A Full House

“I can’t,” she said, small-voiced. “I’m afraid it will come back.”

“Are you kidding? The way you just screamed?”

“Daddy, can I come down and sleep with you?”

“It’s a mighty narrow bunk, Pinch.”

“Please, Daddy.”

He wondered what the child experts would say about such business. Amanda was, after all, five years old. Still, she’d put up with a lot in the past twenty-four hours without complaining. She’d even eaten the burnt cheese sandwich outside on the porch while they’d waited for the smoke to clear from the cabin. “Okay,” he relented. “But just for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get a trap for the mice so they won’t bother you anymore, and you can sleep in your own bed.”

Moments later she was snuggled up against him and almost instantly asleep. He lay in contemplative silence, listening to the loons on the pond and wondering about a certain doctor by the name of Annie Crawford. Wondering how long it would be before their paths crossed.

CHAPTER FIVE

ANNIE WOKE to a morning more beautiful than she’d seen in nearly two decades. She sipped her coffee sitting on the porch in an old rocker, nudging the weathered planks with her bare toes to move herself ever so gently back and forth. Watching the sun rise over Dyer Island and the bay, she realized with sudden and poignant clarity that she could stay in this place forever.

Moments later she heard the chugging throb of a boat engine and her attention turned toward the harbor. A lobster boat had passed the point and was nosing its way into the channel, close enough that she could read the name on the stern. Glory B. She was still watching when the boat turned abruptly toward the stone wharf, engine throttling up as it approached, then easing off and slipping into reverse as it pulled alongside. She frowned. Was this normal procedure or could there be something wrong?

The engine cut out as a man jumped onto the pier, rope in hand, and made a quick dally around one of the pilings. Then he started up the long, steep steps, taking them two at a time in gear that could only be described as cumbersome. Annie rose to her feet as the man crossed the intervening space between them. He took big steps, moving with great urgency. What on earth? She was in her nightgown, for heaven’s sake. She crossed her arms in front of herself protectively, still holding the mug of coffee.

Close enough now, she could see that the man was smiling. Coming toward her at a gallop in tall, dark, rubber boots and yellow, waterproof overalls, he was grinning ear-to-ear. He was bare-headed, his hair thinning, gray and wind-tousled. When he got closer his reaction was startling. He skidded to a stop, arms thrown out for balance at first and then lifted shoulder high in a gesture of apology.

“You’re not Lily,” he said from fifty feet away.

“No,” Annie said.

His arms dropped to his sides. “I saw the smoke from the kitchen chimney and thought…” He turned and looked at his boat as if he could wish himself back onto it. “Well, I thought Lily’d come back home.”

“I’m Annie Crawford. I’m renting the place for the summer. I arrived yesterday.”

He glanced back at her. “Joe Storey,” he said. “Welcome to the peninsula. Sorry to bust in on you like this, but good to meet you, all the same.” He paused for an awkward moment before adding, “If you need anything, just do like Lily did and run the white flag up the pole down by the boathouse.”

He turned to go and Annie said, “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

Joe glanced at the rocking chair Annie had been using. “Lily was always watching right there, rain or shine, every morning when we headed out. She’d wave one of her dish towels to us. It was a tradition. Somehow the days aren’t quite the same anymore, with her gone and this old house of hers sitting empty.” His eyes turned back to her. “Well. Got my traps to check.” He turned away again and Annie watched him hurry back toward the wharf steps.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Storey,” Annie called after him. She sat in the rocker and watched until the Glory B dwindled into the distance, wondering about Lily Houghton, and then wondering if Jake Macpherson and his daughter Amanda were in Maine yet. She might have sat there all morning if the phone hadn’t rung. Annie rose from the rocker and went inside to answer it.

“Mom?” Sally’s voice was choked with tears. “Can you come get me?”

“Of course I can, Sally. What’s wrong?”

“Trudy had the baby last night,” Sally blurted, and then sobbed convulsively, causing Annie to clench up tight.

“Sally,” Annie said in a calming voice. “Sally, are you at the house?”

“I’m at the hospital. It all happened so fast, Mom. Trudy’s really sick, and Dad says the baby might not live.” She began to cry again. Annie waited for a moment. “Sally, listen to me. You stay right where you are and I’ll come get you. It’ll take me an hour to get there, maybe a little longer. Okay?”

After a period of sniffs and gulps, she replied, “Okay.”

“I love you, Sally. I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later she was headed for the hospital in Bangor. The first full day of her summer in Maine had begun.

JAKE BURNED THE EGGS the same way he’d burned the cheese sandwich, but Amanda never complained. They ate out on the porch for two reasons. The first was that the cabin was once again filled with smoke. The second was that it was a real pretty place to sit to look out over the pond. He drank his coffee, not burned but not strong the way he preferred it. He hadn’t boiled the water long enough. But if Amanda wasn’t going to complain, neither was he.

“The first thing we need to do this morning is head back into town and get stocked up on supplies. We’d better make a list.”

“A mousetrap,” Amanda said.

“Propane tanks filled.”

“Lights for at night.”

“You didn’t like the candles?”

“Daddy.” She gave him a reproving glance.

“Okay, then. Kerosene for the lamps.”

“Can we get a TV?”

“A television? There’s no electricity here, Pinch. We could get some books. I’ll read to you, you read to me.”

“I don’t read good.”

“Practice makes perfect. What else do we need?”

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

“Don’t know how I ever forgot that stuff.”

“Soda.”

“No soda. Bad for your teeth.”

“Juice.”

“Juice.” He wrote it on the list. “Milk. Lemonade?”

“Lemonade,” she nodded.

“Window cleaner. You any good at washing windows?”

She frowned. “Are they dirty?”

“Good answer. What about lunch. Hot dogs?”