Surrender to Marriage

by Sandra Field

  At two on Monday afternoon, Jake arrived at Doc’s office; and saw, with a lurch of his heart, Shaine walking away from the office down a path lined with straggly petunias. She got in her car and drove away without seeing him. No use asking Doc what she’d been there for; for 362 days a year, Doc was as close-mouthed as a clam. Five minutes later, Jake was ushered into the office.

  “Jake,” said Doc, and shook his hand. “Is this visit medical or personal?”

  “Personal,” Jake said. A photo of Doc’s long-dead wife sat on the oak desk. With genuine curiosity he asked, “You’ve never loved another woman, have you?”

  “No. Likely never will.”

  “I know what happened thirteen years ago. About Shaine’s mother, and how you told Shaine about the surgery. Do you think Shaine loved me back then?”

  “She got into bed with you. Daniel’s the proof of that.”

  “Come clean, Doc.”

  “You still in love with her?”

  “If I had the answer to that, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

  Doc toyed with his stethoscope. “She worshiped the ground you walked on. Did ever since she was nine or ten.”

  “Still did at eighteen?”

  “What do you think?”

  “At the risk of sounding conceited, I’d have said yes. But she claims it was all about adolescent romance and sappy songs.”

  “I’m really sorry I told her what I did,” Doc said roughly. “It was inexcusable, and inadvertently I changed your life. But you know, Jake, she would have come home when her mother and father died…and you being the kind of man you are, why, you’d have come with her. It would have half killed you to be back in the cove, it was never big enough for you. You’d have ended up resenting her and her brothers, and perhaps even your own son.”

  “Daniel won’t pass the time of day with me.”

  “Daniel’s been looking for you all his life. But he’s stubborn like his old man, and not about to admit he might need something from you.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “You’re wasting your time and mine if you don’t.”

  “When are you going to leave family practice for psychiatry?” Jake countered sardonically.

  “You think there’s a difference?” Doc knit his bushy white brows. “Listen to me, Jake, and then I’m going to shut up. Shaine’s champing at the bit to get out of this place. But she can’t because of Daniel. Or so she thinks. Why don’t you work on that angle? You’re a smart man, if you can make a million bucks you can figure out how to spring the two of them from Cranberry Cove. Now off you go and good luck to you.”

  Jake, who could terrorize CEOs with one look, left. Wasn’t Doc advising him to use his much-vaunted brain? To quit worrying about love and focus on practicalities? Thoughtfully he got in his car and drove to Shaine’s shop, only to discover from Jenny that Shaine was home working in her studio. On the steps of the yellow house, Jake tapped on the door and walked in. The kitchen counter was a jumble of unwashed dishes. He knocked just as perfunctorily on the studio door. Pushing it open, he said, “Hi, Shaine.”

  Wearing an oversize canvas apron, she was bent over her worktable, a hammer in one hand, a flat-edged nail in the other. A design was taking place, he saw with interest, the table littered with numbered pieces of precut colored glass and strips of what looked like lead. He pulled up a stool and sat down. “Keep working,” he said amiably.

  “Just make yourself at home.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. What are the nails for?”

  “They’re horseshoe nails. They keep the pieces of glass tightly in place,” she said, selecting a prestretched length of lead came and cutting it with the curved blade of her knife. “Daniel has hockey at five.”

  “We can go together,” he said. “How’s Padric?”

  “Driving everyone nuts—he hates sitting still. It’s all around the village that Daniel’s father’s back in town.”

  “Hell,” Jake said succinctly.

  She worked the lead into a curve of red glass. “I’ve been asked three times today when we’re getting married.”

  Jake raised his brow. “What did you say?”

  “I said you hadn’t asked me to marry you.”

  “Will you marry me, Shaine?”

  Her finger slipped, and to his dismay he saw a bright drop of blood blossom on her skin. She got up, ran water over her finger in the sink, then stuck on a Band-Aid. “You don’t want to fool around with lead poisoning,” she said casually, “and no, I won’t.”

  “Lead poisoning?” he repeated, horrified.

  “I take all the precautions, Jake.” She sat down and selected the next piece of glass, placing it on the paper pattern, then grozing it with a pair of pliers to make a perfect fit. Tiny shards of glass fell to the table.

  “I begin to see why you have scars on your fingers,” Jake remarked. “Why won’t you marry me?”

  Her eyes shot green fire. “I have a son. Or had you forgotten? Cranberry Cove is where we live, where he plays hockey and goes to school. Not New York or Paris.”

  “Would you like to live in New York?”

  She put down the hammer, letting all the pent-up frustration of years color her voice. “I’ll say this once and only once. I’d give everything I own to live anywhere but here. But it’s not possible until Daniel’s eighteen, so there’s no point in talking about it.”

  “What would you do in New York that you can’t do here?”

  “Are you serious?” She ticked off her fingers. “Have access to a kiln. Learn how to paint on glass, and etch with sand and acids. Visit other artists’ studios, talk to people who’d understand what I’m so desperate to learn. Go to galleries. Study. Expand. Take risks. Grow.”

  Her voice was trembling with the strength of her feelings. “Lots of kids live in New York and Paris,” Jake said.

  “Daniel’s lived here all his life. His friends are here, his uncles, his hockey team. I can’t take him away from everything that’s familiar for my own selfish reasons, it wouldn’t be right.” Aimlessly she stared at the pliers. “It’s just that I get so tired of waiting. And if you say one word to Daniel about this, I’ll take my glass cutter and carve you into enough little pieces to make a mosaic.”

  So Doc had been right, Jake thought. Shaine was desperate to leave and couldn’t because of Daniel. Was it up to him, Jake, to do something about that?

  It seemed to him it could be.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THROUGH the studio door, which Jake had left ajar, came a musical, four-note chiming. “Darn,” Shaine said, “there’s the doorbell. The front door,” she added, looking a little puzzled. “No one ever comes to the front door. I’ll be right back.”

  As she disappeared into the living room, Jake shamelessly followed her. A man was standing on the front step, wearing knife-sharp gray flannels and a navy-blue blazer with a crest on the pocket. He was a nice-looking man, not a hair out of place, his teeth a testament to an orthodontist’s skills. Jake wasn’t at all surprised when Shaine said, “Cameron! What are you doing here? Come in.”

  Cameron leaned forward and kissed her sedately on the cheek. “I was in St. John’s at a gallery, and decided to make a detour,” he said. “I have good news for you.”

  As she closed the door behind him, Jake eased back into the shadows. St. John’s was over 500 miles from Cranberry Cove; it wasn’t his idea of a detour. “News about the competition?” Shaine asked.

  “Your panel was accepted.”

  “It was? Oh, Cameron, that’s wonderful!” She danced a little jig on the carpet. “I can’t thank you enough for entering that panel, it’s my favorite of all the work I did last year. But now I’ll have to wait two months for the judges to decide…that’s forever.”

  “I think you have a very good chance of placing well,” Cameron said, smiling at her, “that’s why I entered your work.”

  The man’s head over heels in love with her, Jake thoug
ht, cleared his throat and stepped into the living room. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, Shaine?”

  If he’d expected her to be disconcerted, he was out of luck. “Cameron,” she said smoothly, “this is Jake Reilly. I’ll tell you now because everyone from Labrador to the Grand Banks is in on the secret—Jake is Daniel’s father. He’s on a short visit from New York.”

  Jake pumped Cameron’s hand vigorously. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve been looking after Shaine’s business interests—she’s very good, isn’t she? Having her name on your roster will certainly add to your reputation.”

  Cameron said stiffly, “Shaine and I have known each other for three years. We’re very good friends, Mr. Reilly.”

  Not good enough for Shaine to abandon celibacy. “I’m sure you are. Shaine needs contact with the outside world.”

  Shaine shot him a fulminating glance, then turned back to Cameron. “How long can you stay?”

  “Only until tomorrow. I have a flight to Toronto in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll make up the bed in the guest room,” she said warmly. “Only thing is, I have to go to Daniel’s hockey game later on, it’s a semifinal and I promised him I’d be there.” Her brow crinkled. “Not your thing, I know.”

  Cameron said gallantly, “I’d be delighted to go with you.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” Shaine said, patting him on the sleeve. “Why don’t you bring your bag in, and I’ll make you some herbal tea.”

  As Cameron obediently walked toward his car, she whirled. “How dare you insult him, Jake?”

  “He’s not the man for you and never will be.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that? Cameron’s a fine man who’s utterly dependable. He’s stood by me. Which is more than you’ve done.”

  Her instinct for his vulnerable spots was unerring. “But he doesn’t make your hormones shoot off the chart.”

  “There’s more to life than sex.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Jake said lazily, “you wouldn’t want to shock Cameron.” He kissed her firmly on the lips. “I’ll see you at the rink.” Then he strode down the path, saying an amiable goodbye to Cameron as he went.

  Jake’s lean, rangy build, the unconscious grace with which he moved: for a minute Shaine was catapulted back in time, to his final game at the rink the year he’d graduated from high school. He’d scored the winning goal in the last ten seconds against the school’s arch rivals and the arena had gone wild. Including her and all the other thirteen-year-old girls who’d been screaming their heads off during all three periods. As he’d come off the ice, Jake had seen her there, grinned at her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. The other girls had looked at her with huge respect. Whereas she’d lived on the memory of that kiss for the whole five years he’d been at university…

  “Shaine?” Cameron said frostily.

  She flushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and led him into the house. There was no risk involved in inviting Cameron to stay overnight. Her hormones were completely quiescent.

  Jake arrived early for the game. The Zamboni was cleaning the ice, and there was no sign of Daniel. He hunched his shoulders inside his leather jacket; for all his fine words, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Shaine in Cameron’s company for the next two hours. More fodder for the gossip mill, he thought dryly.

  Did Daniel like Cameron?

  Then his heart jolted in his chest as Shaine walked in the door with Daniel, who then disappeared into the dressing room. Shaine saw Jake, hesitated fractionally and walked toward him. She was wearing tailored wool slacks with a heavy-knit sweater patterned in rust and green, shiny leather boots on her feet. He could have made love with her on the ice. “Where’s Cameron?” he asked.

  “He had to phone his mother. He’ll be here shortly.”

  “Are you going to sleep with him tonight?”

  He hadn’t meant to ask that. “I thought I’d have an orgy with my son as chaperone,” she said sweetly.

  “It’s ludicrous,” Jake said with an undertone of savagery, “there’s a total lack of basic chemistry between you and Cameron and I still can’t stand the thought of him staying overnight in your house.”

  “You’re jealous!” she said incredulously.

  “Darn right I am.”

  Laughter tilted her mouth. “Not half as jealous as I was of Kimberly-Anne Standish when you dated her in grade twelve. She was blond and stacked, while I was thirteen years old with a flat chest and a mop of red hair.”

  “I never even kissed Kimberly-Anne. She only liked me because I was a hockey star.” He added hopefully, “Were you jealous of Marilee, the woman in the magazine article?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I never kissed her, either. She was much too interested in spending my money.”

  “Oh,” said Shaine. Her lips firmed. “Leave Cameron alone—he’s been a good friend to me. He’s taken me to galleries in Toronto, loaned me expensive art books that I couldn’t afford to buy, and he’s sold my work across the country.”

  “He’s also fallen in love with you.”

  “I’ve done nothing to encourage him.”

  He believed her. Going on the offensive, Jake said, “I was looking at Daniel’s skates the last time I was here. He should have better ones.”

  Her head snapped up. “I can’t afford better ones.”

  “But I can. I’ll write down his size before I leave.”

  One of Shaine’s greatest fears was that Jake might buy his way into her son’s affections. “He’s happy with the skates he has.”

  “He’ll be happier with the ones I buy him. Maybe I’ll invite him to New York and we’ll buy them together.”

  “He wouldn’t go.”

  “If you came with him, he would.” Jake added ruthlessly, “Cameron took you to Toronto and loaned you books. But I can take you to Barcelona and Prague and Bangkok. I’ll show you tropical rainforests, Pacific atolls, the Great Barrier Reef…cactus blooming in the desert, monarch butterflies in Mexico…all the colors you’re craving to experience firsthand.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t be cruel, Jake—you know I can’t go with you, don’t torment me like that. Oh no, here comes Cameron.”

  Jake said flatly, “We’re not done with this, Shaine.” Simmering with the force of his emotions, he went to sit on the bleachers. He shouldn’t have come on so strong. But Doc was right: somehow he had to get Shaine and Daniel out of Cranberry Cove.

  What happened after that was anyone’s guess.

  The surface of the ice gleamed like the glass Shaine worked with. The teams came out for a warm-up and the game began. He could see Shaine cheering and yelling her support; Cameron in his navy blazer was doing his best not to look bored. Daniel was playing with reckless disregard for his own safety, but always as the member of a team.

  Maybe Shaine was right, and Daniel did belong here. Maybe it would be unkind to enlarge the boy’s horizons and make him dissatisfied with his own life. For Jake to take risks on the stock market was one thing; but to risk his son’s happiness quite another.

  When had he ever been so racked with self-doubt?

  The first period ended in a tie. Jake chatted with some of his former neighbors, skillfully fending off questions he didn’t want to answer. Halfway through the second period, the score was still tied. Then, in a fierce scrimmage for the puck behind the net, Daniel got wedged into the boards and thrown to the ice with bruising force. He lay still, his body in a tight curl of pain.

  Jake’s blood stopped in his veins. Gripped by a terror unlike any he’d ever known, he surged to his feet, leaped down the bleachers and over the boards. Kneeling beside his son, he said urgently, “Daniel—are you okay?”

  The referee said, “He’s just winded—had the breath knocked out of him. He’ll be fine in a minute.”

  “Are you sure?” Jake said hoarsely.

  “Seen it often enough. Come on, Jake, you’ve been there.
”

  It was utterly different when it was his own son. Then Daniel took a long, painful breath. His eyes opened. Dimly aware that Shaine was kneeling beside him on the ice, Jake watched the boy resurface to awareness. Daniel looked right up at him and said weakly, “Leave me alone. I don’t need you.”

  Feeling as though he’d been stabbed in the gut, Jake pushed himself to his feet. His leather soles skidded on the ice as he made his way to the gate and the concrete floor. He was bleeding to death inside, he thought distantly, and there was no cure. From a long way away, he saw Daniel being helped onto the bench and replaced with another player. The game resumed.

  Shaine plunked herself down beside Jake. He wasn’t a man to flaunt his feelings; the sick agony in his eyes made her want to weep. Resting her hand on his sleeve, not caring how many of the villagers were watching, she said forcibly, “He’ll come around, Jake, I know he will. You’ve just got to give him time.”

  She was mouthing clichés when all he wanted to do was leave by the nearest door. Go back to New York and lick his wounds.

  Just as he had thirteen years ago? Hadn’t he learned anything? “You’re wrong, but thanks for trying to help,” he said heavily. “You’d better go back to Cameron.”

  “Daniel tolerates Cameron. They haven’t got a single thing in common. Not like you and Daniel.”

  He glanced over at her. Meeting his gaze squarely, she said, “Why don’t you ask Daniel if he’d go to New York with you? Sooner or later he has to see where and how you live.”

  The generosity of her offer, its sheer unexpectedness, took Jake aback. Feeling as though the breath had been knocked from his own lungs, he said, “But you’re afraid he’ll fall for my money and all it can buy. He’s only twelve…you could scarcely blame him for being susceptible.”