Morning Glory(68)

I smile. “Quite.”

“I was tempted to sell over the years,” she says. “Especially after that movie came out.”

“Movie?”

“Sleepless in Seattle. For a few years, it was like a pilgrimage. Folks came out here from all over the world wanting to live the lifestyle they saw in the movie.”

“I loved that movie,” I say.

Esther shrugs. “I never did see it.”

“You should; it’s really good.”

“Well, no amount of money could make me sell,” she says. “I travel frequently and I need a home base. I also left a big part of my heart here.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes,” she says. “And a man.”

“Oh?”

“He lives in a retirement home in Seattle. We haven’t spoken since 1943. But sometimes I’ll watch from the sidewalk when he’s out in the garden.”

I gasp. “You still love him.”

“I always will,” she says matter-of-factly. “I gave him my heart as a girl, and he’s still in possession of it.”

She must sense my confusion. “Listen, my dear,” she says. “My life has been convoluted and complicated, certainly anything but conventional. But I’m happy with it just the same.”

“But don’t you wish you could know him now, this man you loved so much? Don’t you wish you could have had a life with him?”

“Of course I do,” she says, sitting down on the sofa. I take a seat beside her. “But that wasn’t how our story was meant to be. You see, some love stories are different than others. Some last but a moment; others a lifetime. I was fortunate to have the latter; I just didn’t have the privilege of spending every day with him. It doesn’t mean our love was any less significant. Our time together had to end, but our love lived on.”

I think for a moment about James, about our short, sweet life together. And I know that no matter who else my heart encounters in this life, it won’t ever change what we had together.

“Well,” Esther continues. “Listen to me rambling on.”

“Why don’t you go see him?” I ask. “Don’t you want to visit him after all these years?”

She nods. “I do, terribly so. But I haven’t found the right moment. Honestly, after so much time, I’m a bit frightened. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if time has erased his love for me?”

I shake my head. “You have to go—before it’s too late.”

She nods.

“What’s his name?”

“Elliot,” she says. “Elliot Hartley.” She looks deep in thought, as though imagining a moment they shared long ago.

I hear a scratching sound in the direction of the bureau on the wall.

Esther looks at me. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” I say. “What do you think it is?”

“A rat,” she says, standing. “Here, help me pull it out from the wall. We’ll shoo it away.”

I nod, placing my hands on the right side of the mahogany dresser.

“On the count of three,” Esther says. “One, two, three.”

Together we pull the dresser away from the wall, and immediately see the intruder, a squawking, feather-covered . . . duck.

“Well would you get a load of that,” Esther says. “It’s a duck.” She kneels down to level with the bird woman to woman. “Honey, what in the world are you doing in my houseboat?”

The mallard gives a defiant quack, then waddles out to the dock.

“That must be Henrietta,” I say.

“Henrietta?”

“She lives on the dock, with her husband,” I explain. “Er, duck husband. His name is Haines.”

“Oh,” Esther says. “Yes, I do remember Jimmy saying something about a couple of fighting ducks.”

It’s funny to hear her speak of Jim as Jimmy. “Oh, before I go,” I say, standing up, “there’s just one thing I’m hoping you can help me sort out.”

“Of course,” she says. “What is it, dear?”

“Do you recall a man named Collin who once lived on Boat Street?”

Her eyes close and open again. “Oh, yes,” she says. “How could I ever forget Collin? He was special. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“So you knew him?”

“Yes,” she says. “Briefly. He was a boat maker. He made extraordinary wooden boats.” I think of the Catalina, but I don’t interrupt her stream of memories, for fear they’ll cease. “He was only here on the dock a short time. He was running from something. I knew what that was like. I was too.”