The Pirate's Legacy Page 15

  Staring at the clouds wasn’t going to change her life. And if she didn’t change her circumstances, there was zero chance she could change anyone else’s. She knew that. But, she rolled over onto her back again and gazed at the ceiling. A wall-to-wall crack cut across the painted plaster. She closed her eyes and tried to push her surroundings away, the way Beth down at the yoga center advised.

  It was impossible to forget she lived in ramshackle central when people kept reminding her.

  “Chloe? Are you awake?” Julia called up the stairs, in a voice so loud it carried over the hammering.

  “I am now.” Instantly contrite, she added, “I’ve been awake for a while. What’s up?”

  Julia appeared in the doorway. A hand on her hip and fire in her eyes, she didn’t mince words. “You have today off, don’t you?”

  “I do. And tomorrow morning, too.”

  They’d discussed her schedule earlier in the week. Julia had a gallon of paint for the walls of her room and they’d planned a painting party. Gabby had agreed to take Uncle Ted to the beach, then out to lunch, so that by the time he returned the paint fumes would be out of the house.

  The other woman already wore her painting clothes. The baggy t-shirt and ripped jeans looked entirely out of place on her.

  Chloe sat up and swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. Grimy shorts, used mostly for gardening, topped the clean laundry pile so she reached for them.

  “Give me a sec. I just need to grab some coffee and check on Uncle Ted.”

  She stood and began to pull on the shorts. Julia stepped into the room, closed the door and put her back against it. The house had settled so much in over two hundred years that most of the doors didn’t latch—including the bedroom door.

  “No, you don’t.” Julia folded her arms across her chest. “You can grab coffee somewhere else, and your uncle is fine. He and Gabby have a relaxing day planned, starting with breakfast at The Dockside. They’re already gone.”

  She buttoned her shorts. “What gives?”

  “I don’t want to pry into your private life, but we all heard the argument you and Neil had yesterday. No, that’s wrong. We heard banging and yelling, and then we watched you leave together. You came home alone and I’m sorry to say this, but you’re not one of those women who can cry a river and still look gorgeous. Your eyes are bloodshot.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled it into a ponytail high on her head and slipped an elastic band off her wrist and onto the bundle. It was no shock her eyes were reddened; they felt dry and scratchy.

  “I’m sure they are, but that’s no reason to not paint your room. We’ll get it done so fast we’ll have time to move your stuff back into place before lunchtime.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “The room isn’t huge. Sure, we can do it.” She pulled one of her uncle’s faded old t-shirts from a drawer. It already had paint splatters on it and would do just fine.

  “You’re not getting it, sister.”

  She turned. It wasn’t like Julia to put off such negative vibes. And the scowl on her face wasn’t typical, either.

  “What gives?”

  “I hate to be the bearer of a psychedelic funk, but we think it’s best if you grab your get-out-of-Dodge gear and get while the getting is good.”

  “It’s too early, and I’m too hung over for riddles. What’s going on?”

  The hammering never stopped. Endless banging followed by a short pause, followed by banging. Over and over, background music to the morning.

  Jerking a finger to the ceiling, Julia said, “That’s going on. Neil and his storm cloud.” She sighed. “I don’t know what happened between you but whatever it was, it had to be some heavy shit. I mean, real heavy. That guy is not the Neil we all know; he looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. He smells like he swam in Old Granddad, the rotgut only the craziest drink. And he’s just too ornery for words. Every look he gives has a dagger behind it. It’s just not good.”

  Chloe backed up to the window seat, bent her knees and sat down.

  She wanted to think the other woman exaggerated but Julia never exaggerated. Never.

  “It’s that bad?”

  A hard nod. “Worse.”

  “Wow. I never figured he’d act this way. I mean, I knew he’d be upset, but I wasn’t prepared for this.” She met the other’s gaze and shook her head. “I never saw it coming. My mind is numb, I think.”

  “Grab some stuff. I’ll go out and talk with him so you can get out of here without having to see the guy. By the time he hears the bike, it’ll be too late for him to stop you. Honestly, you look like you need a day away from whatever’s going on, too.”

  She got moving. She switched the old shorts for a pair of jeans. A peasant top, blue with a paisley design, hung on the back of a chair so she put it on.

  Draping her brown leather purse over her shoulder, she went to the door and gave her friend a hug.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Just take care of you today, okay? Walk away from your life and get some perspective.”

  It sounded divine. “I will. Are you sure you’ll be okay here, though? You know, with the man with the hammer?”

  “Definitely. Reva’s home.” She opened the bedroom door. The look of understanding she gave tugged at Chloe’s heart. “Remember, he’s pissed at you, not the rest of us. Whatever’s going on? It’s between the two of you. It’s…ah, it’s big, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “The biggest.”

  “Figured as much. Why don’t you call later on? We’ll give you the update. If the coast isn’t clear by then, we’ll figure something out.”

  They exchanged another quick hug before she went downstairs. The hammering was louder on the first floor, and even more so when she slipped out the front door. She walked the bike down the street a ways before getting on and driving off.

  Exercising caution when dealing with angry men was a professional tactic she never expected to carry into her private life. The comparison was minimal but gliding off undetected gave her a glimpse of what women like Jackie, and all the rest they met and helped, dealt with.

  It made her even more determined to find a way to make the women’s home a reality.

  Chapter 31

  Nothing compared to riding a motorcycle on a hot, summer day along a winding coastal road. The wind against her cheeks, glimpses of ocean peeking between shake-shingle cottages perched on the edge of land and the sun warming her bare head were enough to dispel uneasiness from a woman’s mind. Almost as soon as she’d hit the big sign at the edge of town that read “Lobster Cove—If You Lived Here, You’d Be Home Now” her shoulders felt lighter.

  Ordinarily her days off were spent on the house. It did not seem so by looking at it, but she used every extra hour either doing yard work or trying to slapdash some inside job. Fixing the unfixable, it seemed.

  A day to herself? It was almost as if the genie had come and granted at least one wish.

  Yesterday had been payday, so she had a few bucks in her bag. Two towns down the coast, her favorite small boutique. Browsing for a little while—or all day, if she wanted—was a treat so she set Vintage Treasures as her destination and let the hum of tires on asphalt chase the truths of her life away.

  Lobster Cove was the quintessential historic beach village. Others along the Maine coast were nice, each in its own way, but none compared to the Cove. It was a fact, universally accepted by anyone familiar with the state.

  Summertime brought tourists from around the country, and sometimes from across the globe, so the spillover ended up in the smaller towns nearby. Their motel and cabin owners benefited from the visitors who couldn’t find rooms in Lobster Cove proper. Places like the one where Vintage Treasures did business owed most of their revenue indirectly to the place it could never be.

  Still, summer days in neighboring towns were never as chockfull of visitors as her hometown, so Chloe did not mind parking a block from the shop.
She wandered past a row of colorful houses. Gardens dotted side yards, with tomatoes ripening on vines and melons sprawling onto lawns.

  The shop occupied the first floor of one of the grand old ladies. The Victorian was painted a bright purple, with gray shutters and pink trim, and looked like a birthday cake more than it did a place of business. A varnished oak door was propped wide on the front porch, which meant the place was open, so she climbed the steps and walked inside.

  Time stood still in Vintage Treasures. Literally. Several mantel clocks, ornate mixed with gaudy, had their hands pointed straight up to twelve. Each one told the same incorrect time. It was a quirky place; the clocks were just one of many interesting oddities.

  The woman who greeted her wore a beehive hairdo that gave her a full foot of additional height. It looked glued in place but coordinated with her navy blue sweater, pencil skirt and spectator pumps. The sweater was so tight it was incredible the woman could draw a breath.

  Chloe couldn’t help herself. She stared at the torpedo-shaped breasts snugged into the blue wool.

  “I know.” The clerk pushed her chest out and waved a hand down her ensemble. “Those Rosie the Riveters, they were tough broads. Everything, including girdle, stockings, garters and industrial-strength bra, are original. Just as the day they were sold, with prices attached. The strings holding the prices were nearly dust, but the pieces themselves were beautiful.”

  “Forties?”

  “You know it. Not my usual vibe, but every once in a while a woman’s got to go out on a limb.” She stopped, surveyed Chloe’s jeans and top. “Pretty. Suits you but…”

  “But?”

  She followed when the woman walked toward a selection of dresses hanging on a far wall. How she found them, amidst the juxtaposition of decades in a series of connecting rooms was a mystery.

  “But some of these will look amazing on you.” She pulled a form-fitting, violet wrap dress off the rack. Holding it up, she looked from Chloe to the dress, then smiled. “Oh, yeah. This will make any man drool.”

  “I just came in to browse.” The drooling man bit ticked her off. This excursion had nothing to do with men; it was hers and hers alone. Actually, with the way Neil was behaving, she wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with any man for a while. “There’s no man.”

  The Rosie wannabe pulled a face. “Listen, there’s always a man. Unless…is there a woman?”

  “No! Neither! Just me, okay?”

  The clerk must have realized she’d pushed too many buttons because she hung the dress on a hook and raised her hands. “I’m sorry. I just thought that someone as pretty as you are, with that petite body and gorgeous head of hair…Honey, you’re a fox. And if you don’t have a man, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

  A bell went off, the sound coming from the front doorway. A sensor, perhaps, to alert the staff to the presence of newcomers. It was a lifesaver for Chloe, because the woman dashed away.

  Free to peruse, she took her time with the racks of old-fashioned clothing. Poodle skirts hung in a row, like a flounced dog show, with coordinating sweaters and neck scarves nearby. A line of evening gowns, some in protective plastic see-through wrappers, made a dazzling display. Below the gowns, velvet pumps and rhinestone sandals waited. Some clothes looked almost new, tucked in among the older items.

  She found a peasant top, not too unlike the one she wore, for a fraction of the price she expected to pay for it, so took it to the front counter.

  “May I leave this here?”

  “Of course.” The clerk waved to a couple on their way out. The woman wore a pair of striking beaded earrings and the man carried a stack of books beneath one arm. In one room, there was an assortment of odds and ends, mostly furniture, but some books—if there were any left. “Did you try that dress on yet?”

  She shook her head. She’d looked at it a number of times. Run a fingertip over the silky fabric. Admired the garment. But no, she hadn’t tried it on.

  “I don’t have anywhere to wear something like that,” she admitted. “I work with battered women. No boyfriend to speak of. No place fun to go. No need for a pretty dress.”

  Merchandise pressed in on them, a cocoon of color and fabric. The clerk looked around, but they were alone.

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wasn’t always what you see now. Believe me, my life has changed. The women you help? I was one, once.”

  Abuse did not wear a sign to identify where it touched.

  “I’m sorry.” Chloe put a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. “I’m glad you worked your way out of it. You are certainly a testament to the strength of women, aren’t you?”

  A sheen made the brown eyes darker when they met her gaze. “No. Don’t give me all the credit. I’m the one who married a jerk and stayed with him for a year while he used me as a punching bag. It was women like you who gave me the opening to get out of the nightmare. Without them, I think I’d be dead.” She sniffed, gave a shaky smile and patted the beehive. “I certainly wouldn’t be where I am now, wearing a whole bottle of White Rain hairspray!”

  “You might need a whole bottle of shampoo to get the stuff out. I wouldn’t smoke, if I were you.” There were cases in her files of men who used beauty products to hurt others. Propellants in spray cans were highly flammable.

  “I won’t. I learned my lesson about smoking. Used to do it, but don’t now. I set a fingernail on fire once—you have no idea how scary it is to look down and see your finger’s a tiny torch.”

  She shuddered. “I can’t imagine.”

  “Cured my smoking habit.” She pointed to the fitting rooms. “Listen, do a sister a favor. I get a discount, and I’ll pass it on to you. Go try on that dress. If it works for you, take it home. Give me faith that someday I’ll find a nice guy, settle down, have a kid.”

  “How’s my buying a dress with a very generous discount going to do that?”

  Her new friend shrugged, pulling the sweater so tight her breasts almost poked holes in it. “Like I said, if a pretty lady like you doesn’t have a fella, there’s no hope for the rest of us. Please, give a girl some hope—go try on the dress.”

  Chapter 32

  Shopping only killed so much time. Even after exchanging phone numbers with Madge, the store clerk, and promising to keep in touch, Chloe still had a lot of day left to fill. Compared to Lobster Cove, there was nothing much to see after she’d explored Vintage Treasures, so she headed back the way she had come.

  The excursion had been fruitful. Tucked into her backpack were three items, each one a find. The top, which was practically new and would jazz up her work wardrobe. Madge had been right about the dress. It fit like a dream and made her feel special. With a nice pair of shoes, it would be the ideal date ensemble. It was an optimistic purchase, buying it in hopes of being asked out so it would get worn. The clerk’s discount made the dress practically free, so it was impossible to say no.

  The final item was an impulsive move. She’d been about to check out when she saw the pink, flowery fabric. It brought her instantly back to her childhood, to a time when life seemed a whole lot simpler than it was now. No worries other than whether the ice cream truck would pass by on a hot summer evening.

  When she reached the If-You-Lived-Here sign, she nearly blew past. Too early to go home. Besides, the freedom of being without any responsibility was too attractive, even if it was only a short-term situation.

  Main Street was bustling by comparison to where she’d just come from. Tourists posed for photos near the big ship bell on a corner. Parents guided children up the wide stone steps to the Historical Society building. Young love was in full bloom, sending couples walking hand in hand along the sidewalk. The village was alive, and thriving, and not a bad place at all.

  She tried to see things from a visitor’s point of view. It was a small town, with a Gomer Pyle feel, where the sea shimmered like diamonds in a jeweler’s window and life proceeded at
a slower pace than in most other places.

  If she didn’t live there, she might visit, too.

  Matinees began early in the old theatre just off Main Street. She parked behind the big redbrick building, got off the bike and looked up. The sun was high, right about noon. Perfect timing for the earliest—and cheapest—show.

  The Muppet Movie wouldn’t be her first choice of films but a comedy featuring Fozzie Bear, Kermit, and Miss Piggy was enough to take anyone’s mind off of real life. She bought a ticket at the window then headed to the concession counter. There was no line, so she ordered a large popcorn with plenty of butter and an Orange Crush.

  She got change from her five, thanked the teenager behind the counter and grabbed her goodies. When she turned, she froze.

  Debra had her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. She smiled. “Hi. I like your taste in drinks. Beats coffee any day, right?”

  “Uh, hi.” Her gaze went to the big hazel eyes staring up at her. “Hi.”

  The voice was sweet. “I like Crush, too.”

  The bottle in Chloe’s hand was icy cold. She held it out. “Here, you can have this one.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Debra hadn’t said a word. When her niece turned a hopeful gaze on her, she tugged the thick ponytail and nodded.

  “It’s okay. Just remember to say—”

  “Thank you.” Penny held a hand out, and Chloe passed her the soda bottle. Their fingers grazed, and it hit her that it was the first time since giving birth to her that she’d touched her daughter.

  Her daughter. The immensity of it almost made her dizzy.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Debra watched them with a keen eye. She was behind the girl, so she raised a questioning brow when she caught Chloe’s gaze.

  There was no answer to the silent question. Instead, she turned to the kid behind the counter and ordered another soda. “Want anything?”

  Debra shook her head. “No, thanks. We just had lunch, actually, then I happened to look over and see you. I wanted to say hi, and introduce you to my niece, Penny.”