Authors: Sydell Voeller
“But did Kyle rebel only to be different, or did he truly want to be a firefighter?” she asked. From every indication
she’d
gleaned, Kyle’s dedication to the department had always been totally sincere.
Austin leaned against the opposite wood-paneled wall and pinned her with his gaze. “Kyle wanted it.
Pure and simple.
Even when he was a little kid, his favorite toy trucks were fire engines. When he moved on to high school,
then
had to choose a senior project before graduation, he applied for volunteer training at the local substation not far from our home.”
“So it shouldn’t have come as any big surprise to your parents when Kyle made his final announcement,” she pointed out.
“No, it shouldn’t have, but it did. I guess they were holding out hope till the very last minute.” He picked up a color photograph of his brother from the corner bookshelf and turned it over. His voice grew thick with emotion. “When things got really heated, I finally broke my silence and openly sided with Kyle. I... I was the one who encouraged him to stick to his dreams, Jo. I even helped him send away for information, traveled with him to various community colleges to help him determine which one offered the bet fire science program.” He set the picture back down, his jaw rigid. “If I hadn’t done that, maybe Kyle would be alive today.”
“Oh, no, Austin!”
She
couldn’t
hold back the alarm from her voice. “You mustn’t beat yourself up that way!”
A muscle in his neck twitched. “And if that’s not bad enough,” he went on as through not having heard her, “now I come along and remind you of Kyle. Maybe I
should
leave, Jo. Maybe my being here is sabotaging your very reason for relocating.”
“No. Please stay.” Her words sounded distant, as if spoken by someone else. Perhaps it was her ambivalence that had muted that plea, she
couldn’t
be sure. While one part of her urged to send him immediately on his way, the other part yearned for his continued presence. “I’ll get through it, honest I will. I think... I think I’m starting to already.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “Yesterday when we visited Anchorhold, and I could see for myself the good work going on there, I felt a little more alive. I began to care about the things that have always been important to me—the marine wildlife and birds, preserving our planet.”
She sat back down at the breakfast nook again and added with quiet conviction, “I’m ready now to get back in touch with that part of my life. It may not be everything, but at least it’s a start.”
“And you already started even before that,” he pointed out, sliding in again across from her. “Accepting your new job at the aquarium, to my way of thinking, was your first big step.’
***
He studied her silently. He hoped she was right. He hoped against all hope she was beginning to heal. And if that were true, maybe his job
wouldn’t
be so tough after all. Or tougher, another inner voice argued.
The sudden realization was unnerving. Maybe
he’d
be sorry he’d ever gotten into this mess.
He’d
offered to help with the duplex, not continuously take time out to assist the injured seabirds and other animals she would undoubtedly endear herself to. Bottom line was
,
he might never get up to that fishing resort in Canada. The sound of her talking snatched him from his thoughts.
“I wonder how many people realize that birds, fish, and mammals sometimes mistake plastic throwaways for food?” she was going on. “Some seabirds, gulls, puffins, and murres even try to feed it to their offspring.” Though
he’d
missed the earlier part of what she’d been saying, he could tell her words had been fueled with missionary zeal. Waving a hand as she talked, her cheeks were flushed and glistening.
He regarded her for a moment longer, his former wariness soon forgotten.
He’d
never known anyone quite like Joanna Sullivan. She was invigorating.
Refreshing.
Like the mountain spring
waters
she could most likely also fight to preserve, if ever called upon to. Did she have any idea how pretty she was when she got all fired up like that?
Even prettier than usual, if that were possible.
“Well?” she stopped short, waiting for his confirmation. “Don’t you agree, Austin?”
“Ah...of course.
Every word.”
He flashed
her a
smile, leaned back against the booth and folded his arms across his chest, but the look on his face suggested he might only be humoring her.
She pulled back her shoulders. “So you think I’m nothing more than a yammering sentimentalist, is that it?”
“No one said any such thing.”
“Then why were you so quiet?”
“I’ve never known anyone like you, Jo,” he answered at last. Though his smile reached his dark eyes with a teasing awareness, his voice had turned genuine. “I mean, everyone I know seems to be living in the fast lane these days.
Too busy to care about what happens to our wildlife.”
She lifted one shoulder. “You don’t have to flatter me. I
don’t
expect you to understand completely. Like Ted Ashelman said, the concept of wildlife rehab is still relatively new.”
“Yes. And I have to admit, I was one of those who were schooled in traditional veterinary medicine.” He toyed with the saltshaker on the table, peering down at the small white granules sticking to the top. Then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “But don’t give up on me entirely. I’m not so old and set in my ways that I can’t learn from people like you.” He winked, sending her a broad smile.
Without answering, she stood up and crossed the small room. As she paused to stare out the white-paned window that looked onto the beach, her throat went dry, her hands grew clammy. Why was she reacting this way?
she
asked herself.
He’d
only winked, for heaven’s sales. And his brotherly hug a few minutes earlier had been merely to console her.
“Listen,” he said, getting to his feet too. “How long has been since you’ve had a night on the town?”
“A while.”
“Since before Kyle died?”
“Yes.” She felt him standing close beside her, but kept her gaze focused straight ahead. The faint hint of his musky after-shave wafted about her.
“Then I think you’re long overdue.”
“If you’re talking a night on the town in Southport,” she said, “then you’re going to be in for a big disappointment.” In spite of herself, she turned to him and smiled. “All the shop owners here roll up their sidewalks at six sharp.”
“Ah, but not tonight. The rest of the week either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The annual kite festival.
The paper said it started this morning and runs all week long. There’s lots of evening activities music, displays, and good food.”
“Oh, that’s right! How could I have forgotten? The aquarium was packed today because of all the extra tourists in town.” Her eyes drifted to the
Seascroll
, a weekly local newspaper that had arrived that morning and was lying on the breakfast nook table. An article about the celebrated event was plastered across the front page, but
she’d
been in such a hurry to get out the door, she’d barely skimmed it.
“So, what do you say?” he asked again, his voice unmistakably eager.
“I... I
don’t
know. I really need to check on Aunt Marcella tonight. She has a neighbor who runs errands for her, but I help too.”
“Where does she live?”
“About three miles south of here.”
“Then we can check on her together before we go into town. Tonight might even be a good time to get out the flyers about the beach cleanup. As I mentioned earlier, I’d like to help.”
She hesitated again. While she was overjoyed that he wanted to assist her, she also realized this could be one added complication to their already strained situation. The sound of his voice pulled her back.
“It goes without
saying,
two can cover more territory than one.” He gestured enthusiastically as he spoke. “And besides, I’d like to meet Aunt Marcella. Somehow I missed doing that the day you and Kyle got married.”
“That’s because she wasn’t there. Auntie had a flare-up of arthritis and couldn’t leave her house.”
“Then that settles it. What are we waiting for?” He held out her denim jacket, waiting for her to slip inside. “Shall we take your car or my Jeep?”
“My Subaru will be fine.” She wriggled into the jacket, refusing to admit to herself how his magnetic persuasiveness had just destroyed her resolve.
As evening shadows lengthened, Southport was a riot of color, sights, and sounds. The afternoon kite-flying contest long since over, many of the festival-goers had turned back from the beach, leaving behind those
who’d
lingered to build sand castles, picnic, and watch an orange-mauve sunset.
Joanna and Austin had spent the first hour visiting Aunt Marcella,
who’d
basked in their company, all the while studying Austin speculatively through cataract-clouded eyes. After
they’d
said good-night and driven back to the duplex, they decided to walk the rest of the way into town. The skies remained clear, and already the side streets were gridlocked with traffic.
“One more small way to fight pollution,” Joanna pointed out, half serious, half whimsical. “Besides, it’s such a beautiful
evening,
it’d be a shame not to take full advantage of it.”
“Agreed,” he said with a widening smile. “And after spending most of the afternoon stuck on a ladder painting, I certainly could use a good walk.”
They meandered down the two-mile boardwalk that bordered the beach,
then
stopped to dine on creamy clam chowder and crusty grilled cheese bread at a popular seafood restaurant in the center of town.
While they sat beneath a canopied table on a wraparound deck overlooking the ocean, she told him about the beach walk she would be leading the following morning and the large numbers of people
who’d
already signed up.
He told her about his work at the duplex, painting, fixing three rotted windowpanes, and ordering supplies.
Though their conversation flowed, businesslike and safe again, they each were aware of the ever-constant current of tension, like an invisible shield between them. She still wrestled with her decision to let him stay. He still battled with his sense of obligation.
Soon they left the restaurant and approached Main Street, now temporarily blocked off to traffic. Everywhere, people roamed. Young couples strolled arm-in-arm, teenagers munched pink cotton candy, parents pushed baby strollers, and retired folks sported neon-colored warm-up suits and trendy walking shoes. Some paused beneath streetlights to admire sidewalk chart art in dusty pastels, while others listened to the foot-stomping sounds from the old-time fiddlers in the town square. Store windows displayed Open signs and shoppers, in search of the perfect souvenir, filtered in and out.
From concession stands in a nearby lot, the tantalizing smells of hamburgers, hot dogs, and tacos carried on the tangy salt air breeze. At sunset, a gauzy full moon peeped above the east horizon.
“If we hadn’t just eaten, I could get hungry all over again,” Joanna said with a chuckle as they paused outside a candy store that featured saltwater taffy. “All these wonderful aromas are driving me crazy!” She blinked, amazed what
she’d
just said. Ever since Kyle had died,
she’d
lost all interest in food. Truth was,
she’d
nearly wasted away from a size ten to a size six.
“Yeah, nothing better than the smell of good food in the great outdoors,” he agreed, digging into the deep pockets of his beige windbreaker. Quickly, he produced the packet of flyers, held in place by a thick rubber band. “All right, you’re the boss. Where should we start?”
“I’ll take the east side of the street, you take the west.”
“Fair enough.
Let’s
meet back here when we’re done. I
wouldn’t
expect to be much later than an hour or so.
Looks as if the business district on Main Street doesn’t take up much more than six blocks.”
He winked. “And if I get back here before you do, I’ll buy you some taffy.”
She smiled back at him, feeling her face grow warm. Maybe her first intention tonight had been to mix business with pleasure, but already the scales were tipping off balance. Spending time with Austin was definitely all pleasure, no matter how you sliced it.
When
they’d
finished, flyers were plastered in storefront windows and stacked on nearly every checkout counter. Already folks could be seen wandering about with the eye-catching announcement clutched in their hands.
“Good news!” Joanna said to Austin as they fell in step with the rest of the crowd, moving closer to the sounds of the fiddlers. “While you were at the surplus shop, I managed to talk to Joe Oretega, the district Boy Scout coordinator, into getting several troops involved. The beach cleanup and the scout outing at Camp Meriweather fall on the same weekend, so the timing was perfect! The camp’s only two miles down the highway, you know.”