The long, single story building that was Cole Winery covered half a block on the edges of the historic section of Virginia. Eden turned her classic red Thunderbird into the employee parking lot and shutting off the engine, sat motionless. Her mind was however far more active than her body and she involuntarily replayed the memory of the last day she had worked, more than a week ago. Through sheer force of will she quieted the clamoring thoughts and reached for the door handle.
As she walked though the main entrance, Eden was greeted by the faint strains of music coming from the offices. Abey, her youngest sister, often had the volume on the sound system in her office turned up so loud that Eden told her the decibel level was going to jar the barrels and affect the aging process of the wine. It was an old joke between them and held little merit because Eden had been caught doing the same thing on occasion.
Charlotte, the middle child of what their parents affectionately dubbed the Terrible Trio, was the more conservative of the three and if she had been there would have replaced the Led Zeppelin CD with Andrea Bocelli. Char’s theory was that classical produced a sweeter, more refined taste due to the more smooth, soothing quality of the melodic progression of the music.
The whole debate was merely one of dozens between the sisters and founded not on years of sibling rivalry, but genuine affection and respect. And like most of the other ongoing debates, it didn’t matter if anyone actually proved their point beyond a reasonable doubt. The real goal was to keep the topic alive as long as possible with as many far fetched theories that could be used to bolster each sister’s opinion on the matter at hand.
The entire ritual was both mystifying and nerve wracking for their parents, and the elder Coles had long ago stopped refereeing their daughter’s spirited discussions. When the day to day operation of the company was turned over to the three younger Coles, it was understood that each had an equil stake in the decision making process. It had worked out well, with each sister contributing her own unique perspective on the business and having the tenacity to see new projects through to fruition.
Eden paused in the hallway long enough to steal a glance into Abey’s open office door. The only visible parts of Abey’s body were her feet, shod in rather well worn black and white Converse high top tennis shoes that stuck out from under her frighteningly cluttered desk. Presuming that the rest of her sister was attached, Eden casually walked across the room and making a fist, knocked loudly on the wooden surface of the antique desk.
The words that came out of Abey’s mouth in rapid fire succession were muffled, but the thump that preceeded them wasn’t. Not bothering to hide her smile, Eden waited as Abey crawled back out from under the large piece of furniture and quickly stood, topping her older sister by several inches.
Anyone else would have been intimidated by the take no prisoners expression on Abey’s face, but Eden only laughed, grateful to be in the midst of chaos again.
“What, no welcome back? No flowers or cake or party hats? Not even a ‘Gee Sis, I missed you?’” Eden stopped her teasing, slightly wary of the deepening frown lines between Abey’s dark eyebrows and the methodically slow way she was rubbing a spot on the back of her head. There was a noticeable flattened area in the otherwise black spikes of hair. Eden tried not to let her eyes wander to it too often, instead of paying attention as Abey finally spoke.
“I brought flowers to you in the hospital, you prefer pie and I have never seen you wear a hat of any kind. Should you be back to work this soon?”
Eden couldn’t fault the logic of the first three points, so she chose to let them go. The answer to the question posed about work was easy. “Yes.”
Abey moved to the front of the desk and unceremoniously sat on a pile of loosly stacked invoices. The frown lines were still there, but not so deeply etched. Tilting her head and studying her sister, Abey looked more concerned than anything.
“You’re still a little pale. You know, I won’t run this place into bankruptcy for at least another month if you want to take a few more days off.” The offer from Abey was sincere, although she knew Eden wouldn’t take her up on it.
“I’m fine, really,” Eden reassured her sister. Peering around her at the jumble of paperwork, she tried to find the most tactful way to offer some organizational help. “Actually, I could spend today breaking myself back into work by staying out of the lab and helping you.”
Something between a huff and a snort was the initial reply from Abey. “This,” Abey swept her left arm backwards across the paper covered expanse, “is under control. I have a system going here. The only area that might be a little fuzzy is the new adverstising layouts for the holidays. Also maybe the monthly distributor sell sheets.” Abey blew out a bigger gust of air, admitting defeat. “Ok, so basically everything that is Char’s expertise has become my Achilles heel.”
Eden smiled at her sister, knowing just how difficult it was for her to face any sort of challenge and feel as though she fell short of what was expected of her. In reality though, no one expected more of Abey than Abey herself did. It had made Eden protective of her from an early age, simply to save her from her own self imposed standards.
“Let’s face it,” Eden told the youngest Cole, “Char inherited all the artistic and diplomatic genes in the family.” Reaching for a stack of eight by ten glossy still prints that balanced precariously on the far edge of the desk, Eden glanced quickly at the sample advertisements. “Why don’t we start with these and see if we can pick out which ones will actually see print?”
A look of relief crossed Abey’s face and she slid around the desk, pulling out her beloved, albeit pitifully well worn leather chair, and offered it Eden. It was unheard of in the history of Abey’s occupation of this office for anyone else to grace that seat.
“You really must be desperate for help,” Eden said, running the words together so that they were barely intelligible.
“What was that?” Abey asked her, rolling the chair back just beyond her sister’s reach.
“I said I’m honored,” Eden spoke dramatically while cautiously lowering herself into the chair. The leather was soft, moulding to her body as she reclined. The wheels creaked just a little as she rolled closer to the work surface, but the chair was pure bliss.
Abey recognized the expression on her sister’s face. She was certain it was the same one she wore every time she sank into the familiar comfort zone. A sudden thought crossed her mind and she warned, “Don’t get used to it.”
Settling just a little further into the chair, Eden closed her eyes and smiled. “Wake me up in about an hour or so. Or just whenever you get all the work caught up.”
“Dream on, Sleeping Beauty.” Abey grabbed the back of her chair and gave it a gentle three hundred and sixty degree spin, ending with Eden once again facing the maze of papers with eyes wide open, albeit slightly dizzy. Pulling up what both women now realized was a beautifully designed but incredibly inferior chair, Abey sat down and began dividing up the stacks. “This isn’t a free ride. Get to work.”
“Aww, you did miss me. How sweet,” Eden mussed as she watched her sister try to descretely move roughly two-thirds of the backlogged paperwork to Eden’s side of the desk.
“Less talk, more action,” Abey replied, releived at the prospect of actually making some serious headway with her sister’s help. Eden just laughed and dug in.
********
The late afternoon sun played hide and seek behind the thickening clouds that were gathering on the advance edge of a storm front moving in. Donovan paid the cab driver and slung her worn leather file case over one shoulder for the walk back down to her boat.
She had next to nothing to show for nearly three hours of filing out forms and waiting to be seen by the correct representative of the state historical preservation committee and the other powers that be who grant salvage permits. Donovan had never been confronted with this much red tape before. Then again, she was fairly new at this and had only made one other find on another coast that wasn’t nearly as financially promising as this current project.
States had jurisdiction over abandoned vessels that were sunk within twenty-four nautical miles of the coastline. It wasn’t enough that Donovan had done extensive research on the weather patterns, wind speed and direction, tide and any major storms since the wreck of the Lady Persephone some three hundred years ago. The state was unwilling to issue Donovan an exclusive salvage permit without some solid proof of the location, such as printouts from a substantial hit on her sonar equipment or underwater pictures or video. The best she got was a general permit that allowed her to keep searching and then lay a claim to whatever she actually discovered.
Frustrated with apparently wasting most of the afternoon, she didn’t immediately notice the ship languishing not far into the bay, nor the man standing on deck waving at her. When it finally did catch her eye, Donovan stopped in her tracks.
“Son of a …” Donovan paused, remembering her resolve to reserve her more colorful language skills for extreme occasions after leaving the Coast Guard two years ago. She was sure this probably qualified as one of those occasions. But Donovan had a nagging feeling, bordering on fear, that if she reneged on a small promise made to herself then breaking the biggers ones would be next. That just couldn’t happen. She had pulled herself out of an ugly place of her own making and wasn’t certain she would have the will or the strength to do it again.
Resuming her pace, Donovan crossed the dock and boarded The Bonny Anne. Depositing her satchel, she picked up the hand held scanner and turned it to a familiar channel she hadn’t used in months .
“You turn up more often than all of my bad habits combined,” Donovan spoke into the radio, confident that her comment had been heard by the correct person. Two beeps in rapid succession preceded the reply.
“You make me sound more like a bad penny than a good luck charm,” the male voice answered.
“I call ’em like I see ’em.” Donovan’s tone was strained. “Last I knew, you were down in the Bahamas.”
“It’s too damn hot down there,” the man grumbled into the radio. “Too many scavengers and not enough ocean. I thought I’d track you down and see what you were doing these days.”
Donovan rubbed her forehead, her patience beginning to wear thin. “Toby, we’re done. We are no longer business partners, not drinking buddies, not friends. As far as I’m concerned, you are just some ass who happened to serve in the Guard the same time I did and who cheated me out of at least a hundred grand.”
“Oh, that’s really harsh,” Toby said sarcastically. “What, did you get religion now that you dried out, Fuller?”
“Turn that boat around and go find someplace to fuck yourself,” Donovan warned, her voice calm despite her rising anger.
Laughter echoed from the radio speaker before Toby spoke again. “It’s a free country, Fuller, and free water. If you’re here, there must be something worth having.”
Donovan closed her eyes and saw red. It could have been from the setting sun, but she doubted it. It scared her a little, even that small loss of control. Control of her emotions was everything. It meant that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could cope because she knew she controlled her reactions. Flying by the seat of her pants never landed her anywhere except in a pile of shit.
Trying to sound as unconcerned as possible, Donovan spoke into the radio one last time. “Get a life, Toby, and stay the hell out of mine.”
With that, she shut off the radio and sat in the pilot’s chair, analyzing this unexpected complication. Donovan knew that if Toby tried to get any sort of exclusive salvage permit he would run into the same brick wall that she had earlier that afternoon. She also knew that he was too lazy to spend hours at sea meticulously combing back and forth checking sonar readings. Her former business partner would let her do the work and then try to file on the claim himself, cutting her out of any share.
It was the same thing he had done to her in the Gulf. Had she been less trusting and more sober it never would have happened.
Looking out the porthole to check his position, Donovan was just in time to see Toby’s much newer tug sail out of the bay and into the deeper waters of the Atlantic. Donovan reasoned that he would look for a place to dock and then keep coming back to shadow her.
If she could wait him out he might give up and move on. But Donovan hated to lose any more time. She had already spent weeks researching this wreck. Probably the only option was to sail after midnight, during the early morning hours. Knowing Toby’s penchant for nightlife, Donovan thought she would be safe while he was satisfying his craving for expensive scotch, moody clubs and whatever companionship he was lucky enough to find.
Darkness had fallen, the days still made short by the changing seasons. Donovan waited a half hour and then cautiously piloted her vessel back out into open water. There was no sign of Toby’s craft, so she steered towards the area she was charting in her search for the sunken Lady Persephone, gambling that he wouldn’t be back that night.
********
“No more,” Eden said firmly. It had taken all day, but she and Abey had nearly cleaned off Abey’s desk. What little that was left would still be there tomorrow. Her lower back was aching slightly, but it felt good to have accomplished so much.
Lifting the lid on the empty pizza delivery box that sat in place of the stacks of papers once littering her desk, Abey looked to see if maybe one last slice might magically have reappeared. The two sisters had demolished it for lunch hours ago. Finding nothing but grease stains and one lone pepperoni, Abey quickly shut the lid.
“Let me buy you supper. It’s the least I can do except for maybe letting you sit in my chair once in a while.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Eden said, standing and stretching her back. “But I’ve got plans already.”
“What kind of plans?” Abey questioned.
Eden was purposefully vague with her reply. “Just dinner plans; nothing big.”
“Anyone I know?” Abey persisted.
“Nope. Just some sailor I met at the dock this morning.” Eden spoke casually, knowing that bit of information would only serve to confuse her sister and stoke her curiosity. The frown lines had reappeared between Abey’s eyebrows and Eden felt a pang of remorse for worrying her after all the stress they had all been under lately.
Walking over to her, she bent down and gently kissed Abey’s forehead. “I’m mostly kidding. I actually think she’s a pirate.”
Abey didn’t know whether Eden was joking or not, but decided to err on the side of caution. “Why don’t I join you? I promise not to stare at her peg leg or eye patch.”
An image of Donovan’s haunting beauty drifted across the canvas of Eden’s memory. “Even with an eye patch she could still charm mermaids. But seriously, it’s no big deal. I just like to yank your chain every so often and I haven’t had the chance in a while.”
Abey switched chairs, leaning back into the familiar seat. “If you say so,” she said, motioning for her sister to leave. “But I might call later, just so you know.”
Eden moved towards the door, stopping in the hallway just outside. “You really are cute when you get all maternal like that.” Quickly side stepping, she managed to avoid the paper wad that flew by her head and made her way out of the winery.
Eden wasn’t certain what she expected to find once she arrived home. Not one to be prone to romantic delusions, she didn’t think that Donovan would be waiting on her deck with flowers in hand. But some small part of her was disappointed when she didn’t immediately see the mysterious woman nearby.
Checking her watch as she unlocked her front door, Eden saw that it was a few minutes past six. Maybe Donovan was giving her time to shower or change. Deciding that was the most logical answer, Eden took advantage of the moment and quickly picked out a coral button up shirt and tucked it into her favorite pair of slightly faded jeans.
By six forty-five, Eden was loosing the battle with disappointment. Stepping out into the night, she let the cool, moist air wash over her. The lights from the dock provided enough illumination for her to follow the same path she had that morning. Already suspecting what she would find didn’t lessen the crush she felt upon seeing the empty boat slip.
Bending down, Eden picked up a stray pebble and threw it hard across the still surface of the dark water. It skipped several times, invisible but making faint splashing sounds before it finally sank in silence.
********
Donovan inked in another entry in her journal, noting the exact longitude, latitude, lack of unusual sonar returns and the date and time. Slowly blinking, as though that might somehow erase the hour and turn back the time, she let out a load groan. “Eight-fifteen,” she said out loud, feeling slightly nauseous, the cause not entirely from lack of food. She grabbed the wheel and changed course, mentally rehearsing a speech she had crafted from one of the tenants of the twelve step program.
Eden had long since pulled the shirt tails from her jeans and surrendered to the couch and television remote. Not particularly hungry, she had settled on the couch and was absently watching the Food Network when the doorbell rang. Her heart did a little flop, first from the unexpected sound and next from the realization of who it could be. Both anger and relief vied for center stage with Eden’s play of emotions at the prospect of seeing Donovan again.
The bell rang again before she could get to the door, and when she did, Eden tried to look through the frosted glass panel before she opend it. The image was blurred, but she was fairly certain it was Donovan standing there, holding something in both hands.
Turning the lock, Eden opened the door and was met with a can of tuna and a box of Ding Dongs. Donovan stood there with the most sad expression Eden had ever seen, holding the food items out in front of her like a bizzar peace offering or a body shield.
“I made a mistake, and while there is nothing I can do to change that now, I can promise to try and do better in the future.” Donovan had repeated that sentence more times than she could count, but perhaps never meant it quite as much as she did right then.
Eden frowned, wondering if this woman had those words scribbled on the back of the Hostess box. It didn’t suit her, or rather it didn’t suit the impression she had gotten of the woman that morning. Realizing she honestly did not want to make an issue of the time, Eden pulled the door fully open and leaned against the frame, partially blocking the entrance.
“You must really think I am a cheap date,” Eden commented, nodding at the objects still held between her and Donovan.
“I do not,” Donovan denied. Pointing to the can of tuna, she went on. “Seafood. That’s what you said you wanted. Oh, and dessert,” she said, holding the box of Ding Dongs up higher.
Shaking her head, Eden couldn’t help but smile. Not entirely willing to let Donovan off completely free, she held her ground and didn’t move aside to allow her to enter the house. The body language was not lost on Donovan, and she inwardly cursed herself for wasting the one opportunity she would probably get to spend time with Eden.
Leaning against the other side of the doorway, Donovan sighed. “Look, I really am sorry. Something unexpected came up and I totally, stupidly lost track of time. I had this stuff in my refrigerator on board and thought I might win some points with humor. Believe me, I don’t think there is anything remotely cheap about you and if you will give me another chance, I’ll take you anyplace you want to eat.”
Eden had been studying Donovan’s face as she spoke, noting the hint of blue under her eyes and the tired set of her shoulders. Reaching out, she took the box of chocolate cupcakes from Donovan and stepped aside, motioning for her to come in.
“I don’t suppose you cook, judging from these,” Eden said as she shut the door behind Donovan and took a cellophane wrapped dessert from the package. Closing her eyes with the sweetness of the first bite, Eden waited for an answer.
Distracted by the look of absoulte bliss on Eden’s face, Donovan didn’t immediately reply. Dark brown eyes suddenly opened and Donovan was caught staring. There was no point in looking away, so she just shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “Mostly I eat.”
“Mmm, so I gathered. But have you eaten yet tonight?” Eden took another bite and kept her eyes on the woman this time.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ve eaten today, period.” Donovan was suddenly very aware of just how hungry she was and automatically reached for the box of cupcakes. Eden was faster though, and the box disappeared behind her back.
Donovan’s reaction was priceless, her expression almost shocked. Eden laughed, tucked the box under her arm and lead the way to her kitchen. “I think I might be able to do slightly better than canned tuna, but I expect to be entertained with a good excuse of why you were late. You know, sea monsters, ghost ships, mermaids, that sort of thing.”
“Feed me something home cooked and I just might show you the treasure map tattoo I’ve got,” Donovan offered as she followed Eden.
Turning around, Eden ran her gaze up and down Donovan’s tall frame. “You have a…” she began, then stopped, unsure as to whether or not she was prepared for the answer or the location. “How does a salad and some pan seared salmon sound?” she asked, deftly ignoring the previous topic.
“It sounds like paradise,” Donovan told her, grinning as Eden rolled her eyes.
