"Something to eat?" asked Drew when they reached the deck.
She shook her head. "You've talked me out of the breakfast habit," she told him. "How about a snack?"
"A snack?" Drew grimaced.
"Some fruit?"
"That's breakfast," objected Drew.
"It's a snack," she insisted, going inside to the kitchen and returning with an assortment of grapes, plums, peaches, and bananas.
Drew nibbled on a grape. "If you call it a snack, it doesn't seem so bad," he conceded with a grin.
After they'd eaten, he stretched and sighed. He pulled a tightly rolled paper from a basket beside his chair and unrolled a blueprint of the new Sedgwick Department Store that was being built in Daytona Beach.
Cathryn cleared the table and returned to curl up in a big lounge chair beside him where she sat reading through a large stack of mail that she'd brought with her, knowing that Drew had work to do this weekend. The morning was balmy, although the day threatened to be hot. Drew stood at the table, leaning over the blueprint and marking changes on it with a red pencil.
When he finally straightened, he looked at Cathryn with affection. She never complained about his bringing work with him or interrupted his thoughts when he was thinking. He couldn't help but believe that she must be lonely, waiting for him to be able to walk on the beach with her or for him to be ready to talk.
"You know," he said, "we've never brought Amanda up here with us. I meant to."
Cathryn looked up from her mail. She loved Amanda, but she liked Drew's attention for herself. She valued these weekends alone with him even when he had important things to do. It was a pleasure for her just to sit and read in his presence with the gentle ocean breeze wafting over them and the shore birds calling softly overhead.
"I'd like to have Amanda with us sometime, but I'm glad it's just us today," she told him.
"I thought you might be lonely, with me so busy," he said, gesturing at the blueprint. "Judy could bring Amanda up some weekend afternoon, and the three of you could visit while I work."
"I'm never lonely when I'm with you," she said.
Drew leaned over and held her face in his hand, smiling fondly. "What a nice thing for you to say," he said with feeling.
When his hand slid away, Cathryn tossed the stack of letters aside and stood up quickly, walking to the railing and looking toward the ocean. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood slowly massaging her elbows under the sleeves of her robe. What was wrong with her? He had been kind enough not to want her to be lonely, and he had suggested that she invite her favorite people in the whole world to assuage that loneliness. The complexity of her reaction puzzled her.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Drew walked up behind her and placed his hands, comforting and steady, upon her shoulders.
"I'm not sure," Cathryn said unhappily.
She turned within his embrace and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her cheek against the buttons on his shirt.
"Bear with me, Drew."
"Oh, I'll bear with you, all right. It's just that I don't know what's going on in your head unless you tell me. I'm not good at guessing games." He tilted her face toward his and kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes reflecting his concern. He wanted to share everything with her, and he wished she felt secure enough in their relationship to confide in him.
Cathryn sighed and smiled. "Want to go for a walk on the beach?" she asked.
"Sure. I'm sick of looking at these blueprints." Drew slipped his feet out of his leather sandals, and hand in hand they walked down the steps, past the big oak tree and to the dunes.
It was quiet for a Sunday afternoon. Far down the beach a lone surf caster was fishing, and a pair of children whooped and hollered in the distance. Two couples lay on beach towels in a miasma of coconut-scented suntan lotion. They didn't look up as Cathryn and Drew strolled past.
Cathryn stopped to pick up a seashell, a spiraled shell of some sort. It was an inch and a half long, with a creamy surface striped in shades of brown. Inside, she knew, its coiled interior was intricately whorled and shaped to shelter its former inhabitant. Today her own interior felt no less convoluted or intricate. And yet her interior—the way she was made inside—was meant to protect her, just as this shell was once protection for another creature. She slipped the shell into the pocket of her robe. Somehow, it seemed important to keep it.
"So what's the problem?" Drew asked finally when they were splashing along the edge of the water and getting their feet wet. Above them the sun shone brassy, bold. It was going to be miserably hot later on.
"Sharing you," she answered. She knew this sounded selfish, and it probably was. She knew it sounded unreasonable, too, but it was the way she felt and she wanted him to know.
Drew's eyebrows flew up. "Sharing me?"
She nodded. "I like being alone with you. I like it so much that I don't want anyone else around. I'm afraid another person would spoil it." Petty, perhaps, but true.
"Cathryn." His voice demanded that she look at him, so look at him she did. He gazed down at her, his eyes liquid like the sea, love springing up from their shining depths. They reached an outcropping of brown coquina rock, and Drew sat down on a flat surface, pulling Cathryn down beside him.
He opened his arms to her and clasped her to his chest so that she heard the sure, steady beat of his heart. It was reassuring, so rhythmic and strong, and his arms around her seemed a bulwark against apprehensions and misgivings.
"Sweetheart, you don't have to share me with anyone. It's just you and me, even when we're in a crowd. Don't you know that by now?"
Cathryn met his eyes, reading love and respect and commitment there. She sighed.
"Drew, maybe it's not the sharing. It's the fact that as long as we're away from everything else with our cell phones turned off and no other people, we don't have to face the real world and its problems."
"What problems?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
She wanted to say, "Your ex-wife." She wanted to say, "Your daughter." She wanted to say a lot of things, but she didn't, because once she put them into words, they could no longer ignore them, and for now, for as long as she could, she wanted to hide from reality.
He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes deep and dark and suddenly serious. "There's something you need to understand," he said. "You've got to remember that I'm here to support you and care for you and listen when you want to talk. The world and its problems are something that you and I share, and that's an aspect of sharing that you don't seem to have thought about at all."
She didn't think he understood what she'd meant, because she hadn't been able to tell him that the problems that loomed in their future all had to do with him and his past. And she couldn't spoil this moment now that he had spoken so earnestly and from the heart.
She slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, feeling nothing but gratitude for the kind of person he was. "I can't get used to having someone," she told him.
His arms locked around her as he buried his face in her hair. "Nor I," he said, his voice rough. "Nor I."
He kissed her gently on the mouth, and the poignant intensity of his lips communicated his utter involvement in her emotions. Her soul soared with joy; he cared about her. She had known, she kept knowing, but every time they touched souls in a different way, she knew it all over again. Everything would be all right because he cared about her.
He lifted her to her feet, and she walked beside him back to the house, collecting her thoughts.
"The tide is rising fast," observed Drew, and she saw that their footprints going in the other direction down the beach were already obliterated. "And if I'm not mistaken," he said, shading his eyes with his hand and looking over the dunes toward the western horizon, "the wind is rising. We may have a storm before nightfall."
Cathryn looked, too, although she couldn't detect any rising of the wind. But she thought the sea shivered in the hot sun, and quickly, resolutely, she turned her eye
s away.
Chapter 8
By the next weekend, her mood had taken a turn for the better. Furniture for Drew's apartment had been delivered and the new lighting installed. Drew professed to be delighted with the change, especially with Selby's room, which Cathryn had transformed into a floral bower in pink and peony-red, with curtains of white organdy ballooned at the windows.
On Friday evening they drove to the beach house for the weekend, as usual. As Drew turned his key in the lock, he said, "Seeing my apartment change before my very eyes has made me want to do something about this house, too. The house seems so different now, since we've been staying here on weekends. It's like another place altogether."
"It's a fantastic place, Drew," Cathryn said, following him inside. Because of the slanted Bahama shutters, it was still dark inside, but she didn't think of it as gloomy anymore. The weekends they had spent there—the nights making love and sleeping in the master bedroom, the days lounging on the deck and the beach—had purged the house of its ghosts.
She recalled the Saturday several weeks before when she and Drew had stripped the furniture of its covers. They'd come in from sunning on the beach one morning, and Drew had suddenly grasped the bleached muslin that covered a large chair and tugged at it until it slid off, revealing an armchair covered in a nubby white fabric.
"Help me with this, will you, Cathryn?" he said. "Grab the other side of the couch cover."
"What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled.
"You and I are going to be staying here almost every weekend, and there's no need to keep the furniture covered. I can't stand to look at rooms full of shrouded furniture."
"Drew, we spend most of our time on the deck or the beach, anyway."
"No, Cathryn, this is something I really need to do. I once thought that putting everything back the way it was when Talma lived here would remind me of her. But now..." His voice trailed off as he stared down at her and she steadily returned his gaze.
Suddenly he strode across the floor to the wide window, where he yanked at the drapery cord until the fabric swept back from the glass to admit more light.
Seeing that he was serious about this task, Cathryn said, "Okay, I'll take this end of the couch cover, and you take that one."
"That's it," he encouraged, "we'll roll the fabric toward the middle to stir up as little dust as possible." Despite their care, they couldn't help raising puffs of dust, and Cathryn's nose twitched at the musty odor of the upholstery. As she folded the cover, Cathryn tried not to look at Talma's wedding portrait smiling at her from the gallery, her heart-shaped face tilted to one side.
Drew relieved her of the heavy fabric and tossed it in a corner. And then, almost as though they were operating on the same wavelength, he hurried to the wall where Talma's portrait hung, removed it from its hook, and stowed it in a nearby closet.
"There!" he said, looking pleased as he surveyed the room. "It's all done. I'd forgotten what this room looked like." He surveyed it with an air of satisfaction, pulled Cathryn close and kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
"You've changed the way I think of this place, Cathryn," he said. "You've made it cheerful again, a happy house."
Today, with the eye of a professional decorator, Cathryn took in the room's expensive furniture—contemporary mixed with rare antiques—an all-glass tabletop juxtaposed with a Chippendale sofa covered in a modern fabric, chairs upholstered in soft green, mauve and gray print. The effect was charming and light in mood. And yet, some of the upholstery showed wear, and she'd be glad to help Drew choose new fabric.
"Let's go for a quick swim. Want to?" Drew, closing the big front door behind them, interrupted her thoughts.
"Sure," she said. "Just give me time to change into my swimsuit." She hurried down the long hall, carrying her overnight bag. Drew followed.
The master bedroom suite was big and airy, with a king-sized bed covered with a custom-made print bedspread that matched the valances above the shuttered windows. Cathryn went into the large dressing room, with its multiple closets, and set her overnight case on the vanity. She usually hung her clothes beside Drew's in his closet when they stayed there, but at the moment he stood just inside the huge walk-in, rummaging on a closet shelf for his swim trunks and blocking her way.
There was no reason why she couldn't use the other closet, she reasoned, opening the door. She froze in amazement when she discovered that the closet was full of clothes.
There were dresses, some hanging in plastic dry-cleaning bags, and shoes, neatly arranged on built-in shoe racks. An array of handbags occupied one wall, each in its own cubbyhole.
She felt Drew behind her, and she swiveled her head, her eyes wide.
"Talma's clothes," he said in a quiet tone. "The ones she left behind."
This tangible evidence of his ex-wife's presence in the house where she and Drew shared a life on weekends hit her with a force that was almost physical.
"I should have done something about them long ago," he continued, his voice low. "I didn't think about it." He was silent for a long moment during which she could hear every beat of her heart. Then Drew said decisively, "I'll pack up the clothes she left. She's out of my life for good, and I'm glad of it."
"It's not necessary to get rid of anything," Cathryn said stiffly. "I can use your closet."
"I want to," he said firmly. "I'll send Talma the things I think she might wear and donate the other stuff to Goodwill. You can help me."
"Oh, but Drew," she said, taken aback at the idea of invading another woman's—Drew's former wife's—closet.
"Doing this wouldn't bother you, would it?" asked Drew. He brushed past her and emerged from the closet carrying a pile of dresses, dumping them across the back of the ornate low chair in front of the dressing table.
"These are Talma's things," she said, touching the top dress and feeling troubled. "She wouldn't want another woman pawing through them."
Drew stood before her, his hands loosely resting on his hips. He spoke briskly. "Nonsense. Talma took what she wanted when she left. She told me that she didn't want any part of me—not my money, my house, my love. Nor did she want the clothes I'd provided for her, apparently. Although—" and here he laughed in grim amusement "—she didn't seem to mind hanging on to the various pieces of jewelry that I'd given her."
Imagining the intensely unpleasant scenes that must have taken place between Drew and his ex-wife in this house, perhaps on this very spot, was emotionally more distressing than she imagined sorting through Talma's clothes would have been. Cathryn turned to hide her face from Drew, but the mirror over the dressing table reflected her anxiety and doubt, and suddenly Drew focused his attention on her.
"Hey," Drew said, standing behind her and nuzzling her averted cheek. "Try not to have hang-ups about this, okay? For my sake."
She closed her eyes and rested her temple against his for a moment, aching over broken dreams and forsaken promises, none of them her own. No matter how much she loved Drew, no matter how soulfelt was her desire to help him find a new life, and no matter how big a part she was to play in that life, she couldn't help feeling sorrow over a marriage that had ended. Even someone else's marriage.
Drew sensed the depth of her anguish. He turned her to face him and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.
"If this is going to be difficult for you, we don't have to do it. I'll hire someone to come here and clean the closet." Yet she sensed a reluctance in his voice, as though he didn't want to assign this highly personal task to anyone else. And suddenly, in a surge of understanding, she knew why Drew wanted to empty Talma's closet himself and why he wanted her help.
Now, with her, Drew was ready to leave his old life behind. Perhaps he had never truly been ready before, but he was now. He wanted her to be instrumental in helping him to overcome the old painful memories. This was his way of telling her that she was an important part of his new life. He wasn't being callous or trying to subject her to an experience that would cause her d
iscomfort. He was simply and of necessity trying to work past the old and get on with the new. And he was taking her with him.
"I'll help," she said. "I want to."
Their eyes locked in silent understanding before Drew turned again toward the closet.
They worked quickly and efficiently together, establishing one stack of clothing to be sent to Talma, another to be sent to Goodwill. Drew slid garments from their hangers and tossed them to Cathryn, who looked them over for imperfections. Anything that was in good condition and not hopelessly out of style was consigned to the pile to be sent to Talma. All other items were designated for charity.
"What a lovely purse," said Cathryn when Drew handed the tooled-leather bag out of the closet.
"I bought that for her," said Drew, running his eyes over it again. "We were on vacation in Mexico at the time." He looked away quickly, as though it hurt his eyes to see it.
"Shall I put it on the pile to send to her?"
"I suppose so," he said, seemingly indifferent, but Cathryn knew better. She tossed the purse on the correct heap before returning her attention to Drew. His lips were pressed firmly together, and he avoided her eyes.
She stretched out her hand and let it rest on his arm. "Drew, if you've changed your mind about doing this..."
He shook her hand away impatiently. "No," he said sharply.
His tone of voice was hurtful, and all at once he seemed to have excluded her. His face went soft when he saw the wounded expression in her eyes. He added the scarves he was carrying to the pile of dresses before wordlessly gathering her into his arms.
He didn't speak for so long that she was thinking of pulling away and making light of the whole situation. She was glad that she hadn't when he finally spoke.
"Cathryn, forgive me. I didn't mean to speak so sharply." His voice was low and hesitant and muffled in her long hair. His hands opened and closed around the strands of it that hung down her back. "I bought that purse for Talma on our honeymoon. It triggered a memory that I'd rather forget, that's all."
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