Summer on the Cape (16 page)

She didn’t know where she’d be going, but she felt a great need to get out into that storm, to feel its strength around her, to feel the rain on her face and in her hair. She wanted to drive through the drenching downpour and watch it blowing through the trees, sheeting the roads with flowing water. She wanted to see the boats down at the dock, being tossed against the waves, pulling violently at their moorings.

Once outside, she realized the storm was even more ferocious than she’d anticipated. She had trouble opening the car door and, by the time she got in behind the wheel and turned on the ignition, the water was streaming through her hair and down her face. Along the road that led through the woods to the highway, the tree branches were bending under the powerful wind, and she was glad when she reached the main road where the visibility was better. She drove to the nearby town and through its narrow streets, down to the harbor, where she stopped the car and sat still for a few moments, trying to figure out why she felt compelled to be there. The dock was washed beneath torrents of rain and the floats below were covered by waves of seawater smashing up against them. In their slips, along the length of the dock, the boats were rocking against the waves, straining at their lines, the wind-driven rain blowing across their decks.

And way down at the far end of the dock, barely visible through the sheets of rain, Zach’s green Ford pickup truck was parked near the ramp.

“What’s he doing here now, in this storm?” Her question to herself was immediately followed by another. “And what am I doing here?”

She was struggling with an irrational impulse to drive to the end of the dock, to find Zach. It made no sense. What was she doing here? Why did she feel compelled to be near him? Especially after his incredibly infuriating behavior last night!

She pulled the Cherokee away from the dock and into the parking area in front of The Lobster Pot, the diner where the fishermen hung out when they weren’t out on their boats. Maybe, with a cup of coffee and a little casual conversation, she could get a grip on herself. Steady down and get back to work. Somehow, she would have to drag her mind away from Zach.

She turned off the car’s motor and pushed the door open against the blowing rain and, in the rush and whirl of the wind against her face, managed to reach the diner and pull the door open. She got it closed behind her with difficulty, with the wind dragging hard against it. And there she stood, dripping, inside the warm and inviting diner. She really wanted that cup of coffee.

“Looks like you ran into some weather out there.” The plump, dark-haired waitress behind the counter was setting a couple of beers in front of two young fishermen who’d come down to the dock to check their boat’s mooring lines. “Whyn’t you hang up your things over there and dry out a bit. What can I get for you?”

Allie hung the poncho on a hook and ran her hands over her face, drawing the water back off her forehead and through the thick hair that was clinging in soft, wet tendrils.

“Some coffee, please. Black.”

As she sat down at the counter next to the two fishermen, the woman behind the counter gave her a long sideways look. Allie knew she was being examined, and she recognized the woman from last night’s meeting at the school. She was one of those who’d been vociferously opposing the development plan. The woman had recognized her, too, and had identified her as “the outsider.” The friendly manner of a moment ago disappeared, and the woman’s eyes were glinting with cold suspicion. She set a mug in front of Allie, banging it down on the counter hard, sending a message.

Allie abandoned any hope of friendly conversation there. She turned to the man sitting next to her.

“What an awful storm. I thought it was going to blow me away.”

He kept his eyes fixed on his glass of beer. “It’ll pass pretty soon.” He turned away from Allie to the man next to him. “We get them much worse around here, don’t we?”

His companion laughed drily. “We sure do. This one’s just a little baby rainstorm. It’ll be over in a few hours.”

“Well, it’s strong enough for me.” If this was a baby storm, she sure didn’t want to see the grown-up version. “I thought it was going to pull the trees down. And some of the boats out there look like they’re going to get washed away.”

“Hell, no,” said the first man, still not looking at her. “If you were from around here, you’d know we grow our trees a little tougher than that. They’ll last just fine.” He drank down some of his beer. “And the boats’ll be okay, too.”

Allie was bristling. These people were apparently not going to let her forget she wasn’t “from around here.”

“Yeah,” said the other man. “They’ll be okay.” Then, forgetting all about Allie, he said to his friend, “But I did see one of the sailboats out in the harbor broke loose from its mooring. About a half hour ago, Zach Eliot went out with the harbormaster in the launch. They were going to try to pull it in.”

The first man shook his head sympathetically. “That’s too bad. I hate to see anyone have to go out in this kind of weather.”

“You said it. But they’ll be okay. Old Gordon’s a good man.” He signaled to the waitress to bring them each another beer. “And Zach knows what he’s doing out on the water.”

“That’s for sure. I’ve got to hand it to him. That guy’s really got guts.”

“I know. If I were in his boots, I’d never be out on the water in a storm like this.” He shook his head thoughtfully, staring down at the countertop, making a pattern of overlapping rings on it with his wet glass. “Not after—” He stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, as his friend jabbed at him with his elbow, gesturing with his head toward Allie. The man glanced over at her, pursed his lips and nodded slightly. Whatever it was he’d been about to say, it was now locked securely away from her. Instead, he contemplated his beer.

The other man said a long, drawn-out “Eee-yup,” and also stared into his glass.

Allie finished her coffee and the waitress said, “Will there be anything else?” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t offer Allie a coffee refill.

Allie realized these people were not doing anything to improve her bad mood. She had a couple of dollars in the pocket of her jeans, and she dropped them on the counter.

“No, thanks,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going. I guess a little rain won’t hurt me.”

She walked back to get the yellow poncho and slipped it on over her head. As she pushed the door open and went out into the storm, an echo of the men’s words was troubling her. Something about Zach and the storm. Zach, out in the motor launch, in that driving rain and the fierce wind, and the waves, higher and wilder than any she’d ever seen.

She got into the Cherokee and, although she’d intended to drive back to the house, she found herself driving, instead, to the end of the dock, where she pulled up next to Zach’s pickup. Out in the harbor, in a rain that was being driven almost horizontal by the screaming wind, she saw the big white launch making its way toward the dock. A sailboat was lashed to the side of the launch and Allie saw that its mast was snapped off near the top, the broken piece hanging high above the deck, the remnant of twisted, flapping sail whipping dangerously in the vicious wind.

The man at the wheel of the launch must have been the harbormaster, the man they’d called Gordon. The other man in the boat, holding on to the sailboat as it was being brought in, keeping it under control, was Zach. Even at a distance, she recognized that tall, lean figure in the bright yellow foul weather gear, his dark hair flattened by the rain. His back was toward her and his head was turned up, into the rain. He was keeping an eye on the broken mast, watching as it smacked back and forth against the long wire stays that were all that held the broken part high aloft. It was close to being torn loose by the fierce wind, and Allie could see that if it broke away, the long wires, thirty, maybe forty feet long, already under high tension, would slash out in uncontrollable, unpredictable directions.

Knowing better but still not stopping herself, she was immediately out of the car, running down the ramp, fearful for Zach’s safety in the raging storm, and feeling, inexplicably, a need to be close to him, to help him. Even as she ran, she understood how foolish she was being. What possible help could she be? Zach was thoroughly at home in this environment. It was she who was completely unfamiliar with it. Still, her feet kept running down the slippery ramp, her fingertips grasping at the rails to keep herself from sliding on the wet metal surface. Down on the floats, close to the water’s edge, the wind was blowing even more wildly, and she ran for the last float, where the two men were bringing in the launch and the disabled sailboat.

The harbormaster saw Allie as the boat pulled in close. He was holding the launch as steady as he could in the rough water, maneuvering the bulky craft up to the far edge of the float. Straining to be heard above the roar of the wind, he yelled at her to grab the boat’s line nearest to her and make it fast on that side. As she reached for the line, he was signaling Zach that they would have to untie the sailboat and bring it into the nearest empty slip, a tricky bit of work at any time.

At just that moment, Zach looked around from where he’d been untying the sailboat. He saw Allie, hanging desperately onto the launch’s bowline, straining against the boat’s drag, struggling to keep her footing on the slippery, wet surface of the float.

The violent oath that burst from him was drowned in the shrieking wind. With a single motion, his hands retied the loosened line, and with a couple of long strides down the length of the boat, he was on the float and beside Allie before she knew he was coming.

He had seen immediately how unsure her footing was on the treacherous surface, how she was fighting to keep her balance against the drag of the big launch and the twisting, conflicting forces of the current and the fierce wind that were pulling against her. She was in much greater danger than she realized!

From behind, his arms went powerfully around her, grabbing with one hand the line that she was struggling to hold and, with his other hand holding her upright, pulling her back tight, steadying her against his own straining body. They were close to the edge of the float, and he had to draw her down with him, her body molded to his, as he crouched low to tie up the heavy launch. Gordon had cut the motor back and Zach yelled at him that the line was fast.

Then he dragged Allie away from the edge of the water, his fingers digging ferociously into her arms as he turned her to face him.

“You idiot! What are you doing here?” He seemed barely able to control himself and Allie felt he would crush her in his hands. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He glared fiercely down at her, his face close to hers. Allie was terrified by his fury and felt her own eyes fill with tears. He repeated his words, shouting at her, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

She was so frightened she couldn’t breathe. He was dragging her up the ramp and along the dock to where the Cherokee was parked. He yanked the door open and pushed her roughly into it.

“Get out of here! Go back home and don’t you ever try anything like that again!” He slammed the door shut, turned, and ran back to the launch, where Gordon was waiting for him to help with the damaged sailboat.

Allie sat, silent and shaking, trying to stop the tears that flowed helplessly. She couldn’t understand Zach’s rage. And she couldn’t understand why she’d felt compelled to help him; how had she not realized that what she had been doing would be dangerous—to herself or to anyone else?

Then, as the moments passed, her frightened tears were gradually turning into tears of anger. Who did he think he was, yelling at her like that? Dragging her around like a sack of potatoes. Scaring the wits out of her. Her arms could still feel the fierce pressure of his fingers crushing her and she wanted to pound her fists against his broad chest.

At last, with an occasional sob still catching in her throat, Allie started up the motor and drove down the dock, past The Lobster Pot, along the town’s main street, back along the highway and through the wooded places that led to the beautiful house high up on the dunes above the beach, all being lashed by the driving rain.

* * *

Allie slammed the door of the Cherokee behind her and stalked across the driveway. When she got into the house, she slammed that door behind her, too. She pulled her dripping poncho over her head and threw it violently onto the chair next to the door.

She couldn’t decide if she was more in a rage at Zach or at herself. What could she have been thinking, driving out into that storm, trying to help bring in that damned boat? They didn’t need her, that much was perfectly clear, and she had only put herself in danger.

And those people in the diner! So rude! What were they so afraid of? What was all this about “outsiders”?

It was all so stupid!

As for Zach, whatever it was that had compelled her to drive out into the storm, to get herself down to the water’s edge, to put herself at risk to help him do a job he needed no help with, this craziness had to stop. He didn’t want her around. He couldn’t have made that any clearer. He had practically thrown her into the Cherokee. He had yelled at her and told her to get out of there. What more explicit message did she want?

“Enough!” She glared at herself in the oval mirror that hung on the wall next to the front door. “Enough of this craziness! Allie Randall, he’s right. He called you an idiot. You are an idiot. It’s time to start acting like a grown-up woman, and put this foolishness behind you. Now go in there and get to work!”

She went directly to the studio, and at last she was able to work for several hours, capturing in paint the dazzling view from the window, letting all the emotional upheaval of the storm and Zach’s fury and her own fear and anger find their way into her painting. At last, the turmoil of the morning and the night before had found their creative path, and Allie was able to let it all come together on her canvas.

As she worked through the afternoon, the storm gradually eased off, and the rain fell more lightly. By five o’clock, sunlight was filling the sky, purple and gold above the thunderclouds disappearing to the west, and the birds’ song could be heard from the dripping trees.