Far From The Sea We Know Read Online Free PDF Page A

Are you in the marine sciences or—”
    “Yes, I can imagine it. ‘Hints of ethanol
with a bold PVC finish.’ At least you still seem to have your
eyesight.”
    “Ah…”
    “Ethology,” she answered. “Animal behavior.
I like to watch.”
    She swirled the wine in the glass, her eyes
steady yet obviously suppressing a laugh as she added, “Just a dumb
joke that we hear too often. But endlessly amusing, our fellow
animal travelers, aren’t they? Are you out in the field or stuck in
the lab?”
    “I’m happiest when I’m out there.”
    “Here’s to ‘out there,’ then. No wonder Dad
likes you.” She raised her glass and turned to her mother. “This
salmon is amazing!”
    “I was happiest with the one you caught for
your fifteenth birthday.”
    “Oh yes, the same day you caught me with
Billy Canaan.”
    “Him!” Bell said. “A career rascal, if ever
there was one. Came to a bad end, I’m sure. But taking up my former
topic, from years ago as a young man, I still recall the
astonishment I felt about the origin of wine. The selfsame yeast
molds that convert the sugars of the grape to alcohol live on its
skin. How convenient, how elegant.”
    “Also the yeasts that can turn it to
vinegar,” Penny said. “Billy runs a winery now, Dad. Married with
six kids and two mortgages. Saw him three summers ago in
Mendocino.”
    “California,” Margaret Bell said without
looking up. “Too easy. I’m looking into starting a vineyard here,
by the way. No, it is possible with the right vines. Six kids? If he could get his grape yield on the sunny hills down there
to match his own, he could pay off at least one mortgage, I should
think.”
     
    The meal was by far Matthew’s best in years.
He was not surprised, as Margaret Bell had long held a reputation
as a master cook. Penny, however, was a surprise. In spite of her
attitude—or maybe because of it—she had hit him where it really
hurts.
    “More pie, Matthew?” Margaret Bell already
had it heading toward his plate, so he acquiesced.
    “And some coffee to go with it, of course,”
she added. “My after-dinner blend.”
    He looked out the window at the fading
sunset and tried to remember the last time he had felt the warmth
of a real home.
    Penny, her piercing gaze directly on
Matthew, suddenly spoke. “Dad tells me you’ve seen a purple whale,
Mr. Amati. That must have been a treat.”
    He glanced at her father who just said, “I
fancied it might be good to have someone in on this who could
provide us with an outside perspective and took the liberty of
giving Penny a brief rundown. A fresh eye, yes? I hope you don’t
mind, Matthew.”
    Bell got up. His wife began to clear the
table and Matthew started to help.
    “Please, go ahead,” Margaret Bell said. “No
arguments. I can take care of this in fifteen minutes, as most of
the cooking pans are already washed.” She looked at Matthew. “You
shouldn’t be on the road going home too late.”
    She left no possibility of a rebuttal.
Matthew put down his dinner plate and trailed after the father and
daughter through open double doors. Penny must have inherited her
height and lankiness from her mother, as she was inches taller than
her father.
    The room they entered was entirely paneled
in knotty pine that had been left to age into a pale amber grayness
while still retaining some of the warmth of the living wood. The
room was an elongated octagon capped by a cathedral ceiling that
peaked almost five meters above the floor. Bay windows looked along
the coast on one end and into the woods behind the house on the
other. The remaining walls had shelves carrying a multitude of
books, photographs, and paraphernalia from Bell’s journeys across
the seven seas. A sliding ladder gave access to the higher regions.
It seemed no one had made an effort to achieve a look, but the room
had the glow of a painting rich in detail and textures.
    “I’ve seen bears from this window,” Bell
said, walking over to the bay on