It Takes Two. Joanne Michael

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      Remembering the stares from her fellow shipmates when she appeared with Figgy, Abby hung back until most of the travelers had already gone below. She had not seen Marc inside, nor anywhere below as she wove her way between the hundreds of cars, trucks, campers, vans and motorcycles that twice daily turned the Felipe into a giant floating parking lot. Once in her own car, she had glanced back at the Wagoneer, but in the glare of the halogen lights couldn’t tell if anyone was inside.

      Since she had been among the last to board back in Matane, Abby had had to wait while hundreds of vehicles in front were directed off the ship. When her turn came, she eased the car along, giving a small wave to the crewman who had almost prevented Figgy from going up on deck. He returned her wave, but with a suspicious look. She’d been so intent on navigating her way out of the lot, she had not paid any attention to where Marc was heading. By the time she remembered to look in her rearview mirror for his Jeep, it was nowhere to be seen.

      And as she cruised down the road to Tadoussac, she was too excited to obsess about the moody stranger.

      Twelve months, she thought happily. Woods Hole had not only approved her research grant, but had left the door wide open for a three-year extension pending the results of that first year. She had the full use of the lab facilities at the center and visiting-researcher status at the Centre d’interpretation des mammifères marins. The grant was not a huge one, but it was more than enough to get started. The amount would fund the research and provide a modest living stipend. The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute had even arranged for a one-year lease on a small apartment in Tadoussac within walking distance of the research center.

      It was near lunchtime when Abby pulled her car over to the shoulder on the steep rise above Tadoussac. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, looking out the windshield at the view before her. Figgy, who once again had fallen asleep on the back seat, opened her eyes and sat up.

      The tiny village of Tadoussac hugged a flat piece of land nestled within a bay of the same name. To the west, north and east, the rocky cliffs of the Saguenay River Fjord stood out stark and gray against the blue sky. The river itself emptied into the bay at the base of the hill directly below where Abby now parked. There, the road ended and from this height, Abby could see a short line of cars waiting to board the small ferry that made the fifteen-minute crossing to the other side, where the road continued on to Québec City and points west. In the bay, tiny boats bobbed up and down and she could just make out people strolling along the beach. Abby took another long satisfied look, then checked for traffic and pulled back onto the highway.

      “Let’s find our new home,” she said, as Figgy stuck her head out the window and took her first good whiff of Tadoussac.

      After taking the next exit off the highway, Abby drove slowly down the town’s narrow streets, following the written directions that had been forwarded to her. To her delight, each turn brought her closer to the bay’s waters. Finally, she pulled up to a modest green bungalow in a row of similarly styled houses, located across the road from the beach she had seen from atop the hill.

      This must be it, she thought, looking at the name and number on the mailbox at the curb.

      Abby rolled the car’s windows partway down before stepping out onto the street and shutting the door behind her. “Wait here,” she said to Figgy and walked up the stone pathway and the three steps to the front porch. Looking around a moment before ringing the bell, Abby saw rows of plant hangers suspended from the porch roof. Empty now, she imagined they would soon be full of flowers.

      Pressing the buzzer, she heard the faint sound of chimes from within the house. Moments later, the door opened and Abby was looking into the warmest, greenest eyes she had ever seen.

      “Mrs. Doucette?” Abby said.

      “Françoise Doucette,” the older woman said. “And you must be our Abby.” It was a statement, not a question. “Come in. Welcome!”

      The door opened wide and she ushered Abby inside.

      “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Françoise said.

      “And I, you,” Abby said, studying the woman. Standing a good head taller than Abby, Françoise was much sturdier, but Abby could not discern an ounce of fat on the woman’s body. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun and the front of her shirt appeared to be dusted in flour.

      “How was the drive?” Françoise asked.

      “Long,” Abby said. “I left Andover at six yesterday morning and drove pretty much straight through.”

      “Then you must be exhausted. I bet you’d like to see your apartment.”

      “That would be really nice.” Now that she had actually reached her destination, weariness was taking a firm hold.

      “Follow me,” Françoise said, heading down a hallway to what appeared to be the back of the house. “Your place has its own walkway and entrance from the front yard, but this is quicker now that you’re inside.”

      As Abby followed behind, Françoise said, “It’s small, but it’s private and furnished. The marine center’s just down the road, you can walk there in five minutes. We don’t have a lot of shops and such here in town, but there is a general store and I go into Baie-Sainte-Catherine every Monday if you need anything.”

      She pushed open the screen door leading out to a fenced-in backyard and held it for Abby.

      “There’s a washer and dryer in the basement of the house, and you’re welcome to use them anytime, it’s included in the rent.” They crossed the yard to a small, separate building. “Well, here we are.” Françoise dug in her pocket and pulled out a key. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, then stepped aside so Abby could walk in.

      “This used to be the garage,” Françoise explained, following her inside. “We converted it to living space about ten years ago.”

      Abby stepped into the middle of the single room and looked around. Must have been a small car, she thought. There was just enough room to accommodate a sofa against one wall, an end table on one side and coffee table in front. A well-worn braided rug covered most of the floor and a simple wooden writing desk sat against the wall across from the sofa. Immediately to the right of the front door was a compact kitchen—the stove, refrigerator and sink all apartment-size. Much to Abby’s satisfaction, bookshelves lined most of the available wall space, but it was the windows that truly delighted her.

      Rather than walling up the space where the garage door had been, the Doucettes had installed floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was bathed in warm, natural light and would be, Abby could tell, for most of the daylight hours.

      “The bathroom’s through that door in the corner and the bedroom is right up there,” Françoise said.

      Looking in the direction the older woman was pointing, Abby saw a narrow gangway-style ladder against the far wall that led up to a loft space above the living room.

      “What do you think?” Françoise asked.

      “I think it’s ideal,” Abby said.

      “It’s not very big.”

      “It’s fine. Besides, I’ll be spending most of my time at the marine center or in the field.”

      “Now, СКАЧАТЬ