one."

Neil snorted. "Oh,
him
. Santa. Don't
worry, I'm not counting on Santa."

Neil had never counted on Santa. How could
he, living aboard a boat with no chimney? The concept of Santa
Claus had become a kind of easy-going joke between them, but Santa
was yet another item that Laura tallied in the "con" column of
raising a child aboard a boat.

"But you know, I wonder what Santa's
elves
could be bringing me," Neil said in a loudly musing
way. His voice was filled with anticipation, the sound of a
perfectly normal, happy eleven-year-old on Christmas Eve.

Laura felt bound to say, "Not a sled, I
think I can guarantee."

She sighed. This year Neil's big gift was a
pair of hockey skates; he'd outgrown his old ones after only a
season of use. The wrapped box of skates was in the back of Laura's
closet. She had no doubt that Neil had discovered and shaken it. So
why was he so adamant about a sled?

"Really, Mom?"

"Really, Neil," she said, poking her head
around the corner to impress him with her sincerity.

He swung around from the window to face her,
sending the ornaments on the tree tinkling wildly, and said, "You
know I'm too long for that sled now, right?"

"Well, you've grown a mile, that's for sure.
But I think if you squeeze, you can just about fit," she said
ironically.

A long, melodramatic sigh. "Maybe I can add
some boards."

"Neil. The sled is fine. How does a cup of
hot cocoa sound, right about now?"

"You're always changing the subject, Mom,"
he said, rolling his eyes. He added, "Okay. I'll have some."

"Good."

Friends again
.
Neil's birthday was in
January, and sleds would go on sale right after Christmas. It had
been Laura's plan all along to get him a sled; she just hadn't
counted on a Christmas Nor'easter. The ice until now had been
perfect—smooth and thick. Skates were the logical gift.

While Laura heated the milk, Neil tiptoed
back and forth behind her with what she knew were his presents for
her. They would be easy enough for him to hide behind the mound of
gifts she had received from her students. Those little gift-wrapped
tokens of their affection were one reason that Laura always tried
to find a slew of small treats to wrap and stack in a matching
mound for her son. There were only the two of them, with no family
in town, and at times like these Laura wished they lived in
Minnesota. Fortunately, Neil's cousins would be out for a long
visit come summer, when Newport was at its best.

But still. It was Christmas Eve, and there
were only the two of them.

As she poured the cocoa, Laura heard squeaks
across the window pane again. "Mind the tree," she called to her
son. "Glass ornaments don't grow—well, on trees," she said, smiling
at the aptness of the phrase.

"Holy cow, Mom. You should see it come down
now
. It's a white-out!"

She was walking out with a heavy mug in each
hand when someone began pounding loudly on the door, drowning out
the Christmas carols playing softly on the radio in the parlor.
Dusty, a terrible guard dog if ever there was one, got up from his
bed and trotted over to the door, tail wagging.

"Must be Santa," Laura quipped. "Can you get
the door for me, honey?"

Neil swung it open and was confronted with a
six-foot-tall toboggan. Standing next to it, and covered from wool
cap to sea boots in heavy snow, was the man Laura had last seen
stripped nearly bare on a tropical island.

"Hello, mate. Merry Christmas," he said to
Neil, and then his look went over to Laura, standing transfixed, a
mug of cocoa still in each hand. "Is the lady of the house—? Yes,"
he said softly, "I see she is. Hello, Laura."

Neil was first to respond. "Colin? Colin!
Oh, wow. Where did
you
come from? Colin, is it really you?"
Immediately he pointed to the toboggan. "Is that how you got
here?"

Colin laughed and said with a wink, "You
bet. My reindeer are tied alongside the house."

Again his look went to Laura. "Have I come
at a bad time?"

She blinked, and her eyes glazed over,
blurring the image before her. He was as tall and fit as ever, and
she saw that under the wind-burned cheeks and stubble of beard, his
skin still showed the effects of sun. At sea, then. He had been at
sea. Away from telephones and mailboxes and telegraph offices.
Away, obviously, from airports, bus stops and train stations. And
now here he was in Newport, standing snow-covered in her doorway,
after being away from her for more than three years. It seemed like
thirty years, it seemed like three days. She didn't know what it
seemed like.

"It's definitely a good time!" Neil
volunteered when his mother didn't say anything. "I bet you could
use some hot cocoa.
Mom
?"

A blast of wind reminded Laura that Colin
was still out in the cold. Snapping out of her reverie, she said,
"I'm sorry. Please come in."

As Colin laid the toboggan against the side
of the house, she set the mugs down with shaking hands on the
coffee table, sending cocoa splashing over the lip of one of them.
Colin took off his pea coat where he stood and shook it clear, and
then his hat, and stomped his boots before stepping over the
threshold. It was all so very normal, all so very extraordinary.
Colin, in her house.

Laura saw at once that he had no sea bag.
"Are you staying in town?" she asked as she took his wet jacket and
hat and hung them on pegs next to the door.

"At the Step Inn on lower Thames."

"Around the corner from here," she said,
praying that it was no coincidence.

"Yes, thank God. It's slow going out there.
Not a car on the road. Nor a plow, for that matter."

"I don't think they expected this much snow
… and it
is
Christmas Eve." She beckoned him to take a seat
on the sofa, but he chose instead the Stickley armchair with its
leather seat because of his damp clothing.

Laura wished, not for the first time, that
they had a charming fireplace, but their cozy little cottage was
more basic than that. Turning up the kerosene heater at the other
end of the room, she said, "How did you find me—us?"

"I have to confess, I didn't think I'd find
you here, in a house," he said, taking up the mug that Neil had
urged on him. He didn't drink from it, but cupped it between his
hands to warm himself.

And Laura was thinking,
I know those
hands, what they can do.

"I figured you'd be in a boat, some boat,
working the coast. And, given the season, somewhere south of
forty-one north. Carolinas, maybe. I more or less worked my way up
the eastern seaboard, asking all the right questions but getting no
answers."

And Laura was thinking,
He isn't wearing
a ring.

"I made it as far as New London before I got
my answer," he told her, smiling.

"Oh! Amanda! Of course. You talked to Amanda
Seton," Laura realized. "She and I keep in touch."

His look softened into something more
serious. "Amanda told me about Sam. I … ah … I'm sorry, Laura. I
know how hard—"

"Thank you," she said, glancing at Neil. "In
a way, it wasn't unexpected." Neil looked confused by the remark;
she dared say no more. "Amanda was here just a couple of months
ago," she added, moving on. "With Geoff. We had lunch. They were in
Newport on business, though she didn't say what. It was all very
tentative at the time."

Colin took a sip of cocoa, then winked at
Neil. "Not any more. They've bought themselves a shipyard here. As
of a week ago."

"Really! That's great! Which one?"

"Easton's Boatworks. It's been for sale for
a while, on and off. The Setons got a great deal. They like the
fact that there's a big navy presence in Newport; they have
experience with the navy. I think it'll work out well for
them."

"It will if they have someone as competent
as Amanda managing the place." Laura had absolute confidence in
Amanda's skills; she was born to boss.

"Well, that's the thing. According to Geoff,
there's only one Amanda. Which meant they had to find someone else
to run the Newport yard. Which means—"

Neil brightened. "I know what it means! It
means you're going to be running the yard and live in Newport from
now on!"

"Neil! Stop embarrassing Colin with your
wild—"

"Yep. That's what it means," said Colin,
watching Laura's reaction over the rim of his mug.

Laura's reaction was that all the stars and
snowflakes in the sky, mixed with a goodly amount of fairy dust,
were showering down over them. "Is it true?" she asked, reluctant
to believe him in case she had misunderstood.

"I start work the first of the year."

"You'll be here for my birthday, then!" said
Neil, always working the angles.

"Ah! Speaking of which, I did remember that
you were born on the sixth, mate. And although it's not exactly
wrapped, you'll find a little bow on the back of the toboggan.
Merry Christmas, and happy birthday a little bit early."

Neil was briefly speechless. Sucking in his
breath, eyes wide, he looked from Colin to his mother and back to
Colin again. Smiling, Laura shrugged and said, "What do you
say?"

"Thanks, Colin! Gee, thanks!" Turning to his
mother, he said, "Can I try it in the yard? Just to see if it
fits?"