All That You Are (21 page)

“Nope.” He shook his head, the missing tooth in his mouth emphasizing the
o
in the word to a slight lisp. “My mommy said I'll break my bones 'cause we live on a big street.”

“We're on a steep hill,” Dana clarified.

Mark nodded at Dana, then addressed Terran, “Yeah, she's right. A little dude on fast wheels, you could take a nasty header and bust yourself pretty good.” No facetiousness marked his tone. “That sucks though. Can you ride your bike?”

“I got one at my dad's house.” Terran rubbed his nose. “Do you know how to skateboard?”

“Yes, but I bought it on the quarter-pipe my dad built for me and broke my arm.”

“Bought what?” Terran's eyes squinched as he tried to figure out what Mark meant.

Mark vaguely smiled. “Fell down and had to have my arm in a cast.”

“I want my arm in a cast!”

“No, you don't.”

Then Mark called to one of the teen boys, drew closer to him and the next thing Dana knew, Mark was borrowing the skateboard.

“Whoa.” Terran uttered the word in awe as Mark hopped onto the pipe and began to move the board along the flat edge, then bring things up to speed and curl over the top and back down. Knees bent and arms out, he mastered the ramp without effort and took another run at it.

His beaming face expressed the joy and freedom he must have felt to accomplish such a feat.

Dana had never seen a grown man do such a thing. She knew that boarding was hugely popular, but Mark's presence on the ramp took her by surprise.

After several runs, he handed the teenager his board back, and the boy gave him a high five. Mark smiled and hopped down to join them in the paved area.

“You rock and roll!” Terran breathed with an excited grin, the expression one of his dad's.

“Wow.” Mark laughed, his voice deep and happy. “I haven't done that in nearly twenty years. That was awesome.”

“Hey, Mark? Mark?” Terran all but jumped like a rubber ball in the parking lot. “Can you show me how to do that?”

Walking toward the truck, Mark's smile remained planted on his face. “I don't know. You'd need a small quarter-pipe ramp in your garage and you'd have to wear
a helmet, elbow and knee pads.
And
your mom would have to say okay.” The latter comment was directed specifically at her.

“Mommy? Can I? Please?”

Dana drew in a breath. She'd never thought about Terran and a skateboard, but it made sense he'd be interested. He knew no fear on the ice thanks to Cooper's encouragement. “How do I get a ramp in the garage?” she asked as Mark opened the truck door.

Looking into her eyes, Mark simply replied, “I build you one.”

And so the world between them became another inch smaller, as she nodded her agreement to have Mark Moretti build her son a mini-ramp in her garage and teach him how to skateboard.

 

M
ARIANGELA
W
ROTE
:

 

I went to Italy after my husband passed. It was good for me to see the Old Country and have memories of Giovanni and where we first met. I didn't immigrate to the States until my early twenties. When I was home, I stayed with my Aunt Romilda. She's a funny woman who wears thick support hose. I recall my mother wore the same. Panty hose, especially that control top nonsense, bother me and I'd rather go without. In the summers, I do wear the thigh-high ones to Mass. Other than that, I stick to cotton slacks. I never thought I'd wear pants. I was raised to believe you must respect your gender and wear a dress. Giovanni didn't mind the pants. In fact, he bought me my first pair.

Would you like to visit China one day?

Are your parents still living?

Do you enjoy living in Ketchikan?

Mark Called This Afternoon. He Said Your Grandson Plays Hockey. I Have Four Granddaughters By My Son Robert And A Granddaughter And Grandson By My Son John. My Daughter, Francesca, Is Recently Married, But Has Had Plenty Of Time To Get Something Started. If You Know What I Mean Without My Saying It. I Hope She Wants To Have A Lot Of Children.

It is pleasant weather today. Do you have snow?

Do you know how to e-mail a photo? I do not. This contraption of a computer is so confusing to me. I would love to see a picture of your grandson.

Ciao, Mariangela

 

Suni wrote:

 

The sun is shining today and the temperature reached 55º. It was beautiful to sit among the Buddha and listen for Oscar's spirit in the wind chimes. The breeze was ever so slight, but enough to call him. I suppose that would sound strange to you, but my husband is in my heart wherever I go. I will never remarry, as I could never find a more wonderful man. I spend most of the afternoon in my hillside garden. Do you have a garden? Do you plant flowers or vegetables?

No, I have never been to China. I have thought about it, but don't know when I would have the opportunity to go. Dana counts on me to help with Terran and it wouldn't be on the wind right now. We
get snow, but in the winter. Our summers are cooler and rain is prevalent. I am used to it.

My parents are deceased and in the Heavens. They were good people. I wish they could have met Terran. He is such a cute little boy. I do know how to e-mail a photo and I have attached one. This is him in his hockey uniform. He's quite the player. I'm very proud of him.

Ketchikan is my home so I cannot speak unkindly of it, but I have grown to love this tiny fleck on God's earth and am happy to call it my space. I believe in the spiritual path of righteousness and this is my right place.

You brought a smile to my soul when you mentioned panty hose. I do agree with you and I do not even own a pair. I love my gardening shoes and I wear them more than I should, even to the supermarket. Terran calls them Grandma's blue rubber shoes.

Mark came by last night to take Terran and Dana to dinner. Your son seems to be a very nice man. His help on the Blue Note is invaluable. I would like to ask you some questions about him.

Has he ever been engaged?

Does he see himself getting married?

Is he serious about his life?

What does he want to do for his future?

Please understand my concern for my daughter. While she is a mother and is a wonderful young lady, she has a vulnerable side and I would hate to see her heart broken. I am aware your son plans on leaving here at the end of this month. I just worry about how Dana will do after he's gone
.

Thank you for your kind answer.

May your day be filled with light, Suni Jackson

 

Mariangela wrote:

 

I understand your concern about Mark. Let me assure you, he is an honorable man. While he's remained single late in life, I believe he intends to settle down. Sometimes it takes a man longer than others to recognize the value of a wife and a home. He took the death of my husband quite hard, as I imagine your daughter did in regards to her father.

Mark has never been engaged to be married. I wish he had been to one of his girlfriends. I rather liked her. But they parted ways. Mark has immersed himself into the family business, Moretti Construction, and my son-in-law is holding a spot for him as we transition into a new phase. I'm quite confident Mark will embrace his new position.

I miss my son and look forward to having him home. Thanks for welcoming him into your house. I appreciate your generosity. How is your daughter coping with running her father's founding business? From what you have described in your previous e-mails, she seems very strong.

Warm wishes, Mariangela

P.S. Your grandson is too darling for words! He must be your delight and joy! I'll bet you love to spoil him. I know I do my precious angels.

“I
PISS ON MASKITTAS,”
Cardelle declared, relaxing at the Blue Note's bar with a rum and Coke between his thin brown fingers. An insect repellent can was positioned by his right hand, and Mark watched as Card looked out for Dana. When her back was turned, he shot himself with a light spray.

“Cardelle,” Leo cautioned, approaching the spot where the Jamaican sat. “I can smell that DEET crap and you're making it stink in the bar.”

“Mellow out, mon. It was just one small shot. De sky is thick with dem vermin today. Wes' Nile. Bad obeah—de witchcraft.”

Mark had finished construction for the afternoon hours ago, had gone home to shower then returned to the bar for some dinner and a beer.

There was always someone at the long bar to talk to. Usually Cardelle and Bear, and tonight Sam Hyatt had joined them. He sat at the end, in a conversation with a guy Mark didn't know.

Settled in on his coral-colored vinyl bar stool, Mark enjoyed watching Dana as she moved about her domain, keeping folks happy and smiling for most everyone who glanced her way.

Even him.

His body warmed whenever she met his gaze, and he couldn't help but think how sensual she felt in his arms with her mouth over his. He'd like to have her there again, and soon. He sensed from a look she gave him earlier this evening that her mind wasn't focused on tonight, but rather private thoughts of her own.

The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to be with her every second. It was that attraction thing, so strong he didn't readily know how to handle it. He couldn't recall ever feeling such a sexual pull, such a desire to wrap all his thoughts and energy around one woman.

He liked it, liked how she made him feel with a simple look or a soft smile. Her subtle yet interested reaction to him gave him a sense of power and command. Never one to put more into flirtation other than meaningless fun, he felt a deeper intimacy here. Something rare, if ever, for him.

“Maskittas are de plague of de earth. I piss on dem,” Cardelle repeated.

Mark glanced at him over his raised beer glass, an idea in the back of his head. “Card, how's that mural coming?”

“Good, mon. It is some of de bes'work I ever do. I do it on de big canvas, like you ask. It be done soon and I can bring it to here.”

Mark had commissioned Cardelle to paint the historical background of the Blue Note, leaving the details to his creativity. Mark had no idea what it looked like. He trusted Cardelle to make it come alive in whatever way he chose.

“So, have you ever painted on porcelain?” Mark asked.

“Porcelain not be my medium, but I guess it could be done wid de right paints, you know.”

“Then I've got another job for you.”

“Yeah, mon?”

“I want you to paint a mosquito on the bottom of the two new urinals I had installed in the men's john.”

Mark had finally gotten to the bathrooms, creating a handicap access in the men's room first. The women's would take longer to get in order because he had extra work in there.

Cardelle's eyes widened, two bright white moons with dark centers. “You got be kidding me, Mahk.”

“No, Card, I'm not.” Mark patted Cardelle's back. “Ever seen a fly on the bottom of a urinal?”

“No.”

“It gives a guy an aiming point. They usually use a decal, but I'm thinking a painted mosquito would be creative.”

“And dis way dem maskittas can be pissed on for real. I can do dis.” He broke into a broad grin. “I dig it, mon.”

Jazz musicians took the stage and began to tune up, then Dana made an introduction for the group, Catch Step, here from Portland to perform. Tonight was a special Friday, the day before the annual Summer Beer Festival and Blueberry Arts Festival, so the Blue Note was bursting at the seams. The house was packed to the roof and Mark had a hard time tracking Dana through the crowd.

Among other notables in the community, the fish processors from Alaska General Seafoods had come in to enjoy a night of quality music. As the musicians began, Sam sidled over to Mark and took a spot on the newly vacant bar stool beside him.

“How's it going, Howard?” Mark questioned as Sam settled in.

Sam, unable to contain a mocking smile, remarked, “By now, I would have thought you knew my name.”

“I do, flyboy.”

“What's up with Howard?”

“Howard Hughes was a pilot like you.” Leaning forward, Mark snatched the last wedge of toasted bread from his order and finished the seafood dip that he'd come to enjoy. “Figured it would make for more interesting conversation.”

Tight-lipped, Sam flattened both palms on the glossy bar. “Hughes might have been a pilot, but he was a deranged millionaire. Are you fishing for some cash, Moretti? I thought you had the bar's renovation cinched with your bankroll.”

Seeing as Mark needed Sam to do him a favor, he didn't take the bait. Instead, he spoke to the bartender. “Leo, set up Sam with one more of whatever he's been drinking.”

Leo scooped a glass into his hand and began mixing the drink, but not without saying, “Bottle to throttle.”

Mark wondered what he meant and let his curious gaze slide over to Sam.

After eating a handful of nuts Sam explained, “I can't fly if I've been drinking eight hours prior to takeoff. I give it twelve—overcautious.” Then for Leo's sake, he added clearly, “I don't want to lose my pilot's license.”

“Nobody said you did,” Leo commented, his facial expression stoic and focused, sweat beads settled on his brow. The constant bar orders kept him moving efficiently without an extra moment to grab a water to relieve his dry throat. “It's my job to make sure everyone behaves at the bar.”

“Leo,” Mark called, surmising the bruiser was stretched tighter than a drum skin, “you ever laugh so hard your sides ache?”

Cardelle laughed, overhearing the exchange. “He be laughing on de inside, mon. Leo is a'right.”

Harried, Dana quickly drew up to the bar and grabbed a drink order herself to bring to a table. She barely noticed him, but in those few seconds, he curved his mouth when she gave him her fleeting attention.

She moved too fast, but not so lightning fast he couldn't appreciate her sultry eyes with their corners tilted upward and emphasized with a smoky shadow. Her lip color was a ruby-pink, sexy as all hell, and it made her mouth look too kissable for words.

She had on a fitted white blouse, its top few buttons undone to reveal a lace cami beneath. Pressed black slacks hugged her fine butt and slim thighs. Stiletto heels added several inches to her petite height. Her thick hair hung loose to the middle of her back in a flat and sleek mane that made his hands itch. She'd dressed nicely tonight, and it didn't go unnoticed by him—or anyone else.

Jealousy overtook Mark each time he watched a guy's gaze grow hot while looking at her, trying to get her attention and coax her to stop by his table. Mark had to grit his teeth, knowing that this was something she had grown to deftly handle herself.

She expertly ducked a hamlike arm trying to fit around her shoulder. She could easily sidestep an eager guy coming full bore at her for a bear hug. When a colorful innuendo was spoken, she purred an equally suggestive response that packed a dynamite wallop with the adjec
tive “fish-brain” attached. If the men realized they were being curbed and put in their places, they didn't show it. Because each time she made another pass through the room, she received yet another pass.

All of this dipping and dodging was done artfully—at least that's how it appeared to Mark. He still didn't like the fact she had to deal with the constant attention. He would have preferred to have her to himself at his condo.

Mark's reflections were broken by Sam telling a story to Cardelle. “So he made his choice, and he chose the first love of his life—not his wife.” Sam took a quick sip of his cocktail, chestnut hair falling into his glacier-blue eyes before he shook it out. “And that's what AIDs is in my world, Cardelle.”

Confusion gave Mark a frown. Sam's comments didn't make sense.

“Nuh true,” Cardelle responded, speaking Mark's thoughts. “Dat is bull-sheet about de AIDs.”

Sam explained, “AIDs is an Aviation Induced Divorce. My friend's too in love with his airplane and he gave up his wife for his single-engine Mooney. He lives to fly and she didn't want him flying so much. Pretty sad when a man chooses wings over a woman.”

“Dat be a whole heap of ding-a-ling. I be picking de chi-chi any day.”

Nodding, Sam acquiesced, “You and me both, Cardelle.”

Heavyset and ambling along, Bear “Roadkill” Barker returned from a trip to the men's room, elbowing his way through the crowd. He nudged a position at the bar, angling next to Cardelle. The two friends engaged in an animated conversation with humor that Mark couldn't hear over the music.

“So how's the floatplane business going?” Mark asked, making small talk with Sam. From the onset of their first meeting, Sam had been standoffish and Mark wasn't left with much room to maneuver around him.

“We're doing pretty good. I had a tourist riding shotgun my last run and I kept hearing a popping in my headset.” Sam shook his head in recollection. “I started to turn my plane back because I thought I had a problem. But the idiot was popping bubbles with his chewing gum into his mike. I about shit my pants thinking I had a major engine issue.”

“I could see how that'd be a problem. Guess you gotta rethink your safety speech.” Mark gave him a half grin, trying to make light of the incident, but Sam didn't crack so much as a smile.

The younger man's personality was about as icy cool as the color of his blue eyes. “Hey, Sam,” Mark said above the guitar notes, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Depends.” Sam's face grew curious, but cautious.

“Next time you make a run to one of the inner islands, can you buy me some halibut and salmon—and whatever fish is fresh caught that day?”

“Why not just buy it here?”

“I need quantity. Enough for a restaurant.”

“You planning on opening one?”

“My brother has a restaurant in Boise and some kings and halibut I sent to him went over big on his menu. He wants some more.”

Sam nodded. “I could do that.”

“You ever thought about flying down to the lower forty-eight?”

“Not particularly.”

“Your plane qualified to do that?”

“It can fly anywhere I tell it to.” Sam's brittle smile softened a little. “But that doesn't mean I'll head down south.”

“Then how do you suggest I get all that fish to Boise?”

“Commercial flight.”

“Is that normally how restaurant fish is shipped out of here?”

“Depends on your definition of normal.” Sam's fingertips traced the moisture trail rolling down the side of his cocktail glass. “Yeah, that's how it's usually done. Alaska Airlines will fly anything on dry ice.”

Mark reached for his wallet, pulling out large bills and folding them in half before handing the cash to Sam. “This ought to cover the fish, and I'll pay you for the fuel or whatever you charge.”

Sam's face grew contemplative a moment. “You don't have to pay me anything else. Just do me a favor.”

Mark hadn't counted on a stipulation. “What's that?”

“When you leave Dana—leave clean.”

Absorbing Sam's remark, Mark didn't respond.

“Don't leave her hanging,” Sam explained. “Don't promise her anything. When you go, you're gone. You won't be back.”

Irritation rose within Mark. “How do you know that?”

“Because they never come back. They're just passing through for the summer. It's always the same.”

Their eyes locked, a collision of ice blue and rich brown. Each glimpsed a raw side in the other's unflinching gaze. Jaws clenched resolutely, dark brows spired over eyes and neither spoke.

Mark felt foolish being taken to task by a guy ten years younger than him who didn't know him enough to peg what he'd do and not do. He was torn between calling Sam's presumption way out of line and acknowledging the possible reality of the comment. Mark had no immediate plans to return to Ketchikan once he flew home, but in the back of his mind, he'd envisioned seeing Dana Jackson again.

After what seemed an eternity, it was Mark who shattered the tense silence. “You never know what the future holds.”

At that point, Cardelle sat taller when Dana appeared at the bar once more with empty glasses on a tray for Leo to load in the dishwasher. “Miz Dah-nah,” he politely addressed her. “What dat you call yourself?”

“I don't know what you mean, Card,” she said, moving to the stainless mini-fridge and taking out a bottled water.

“Deh are people who t'ink I am African, but I am not. I be a Jamaican mon. You not be white, not be African, not be China, but you have de look of molasses candy dis night. Ah beauty.” He sighed in compliment.