Part IV

Bright sunlight streamed down on my face, and I woke with a start. Where was I?

It took just a few moments to remember as I fingered the soft wool blanket tucked around me. A whiff of evergreen blended delicately with the warm, sheepy odor of the wool. I remembered detecting that same crisp fragrance as Liam passed by me in the kitchen the night before. Aftershave or cologne?

No, not cologne. He seemed a little too rustic for that sort of pretension.

I stretched and let myself sink a little deeper into the cushions, and heard a soft tap on the door frame.

“Hullo, are you awake?” Liam’s voice called softly.

“Yes, but just barely. What time is it?”

“A little after ten. I’ve made coffee and scones. Would you like to eat?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “I’m so sorry I passed out on you. That’s the second time I’ve missed the opportunity to hear Ronan’s acoustic album all the way through.”

“There will be other opportunities. After all, you’ve only just got here.”

“That’s right.” I threw off the blanket and swung my feet to the floor. “Let me spruce up a bit, then I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

***

When I entered the room, he sprang to his feet and pulled out a chair for me. “Good morning!” he greeted me. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly well. That sofa is so comfortable.”

“It is that. I’d have wakened you, but you were so soundly asleep I thought it best to leave well enough alone. I brought you a blanket and left you to rest. I’ve slept there myself on occasion, so I knew you’d be fine.”

“And I was. I’ll be sure to find my way to bed tonight, though. Wake me if I crash.”

“Will do.” He went to the counter and picked up the coffee pot. “I just brewed it. Like a cup?”

“Love it. Thanks.”

He filled my mug and nudged a covered basket across the table. “Apple scones. They’re still warm, so tuck in.”

“Thanks.”

He sat down opposite me with a mug of black coffee, a map spread out on the table before him.

“Why the map?”

“Ah, well, I thought I’d have a look and make some suggestions for what we might do today. Would you like to take a drive and see a bit of the area?”

“Not too long a drive. I’d rather find a nice place to walk so I can stretch my legs a bit.”

“That’s doable, and we’ll save Doubtful Sound for next week?”

“Whatever you think is best, Liam.”

“You’ll be fully adjusted to New Zealand time by then.”

“I hope so!”

He smiled. “I know, right now it seems you’ll never get used to the time change, but it happens. Trust me.”

I yawned. “Yeah? When?”

“Sooner than you think, my friend.” He nudged the basket of scones closer. “Have another. Fortify yourself for the day ahead.”

“Don’t mind if I do. How’s your eye today?”

“About the same. I should never have been so vain about wearing the patch, but—” He shrugged. “Live and learn. I’m still well enough to take you around.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

***

Our days together were spent in similar fashion, filled with sight-seeing, wonderful, home-cooked meals, and music. As we grew more comfortable with each other, we began to sit closer together on the leather sofa, sometimes with our shoulders touching. I couldn’t deny that I found Liam attractive, but still I had a strong feeling that I should maintain some distance. He seemed the sort of man who wouldn’t appreciate being pushed, and I respected that, but as time passed, that became more and more difficult, especially once we were alone in Doubtful Sound.

I’d never seen anything like it before, so remote and unspoiled. Liam had decided that we would anchor overnight, even though it was winter and cold. Even in the warmest, brightest hours of the day, we were bundled in scarves, sweaters, hats, and gloves. By dusk, the temperature had really dropped, and as the approaching night obscured our faces, I could see our breath freezing and hovering in the air.

Liam, at the helm of his boat, raised one gloved hand from the wheel and accepted the hot coffee I’d brought him. “Thanks.” He sipped. “I think it’s about time we stopped for the night. It’s too cold to stay up here much longer. Why don’t you go down while I get her settled?”

“All right. I’ll heat up the soup.”

I descended to the galley, removed the soup kettle from the little refrigerator, and set it on the tiny stove. Then I busied myself with arranging the table.

Soon Liam’s boots came thumping down the stairs to the cabin. He ducked through the door and closed it behind him, stripping off his watch cap.

“There, that’s that. Time to relax.”

“The soup isn’t quite ready.”

“All right. We’ve bread, though, yes?”

“In the basket.”

“Great.” He lifted its lid and rifled through, and before I could hand him a knife or a plate, he’d found the bread and torn off a chunk. “Ah, that hits the spot! Want some?”

“I’ll wait until the soup’s ready.”

“Suit yourself.” He slid in behind the table and stretched out on the bench along the wall of the cabin. “So, have you been enjoying the trip?”

“Of course! I’ve never seen anything quite like this place.”

“If you think it’s beautiful now, you should see it in summer. The weather’s nicer, too. Not nearly so cold.”

“I don’t mind the cold, and I bet you don’t get to have this place to yourself in warmer weather.”

“No, I certainly don’t. Lots of folks come to see it, and for those who don’t pilot their own boats, there’s a company with a few good-sized vessels that will take tourists on overnight excursions. The traffic gets to be such a nuisance I rarely go near the Sound in the summer. Now, though—this is my favorite time of year to be here, even though it means freezing my arse off at the helm.”

“What’s sailing without a little hardship?”

“Dunno. ’Tis not sailing, though, that’s for sure.”

“Neither is this, really, Liam. We’ve just been sort of—cruising.”

“I know, but I haven’t the strength to handle a sailboat anymore. I mean, I’d love to do it, but it’s been so many years now. A small cabin cruiser like this is a good compromise. Gets me on the water without wearing me out, and I do so love the feeling of just drifting and dreaming.”

I remembered something I’d forgotten for years, and smiled. “My father used to have a record album called Drifting and Dreaming. I think it was Guy Lombardo.”

Liam wrinkled his nose. “He always let his saxophone players use too much vibrato.”

“The horns did have a kind of wavery sound, but there was something nice about it, anyway. The jacket had a picture of a boat cruising at twilight. I used to look at it and wonder what it would be like to be on that boat. I never thought it would take me so many years to find out.”

“Well,” Liam pointed out, with a mischievous smirk, “you aren’t on that boat after all. You’re on my boat. You’ll never know what it’s like to be on the boat in the picture.”

“Don’t be so literal,” I chided.

He chuckled softly and bent to unlace his boots, then pried them off and dropped them to the floor. He drew his legs up on the seat and tucked his feet beneath one of the cushions. “This is the life, isn’t it?”

“It’s very pleasant,” I agreed, as I ladled soup into bowls and carried them to the table.

“Come,” he invited. “Sit beside me.”

I slid in next to him, as I would have done on the leather couch in his music room. He smelled of wool and evergreen and the wind that had whipped around us all day: an intoxicating combination of scents. Unconsciously, I pressed up close to him, and was startled to find him gazing at me when I turned to ask how he liked the soup.

In reply, he smiled and tweaked the tip of my nose. “Not half so well as I like your company, Sarah.”

I blushed and drew back a little.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I mean it. You’re a very pleasant companion. I wish you lived closer, so we could see each other more often.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’re easy to talk to, and we enjoy so many of the same things. Already, I feel as if I’ve known you for a long, long time. It’s going to be quite a wrench when you’ve got to go back to the States.”

“We’ll talk online, like we’ve always done.”

“I know, but it won’t be the same.”

I didn’t say so to him, but I thought there would be little difference. I still didn’t really know what he looked like much better than I did when we conversed on line. He’d persisted in wearing those damned sunglasses from day one, and even now, in the soft light of the cabin, he had them on. Time and time again, he’d sworn that it was just to protect his good eye from the light, and camouflage the patch over his other eye, but the more often he said it, the less convincing it sounded.

Once again, I found myself thinking of Greek mythology. Did I dare play Psyche to his Cupid and sneak into his room with a candle some night, just to catch a glimpse of him unmasked? Or could I try asking again?

I cast a sidelong glance at him as he ate his soup. He seemed utterly content and relaxed. If I asked him to take the sunglasses off again, he would tense up like a steel spring. I kept silence and pressed a little closer, and touched his hand gently as he swallowed the last spoonful.

He turned towards me with his eyebrows peeking above the frames of the sunglasses, questioning.

“Would you like some more?”

“Yes, please! It’s delicious!”

“Especially so, because you caught the main ingredient yourself.”

“Och, aye,” he agreed, “but then you worked some sort of magic on it.”

“A team effort,” I said, and smiled.

“Indeed.”

I took his bowl and refilled it as he tore another piece of bread from the loaf.

“If only one never had to leave this place,” he remarked, sounding wistful.

“Don’t you think being here all the time might spoil it?”

“How so?”

“You’d come to take it for granted, and it would lose its magic.”

He chewed his bread thoughtfully and swallowed. “Perhaps, but for me that would take a damn long time to happen. I’ve always tended to grow weary of things long after the average person would. Not that I consider you average in any way,” he added hastily.

“No, I’m not average,” I admitted, “but while I love to escape from the city from time to time, I also love to return to it. I love its pulse and energy, and its conveniences. I like knowing that if I don’t feel like cooking, there are any number of places within walking distance where someone else will do it for me.”

He nodded sagely. “Yes, I must confess there are days when I miss that, but those are the times when I’ll take something out of the freezer to re-heat, or help myself to some fruit. Then I’ll sit on the porch to eat my meal, and when I compare my environment with the hustle and bustle of a city, that usually sets me straight again.”

“Usually?”

“Yes. There are moments when nothing will banish my grieving for everything I left behind. Or—well—not quite nothing,” he amended. “When I get to feeling like that, no matter what time of the day or night, I go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and hibernate until things look fresh and new again.”

“You get depressed.”

“No, I don’t get depressed; I am depressed a lot of the time. Medication helps a great deal, but there are still days when I feel overwhelmed, and I almost have a sense of—of disbelief. I left a lot behind, and while I don’t miss the pace so much, I do miss people, and the fact that I made the break seems so unreal. And despite the beauty of this place, it gets to feeling damn lonely sometimes. I’m no fool, though. I know that I can feel just as lonely and sad in a city, with people all around me, and friends sitting beside me, trying to engage me in conversation.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start sounding so maudlin.” He smiled and took up his spoon again.

Subject closed—or was it? His smile looked strained, as if he thought that by forcing those muscles into the proper position, he could convince himself that he was truly happy, and his depression naught but a passing phase.

He finished his meal quickly and quietly, put his boots back on, then invited me up to the deck. “You must see this,” he said, taking my arm.

I let him lead me, and together we stood beneath that enormous, dark blanket of sky with its multitude of bright stars, sparkling like so many precious diamonds on a backdrop of deepest blue velvet. He pointed out the constellations and gave me their names, first in English and then in his native Gaelic. The strange words rolled out like poetry, and his tone grew softer with each passing syllable. It died away completely with the last phrase and he pressed close to my side, his hair softly tickling my cheek. It was all so beautiful, but his aura of sadness had enveloped both of us now, and it made me tired. I yawned.

Liam sighed and led me back down to the cabin, where we cleaned up the galley and prepared our sleeping quarters in silence. Just before retiring, he took my hand and squeezed it lightly. “Sleep well, my friend. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?”

I pressed his hand in return. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” I replied, quoting Shakespeare.

He laughed softly. “How true!” He tweaked the tip of my nose again. “Until the light of dawn steals in and wakes us, then.”

His footsteps moved away from me, and in a few moments I heard blankets rustling as he settled himself.

I retired to my berth, but lay awake for a long time, listening to the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the boat, and to the rhythm of Liam’s breathing.

He was still awake when I finally passed into sleep.

***

C.P. Warner
© 15 May 2007

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