“Not if it's what I want,” Ophélie said stubbornly.

“You don't want that. No one does. You just don't want the pain of exploring. And I don't blame you. It's rotten out there. I've lived there all my adult life. I hate it. But someone is bound to turn up eventually. A good one. Maybe even better than Ted.” There was no one better in Ophélie's estimation, but she didn't argue the point with Andrea. “But I don't think your child molester is the answer. He sounds pretty screwed up, or maybe just screwed over. But either way, I don't think he's the guy you want, except as a friend. I think you're right there. But that means that eventually, you're going to have to find someone else.”

“I'll let you know when I'm ready, and you can leave my name on bathroom walls, or hand out leaflets. Come to think of it, there's a man in my group who's desperate to get remarried. He might be just the thing.”

“Stranger things have happened. Widows meet guys on cruises, at art classes, in grief groups. At least you'd have a lot in common. Who is he?”

“Mr. Feigenbaum. He's a retired butcher, he loves opera and the theater, is a gourmet cook, has four grown children, and he's eighty-three.”

“Perfect.” Andrea grinned. “I'll take him. I can tell you're not taking this seriously.”

“No, I'm not, but I appreciate your concern.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet. I intend to stay on your back.”

“That,” Ophélie said with a very Gallic raised eyebrow, “I believe.” And with that, the baby woke up with a scream.

And while they were chatting on the deck, far down the beach, Matt was making careful sketches of Pip, and he took two rolls of black-and-white film. He was excited about doing the portrait, and had promised her it would be ready in time for her mother's birthday, and probably long before.

“I'm going to miss you when we leave,” Pip said sadly after he'd taken the photographs of her. She loved coming down to sit with him, and talk and draw for hours. He had become her best friend.

“I'm going to miss you too.” He was being honest with her. “I'll come into the city to visit you and your mom. But you're going to be busy with your friends once you go back to school.” Her life would be far fuller than his, he knew. And it startled him to realize how much he had come to depend on seeing her nearly every day. She had kept him company for most of the summer.

“That's not the same thing,” Pip chided him. Their friendship was special, and she relied on him too. He had become her confidant and best friend, and in some ways, a substitute for her father. He was the father Ted had never been. In many ways, Pip felt he was nicer to her than her father had been. Her father had never spent as much time with her as Matt did, nor been as kind to her. Or her mother. He had always had an edge to him, and got angry easily, especially at her mom or Chad, not as much with her. Because Pip had always been careful with him. He scared her a little. Although he'd been nicer to her when she was very young, she had pleasant memories of that, and less so in recent years. “I'm going to miss you a lot,” she said, near tears as she thought about it. She was going to hate leaving him at the beach. And Matt hated to see her go.

“I promise I'll come in whenever you want. We can go to the movies, or lunch, whatever you like, as long as it's all right with your mom.”

“She likes you too,” Pip said comfortably, not divulging any secrets. Her mother had said so openly, and agreed that he was a very nice man.

For a crazy instant, he was tempted to ask her what her father had really been like. In spite of everything Ophélie had said, he couldn't get a clear picture of Ted. The only portrait of him he could paint in his mind's eye was of a difficult, probably selfish tyrant, who may have been a genius, but more than likely wasn't very nice to his wife. Yet Ophélie had clearly worshiped him and made him sound like a saint now. But pieces of the puzzle didn't seem to fit. Particularly in his relationship with his son. And Matt didn't have the feeling he'd spent much time with Pip, she had almost said as much, in incidents she talked about, and stories she told. And it didn't sound as though he'd spent much time with his wife either. It was hard to get a clear picture. Particularly now that he was dead, and the normal tendency was to forget the unpleasant parts, and improve the rest. But he didn't want to put Pip on the spot.

“When do you go back to school?” he said finally.

“In two weeks. The day after we go back.”

“You'll be busy then,” he said reassuringly, but she looked sad anyway.

“Can I call you sometimes?” Pip asked, and he smiled.

“I'd like that very much.” She had been a gift to him, and she soothed a place in him that had been raw for a long time. She did something magical to fill the gaping hole in him his own kids had left. And he did the same for her. He was, in some ways, the father she had never had, and wished she did. Ted was an entirely different beast.

She left him after he packed up his things, and she walked back up the beach. Andrea was just leaving when she got home.

“How was Matt?” her mother asked pleasantly, as Pip kissed Andrea and the baby good-bye.

“Fine. He said to say hello to you.”

“Remember what I said,” Andrea reminded her, and Ophélie laughed.

“I told you. Mr. Feigenbaum is the answer.”

“Don't count on it. Guys like that marry their wives' sisters or best friends within six months. You'll still be trying to decide what to do long after he's remarried. It's a shame he's so old.”

“You're disgusting,” Ophélie said as she hugged her friend and kissed the baby, and then they left.

“Who's Mr. Feigenbaum?” Pip asked, curious. She'd never heard his name before.

“A man in my group. He's eighty-three years old and he's looking for a new wife.”

Pip's eyes opened wide. “Does he want to marry you?”

“No, he doesn't. And I don't want to marry him either. So everything's fine.” Pip had a sudden urge to ask her if she would ever marry Matt. She wished she would one day, but after what her mother had said recently, she knew there wasn't much chance of it. Probably none at all. But at least he had said he would visit them in town, and she really hoped he would.

Pip and her mother had a quiet dinner that night, and Pip mentioned to her that Matt had said he might call sometimes.

“He wanted to know if it was all right with you.”

“I don't see why not,” Ophélie said quietly. He seemed trustworthy and had proven himself as a friend. She had no qualms about it now, even though Andrea still referred to him as “the child molester,” but she had no concerns about that. “I think that would be nice. Maybe he'd like to have dinner with us sometime.”

“He said he'd take us out to dinner and a movie when he comes to the city.”

“That sounds like fun,” Ophélie said, not thinking about it much as she put the dishes in the dishwasher and Pip turned on the TV. Friendship with Matt wasn't what Andrea wanted for her, but it suited Ophélie. Their summer in Safe Harbour had been a success, and she and Pip had made a new friend.





10

IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF THEIR LAST WEEK WHEN Matt called Ophélie about sailing with him, on a brilliantly sunny day. They had just had two days of fog, and everyone was relieved to see a last burst of summer. As it turned out, it was the hottest day of the year. So much so that Pip and Ophélie had both gotten too hot, and had decided to go inside for lunch. They were just finishing the sandwiches Ophélie had made when Matt called. And Pip looked half asleep in the heat. She had been thinking about walking down to see Matt, but it was almost too hot to go, and the sun was blazing overhead. It was going to be the first day in a long time that she'd missed with him. But she didn't think he'd be outside painting either. It was a good day to swim, or sail, as Matt said himself when he called Ophélie.

“I've been meaning to ask you for weeks,” Matt said apologetically. He couldn't explain to her that he'd been too busy sketching Pip for her portrait. “It's so hot, I thought I'd take the boat out this afternoon. Can I interest you in a sail?” It sounded like a great idea to her too. It was too hot to sit on the deck, or the beach, and at least on the ocean, there would be a breeze. The wind had started to come up in the last hour, which was what had given him the idea. He'd been in the house all day, drawing Pip, from memory, photographs, and sketches he'd made of her on the beach.

“That sounds great,” Ophélie said enthusiastically. She still hadn't seen his boat, although she knew he was immensely fond of it, and had promised to take her sailing before she left. “Where do you keep her?”

“I have her moored at a private dock at a house on the lagoon side, just down from you. The owners are never there, and they don't mind the boat. They say it adds charm to the place when they're here. They moved to Washington last year. It worked out well for me.” He gave her the house number, and told her he'd meet her there in ten minutes. She told Pip what she was doing, and was surprised when Pip looked upset.

“Will you be okay, Mom?” Pip asked worriedly. “Is it safe? How big is the boat?” Listening to her, and seeing the look in her eyes, Ophélie was touched. It was exactly how she felt about her. Everything seemed more ominous now, which was why she'd been so upset earlier in the summer, when Pip disappeared down the beach. All they had now was each other. And danger was no longer an abstract concept to them. It was real. And tragedy a possibility they both knew existed. It had changed life forever for both of them. “I don't want you to go,” Pip said in a frightened voice, as Ophélie tried to decide what to do. They couldn't live in fear forever either. Maybe it was a good idea to show her that they could lead normal lives, and nothing terrible would happen. She felt no danger whatsoever about going out on the boat with Matt. And she was certain he was a supremely competent sailor. They had talked a lot about sailing. And he'd done a lot of it since he was a boy. Far more so than she. She hadn't been sailing herself in at least a dozen years. But she had some experience too, in far more treacherous waters than these.