Life Guards in the Hamptons

by Celia Jerome

  The professor laughed. “Not since I’ve known him, which is since he was first out of nappies. Not good husband material, eh?”

  I shuddered at the thought.

  “Ah, I wondered about the veterinarian.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “And somewhat more, by your blushes. That’s not what the busybodies at Royce had in mind for you.”

  “He can see what I see. What you can see.”

  “Dash it, I must have missed that memo. Excellent. I’ll be delighted to meet another of us.”

  The way he spoke you’d think we were related, which appealed to me. Dr. Harmon was the grandfather I never had: wise, caring, encouraging. And accepting me for what I am. “There’s nothing romantic between Matt and me. We’ve never had a real date.”

  He patted my hand. “What’s meant to be, will be.”

  I wondered if he had a bit of Doc Lassiter’s genes, too. His touch, his voice, his smile all contributed to a feeling of well-being and confidence. I could handle Matt’s lady friends. I could handle a sea serpent.

  No, I couldn’t.

  “What’s meant was for you to survive to fight another day.”

  He spoke with deep regret: “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Before he could tell me about the assault on the Nova Pride, Grandma Eve brought in brewed tea and tiny croissants and small jars of her homemade jellies. “It’s not quite a proper English tea, but dinner is still an hour away and you need to keep eating small meals to regain your strength.”

  When she left, he said, “Your grandmother is a fine woman, Miss Tate. You come from excellent stock.”

  “Please call me Willow, or Willy.”

  Now he was the one to brush away a tear. “I wish I had a granddaughter like you.”

  Why did everyone cry around me? I was embarrassed for both of us, so I held out the platter. “Please, have a roll. They are still warm and Grandma Eve’s jams are the best you’ll find.”

  He studied the handwritten labels on the jars. “Ah, rose hips. I haven’t had that since I was a lad. I don’t think I ever tasted beach plum jelly.”

  While we ate—I needed to keep up my strength, too, didn’t I?—Dr. Harmon finally told his story.

  He never knew why he went on the cruise ship, just that he had to go, kind of like my father’s presentiments. When first the dolphins— “Pink ones, Willy, with kaleidoscope eyes!”—forced the boat off course, and then a sudden storm cropped up, he realized why he’d bought a ticket to a place he never intended to see. He tried to warn the captain, who laughed and told him to put on his life jacket if he was so worried. He urged everyone near him to don theirs, too, which might have helped saved some lives.

  Then came the wave. People screamed, panicked, nearly trampled each other in their efforts to escape. The crew couldn’t lower the life rafts fast enough. The professor could see the wave growing, could see the whirlpool eyes, the whitecap fangs, that abyss of its giant maw, but he could do nothing. Not until the thing got closer. Then he started to shout at it, some in words he’d heard in his trances, some in words Grant’s father had taught him ages ago, some in words from ancient texts.

  He spoke in syllables and breaths and clicks I could not possibly understand, then translated: “Get thee hence, foul wyrm! Begone, I say, by the pact between the worlds. Begone or lose thy powers.”

  This time the words did not work. Perhaps he’d forgotten a phrase or an intonation. Perhaps the monster had nowhere to go back to, if it were forbidden Unity. The serpent came on, the boat tipped, and the professor found himself flung through the air, smashed into the sea, carried deep under the waves. He knew he could not survive. No mortal man could.

  Yet suddenly those dolphins were beside him, beneath him, carrying him toward the surface, blowing bubbles into his face so that he could breathe. And then a giant hand lifted him. The hand of God, he thought, but I believed it to be M’ma, the serpent’s true foe.

  “I must have cried out then, about wanting to go home to Royce. I wished to be buried there, amongst my ancestors. Instead I found myself in that cottage, alive, with the most amazing lantern beetles hovering nearby, warming me with tiny fires, drying my clothes, keeping the darkness at bay. Then I slept. I dreamt of dolphins and birds and fish, and birdfish or fishbirds. And a willow tree. I knew it must be you. I knew you would come.”

  He pushed the last croissant in my direction. Tears filled his eyes as he looked at me, sad, fearful, yet resigned. “I knew the fight was not over.”

  CHAPTER 27

  WE LEFT THE PROFESSOR’S STORY full of dolphin life guards and freakish waves and some unknown Samaritan transporting him to Paumanok Harbor because he must have mentioned Royce in his delirium. Then he’d slept through any calls or searches, recovering from an ordeal no octogenarian should survive. Now he needed to be in seclusion to protect his fragile health.

  Close enough.

  All of it rang true, as far as it went. Even Uncle Henry could digest Grandma Eve’s amazing butternut squash ravioli in contentment. Everyone knew there was more to the story; most knew they’d never see what Dr. Harmon didn’t want to talk about.

  I whispered to Matt beside me at the table that I’d tell him later, though I was still guessing about a lot: that M’ma and his minions had come to the aid of the dear old friend who visited Unity in a trance state. Or perhaps they helped total strangers because they felt responsible for inflicting the monster on us. Now I doubted M’ma remained in our world; he would have vanquished the serpent for us.

  Whatever the reason, the results were incomprehensible to ordinary, normal people. Telling the average citizen or the news-hungry reporters the truth would be like telling them the water molecules separated out breathable oxygen, or the grains of sand decided to build themselves a skateboard ramp, right under an ocean liner. Dolphins were known to help people since the earliest times, so people could accept that. Not even Matt’s imminent expert could disprove their capabilities, because she’d never get to see the so-called new breed, much less experiment on them. So she’d leave.

  Which thought was as sweet as the homemade peach ice cream Grandma Eve served for dessert.

  During the meal, no one dwelled on the danger we all knew loomed on the horizon or in the ocean depths. We spoke about the immediate future instead. My grandmother had already put a call in to her niece, Lily, Rosehill’s housekeeper. Lily said she’d be thrilled to have a gentleman at Rosehill to care for again—a real gentleman, not the Hollywood moguls and dot-com millionaires who’d been renting the place. Besides, looking after a retired scholar had to be easier than chasing after her young granddaughter and infant grandson. She loved her daughter’s children, of course; she’d be in Paumanok Harbor tomorrow, Sunday.

  Lou had called England, and the grateful people at the Royce Institute instantly named Dr. Harmon liaison adviser at the new facility, with a lifetime residency if he wished to stay, and a more generous pension. Both the professor and Paumanok Harbor were that valuable to them. Lou did say they were hoping Dr. Harmon would agree to remain until the current crisis had been resolved.

  Since the professor had absolutely no intention of getting on a boat or a plane any time soon, and since he’d received such a warm welcome, to say nothing of my grandmother’s cooking, Rosehill’s wine cellar, and ideas for our new collaboration, he allowed as how he’d be pleased to stay, and to be of service to his new friends.

  Lou raised his glass of wine in a toast, and we all drank to Dr. Harmon’s health and longevity. He turned pink with pleasure.

  The chief had called off the search, to the whole East End’s relief, and joy that the survival rate was one hundred percent. More, if you counted the five dogs. Less if you counted the lost parrot no one claimed. The papers and online news feeds and TV still carried pictures of the ship, with tugs and barges and floats all around it, waiting for the right tide. They mentioned that no one had seen any new dolphins or the rare bird, which was yesterday’s n
ews. Some senator’s mistress turned out to be a transvestite, and another celebrity couple’s marriage ended in a knockdown brawl on a red carpet, so the public’s interest focused elsewhere. After all, the Hamptons had no celebrities to speak of in the off-season, so why bother?

  Now the South Fork could get back to searching for a gang of bank robbers and a gang of cyber black hats—unless they were connected.

  How could that be? We all wanted to know.

  The chief shrugged. “Russ and the government techs are working one angle, the boots on the ground are working another. It just seems too big a coincidence that both are happening at once.”

  “But they haven’t been active recently?”

  “Not since the night of the shipwreck. Maybe the gang has moved on.”

  Before we could discuss the chief’s theory and leads and Russ’ determination to clear his name and the machines he oversaw, or I could remember to ask about Axel Vanderman or hypnotism, the professor started yawning, then half nodded off right at the table.

  Matt and Lou assisted him up the stairs after we all wished him well again, and I promised to visit in the morning to plan a strategy.

  Matt drove me the two minutes to my house, with the extra food Grandma Eve packed up for me. She’d sent some jam for his company, too, which meant she liked him, not that it mattered to me. I liked him.

  He helped me carry my stuff in, so I asked if he wanted coffee. I knew he ought to go, get his house ready for company, make sure Peg had everything she needed, play with his new dog. He said yes, he’d like a cup, which said more about how much he liked me than about his taste in beverages.

  He tried to make friends with Little Red while I started the coffeemaker. I doubt Red remembered Matt saving his life from a homicidal pyromaniac, but he sure as hell remembered who cut off his mangled leg and his testicles.

  I threw Red a chew stick—and bigger ones for Buddy and Dobbin—and we watched Red growl his into submission. We simply sat, next to each other on the dog-hair-covered sofa, sipping our coffees, nibbling on the chocolate chip cookies from my secret stash. Kind of like watching a fire in the winter: peaceful, comfortable, no pressure.

  Until Matt broke the silence. “Your grandmother is amazing. You are so lucky to have her.”

  I laughed. “You’ve never seen her in action. She’s on her good behavior when Lou is around.”

  “No, she’s kind and generous and smart, and loves you so much I feel warmed by her affection, just by sitting next to you.”

  I felt warm sitting next to him on the sofa. “You’re letting your new imagination show you things that aren’t there again.”

  He pulled on one of my curls. “It’s there. I know this is a bad time, but sharing in the rescue, visiting the House, having dinner with your family, I want more.”

  “Grandma Eve sent some of those little croissants home with me. I’ll pack a baggie for you.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean. I want more of you, your attitude, your courage that you swear is cowardice, your adoration for your grandmother that you try to hide, your silly dog. But I can’t compete with a dude who can buy you the moon and the stars.”

  “He’s not on the moon. He’s at the space station.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, that’s what Dr. Harmon said. Supposedly trying to get a better look at the holes in the ozone and disruptions in the power lines, but I think he’s calling out to the otherworld to shut the gates between Unity and us. There’s been too much activity.”

  Matt wrapped the curl around his finger. “Okay, so your former fiancé is an astronaut, besides being a titled lord and the best linguist on Earth. I’ll never be half as exciting, or half as heroic as your firefighting friend. I can’t compete with that world-famous entertainer with the million dollar horse, either. I can’t even compete with Frankie, who goes out and buys his dog a Land Rover. I’m just a simple country vet, and that’s all I’ll ever be. Tell me I have a chance before I dig such a deep hole I’ll never find my way out. You are not the kind of woman a man forgets once he fixes her in his head.”

  I couldn’t say anything. Matt was my rock, my pillow. How much more did he want to be?

  “Come on, Willy. Give me an answer. I can’t go on not knowing if we have a future. I thought we did after the fireflies, but you ran off to the city. I thought we didn’t when you never called, but here we are, sharing adventures and family meals and kisses. You can’t keep blowing hot and cold like that. I’ve got to know.”

  I was cold thinking about him leaving. Hot where his hand rubbed the back of my neck. He was right. It was fish or cut bait, shit or get off the pot, do or die. Not that I’d die if Matt didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Not that I’d wither away if I never got to taste him. I’d live. I just mightn’t want to.

  Not because we shared Oey and M’ma and the Others. Not because he’d gone to a haunted house with me. Not because my pulse speeded up whenever he smiled and his touch on my neck had me thinking of those soft, soft sheets at Rosehill.

  Because he was Matt.

  “You have a chance, but—”

  He placed his fingers over my lips, then replaced them with his lips. “That’s enough for now.”

  Not by half, it wasn’t. One kiss made me want more. Oh, he meant the chance. “You always had a chance, just—”

  “Good. I was jealous of the old man. He adores you.”

  He was jealous of the professor? How lovely! “I wasn’t flirting with him, not like you and Peg and you and Tina and you and every other female in a hundred-mile radius. And you’re the one having an old friend come to stay. My old friend is eighty something. You can’t say the same.”

  “You’re jealous!”

  “Damn right.”

  “That means you care.”

  “Damn right, but—”

  He still wouldn’t let me finish a sentence. I guess he didn’t want to hear all my reservations and rules.

  He kissed me again, which shut me up, then he said, “I know, no promises. Caring is a good start. We’ll take it slow.”

  We already took it slow. I’d been thinking about him, thinking about making love with him, since the first time I saw him, weeks ago. With the chaos that surrounded me, how could I plan for tomorrow, and how could I turn down a perfectly good plan for today? I was ready to move onto the next stage of our big chance, in my bedroom.

  He wasn’t finished working things out in his head, the rational, logical man that he was. “Just so you know, I am not here for a quickie.”

  “No quickies.” Un-uh. If we were going to do this, we were going to do it right.

  “Or a weekend affair. I’ve hardly dated since my divorce because I don’t like casual hookups and relationships founded on nothing but mutual satisfaction.”

  “Me neither. They’re usually unsatisfying, anyway.”

  “Good. So we’re agreed this isn’t about sex?”

  Um. “You’re not talking about a platonic relationship here, are you?”

  He grinned. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m trying to play it cool and act the gentleman, not pull your clothes off with my teeth and leave razor burn from your head to your toes. But, no, this isn’t about sex. At least not just about sex.”

  “That’s good.” On both counts. He wanted me, which was the best aphrodisiac in the universe. But he wanted me, not just a warm body. A body growing warmer by the second.

  “Then you won’t run off again?”

  I couldn’t leave the professor alone until the sea serpent left. After that … ? “I’ll be here awhile, it looks like. And I won’t go back to Manhattan without telling you, okay?”

  “I understand. One day at a time.” He got up and took a box out of his jacket pocket. “Don’t panic, I’m not asking for any promises. I made a hasty marriage the first time. I’m not stepping into that mantrap again until I’m certain it’ll last.” He tapped the box. “It’s not like I’m offering you a ring o
r anything.”

  “So what’s in the box?”

  He opened it to show a small radio. “For the House, so it can learn new tunes. You promised an iPod, but we don’t know if the place is wired for Wi-Fi, or if there’s a computer to download. This has a battery and a cord.”

  Hell, we didn’t know if whatever lived there had fingers or opposable thumbs, but it didn’t matter. Matt had bought a haunted house a present! What a guy. I threw my arms around him and gave him a big kiss.

  About ten minutes later he said, “So that’s a yes? Without forever. Yet.”

  “It’s a yes.”

  “So can we get to the sex part now?”

  We ended up on the floor, naked. That is, we started on the couch, and our clothes ended up on the floor, on the furniture, on the ceiling fan. I think Little Red carried my sandal away to gnaw, but who cared?

  The first time was a quickie after all.

  I apologized.

  He laughed, and I could feel it in his chest, under my cheek. “Hell, speedy, if you’re that fast and easy, this is going to be even more fun than I imagined.”

  “You imagined making love with me?”

  “Every night since I met you. No, before that, when I saw you at the rodeo. No, when I read your books. No, when your mother told me about you.”

  I didn’t believe him. “That long, huh?”

  “Maybe longer. You just might be the girl of my dreams, the one I’ve been waiting for all my life. I knew I couldn’t do anything about it while the Brit was here, or the cowboy, or the firefighter. You’ve been damned busy breaking hearts. Then you packed up and disappeared before I laid mine on the line.”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Of me?” He tipped my head up so he could look at me.

  “Of falling for you. Feeling for you. We have so many logistic-type problems. Location, jobs, even the dogs. How could this work?”

  “We’ll figure it out. You’ll see.”

  “But I changed your life without meaning to. I didn’t want you changing mine.”