Safe Harbor

by Luanne Rice

  Sam wanted to look at every painting. Dana showed him around the floor, telling him stories about each canvas. “I did that one in my studio at Honfleur,” she said, pointing at the murky brown harborscape, “and that one in a hotel room in the Azores.” Some were near-shore and others were deep-sea, and Sam kept his arm around her and made her laugh by finding every mermaid within seconds of looking at the canvas.

  When they got to the back wall, he stopped short in front of the nude. Dana had forgotten it was there. She tried to pull him away, but he wouldn’t move. His feet were planted firm on the shiny wood floor, and he stared at the painting with surprise that turned into an almost-smile.

  “Come on, Sam,” she said.

  “That’s not a self-portrait,” he said as if he wanted her to contradict him.

  “No.”

  “I probably shouldn’t ask who painted it,” he said. “I sounded jealous enough when I told you about seeing you at Zacks Cliffs ten years ago.”

  “Jealousy never works very well,” Dana said, tugging his hand to move him away, thinking she wanted to keep him from anything connected to Jonathan. They might be the same age, but otherwise they were completely different. “What does that matter? I told you yesterday—I’ve posed plenty of times. It never matters. I’m an artist, so when someone else needs a model—”

  “This is so beautiful. Whoever painted it wasn’t just ‘someone else,’ ” Sam said, examining the painting. “He knew you.”

  “What even makes you think it was a he?” Dana asked, trying to laugh.

  “Are you saying I’m not?”

  At the sound of Jonathan’s voice, she turned around and gasped. The sound came out as a cry, and Sam quickly took her hand. Looking sheepish, Vickie came out of her office with one arm linked in Jonathan’s. “This is your surprise,” Vickie said. “I know I said I have a check for you, and I do, but I also asked Jonathan to meet us here.”

  “What … ? No!” Dana said, all her instincts kicking in.

  “Surprise,” Jonathan said, stepping forward to kiss her.

  Dana felt rather than saw Sam move away. Jonathan enveloped her in his arms, and she had to push hard to free herself. She looked up into his face. He was as attractive as ever, very thin and languorous. His black hair was cut quite short now, and his tan was deep and dark. It looked great beneath the soft cotton shirt.

  “How do you do?” he said to Sam. “I’m Jonathan Hull.”

  “Sam Trevor.” He shook hands with both Jon and Vickie.

  “I caught her, didn’t I?” Jon asked, gazing at his portrait of Dana. “Her eyes, her feelings. That wild hair …”

  “You absolutely did,” Vickie said, obviously nervous. “You captured a moment in time—the months after she lost Lily. I mean, look at her face. I remember talking to her during that period, and—”

  “I’m standing right here,” Dana said dangerously.

  “Oh, honey. I know. Certainly you are. That time was so dark—that’s how I see it. You lying there in bed, thinking about Lily. You couldn’t even paint… .”

  “No, I couldn’t,” she said softly.

  “So I had to paint for both of us.” Jon sounded as tender as she had ever heard him. He stood between her and Sam, looking into her eyes.

  “Forget what happened,” Jon said, holding her upper arms.

  “Forget?” she asked as if he were speaking a foreign language.

  “I made a mistake, Dana. You were so different, everything had changed, and I didn’t know how to act.”

  “That’s true,” she said, picturing him on the daybed, making love to Monique.

  “She meant nothing to me. You know that.”

  “Oh, dear,” Vickie said, finally catching the drift of the conversation. She turned to Sam, smiling. “Maybe we should make ourselves scarce.”

  “Dana?” Sam asked.

  “I’m coming with you,” Dana said, trying to pull away from Jonathan. Her heart was beating fast; she didn’t like confrontations anyway, but especially not with someone she had once loved.

  “Forgive me,” Jonathan said quietly. “We were artists, you know? I made a mistake—you don’t know how much I regret it.”

  Dana took a deep breath, looking into his eyes. Even now, in spite of his apology, she saw the anger in them; she saw frustration there as if he were trying to rush her through this. Although Sam stood back, he stayed just behind Dana; she sensed him there, in case she needed him.

  “There’s nothing more to say,” she said quietly.

  “You were in bad shape,” he said again. “I was in the studio—I’m sorry about the rest, but I had to paint for both of us. One thing led to another… .”

  “You didn’t have to paint for both of us,” she said. “You didn’t have to do anything. You just had to let me be.”

  “Let you be—”

  “Let me be with Lily. That’s what I was doing.”

  “You mean without her!”

  “She’s my sister,” Dana said sharply. “I’m never without her.”

  “Joe would like that,” Sam said, quietly supporting her.

  “She was gone,” Jon said, ignoring Sam. “And I was trying to pull you back to reality. You were lost, Dana. Say what you want, but she was gone and I was losing you too. That’s why I—”

  “She was with me,” Dana glared, interrupting him.

  “However you want to put it,” he said, laughing awkwardly. “It’s over now. Let’s talk it all out, Dana. Vickie was nice enough to get us together—have lunch with me. I’ll listen all day. Please—just calm down.”

  “I am calm, Jon,” she said.

  “I want you to come home. Honfleur misses you.”

  She shook her head. “My boat’s on the beach and the weather’s changing. I have to go.”

  “A change, great!” Jonathan said. “A storm. We love storms, Dana. The higher the waves the better, right? You can take me up on the roof—I’ll supply the wine. We can watch the tide rise and the wind blow. We’ll end this fight and get on with things.”

  “She says she has to get her boat off the beach,” Sam said.

  Jonathan looked at him, angry, dismissive, amused. Jon had perfected that hip, edgy look Dana knew well from cities in Europe and even in New York. Sam, in his spectacles and rumpled shirt, looked like he’d been up all night, studying for an exam.

  “Then I’ll help her do that.”

  “Jon,” Dana said, moving between them. She held his wrist and looked into his face. She had thought she loved him once. He was young and bright and full of promise. They had had a wonderful, wild, creative time together. She didn’t want to hurt him to get back at him, but she knew she could never be with him again either.

  “What?” he asked, for the first time looking afraid. “I want to help you. Show me your family place, Dana. Show me what made you, what you love. I thought you’d be bringing your nieces home by now.”

  “I am home,” she said, so definite that she shocked herself.

  “What?” Vickie asked.

  Sam didn’t speak, but Dana could feel him at her side, almost as if they were connected by an invisible thread.

  “You’re home?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “There? In Connecticut?”

  “It’s best for the girls.”

  “And what about for you? You’re an artist, Dana. Just look around the gallery—you think you can produce this level of work with two brats to take care of? Give me a break—”

  Dana didn’t wait to hear the rest. She really couldn’t blame Jonathan for what he didn’t have in the first place.

  “Good-bye, Jonathan,” she said to his face.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said. “When you’re alone, and not under the influence of whoever—”

  “His name’s Sam, and I’m not under his or anyone’s influence. It’s good-bye, Jonathan. All on my own—just good-bye.” As he stood there with his mouth open, Dana turned away.


  “Good-bye, Vickie,” she said, kissing her friend three times as Vickie handed her her check.

  Then Sam reached out to take her hand and pull her to the curb, into a cab, just as the first raindrops started to fall. Dana turned to look at him, and although she thought he was grinning, she didn’t get to see because he pulled her into his arms to kiss her as the cab bolted into the traffic.

  QUINN SAT ON HER ROCK, staring hard into the distance. The weather was brilliant. The sky was bright blue, with no trace of the red line they had seen that morning. She could see the Hunting Ground, for the moment as calm as glass. Boats sped past, both sail and motor, on their way somewhere.

  Beside her, on the big rock, were the Mermaid’s sail bag, Quinn’s diary, a duffel bag filled with supplies, the tackle box, and the gift she always brought with her. She wouldn’t stop bringing her presents, but after today she wouldn’t be leaving them in the waters of Little Beach.

  Quinn was leaving. Her heart was too filled with pain to stay. Finally, she understood what Aunt Dana had meant, wanting everyone to go to France instead of living here.

  Hubbard’s Point was full of memories. Everywhere Quinn looked, she thought of her mother and father. The good memories, like planting the herb garden and filling the picnic basket, and the bad memories, like standing in the upstairs hall, listening to the yelling, like waking up in the morning and realizing her parents weren’t in their bed, like the look on Grandma’s face when she told Quinn and Allie their parents weren’t coming home at all, like finding the tackle box filled with money under Aunt Dana’s bed.

  This was what Quinn’s mother had been talking about: the bribe. Quinn had put together the rest. She hoped Aunt Dana wouldn’t hate her for taking it, but Quinn had something she had to set right—and she needed the money to do it with.

  Quinn sat ramrod straight, immovable on her rock. She thought about the window she had cut for Aunt Dana. It was a good deed, done out of love and just the smallest amount of selfishness. Yes, it was true: She thought if she gave Aunt Dana some north light, she might feel more inclined to stay forever. But more than that was the true desire to make her aunt happy.

  Grandma and Annabelle had come along, accused her of making the garage unsafe. What if it collapsed and someone died? That’s exactly what Annabelle had said, and it had reminded Quinn of those terrible words her parents had said to each other that last night.

  “What if someone finds out?” Lily cried. “Have you been doing this all along? You’ve ruined us, killed our family! Taking bribes—is this how we afford our life, the boat?”

  “Lily. You know it isn’t, and you know that isn’t even what’s bothering you. The kids will hear, you’ll wake up all the neighbors.”

  “That beautiful land … our sacred ground.”

  “Someone would have developed it, Lily. The owner died, what did you think was going to happen? The heirs approached me because they know I love the island, that I’d respect the land.”

  “Honeysuckle Hill …”

  “We have kids to send through college. We have bills to pay.”

  Lily wept silently. She didn’t speak, but Mark did. “You know I don’t take bribes. Jack Conway gave me jobs when I was a kid. He’s old now, and he didn’t think I’d hire him if he didn’t”—Mark chuckled, as if he thought the whole thing was hilarious—“pay me a kickback.”

  “It’s not funny!”

  “No kidding. What am I supposed to do with a goddamn tackle box filled with five thousand dollars? ‘Five large,’ he said to me in that smoker’s voice of his, from about a million Camels. You’d have thought we were two gangsters making a deal.”

  “He hasn’t built anything to code in twenty years,” Lily said. “He’ll probably do it wrong, and the houses will collapse.”

  “That should make you happy.” Mark’s voice was full of affection and amusement.

  “Don’t patronize me, Mark Grayson.”

  “Come on, Lily. Cheer up. Jack just wanted to be involved—he’s not the primary builder.” He cracked up again. “Five large! You’d have thought I was Marky the Mobman. I guess he thinks that’s how we do it in the big leagues.”

  “I don’t really care about the money—I know you’ll give it back to him. But Honeysuckle Hill …”

  “I know. I’d preserve it if I could. But that would cost millions of dollars. We can’t afford to buy it, so wouldn’t it be better if I developed it than someone else?”

  “No,” she whispered stubbornly.

  “Come on, Lily. Me and Jack—we’re islanders. We’ll take care of the place.”

  Lily sniffled.

  “Sweetheart. Jesus Christ. The girls are asleep. Let’s go for a sail and talk it over. I love you. I didn’t do anything wrong, or at least nothing very wrong. People make mistakes, and if I did that, I’m sorry. I was just trying to save an old man’s pride.”

  “I know.”

  “Come on, honey. It’s a beautiful moonlit night. We’ll take the boat out for a sail, get rid of the cobwebs and talk it over. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know. What if they wake up?”

  “They’ll be fine. We’ll just be gone a couple of hours. Look, if it’ll save our marriage, don’t you think it’s worth it?”

  “I guess so… .”

  Quinn shivered with the anguish of remembering. Not having slept at home last night, she felt exhausted. After Grandma had finished yelling at her, she grabbed her flashlight and came over here to write in her diary. Then, instead of going home, she curled up in the Mermaid and fell asleep. With the stars above and the sound of the waves on the beach, it was the closest she felt to her mother in over a year.

  And when she woke up, she had her plan; it came to her in her dreams. She would sail away. She would sneak up to the house, get the sails, and take Mermaid somewhere far from here, to an island just over the eastern horizon.

  Her diary was with her now. Double-wrapped in plastic to survive any waves that might come into the boat, it was ready to go. All Quinn had to do now was leave the gift… .

  “Don’t trip, Grandma,” came Allie’s voice down the path through the woods. “Watch out for that root.”

  “Run ahead, Allie,” Grandma called. “See if she’s there, will you? My hip isn’t doing so well.” Maggie barked with the joy of being loose on a forest trail. Even a shar-pei probably heard the call of the wild.

  At the sound of Allie’s footsteps, Quinn slid down from her rock as fast as quicksilver. She pulled her things after her, shoved them into a dry tidal pool. Huddled at the rock’s base, she heard her sister approach just so far, take a quick look, and then go running back. Maggie came running over, but Allie grabbed the dog into her arms. “Don’t, Mag,” Allie said. “You’ll get wet and dirty in the seaweed.” Hearing Allie’s breathless little voice filled Quinn’s eyes with tears.

  “She’s not there, Grandma,” Allie said. “We’d better go back home and wait for her on the hill.”

  “Oh, I’m worried. I hope she’s there.”

  Quinn cried. She knew she’d miss her grandmother, but even more, she’d miss her sister. She’d miss her blond hair and curious eyes, the way she sucked her thumb and twirled her curls, the funny faces she made to crack Quinn up. Quinn would even miss the total devotion she gave to that dumb feline scrap, Kimba.

  But she wouldn’t miss the way Allie thought she was the only one who knew her mother liked white flowers. Once she was positive, one hundred percent sure she was alone, Quinn reached into the sail bag and pulled out the gift.

  She always left it, every day, for the mermaids that swam in the Sound and spun their nets from the moonlight above Hubbard’s Point. Even more, she left the gift—one every day, whatever was in bloom—for her mother. A white flower.

  “For you, Mommy,” Quinn whispered now, laying the white lily in the calm water, watching it float on the surface, beneath the clear blue sky, toward the Hunting Ground. Quinn would be there soon. She would follow the wh
ite flower, follow her mother, sail the Mermaid to where she knew she had to go.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE STORM SEEMED TO FOLLOW SAM’S VAN FROM the Henry Hudson Parkway to the Connecticut Turnpike. The road ahead of them was dry, the miles behind them drenched with rain. It was one of those summer gales that came out of nowhere. The radio reported airport delays and flash flooding; tornadoes had been reported in Lincroft, New Jersey, and Windsor Locks, Connecticut.

  “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

  “Jonathan, you mean?”

  “Yes. It couldn’t have been easy to see him.”

  “It was the best thing that could have happened. It was good-bye, and we both knew it.” She paused, thinking back. “A real face-to-face good-bye, I mean. Not just anger or hurt feelings. The last time I saw him was a frenzy of drama—a lot of dust had to settle. I’ve realized it was over for months now—”

  “Since me,” Sam said, grinning.

  Dana grinned back. “That’s possible, though I was the last to know.”

  “You’re a fast sailor but slow in certain other areas, Underhill.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like finding a good guy to love you.”

  “That’d be you?”

  He laughed. “Yes. Better late than never though. Solitude is one thing, but just wait till you see what togetherness does for your painting… .”

  “That’s what Lily used to say,” Dana said. Thunder sounded, and she glanced out the window.

  “We’ll beat the storm,” Sam said, leaning forward to look up at the sky. It was dark behind them, in New York, sunny ahead, in Connecticut.

  “I hope so,” Dana said. “My little boat …”

  “We can’t let the Mermaid wash away,” Sam said. “She’s a Blue Jay, the boat that first brought us together.”

  Dana smiled. Sam was a sentimental man. He kept track of things in a way that reminded Dana of herself and Lily—and Quinn and Allie. Leaning forward, she saw what he did: a line in the sky. The front was traveling slowly, obliterating the blue sky with black clouds. She felt as if they were racing it, trying to reach Hubbard’s Point before the front did.