Swim Deep

by BETH KERY

  He held up his hand, cutting me off mid-sentence.

  “I’m serious, I don’t know. I won’t claim that I understand the depths of Evan Halifax. He’s a dark horse sometimes. But I will say this: it doesn’t surprise me that you caught his interest. It doesn’t surprise me at all. You’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you have your own unique vision and you defend it, despite other people’s opinions. You’re genuinely kind, which is a characteristic in very short supply in the world nowadays. But I wanted you know about showing him your paintings that time before you two ever hooked up. I wanted you to know… before tomorrow.”

  Before you marry him and it’s too late.

  “Anna?”

  I started guiltily at the sound of Evan’s voice behind me. I turned. He stood at the top of the terrace stairs. His light-infused gray eyes—gold and silver combined—flickered between Tommy and me. His brow creased in polite puzzlement.

  “Is everything okay?” Evan asked, walking toward us.

  “Yeah,” I said brightly. I put out my hand. He took it and bent to place a kiss on my temple. Determined to ignore my anxiety at Tommy’s strange confession, I turned my chin up. Our mouths met in a warm, lingering kiss. For a too-brief moment, my world narrowed down to Evan’s scent and taste.

  “Tommy was just doing his duty, checking in with the bride before the wedding,” I told him softly.

  “Quieting bridal nerves?” Evan asked.

  Tommy looked away at Evan’s sliding stare in his direction, so I spoke for him.

  “There wasn’t a single nerve to quiet,” I insisted, taking Evan’s hand and urging him toward the stairs and the gardens.

  That vague, unsettled feeling I’d acquired on the terrace with Tommy stayed with me through dinner like a sour stomach that wasn’t bad enough to send me to bed, but unpleasant enough to taint what should have been a beautiful evening.

  Evan had catered a meal from Caprice, which we ate alfresco. The conversation was good, the food excellent, the wine sublime, and the view of the bay like something you’d see on the cover of Condé Nast Traveler.

  As for myself, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the Evan-portion of that ideal picture. I caught him a few times watching me with his typical focused, calm stare while he laughed at one of my father’s lame jokes, or listened attentively while my mom explained one of the many challenges of teaching art to public high school students. If I’d had to interpret that stare of his, I’d guess I was doing an awful job of acting like I didn’t have a care in the universe. I’d told Jessica that I’d fallen in love with him because he saw me, after all. So I had no call for complaining when he did so, even when I was trying to hide something.

  As it turned out, there was more to Evan’s concern for me that evening than I’d ever begun to imagine.

  At around eight o’clock, the doorbell rang. Everyone paused in the mellow after-dinner conversation, looking blank at the banal interruption. Evan was the only one who reacted as if he had expected it. He stood and caught my attention with a tilt of his chin, then held out his hand.

  “Anna? There’s someone I want you to meet. Please everyone, go on without us. There’s more cake and coffee,” Evan said.

  I gave Jessica a big, reassuring smile and followed him inside.

  There was a man standing at the front door, a briefcase dangling from his fist.

  “Anna, I’d like you to meet Jerome Hathaway. He’s an old friend. Jerome, this is Anna Solas.”

  I shook hands with him. “I’m glad to meet another one of Evan’s friends. Will you be able to attend the wedding tomorrow?”

  “I’m not that type of friend,” Hathaway said, his tone clipped.

  That sour-stomach feeling amplified briefly into full-fledged nausea, but I couldn’t have said why, exactly. Bewildered, I followed Evan along with this friend-who-wasn’t-a-friend into a large study. Hathaway pulled some documents out of his briefcase and set them on a big desk, all brisk and business-like. Evan sat down next to me and grasped my hand.

  “I’m sorry to leave this until the final moment,” he said, speaking directly to me in a low voice. “But there hasn’t been much opportunity beforehand. I want to make sure certain matters are put into place before we marry. Certain legal things.”

  “Oh,” I said, glancing over at Hathaway uneasily. “Uh… what legal things?”

  “I want to make it clear what you’ll inherit in the event of my death. I know to someone who’s so young, it must seem uncomfortable to speak of it. But it’s important that things like this are set into place now.”

  “Not just in the case of Evan’s death. In the case of divorce, as well,” Hathaway added.

  I strained to keep my expression neutral. This was part of the grownup world I was entering. I had to deal with it.

  “You mean a prenuptial agreement, don’t you?” I asked Evan.

  Evan gave Hathaway a sharp glance. Hathaway looked down at Evan’s silent reproach. I understood Evan was angry at his lawyer’s insensitive introduction of the topic. His tone sounded level enough when he spoke to me, though.

  “Yes. Jerome has prepared a will and a prenuptial agreement for us to sign.” He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “I can tell from the look on your face that you think this is cruel of me, Anna. But—”

  “I don’t think it’s cruel,” I interrupted. “I realize that you’re a very successful man. You have homes and cars and boats. You have investments and savings, and God knows what else.” God knows, because I certainly don’t. But I met his stare squarely. “None of that has anything to do with me. I don’t own much of anything of value. If, God forbid, our marriage doesn’t work out—”

  “This isn’t a matter of me being cynical. It’s a matter of practicality,” Evan interrupted.

  “I’d walk away with what I brought into the marriage,” I continued, unfazed. “Please don’t think that I have a problem with that.”

  “Evan has provided you with much, much more than the clothes on your back, even in the case of divorce. You’re a very fortunate young woman, Ms. Solas,” Hathaway said with a bitter, sly little smile that I didn’t like. I didn’t like him.

  Hathaway handed me a packet of papers. I stared at it without comprehending much until Hathaway flipped a page and pointed at a paragraph. My eyes widened when I saw the number and the amount of zeroes that followed it.

  “Is this the will or the prenuptial agreement?” I asked hollowly.

  “The prenup,” Hathaway said as he walked behind the desk. From the tone of his voice, I understood that Hathaway had drawn up the agreement to Evan’s specifications, but didn’t agree with the wisdom of it. In fact, I had the impression he’d probably argued heatedly with Evan over the topic.

  I was stunned. It was more money than I’d ever imagined in my life.

  I looked at Evan, confused. He planned to give me that much money, even if I divorced him on a whim? He gave me a small smile.

  “Your father has a legal background. We’ll have him take a look at these, as well. But they’re pretty cut and dried. I don’t want you to have to worry, in any circumstance.”

  I turned my head, so that Hathaway couldn’t hear or read my lips, and whispered to Evan.

  “It’s too much. I don’t expect it. Any of it.”

  His smile struck me as a little bitter and very sad.

  “It’s for putting up with me. No matter for how long. Who knows, in a few months, you may think that number is way too low,” he said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he stood.

  “I’ll go and get your father. You two can read through the documents thoroughly together. Jerome is going to stay to answer any questions, and of course, you or your father are welcome to call a family attorney if further consultation is needed.”

  My dad came to the study, and Evan insisted on giving us privacy. After staying for a w
hile, Hathaway eventually left as well, saying he’d pick up the documents in the morning.

  Nearly two hours later, my father and I sat together at a round table in Evan’s study, the documents sprawled out before us.

  “He’s a strange man, your fiancé,” my dad said, looking up from rereading the prenuptial agreement.

  “Strange? You said earlier that the terms were incredibly generous.”

  “They are. You could divorce him in six months, if you chose, and he’d still be obligated to not only pay off your remaining college debt, but to give you five million dollars.”

  “I’m not going to divorce him in six months. That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know that, sweetie,” he said, squeezing my hand. Despite his reassurance, the creases of concern that remained on his usually smooth forehead bothered me. He noticed my expression and smiled. “What do I know about these things, really? Wealthy people operate very differently than we would, when it comes to marriage. Marriage is a legal contract, after all. I suppose it’s better, to get it all arranged beforehand instead of risking having to battle it out in the courts later?” His pale blue eyes sharpened on me. “He must care about you a great deal, to be willing to give so much.”

  “Do you really think so, Dad?”

  I waited anxiously for his response. It was a little long in coming for my comfort.

  “Yes. I believe that he cares about you. I see the way he watches you across a room. I see the way you watch him. I happened to agree with what your mother said when she noticed the same thing. That’s some powerful stuff, Dick, she said. Your sister told me that you told her that Evan sees you, and if that’s true, than he sees something special. Just like I do.” He gave one of his practical-Dad shrugs. “But then again, you know what my German grandma used to say. Liebe ist blind.”

  Love is blind, indeed.

  “Thanks, Dad. That’s a real helper.”

  He chuckled. “It all comes down to instinct in the end, doesn’t it? The question is, is this what you want to do? Whatever you decide, I’m one hundred percent behind you, now and forever.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, covering his hand with mine and squeezing. “Can I tell you something?”

  It happened sometimes, annoyingly, that the small voice of a thirteen-year-old girl would come out of my mouth when I was with my dad and feeling vulnerable.

  “Always,” he said, just like I knew he would.

  “I’m more nervous about Lake Tahoe than I am about the idea of marrying Evan,” I admitted shakily.

  I’d told my family about our plans to move to Evan’s house on the eastern Tahoe shore in some of our early phone conversations. I’d only confessed to my parents when they’d arrived here, at Tiburon, that the Tahoe home used to belong to Elizabeth Madaster, Evan’s dead wife. Even when I had told them the truth, however, I’d made a point of making it seem like I was just mentioning an inconsequential detail.

  “You’re worried you’re going to be walking in the shadow of his first wife?”

  I nodded, avoiding his stare. Hearing my dad put my fear into words made my throat tight, as if I were sucking in oxygen through a narrow tube.

  “I don’t think that’s anything you need to worry about. Not in the least bit.”

  I met his gaze, amazed by his blunt certainty.

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  “Because I saw the way he watches you across a crowded room, like you two were the only people on the planet. Stuff that powerful rarely happens once in a lifetime. But twice? Your man may have been blessed with an unfair allotment of gifts, but no one gets that lucky,” Dad said wryly. He held up a pen and nodded down at the document. “What do you want to do, honey? I trust your judgment.”

  “I want to marry him. I love him. So much.”

  My dad nodded once and pushed the prenup toward me. I signed.

  We were married the next afternoon. The sun shone down on us while we faced one another and pledged our love and fidelity. From up on the hillside, we had a clear view of San Francisco, the bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  The surroundings were idyllic. Almost too perfect. Too civilized. I had this strange thought in the middle of the proceedings that I would have preferred crashing surf on a rocky beach, rugged mountains, and sunlight penetrating fast-moving clouds. The uncompromising, almost harsh beauty of that imagined scene somehow matched better how I felt when I looked into Evan’s gray eyes as we took our vows.

  I’m complicated, Anna.

  Everything went smoothly, despite my random thoughts about marrying Evan in that other, moody landscape.

  Too quickly, it was time for my parents and Jessica to leave. Tommy and Ellen left just before the limousine arrived to take my family to the airport. I became unusually emotional saying goodbye to them all.

  After the limousine disappeared down the road, Evan took my hand and led me inside the house. He plucked some tissues out of a box in the kitchen and handed them to me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, wiping my cheeks. He was examining me with a sort of patient compassion, like an adult regards a sobbing child. I was embarrassed. Saying goodbye to Mom, Dad, and Jessica had brought on a strong upsurge of homesickness, even stronger than I’d ever experienced moving alone to San Francisco for college.

  This time, saying goodbye to my parents had been different. I wasn’t their little girl anymore. I was a married woman. It had never struck me harder that I was about to enter an exciting dream, but also an alien world.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted finally, giving my cheeks one last swipe with the tissues and forcing a smile. “I don’t know where all that came from.”

  “Weddings are emotional occasions. You were sad to see your family go,” Evan said, grabbing my forearms and pulling me closer to his body. “That’s completely natural.” He leaned down and brushed his mouth against mine.

  “But I can’t say that I’m sorry to have you all to myself again,” he murmured. His low rumbling voice and warm breath against my lips brought back vivid memories of last night. Our wedding night. It had been decadent and beautiful, what had transpired between us in the darkness.

  “Do we really have to leave for Tahoe this afternoon?” I asked, nibbling at his mouth. “Can’t we stay here, in Tiburon for a while? Can’t we just enjoy each other a little longer?”

  He abruptly caught my mouth in a drugging kiss. I felt his body respond. I felt sure I’d convinced him.

  “We’ll leave as scheduled,” he said a moment later, stepping away from me.

  “But—”

  “You deserve a honeymoon right now, not in a few months. I realize that. This bank acquisition couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You’re not disappointing me,” I exclaimed truthfully.

  Soon after he’d asked me to marry him, Evan had explained to me that one of the companies in his fund—a major bank—was going to acquire another major bank. I didn’t really understand all the details, except to say that it was the type of business transaction that would take months, if not years, and ruin a lot of people’s vacation plans. Evan had suggested that we move to Tahoe right after we were married, where we both could work, and yet we’d still have time together in a beautiful, secluded place. He proposed a European tour for our honeymoon a few months down the line, when his work schedule had cleared.

  How could I be disappointed with those plans?

  “You’ll love it in Tahoe, Anna. Trust me. Please?”

  He’d seen the doubt on my face. “Of course I will.”

  He dropped one last chaste kiss on my mouth before he walked away.

  We drove from Tiburon to Tahoe. When I asked Evan why he wanted to go by car versus plane—I knew he often used a private plane service—his answer surprised me.

&
nbsp; “I realize you’re leaving your entire world behind, marrying me and moving to a place you’ve never seen,” he said, his eyes trained on the road in front of us. “The drive will prove to you that we’re not going to be living that far from the familiar. You can hire a driver and escape back to San Francisco in a matter of hours, if you should want to.”

  “Don’t say that,” I admonished. He glanced over at me swiftly. “I’m not going to want to escape anything. I’m going to love it as much as I love you.”

  He gave that small, distracted smile, and turned his attention back to the road.

  We talked a good deal on the first few hours of the trip. It seemed to me, however, that Evan grew more and more withdrawn as we began our steep climb into the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

  In the silence, I had the opportunity to reflect on my nervousness about going to Tahoe instead of staying at Evan’s home in Tiburon. Or maybe the quiet and the unknown road unwinding in front of me caused that charged issue to push up to the surface of my awareness like a splinter being rejected by the body. Evan had told me that he bought his home in Tiburon six years ago, after his wife had died.

  But he’d lived at Tahoe with her.

  With Elizabeth.

  Why did he want to take me, his new bride, to a place where he’d lived with, and lost, his first wife? The question started to expand inside me. I was about to explode with it as we left the main highway and took a road that dipped and climbed through a rugged mountain landscape.

  “Evan?” I began uneasily after a pause of us not speaking for nearly an hour.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I know the road is twisty and it may seem like I’m going a little fast. But I’ve driven this highway since I was sixteen. You’re safe. I would rather you had me drive you around here, though, until you get used to the mountain roads.”

  “No. It’s not that.” At least not entirely. I actually did appreciate the reassurance about the curving, steep road and his deft, swift driving. I placed a hand on my lurching stomach.

  “You lived in this house. The one we’re going to, I mean. With Elizabeth. Isn’t that right?”