“I’ll be able to play tennis wherever we live. I won’t be able to sail.”
“That depends on where you live.”
Under her breath, she mumbled, “Don’t know where that’s gonna be.”
It struck him that moving around had to take a toll on the child. “Wherever it is, you’ll have skills you didn’t have before this summer. Your friends will be impressed.”
“Maybe about tennis. Not about sailing.”
“Sailing, too. You just need more time on the water. I could take you out.”
The words bounced between the rows of vines. He couldn’t believe he’d said them.
Tess was nearly as incredulous. “Do you mean it? Really? Will you?”
“Well, I could,” he said, suddenly hemming and hawing. “I mean, you’d have to get your mother’s permission, and she might not want it.”
“She will,” Tess said excitedly. “I know she will.”
“There’s … there’s also the problem of getting a boat. We don’t have one that’s like what you’re used to.”
“Mrs. Adelson does. Seth showed me.” She started walking backward. “He could come, too. I mean, he can’t hear the waves, and you have to poke his arm to let him know when the boom is going to change sides, but he’s so cool.” She was trotting backward now.
“Where are you going?” Simon called, suddenly frightened.
Still trotting, she turned and called over her shoulder, “I’m asking my mom. If she says yes, I’ll ask Mrs. Adelson. If she says yes, can we go today?”
He raised his voice. “No. Not today. I can’t do it today.”
“Then tomorrow,” she called.
“I don’t know—there’s a hurricane brewing—and that kitten needs to go home!”
He might as well have saved his breath. She was gone.
OLIVIA HAD ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED one of Tess’s Asquonset T-shirts into a load of laundry with bleach, which meant that what had been burgundy in the afternoon was bright orange by night. It wasn’t a unique occurrence. Tess had long since learned to find at least one thing good about a color gone bad. In this instance, the good thing was that the shirt matched her sneakers.
She had promptly put both on that morning, which was why Olivia knew she was in the vineyard with Simon. The vines were tall and as lush as a plant that was kept plucked could be, but bright orange still stuck out. And Simon? Simon was tall enough to stand out on his own.
Besides, Olivia had the advantage of height. She was at the window of Natalie’s office, watching Simon in his fields, when she caught sight of Tess. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t hurry down to referee. She trusted Simon now. When Tess left him and headed here, her run was of the excited variety. Olivia figured she had two minutes before the child burst into the room.
Olivia studied the envelopes in her hand. They had come for her with the morning mail, three letters in all. Two were school acceptances for Tess. One was a job offer for her.
The schools were in Hartford and Providence. The job offer was in Pittsburgh.
Life was never simple.
“Are you Olivia?”
She glanced at the door. Other than updated clothes, a tired look around the eyes, and tension at the mouth, the man standing there was the image of Alexander.
She smiled. “You’re Greg.”
“How’d you guess,” he said. It wasn’t a question; he didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m looking for my wife. Do you know where she is?”
“She was at the office an hour ago.”
He hitched his chin in thanks, and had to step aside when Tess barreled through the door, but seconds later he was gone.
“Simon’s taking me sailing,” Tess cried. Her eyes were wide, her freckles bright, her mouth sweetly curved. “Seth can come, but we need to use Mrs. Adelson’s boat. Will you call her, Mom? Please? Will you do it now?” She put her hands together in front of her nose, as though that would keep her excitement in check. “He promised to teach me everything I don’t know. This means so much to me I can’t tell you!”
Olivia was startled—and it had nothing to do with the fact that Achmed had risen from Natalie’s desk chair and was growling softly. Olivia knew how long it had been since Simon had gone anywhere near the yacht club, and she knew why that was so. “He’s taking you sailing?”
“Maybe not today, but tomorrow, for sure.”
“Did he say that?”
“Well, I’m not making it up.” She softened. “I know about the accident. One of the kids told me, but he had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t there. I’m not afraid to go out with him.”
No. Olivia figured she wasn’t. But that wasn’t what gave her pause. She was wondering if there was any significance in Simon’s ending his exile from the sea for Tess’s sake—or whether she was imagining something that had no deeper meaning at all.
Achmed was making an uncharacteristically wary circle around Tess, and suddenly Olivia understood why.
“Will you call?” the child asked.
“As soon as you take the kitten in your pocket back to its mother.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “He is fine.”
“Take him back and I’ll call.”
“All right. I’m doing it now.” She ran to the door, then returned to Olivia and gave her an exuberant hug.
When she left, Olivia was still holding the three letters. Quietly, she put them on the desk to be dealt with later.
• • •
“UPSTAIRS, SECOND DOOR ON THE RIGHT,” Anne Marie told Greg.
He nodded, took the stairs two at a time, and strode down the hall over dove gray carpeting that was new since he had been there last. Same with the walls, which were sponged a compatible soft gray, and the furniture, a surprisingly high-tech burgundy and slate. Asquonset had come a long way, he thought in passing. Had he been any more tired, he would be convinced he was in the office of any one of his last three clients.
The second door on the right was open. Jill was seated at a desk there, but his view of her was obstructed by the man leaning over whatever it was they were studying. Greg patted the doorjamb just enough to get their attention.
When Jill’s eyes met his and widened, he felt the same surge of pleasure as when he had first met her eight years before. She had been running a fund-raiser that he was attending, and the connection was instant. He would have thought the thread would be weaker now, especially with all that had gone on between them of late, but it wasn’t. At least, not on his part. He wasn’t sure about her. Wide eyes could mean a dozen things.
He gave her shoulder an intimate squeeze and extended his free hand to Asquonset’s head of sales. “How are you, Chris?”
“Fine, thanks to your wife. She’s been a godsend.” To Jill, he said, “You didn’t tell me Greg was coming.”
“I didn’t know,” Jill said in a way that could have reflected surprise, or pleasure—or indignation, for all Greg knew. Once, he had thought he could read her, but he wasn’t sure anymore. That writer had it right; she was Venus to his Mars.
“We can finish this later,” Chris told Jill. “Visit with your husband.” He closed the door on his way out.
Jill’s eyes fell to the papers on the desk. Her shoulder was tense under his hand, as though she resented his touch. Feeling rebuffed, he put the hand in his pocket and asked quietly, “What are you working on?”
She moistened her lips. “Getting our wines into new markets. Natalie’s been working with an ad agency on a new campaign. The slogan is ‘Truly Asquonset.’ This is the marketing and sales side. We need name recognition. We’re trying to edge our way west—creep up on California wine territory.” She sipped from a water bottle and shot him a fleeting glance. “What brings you here?”
“What do you think?”
“You could be here to nix Natalie’s wedding plans.”
“I might try that on the side, but the main course is you.”
She made a face. “That’s a disgusting analo
gy.”
“You were supposed to laugh at it. Before that, you were supposed to throw your arms around my neck and tell me how sweet it was of me to come and how thrilled you are to see me.”
She looked away. “It was sweet of you to come.”
“But you’re not thrilled to see me.”
“I am. I’m just … unprepared.”
“I’m your husband. Since when do you have to be prepared?”
She met his gaze. “Since I realized that while I need to be with you, I also need to work. I’m loving what I do here, and I’m feeling satisfied and challenged and tired at night in ways I haven’t been since I quit work to marry you. But I realize also that if it’s going to be even remotely possible for me to work in the next few years, it’ll mean major cooperation and compromise on both of our parts.”
Greg was right back where he’d been before she had gone to see her mother—totally confused. But right now he was too tired to work his way through a verbal maze. “Please repeat that in five words or less.”
“I’m pregnant.” She didn’t blink, just stared at him with her brows raised the smallest bit. Her words hit him as though he’d had a whiff of smelling salts.
“Pregnant.” It was the last thing he had expected. Jill had left him. They hadn’t seen each other in two months. “Pregnant?”
“As in having a baby.”
Oh, he knew what pregnant was, but he was still having trouble dealing with the concept. Their having children had always been something for the future, something vague; suddenly, it wasn’t. In that instant, he could picture a baby of theirs in living color. It was … startlingly, brilliantly gold.
He wanted to hug Jill. But she didn’t look like she wanted it, and he wasn’t risking rejection. So he simply said, “When?”
“February. I conceived in May.”
Greg thought back quickly. May had been a nightmare of a travel month for him. There had been only one time—a short weekend—when they had been together long enough to make love. “At the Delaware shore?”
She nodded. “You were bored to death.”
“Not bored. Antsy. I was stressed about a poll that had come out all wrong.” He pushed a hand through his hair. Pregnant. Whoa. She was having his baby. “How long have you known?”
“Since right before I came here.”
He was a minute taking that in. “Since early July? And you’re only telling me now?”
“I didn’t want to tell you on the phone.”
“You could have flown to Washington.”
“No. I couldn’t. I needed time to think.”
He recoiled. “If you’re thinking about getting an abortion, forget it. I want that baby.”
She smiled for the first time. “Well, at least that’s good to know.”
“Not an abortion. A formal separation then? Forget it. If you’d wanted that, you shouldn’t have gotten pregnant!”
That quickly, her smile became tears. “You jerk!” she cried, pushing herself out of the chair and past him. “I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant? Did I do this alone? Do you think this was immaculate conception? Did you use a condom? Did you ever use a condom? No. You never once offered, even though your sperm were the little things that caused the risk.” Throwing the door open, she stormed out of the room, but she was back seconds later, slamming the door shut again. “And there is no law that says a pregnant woman can’t divorce her husband. Get with the program, Greg. I’m not dependent on you.”
“You want a divorce?” he cried.
“No! I don’t! I don’t really know what I want. I just want our lives to be different!”
Well, that was something, at least, he thought. Different was better than done.
His neck ached, tense to the extreme. He kneaded the muscles there. “Different how?”
“I’ve told you,” she said. She was leaning against the door, looking at him with those same wide eyes. This time, though, he saw a dare. “I don’t want to be ignored. I don’t want to play second fiddle to your work all the time. I don’t want to feel like an appendage.”
She wanted attention, he thought. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was sitting around doing nothing. “How am I going to earn a living, if I don’t do what I do?”
“There are ways, Greg. There are ways. Look at you. It’s the middle of the summer, and you’re pale. You have shadows under your eyes and grimace lines around your mouth. You’re exhausted. Is that how you want to live?”
“I’m exhausted because my wife isn’t around to make life a little easier for me.”
“Oh please. You were exhausted before I left.”
“Well, it’s worse now. I need you home, Jill.”
“I’m thinking of staying here.”
“Here? Why?”
“Because they need me. I fill a role. I’m a somebody here. I like being a somebody, Greg.”
He put his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, God,” he said. “This is going nowhere.” His head came forward. His wife stood there, so close yet so far—a beautiful blonde with class written all over her. That was the very first thing he had loved about her. She had class without arrogance. That hadn’t changed.
“You don’t look pregnant,” he said quietly.
“Not dressed.”
“Take off your clothes. Let me see.”
Her eyes took on something else, then—a hardness that might have been hatred—and he was suddenly, thoroughly unsettled.
“That was the worst thing you could have possibly said,” she said tightly, her voice low.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it negatively. I meant … it’s something so different … my child … our child. Is it wrong for me to want to see the changes it’s made?”
“Intimacy is for people who love each other.”
“We love each other.” Hadn’t she said it on the phone not so long ago? But there was that look in her eye now, and the set of her jaw. It couldn’t be hatred. Surely, it was just anger. “At least, I love you.”
“No, Greg. You love you.” She opened the door, with a gesture inviting him to leave. “I have work to do.”
Greg wasn’t used to being dismissed. His first instinct was to challenge her on it. Hell, she was the only reason he’d come here, and the trip was a pain in the butt on such short notice—driving to Baltimore for the only flight he could book to Providence, then renting a car. As it was, he couldn’t stay more than a couple of days. He had clients waiting. He didn’t have time to play these games.
But something told him that wasn’t the right approach. Her anger needed diffusing. He could give her a day or two for that. One question remained, though. “What am I supposed to do while you work?”
It was like she’d been waiting for him to ask her that, her answer came so fast and direct. “Go see your mother. Talk with her. Ask her what love means. Better still, read her book. It’ll tell you about the sacrifices people are capable of making when they care about others enough.”
Greg rubbed the back of his neck. He felt cold and alone, separate from Jill, when what he wanted was to take her in his arms, hold her close, and tell her things would work out. But for the first time, he wondered if they would.
She hung her head, denying him even that visual contact.
Not knowing what else to do, he left.
Twenty-six
SIMON JOINED THE FAMILY for dinner that night. He wanted his presence felt. With the arrival of Mark and Greg, the deck was stacked heavily against Carl. He wanted to be there if his father needed help. Same with Olivia. If the rising family numbers made her feel like an outsider, he wanted her to have an ally.
There were nine of them at the table, though Susanne was up more than she was seated. Simon had known she was a great cook, but this night she outdid herself. She started the meal with a light corn chowder with clams, then served a tenderloin stuffed with herbs and beautifully rare, baked stuffed sweet potatoes, and a warm spinach salad with bits of pear and blue
cheese. Dessert was a crème brûlée.
They talked about the food and how good it was. They talked about the body and bouquet of the two-year-old Cabernet Sauvignon that Carl uncorked. They talked about the Napa Valley Cabernet that this wine was most often compared with. They talked about the storm named Chloe, now crossing the North Atlantic and gaining strength.
Greg didn’t talk directly to Jill. Mark didn’t talk directly to Susanne. Neither Greg nor Susanne talked directly to Carl.
But Simon needn’t have worried about Olivia. Since she was viewed as the most neutral person at the table, everyone talked with her, and she held her own without fault. He actually got a kick out of watching her handle the Seebrings in her own inimitable way. Pride didn’t hang her up. She was happy to claim ignorance and ask questions, and Tess was the same. They were two of the most curious people he’d ever met, that was for sure.
It worked beautifully with this group, but then, they were on all on good behavior. No one picked a fight. No one was snide. No one said anything that could be remotely construed as criticism. Everything was civil and polite.
The tension was so thick, however, that Simon was delighted when the meal ended and he could excuse himself and go out to the porch.
Carl joined him there wearing a look of the same relief, but rather than talk about it, he broached the issue of Chloe. “She’s a bad one, then?”
“Could be,” Simon said. “She’s feeding on the low pressure left by Beau. He petered out. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she will. She isn’t a threat to Florida or the Carolinas unless she takes a turn, but the air currents don’t predict that. They say she’ll move north just west of Bermuda and gain strength until she makes landfall.”
“Where?”
“Here.” That was what the latest bulletin from the National Hurricane Center had said. “But who knows. Hurricanes can be fickle. Air currents change. She could get hung up around Bermuda and die.” He skimmed the rows of vines that spilled down either side of the road in the waning light of day. They were healthy now, but silent and still. Not even the distant trees moved. Even the birds were quiet.
It sure sounded to him like the calm before the storm, although he knew it was too early for that. At this stage, there was little to do but pray and wait.
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