Norah's Ark Page 8

  Connor was already looking a little dazed when Winky decided to enter the conversation. “Nice buns, cutie pie,” he chortled. And he wasn’t talking about a bakery. Whoever trained this bird to talk should probably be incarcerated.

  Of course, there is a lot of truth in Winky’s observation.

  Looking as though someone had just poured boiling water on his face, Connor stammered, “I just thought you might…stores don’t open yet…I need coffee…would you like to join…”

  “We’d love to!” Lilly chortled. She grabbed me by one arm and Connor by the other and pulled us toward the door so that we popped en masse onto the sidewalk. It didn’t matter to Lilly that Connor had come into my shop rather than hers to invite someone out for breakfast. She has it bad. I hope she’s not setting herself up for a big disappointment.

  Coffee shops are hugely confusing. One would think that a coffee shop just sold coffee. And they do, sort of, but you need to know how to speak the language, otherwise it’s like going into an Asian market and just asking for “vegetable.” Dark roast, light roast, espresso shots, raspberry shots, foam, no foam, the decisions are endless. There’s no sitting down to relax with a cup of coffee these days. You have to make an executive decision first.

  Once we settled ourselves on the terrace, I sat back to observe. Lilly was being full-on Lillflirty, charming, funny and altogether lovely. Connor, I couldn’t read. He’s a perfect gentleman, engaged and polite. They would be good for each other. Lilly would bring lightness into his life and Connor would offer levelheadedness to hers. I smiled inwardly at the thought of Lilly finding someone truly right for her.

  Snap out of it! One cup of coffee does not a romance make!

  Feeling silly about my overactive imagination, I looked up and saw Joe walking across the terrace with a coffeepot in hand.

  “Don’t you charge for refills?” I held out my cup for a shot of the straight, no funny stuff added, brew.

  “Eleven billion pounds of coffee are drunk each year in the world. I think I can spare a couple cups. Besides, it’s a special occasion. Connor’s ‘welcome to Shoreside’ party.” Joe put the coffeepot on the table and sat down. The way his eyes darted between Connor and Lilly, I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. Maybe Cupid’s arrow would lodge for these two.

  The scenery is spectacular, I thought, even with my back to the lake. Watching Joe and Connor is pure pleasure. Even a woman on a self-inflicted diet can still look at the menu.

  Triggered by a scent of soap, leather and horse and the sound of a clinking chain, a tingle raced through my body. I knew immediately that Nick was standing behind me.

  “Good morning, Officer. Join us?” Joe invited.

  Nick took a chair from an adjoining table, turned it backward and straddled it much as he sat astride Sarge.

  “What’s up on the crime scene?” Connor asked, smirking as if he’d made a hugely funny joke.

  Nick didn’t laugh. “Several people have been complaining of overturned garbage cans, garden plants pulled up by the roots….” I recalled the scar on Nick’s arm that I’d observed yesterday. I understood it now. He’d had his funny bone surgically removed.

  “Don’t forget the missing newspapers. Belles & Beaus says theirs have been AWOL for a week.”

  “I see the headline now. Big-City Crime Hits Idyllic Small Town. Can you handle it? Or do we need to call in a SWAT team?”

  The desultory conversation rambled like a meandering stream for a few more minutes and after we broke up, I followed Lilly into her shop to get the clothing catalog she’d insisted I study. As soon as we were inside, she spun to grab my hands. Dressed in a pale and frothy pink shirt, white slacks and shocking pink boots, she looked like a life-size Barbie doll, a Barbie in love.

  “Norah, I think Connor likes me!”

  “How could he not like you?”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Lilly, you’ve broken more hearts than high cholesterol!”

  She leaned against the display counter which held a bedazzling array of bright, chunky jewelry, costume watches and beaded bags. “He’s the one for me, Norah. I just know it.”

  I’ve never seen Lilly like this before. Maybe she and Connor could sail away into the sunset together—literally, I mean. Or at least to the other side of Lake Zachary.

  “Who’s minding the store?” Auntie Lou asked on Tuesday afternoon as she boiled water for tea in her cozy but cluttered kitchen. Auntie Lou opens and closes her store as she feels like it. No regular hours for her. It doesn’t seem to hurt business, however, because even though she puts a Closed sign on the front door, she sits on the sidewalk in a rocker greeting people as they pass. I think Auntie Lou must do more business with her store closed, than most antique shops do when they’re open.

  “Annie. Joe hired a high school boy to work for him for the rest of the summer, so she’s spending most of her time with me at Norah’s Ark.”

  “Good for you, dearie,” Auntie Lou said approvingly. “You work too hard lifting, cleaning…”

  “…snuggling, petting. I love what I do.”

  She gave a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. “I do, too. I just hope I can keep on doing it until the day I wake up in heaven.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Of course you can! You live here. All you really need to do is turn the shop key and things practically sell themselves.” No longer willing to search for vintage items herself, Lou has several shoppers with keen eyes who know just what she wants. They keep her store full to overflowing along with the new items she orders herself.

  I looked at her sharply. “Are you feeling all right? After your fall…”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Fall, schmall. All that did was scare me a little. It made me think that without the store and all of you on Pond Street, I’d have nothing more to live for, no purpose.”

  “That’s not…” I began to protest, but she held up a hand to stop me.

  “Dearie, don’t try to tell me that I have been living out my purpose with this shop. I know that. I have no doubt I was meant to be here, listening to people who come to the shop and recall their own childhoods. Why, I’ve been told a thousand stories about what people remember—and what they regret. I can’t begin to tell you the times that people pick up an item in the store that reminds them of a loved one. Pretty soon they are talking about a relative who has passed on and end up pouring out stories of their joys and regrets. ‘I should have spent more time with him…’ or ‘He died before I could apologize….’ This little store has given me many opportunities to talk about God’s grace, Norah. It is my purpose.”

  I stared at her, dumbstruck. I’d had no idea. “Auntie Lou,” I said, laying my hand on her aged, spotted one, “if there’s anything I can do to help you to stay on Pond Street, you know I will. But there’s no use worrying about it now because, as long as you can get Arthur to behave himself, you’re just fine.”

  Her twinkle returned. “You’ve got that right, dearie. Sugar?”

  I was so deeply pondering what Auntie Lou had said that I nearly walked straight into Sarge’s saddled midsection as I crossed the street. I stumbled backward. “Oops, sorry. You don’t give out tickets for absentminded walking, do you? I didn’t intend to T-bone your horse.”

  “He doesn’t look any worse for wear. In our line of work he has to be accustomed to people.” Nick scratched Sarge’s withers right next to the saddle horn. “What’s on your mind that took you so far away?”

  He’s a mystery, this new policeman. He’s so serious and stern on the job that he has a bubble of ice encircling him. If anyone gets too close they bump off it. But sometimes, like now and when he was helping me with Auntie Lou, he’s very different—tender, concerned and caring. I get the idea that both sides of him are completely genuine. He’s definitely an enigma, cool and warm, aloof and friendly—a little like the stuff my dad uses on his aching muscles, Icy Hot.

  “I
’ve been talking to Auntie Lou. She’s wondering about her future. She’s all alone in the world. If someday she can’t be at the shop…”

  “She didn’t get hurt, did she? Is she feeling any aches or pains from her fall?”

  “Only her sense of security was damaged.” I shrugged. “But Auntie Lou has to make her own decisions and, if she has any say in it, she and her antiques will be growing very old together.”

  Nick cleared his throat. I looked at him. He cleared it again. His closely shaved, finely drawn jawline looked tense. As did the rest of him.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I hope not.” He looked unconvinced. I leaned forward a little, hoping to encourage him. It’s a paradox really, a shy cop, but here he is.

  “What?” I finally asked. He appeared poised on a precipice, ready to jump.

  “You don’t know me very well….”

  I eyed him warily.

  “…and I don’t know many people in Shoreside yet but I have moved into my new place. I thought it might be time to start cooking…but I thought maybe, if you wanted, of course if you don’t…”

  “Cooking is good,” I encouraged helpfully. “But wanted what?”

  “…steaks, maybe. Or fish, if you prefer….”

  “Nick, I may be a little dense. What are you talking about?” I put my hands on my hips and cocked my head.

  “…dinner. Sometime this weekend. I work Friday and Saturday so Sunday would be best. At my place. Just to get to know each other…nothing else. But if you don’t want to…I understand.”

  This was unexpected and terribly sweet.

  It’s not easy to be new in a close-knit community. It takes a while—and some effort—to fit in. The least I could do was be friendly.

  “Thanks, Nick. It’s nice of you to ask. It’s not easy getting acquainted in a new place.”

  He smiled faintly. “Yeah. It gets pretty quiet. But I wasn’t quite sure, being a stranger and all, I thought…”

  True, but he has already passed one of my most important qualifying tests for friendship—kindness toward animals. I’m fully aware of how he treats Sarge and people who are truly kind to animals are usually kind to people. He’d won me over.

  Then he flashed a brilliant smile, one that put even Connor’s to shame. “Great. About seven? I live at…”

  “I know. I have friends who live next door. They’re snoopy. They’ll probably be listening in.”

  He grinned. “You’re not so reckless after all. See you Sunday.”

  After Nick disappeared around a corner I clapped my hands to my cheeks.

  Wait until I tell Bentley about this. He and Nick are going to love each other!

  We parted, leaving me to scratch my head and wonder how all this had come about. Little Pond Street had become a veritable smorgasbord of available men.

  I thought about Nick’s invitation for a while before I told Lilly. Although she knows about my conversation with Joe and agreed in a very fishy metaphor that his best chance for “reeling me in” was to “give me lots of play at the end of his line,” I wasn’t sure it was important enough to mention.

  Finally, though, I caved in. Lilly and I don’t keep secrets from one another.

  “He asked you over?” Lilly asked for the third time, as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “No kidding? I’m so happy for you!”

  “I’m happy for me, too, Lilly, but not for the same reason you are. I’m going to get a good meal. And that’s all.”

  Her lovely eyes narrowed. “What’s Joe going to think of this?”

  “Nothing, I hope. Because it’s no big deal.”

  “Who knows, Norah? This may be the catalyst that pushes you either toward or away from Joe.”

  Hardly. Right now Lilly is hearing wedding bells. I, on the other hand, am more interested in the dinner bell.

  Chapter Nine

  Bentley should be on the stage. He is so theatrical sometimes that instead of Rodney Dangerfield, I think he might be W. C. Fields with a little Richard Burton thrown in.

  As I locked the shop for the night, he came to me carrying his leash in his mouth. He sat down at my feet and looked up at me with mournful eyes that were meant to convey, “If you don’t take me home now I’ll perish on the spot.” When I didn’t jump at his ploy, he ever-so-slowly crumpled, allowing his back legs and butt to slide along the tile until his belly was flat on the floor and his front paws splayed out in front of him. His gaze remained locked to mine.

  When I still didn’t budge, he slowly began to tip to one side until he was lying flat, his stubby legs rigid, his normally wagging tail motionless. A single eye now captured and held mine. Every fiber and pore of his body looked dejected.

  “Oh, all right,” I muttered. “You win.”

  And, wonder of wonders, Bentley jumped to his feet like an Olympic gymnast, snapped to attention and looked as dignified as a dog can while drooling all over a hot pink leash with cartoon sketches of Deputy Dawg on it.

  Bentley loves to walk by the water. There are bike paths all around the lake, little gazebos to rest in and always plenty of other dogs to sniff. Although the rest of him is timid and shy, Bentley does have an extroverted nose.

  There’s one dark spot about walking around the lake with Bentley. People on in-line skates. Bentley is terrified of inline skates. He runs in a circle around my legs until I’m hogtied by his leash every time a skater comes by. I haven’t told anyone—for fear of being committed to an institution or something—but occasionally I wear my in-line skates around the house to help him get accustomed to them. I have a dream of the two of us someday sailing along the path ourselves. So far he’ll walk up to me when I’m not moving, but the night I cooked supper in them he hid under my bed. Patience, I tell myself, patience.

  Anyway, we got only a short way down the beach when I heard someone call to me. I looked around, but there was no one I knew on the path. Then I saw Connor waving to me from the bow of the Zachary Zephyr. He disappeared for a moment into the bowels of the ship and then reappeared on the dock.

  He loped toward me with athletic grace. As he neared, Bentley backed closer to my ankles.

  “Glad I caught you, Norah.” Not a hair out of place and after all that running, too.

  “Just walking my dog.”

  He glanced at my feet and, as if for the first time, noticed Bentley. “May I walk with you?”

  “Sure, why not?” Bentley banged into my ankles as if to give me a reason to say no—he doesn’t like sharing me—but I ignored him.

  We walked in silence for a while, watching the gulls do their ballet over the water. Covertly I watched people staring at us. Actually, it was Connor who was attracting the attention. His raw physicality is hard not to notice. It’s like walking with a movie star.

  “Do you like it here in Shoreside, Norah?” Connor asked softly.

  “How could I not? You?”

  “It’s fine for now.” His gaze was unfocused as he stared into the distance.

  “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

  He smiled and his even teeth flashed white as his uniform. “What can I tell you? I’m a seafarin’ man. But I’m hoping that I’ll find what I need in Shoreside.”

  “And what’s that?” Bentley stopped to examine a mound of rocks and I took it as an opportunity to sit down on a nearby bench.

  “Contentment, happiness, a reason to stay in one place for a while.”

  “Big order.” I was impressed with his openness and honesty and with Connor himself

  “Shoreside is up to it, I think.”

  Only God is up to that.

  “And you haven’t found that anywhere else? I understand you’ve done a lot of traveling around the world.” That, at least, was what Lilly had informed me along with a narration about how perfect they would be together.

  “Parts of it, not all.”

  “What is the part you are still looking for?”

  His face relaxed into a smile.
“The love of a good woman, for one,” he said lightly. I thought he was joking but was not quite sure.

  Wait until I tell Lilly. This could be her chance.

  “No kidding?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I am, but it wouldn’t hurt, now, would it?”

  Then a big gull made a belly flop landing on the water nearby and drew our attention. Bentley barked at nothing in particular.

  I felt Connor’s gaze on my back as I leaned down to scratch Bentley’s ear. “I was on my way across the lake to have dinner at Ziga’s when I saw you. Would you care to join me?”

  He referred, of course, to the popular waterfront restaurant his family owns. Although I’ve been there several times, it has always been for appetizers on the patio overlooking the water or to share a dessert with Lilly. My finances do not lend themselves to eating entire meals at Ziga’s.

  He saw me hesitate. “I’m taking the Chris-Craft. Fifteen minutes across, max, something quick to eat and fifteen minutes back. What do you say?”

  It was tempting and I was starving.

  “What about Bentley?” I looked down at my feet.

  “Take him home. I know you live nearby. I’ll wait for you at the dock.”

  I looked across the glassy lake. Dusk was coming and the patio lights at Ziga’s were beckoning seductively. “Oh, why not?” I said impulsively. “I’ll see you at the slip.” And before I could change my mind, I stood and started for home.

  Bentley, when he wants to walk, can move out like an Indy car but when he doesn’t want to go somewhere, he simply drops to the ground and refuses to move. That’s why I had to half drag, half pull him home, like a thirty-five-pound log tied to the end of the leash.

  “Come on, Bentley. This is my big chance. Dinner at Ziga’s. I’ll bring you a doggy bag. Would you rather have ribs or chicken? I’ll even bring you the leftover bread if you’ll just get up and walk.”

  Bentley has values and he wouldn’t be bribed. I wrestled him into the house, fed him, put on a dab of lip gloss and hurried out again. As I turned back to see if I’d left my outside light on, I saw Bentley in the window. He stood on my couch gazing accusingly at me. Connor had made no points with Bentley on this particular evening.