On Little Wings (25 page)

“Who knows!” Claude said “Who
cares
?”

“I guess Nathan does. Just ask him why.” I shrugged and turned back to the water.

Claude fell silent for a moment and then asked, “Would you like to meet him?”

“Will?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to take my word for it. And for Pete’s sake, don’t take Nathan’s word for it. Just meet him yourself. He works with his dad in the summer. He’ll be back later today. Just depends on the catches how late he is.”

I looked at her young face, so much younger than mine (when in truth she could very well be older. I never asked her birthday), searching for a trace of the anguish that flocked under my ribs. I saw only bright, unconquered eyes.
Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Surely there is a way to love without letting it cripple you.

“Do you really like him?” I asked her.

She smiled, her curls dancing around her face. “I wouldn’t drive Nathan crazy if I didn’t. Seriously, Jennifer, I’ve worshipped the ground Nathan walked on my entire life. He’s just good. A good brother. A smart brother. Handsome. Don’t you think?” A wave of heat rushed up my neck. I managed to escape with a noncommittal sound and she plowed on. “I’ve been trying to live up to him for sixteen years. This is the first time I did something he hated. But Will is … I think he’s good for me. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” I muttered. Nathan wasn’t right for me. Or more accurately, he didn’t think I was right for him.
Aye, there’s the rub.

“You’ve had boyfriends, right?”

Could this conversation have taken a more agonizing turn? “No, Claude, not really. Not at all,” I sighed.

“Really?” Her nose wrinkled, baffled.

“I’ll go with you to meet Will,” I said, and it had the intended effect. She turned the conversation away from me and back to him. I agreed to walk down to the docks with her at four o’clock.

As she stood to leave, I asked, “Claudia, do you think Nathan is coming to lines tonight? He skipped the last two nights.” I kept my voice level. No trembling lip.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” she ruminated. “He’s been in a mood lately. He gets all gloomy like that when he’s mad. I think he’s pouting about Will. You just need to tell him to snap out of it.” She shrugged, her warm smile unaffected.

“Why me?” I asked, feeling ashamed of how flat and lifeless my voice sounded.

“He listens to you. He wouldn’t do lines with you if he didn’t like you.”

Something like “hmm” came out of my mouth. She forgot – he wasn’t doing lines with me anymore. “Claude, why don’t you ever do lines?”

“Oh, I have. It’s kind of ironic. I like sharing my opinion, but I don’t like lines. Nathan hates sharing his feelings and loves lines. Just the weirdness of life.” She shrugged and smiled. “I’ll see you at the dock at four.”

“At four,” I promised.

When Claude and I got to town the boat was already docked. I picked Will out easily from the rest of the small crew by his age. He dodged between the older workers who were stacking empty cages into a high wall at the back of the boat. When he saw Claude he raised his hand in a friendly wave.

My first impression was confusion. He was not handsome. A thin faced topped his tall body and small eyes huddled too close to his nose. His nondescript hair fell in short waves that clung to his head. I hoped she wouldn’t ask for my opinion on his looks. He finished positioning the last cages before heading toward us and jumping over the side of the boat onto the dock. He landed with a resounding thud that made the planks shake under my feet. “Hi, Claude!” he said, wrapping her in a quick hug and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“Will, this is Jennifer, Sarah’s niece. Jennifer, this is Will,” Claude said. He had to lean over considerably to offer me his hand. A long, skinny hand, but a nice, firm grip.

“Good catch?” Claude asked.

“Crappy. Barely anything. But there’s tomorrow.” The news didn’t seem to bother him in the least. In fact, his smile widened and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You could be my good luck charm. I’ll take you out with us. It’s calm. Hardly a wave.”

“Some other time,” Claude wrinkled her nose in distaste and stepped back from the boat like it offended her.

“Well then, we can go get some soda. I’m thirsty,” Will said as he wiped his neck. The Jacks exuberant voices carried all the way down to us as we left the dock.

“What’s got them all riled up?” Claude asked.

“Oh, Monty’s painting today. They’ve been catcalling him all afternoon. Pete told him he should paint someone in the nude. Then he volunteered Little. I had to go get his cane back for him after she threw it in the water. Good thing it floats.”

“Who’s Monty?” I asked, laughing at the image.

“He’s a nice man surrounded by loudmouthed imbeciles,” Claudia said. “He’s over there. With the easel.” She pointed past the docks to the rocky hillside that slopes into the water. A long, thin man dressed in slacks and a dinner jacket was poised behind a canvas. “He’s an artist.”

I told her I gleaned as much, which made Will chuckle. I studied Monty for a long moment. He was obviously a little more delicate than the watermen. Certainly more formal. But not extraordinary. “Why do the Jack’s get all worked up over him?” As soon as I asked, a small creature pranced from behind Monty’s back, sniffing the grass. I know
now
that it was a dog, but at first glance it appeared a new species only loosely related to canines. A rhinestone collar hung slack on the thin neck and spindly legs, just thicker than pencils and impossibly long, held up its waifish body. Monty stretched his long hand down and caressed her with one finger while he kept his hold on the paintbrush.

“Because he’s not a stupid fisherman,” Claudia scowled.

Will shook his head in amusement. “It’s mostly the dog. Wearing evening clothes like he’s a freaking English lord everyday doesn’t help. But mostly the dog. He even dresses her up in the winter.”

“Suzie gets cold! She doesn’t have much hair.” If Claudia meant to admonish him, her response had the opposite effect. This time I joined in when he burst out in laughter. We had reached the Jack’s bench by then and Claude scowled and pushed her hands against her hips, “You boys giving Monty a hard time?”

“No ma’am,” Russ said with a false sobriety. “Wouldn’t dream of bothering Montague.” His eyes sparked wickedly as he spoke the name.

“Oh, grow up,” Claudia hissed.

“We haven’t done a blessed thing,” Russ promised, holding up his hands.

“We were just muckin’ about,” Pete said and Will’s cheeks exploded in a snicker that he couldn’t restrain. Even Claudia’s scalding look couldn’t sober him.

“Come on, Claude,” Will wheedled. “You have to admit he sort of brings it on himself; His name, his clothes, the dog, the painting, the poetry …”

“Don’t knock poetry, boy,” Glenn interrupted. “I enjoy it myself. Got a bit of a hidden talent. There once was a man named Muck who painted to earn a buck …”

Will’s eyes glinted mischievously but he raised his hand to his throat to silence Glenn. “Ladies present. Better not finish that little masterpiece.” And the way he said it so easily, with such unintended politeness, was oddly touching.

“A person can’t help what they’re named,” Claudia pointed out derisively, ignoring Glenn altogether.

“Well they don’t have to
keep
it,” Will shot back while she glared.

“No, no, his name’s the best part,” Glenn spoke up. “I’ll never forget the first time I heard it.” Glenn closed his eyes and inhaled like the memory was a tantalizing scent riding on the air. “Montague Muck the Second.” He shook his head in glee. “That means there were
two
of them!” A deep, almost reverent, smile of gratitude lit his features.

After a scornful glance that rivaled Nathan’s, Claude threw off Will’s placating hand and stalked away, mumbling under her breath.

“You let a woman do that now and you’ve got little lower to sink, boy,” Pete boomed out loud enough for Claude to hear.

Claudia’s shout of “Shove it, Jack!” carried over the din of the dock work and the raucous screams of the seabirds. The dog perked up her pointed ears at the sound and I noticed Monty’s head peek over his canvas, a smug look of triumph in his face as he stole a glance at the Jacks. Someone finally said it for him.

I tried to mollify Claudia on our walk home, but she didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation until I mentioned that I thought Will seemed very nice.

“He is,” she agreed “Usually. Today he was being a jerk, but he’s normally nice. But Nathan doesn’t even give him a chance. He just hates Will because he’s a fisher.”

“I didn’t think he was a jerk. I thought he was funny,” I said. “And why would Nathan hate someone for fishing? He doesn’t hate the Jacks.”

“The Jacks don’t want to date his sister. He doesn’t want me to fall in love with anyone in town. He wants me to get out of here.”

“And you? What do you want?”

Claude pulled her lip between her teeth. “I don’t think living here is a bad thing. I don’t mind making a living fishing. I don’t think this is a bad place to end up.”

“And what about school? You’re so smart.”

“Well Smithport will still be here after college, right? I can teach engineering at UMaine or work nearby. We might not end up in Smithport, but we’d be close.”

“It sounds like you’ve made plans. It’s really serious then, you and Will?”

She shifted her eyes away from me. “I don’t know. Life is life. Who knows what will happen,” she answered cryptically.

“But Nathan doesn’t approve of young love, I take it?” I asked as we neared home.

“Understatement!” Claude exclaimed. “He thinks it wrecks lives. He thinks he wrecked Judith’s life. He thinks John wrecked Sarah’s life. We don’t know who wrecked Little’s life … but he thinks somebody did.”

I bristled, taking the words personally. “How is it wrecked? She was a movie star! And Sarah – she doesn’t have a wrecked life. She’s a teacher. Everyone loves her.” The heat rose into my face and burned along my cheekbones as we made it into the driveway of Shelter Cove.

“Don’t kill the messenger. I’m just saying what Nathan says. I think life is what it is.” She stopped talking and we both tilted our heads, listening. Through the open window a singing voice reached us.

“Is that …
Sarah
?” I whispered.

Claude grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the house to the side of the garage. She hunched down on the gravel and put her finger to her lip. “She’ll stop if she knows we can hear her,” she whispered.

“I didn’t know she could sing like that!”

Claude waved her hand to hush me and signaled me to listen. Sarah’s voice drifted to us, clear and lilting. “Featherbeds are soft, and painted rooms are bonny, but I would trade them all for my handsome, winsome Johnny.” The unfamiliar tune was simple, dipping into the rich, low notes before sweeping back up, like a lullaby.

“It’s her favorite song,” Claude said. “She used to be in theater. Really good.”

Claude didn’t exaggerate. Sarah was talented. I imagined her twenty years younger, her dancer’s physique, her golden hair, her honeyed voice. If she couldn’t be the ‘full four seasons of the year’ to someone’s heart then who could?

When the song finished Claudia turned to me with beseeching eyes. “When you see Nathan, will you please tell him that you don’t think Will is that bad? He listens to you.”

“Claude, he …” I decided it was easier to agree than explain. “Sure I will.”

“Thank you. And thanks for coming with me today. I’ll see you later.”

“No problem. Bye, Claude.” As she skipped away I thought of how I could easily mistake her for Hester if not for her springy, yellow hair. Only from the back, from a distance, I would think Hester was older.

Sarah and I did lines alone that night after Nathan cancelled due to a “headache.” Our conversation quickly left the realm of literature. After reading our lines Sarah asked me if I knew when I was leaving. The subject always threw my emotions into a frenzy. “Are you getting sick of me?” I teased, stalling for time.

“Quite the opposite,” Sarah answered. “I’m worried I’m getting too attached.” When I looked up at her I saw my own face mirrored in hers, my pain, my doubt, my impending loss, all sketched lightly in her features. When I hesitated too long, she continued. “I really didn’t think I was lonely. And now I feel like a fool.”

“Why?” I asked, trying to convey sympathy and disagreement in one, tight syllable.

“Because I was so deluded. I thought I was fine putting out fires for Judith, helping Nathan, teaching my students, dinners out with the teachers. I told myself it was enough. But it’s different having someone in the house. I’m a little scared to face the quiet again.”

My stomach seized and I rubbed a hand over my face, burying my eyes. “Would it have been better if I never came?” I asked myself more than I was asking Sarah. My mother’s face, Nathan’s grim frown, the picture of my wet cheek pressed into the sand all surged through my thoughts.

“Are you kidding?” Sarah cried. “I never thought you’d get to that conclusion! I just meant that I’m feeling a little raw tonight. And thinking of you going – I’m wondering if it will be like watching Claire leave again. I wish I knew how much time I have. To prepare myself.”

I tapped my sandal against the railing, remembering the thumping sound of my foot on the table leg when I told my parents I was leaving. Such a full circle to be sitting in Maine, telling my aunt I was leaving. I always seemed to be upsetting someone. “I don’t really know. I’ll stay as long as she lets me.”

After a few quiet moments of looking over the tops of the trees to the shadowy clouds sailing over the sky I asked, “Do you miss the theater?”

“You mean my acting?” Sarah asked in open surprise.

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t ever think about it much. I don’t think so. What brought this on?”

I deflected her question with one of my own. “Why did you stop?”

“Really?” Sarah laughed, clearly in doubt that the topic deserved any attention. “I, well, in all honesty, I stopped because of John.”