Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (35 page)

Lyle moved them to a low rock where he could lean and hold her in his arms, giving her his warmth. “What about your father?”

She drew away. She didn’t often think about her father. Not anymore. It was so long ago, and it hurt remembering that he was gone.

“I remember when I was— oh, about ten, I guess, Jenny and I were out in the dinghy. We weren’t supposed to, but I’d talked her into it and we were out on the water. The wind came up and I was scared. I had to pretend to Jenny that I wasn’t afraid, that it was all right. I was older, and she’d come only because I did. But inside I wasn’t sure we’d make it back. We did – just barely! When we landed on the beach, my father was there, striding over the sand towards us. He looked ten feet tall, and furious.”

“What did he do?” Lyle’s hand rubbed along her arm, absently caressing through the thick Mackinaw he’d made her put on.

She shivered, but it was only a remembered cold. “He took us home. I was terrified of what he’d say, but he didn’t say a word. I was trembling, afraid, and he bundled me out of the car and said, ‘Get to bed!’ and that was the end of it… but I knew better than to take the dinghy out alone again.”

The slow surf crawled over the sand, its sound warm in the darkness. Lyle’s arms were close around her.

“He died when I was thirteen.”

Lyle’s lips found her cheek. “That’s a bad age to lose someone who means so much.”

She’d never said this to anyone, but now she admitted, “I thought the world ended. I shouldn’t have. There was my mother, and Jenny moved in with us when her parents went overseas, so I wasn’t alone. But I was pretending, going through the motions, until—”

A sea bird cried and George shivered.

“Until you met Scott?“

“Yes,” she whispered. Scott. Suddenly it was all welling inside her, and she had to talk, to let it out. “I was seventeen, and… he was there. I couldn’t believe that he wanted me, that it was really me. It was like coming to life, having someone of my own, being in love and—”

She broke off, shuddering, remembering her awakening earlier that night. Her voice was so low he had to bend closer to hear the words. “I’m sorry, Lyle. I— God! It was unforgivable, but I need him so badly! I can’t—“

She pulled away, pulled the knowledge of the cold closer, as if it brought strength. She seemed to have no control over her emotions anymore. Love and loneliness and fear and need – they swept through her of their own volition. She was suddenly afraid of what she might do or say next.

“I think you should leave me here alone,” she said harshly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight, but I— I’ve really said enough, done enough for one night.”

She walked a few steps away, needing to be alone, but somehow knowing he wouldn’t leave her there. She took a deep, ragged breath, wishing for sunshine and cold wind, for numbness, distance from her own emotions.

Lyle’s quiet voice hit her like a slap of the cold water she had wanted. “It’s time you woke up and started looking around yourself, George.”

She jerked around, welcoming the sensation of anger. It wasn’t his pain or his business. He’d no place intruding, handing out words of wisdom.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked harshly. “I’m awake. I’ve got eyes.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropped as hers rose, holding her attention against her will. “You’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself, grieving, that you’ve no time left to live life, to really take part in it.”

She gasped, her hands forming fists. “What do you think I’m doing, crawling into a corner? I’m out sailing, seeing the world. I’m not sitting at home, hiding from life.”

“No,” he agreed slowly, as if he saw everything she had hidden from the rest of the world. She wished she hadn’t let herself feel close to him, because now he was turning their intimacy against her, accusing. “You’re not hiding, you’re running from life. You’ve lost your husband, your father. You’re sorry for yourself. You’re holding onto your grief, telling yourself that George is a brave girl because she pretends she’s happy when she’s really miserable.”

She hugged herself, wanting to turn away but somehow frozen by the quiet certainty of his voice. “And just what do you think I should be doing?” she asked with low bitterness.

He came close, framed her face with his hands. Even in the dark she felt her eyes trapped by the intensity of his. “Let him go. He’s gone, George… You loved him and he loved you. It’s over now. You’re left with the memories… only the memories. It’s time you put the memories where they belong, in the past, and got involved in life again.”

“I am involved,” she denied weakly.

“Are you?” His thumbs kneaded her cheekbones softly, demanding, “Who’s in your life, George? There’s no one, is there? You’re moving through the world, alone, avoiding even the people who might once have been close to you.”

She shook her head in a weak denial, but he wouldn’t stop. “Why wasn’t there anyone to call when you landed up here, George? Who’s keeping track of your journey? Where are your family, your friends?”

She found the strength to pull away from those tender hands. Her voice was tight. “I have friends.”

She could see his head move in denial, disbelief. “Friends, but none that have a claim on you. You move on before they can get close.”

It was true. She found her head bending in assent. There was only Jenny, and even Jenny she kept at a distance.

Chapter 5

The next morning she got up early, belted Lyle’s housecoat tightly around her and went into the bathroom for her shower. Ever since the shipwreck she’d been drifting, lost on a tide of feelings and reactions. It was time for her to get back control of her own life. She made an action plan as the water pounded down on her. First, pin down Lyle about getting transportation off this island.

Lyle. His eyes and his hands and the music. Robyn and the dog and—

Saying goodbye.

Perhaps she could come back to visit. Later, when she had herself in control again.

First she had to leave. To do that, she needed transportation. Transportation first. Then— she and Robyn could go for a walk, exploring the inter-tidal zone. Robyn would like that. If the sun shone, perhaps Robyn could do her school lessons on the lawn.

Later… later she would cut Lyle’s hair. Not too short, she decided as her fingers worked shampoo into a lather in her own hair. She wouldn’t want to cut away the locks that waved across his forehead.

What would it feel like to run her fingers through that softly waving hair, feeling— damn!

She scrubbed harder at her scalp, tensing against the warm sensations that were flooding under her skin. Talk about men having a one-track mind! She couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking about Lyle’s hair, his hands, or the man himself. This was some kind of belated reaction to her widowhood, because no man had been able to touch her since Scott died.

Scott. This morning his image floated across her mind like a memory, lacking substance.

Soaped and rinsed, she dried her body roughly with the towel, tried to stop thinking about everything except leaving.

Lyle’s hair. A walk with Robyn. Should she cook dinner for them tonight? Not that she was a gourmet cook, but then, neither was Lyle from the evidence she’d seen. What else? Would Lyle let her into his music room again, to play his guitar and sing his songs? Or even just to listen?

Transportation – that was the first thing, the most important. Not music. Not Lyle.

The dresser drawer contained more clothes. She put her own jeans on, topped with an unfamiliar sweat shirt that asked, ‘
Where the heck is Kitimat, BC?
’ The shirt was loose enough that she could leave her bra off without it showing. She was far too sore to put it on again. Where was
Kitimat, anyway? And whose shirt was this? Dorothy’s, perhaps?

The kitchen was filled with warmth and noise. Lyle was at the stove, turning strips of bacon in a big cast-iron frying pan. Russ was sitting astride a kitchen chair turned backwards. Robyn was setting the table.

Russ tilted the chair, asking Lyle, “What should I do about number two generator?”

Lyle neatly laid two more strips of bacon in the pan. “Shut it down and put number one on. We’ll take a look at it later this morning. If we can’t see what the problem is, I’ll send in a message tonight to the district manager. How many eggs, Russ?”

Robyn spotted George, and put down a plate with a bang and a smile. “Are you going to eat with us? Daddy said you might want to get up this morning!”

Lyle said, “You’re looking nice this morning,” and she found herself returning his warm smile as she pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“I thought it was time I got up for my meals. Can I help set the table?”

His eyes flashed from warmth to a deep intensity that reminded her of the night before, of his hands stroking her heated skin. She flushed and turned quickly to Robyn.

Businesslike, the little girl said, “We need another plate. And jam for the toast. You set the plates and I’ll get the jam.” She limped quickly towards the pantry, Tom following close behind her. The cat got stopped by the kitchen door as Robyn closed it behind her, so sheared off and sniffed hopefully around Lyle’s ankles.

“Forget it, Tom!” Lyle said sternly. “I’m not in the mood to drop any scraps for you. Did you sleep well, George?”

“Fine.” She kept her eyes carefully on the plates she was setting. She wanted to walk over to him and touch him, to say hello with more than her voice.

Transportation, she reminded herself.

Russ shifted, his chair squeaking on the floor. “It’s hard to believe Lyle fished you out of the water last week. We both thought you were dead when you came out.”

Russ’s eyes were a friendly gray. George found herself grinning and admitting, “Fool that I was, sailing your waters in a March storm! I’m glad you found me.”

“Lyle did the finding,” said Russ easily, tossing back an unruly lock of hair. They looked so much alike, these two brothers. George smiled as Lyle unobtrusively slipped a piece of bacon to the cat.

Russ said, “He woke me up and dragged me down to the north end, determined there was a shipwreck out there.”

“It was the dog,” Lyle explained. “Scruff was spooky, wouldn’t let me rest.”

“I’ve got to thank Scruff, then.” She stared at the table and took a deep breath. “Because I’m all right now, and I wouldn’t have been. But today—”

“A haircut?” Lyle reminded her softly. “You promised me a haircut.”

Russ’s chair attacked the tile again as he jerked to attention. “You’re going to give Lyle a haircut? You cut hair? Would you do mine? Dorothy – my wife – usually does it, but— I’d kind of like to be looking at least respectable when I see her next.”

Lyle lifted several pieces of bacon out of the pan, said repressively, “She isn’t running a barber shop!”

George said, “I don’t mind. I’ll cut it – if you want to take your chances.” That was what she needed, something practical and physical to do. “But I’ll need scissors. I don’t have my barber shears with me”

Russ pushed his chair aside. “I’ll get Dorothy’s. Won’t be a minute!”

“And after the haircuts,” George said determinedly, “I think it’s time I worked out a way to get back to the mainland. I’m better, and—”

“Chopper,” said Russ, pausing halfway through the doorway. “You can hitch a ride with me on Wednesday.”

Lyle brought the plate of bacon across to the table as Russ’s boots pounded down the outside stairs.

“Chopper?” she asked the back of Lyle’s reddish-blond head. Was he avoiding looking at her?

“Helicopter.” Lyle walked back to the stove, turned the eggs in a second frying pan. Yes, he was deliberately avoiding her eyes. “How many eggs, honey?”

“Honey? I’m not—”

“How many?” he repeated with a grin, his eyes teasing her now.

“I’m not your honey!”

Friends! They were only friends. She jerked down on the Kitimat shirt. “I— two eggs, please. When is the helicopter coming? Why?” Did friends call each other
honey
?

Lyle cracked two eggs into the frying pan. “Russ goes on vacation Wednesday. The chopper’s scheduled to pick him up sometime Wednesday and take him into Prince Rupert.”

“Wednesday? And I could go on it?” She turned to look out the window, as if she could see Prince Rupert in the distance. “And today— what’s today?”

“Sunday,” he said abruptly.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? When I asked if I could get a seaplane? You must have known then. Why didn’t you tell me?” She moved around the table to conceal her rapid breathing. The answer was in his eyes, and it wasn’t the answer she wanted. How could he be a friend, someone she could turn to, if he felt like that about her?

He said softly, “Why do you think, stray lady? I’m in no hurry to see you leave.”

She adjusted a plate that didn’t need moving. “I don’t belong here. It’s time for me to go.” She could never come back. She’d been crazy, pretending she could. “I’m better now.”

“Are you?”

He was standing on the other side of the room, holding her still with those deep blue eyes. “Where will you go, honey? Don’t you think you’d rather stay here for a while?”