Sigrid Grieg was a whirlwind, a true force of nature. She arranged for a hearing with Coast Guard officials and the matter was settled in a couple of hours. Still, the whole affair left Taggart with a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even so, the entire incident was, oddly enough, hardly the most hard-to-swallow event of his week in Egersund. No, that honor belonged to Eva Forsgård, the woman who had fallen off Time Bandit and who he had rescued - after their little swim with Killer Whales.
He was a little curious when Dina Bauer handed Eva's contact information over to him, but had thought little about it until Sigrid left in the wee hours after their first meeting. He looked at the number then at his watch and had decided he'd call her in the morning. And he did call, just before noon the next day. She asked how he was doing, then she wanted to know if she could visit with him on the boat. She had, she said, something she needed to talk to him about.
As it happened Eva Forsgård arrived a few hours after the Norwegian Coast Guard rendered their verdict and freed Time Bandit from her shackles. Henry had felt like celebrating until he saw the woman walking down to the marina; Eva seemed careworn and vaguely depressed - and she was alone. He stepped off the Bandit and helped her up the swim steps, and she accepted his offer of tea. When he came back up to the cockpit he found that she had discovered Clyde, or maybe it was the other way around. She had bent over to say hello and Clyde had promptly sat in front of her and begun licking her face.
"Well, that's a first," he said as he passed a cup of tea over the pup's head. "I've never seen him take to someone like this before."
"He wasn't here when I was aboard last month, was he?"
"No. He found me in Bergen."
"He found you?"
"Yes. He was alone, wandering the streets. That's how he found me."
"I see."
"Do you? Excellent!"
"I keep forgetting...you are the comedian."
"I hope you'll pardon me for saying so, but it sure looks like you could use a comedian right about now."
She nodded. "You are right. I could."
"Okay, look. I'm not a mind reader. Please come right out and tell me what's the matter."
She looked away for a moment, at least until Clyde licked her on the chin again, then she smiled and rubbed the pup's neck for a moment. "You are a good boy, I can tell already," she said, and Clyde promptly laid down and rolled over, presenting his belly.
"That's amazing," Taggart said.
"What is?"
"When they lay down in front of you like that they want their belly rubbed. It's like the ultimate sign of acceptance."
Eva began rubbing Clyde's belly and the old boy groaned. "Man, have you made a friend today," Henry added.
"I could use a new friend, Henry."
He heard the words, felt the pain behind them. "What's happened?"
"Peter has left me."
"What? Why?"
"I think because we, you and I, made love after the encounter."
"But how could he possibly know that?"
"Because I am pregnant, and it turns out that Peter cannot have babies."
Taggart scratched the tip of his nose and blinked a few times as he reacted to the news. "And you're saying that I'm, like, the father, right?"
"Yes."
"I don't know what to say."
"Anything positive would be greatly appreciated."
"Well hell, better late than never, darlin'!" he said, standing up and grinning like a madman. "Goddam!" he screamed at the top of his voice. "I'm gonna be a dad! Fuckin'-A! Alright!"
"You are not angry?"
"Angry? Are you kidding me? Damn, woman, stand up and hug me! Fast!"
And she did, too.
The three of them walked up to the Thai restaurant for some soup (and sliced steak) and he let her talk and talk. Peter had been grievously offended by the whole affair, she told him, then he had asked that she make arrangements to live someplace else. The problem was therefore quite simple. She wanted to see how Henry felt about the baby before she decided what to do about it.
"What do you mean, what to do about it?"
"It is still time. I could terminate this now with little risk of harm to myself."
"Well, yeah, but the kid might not like it so much."
She nodded. "True, but I am not so sure I want to raise a child by myself. I know that may be considered selfish, but..."
"But it is your decision. And I understand."
She nodded. "What was most important to me was your reaction. What you want. Because I have always thought that the father should help choose in a situation like this."
"You do know that I am ill, right?"
"No? You are with illness?"
"Yes, very much. Cancer."
"You are being treated, correct?"
He shrugged. "A little, but mainly to buy a little time."
"A little? what does that mean?"
"It means I hope to make it to Christmas."
He could see it in her eyes, on her face. As in: Balloon, meet Hatpin.
Her eyes turned red first, then the skin over her nose went through the visible spectrum to crimson. Her left eye began twitching, then the left margins of her lips. Tears repressed gave way to a sudden, deep gulping-sob, and not once since his diagnosis had anyone reacted quite like this. The other patrons in the restaurant looked at him like he was Satan incarnate, which somehow only made the moment that much more confusing. Then Clyde got in on the act and stood with his front paws on her lap - and then the real slobber-fest got underway.
There was nothing he could do now so he sat back and waited for Clyde to finish, then he paid the bill and helped her out of her seat. Once she was out in the fresh air she calmed a little and Clyde walked along pressed into her thigh - as if he alone was capable of holding her up, of helping her face the gales of human folly. Once onboard he ran below and put on his favorite Sinatra-Jobim CD, then he dashed topsides and held her up - until she felt him dancing. She put one hand around his waist, the other on his shoulder, then she leaned into him, her face on his chest...and then they danced around the deck under their very own dome of starlight, just a little bit of stardust ready to fuse in the night.
Clyde looked at them and smiled at the unavoidable consequences of being human. Oh, how he loved life that night.
+++++
"What was that song you sang to last night?" she asked as they lay together the next morning.
"Dindi, I think."
"I could have danced all night," she sang, smiling to a tune all her own.
"Ah. My Fair Lady. And yes, you are indeed."
