Morning Glory(16)

Wow, he’s accomplished. I set the cookbook on the shelf and rub my eyes, then yawn. Finally, drowsiness is setting in. I walk back to the living room and notice the water glass I left on the coffee table. Well, it’s not so much a coffee table as an old wooden chest-turned-coffee-table. It’s very old, held together with tarnished brass hinges. I set the water glass on the counter in the kitchen, then turn back to the old chest. There’s a little lock attached to one of the hinges, and when I attempt to tug it open, it doesn’t budge. What could be inside?

I walk up the ladder and crawl into bed. Even after two years, it still feels strange to sleep alone. Strange and lonely. The porthole is open, and I can hear the rain falling outside. It’s soft at first—just a fine mist hitting the lake. Then I hear a thunderclap and the pitter-patter amplifies.

God’s tears.

I pull the goose-down comforter up to my neck and listen to the pelting rain outside. The steady sound consoles me, and as I close my eyes, I decide that Seattle may be the perfect place for someone with a broken heart.





Chapter 7





PENNY

Dex walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s put on cologne and slicked his hair back the way I like.

He kisses me lightly and I breathe in the smell of his skin, piney and sweet. I wonder if he’ll notice my dress—red and white checked, a bit lower cut than my usual style—but instead he walks to the counter and pops a few green olives into his mouth. “Did you remember to pick up vermouth?”

I nod. “I also got the little toothpicks you like,” I say, pointing at the box. We’ve had many parties here before, and yet I feel that tonight must go off without a hitch. I feel that Dex is counting on me to be perfect. The oven timer beeps and I jump.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“Your favorite artichoke dip.”

“Oh,” he says.

“What? I thought you liked it.”

“I do. I just thought you’d make the bean dip.”

I feel like crying. I feel like dropping the Pyrex casserole dish on the tile floor and calling in the ducks to clean it up. At least they’d appreciate my cooking.

Dex puts his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The artichoke dip is wonderful.” He pulls me closer to him. “You are wonderful.”

I force a smile, but the wound still stings.

Dex dips a slice of French bread into the artichoke dip, then turns to me before I can slap his hand away. “Did you invite the new guy?”

“The boat builder, you mean?”

He nods.

“Should I?”

He looks at his watch. “Why not? He seems like a nice enough fellow.” He scratches his head. “I wish I could remember his name.”

Collin. His name is Collin. But I don’t say anything. I’m embarrassed to admit that I know.

“Well, I have to get dressed,” he says. “Do you want to go extend our welcome?”

“I don’t know,” I say, turning back to the stove. “I still have a lot of prepping to do.”

“Don’t be antisocial, Penn,” Dex says. “He’ll think we’re a couple of hermits.”

“OK,” I say, untying the strings of my apron. Dex walks down the hall to get dressed, and I pinch my cheeks in the hallway mirror before stepping outside to the deck. Collin’s houseboat is on the next dock, so instead of walking all the way around, I decide to paddle over in the canoe. I slip off my heels and climb into the boat, brushing away a seagull feather on one of the oars. I push off from the dock and a moment later, the tip of the canoe hits Collin’s dock. I find a cleat, and I tie the canoe to it before climbing out of the boat.

Timidly, I look around the deck. Collin’s tools are laid out neatly next to a green metal toolbox with a rusted handle. The wooden sailboat looks more beautiful up close than I could have imagined, and I find myself in awe of it. I see he’s been working on the railing, and I run my hand along the teak, which has been sanded smooth as silk. I stand up and walk to Collin’s back door. I knock, but there’s no answer, so I cup my hands around my eyes and lean in to have a look.

Inside, the houseboat is tidy and sparsely furnished with a small sofa and coffee table. I notice what looks like an army medal lying on the coffee table and a few photographs splayed out. I squint but can’t make out anything in particular. On the floor is a record player, with the sleeve of a Frank Sinatra record beside it. I love Frank Sinatra.

I turn around when I hear footsteps behind me. Collin sets a grocery sack down and smiles awkwardly.