It’s unseasonably warm for late December; Amanda has a jacket over her sweater, but there’s no need for coats or hats. They’ve dropped anchor, out here in the harbor, for just a little while, and Lee’s shooed her out of the Mata Hari II’s kitchen. “If you want me to cook, then let me cook.”
It would only be fair for him to cook tonight, she decides. After all, she cooked last night, though it had to be simple fare. Neither of them had thought to bring groceries with them for this quick jaunt, so they’d been limited to whatever they could find in the pantry. Which was mostly canned items. Last night, Amanda had combined corned beef hash and green beans. It had been edible, but certainly not the best thing she’d ever made.
They’d finished anyway, and then ended up staying up well past midnight sipping on wine.
She leans forward, resting her arms against the rail, listening to the sounds of the harbor at night. The murmur of water lapping at the ketch’s hull. The sails, loosely furled, flapping a little in the breeze. Every now and then there’s a whisper of what might be feathers, even though it’s not the right time of year for sea birds.
The air itself is soft, gentle against the skin of her face. It’s a beautiful night. Amanda inhales deeply, trying to simply be in the moment.
She can’t.
How soon will Mr. Melrose want their report? How will they describe the fact that they missed finding Bart by just that much, the first time they’d looked? And what is she going to tell her mother and the boys when she’s late getting home tonight — especially since she was gone all night last night? She’s a creative person, but she’s starting to run out of ideas for cover stories.
One drawback of a mind like hers is that it’s never silent. It ruminates over details, worries about possibilities, looks for patterns and connections that might not even be there. And the more she tries to shut it down, to simply rest and be, the louder it gets.
The case is over, Amanda, she tells herself.
The cacophony in her mind doesn’t even slow down.
With a deep sigh, she lets her head fall forward onto her arms. It’s always been this way. She can stay quiet. She can keep physically still. But she can almost never stop the whirling thoughts in her head. Even when she desperately wants to. Such as now, when all she wants to do is to just take it all in.
The sound of ceramic on wood brings her out of her reverie. The smell of canned stew reaches her nose right around the same time.
“You could have just called me back below,” she tells Lee.
“Nah.” He’s also carrying a bowl for himself. “Too pretty out here.”
Amanda picks up her bowl, tastes the stew. He’s added some spices, the kind that bring out the rich heartiness of the beef and the vegetables’ rich flavors. “I like what you’ve done here.”
“Good.”
For several minutes, there’s just the sound of spoons clinking against bowls as they eat. Amanda’s surprised to realize she’s hungry. But the stew is a good, thick one, and he’s brought out portions that are generous without being overwhelming. She wonders if he did the same thing she did last night: split the can between them, taking slightly more for himself, of course. But not much more.
She closes her eyes. Analyzing again, when she could be simply enjoying the meal. Come on, she tells her thoughts, be quiet and focus!
There’s another soft clink of ceramic on wood. Lee’s done. She takes her own last two bites and puts her used bowl and spoon next to his. They can take them below in a minute.
Lee has his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, face raised into the quiet night. “Beautiful out here.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
“Quiet. Peaceful.”
I wish, she thinks, but she says nothing.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile in the shifting lights. Then there’s a touch on her waist, his hands gently guiding her back into his chest, his arms settling and lingering, warm around her. She inhales slowly, desperate to at least stop and enjoy this.
And her mind goes quiet.
At first, she’s off-balance. It’s strange, this silence. Unusual. She needs a couple of slow, even breaths to relax into it.
Lee’s lips ghost against her temple before his chin comes to rest onto her shoulder. He’s holding her close, but not tight. She can hear his breathing, soft and steady, perfectly matching the quiet, even thumping against her left shoulder blade.
Amanda’s last thoughts spiral down into the silence. Now there’s just sensation: his body warmth, the gentle breeze, the water quietly lapping. There’s a lingering scent, echoing the spices he’d used on the stew.
She’s not sure how long they stay like that, simply watching the night together.
“I’m glad we stopped,” Lee finally says. “Even if just for a little while.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I am too. It’s such a beautiful night.”
“And you’re so comfortable,” he continues. “Have I ever told you that?”
“No.”
“I’ll need to make sure I mention it more often, then.”
She’s not sure how long they stay like this, either, but it’s enough. For this moment, everything is enough.