Chapter 22
T hey were still locked in an embrace when a dark Mercedes van pulled up to the marina entrance.
Brody slowly pulled away far enough to trace one finger along the contours of Rae’s face.
He was mesmerized by how the rising sun formed prisms in her gaze.
Then he spotted his mother slipping from the van’s rear hold.
“They’re here.” As they untangled, Brody added, “Thank you, Rae.”
Her smile was gentle now. Tender. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes, I do. Every day.”
Brody followed Rae up the pier, marveling at how everything about the morning remained as it had been an hour earlier. Same daylight, same southerly wind, same gulls and sounds and smells. Yet utterly new, polished to a shimmering hue that filled him with a fizzing joy.
A stunningly beautiful woman with caramel skin and liquid dark gaze rose from the van.
She smiled at Rae’s approach, accepted her embrace, and all the while she studied Brody.
She spoke too softly for the words to carry, and something Rae said in response caused her to squeal with delight.
They embraced a second time, and the woman flashed another look at Brody.
Not so much worried as cautious. Inspecting him down to the level of bone and sinew, all in three seconds flat.
The van’s driver was an older gentleman who carried himself with a stiffly formal air.
Brody walked around to the van’s other side as the gentleman slid open the rear door, touched a button, and watched as a ramp slid smoothly out.
He reached inside, unhooked clamps, and wheeled Emma’s chair into the sunlight.
“Hello, dear boy.” She accepted his embrace, then waved in the gentleman’s direction. “Say hello to Jiyan, my new best friend. I’m still trying to figure out how I survived this long without him and this wonderful ride.”
The gentleman revealed the ability to smile warmly while remaining formal. “I am at your beck and call, madame.”
“Promises, promises.”
Jiyan offered Brody his hand. “This lady thinks the world of you, Mr. Reames.”
“Brody.”
He nodded with his entire upper body. Then the smile returned as he said, “Day or night, Ms. Alden. Day or night.”
Brody wheeled her chair around the van and started down the ramp. Emma demanded, “What are those three chattering about?”
“Me, most likely.”
She sniffed. “Well, they can do it on the boat.” She looked back to where the driver followed, arms full of packages and quilts. “Jiyan, would you kindly help this young man wrestle me on board?”
“No wrestling,” Brody said. “Not on my boat.”
They lashed Emma’s chair into position by the rear gunnel, granting her a wide-open view.
The craft was equipped with a Volvo diesel that purred like a contented cat.
When Brody invited the gentleman to join them, Amiya responded, “Jiyan, don’t you dare.
” To the others, she explained, “Jiyan has promised to spy on Daddy and Curtis for me.”
“I have done no such thing and never would.”
Emma told the young woman, “You still haven’t explained why you’re one and not three.”
“Daddy woke up feeling poorly, or so he claims.” Amiya sniffed her disapproval. “Curtis arrived last night. He says he’s tired.”
Jiyan offered, “Curtis is just back from Delhi. Where he met with the board. He says the journey was a battle from start to finish.”
Amiya rolled her eyes. “He’s young. He could have rested on the boat.” To the others, “Curtis wants a day with Daddy. Alone.”
“That much is correct,” Jiyan said.
“How the two of them will accomplish anything without my input is a mystery for the ages,” Amiya said.
Jiyan bowed to Emma. “Have a lovely trip.”
Amiya said, “You men will miss me terribly.”
“A day of peace and quiet and male company.” Jiyan stepped onto the dock. “Heaven.”
Even this deep in winter, the southerly wind carried a silken melody.
Brody set aside his outer gear as he motored them from the marina, glad the ladies were busy with Emma.
He needed his own moment to gauge how it felt, heading into open waters, with no hint of a coming race.
The boat was remarkably responsive, even now while under motor.
He joined the early morning traffic, most of them headed for the wind-sheltered beaches of Shackleford Point.
Amiya’s supplies included two picnic hampers and a mound of quilts.
Brody watched as she settled one around Emma, who naturally complained the entire time.
Amiya finally had enough of that and huffed her way into the cabin, where Rae and his mother were brewing fresh coffee and preparing the burritos.
Emma called to Amiya’s retreat, “I’m not a child, you know.”
Brody kept his back to the lady and her chair. “I hope you’re not talking to me, because I’m not listening.”
A silence, then: “I suppose I can wait and spank you once we’re in open waters.”
When Amiya returned topside, she told Emma, “I’ve laid out a nice pallet for when you grow tired of being a nasty, cantankerous old fussbudget.”
Emma replied, “One day soon you’ll be covered in wrinkles and warts and all your fine hair will fall out.”
Amiya stuck out her tongue and retreated to the galley.
Brody glanced at Emma and said quietly, “I don’t think Amiya likes me.”
“She’s worried, is all.” Emma also kept her voice low, so her words did not carry into the galley. “Amiya cared for Rae when events left her wounded and alone.”
The wind freshened as they approached Shackleford Point.
Blackbeard had once moored his vessels in those sheltered waters.
A century later, whalers built a working harbor village.
Now the islands formed part of a wildlife preserve.
Brody’s craft had electric winches, allowing a lone sailor to maintain control of the helm while adjusting the sails.
Once they were beyond the crowd of pleasure craft, he decided it was time to go sailing.
Brody watched carefully as the sails rose for the first time.
Another set of controls allowed him to draw in the sheets and halt the luffing.
That done, he cut the motor. The soft cymbals of waves tapping his hull, the hum of wind through the halyards, became the day’s dominant melody.
The wind gusted, a larger wave struck the gunnel, and water splashed over the side. Brody kept a one-handed grip on the wheel as he turned and said, “We can hold to the inland waterway and sail the Back Sound.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“It could get rough,” he warned.
“Does it appear to you that I’m the least bit concerned?” Emma’s face shone despite the droplets. “Sail on, young man.”
He set the autopilot long enough to drape his slicker over her like a blanket. He pulled the cap off his own head and settled it on Emma. “Now you look the part.”
After they passed the Shackleford Pockets, Brody turned east by north, taking aim for Lookout Bight.
The boat lacked a racer’s stallionlike sensitivity.
But it also did not need the nonstop care and minute attention required to hold a racer on course.
This was a hybrid, meant both for racing and family outings.
Emma hummed the occasional note, pausing only to smile and pat Amiya’s cheek when she emerged with steaming mugs and burritos wrapped in linen napkins.
Rae joined him by the wheel, and together they ate and swayed to the ocean’s dance.
All the sensations came together for Brody then, a musical whisper of emotions and timeless joy so intense, he allowed the wind and sun to pluck a tear from his eye. Another.
His mother and Amiya settled in the bow, where a shallow indentation formed a cushioned pocket mostly free from the wind.
Amiya chattered happily while his mother smiled and occasionally sent Brody a warm glance.
It was just like Mia, the woman happiest when silent and aware and listening.
Rae formed a welcome and warming presence beside him, until Emma called, “Dear, would you mind if I had a private word with your beau?”
Brody waited for her to contradict the older woman, claim the word did not apply, not yet. Something. Instead, Rae merely smiled at him and said, “You’re called aft. Did I say that right?”
He wanted to laugh, sing, kiss her. “Think you’re ready to take the helm?”
“Point and shoot, right?”
He tapped the console’s oversize compass. “Hold to this heading.”
“Aye-aye, Skipper. Your word is my something or other. At least for now.”
Which was good for a kiss. When Brody settled on the bench beside Emma, he expected her to comment about the smooch, his goofy grin, them together. Instead, she said, “You’re talking with Cameron.”
Brody liked how she framed it. Making a statement, not asking a question. Emma was clearly fine with him brushing the words aside and shutting that door. Instead, he replied, “She’s helping me. A lot.”
“I’m glad.” Emma made a subtle shift and a wince, but when he reached out, she waved his hands away. “What are you two talking about?”
“Right now, we’re focused on the meaning of home.”
“That’s a big one, sure enough.” A silence, then, “Are you open to an old woman’s opinion?”
“You’ve helped shape my world since I was a kid,” he replied, glad for the chance to say those words. “Opine away.”
“I’ve always seen love as a place. You work and you build and you hope, and all of a sudden, this new place appears in your mind and heart.
And your world. That most of all.” She studied Rae standing by the wheel, swaying in time to the ocean’s rhythm.
“You can dwell in it, find shelter and comfort in the hard times. Brease easy, find joy, somewhere to grow and thrive.”
Brody rocked in time to the boat’s motions. “Home.”