Chapter 9 – The Boat and the Painting

I heard a lullaby in my dreams. It was the sound of the wind and the water splashing against the bottom of the boat and against itself. It was the sound of night and the feel of ocean air grabbing at my throat and at every inch of my body. I could feel the salt, all over my face, around my eyes and at my lips. And then there was the rocking. The sweet slow gentle rocking.

That had been what lulled me to sleep. Not the calm quiet ponderings of my companion as he sat across from me on the deck of his large aft cabin power boat. Not the feeling of his hand touching mine very lightly. Not even the feeling of finally having found a person that I could possibly fall for. No, it had been that sway of the boat, the beat of the waves that had put me to sleep.

As I turned my body in the night and dreamt of a Christmas Eve past, I felt the coolness of the night air lift and my body placed into soft, thick sheets, and covered by a large fluffy comforter. Nick was extremely tender as he placed me into the bed in the master quarters and raised the blankets up around my shoulders. I simply sighed and turned to push my face deeper into the velvety pillow beneath my head. I was dreaming of a Christmas Eve so long ago, when I was just four years old. My mother and father had returned from midnight mass to find me sprawled in the living room waiting underneath the windowsill, searching for Santa Claus. I remember my father’s large arms as he lifted me into them and carried me into his and Mommy’s bed, tucking the sheets and blankets around me, and then giving me and Eskimo kiss before sneaking away to play Santa. It would be the last Christmas my father would ever see, and the warmth that surrounded me at that moment would always be my memory of the holiday, which was my favorite.

I awoke when I began to get warm, too warm, my face feeling even drier. I opened my eyes and immediately squinted them. The sun was beating down upon the boat as it swayed there on the water. It blazed through the window. I looked at my surroundings and oddly enough was alone. I had been all night. As I opened the door to the master cabin, I felt a cool rush of air tickle my bare feet and exposed arms. I tried to remember the evening before. How Nick and I had walked to the boat. I was annoyed with his and Aaron’s antics. Nick was an adult, Aaron was only a boy. Nick should have known better. But we didn’t talk about it. Once he took my hand and lead me onto his boat, which he referred to as “she”, we had sat on the deck and talked about our childhoods, vacations our families had taken, nights we had never wanted to end. Nick had wanted to know about college and I had wanted to know about life on the road. We delighted in each others stories, and soon, I was sound asleep.

Nick had carried me into bed and then disappeared, probably into another cabin. I remember feeling the slightest kiss on my cheek, warm and moist, and then he was gone. And I continued dreaming of Christmas Eves past, of stockings and large Italian Meals that my mother prepared.

My face flushed when I thought, “today is Christmas Eve.” Just like a child, still. I searched for Nick in the aft cabin, but he was nowhere in sight. So, I made my way out onto the deck.

Nick was sitting there, headphones on his ears, with a large fishing pole in his lap. The new day sun made his hair even blonder than normal and I wished I could just be invisible and watch him as he tapped his hands to the music and sang out very quietly along with the song. The words coming from his lips were from an old Styx song, Don’t Let It End. I couldn’t believe he knew it. It had always been a sweet melody to me, but here, now, with him singing it, it was my favorite song.

I supposed the night hadn’t been what I had imagined. I don’t think it was what he had imagined either. Yet it had been nice. Really nice. There had been so many times when I had wanted to reach out to him, to touch him. But I had refrained. And there was that growing chemistry. Standing there at that moment, the chemistry was alive.

Nick finally noticed me and pulled his headphones off of his ears. “Hey girl!” He said, smiling. “I should actually call you sleeping beauty.”

“You put me to bed.” I told him.

“Yeah. You were sleepy.” Nick chewed on his upper lip for a moment and then yawned.

“Caught anything?” I asked as I moved to sit down next to him. Fishing really didn’t appeal to me, but I figured I’d make an effort. My leg was touching his when I finally sat.

“Not yet.” He answered, lifting the pole just a bit as if to show me its weightlessness. “Not really tryin’, though.” A warm breeze blew between us. I didn’t respond, just sat there and looked out at the ocean that was nice and calm.

“Since I’ve lived here, I never could get used to the whole summer Christmas thing.” I told him, putting my chin on my hand, which rested on my thigh. “Just doesn’t seem right. It should be snowy and cold and you should have to wear thick coats and sweaters, not bathing suits.”

“It’d seem weird to me any way but this.” Nick almost mumbled. He was looking out across the sea, seeing something that I didn’t, no matter how much I loved it and felt part of it. This was where Nick belonged, he always had.

I was bold and took my hand, putting it onto his broad back, rubbing through the sweatshirt he had put on somewhere in the night. “I guess its all about our memories of Christmas, then, huh?” Nick turned his head toward me.

“Christmas Eve holds some of my best memories.” I smiled at him, thinking about all the preparations and the parties. All the family and friends. All the good times I’d had. Nick interrupted my thoughts.

“I think Christmas is about making new memories, too.”

I looked into his eyes. The ocean and the sun made them a miraculous creamy blue color, with the tiniest green specks. “Happy Christmas Eve, Green.” Nick told me, smiling.

That’s when he leaned in and kissed me. It was slow, soft, and passionate, all at the same time. For a moment, when we parted, I grew afraid. Afraid of everything. Afraid of myself and of him and of the way my heart was pounding. Here we were, worlds apart, and yet somehow we had reached one another. Nick’s hand lifted and grazed my jaw line and he pulled me in once more, delicately, and kissed me again.

I flushed. I always did in situations like this. “Happy Christmas Eve, Nick.” I finally said. And then he stood, started the boat, and we went to shore.

*****

I was so full. I sat back on my mother’s small couch and a small belch escaped my lips. “Scuse me.” I said, in a small, Marilyn Monroe-type of voice.

“Matty!” My mother said loudly, blaming my burp on the cat, as either of us always did.

“You outdid yourself this year, Mom.” I told an older version of myself. Mom’s spaghetti and meatballs had been a tradition in my family for years. I was more than content. My mother was scurrying around the kitchen, putting dishes in the washer and humming to the Christmas music that she had playing on the stereo. I began to look at the Christmas tree, wondering, like a child, what delights lie beneath it. A large flat package in gold paper with a gold ribbon caught my eye. It was near the back of the tree, the wrapping different than the rest of the presents my mother had laid out prior to “santa’s arrival”.

“Ma?” I called to her through the small corridor between the two rooms. “What’s this gold present out here?”

My mother walked in holding a glass of white wine, readying herself to sit on her Canadian Rocker. She took a sip before answering. “Oh, I almost completely forgot!” She set the glass down on her light colored wooden tray. “A young man delivered that here today. Its for you.”

My eyes widened. “Who’s it from?” I asked, intrigued.

“Not me.” My mother answered. “Why don’t you open it?” Her interest was obviously piqued as well. She generally was anti-early gift opening.

I looked at her as if to ask, “for real?” And she gave me the affirmative with her eyes.

I stood and reached behind the tree, dragging the large, and noticeably heavy gift from the confines of decorations. They clinked a little and the cat scooted out from under her haven of the fake evergreen where she had been sleeping.

There was no card or any type of attachment on the outside of the gift, so I took a deep breath, looked at my mom, announced, “here goes nothin’” and tore into the thick gold wrapping.

I gasped when I finally realized what it was.

Thomas Kinkade. Streams of Living Waters. It was an original, not a print. An actual piece of art.

I was astounded at Nick’s kindness, at his obvious attention and affection. And I was in a type of denial.

When I went to sleep that evening, hearing my mother’s bustle beneath the tree as she laid out presents, I couldn’t help but think of him. Of the kiss we had shared and the way he had touched my face. And the painting. Perhaps he had given it to me because, as we had discussed, it made him feel like every day people, perhaps I made him feel that way. I sighed as I fell asleep. It was as if Nick had looked deep into my heart and had chosen a gift that would make me swear undying devotion to him. It was perfect. I had never expected such a Christmas gift.