Page 29 of Megan's Mate
“Tonight?”
“Why wait? You can call Suzanna, tell her we’ll drop the kids off at her house on the way.”
“I suppose I could.” Now that his back was to her, she had no choice but to watch the ripple of muscles play as he set the board. She ignored the quick tug at her midsection and reminded herself that her son would be along as chaperon. “I’ve never had a lobster roll.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
He was absolutely right. The long, winding drive in the spectacular T-Bird was joy enough. The little villages they passed through were as scenic as any postcard. The sun dipped down toward the horizon in the west, and the breeze in the open car smelled of fish then flowers then sea.
The restaurant was hardly more than a diner, a square of faded gray wood set on stilts in the water, across a rickety gangplank. The interior decoration ran to torn fishnets and battered lobster buoys.
Scarred tables dotted the equally scarred floor. The booths were designed to rip the hell out of panty hose. A dubious effort at romantic atmosphere was added by the painted tuna can and hurricane globe set in the center of each table. The candles globbed in the base of the cans were unlit. Today’s menu was scrawled on a chalkboard hanging beside the open kitchen.
“We got lobster rolls, lobster salad and lobster lobster,” a waitress explained to an obviously frazzled family of four. “We got beer, we got milk, iced tea and soft drinks. There’s French fries and coleslaw, and no ice cream ’cause the machine’s not working. What’ll you have?”
When she spotted Nathaniel, she abandoned her customers and gave him a hard punch in the chest. “Where you been, Captain?”
“Oh, out and about, Jule. Got me a taste for lobster roll.”
“You came to the right place.” The waitress, scarecrow thin with a puff of steel gray hair, eyed Megan craftily. “So, who’s this?”
“Megan O’Riley, her son Kevin. This is Julie Peterson. The best lobster cook on Mount Desert Island.”
“The new accountant from The Towers.” Julie gave a brisk nod. “Well, sit down, sit down. I’ll fix you up when I get a minute.” She swiveled back to her other customers. “You make up your mind yet, or are you just going to sit and take the air?”
“The food’s better than the service.” Nathaniel winked at Kevin as he led them to a booth. “You’ve just met one of the monuments of the island, Kevin. Mrs. Peterson’s family has been trapping lobster and cooking them up for over a hundred years.”
“Wow.” He eyed the waitress, who, to almost-nine-year-old eyes, seemed old enough to have been handling that job personally for at least a century.
“I worked here some when I was a kid. Swabbing the decks.” And she’d been kind to him, Nathaniel remembered. Giving him ice or salve for his bruises, saying nothing.
“I thought you worked with Holt’s family—” Megan began, then cursed herself when he lifted a brow at her. “Coco mentioned it.”
“I put in some time with the Bradfords.”
“Did you know Holt’s grandfather?” Kevin wanted to know. “He’s one of the ghosts.”
“Sure. He used to sit on the porch of the house where Alex and Jenny live now. Sometimes he’d walk up to the cliffs over by The Towers. Looking for Bianca.”
“Lilah says they walk there together now. I haven’t seen them.” And it was a crushing disappointment. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”
“More than once.” Nathaniel ignored the stiff kick Megan gave him under the table. “In Cornwall, where the cliffs are deadly and the fogs roll in like something alive, I saw a woman standing, looking out to sea. She wore a cape with a hood, and there were tears in her eyes.”
Kevin was leaning forward now, rapt and eager.
“I started toward her, through the mist, and she turned. She was beautiful, and sad. ‘Lost,’ was what she said to me. ‘He’s lost. And so am I.’ Then she vanished. Like smoke.”
“Honest?” Kevin said in an awed whisper.
Honest wasn’t the point, Nathaniel knew. The pull of the story was. “They called her the Captain’s Lady, and legend is that her husband and his ship went down in a storm in the Irish Sea. Night after night while she lived, and long after, she walked the cliffs weeping for him.”
“Maybe you should be writing books, like Max,” Megan murmured, surprised and annoyed at the shiver that raced down her spine.
“Oh, he can spin a tale, Nate can.” Julie plopped two beers and a soft drink on the table. “Used to badger me about all the places he was going to see. Well, guess you saw them, didn’t you, Captain?”
“Guess I did.” Nathaniel lifted the bottle to his lips. “But I never forgot you, darling.”
Julie gave another cackling laugh, punched his shoulder. “Sweet-talker,” she said, and shuffled off.
