He docked\u00a0that frigid morning as a fog bank settled along the eastern reaches of Casco Bay.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d slept restlessly during the nor\u2019easter two nights before. She couldn\u2019t recall her dreams, but his presence in the dank morning air was unmistakable. Wary but not anxious, she could sense the tide was turning.<\/p>\n
![\"Full-Moon-Over-Casco-Bay\"](\"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/08\/Full-Moon-Over-Casco-Bay-300x300.jpg\")
She\u2019d banished him from her consciousness for five years, keeping him submerged like the shipwreck he was, but she\u2019d never doubted he\u2019d resurface. One day, a tempest would draw him from the deep like other flotsam from her past and she\u2019d have to face him and force him back down.<\/p>\n
Yesterday caught her channel surfing. Despite deliberately avoiding old TV shows, she felt closed in by the storm and began exploring. And there he was: young and handsome, strong and honorable, as perfect as she\u2019d first seen him fifteen years before.<\/p>\n
In another life, she\u2019d watched that series faithfully and had developed a juvenile crush on the character he portrayed. It was a safe crush, separated from real life by fantasy,\u00a0 anonymity, and the distance between the East and West coasts. She could laugh about it over beer with her friends at Dewey\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Five years later, Fate relocated her to Los Angeles and introduced them through a mutual friend. She found the man embodied the fictional character, and for a few years, it seemed they were meant for each other. But eventually, reality deviated from the script. He chose to change course; she chose to change coasts.<\/p>\n
Her departure from California had been tumultuous; her return to Maine convinced her that the years in L.A. were simply an extension of her childish fantasy. Her childhood home offered safe harbor.<\/p>\n
But the dreams and the old TV show had piqued her curiosity, and this morning, social media served as harbor master to guide him to her slip. How stupid of her to Google his name! How self-destructive to explore the website he\u2019d created for his philanthropic project.<\/p>\n
Hollywood had made his life comfortable, and he\u2019d poured his resources into her dearest social cause. How dare he\u2013the documentary had been her idea. She had shared her vision with him at their introduction, and they\u2019d spent hours in passionate altruistic conversation. She had the intimate knowledge of the issues, he the connections and experience to create a film to educate the world.<\/p>\n
Impetuously, she signed up to follow the site. Fate set its hook without hesitation or mercy.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d His tenuous testing of frozen waters.<\/p>\n
Her mind raced as adrenaline dumped, and she yanked her hands from the keyboard as if from the mouth of a shark.<\/p>\n
The answer to that simple question was not simple. I\u2019m fine without you <\/i>would beg a dissertation of her achievements and salvaged life. I feel cheated that you did this without me<\/i> would be closer to the truth because she once believed they\u2019d be partners in this venture. He was making a difference without the slightest nod to their scuttled relationship.<\/p>\n
She stared at the question for a moment, then retreated for a cup of tea and some fresh air.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d The question trailed in her wake like a hungry seagull.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m just fine, damn it.<\/p>\n
She sipped her tea, relishing its earthy aroma, and stepped onto her balcony overlooking Casco Bay. She watched the ice-encrusted fishing boats emerging from beyond the Calendar Islands and chugging into Portland Harbor with their bounty. She drank in the bay\u2019s heady saltiness and set her mind adrift to the cacophony of marine traffic, bell buoys, and water birds. Hot tea and smoke from the still-icy harbor mingled into misty tendrils, adding visual poetry to the diversion.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d The Spring Point Ledge fog horn moaned its misgivings, shattering her reverie.<\/p>\n
Why the hell should you care? You were so wrapped up in yourself and your fans.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d A Coast Guard cutter blasted a warning as it broke up the ice choking the main shipping channel.<\/p>\n
You scourged my soul, and you embarrassed the hell out of me in the tabloids. I hated that life. I\u2019m glad to be free of it and you.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d The question hovered precariously above her balcony.<\/p>\n
Shit\u2026<\/p>\n
Succumbing to the bitterness, she slipped back inside but left the slider open a smidge, hoping the onshore breeze would purge him away. The question was waiting on the laptop screen but was hidden behind a slide show of book signings, vacations, and family and friends. She smiled back at her smiling image kayaking near Peaks Island.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m okay. I have a great life.<\/p>\n
She took down the screen saver. As the kayak faded from view, a second question surfaced.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you there?\u201d As she read the words, she could hear his gentle voice as if he were standing at her shoulder.<\/p>\n
You know I am\u2026you can see I\u2019m still signed on.<\/p>\n
She finished her tea and set the delicate cup on its saucer, concentrating on the chickadee-and-pine motif to delay looking back at the screen. Finding no respite there, her eyes sought out and caressed his words.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you there?\u201d She felt his hand softly on hers.<\/p>\n
I guess I owe you a reply. I started this.<\/p>\n
\u201cRaven?\u201d His warm breath upon her neck\u2026<\/p>\n
She inhaled sharply and eased her hands toward the shark\u2019s mouth.\u00a0 n<\/p>\n
Portland native Karen Lessard is in the U.S. Forest Service. She\u2019s presently posted in northern Minnesota.<\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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