Now That You Mention It
Page 23
“When do you move out?” Poe asked.
“A few more days, I thought.” Boomer’s tail thumped on the floor. “There’s a second bedroom, Poe, if you want to sleep over. I would love that.”
She glanced at me, the patented incredulous disgust widening her blue eyes. “Sure.”
“You, too, Mom. We could have a girls’ night. Popcorn, movies.” After that, we could fly to Mars, which was just as likely.
“Ayuh. Sounds fun.” She took a bite of corn, which squeaked on her teeth as she chewed. “By the by,” she added, “the clinic here could use a doctor. If you’re stayin’ awhile, that is.”
“Really? Wow, yeah! That’d be great!” Something to do until Lily got out. “Do you know who’s in charge?”
She did, of course, and after dinner, she found the number and handed it to me. The clinic was an extension of the Maine Medical Center, where I’d done a brief stint.
When I was a kid, the clinic hadn’t existed. Dr. Locke saw everyone from newborns to those dying of old age. The Ames family put up the money for a clinic about ten years ago (something Mom had never mentioned). Dr. Locke had just retired, and the same hospital in Portland where I’d done a year of residency had been supplying newly minted doctors to cover the clinic.
I still had my Maine medical license, just in case my mom ever needed me in an emergency, though she wasn’t the type to have emergencies, and certainly not the type to call me if she did. Say a grizzly bear came down from Canada and bit off her arm. Mom would just shoot the bear, sew her arm back on with the thick black thread she used to sew our buttons back on when we were kids, then butcher the bear, make it into chili and use the skin as a rug.
It would be nice, working a little bit. Living alone again (which I could totally do, no matter what my hummingbird heart kept saying). Being useful.
For the first time since coming back, I felt a little flush of hope.
* * *
A few days later, Poe drove my belongings and me to the houseboat. I still wasn’t driving, though I was pretty sure I could. But Poe had her learner’s permit and needed the hours behind the wheel. I figured I’d need a car for the summer; I didn’t have one, since I was a big fan of public transportation. So I’d taken the ferry to Portland, rented a dark green MINI Cooper for the duration. Poe was duly impressed, and so we could continue our bonding (ha), I suggested she drive.
Bad idea. She hovered on the brake, stomped on the gas, blew through a stop sign, then screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection, causing my dog to lose his footing on the back seat.
“It’s fine. It’s good. You’re doing great,” I lied, practically stomping through the car floor as I pumped the invisible brakes. “Just ease your foot down the—”
We shot off, nearly clipping a tree. She took the ninety-degree turn onto Spruce Brook Road, which was not paved, at thirty miles an hour, dirt and gravel flying. From the back seat, Boomer let out a doggy moan. “Maybe a teeny bit slower,” I suggested tightly.
We were both sweaty when we turned onto the little grassy path road that led to Oberon Cove. “That wasn’t bad,” I lied.
She threw it into Park before it was quite done moving, and we both jerked forward, the seat belts catching. “Perfect,” I said.
Poe got out and stomped around to the back of the car and popped the hatchback to get my two suitcases. She might be grumpy, but she had two good arms. Boomer leaped out that way and trotted off to sniff.
I got out, too, easing my weight onto my healing knee. No more crutches for me, just an ice pack at night.
As ever, memories of my father came with the smell of sea and pine. We’d had a little Boston Whaler back then. Once in a while, we’d come to the boatyard for a part or a repair.
Now Luke lived there. I’d have to see him sooner or later. Maybe time had done its work and gentled his anger. I sure as hell hoped so. At least neither he nor Sullivan had been permanently hurt in that accident. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure I’d be on Scupper right now.
But I was here, and I wanted to see my new place.
From what I’d learned about Collier Rhodes, he had money to burn, and based on the look of things, it was true. The cost of running electric and water out here must’ve been staggering just on its own. He’d even had a septic system put in, Jim the Realtor had told me.
There was a small meadow separating the cove from the road, and my parking area, so to speak, was just a turnoff from the dirt road. A path was cut into the long grass, leading me to the water, which was ringed by pine trees and rocks. Small waves shushed against the shore, and the wind murmured through the trees. The dock itself was made of smooth gray wood, and a rope railing swooped gracefully from post to post. Copper footlights lit the way so I wouldn’t fall in the drink at night.
And the houseboat itself was...wow. Even more beautiful than in the photos.
It, too, was made of pale wood, a modern-looking structure of angles and strange curves. Oddly enough, it was well suited to Oberon Cove. Oh, man, there was a deck on the top! Sweet! And was that...a satellite dish? God bless Collier Rhodes. I could still watch My 600-lb Life.
I caught up with my niece, who was texting someone, and unlocked the door.
“Whoa,” she said before she could help herself.
Whoa indeed.
The door opened to a sleek, modern kitchen. Smoked-glass counters and a stainless steel Viking stove. Big fridge, a banquette that curved around a table and would seat six comfortably. There were windows everywhere, and the place was flooded in golden light. The living room had a fireplace. On a boat! A couch, a beautiful leather chair, glass coffee table.
“Wow,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
My niece said nothing, just clomped in and dropped the suitcases. I winced. “Can you maybe bring those into the bedroom, honey?” I asked.
“I don’t know where it is,” she said.
“Let’s find it, then.”
It wasn’t far—the whole boat was maybe eight hundred square feet. Poe opened a door and went in, putting the suitcases on my bed...a queen bed across from sleek built-in drawers and closet. The bathroom was nicer than the one in Bobby’s apartment—this one was tiled with pebbles. There was even a bathtub.
“It’s like a really nice hotel,” I said, trying to picture myself here.
“I wouldn’t know,” Poe said.
“Where’s your room?” I asked.
“I don’t have a room here.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “I think it’s up those stairs.”
I was right; there was a second, smaller bedroom there, bigger than the one at Mom’s. Another bathroom, a little loft space with a futon mattress and a ladder up to the deck, which had a stunning view of the cove and ocean beyond. Teak furniture with red-and-orange cushions and a bar. I could grow herbs up here, and have pots of flowers. It was the most fabulous place I’d ever lived. Thank you, Collier Rhodes!
I turned to my niece with a smile. “Isn’t this great? I really hope you’ll stay with me.”
“Whatever.”
I hesitated. “The truth is, I...I love company. Sometimes I get a little wigged out being on my own. So I mean it, okay? Come see me whenever you want, honey.”
“Will you stop calling me that? I have a name, you know.”
Just because she shares 25 percent of your DNA doesn’t mean you have to put up with this shit, my wiser self advised.
“A few more days, I thought.” Boomer’s tail thumped on the floor. “There’s a second bedroom, Poe, if you want to sleep over. I would love that.”
She glanced at me, the patented incredulous disgust widening her blue eyes. “Sure.”
“You, too, Mom. We could have a girls’ night. Popcorn, movies.” After that, we could fly to Mars, which was just as likely.
“Ayuh. Sounds fun.” She took a bite of corn, which squeaked on her teeth as she chewed. “By the by,” she added, “the clinic here could use a doctor. If you’re stayin’ awhile, that is.”
“Really? Wow, yeah! That’d be great!” Something to do until Lily got out. “Do you know who’s in charge?”
She did, of course, and after dinner, she found the number and handed it to me. The clinic was an extension of the Maine Medical Center, where I’d done a brief stint.
When I was a kid, the clinic hadn’t existed. Dr. Locke saw everyone from newborns to those dying of old age. The Ames family put up the money for a clinic about ten years ago (something Mom had never mentioned). Dr. Locke had just retired, and the same hospital in Portland where I’d done a year of residency had been supplying newly minted doctors to cover the clinic.
I still had my Maine medical license, just in case my mom ever needed me in an emergency, though she wasn’t the type to have emergencies, and certainly not the type to call me if she did. Say a grizzly bear came down from Canada and bit off her arm. Mom would just shoot the bear, sew her arm back on with the thick black thread she used to sew our buttons back on when we were kids, then butcher the bear, make it into chili and use the skin as a rug.
It would be nice, working a little bit. Living alone again (which I could totally do, no matter what my hummingbird heart kept saying). Being useful.
For the first time since coming back, I felt a little flush of hope.
* * *
A few days later, Poe drove my belongings and me to the houseboat. I still wasn’t driving, though I was pretty sure I could. But Poe had her learner’s permit and needed the hours behind the wheel. I figured I’d need a car for the summer; I didn’t have one, since I was a big fan of public transportation. So I’d taken the ferry to Portland, rented a dark green MINI Cooper for the duration. Poe was duly impressed, and so we could continue our bonding (ha), I suggested she drive.
Bad idea. She hovered on the brake, stomped on the gas, blew through a stop sign, then screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection, causing my dog to lose his footing on the back seat.
“It’s fine. It’s good. You’re doing great,” I lied, practically stomping through the car floor as I pumped the invisible brakes. “Just ease your foot down the—”
We shot off, nearly clipping a tree. She took the ninety-degree turn onto Spruce Brook Road, which was not paved, at thirty miles an hour, dirt and gravel flying. From the back seat, Boomer let out a doggy moan. “Maybe a teeny bit slower,” I suggested tightly.
We were both sweaty when we turned onto the little grassy path road that led to Oberon Cove. “That wasn’t bad,” I lied.
She threw it into Park before it was quite done moving, and we both jerked forward, the seat belts catching. “Perfect,” I said.
Poe got out and stomped around to the back of the car and popped the hatchback to get my two suitcases. She might be grumpy, but she had two good arms. Boomer leaped out that way and trotted off to sniff.
I got out, too, easing my weight onto my healing knee. No more crutches for me, just an ice pack at night.
As ever, memories of my father came with the smell of sea and pine. We’d had a little Boston Whaler back then. Once in a while, we’d come to the boatyard for a part or a repair.
Now Luke lived there. I’d have to see him sooner or later. Maybe time had done its work and gentled his anger. I sure as hell hoped so. At least neither he nor Sullivan had been permanently hurt in that accident. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure I’d be on Scupper right now.
But I was here, and I wanted to see my new place.
From what I’d learned about Collier Rhodes, he had money to burn, and based on the look of things, it was true. The cost of running electric and water out here must’ve been staggering just on its own. He’d even had a septic system put in, Jim the Realtor had told me.
There was a small meadow separating the cove from the road, and my parking area, so to speak, was just a turnoff from the dirt road. A path was cut into the long grass, leading me to the water, which was ringed by pine trees and rocks. Small waves shushed against the shore, and the wind murmured through the trees. The dock itself was made of smooth gray wood, and a rope railing swooped gracefully from post to post. Copper footlights lit the way so I wouldn’t fall in the drink at night.
And the houseboat itself was...wow. Even more beautiful than in the photos.
It, too, was made of pale wood, a modern-looking structure of angles and strange curves. Oddly enough, it was well suited to Oberon Cove. Oh, man, there was a deck on the top! Sweet! And was that...a satellite dish? God bless Collier Rhodes. I could still watch My 600-lb Life.
I caught up with my niece, who was texting someone, and unlocked the door.
“Whoa,” she said before she could help herself.
Whoa indeed.
The door opened to a sleek, modern kitchen. Smoked-glass counters and a stainless steel Viking stove. Big fridge, a banquette that curved around a table and would seat six comfortably. There were windows everywhere, and the place was flooded in golden light. The living room had a fireplace. On a boat! A couch, a beautiful leather chair, glass coffee table.
“Wow,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
My niece said nothing, just clomped in and dropped the suitcases. I winced. “Can you maybe bring those into the bedroom, honey?” I asked.
“I don’t know where it is,” she said.
“Let’s find it, then.”
It wasn’t far—the whole boat was maybe eight hundred square feet. Poe opened a door and went in, putting the suitcases on my bed...a queen bed across from sleek built-in drawers and closet. The bathroom was nicer than the one in Bobby’s apartment—this one was tiled with pebbles. There was even a bathtub.
“It’s like a really nice hotel,” I said, trying to picture myself here.
“I wouldn’t know,” Poe said.
“Where’s your room?” I asked.
“I don’t have a room here.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “I think it’s up those stairs.”
I was right; there was a second, smaller bedroom there, bigger than the one at Mom’s. Another bathroom, a little loft space with a futon mattress and a ladder up to the deck, which had a stunning view of the cove and ocean beyond. Teak furniture with red-and-orange cushions and a bar. I could grow herbs up here, and have pots of flowers. It was the most fabulous place I’d ever lived. Thank you, Collier Rhodes!
I turned to my niece with a smile. “Isn’t this great? I really hope you’ll stay with me.”
“Whatever.”
I hesitated. “The truth is, I...I love company. Sometimes I get a little wigged out being on my own. So I mean it, okay? Come see me whenever you want, honey.”
“Will you stop calling me that? I have a name, you know.”
Just because she shares 25 percent of your DNA doesn’t mean you have to put up with this shit, my wiser self advised.
