Amanda was the one bright light that remained. Spending the summer with her was a gift beyond price. This place wasn’t quite as grand as his grandparents’ camp, but the important thing was that they were together. After Amanda had found the proper tree, which took some time because she wasn’t all that excited about the idea, Jake looked around the yard. “Well, Pinch, we’ve got our work cut out for us. This old cabin needs some tender loving care.”
“I’m hungry,” Amanda said.
“Me, too. That hamburger wore off a long time ago. Let’s get the truck unloaded and I’ll cook you something you won’t believe, it’ll be so good.”
“Can I watch?”
“You can supervise.”
Unfortunately, there was no propane in the tank outside the cabin, and Jake hadn’t thought to bring a jug of kerosene for the empty lamps. It was growing dark. He was about to suggest that they beat a hasty retreat to the nearest town for the night when he heard the cry of a loon wavering across the pond.
“Daddy,” Amanda breathed in awe, her hand reaching out for his. “What was that?”
“That’s a loon, Pinch. Sounds kind of crazy, doesn’t it? They can sound sad, too.”
“It’s scary,” she said.
“C’mon. Walk down to the dock with me and let’s listen for a while.” She stepped cautiously beside him and they stood on the thick cedar planking. The cry came again, long and mournful. “It’s definitely lonely this time.”
“What’s that splashing noise?” she whispered, pressing against him.
“Trout rising to a hatch of insects. See the ripples when one comes to the surface?”
Hard to see anything in the thick gloaming. A branch snapped in the woods nearby and he felt Amanda shiver. “Daddy?”
“Probably a moose coming down to the pond to drink. Sometimes they wade right out into the water and put their heads under to eat pond lily roots and grasses. We’ll see lots of moose while we’re here.”
“Are they big?” she whispered.
“As big as horses, with longer legs.”
“Daddy, I’m scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Let’s go back inside. I bet I can cook us some toasted cheese sandwiches on the woodstove. It’s getting kind of cool, and a little fire will warm the chill off the cabin. I think there are some candles, too. We’ll light a few and it’ll be real cozy, just like camping out.”
ANNIE CALLED her ex-husband that night. Ryan answered the phone himself and his voice was weary. “Sally’s fine, Annie. She picked out a cute puppy today, and between the two of them they’ve worn me out. Trudy’s been having some bad back pains and I’m a little worried about her, but she doesn’t want to call her doctor…” He rambled on distractedly for a few more minutes and then asked, “So, where are you staying? Sally told us you were renting a farmhouse up the coast.”
She gave him the phone number and address. “I told Sally she could spend some time here if she got lonely for her old mum.”
“Sure. I think it’s a good idea, you spending the summer nearby. It’ll be as good for you as it is for her, getting away from the big city. Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself already.”
“I am, actually. Very much,” she conceded.
“Annie, gotta go. Trudy just came downstairs and she looks pretty wrung out. Talk to you later.” Loud click. Dead line.
Annie replaced the receiver gently and sighed.
The old farmhouse creaked in the night the way old houses do, telling their own stories, and she sat in the kitchen for a while, reading the local paper by the light of the oil lamp. The muted thunder of the waves crashing up against the granite ledge was a constant lulling undercurrent of sound. When she looked out the window down the dark narrow bay, she could see the periodic flash from the Nash Island light. She had opened several of the old double hung windows in the kitchen and the curtains moved gently in a faint night wind. The only outdoor sounds were those of the ocean, of the light breeze through the wind-stunted evergreens that clung tenaciously to the shoreline and the distant clang of a buoy.
A far, far cry from the constant cacophony of human noise generated by a city the size of New York. It was only 9:00 p.m. and Annie thought that maybe she’d make some popcorn and curl up with one of the novels she’d brought to read, but instead she went to bed and slept better than she had in many months.
AMANDA HAD CHOSEN THE TOP bunk and just past midnight let out a shriek that woke Jake from a sound sleep and stopped his heart for a few beats. He sat up, slamming his head into the bottom of her bunk. “Amanda, what is it?” he gasped, holding his head.
“A mouse just ran across my bed,” she said, her voice quavering with fear.
“A mouse? You mean, one of those cute little creatures you were admiring while we ate supper?”
“Yes.” She sounded very close to tears.
“Amanda, that mouse isn’t going to hurt you. Go back to sleep.”
“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