Authors: Bernadette Calonego
“Wouldn’t that have been good for my book?”
He cleared his throat. “I thought about that, but . . . we were out for five days and six nights. We only landed to unload. It . . . well, six men on the boat—there wasn’t a bunk for you. And nobody had time to wash up. Or change their underwear.”
She listened to him, to his words and hesitant tone of voice.
There’s something he’s not telling me.
“I hiked in the Rockies for a week without washing once,” she said.
“You don’t know what it’s like out there. Storms can pop up anytime.” He was talking faster than usual. “Lucky the catch was a good one, but the sea was up, and we all got seasick.”
“You too?”
“Oh, happens all the time. It’s wicked. Wicked.”
She waited a beat, then decided to go for it.
“So it’s not because you basically didn’t want me along?”
His eyes fastened on her for a split second, then on his boots.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe you feel . . . maybe it bothers you if I’m on the boat.”
“Bothers me? No, not at all. What makes you think that?”
“Maybe I’ll be in your way and ask dumb questions and watch everything you do.”
“No, doesn’t bother me. I kind of thought . . . maybe you’d find it boring on board.” Pause. “Maybe . . . you don’t always like being around fishermen.”
Now you’ve got to tell him, Lori. Now you’ve got to say: I like being around you. But I’m also afraid to be.
But instead, she said, “I don’t always know how to act, what’s right and what isn’t. I’m a cautious person. But that doesn’t mean that . . . that I’m not interested in what you do.”
When he stayed silent, she added, “And I really like talking to you.”
He scuffed up some dirt with his boots. Then he suddenly said, “My father died fishing for scallops in Saleau Cove.”
She turned to him with a shocked look on her face.
“How did it happen?”
“He was hit by a scallop rake and thrown overboard.”
“Oh my God! That must have been terrible. How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Were you . . . there on the boat when it happened?”
“No, not me, but Coburn was—my oldest brother. And Scott Parsons.”
Seventeen. Glowena Parsons must have already been his girlfriend by then. Jacinta was murdered a year later. When suspicion fell on Noah . . .
if
suspicion fell on him—she mentally corrected herself—he’d lost the father who could have defended him. Archie must have assumed that role.
“You still miss him, don’t you? Twenty years can take away the pain but not the loss.”
“Taught me everything about fishing. He was a good man.”
Lori realized that his words amounted to an expression of love for his deceased father. She wished she could say the same thing about her father. But she didn’t know how. What had
her
father ever taught her? He’d left her behind in Canada to advance his cardiology career. But if he’d have lived, he could have helped a lot of people with heart disease. And he probably would have taken her with him if her mother hadn’t fought for her. But that’s not how a seventeen-year-old girl thinks. She thinks:
Daddy abandoned me.
Noah’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Do you see Mitch and Dorice?”
“Who are Mitch and Dorice?”
“Over there, that elderly couple. They’re way over eighty but take part in everything.”
Lori saw an old woman in rubber boots wading in the water while her husband dipped his net into the waves. Their faces radiated enthusiasm and delight.
“I’ve got to get them,” Lori exclaimed. But before she reached the old couple, somebody beat her to it. A young woman, also with a camera. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders in two loosely tied braids; her bright blue form-fitting jacket just came down to her waist. Below it, her black stretch pants noticeably outlined her derriere.
Lori waited impatiently while the young woman constantly changed her angle. Lori could tell from her frantic movements that she wasn’t dealing with a pro, but not a novice either. The woman made it impossible for her to photograph the old couple because she was always in the shot.
The blond finally lowered her lens and looked around, but Lori couldn’t tell if it was for new material or to attract the bystanders’ attention. Her braids swung around her attractive, made-up face, reminding Lori of Britney Spears in her early days. What the hell was this pop cutie doing in Stormy Cove?
The answer wasn’t long in coming. The blond caught sight of Lori’s camera, and a winning smile lit up her face.
“Oh—am I in your way?”
Lori’s response was a polite smile.
“We can take turns,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too patronizing. She felt like a grandmother next to this peppy young thing.
She took a few pictures, skillfully and with concentration, then checked the camera display. The woman was hanging around, watching her with interest.
“Are you a reporter too?”
Reporter. Lori tried to mask her surprise.
“No, a photographer. Who are you working for?”
“The
Cape Lone Courier
. I’m doing an internship with them.”
“You from around here?”
The young woman laughed, making her braids bounce. Hair a little thin, Lori observed, but means nothing with a face like that.
“No, I’m from Ontario, from Trifton. About an hour from Toronto.”
“You came all the way to Newfoundland for an internship?”
“Yes, I got lucky. It’s not easy to get an internship with a newspaper! I’ve just
got
to get a foot in the door, then hopefully things’ll get better.” Her teeth glinted between lips covered with pale lipstick. “Who are your pictures for?”
“For a book.” Lori had no desire to explain further.
“Oh, cool! You have to tell me more about that. I really want to take lots of photos. But I’ve gotta get back, gotta get this story into print. Are you staying here? We’re sure to run into each other. I’m Reanna, Reanna Sholler. And you?”
Lori now noticed the tattoo on her neck. A little lizard.
“Lori Finning.”
Reanna turned around with a playful wave of her hand and catwalk-stepped toward the parked cars. Her ass wiggled.
Lori looked over at Noah. He was at the pickup’s tailgate, his hand on the side wall. He wasn’t looking in Lori’s direction this time. His eyes followed Reanna Sholler until she drove off in her Ford Mustang.
Lori was attacked by a stabbing pain.
She pretended to be busy taking pictures, snapping furiously, but her thoughts were racing.
Well, what did she expect? A woman like Reanna provided exciting relief from the monotonous, humdrum routine of life in Stormy Cove. Reanna would turn heads even in Toronto, especially in those pants. Men
do
look, after all. Women too, like Lori; after all, she was professionally prejudiced, having taken many portraits of beautiful women. She knew how they could become even more beautiful in front of a camera.
With time, people here had become accustomed to having the photographer from Vancouver among them. She’d lost her novelty value. Reanna was the new sensation.
Lori bit her lip. She’d been prepared for anything. That she’d get an unfriendly reception. That people wouldn’t want their picture taken. That she’d get sick and have to go home. That she’d never find a place to rent. That the pictures wouldn’t turn out so great. But she wasn’t prepared for a cute young woman, an outsider like herself, who also wanted to publish photographs of the area.
Suddenly, Noah was beside her.
“I can take you out tomorrow to the icebergs if you’d like.”
He seemed almost timid as he looked at her.
Her heart leapt to her throat.
“Icebergs are here already?”
“Yes, out by Seaflower Bay. Supposed to be very little wind tomorrow.”
“Yes, that would be fabulous, I’d love it.” She paused for a moment. “Don’t you have to fish tomorrow?”
“Hardly any lumpfish now. Pay more for the gas than I make for the fish. Cod season opens in three days.”
She caught the glint in his eye. That gave her wings, the lift she needed.
“Would you like to come over for dinner this evening?”
He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
“I’d like to but . . . I gotta go to Saleau Cove for some equipment for the boat. A guy’s selling something I really need.”
He almost stammered. “I . . . I’d like to take you but Nate’s coming and the truck will be full up with stuff.”
Lori could tell that he was genuinely sorry to miss the opportunity.
“No problem,” she assured him.
“Will you ask me another time, or have I screwed up?”
They both laughed.
“Have no fear. I can’t wait to dazzle you with my culinary artistry. Tomorrow at nine?”
“I’ll be there.”
Feeling exhilarated, like she’d downed two glasses of white wine, she drove down the winding main street of Stormy Cove. She’d barely set foot in her house when the phone rang. She quickly took off her hiking boots and ran through the kitchen to the living room.
“Lori?”
She didn’t recognize the voice.
“It’s Bobbie, Bobbie Wall. From the B and B in Deer Lake.”
Deer Lake. It seemed so long ago.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Lori said, wondering how Bobbie got her number.
“Remember that funny business when you were here? Those people in the next room?”
“You mean . . . the orgy?”
Bobbie giggled.
“Yes, exactly. I know who it was and thought you’d be interested!”
Lori wanted to say it’s probably more interesting to you than me.
“The people are from your area,” the old lady got there first.
“You mean Vancouver?”
“No, from Stormy Cove. That’s where you are, eh?”
“Yes,” Lori said, with some hesitation.
What in the world?
“The kid’s name is Jack Day.”
Jack. The really young hunter. Seventeen. Noah’s cousin’s son.
“And the woman who said she was his aunt is Ginette Hearne.”
Lori’s breath caught in her throat. She could see Ginette before her, in the bar, grabbing Noah’s crotch.
“And the other woman?”
“Don’t know yet. But she’s probably not from Stormy Cove, or I’d have found out.”
Lori didn’t have any questions. What she had now was enough food for thought.
“Funny, eh?” Bobbie said. “What are you going to do?”
“Me? Why me?”
“Well, I thought that since you’re already there . . . maybe you should appeal to this Ginette’s conscience. What she’s doing is wrong in God’s eyes.”
Lori knew instinctively what was behind it. Bobbie didn’t want to get involved—and couldn’t anyway because of her B and B—but she’d like to see somebody put an end to what she considered sinful behavior. She apparently wasn’t aware that having sex with a minor was also a criminal act in Newfoundland.
“You’re absolutely right,” Lori assured her as calmly as she could, “but that’s something the locals should settle among themselves, don’t you think?”
Bobbie Wall was not about to give up.
“Maybe you can warn Jack’s mother.”
“I don’t know his mother. Besides, it was . . . I just
heard
it; I didn’t see anything.”
“Just wanted to let you know. Because two of them are from Stormy Cove and you—”
“That’s very kind of you, thanks, Bobbie. How’s your husband keeping?”
“He was in the hospital for two weeks, because of his legs. But he’s coming along. By the way, Lloyd Weston’s beginning a dig next week. He was here and mentioned you.”
“Well, then, I’m sure I’ll be hearing from him. Take care, Bobbie.”
“You too. And if I find out the name of that second woman, I’ll call again.”
Lori hung up. Jack and Ginette. She could hardly believe it.
Other people in a village as small as Stormy Cove must know about it too, right?
Maybe she should sound out Noah about it.
But she’d have time for that tomorrow.
Best if nobody else was around.
CHAPTER 27
That her hopes were misguided became apparent when Lori went down to the wharf the next morning. A slim silhouette beside Noah’s familiar figure set off warning bells. Her suspicion was confirmed as she came nearer: Reanna Sholler.
Lori resisted the impulse to turn on her heel and head for the car. What did her mother always say when she was in a tight spot in the courtroom?
Don’t leave the trench when you’re under fire.
Lori gave Reanna a brief once-over when they said hello and saw that the pretty intern had brought some heavy artillery with her. A red imitation leather jacket, skintight stretch jeans, and thigh-high leather boots. Reanna’s blond hair was brushed back over her forehead and tied with a scarf.
That very morning Lori had stared in the mirror and noted that the Stormy Cove climate had really done her good. Her dark eyes shone, her skin had a fresh glow, and her thick, grown-out hair fell in gentle curls around her face. She looked more attractive than she had ten years ago.
But now her mood darkened when a merry Reanna reported that she’d landed a new assignment.
“I’ve wanted to see icebergs for a long time, and today’s my lucky day because Will’s planning to do a feature and sent me out. Isn’t that mind-blowing?”
Reanna had the same habit maybe young people in Vancouver did, piling on sentence after sentence without a break, so that Lori instinctively had to catch her breath. And Reanna wasn’t done yet.
“He said somebody in Stormy Cove would take me with them, and so I came here, and it so happens I find this nice man here, and I hope you don’t mind if I come along?”
Lori exchanged quick looks with Noah. His face reflected the pleasure of a person certain he’s in for an interesting experience. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. Noah would never have told Will Spence he’d take someone out on his boat, so Spence sent a Trojan horse. Lori hadn’t the slightest desire to grin and bear it. She was royally pissed off.
But the old pro in her took over. She’d learned over her eighteen years on the job to suppress her personal feelings in favor of the client’s. Bitchy models, celebs with their outlandish demands, magazines that changed their assignment at the last minute, waiting for people for hours, amateur know-it-alls who told her how to take pictures, editors who said her photos were inadequate so they could beat her down on her fee—she’d been through it all and come out alive.
She looked at Noah.
“Anybody else going out? It would be good to have another boat in the picture. To give some idea of an iceberg’s size.”
“Rick Kline just left ten minutes ago with relatives of his.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good day—sunny and almost dead calm. Doesn’t happen much.”
“That’s wonderful!” Reanna exclaimed. “I can’t wait. I’m ready to go!”
Lori had to admit that her enthusiasm was a bit contagious.
“OK. Let’s do this,” she said and watched Noah take the young woman’s hand and help her from the higher dock into the motorboat. Reanna plopped herself down in the bow. Lori realized the consequences at once: she’d have an obstructed view forward.
Damn it!
She didn’t deign to look at Noah as he helped her into the boat. But she couldn’t ignore the touch of his hand. Her self-denial didn’t go that far.
The boat quickly left the cove behind and skirted the prominent rocky point near the fishing village of Isle View. The weather was perfect for photography, a soft, golden morning light that made for excellent contrast without creating a diffuse effect. The circumstances couldn’t have been any better in that regard.
She’d rather have turned her back on the other circumstances, but Reanna looked back and asked Lori to duck. Then she took several shots of Noah and served him up an enchanting smile.
“Icebergs probably aren’t anything special for you,” she shouted at him. “You see them every year.”
“Oh, they’re nice to see,” Noah replied with some excitement. “But they often cover our nets and wreck them. We can free up the small ones, but can’t do anything about the big ones.”
Lori looked at Noah. “How do you free them?”
“With ropes. Sling a rope around them and the boat can pull them away.”
She was about to ask him if there was a chance of a photo op when Reanna butted in.
“I’ve absolutely
got
to see that!”
Then she suddenly uttered a sharp cry: icebergs loomed on the horizon, swerving around the rocky point of land. Lori counted three colossi. Her pulse raced. What a constellation!
An Ice Triptych
—that’s what she could call it in her book; that would sound properly grand. White pyramids, sharply defined against the steel-blue sky. Noah throttled down, and Lori held her zoom lens as tightly as she could in the rocking boat. At that moment, Reanna changed position, and Lori almost fell off the wooden bench.
“Watch it!” Noah shouted, and Reanna apologized profusely.
Lori forced a smile and decided from then on to announce when she was about to shoot. In the meantime, she had to wait patiently until Reanna was finished.
“Don’t lean out on the same side,” Noah warned them. “This boat’s tippy.”
Oh, wonderful,
Lori thought to herself. Sometimes she just let the camera motor run, in the hopes that at least one picture wouldn’t have any blond windblown hair or glaring red jacket in it.
Noah circled the icebergs at a safe distance.
“Noah, can you get a bit closer?” Reanna shouted.
He shook his head.
“These things can break up anytime or tip over and pull the boat under.”
“That would give me a good story!” Reanna winked at him.
Lori had no desire to observe Noah’s reaction. She concentrated on the marvel of nature unfolding before her.
The icebergs resembled tremendous sculptures that changed constantly as the camera angle varied with the boat’s movements. One minute she saw a dragon with a serrated back; the next, a mountain landscape with a peak jutting upward, and then a gigantic ocean liner with a steep bow. The ice had a bluish sparkle in the warm light. Some dark lines reminded her of colored veins in white marble. Seen from behind, a network of diagonal grooves ran down them as if carved by a hammer and chisel.
The icebergs rocked on the ocean, water dripping from their flanks. Then Lori sighted another boat. She waited until it appeared in an elegant archway through the ice, shouted “Don’t move!”, pressed the release, and heaved a sigh. At least this was one picture Reanna hadn’t ruined. She noticed some birds on the top of one of the icebergs. Were they murres or gulls? If circumstances had been different, she’d have asked Noah, but she opted to keep words to a minimum. Their attitude toward one another was almost businesslike. Lori had no desire to compete with Reanna the flatterer.
Still, Noah made a great effort to steer the boat over to some places at Lori’s request. That put her in a conciliatory mood. On the return trip, she even managed to smile when she couldn’t prevent Reanna from taking her picture. She knew from experience that anyone who stares at the camera with a pinched and angry look will wind up doubly punished.
“That was awesome, really cool!” Reanna enthused when they were back on land. “So nice of you to take me with you. A day I’ll never forget!”
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” Noah said, and Reanna hugged him like they were old friends. Noah produced an embarrassed laugh and then swiftly stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Cod fishing starts Thursday. Hope the weather plays along.”
“Oh, maybe Will can send me back here. That would be terrific! Much better than sitting in the office!”
She looked at Lori.
“And I definitely want to see your pictures. I’m so interested. You’ll see mine in the paper, of course. And I’ll put a few on Facebook.”
“But please, not the picture of me,” Lori said quickly. “I wouldn’t want that.”
Reanna took her arm.
“No, not a problem. After all, you’re here incognito, I do know that much.”
She laughed and ran off with a brief wave.
Lori put away her cameras and ran her fingers through her hair as if it were still short.
“Many thanks for the trip,” she grinned, stepping a little closer. “I’m gonna give you something for the gas.”
If Reanna treated Noah like a friend, so could she.
“Oh no, no way. Today was fun.”
His eyes wandered from her to the direction of Reanna’s departure, then back to her.
“You want pictures of us cod fishing? Come along anytime, leaving at five in the morning. Really, Lori. Anytime.”
She shouldered her camera bag.
“Yes, I’d love to come, but it’s no good for me if somebody else is taking pictures too. People get in the way, as you no doubt saw today.”
“I know—wasn’t the plan. She just turned up this morning and . . . I couldn’t say no. Rick’s boat was already gone. I can take you out again if you want, but I don’t know exactly when. The cod . . .”
His eyes wandered over to the parked cars. Lori’s throat tightened. She heard a motor start up. Reanna’s Mustang.
She folded her arms across her chest.
“I’ll go have a look at the pictures I shot today. It’s not your responsibility to keep taking me out there. I don’t want to be a pain in the neck.”
She could hardly believe that they were talking like this. It seemed to her as if the bond between them that she’d sensed until yesterday was broken.
“Oh, not at all. Not at all. Been more exciting since you’ve come.” He almost sounded befuddled.
Sure. Pretty girls from far away are exciting.
And two are more exciting than one.
Particularly when nothing much happens in Stormy Cove. You don’t want to miss any of the action.
“Thanks again,” she said and went to her car.
Was he watching her leave the way he’d watched Reanna? She fought off the temptation to look back.
She stopped at the store to pick up milk and bread. Nosy Mavis eyed her expectantly as she came in the door.
“So, did you get a lot of iceberg photographs?”
“Who told you about that?” She still couldn’t fathom how news got around Stormy Cove so fast.
“Easy. Rick’s sister was just here. Rick went out with some of the family. She drove them to the wharf.”
Mavis stretched and her bosom heaved. Two rhinestone broaches glittered on her green turtleneck sweater. Lizards again.
Lori felt like reading the weekend
Globe and Mail
or the
Vancouver Sun
or a glossy like
Vanity Fair
or a chic interior decorating magazine like
Elle Decor
. And having a real Italian espresso with it and a butter croissant fresh from the oven.
But only tabloids made it to Stormy Cove.
She picked one of them up and skimmed the headline: “Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi Finally Want a Baby.”
Mavis planted both hands on the counter.
“There’s nothing about Hollywood stars to get excited over anymore. Women can marry women and adopt kids and it’s on the front page.”
“Not only Hollywood stars,” Lori added. “I’m good friends with a lesbian couple, and they adopted two children. They go to school, and nobody gives a damn that they’ve got two mothers.”
“Yeah? Well, that would be a first in these parts. Wouldn’t go down well with some people.” She smoothed her sweater. “When Jacinta noised it around that she’d seen Robine Whalen necking with a woman, there was hell to pay.”
Lori dropped the tabloid.
“Jacinta saw
what
?”
“Didn’t you know? Jacinta told her parents . . . and maybe a few others that she’d seen Robine kissing another woman.”
“Who was she?”
“A woman from St. John’s, one of the archaeology gals. Only a rumor back then. You never know what to believe. Well, we’ve found out in the meantime what’s with Robine.”
“How old was she then?”
“Let me think . . . fifteen or sixteen. She started early . . . But girls here do that with boys too.”
“So how did . . . what did her family say to that?”
“Didn’t believe it, naturally. I mean, the Whalens and the Parsons—I shouldn’t gossip like this, but they aren’t exactly the best of friends. Ever since Noah’s dad drowned they—”
She cut herself off when the door opened. Greta Whalen called out.
“Hello. Can I join the coffee klatch?”
She was wearing a sweatshirt with “Newfies Rock” on the front and gray sweatpants. Her blue eyes sparkled.
“Coffee’s over there.” Mavis flapped her right elbow at a thermos on the shelf. “We were just talking about icebergs. Lori went out with Noah and a new reporter from the
Cape Lone Courier
.”
Greta poured coffee into a paper cup.
“What do they need new reporters for? Nothing ever happens here.”
“She’s a trainee, still learning,” Lori explained. And then to Mavis, “Any fresh bread today?”
But Mavis wasn’t finished with the subject.
“What’s a kid from Ontario doing here, I’d like to know. There are more papers there than here. And she sure don’t look like a reporter, more like a model.”
Greta sipped her coffee. “Where’s she from in Ontario?”
“Trifton,” Lori responded.
“Trifton? Is there a place anywhere that’s really called that?” Mavis frowned.
“Trifton,” Greta repeated, musing. “She told some people she’s from Timmins. Like Shania Twain. How old is she?”
“I’d say early twenties. What about that fresh bread?”
Mavis reached into a bin behind her and pulled out a rectangular loaf wrapped in plastic.
“It costs thirty cents more now—can you believe it? Because wheat’s gone up. A farmer keeps making more money, and it’s the fisherman who gets less and less.”
“But fish in the stores are more and more expensive,” Lori said. “Something’s not right. Somebody’s raking it in very nicely.”
She paid for the bread and milk and said good-bye.
When she got to her car, she heard her name called. Greta caught up with her.
“That reporter. Did she really say Trifton?”
Lori ran her fingers over the notches in her car key.