Silken Tide Page 10

  “Then maybe they’re scaring them off. I swear, if I could get a hold of one of ’em…” Jeremy made a twisting motion with his hands.

  His father stopped in his tracks. He turned and walked the length of the deck until he came face to face with Jeremy. He grabbed the front of his bibs. “Leave them alone.”

  “But the lobster…” Jeremy’s voice cracked and he cowered under his grip.

  “I mean it, Jeremy. Leave them be.”

  When his father showed no signs of releasing his grip on Jeremy, Mark scrambled to his feet. He put his hand on top of his father’s fist and held eye contact with him for a few moments. Finally, his father let go and as if to try to make amends, he tried to smooth the front of Jeremy’s bibs. His shoulders slumped and without a word, he made his way to the wheelhouse.

  Mark and his father didn’t say anything to one another on the way home that evening. They pulled up to the house and his father put the truck in park.

  “I’ve been thinking, Mark. I’m going to take you off the boat for a little while.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I have a lot of bookwork piling up in my office. I’ve never been good at that part of the job. You’ve got the mind for that kind of stuff and it would really help if you could get it straightened out for me.”

  Mark opened his mouth to protest, but he could tell by the expression on his father’s face that it was no use. His father was desperate to catch lobster and he was doing his best not to hurt Mark’s feelings. Mark knew he would have to find a way to swallow his pride and afford his father the opportunity to once again be prosperous.

  “Anything I can do to help.” Mark nodded

  The next day, Mark arrived at his father’s office. And by office, his father meant a small wooden shed located just off the gravel parking lot where the fishermen parked their vehicles for the day. Over the years, the structure had taken a beating from the winds and moisture coming off the ocean. Green paint peeled from the siding, revealing the raw and battered wood beneath. One of the two windows housed an air-conditioning unit that appeared to be rusted into place. The other window was caked with sea salt. Mark carefully ascended the rotting wood steps that led to the door that was secured with a pad lock. He inserted the key and gently pulled the lock open; yanking too hard would surely pull the door of this dilapidated structure off its hinges.

  As if to make a long-awaited getaway, a gust of stale air nearly knocked Mark over when he opened the door. Once he stepped over the threshold, he immediately noticed a desk to his left that was littered with papers and unopened mail. At the other end of the shed, a pile of fishing attire had been shoved into the corner. Not long ago, Mark thought that he had hit rock bottom by donning those rubber boots and bibs. Now, he felt it an even bigger embarrassment being placed behind a desk. He had been given yet another demotion. How much could a man’s pride take?

  I finally get an office with a view. He laughed to himself as he opened the crusty window.

  Mark sat down on a metal folding chair in front of the desk and began to sift through the mountain of papers that lay before him. He hoped that the monumental task of organizing his father’s office would keep him from thinking about his mother. He hoped that not taking to the sea with his father would lessen the intensity of the whispers. But no matter how many piles of papers he shifted from one end of the desk to the other, it wasn’t enough to distract him from thoughts of Jessica. The fact was there was little that could pry his mind away from her. During the day, he envisioned that she was sitting next to him, the sweet smell of her skin surrounding him. At night, he dreamed that she was sleeping next to him, her soft skin pressed against his. She was in the air that he breathed. She was flowing through his veins. Mark could no longer deny that Jessica was under his skin and had wrapped herself snugly around his core.

  As Mark gathered another stack of invoices, he realized that he had partially uncovered a book from underneath the pile of papers on the desk. He pulled it out and examined the worn cover.

  The Legend of Selkie

  Mark ran his thumb over the gold embossed lettering on the cover and then he opened the book. He noticed that the binding was loose, like it had been read a thousand times. As he thumbed through the yellowing pages, his eyes were drawn to illustrations of creatures that appeared to be half seal, half human. They sat perched upon rocks, as if they were allowing someone to sketch and record their existence. Some of the pictures depicted these creatures as beautifully enchanting. Other drawings showed them as hideous, slimy creatures that appeared to have crawled out from under a mossy rock somewhere.

  Chapter after chapter of the book accounted for sightings by everyone from fishermen at sea, to tourists upon a guided boat who happened upon these magical beings. Words seemed to jump from the pages of the book, all vying for Mark’s attention: “Beautiful…alluring…power over the opposite sex…children of the Selkie are said to have webbed hands and feet.” Mark knew that it was no mistake that he found the book buried on his father’s desk. It was obvious that his father left the book there for him to read; a kind of family album since there was a lack of such a thing.

  Mark sat down and examined his hands. He breathed a sigh of relief when he did not find webbing between his fingers. Just as he was about to remove his shoes to take a closer look at his toes, he heard the crunching of gravel under the feet of someone walking in the parking lot. When Mark peeked out of the open window, he saw his father approaching the shed. Mark had been so absorbed with the book that he didn’t notice the time. He jumped from his seat and shoved the book in his back pocket. When his father opened the door, the smell of the sea rushed into the small space.

  “Wow! I haven’t seen the top of that desk in years. Good job, Mark.”

  “Thanks.” Mark pulled at the back of his shirt to make sure the book was concealed.

  “Find anything interesting in there?” His father’s eyes seemed to be searching for something on the desk. Mark assumed it was the book, but he was not about to let on that he had been reading it.

  “No, not really.”

  “I never found any of it interesting myself. That’s probably why it looked the way it did.” His father forced a laugh.

  “So, how’d it go out there today?” Mark asked.

  “Not too bad. We caught a few. Still not as many as usual. But, more than yesterday.”

  “I guess your plan is working then.” Mark looked at the floor.

  His father put his hands on his hips and let out a drawn breath. “You ready to go home?”

  “Sounds good.”

  His father made his way out of the shed and waited for him at the bottom of the rickety stairs while Mark locked up. When Mark reached the bottom of the steps, his father put his arm around his shoulders and led him to the truck.

  That evening after taking a shower, Mark secured a towel around his waist and made his way down the hallway to his bedroom. The room took on a soft glow in the setting sun and he could hear the rhythmic roll of the ocean beyond his window. He made his way to the bureau and pulled open the top drawer. As he pulled some clothes from the dresser, he heard something hit the floor. When he looked down, he couldn’t help but grin. Jessica’s paintbrush was lying at his feet. It was the very paintbrush Mark had pulled from her hair the night of the Summer Festival. He smiled at the thought of her haunting him everywhere he turned. He retrieved it from the floor and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He twirled the brush between his fingers. She held it before. It touched her hair. She created with it. There was no treasure sitting at the bottom of the sea that was more valuable than this.

  Mark stood up from his bed and looked out of his window over the ocean. He replayed kissing Jessica in his mind a million times. He wished he had done things differently. He shouldn’t have run away. He should have held her for a few moments longer. He should have told her how beautiful she was, that she stirred emotions in him that no other woman has ever been able to reach
before.

  Mark’s mind raced. She was right under his nose while he was growing up in Silk Cove. She was there the whole time! He moved away for almost twenty years only to come home to rediscover her. Mark could no longer deny that something far beyond his understanding was taking place between them. He felt the need to run to her and tell her. He wanted to tell her everything. He had not yet dealt with who or what he was, but he needed to start somewhere. It seemed only logical to start on land, rather than the sea.

  Mark pushed the paintbrush into his pocket and left his father’s house as quickly as he could. No, he didn’t know the way. But, his feet would move him and his heart would find her.

  Chapter 17

  The gravel drive that led to Jessica’s cottage was sprinkled with fallen pine needles and flanked by tall trees. The fresh aroma of the forest seemed to flood the overgrown pathway, a fragrance that reminded Mark of childhood. All at once, his confident stride slowed to a stop as Jessica’s house came into view.

  The lights were on.

  She was home.

  Mark’s stomach flipped.

  The last time he saw her was when they went cliff diving. He ran away. He left her there. Damn it! He didn’t know what her reaction would be to him suddenly showing up. If she wasn’t home, it would have given Mark the perfect excuse to turn around. But, all of his excuses had run out. It was a chance that he was going to have to take. If he turned around, the risk of not knowing what could have been was too great. Mark took a deep breath and shoved his hand in his front pocket, thumbing the paintbrush as if it were a good luck charm. He pushed any further doubts to the back of his mind and made his way closer to the front door of her cottage.

  Wind chimes swinging from the eaves of her covered porch sent a whimsical tune out into the night. Mark knocked on the weathered wood bordering her screen door and descended the steps to wait on the pathway. Just when he thought that his racing heart would burst in anticipation, Jessica emerged from her dimly-lit surroundings.

  “Just a minute.” As she approached the door, she was looking down in concentration and wiping her hands on a rag spattered with paint.

  She seemed to be unaware of his presence and Mark took the opportunity to admire her from afar like he had so many times at Bonnie’s. There was something in the way she moved. He couldn’t explain it, but it was thrilling. When she finally looked up, an expression of surprise covered her face. She opened the door cautiously, making Mark feel like a door-to-door salesman.

  “Hi.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

  “I brought something for you.” Mark stood with his hand behind his back.

  “You did?” She stepped forward and draped the rag on the porch railing.

  Mark jutted out his hand like a boy with a bouquet for his sweetheart. But instead of flowers, he held the paintbrush between his fingers. The corners of Jessica’s mouth turned upward into a smile.

  “Well, thank you.” Jessica leaned over the rail and took the brush from Mark’s hand. She twisted her hair into a knot at the top of her head and nestled the paintbrush in her hair.

  “I’ve been hanging on to that for a while now. It’s nice to see it back where it belongs. I see that you have something of mine, too.” Mark moved his finger up and down at the NYU T-shirt she was wearing.

  Her mouth dropped open. She grabbed the edges of the shirt as if she forgot that she was wearing it. He obviously caught her off guard and Mark took a bit of enjoyment in watching her try to get her bearings. She put her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t know whose it is. I found it in all wrinkled up in the passenger seat of my truck.” She gave him a knowing grin, her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

  “That’s okay. It looks better on you than me anyway.”

  Suddenly, her smile faded to a look of confusion. She wrinkled her brow pensively, as if she were replaying events between them in her mind that led up to that very moment.

  “What are you doing here, Mark?” Her voice held an edge of accusation.

  Mark shifted his gaze to the wooded ground. He understood her confusion. He also understood that he was to blame. There was so much he needed to say. So much to explain. But, he didn’t want to ruin the night with words that may not come out right. He looked back up at Jessica.

  “May I come in?”

  She scraped nervously at the porch post with her fingernail. He didn’t say anything. He let the silence fall between them. He needed to be invited. The ball was in her court. His stomach tightened at the thought that she might send him packing.

  She started toward the door without responding. Just when Mark thought that he had been turned down, she opened the screen and turned to him.

  “If I knew I was going to have company, I would have cleaned the place up.” She moved her head toward the inside as if to invite him in.

  Mark let out a drawn breath. Hell, he didn’t even realize he was holding his breath. He walked up the creaky wooden stairs and followed Jessica into her house. Mark felt like a giant when he stepped into Jessica’s home; from where he stood, he could see into each room of the house. Jessica’s decorating sense was eclectic; the furniture pieces didn’t match, but somehow it all made sense. Only a corner lamp lighted the living room and various painted canvases adorned the small space. Some were hung on the walls. Others sat propped against furniture waiting for their turn to be displayed. There were paintings of the boats at the dock. The beach. The woods. As Mark walked the perimeter of the room examining Jessica’s art, he realized that there was a common thread in each painting. In each piece of art, there was a silhouette of a man.

  “I see you’ve been hard at work.” Mark looked over his shoulder at Jessica.

  “A little.” She shrugged.

  “A little?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “I told you. It’s a passion.”

  “They’re great. You really should reconsider opening your own gallery.”

  Jessica grinned. Even in the dim lighting of the room, Mark could see her cheeks redden. She shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

  “What’s that?” Mark’s eyes were drawn to a covered canvas on an easel at the far end of the room.

  “Oh, it’s just something I’m working on.” Jessica diverted her gaze and seemed to bite her lower lip nervously.

  Instantly intrigued by her reaction, Mark moved toward the easel and took the edge of the cover between his fingertips. “May I see it?”

  “Please, it’s not finished.”

  Jessica stepped forward to stop him, but it was too late. Mark lifted the cover and let it fall to the floor. What stood before him took his breath away. It was a picture of a man in a pool of water. The look in the man’s eyes was intense and burning. Water dripped down his face and his dark, wet hair sat wildly atop his head. The man in the painting was Mark. There was no questioning it. It looked exactly like him. Mark remembered that moment at the cliff. It was exactly as Jessica had painted it. And it only took a moment for Mark to realize that the silhouette in each painting was him. On the lobster boat at the docks. Running on the beach. Walking through the woods. She had recorded every meeting. Every moment. Every feeling.

  He glanced at Jessica. She looked like she had been exposed, as if some secret had been revealed. But there was no secret. It was a silly notion. He had held her in his arms and they had danced. He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. She had painted him. Over and over again. At that moment, he decided to tear down the wall of uncertainty that stood between them. He was going to make sure that there was no question in her mind of how he felt about her by the time the evening was over.

  “So, why don’t you finish it?” He pulled a nearby stool over to the easel.

  “What? Now?” Her eyes widened.

  “Yeah, why not?” He patted the swivel seat and then held out his hand.

  She hesitated at first, but then reached out for Mark. As he led her to her seat, he could feel her hand trembling in his. She sat down on the stool f
acing the canvas and took a paintbrush into her hand. She looked over her shoulder curiously at Mark standing behind her. She seemed to search his face for answers. But his gaze was unwavering, his smile unchanging.

  Mark watched as she swirled her brush against a palette of paints. Her hands trembled as she raised her brush to the canvas. As if to collect herself, she stopped and drew in a deep breath. After a few moments, she finally dragged the brush across the canvas, her still-quaking hands leaving a jagged line of paint.

  Mark reached out and touched Jessica’s shoulder. Even though she sat upon a chair that raised her up, she was still smaller than him. He ran his hand down her arm and although she continued to paint, he could hear her breath quicken. He could feel her body begin to shiver. He moved his hand ever so slightly against the back of her hand, doing his best to mirror her movements. His touch then traveled back up her arm, over her shoulder, then to the back of her neck. He took the paintbrush out of her hair, allowing her red tresses to fall down over her back. He moved her hair over and kissed the side of her neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her skin.

  Jessica froze and her paintbrush trailed to the bottom of the canvas. Mark reached over and took the brush from her hand and placed it on the ledge of the easel. He slowly turned the stool until they were face to face. Despite the soft lighting of the room, Jessica’s eyes seemed to sparkle as she stared up at him. He closed the space between them and stood between her legs. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her deeply. All at once, Mark felt Jessica’s hands moving up the back of his shirt and traveling the length of his spine. His lips moved more fervently over hers and he pulled her even closer. He was sure that she could probably feel his growing shaft against her as she sat on the stool. She didn’t seem to mind. Her hands crawled over his sides and abdomen, making their way to his chest. Mark moved back just enough to allow Jessica to unbutton his shirt. Suddenly, she pushed him away and slid off the chair to her feet. He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. Mark’s chin fell against his chest and he stared at the floor.