Jo had been asleep for a long time when she heard the noise downstairs. She wondered if it was Nick getting something to eat after bringing his sea buddies to the train station. But, it was very late for that. He should have been back a long time ago. She went to check.

She found Nick seated in a chair in the parlor. There was no light in the room except for the fading fire. He had a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other. He poured a drink and quickly drank it.

"Nick?" Jo asked, walking into the room.

He did not answer or even look up. She watched him as he poured another glass and drank it quickly, too. He put the bottle on the table next to him.

"That was a full bottle," Jo remarked.

Without looking at her and without saying a word he reached into his pocket, pulled out some money and laid it on the table.

"You know I don’t allow drinking on the premises," Jo went on.

Nick stood up quietly, picked up the bottle and headed for the door. His pain and fear were palpable. Jo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk?"

He did not look at her, but nodded his head gently and returned to the chair, putting the bottle back on the table. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. She waited.

When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with emotion. "I killed her, Jo. It wasn’t my gun, but it was my fault."

"How can you say that?"

"I should’ve had a better plan."

"You had no way of knowing that her husband could bribe the harbor master."

"I shouldn’t have talked her inta leavin’."

"You know he just would have beaten her again."

"I shouldn’t have pulled the gun."

Jo did not respond. She did not believe that guns ever solved a problem and this situation was no different. Nick waited.

He slowly lifted his head and looked at her with blood-shot eyes, looking for her response, her reassurance, her absolution. He got none, only silence and the accusing crackle of the fire.

He gasped, closed his eyes, bowed his head, struggled to breathe.

Then he reached for the bottle. His hands were shaking and he could not pour.

Jo took the bottle from him and held his other hand steady. Then, to his amazement, she poured the drink. He stared at it in his trembling hands.

"Go ahead, Nick. Drink it. It will solve all your problems. Right?"

She heard him catch his breath, but he was still staring, still trembling.

"Like it does for Ben and your uncle. Right?"

He looked up at her, his jaw clenched, eyes squinted, brow furrowed. She did not know what he would do. He put the glass on the table.

He sat silently, staring at the floor for a minute, maybe two, before he looked at her again.

He nodded his head as if he had just come to a realization.

"I shouldn’t have loved her," he said quietly.

"What?"

"If I hadn’t have loved her, she’d be alright."

"Nick, that’s not true!"

He gasped a laugh. And then he said it, what he had always believed, always dreamed, but had never put into words. "It’s that simple. I shouldn’t have loved any of ‘em." He shook his head. "And I shouldn’t… ."

He stopped, looked at Jo and rose from his seat.

"It’s the middle of the night, Jo. I should let you get back to bed." He headed for the door.

"Nick! Don’t!" Jo cried out. He stopped and looked at her.

"Don’t walk out on me! Don’t push me away!" She was pleading, almost yelling.

He clenched his jaw, not knowing where to look. Then, without a word, he turned away again and walked towards the door.

"I am not going anywhere and nothing is going to happen to me," Jo said.

He stopped again, not turning, and swallowed hard.

Jo took a deep breath, calming herself. She remembered what Meg told her – keep trying as long as it takes.

"You will not lose me if you let yourself love me."

Jo watched in tears as his body quivered, trembled, shook.

And then she heard them; the grief-filled, guilt-filled sobs of a son who had lost his parents too young, of a brother who had lost his sister and lived in fear of losing his brother, too, of a boy who had lost his childhood innocence to a trusted uncle’s violent hand, of a devoted friend who had lost too many, of a man who had lost the only woman he had ever truly dared to love, of a man who feared that to love again would mean to lose again, of a man who felt guilt for it all.

She watched him, waiting for him to make the next move. She had opened the floodgates and now had to see which way the water would flow. He turned to her.

In his tear filled eyes she could see the guilt and regret that he had carried in his heart for so long; she could see the pain of loss; she could see grief and loneliness and despair.

She saw that the rough, shy, confident exterior was a mask put on to guard the heart of a man who loved so deeply, sacrificed so selflessly, and yet had lost so much.

She felt she had no right to be there, in a place so deep and so private.

"Jo," he whispered, reaching his hand out to her.

She took his hand, pulled him close and held him. As he melted into her arms she saw, for the first time, that he was opening the door and letting her into his guarded heart.

When he had calmed himself, he looked at her. The mask was gone. His once guarded heart now bared freely to her.

"I don’t wanna lose you too, Jo. You open up places in my heart that I never even knew were there." He paused and choked back the tears that were welling up again. "I couldn’t bear to go on without you in my life."

"You won’t have to, Nick. You won’t have to."

After his morning chores, Nick took his hat off as he entered the kitchen. "Mornin’ Jo," he said quietly.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" Jo asked, looking at his blood-shot eyes, wrinkled brow and slow gait – painful reminders of his encounter with the bottle of whiskey the night before. She was ready for his typical "I’m alright" and was surprised by his actual response.

"My head hurts bad." He smiled gratefully and nodded as she handed him a steaming cup of strong black coffee, just the way he liked it. He sat down at the table and held his throbbing head.

She was even more surprised by what came next.

"Thank ya for bein’ there for me when I needed ya."

Jo did not even mind that he barely glanced at her when he said it. He had said it and that meant so much to her.

Still not looking at her, he spoke again. "I lost her twice, Jo. I lost her heart and I lost her life. And now I’ll never even know if she loved me."

"Does it make a difference now?"

"Yeah, it does."

She looked at him, obviously upset by his comment.

He glanced at her, with no mask to hide the pain and insecurity. "I don’t know if I know what love is, Jo."

"I think you do, Nick."

He flashed a shy smile at her and nodded his head in thanks.

She sat down next to him, slipped her hand over his and watched him sip his coffee.

Then she laughed. He looked at her. "You look awful!" she said.

He laughed, too. "Not my best night."

Rob came running down the stairs calling "Mother! Nick! It’s beautiful out. Yippee! Yippee!" He held onto Nick’s shoulder and jumped up and down, shouting cheerfully. "Now we can go on our picnic. Yippee!" Nick cringed at the sheer volume.

Jo reached over and stopped Rob. "I don’t think we can go today, Rob. Nick’s not… ."

"Aw, Mother," Rob said.

"I’m alright, Jo," Nick said, interrupting.

"Yippee!" Rob shouted again. "Let’s go. Anchor’s away!"

"Hold on there L’il Sailor," Nick said. Rob smiled giddily at the nickname as Jo watched happily. "We ain’t goin’ ‘til lunchtime."

The weather was perfect and the picnic was a huge success, especially as far as Rob was concerned. They had finished eating lunch and had polished off big slices of Nick’s favorite cinnamon apple pie.

Jo spoke to Nick as he flew the kite for Rob. "So, do you wear an apron, too?"

Nick just tilted his head and looked at her.

"You know, Mother used to say ‘If you can read, you can cook’," Jo said.

"I’ll have ta talk ta your Mother ‘bout that," he mumbled.

"What did you say?"

"Uh, I said I’ll have ta talk ta my brother ‘bout that," Nick replied nervously. "Ya see, he could read but would never cook." He grinned. She cleared her throat.

"You probably cook better than I do." she said.

"I didn’t say that."

"No, you didn’t. But nobody has ever raved about my cooking like they did about yours."

"Ah, they was just hungry is all."

"You’ve been hungry and you never raved about my cooking like that," Jo said, defensively.

"But I eat it," he pointed out. She looked at him and twisted her mouth. "Well Jo, your cooking is, well… It’s unique." He looked at her. She walked away.

His head still pounding from the events the night before, Nick decided to hand the kite over to Rob. "Hey, Li’l Sailor. Ya ready ta try it now?"

"Sure Nick. It ain’t gonna be easy, though."

"Ya mean it ISN’T gonna be easy. But it is."

"Is what?" Rob asked.

"Gonna be easy," Nick answered.

"Oh."

Rob tried to fly the kite by himself but he was not having much luck. "I s’pose ya need a bit more practice Li’l Sailor. How about we stop for now and ya can play with Max." Rob agreed and Nick reeled in the kite.

He came over to the blanket where Jo was sitting. "Sorry," he said. She smiled and chuckled forgivingly.

He dropped to the ground with a moan.

"Aagh!" He held his head.

"You look exhausted Nick and you must have a splitting headache. Do you want to go home now?" Jo asked.

"Nah. Rob’s still havin’ fun. I’ll be alright."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Nah," he replied as he lay down on the blanket. He closed his eyes and used his hat to cover them.

Jo looked at him as he rested. She watched his muscles relax. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. She smiled.

"I see you," he said.

Jo jumped startled. "What?"

Nick moved his hat and turned his head toward her, his eyes squinted in the bright sunlight. "When I close my eyes ta sleep, on a good day, I see you."

Jo smiled, remembering the question that seemed to have been asked a lifetime ago. "On good days?" she asked inquisitively. "What about the others?"

He looked away and then looked back. "Lotsa folks I don’t see with my eyes open no more," he replied with a lonely touch of sadness in his voice.

Then Nick raised himself up on his elbow and smiled at her. "But, I plan on havin’ lots o’ good days now."

She smiled back at him. "So do I."

He reached his hand out to her and she held it. Then, still holding her hand, he laid back down and covered his eyes with the hat again. Jo reached over and stroked his hair with her other hand as he drifted off into a peaceful, restful sleep.

THE END