Two Weeks in August by Nat Burns Page B

occurred to her. “Why are you at home this morning? You’re not sick are you?”
    “Oh no, please don’t start worrying. I hate it when you worry about me. I’m just going in a little late, leaving for work in just a few minutes.” His confident voice warmed her. “Love you sweetheart. Be good, now.”
    “Hey, Daddy.” Her voice broke, but she couldn’t help asking. “Any word from Rhonda?”
    Her father’s voice was filled with empathetic pain as he answered. “No, baby, nothing. I’m really sorry…”
    “That’s okay, Dad, for the best, really. Tell Mom I love her. You too.”
    Although hating to break the connection, she was relieved to know he was leaving for work. Her powerful father hadn’t missed a full day, not counting vacations, from his real estate firm in more than twenty years.
    Slowly she replaced the handset and sighed. She did miss them. Even when she’d moved away from home when she was twenty, she had taken an apartment nearby. This was the farthest she’d lived from them and it would be a drastic change, she was sure. But she was a big girl now. It was time she got out on her own.

Chapter 11
    Hazy was leaning against the dock railing watching two gulls fight over a large sea worm that one had pulled loose from a hole in the piling. She saw Nina out of the corner of her eye and realized with some surprise that Nina seemed nervous about approaching her; almost didn’t. But she did approach and Hazy sighed.
    “Thank you for the coffee. It helped wake me up.”
    Hazy turned her attention Nina’s way, her gaze taking in the whole of her. As if self-conscious, Nina crossed her arms over her chest protectively.
    “That’s all right, ducks,” Hazy said, squinting to peer into her large green eyes. “Always a waste, that last little bit in the pot. Glad to use it up.”
    The tone Hazy had used obviously angered Nina and she stiffened her back. “Right,” she muttered. “I’ll wash the cup and return it before the end of the day,” she said, her tone just as cool. Head held high, she walked back to her cabin.
    Hazy watched the rigid sway of her denim-clad hips and felt regret swamp her. Damn, but she liked the little chit. She had a way about her. Tough little sandpiper, didn’t take no guff from anyone and gave as good as she got. She couldn’t help but admire her. It was just a shame she had to like her as well.
    She took a gulp of her lukewarm coffee and grimaced at the harsh taste. Why had she told the girl she’d gotten the dregs? It was a lie, to start with, and there was no call to be so rough with her.
    Ah, but there was. She dropped her head and hunched her shoulders. She mustn’t forget CC. Miss Claudia Coleman Marsten, CC to her friends, the prized darling of the Chincoteague Marstens. Hazy hadn’t realized the ramifications of that at first, of course, or she’d have steered clear. No use butting one’s head against a brick wall.
    They’d been so alike, she reminisced. Both with a streak of fun in them; do most anything for a laugh. Silliness was what brought them together.
    So many years ago yet she still saw it with crystal clarity.
    Working as a proofreader for the Chincoteague Wagoneer , the small island newspaper, Hazy had thought that journalism might be her field. Fresh out of high school she was an old hand at the job because she’d worked at the paper all through school, gradually advancing from “gofer” to proofreader. Words came easily to her and it was a natural gift to place them on paper in the best way so they could be understood easily. She knew one of the older staff writers was due to retire the following year so Hazy was seriously considering vying for that position. Or the position of whomever, in house, might move up into that slot.
    There was a young girl who hung around the office in the evenings, the daughter of one of the owners. She was lovely, small and slim, with blond, silky-shiny hair sleekly cropped off at shoulder length and