The lift carried him to the third and top floor. Laughter, bleating horns, feet on concrete barely registered.
Still working by rote, he entered his elegant hall, made his way to the kitchen, and leaned his cane against the counter to pour a tall glass of water. Hydration, that’s what he needed. He’d hydrate, and things would even out in his head.
He carried the glass with him onto his large terrace. He could distance himself here in this lovely alcove that overlooked the sea, and tonight he needed distance. Besides, there’d be no writing. Not tonight. And didn’t that just send a chill to his bones?
Maybe he was merely exhausted. There’d been the adrenaline rush when he helped the child. But that wouldn’t have interfered with his work.
No, it had to have been Samantha. Her existence. Her essence.
But no woman should have the power to stop his words.
Why on earth had he kissed her? He hadn’t meant to. Absolutely not. Neither of them wanted or needed a relationship. And hadn’t he promised he’d remain aloof? From any woman?
Except.
Except what? He couldn’t quantify the time he’d spent with her. She made him feel carefree, lightheaded. Things came alive when seen through her eyes.
And, yet, there remained that puzzle: the who, what, and why of the other she.
He had no answers. He hadn’t changed. He still didn’t like the idea of visions or mystical stuff. Every encounter with the fleshly Samantha made him wonder what sort of unreality he’d roamed in when he heard those whispery wails. And he hadn’t a clue if they were merely the workings of an overactive imagination or messages sent for a reason. He did know they had put him on his knees again—figuratively, of course.
And now she, the real she, was here. And he’d kissed her.
Hey, God, a little wisdom would be much appreciated. I sure hope you’re the one pushing the buttons. I mean, remember me? Theodore Anderson? Not your best representative. Lots of questions down here.
Right.
Teo set his lamp on low, eased into a recliner, and tried to clear his head.
Like a top tightly wound, Samantha seemed ready to unspin and twirl out of the scene at the slightest misstep. He had to be careful. Very careful.
Which meant, he shouldn’t have kissed her, however lightly.
Fine. No more of that. She was a woman in obvious pain who needed a friend. He knew how to be that. Hadn’t he been prepared to be merely a man who practiced prayer for her?
Her expression as they’d left the hospital had been filled with admiration. For him. Not because he had money or could write. But because of a simple act of human kindness. The sort of thing anyone would have done.
Perhaps meeting her sister-in-law—okay, ex-sister-in-law—would shed some light on the conundrum that was Samantha.
Samantha. Who came in from sailing with Martine looking as if she’d shed years and all the cares of her life, and yet who sometimes sat across from him with haunted eyes.
Maybe that’s why he’d seen her before he met her. He tried to imagine how those eyes would have terrified him if they’d looked at him from the face of a randomly met woman. He’d have run so far and so fast...and he’d never have looked back.
Instead, the puzzle intrigued him. And, because he was intrigued, he pursued a relationship that he otherwise wouldn’t have.
The fact that it also provoked him into seeing Samantha as an actual woman couldn’t be discounted.
Teo Anderson, man on the run, had paused. And was taking stock.
Eventually, he shed his clothes and prepared for bed. He didn’t want to write tonight. Instead, he allowed thoughts to fill him and take him where they would. A real person instead of an apparition was a gift he mustn’t lose, but he might if he weren’t careful. She was a butterfly with a broken wing. If he tried to capture her, all the fairy dust she carried might wipe off, and she could die.
He didn’t want that on his conscience. Ever.
He’d like to understand the source of her pain. He was a writer, after all. Curious creatures, writers. They felt the need to know even when it wasn’t any of their business.
He tossed, because, yes, his hip hurt, and no position felt really comfortable. Finally, he must have slept.
A parade of faces appeared, each calling something he couldn’t hear. He didn’t recognize any of them. Why did they cry out?
He turned into the pillow. And woke. Or thought he did. His eyes opened, and he saw her face, weeping pitifully. She was on a small boat, alone, while the sail batted madly back and forth, the sound a loud slap accompanied by a groan from the wooden spar and the grating of metal against metal. Why didn’t she tighten the rope that hung by her side?
“Samantha?” he whispered.
She turned as if she heard his voice. So he said, more confidently, “The rope? Don’t you want to grab that what-do-you-call-it? That line?”
Tears continued to stream down her face, but she reached out and took the line, then wrapped it around the metal thing...the winch. And the sail came under control.
“Thank you,” she mouthed. “Thank you.”
And then she was gone.
He puzzled over the dream as he prepared his morning coffee. Had he actually been awake when he spoke to her? If not, had there been some bit to understand, something he should take away from what he’d seen? Something about control?
But whose and how?
19
Samantha
With you, I ventured out of sync, an aberration only,
A summer’s whiff, a pretense...
Sam paced at the pensione’s gate, waiting for Lena and Phil. “Breathe,” she told her body. “Calmati.” She liked the Italian way of telling someone to calm down. She whispered it again. “Calmati.” Calm-a-tee. Calm yourself.
All she had to do was stay strong against a personality that had always slammed her less-vocal one out of the way. Why, she’d like to know, did Lena hang on to the relationship now that Sam was down for the count? Did the other woman relish the game that much?
Lena was still the children’s aunt. Sam got that. But right now she wished her sister-in-law had dumped her after Greg decamped.
She grabbed two of the wrought-iron spikes on the fence. Throwing a glance skyward, she said, “Fine, that wasn’t nice. I’m open for improvement, you know.” At least, she’d like to be. “Especially if we could speed it up.”
A long and very fancy something stopped at the curb. Lena opened the car door, slid one slender leg out, and followed it to a standing position. She glanced around, then reached for Sam, kissing cheeks and saying, “Oh, my dear, so quaint. I never heard of this town of yours before, of course, but I can see why you decided to stay. Much nicer than one of the cities. Your hotel, though,” —and here her gaze flicked over it— “does leave a little to be desired, but I suppose it’s good for the budget. Frugal Sam.” She patted Sam’s hand and smiled. Used to this, Sam returned the smile with the same lack of humor.
“Where shall we go?” Lena asked.
Sam directed them to a café at the beach where they ordered cappuccinos all around.
“We just love the hotel you found for us,” Lena said. “The kids wanted to take turns with the bidet once they discovered it, but they ended up giggling so much, Phil sent them out for pizza. We left them in the concierge’s charge. So nice to have that service available so we could get away to see you.”
“I bet they’ve grown.”
“Oh, my, yes. But you’ll see for yourself at the lake. This trip’s going to be good for them. I don’t know why we didn’t bring them over earlier.” She looked at her husband. “Why didn’t we?”
“I think we decided they’d get more out of it when they were older. Which they now are.”
“That makes sense.”
“And” —he patted her knee— “you always felt you needed time away.”
“Just the two of us. That makes even more sense. But,” Lena said in a braci
ng manner, as if trying to convince herself, “the experience will be educational. I love to think of them trying to buy things with their smattering of French and Spanish. I wish I could watch from a distance.”
Sam leaned forward. “Well, if the locals there are anything like the ones I’ve been dealing with here in Reggio, the kids will make fast friends and get all the linguistic help they need. Florence, on the other hand...”
“Not nice?”
“When did you last spend any time in the city?”
“I don’t know,” Lena said, checking with Phil. “It must have been ten years ago, wouldn’t you say?”
“At least,” Phil agreed.
“Well, there are thousands of gypsies now, so nothing on your body is sacred. One of the girls living with Stefi was robbed when a woman and a bunch of children surrounded her, and the kids literally climbed all over the poor girl. She lost her passport, camera, and money, all because she wouldn’t slug the little dears or kick them away. I don’t think she knew what was happening at first.” Sam remembered how appalled she’d felt when the girl told the story, and how creepy the gypsies had seemed after that.
“How awful.”
“I loved touring the museums, but I was ready to leave.”
“I hope Stefi survives.”
“She carries her money in a pouch under her clothes and tries to look Italian.”
“Good for her,” Lena said and then chatted gaily about inconsequentials, including the famous Theo Anderson.
“We should invite him to dinner,” Phil said. “Perhaps he can recommend some place we’d like. Do you have his number?”
“I do.” Sam fished in her wallet for the card Teo had given her. “But no cell phone.”
Phil handed over his, and Sam made the call.
“Why don’t we meet at the small trattoria near the beach café?” Teo said after accepting the invitation. “You remember it? Trattoria da Mario?”
“Where I had the mussels?”
“Exactly.”
Lena and Phil drove back to their hotel, returning a few hours later, still without children. “They had so much fun with the person we hired this afternoon that we kept her on,” Lena said. “Phil and I don’t want them competing for attention this evening.”
Of course they didn’t.
Teo waited just inside the door. “So pleased.” Lena’s enhanced eyelashes waved at him. Phil extended a hand, and they moved to their table.
While the others studied their menu, Sam asked Teo about the boy he’d helped.
“I stopped by the grandmother’s this afternoon. He seems quite proud of his cast. He even let me sign it.”
“Turning the others green with envy.”
“Of course,” Teo said. “His nonna couldn’t stop thanking me and apologizing for the trouble.”
“No sign of the boy’s mama?”
“I don’t think she’s around. From what the children said, they and their papa live with the grandmother—or she lives with them. Perhaps I’ll discover more on my next visit.”
“There’ll be a next visit?”
Lena fluttered her fingers between them. “You can’t leave us out of the conversation, Sam. Who are these children? What are you discussing? Tell me.”
“I’m sorry.” Teo gave the rough outline of the incident, which prompted Sam’s, “He’s not mentioning his heroics.”
“Nothing heroic. Just simple humanity.”
“Right. Who else stopped to help?”
Once Lena had oohed and ahhed and so-sorried, they ordered their food and drink, and Phil and Lena began chatting lawyer stuff and Washington stuff with Teo. They continued as Sam forked her way through a huge plate of mussels in garlic and lemon sauce. Over coffee, the three others discussed skiing and travel, then broached the subject of Teo’s accident and his new expatriate life as a writer. Sam dipped biscotti and studied wallpaper.
She shouldn’t have been surprised when Lena invited Teo to join them at the villa. Lena’s ever-expanding circle always included people like Teo—the famous or the would-be famous. “Perhaps you could drive Sam up?”
“I’d be happy to, if you think you have room.”
“It’s a huge place. And besides, Stefi will be there. You must meet her. And we’ve decided to celebrate Sam’s birthday—late.”
“Well, in that case, I must come.” Teo winked at Sam.
She longed for the evening to end. She was tired of the wallpaper and tired of trying to care about the conversation. Petty of her, perhaps, but she wasn’t a lawyer and she didn’t know the people they discussed. Nor did she care about any of it.
Fine. She was petty.
She glanced around the restaurant, hoping for some interesting faces to study. And found two, which gave her several pleasant moments while she imagined the life of that white-haired man and woman who seemed genuinely pleased with each other and with their meal. The man had more and fluffier hair than his wife—Sam checked the hands and found wedding rings on each—and he sat straighter than she did, but didn’t he seem to delight in her? What must that be like, married and in love after all those years?
She had to look away. She concentrated on managing the smile on her face so it wouldn’t droop.
The meal ended. Phil paid the bill. And the three of them squeezed into the Maserati.
Lena barely waited for Phil to shift into gear before waving toward the departing Teo and saying, “Very nice. I think you’ve done well this time.”
“We’re only friends.”
And that’s the way it was going to stay. Sam couldn’t say that to Lena, who thought only of the emotional distance from Greg. If Sam could help it, Lena would never learn the rest.
“Well, he seems interested. Don’t let him get away.”
As long as Teo didn’t repeat the kiss or try for anything more, she was perfectly happy to keep him.
It was the more she dreaded. More always got her in trouble.
The Lago Como villa exactly suited Lena’s elegant style. And it didn’t take long for Stefi to declare this her favorite part of Italy.
It was gorgeous. But Sam felt as if she’d been bustled here and pushed there, and if she had to agree that the vista was breathtaking one more time, she’d scream.
Lena and Stefi collected a fancy torta from the local bakery and decorated the villa with balloons and uncorked bottles of champagne for the birthday party. The fuss made Sam feel guilty for her bad humor. When had someone last held a party for her?
And this had all been Lena’s idea.
Amazing.
When it was time to distribute gifts, Stefi handed her mother a pair of black leather gloves from the street market in Firenze. Stefi’s hug and her, “You’re the best,” brought on sniffles.
“You darling,” Sam said, returning the hug and dashing at her tears. How had she ever produced such a gorgeous and wonderful daughter?
Lena and Phil always gave money, but this time they added a few lacy things. And a cell phone.
“It’s time, my dear sister-in-law, that you joined the modern age,” Lena said. “Here’s the SIM card. I’m sure Teo can help you figure it out.”
Sam blushed—of course, she blushed—at the lingerie, but wasn’t that sweet of Lena to give her a phone?
“Or I can show you.” Stefi turned to her aunt. “Thank you so much. Daniel and I have been trying forever to convince Mama to get a new one.”
Lena waved Stefi away. “Yes, well, now she has no excuse not to keep in touch with every one of us.”
Which made Sam wonder at this new interest Lena showed in Sam-the-ex-sister-in-law as opposed to the old Sam-married-to-Greg.
Teo’s gift showed up next in Sam’s hands. He must have passed it to her, but she could only stare down at the elaborately wrapped package. “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she began.
“Stop. Just open it.” Lena inched closer on the couch. “We’re all dying to see what it is.”
Sam tried to salvage th
e paper, which made the process agonizingly slow. Teo offered his knife to cut through the packaging.
Wrapped inside was the gilded antique music box she’d admired in the village. How had Teo known? She hadn’t praised it more than other quaint or lovely things she’d touched, and yet it was perfect.
“Your eyes lingered on it,” Teo said, answering the question she hadn’t posed aloud. He’d been a dear since they’d arrived, even winking at her during one of Lena’s name-dropping monologues. But this?
Sam lifted the inlaid top and let the notes of Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” wash over her. “Oh, my,” she whispered and bit her lip. Had any man—any person—ever given her so perfect a gift?
“There are other songs,” he said. “I believe this has a choice of four.”
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Wishing she could give him a hug that wouldn’t embarrass them both. At least there’d been no further pursuit, no more lip touching or cheek grazing.
After the cake and the gifts, Stefi went off with her cousins to play at something, and Phil offered to pour more champagne. His wife was the only taker. But as Lena and Phil corralled Teo into another discussion of something that held no interest for her, Sam had time to think about her music box, which led to thoughts of how kind Teo was, which brought her focus to him.
And to a study of his face. He didn’t notice when she traced his profile—in her mind, of course—down the tapering nose, to his lips, and then to his strong chin. Had she been aware of that chin before? Or the expressive quality of his lips when seen from the side?
As if he sensed her gaze, he turned toward her and smiled. It was a conspirator’s smile, slightly apologetic, as if he were saying, “I wish I could talk to you instead, but what am I to do?”
So she smiled back and nodded.
“You like this color better or this other one?” Stefi asked her mother, holding up two bottles of red nail polish.
“There’s a difference?”
“Of course there is.” She held the colors closer to Sam.
“I must be colorblind.”
Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4) Page 15