Page 15 of Spindrift

“Andhere we go again.” Lillian slid off the stool, straightened her white coat, andstrode out of the room.

“Thinkany of the leftovers in the fridge are still good?”

“No,I’ll buy us burgers on the way home,” said Morgan.

“Doctorbucks.” Stevie popped the cantaloupe into her mouth. “Burgers and beer foreveryone queer.”

“You’regiving me a headache. Make sure we have enough vet wrap for tomorrow. And ducttape and diapers. There’s a hoof abscess on the schedule.”

“Surething, boss.”

Steviesauntered out, leaving Morgan to wonder, as she often did, whether hertechnician mainlined Red Bull whenever her back was turned. Sighing, sheretreated to her office and the paperwork awaiting her. There would be nostopping by the dock tonight. Paperwork, beer, and bed. Idly, she wondered ifEmilia had been back to her boat, or if her dip in the Atlantic had scared heraway. The latter thought brought disappointment. Whatever Morgan had toldStevie, Emilia Russo offered a welcome distraction.

Chapter Four

Renting asander had seemed like a straightforward venture. All she needed were thesander, belts, extension cord, safety goggles, and a face mask. Nell wouldspend this time on the porch. Just because Emilia wasn’t sure if she wanted topractice medicine anymore didn’t mean she was going to forget about the risksexposure to dust and chemicals posed to dogs.

Thereality proved a little more challenging. The hardware store in town didn’trent out tools—at least, not the ones she needed—and so she had to track downthe nearest ACE Hardware. Then she spent a good thirty minutes of her lifelistening to a white man several years her junior explain in terms bettersuited for a five-year-old how the tool worked, all while staring at her chest.

Theacquisition barriers, however, paled in comparison to the real challenge: thewalls themselves. Smoke darkened the wood by her father’s favorite chair.Elsewhere, oil from the fur of long dead dogs revealed their preferred nooksand routes. She couldn’t just sand them away. These walls were proof her fatherhad lived, proof that for all his faults, he’d sat here in this room, listeningto his bluesy music while the sun set over his meadow. Who was she to sand andpaint this house, erasing all traces of that man? Who was she to judge hislife?

Sheput down the sander and touched the worn leather of his chair beneath the dropcloth. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea. Perhaps she should have taken hermother’s advice and left the house in the care of an industrious real estateagent practiced in dealing with the possessions of others, someone who didn’tbalk at hauling the refuse of spent lives away in dumpsters and luring newtenants into the haunted remains.

No. She squared her shoulders andfaced the empty room, turning in a slow circle to take in the knots and whorlsof the pine boards and the faded wood of the windowsills. Her father’s lastgift to her was this house. She needed this time and this house and somethingto do with her hands besides administering death. She would do right by all ofthem: the house, her father, and herself.

Still,she didn’t need to do everything today.

“Let’sgo out on the water, Nell.”

Noone was at the wharf. She dug a life jacket out of the small locker that nowbelonged her until the lease ran out and grimaced at the grimy film coveringthe fluorescent orange. Better a dirty life jacket than another water rescue,she reminded herself as she shrugged into it and adjusted the straps. Morgancould take her safety course and shove it up her ass.

Waterhad accumulated in the bottom of the skiff again. She pulled it close to thedock and bailed it out, glad no one was around to laugh at her clumsy motions.Ishould have brought the kit to fix this piece of shit. Since she hadn’t,she coaxed Nell into the boat, rewarding her with a treat from the pocket ofher jeans, and began to row.

Themotion felt more natural this time. Her shoulders and arms burned pleasantly asthe oars sliced through the calm water of the harbor. A flat, overcast skyarced overhead, and the slow ripples barely disturbed the glassy sheen of itsreflection. Nell didn’t share her serenity. The dog sat hunched in the bow withher ears pressed flat against her skull.

“Almostthere.” A few more strokes brought her parallel to the sailboat. She pulled theoars into the skiff and grabbed the edge of the sailboat to steady them. “Up,Nell.”

Nellturned her narrow head to stare at Emilia in disdain, then scrambled into theboat. Emilia secured the bowline to the mooring and followed, managing not tofall into the ocean. She took this as a good omen.

Settingthe boat to rights didn’t take long. Despite the slow, steady breeze, she hadno intention of actually sailing. Not until she followed hardware store Doug’sadvice and watched a few hours of YouTube tutorials to refresh her memory. Thesailboat’s small engine, however, would take them around the harbor until then.Grinning at her dog, who had curled up on the pile of seat cushions Emilia hadassembled for just that purpose, she fired up the engine with a few tugs of thedraw and a muttered prayer. It sputtered twice and then turned over with alittle cloud of blue-gray smoke that cleared quickly. She climbed into the bowto release them from the mooring—her second successful dry feat of the day—andtook a seat with her hand on the tiller.

“Ahoy,matey,” she said to Nell. The dog ignored her. “Or not.”

Sheguided the boat around the nearby moorings, noting Morgan’s small speedboat,theAllPaws on Deck,as she passed. Morgan Donovan could fuckoff. She wondered at the intensity of the thought. Morgan hadn’t done anythingbesides rescue her and make a stupid—and deserved—comment. Well, that andignore her over a decade ago when they were kids, but Emilia couldn’t hold heraccountable for teenage angst. Still, something about seeing Morgan again hadset off her defense mechanisms, and all the logic in the world couldn’t quellthem. Morgan had known her dad. She couldn’t tell if that made her jealous ofMorgan or her father or both—as if her jealousy could change any of this. Herfather was gone. Morgan was just a girl she’d had a crush on once, and that waswhere those feelings belonged: in the past, not here in her grief.

Theharbor opened up into a large sheltered bay perfect for sailing had she beeninclined. Instead, she kept to the coastline, watching for harbor seals andporpoises and enjoying the way the wind tangled her hair. She had no bad orcomplicated memories of being on the water with her father. He’d been happyhere.

Shestayed out long enough to start worrying about gas for the engine. May sunshinepierced the clouds toward evening, turning the horizon a tranquil rose gold.Reluctantly, she navigated once more toward mooring eighteen.

“Niceride.”

Emilia’shand jerked on the tiller, and she corrected it hastily, knocking a red andpurple lobster pot in the process. Morgan lounged on the bow of her boat. Herpants were cuffed above her ankles, and her tousled curls blew in the slightbreeze. A fishing pole rested in her hands.

“Atleast I take mine out.”

“Touché.”Morgan gave her a friendly smile as Emilia passed.

“Asshole,”Emilia said to Nell under her breath. The calm that her sail had earned herfloundered and drowned as she killed the engine. She could feel Morgan’s eyeson her as she leaned over the bow of the sailboat to secure it to the mooring.

---