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Authors: Summer's Child

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BOOK: Luanne Rice
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Her store,
In Stitches, had two big windows overlooking the dock, the whale-watch boats,
and Cape Hawk harbor. Needlework was her shop’s focus, and she carried threads
for embroidery, cross-stitch, and needlepoint, a garden of colors in cotton,
silk, wool-silk, French wool, Persian wool, and metallic fibers. The colors
were varied and gorgeous—she had twenty-two shades of pink alone: shell pink,
sand pink, lollipop pink, dawn pink, geranium pink, old rose pink,
sweet-william pink, and many more.

On a
symbolic level, she liked the idea of stitching things together, making
something beautiful one tiny stitch at a time. On a practical level, it put
food on the table. This gorgeous place happened to be about a million miles
from absolutely anywhere. The women of the region flocked to her door. Some
spent money they didn’t even have. Lily let them buy yarn and canvas on credit;
she collected big-time in terms of free babysitting and casseroles.

The hotel
was also a great boon for business—at least in the summer months. Lily glanced
out the window, up the hill. The sprawling, elegant, three-story white building
sparkled in the sun, like a citadel of the northlands. The roof was bright red,
topped by an ornate cupola emblazed with the name CAPE HAWK INN. Two rambling
wings curved outward around perfectly manicured gardens of roses, zinnias,
marigolds, larkspur, and hollyhocks. Camille Neill knew how to grow
flowers—Lily gave her that.

Just then
the school bus rumbled down the wharf. Lily pulled back the lace curtain to
watch the last kids get off. She felt a small, almost imperceptible, wash of
relief: if the bus was here, it meant Rose was home. It was silly, and she knew
it. Rose was almost nine years old, so bright and self-sufficient and
constantly reminding Lily that she could take care of herself.

Suddenly
the door opened, and two women walked in. They were regular customers, Nanouk
Girls. Marlena was local, but Cindy was from Bristol, forty miles away. Lily
smiled and waved.

“Hi, Cindy,
hi, Marlena,” she said. “How are you?”

“Great,
Lily,” Cindy said. “I finished needlepointing my last dining room chair seat,
and I’m finally ready to move on!”

“She’s been
at this project now for, what—three years?” Marlena asked.

“Did you
bring one for me to see?” Lily asked. She kept her ears tuned for the phone to
ring—either she or Rose always picked up the phone to call each other after
school. Cindy dug into her satchel, pulled out two needlepoint squares—elegant
bargello patterns, fine flame stitches done in autumn shades of deep red and
gold.

“They match
her dining room perfectly,” Marlena said.

“They’re
wonderful,” Lily said, examining the perfect stitches. “I remember when you
started the first one, in the club. And you did six of them?”

“Eight,”
Cindy said proudly.

Lily laid
the squares out on the desk. They were skewed slightly out of shape, like all
needlepoint worked in hand. The canvas was fine, ten-mesh; the very edges, once
white, were slightly gray from months of being handled. No matter how carefully
a person washed her hands, skin oils transferred to the work and pulled dirt into
the yarn.

“I know
it’s time to wash and block them,” Cindy said. “What do you recommend?”

“Horse
soap,” Lily said, placing a pint jug of equine wash on the desk. “It’s gentle
and cheap, and it will do the trick. I’m undercutting the tack and feed store.”

The women
chuckled, and Lily glanced at the telephone—it still hadn’t rung. She heard
herself explaining how to block the work—get it back into a perfect square
after all the pulling exerted on the canvas. Wash it, roll it in a towel to
absorb the excess water, work it into shape using a T square, and pin it to the
ironing board using stainless steel pins.

Cindy paid
for the equine soap, while Marlena browsed through Lily’s hand-painted
needlework canvases. Lily picked up the phone; she’d make a quick call, just to
make sure Rose was okay. But then Marlena leaned over.

“This is
wonderful,” Marlena said, holding up a canvas depicting a house by the sea,
with window boxes cascading with petunias and ivy, and a sailboat in the
distance. “Are there more of this series?”

“I sold
out,” Lily said.

“You do
land-office business,” Cindy said. “And well deserved. You’re the only real
needlework place within fifty miles of this godforsaken place, and you do the
circle besides
… .
I swear I’d have left my husband three
times over if I didn’t have the Nanouk Girls to talk to.”

“And I got
over mine leaving me for the same reason, talking to all of you,” Marlena said,
placing the last of Lily’s “Home Sweet Home” needlepoint canvases on the
counter.

“Are you
coming on the cruise?” Lily asked, laughing as she rang up the purchase.

“For Rose?
And with everything we have to celebrate?
You betcha!”

“We
wouldn’t miss it,” Cindy said.

“See you
Saturday, then,” Lily said.
“At the dock.
We’ve
chartered the
Tecumseh II
—the best
boat in the fleet.”

“Nothing but the best for us Nanouks!
See you
then!”

The minute
they left, Lily reached for the phone and dialed. She got the machine. Rose’s
recorded voice came on:
Hello, we’re not
home right now
… .
As soon as she heard the beep,
Lily said, “Rose, are you there? Pick up?” But no one replied.

Footsteps
creaked on the front porch. Lily pulled back the white lace curtain expecting
to see Dr. Liam Neill, the oceanographer who kept his office across the hall.
He was descended from the sea captain, Tecumseh Neill, the house’s original
owner. Instead of fishing or whaling like the rest of his family, he spent his
life researching fish—sharks, specifically. Moody, elusive, the man spent more
time with sharks than people—what more needed to be said?

But it was
just the FedEx man, dropping something off at Liam’s office.

Lily hung
up the phone. She sat and picked up her own needlework—the habit had always
soothed her—and took a few stitches. Rose might not have heard the phone. She
could be outside, feeding her ducks. Or possibly she had gone to someone’s
house and forgotten to call. There were so many normal explanations
… .

When the
door to her store opened, she turned with a start. It was Jessica.
Rose’s age but so much taller, standing in the doorway in her blue
plaid pants and yellow shirt, her mouth just slightly open, beckoning to Lily.

“What is
it, Jessica?” Lily asked, already on her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rose,
something’s wrong with Rose, she can’t walk, her fingers are blue, and she had
to sit down!”

“Where is
she?”

“She’s in
the square, by the stone fisherman,” Jessica said, and she started to cry, but
Lily couldn’t stay to comfort her as she ran out of her store as fast as she
could.

 

Rose sat on
the wall, leaning against the fisherman statue. The effort to hold her head up
was too much, so she rested her forehead on her knees. Her chest felt tight,
and every breath made her lungs burn, as if she were drawing air through a
straw. Even before Jessica’s footsteps faded, Rose heard someone big running
over, and staring down at the ground, she could tell by the big heavy boots
that it wasn’t her mother.

“Rose, your
mother’s on the way. Your friend just ran to get her.”

It was the
oceanographer, Dr. Neill; his boots were glittery with fish scales. The
sunlight made them look like bits of broken crystal, all bright fire and
rainbows. He crouched down, and Rose felt his hand on the back of her head.
“You’re safe, your mother’s on the way. Just relax and try to breathe, okay,
sweetheart?”

Rose nodded
and opened her mouth, taking in air. She knew the moment would pass, and she
would be fine; she always was, but it was alarming when it happened. Her mind
raced ahead to what would happen next. She pictured doctors, Boston, the ER.
Yes, her day in the ER was coming again, it was. She wasn’t even nine yet, but
she could almost write her own medical chart.

Dr. Neill
touched her forehead. She closed her eyes. His hand felt cool. Now she felt his
hand move down to her wrist; she knew he was taking her pulse. Maybe he was
scared by what he felt. Rose knew that some people were. She looked up at him.
People were scared of him too. They had that in common. He wasn’t smiling, but
then, this wasn’t something to smile about.

Once a
teacher had pushed her down so hard, making her lie down even though all Rose
needed to do was wait where she was. Another time a girl’s mother had panicked
and driven her all the way to the clinic in Telford, no matter that Rose told
her she shouldn’t go there. The oceanographer didn’t do any of those things. He
seemed very calm, as if he knew that some things couldn’t be fixed so easily.

He sat on
his heels and held her hand.

She stayed
calm. Their eyes stared into each other as she breathed. She didn’t even want
to blink, but just keep looking into his deep blue eyes. Sharks swam in water
as dark as his eyes, but she wasn’t scared. He blinked once, twice, but he
didn’t smile.

“Don’t go
away,” she said.

“I never
would,” he said.

“I want my
mommy.”

“She’s on
the way. Just another minute …”

“I want
Nanny.”

“We all
love Nanny,” Liam said. “And she’s coming. She gave me a ring this morning, to
let me know she’s on the way.”

“For my birthday?”

Dr. Neill
gave a start, and his eyes flashed at the mention of her birthday. His family
owned the boats, and in spite of the fact that the party was going to be all
girls, Rose wanted him to be aboard. She knew that he didn’t usually run the
whale-watch boats, but maybe he could make an exception. She wanted to ask him,
but she felt too weak.

“Yes, Rose.
For your birthday.
Just keep your head down. That’s my
girl. Just breathe.”

There were
so many things Rose wanted to say; she wanted to invite him to her party,
wanted to ask him if it hurt when he lost his arm, wanted to tell him she was
sorry he had had to go to the hospital and have surgeries, the way she did. But
she couldn’t do it
… .

Now her
mother came—Rose could feel her presence even before she heard or saw her. Her
mother came across the square and suddenly was right there—Rose knew before she
said a word. The oceanographer kept holding her hand. When he let go, he gave a
slight squeeze. Rose squeezed back.

“I’m here,
Rose,” her mother said.

Rose felt
her arms around her shoulders and knew, in a different way, that everything was
going to be fine.

“We walked
home,” Rose said. Her mother held her so lightly, not wanting to press against
her heart or lungs. Rose concentrated on breathing, getting oxygen. She stared
at Dr. Neill’s prosthetic arm, his hand—when he was young, he had had a hook,
and the town kids had called him Captain Hook. The mean nickname had stuck. Now
she looked down at her own hands. Her slightly clubbed fingertips were still
blue, but less so than they had been a few minutes earlier. She was breathing
better now and started to push herself up.

“Why don’t
you stay there for another minute?” Dr. Neill suggested.

“Thank you
for helping her,” Rose’s mother said.

“No
problem. I’m glad I was here.”

“You knew
what to do
… .”

He didn’t
reply. Rose glanced up and saw him looking at her mother—their eyes met for a
second, and she saw her mother blush. Maybe because she thought she’d said
something stupid. Of course he knew what to do; he’d known Rose all her life.
Rose stood up and saw tiny stars.

“I’m better
now,” Rose said, ignoring the pricks of light.

“Give it
another minute,” her mother said, but Rose shook her head vehemently.

“I’m
fine—and we
don’t
need to go to
Boston today. We can wait till we’re supposed to.”

“You missed
the bus?” her mother asked, ignoring Rose’s mention of Boston.

Rose didn’t
even have to nod. Her mother knew her so well.

“You could
have called me.”

Closing her
eyes, Rose thought of Jessica. Her new friend didn’t know everything, hadn’t
watched Rose miss every tryout, every team meet, every soccer game. She didn’t
know that Rose got driven door-to-door—unlike the other kids, who were dropped
off at convenient intersections or waypoints.

“You walked
the whole way here?
From school?”

“Yes,” Rose
said. Her breath was coming back. Dr. Neill had been standing right there, but
suddenly he backed away—as if he didn’t want to embarrass Rose further by
hearing her mother scold her. Rose looked up, but he had already turned his
back. “Mom,” she said.

BOOK: Luanne Rice
6.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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