But maybe it was a fantasy that two such wildly different people could find love with each other. She was practically a princess, for God’s sake. And he was…just a fisherman.
Twenty-Six
Lulu waltzed into the office of Lost Harbor Physical Therapy and waved hello to Bridget, the receptionist who was almost as new as she was.
“How was your date last night?” she asked.
“I know more about marine welding than I ever imagined. I could teach a class now.”
Lulu laughed. “That’s one way to get an education. Date different professionals and take notes.”
“Next time, I’m making you come with. Double date. That’s the way to go. It spreads out the risk, you know?”
Lulu offered her a sympathetic smile, but didn’t commit to anything. She didn’t want to go on a date, not even a double date. But as the days ticked onwards and Tristan stayed in Chile, she was starting to wonder if she was being ridiculous.
Other parts of her life were coming along nicely. After she’d taken Tristan to the airport, she’d remembered the sign she’d noticed across from the police station. Although she wasn’t a licensed physical therapist, she had lots of experience from working with her mother. She’d taken a few classes on anatomy and musculoskeletal treatments. On the cruise ship, she’d assisted the overworked and understaffed medical unit.
All of that added up to a job as an assistant to the physical therapy team. She didn’t prescribe the exercises, but she worked through the recommended sets with patients and reported back to the therapists. She liked to keep it as entertaining as possible, which they seemed to appreciate.
Once she’d been offered the job, she’d looked around for a short-term apartment of some kind. Her funds would only last so long while paying for a room at the Sweet Harbor Bakery and Bed and Breakfast—especially when she couldn’t resist the daily special every morning.
Megan Holt had told her about the log cabin she’d lived in when she first came to Lost Harbor. Although tiny and cave-like inside, it had a wonderful open deck with a view of Misty Bay and the drifts of clouds that wandered past.
She’d signed a month-by-month lease, and every month she thought about whether she should leave or not. So far, two months in, the answer had been no.
It was early December now, and a thin layer of snow covered the ground. Christmas was approaching. It would be her first Christmas without her mother and she could barely think about what that would be like.
Would it be better to go back to England and open up her mother’s apartment? Or go back and stay with a friend in London who kept inviting her? Or would the memories simply be too painful? At least here in Lost Harbor, she had no ghosts haunting her. Americans celebrated Christmas differently, as far as she could tell. No Boxing Day, no rum cakes. Instead, people put up a lot of decorations and made long shopping lists and baked many cookies.
If she stayed, she could look at it as an anthropological exercise. English Christmas compared and contrasted with Christmas in Alaska. Maybe that would remove some of the sadness.
Her first patient of the morning was Janet Holt, the harbormaster’s mother. She wore a handwoven poncho over her joggers. Her long gray braid was fastened in a coronet atop her head. Lulu happened to know that she’d knitted her own socks. She knew this because she was now a regularly attending member of stitch-and-bitch, a crafting slash gossiping group.
“Good morning, Janet, how’s the knee feeling?” she asked her patient.
“Like it got kicked by my yak,” the older woman grumbled.
Lulu squirted some sanitizer on her hands. “That wasn’t very nice of it. Wait, did you say yak?”
“Yak. Yes. Normally he’s well-behaved, but he was in a mood yesterday. It was our anniversary,” she explained.
“You and your yak have an anniversary?” She checked the computer terminal where Mrs. Holt’s exercises were listed.
“He’s my husband, come back as a yak. Took a while to see it, but there was something about his chin that gave it away.”
“Ah.” If there was one thing she’d learned about Lost Harbor, it was that the town had no shortage of eccentrics. Maybe such unique characters were drawn here, or maybe living here turned you peculiar. She didn’t know which. But she loved it.
Actually, there were two things she’d learned about Lost Harbor. People here really did help each other out. It made sense because there was always something trying to kill you here. The cold. A storm. An avalanche. A bear. Even though the residents tended to be self-sufficient and independent, when someone needed help, no one hesitated to offer it. That was how this tiny outpost on the edge of the wilderness had survived so long.
She told Janet to lie on her back for the first set of exercises. “Show me how you’ve been doing the clamshells. I have a note here that says to make sure you’re not overdoing it. Are you an overachiever, my friend?”
The older woman chuckled. “You should ask stitch-and-bitch about that. You’d get some bitching for sure.”
“From what I can tell, it’s already about sixty percent bitching and forty percent stitching.”
She’d been to three meetings of Stitch and Bitch already, and loved every second. Not so much because of the knitting, although she’d always enjoyed that, but because of the gossip.
For instance, she’d heard all about Tristan’s ex-wife. No one had liked her much because she threw a tantrum every time he had to leave for a long trip.
“Of course there are two sides to every story,” Mrs. Bellini had allowed. “But Tristan was just trying to pay for his boat. How else was he going to make a living? He’s a fisherman and you have to go where the fish are.”
“Good thing there’s other fish in the sea.” Zoe Bellini’s crack had made them all laugh. “Especially for Tristan.”
“No one serious, though. Not since Julie.”
Zoe and the others had eyed Lulu curiously, since everyone knew she and Tristan were…something. But no one knew what, exactly. Including her. She’d simply folded her lips together and glanced at the ceiling, the picture of innocence.
Which had gotten a general chuckle from the group.
“If you don’t have other plans, we’d love to have you come out to the homestead for Christmas,” Janet Holt was saying as she pushed her legs against the resistance band.
“That’s so kind. Now when you say we, are you referring to yourself and the yak, or you and…”
“Me and Lucas and Megan and Ruby, and probably a few others. Jack never liked Christmas much, other than the rum punch I always made. I’ll probably give the yak a sip or two just for old times’ sake.”
It might be worth accepting her invitation just to meet this yak. Also, sometimes Mrs. Holt reminded Lulu of her own mother, even though their exteriors were entirely different. Her mother had refused to show the world a single gray hair. Lulu used to bring in a hair colorist to touch up her roots. But both of them had a certain bluntness to them. As a matter of fact, Lulu drew a great deal of comfort from Janet Holt’s presence.
“Thank you, Janet. I’m not yet sure what I’m doing this Christmas. I have friends in England who are worried I won’t be able to find my way back from Alaska.”