Morning Glory(74)

“There are so few incidents of theft on the docks, I don’t think we need to worry about intruders.”

I nod. “You’re probably right,” I say, stretching. I want to put the incident out of my mind as much as Alex does.

He squeezes my hand before standing up. “I’ve got to run some errands, but I’ll be back at five and we can go to Bach on the Dock together.”

He kneels down and presses his lips against mine, and I pull him closer to me.

“Do you have to go?”

“I do,” he says. “But I’m going to think of you every second today, now that I know how cute you are in your sleep.”

I smile as I watch him walk out the door.



That evening, Alex returns with a takeout antipasto plate he’s picked up from Serafina’s. Together with my baguette and bottle of wine, we leave for my very first Bach on the Dock. It’s a party, of course, but it feels a bit like a baptismal ceremony—my acceptance into the houseboat community.

We walk out to the dock together. Colorful Chinese paper lanterns are hung along the string lights. Someone’s hooked up a stereo and speakers, and jazz wafts in the air. I feel a little out of place, like a new girlfriend being introduced to a larger extended family who isn’t exactly keen on newcomers. Still, the neighbors smile warmly, and someone hands me a glass of red wine. I remind myself to smile back.

“Oh, good,” Naomi croons when she sees us. “How nice that the two of you could come together.”

“Gene,” she says to her husband, “you remember Alex, and our new neighbor, Ada.”

The old man nods vacantly as we set our provisions down on the table. He looks tired, and his mind is elsewhere.

“It’s just like the old days,” Naomi says, taking my arm. “We used to do it up big back then. A quartet, a full bar, the works. Those were the days.”

I wonder if her life has turned out the way she anticipated. She’s still married after all these years, and her son lives nearby. It all adds up to the picture of a happy life, and yet there is a sadness that lingers behind Naomi’s eyes, and I long to know why.

“So Boat Street was quite the place in its heyday?”

“Indeed it was,” she says. “It had an energy that practically pulsated.” She stops beside the potted plants in front of her deck as more guests arrive and mingle on the dock.

“I suppose it still does,” I say. “The spirit is still alive.”

Naomi shrugs, kneeling down beside a terra-cotta pot and pulling out a sprig of morning glory. “It’s not what it was.” She tosses the little vine into the lake, and I watch its white bud drift away helplessly. “The soul is gone.”

As different as we are, her words resonate with me then. I know how it feels when the soul has left a place. After the accident, it was as if the warmth had been sucked straight out of my apartment in New York.

She stands up and brushes a bit of dirt from her hand. “But some things never change, like this deplorable morning glory.”

I think about the soul of Boat Street, and I can’t help but wonder if it left the dock the night that Penny disappeared. If so, why?

“Naomi,” I say seizing the moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, about a young woman who lived here—”

“Oh, look,” she says abruptly, walking ahead. “Lenora’s here. I’ll go and greet her.”

Alex walks over to me. “Is it my imagination, or do people seem a little tense tonight?”

I nod. “I know what you mean. Have you seen Jim?”

“No. Gene said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“That’s strange.”

“I know,” Alex replies. “He never misses these houseboat events.”

We all look up when we hear the sound of violin music. Gene stands alone at the top of the dock, and he plays a sad, slow version of “The Way You Look Tonight.” I’ve heard it sung by Frank Sinatra and others, but never played this way on the violin. Its notes sound sad and pensive, and when a gust of wind blows through the dock, I shiver and wish I’d brought a sweater.



Later, Alex and I sit on his deck as the stars twinkle overhead. He’s left the radio on, and I can hear it in the distance. “Is the music bothering you?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “It’s nice. In this age of iTunes and OnDemand, it’s sometimes nice to be surprised.”

He nods, weaving his fingers through mine.

“What did you think of the party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking of my prickly interaction with Naomi and her unwillingness to speak of the past. And yet, who am I—a newcomer—to dig around so openly? I can almost understand Naomi’s reticence. I shrug. “The people here have one thing in common, and that’s their collective love for the dock.”