Moonlight on Monterey Bay

by Sally Goldenbaum

  When Sam didn’t call or come by on Sunday, Maddie told herself that was good. A relief. Time and distance, she thought. Important things. And she treated herself to a long soothing run along the beach and a quiet evening curled up writing in her journal.

  Monday she accepted some deliveries at the beach house and could see that Sam had closed up the house and gone back to San Jose. Work, of course. And he needed some distance from the intensity of their feelings for each other as much as she did. She shoved away the unwelcome disappointment.

  Tuesday, frustration set in. And missing Sam intensified so, that even Eeyore sensed it, casting her long sorrowful looks.

  By Thursday, Maddie refused to allow any of her convoluted feelings to surface, and kept them at bay by attacking her work with a fierceness that had Joseph staying out of her way and even Eeyore hiding beneath the desk. There were several new clients lined up for Ocean Interiors, all products of the Santa Cruz grapevine, which deemed East of the Ocean a showplace, and consequently, Oceans Interior was the perfect designer for anyone redoing anything that summer.

  And Maddie was acting as if every job needed to be finished yesterday.

  “How much is left to do at Sam’s place?” Joseph asked, venturing as far as her doorway.

  Maddie didn’t look up when she answered. “Not much, Joseph. A couple of bedroom sets and some plantings I ordered. Several paintings by that artist up in Scotts Valley.”

  Four days without a word. Not a call, not a hello, a good-bye, nothing. Part of her said, That’s good, Maddie. Easier. The best way. The other part, the part that ached, waited for the phone to ring or his footsteps to sound in the hallway.

  “Eleanor said Sam thinks you’re extremely talented,” Joseph said.

  Maddie’s head snapped up. “Talented?” And then she lowered her head again. Was it the way she kissed him?

  “Maddie, I think your mind is somewhere else today. What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? What could be wrong, Joseph? The phone is ringing off the hook. We’re in demand.”

  Joseph stood there for a minute longer, looking at her, his bushy brows and clear gray gaze a comfort to her.

  On Friday, Joseph caught her when she was rushing in the office to pick up the keys to a client’s house.

  “Maddie, I have a message for you. Sam called several times.”

  Maddie stopped in her tracks. “Sam?”

  “Eastland,” Joseph said with a smile.

  “Oh?” She forced a calmness and nonchalance into her voice.

  “He said he’ll meet you here at the office at five.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Concern, frustration, confusion, desire—all had been churning around inside her for days. And now relief at hearing he was all right, alive, thinking of her, gave way to a bubble of anger. It felt good, this anger. Manageable. Wonderful. She lifted one brow and looked at Joseph. “And what makes Sam think I’ll be here at five o’clock? Am I at his beck and call?”

  Joseph looked at her in surprise.

  “Well, tell him I work nine to five, bub, and that’s it!”

  “Bub?” Joseph tried to hide his smile.

  “It just so happens I won’t be here at five. At five o’clock I’m meeting Stanley Everest at the Saturn Café.”

  “And why are you doing that?”

  Maddie folded her arms across her chest and tipped her chin up. “Because he’s a client, and it was the only time he could meet.” Her emotions were all out there, hanging on the line. She turned her head so Joseph wouldn’t see, stuffed a pile of papers into her briefcase, and with her heart in her throat, spun on her Birkenstocks and left the building, a blur of bright cotton skirt.

  The Saturn Café, a friendly, popular eating place, was alive with smells and sounds. In the corner was a lone customer, his laptop computer sharing space with his burger, and at the next table was a couple playing chess. Everywhere there was chatter and elbow-to-elbow people.

  In the farthest part of the room, seated at a small table beneath a ceiling painting of Saturn with all its moons, Maddie sat back in the wooden chair and smiled at Stanley Everest. “We’ll get started Monday. I’m glad you’re pleased with these ideas, Mr. Everest.”

  “Pleased as punch, young lady. What I know about design would fit in a teacup, but I know what I like, and I like this.” His hand fell with a thud on a stack of loose papers. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it on top of his plate.

  Maddie smiled.

  “Hi.” The deep voice came out of nowhere, but the effect on Maddie was startling. She looked up into Sam’s face.

  Sam stuck out his hand to a surprised Stanley Everest. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Sam Eastland. And I hate to barge in like this, but have you finished your business with Ms. Ames?”

  “Well, we were just—”

  “Good. I thought so. You won’t mind, then, if I steal her away? It’s an emergency.”

  Before Maddie could utter a word, Sam had wound his fingers around her wrist and was tugging her to her feet.

  “Sam, what are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer, but before Maddie could say anything, they were weaving their way through the throng of diners toward the door.

  “Hey, Maddie—” a man called from behind the counter. “I had two no-shows. Any chance you could give us a half hour?”

  Maddie’s arm was outstretched now, a bridge between herself and Sam, who held fast to her hand. “Sure,” she said, wrestling her hand free. “In fact, it’s your lucky day, George. We’ll both help!”

  Before Sam’s frown took actual form, Maddie had grabbed two aprons and thrust one at him. “I used to work here,” she said calmly. “I owe them. Surely your emergency can wait a minute.” She grabbed a pad of paper and waved a pencil at him. “Come on, Sam, don’t just stand there. There’s work to be done.”

  She didn’t know what had possessed her, but maybe it was the jolt, the confusion of seeing Sam, of her emotions immediately bubbling up to the surface like a shaken can of soda pop. Or the uncomfortable feeling of not having the upper hand, of not being in control. At least she had bought herself a little time, enough to calm her heartbeat, to keep herself from doing what she’d like to do right there beneath the painted planet, something even the hospitable Saturn Café crowd might have trouble sanctioning.

  After a half hour of frantic activity, she took a minute to lean against the wall and survey the room, her eyes searching for Sam. He might have left, for all she knew. Maybe that’s what she was doing, giving him some kind of litmus test that would prove they were totally incompatible. She was the kind of person who would do this, wait on tables in a crowded café on a minute’s notice. And he, well, he was a busy, important executive who couldn’t be bothered with such trivial stuff.

  Then she spotted Sam and her heart skidded to a stop. He was over in the corner of the crowded café, back where tables had been replaced by a comfortable couch and chair, and a table lamp cast a warm, friendly glow. He was talking with a professor who often sat there, grading his papers and eating Saturn sundaes. Sam held a platter of tofu burgers in one hand while he kidded with the professor, then answered a question from someone behind him about a menu item, then scooped up some dirty dishes and slid them onto his tray with admirable finesse. And the frown was gone. Completely.

  It was shortly after that that he came up behind her, untying her apron as he leaned close and whispered into her ear. “Come on, sweet one. George said we can go.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Maddie my love, we’re out of here. Now!” He waved at a man behind the counter, who waved back and called out, “Thanks for helping out, Sam.”

  “Thanks, Sam?” Maddie mumbled.

  “Out, Maddie,” Sam said, and urged her outside, where the familiar green Jaguar was waiting at the curb.

  “You were pretty good in there, you know.”

  “They said they’d hold a place for me if the computer industry slacks off.”


  He held the car door for her, then slipped behind the wheel and drove off into the night.

  “Okay, Maddie,” Sam began without preamble, his voice deep and full of sudden emotion, “Here’s the deal. We need to talk. For five nights now you’ve driven me crazy.” He was driving fast through town, over the bridge, past the harbor, and toward his house.

  The evening sky was darkening, and Maddie felt like a romantic prisoner, scooped up on the back of a horse and carried off to Lord only knew what kind of adventure. She smiled into the breeze and looked over at Sam. His hair was pushed back by the wind, his eyes bright, and his voice thrumming with pent-up feeling. He spoke over the breeze, a deep and rumbling monologue. “You’ve become important to me, Maddie. You make me laugh, you say things that are interesting and bright and honest.” She rested her head back on the leather seat. She had the odd sensation of being affected by a force far stronger than gravity, an uncontrollable force that would have her be precisely here, right now, with Sam beside her. She tuned back in to Sam.

  “—physical, I said to myself. That’s what’s going on here. And that’s true enough.” He shook his head, then looked over at her briefly, his mouth pulling up into a half smile. “Looking at you, hell, thinking about you, sets off all sorts of fires inside of me. But it’s more than that, Maddie, my love. It’s more than that.” The East of the Ocean sign appeared in the glare of his headlights and he slowed, then pulled into the driveway and brought the car to an abrupt stop at the end of the circle drive.

  He looked over at her. “So here I am, Maddie. This week’s been a lifetime. Sunday, on the spur of the moment—and I never do anything on the spur of the moment—I flew to London and got to spend three hours with my daughter. Three hours. Then they were off to a holiday villa somewhere, and I got back on the plane and flew home, where I buried myself in work for four days, trying to bring some sense to my feelings. Obviously I failed.”

  The smile flashed again, lopsided and sexy. Maddie’s insides began the meltdown. She took a deep breath and smiled back. “I went a little crazy this week myself, Sam. I didn’t know what you were thinking, whether I had imagined some things—”

  He sat there for a full minute, his hands still on the wheel, and then he sighed and reached over to touch her cheek. “Let’s go inside. You hungry? I picked up some food earlier when I got into town.”

  Maddie slid out of the car and walked around the front, then took his hand. “That Stanley fellow ate my whole meal without even knowing it. I’m starving.

  “Good. We’ll have some food, maybe a swim. Just be together for a while. Okay?”

  Maddie rubbed her cheek against his arm and looked up in time to see a shooting star arch over the house and down into the ocean on the other side. She couldn’t remember if she was supposed to wish or if it was simply a good omen. She opted for the omen. She had absolutely no idea right now what she would wish for.

  “How’s Greta doing?” she asked as they walked into the house. Sam turned a switch that bathed the hallway and living room in soft indirect light.

  “Greta has never been better. You were right about the light jazz. And she likes Vivaldi—‘The Four Seasons.’ ”

  “Perfect. I should have thought of that myself.”

  “Come on, look at this,” he said, leading her by the hand into the kitchen and pulling a stack of small white boxes from the refrigerator.

  “A feast for sure.”

  “And this.” He pulled a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator.

  “Champagne? Sam, champagne is for celebrations or seductions.”

  “How about a happy, shared evening?”

  “And that too.” Maddie took two plates from the cupboard, some silverware, and followed Sam out onto the deck, where silvery moonlight turned the wooden floor into a beautiful, shimmering carpet. Huge clay pots, full of coral and yellow begonias, impatiens, sweet woodruff, and colorful leaves of croton, were scattered around the deck. Sam looked around at the simple white furniture and the overflowing pots of flowers. “Each time I come here, it’s more of a home.”

  She smiled and sat down on the outdoor couch.

  “I was sure I wouldn’t give a hoot about what it looked like—hell, I never did before. But this—this makes me feel good, Maddie.”

  “It’s supposed to. And Sam, if you ever do bring your daughter here, it will make her feel that way, too, no matter what you say.”

  Maddie caught the look again, but he didn’t cut her off this time. Instead he set the food on the long low coffee table and sat beside her on the couch, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t know what to do with her here, Maddie.”

  “Do? She’s your daughter. All you need to do is be with her. I can hear in your voice how much you love her.”

  “Of course I do. And I miss seeing her grow up. But she has everything she needs now. Cousins, grandparents, a gorgeous home. Elizabeth’s new husband, Roger, is decent. And he spends a lot of time with Sara and Elizabeth.”

  “That’s all wonderful. But you’re still her father.”

  “I think I confuse her. Roger is the one who’s there, who does the kinds of things with her that a father should do.” He shrugged. “Then I show up, a stranger, and she’s supposed to have this close relationship with me—” His voice fell beneath the weight of regret. “Hell, Maddie, she’s only five years old.”

  “But you do go often, you see her.” There was a kind of pleading in Maddie’s voice.

  “I go whenever I can.”

  “And you hold her, hug her, tell her you love her.”

  The intensity in Maddie’s voice startled Sam. “Sure, Maddie. I do my best.” He looked over at her and only then noticed the moisture in her eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. Sara is a happy little girl. She’s surrounded by people who love her.” He didn’t understand what was going on, but something he was saying—or not saying—was affecting Maddie profoundly. He felt an urgent need to make her smile.

  Lifting her chin with his fingers, he looked down into her eyes and smiled gently. “I’m the one who is sad about this, love. Not you. I’m the one whose daughter uses company manners on him.”

  She nodded into his fingers. “I know. And I’m sure you try. But maybe spending more time with her, bringing her here for a while, maybe then she would know you as a father. Maybe …” Her voice drifted off.

  “But it might mess her up even more, confuse her. She’s happy and content with her life. Perhaps when she’s older—”

  “Childhood is such a special time, Sam.”

  He could barely hear Maddie now. Her voice was low, almost as if she were talking to herself. In the bright light of the moon, her face was sad and white and beautiful.

  “Maddie, love, I do the best I can with what I am.”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “We all do.” She took a long, deep breath, then released it slowly, willing peace back into her veins and her blood and her spirit. She knew part of her emotion was due to the time of year. Summers were the hardest. It was all replayed as if it were yesterday, the pregnancy, the birth. And it was almost time to begin her yearly letter, to think about planting her tree.

  But for now she forced it all aside and smiled brightly at Sam. Then she looked down at the small white containers, lined up starkly against the black night. “You know what I think? I think we both need some food. Hunger is making me unpleasant.”

  “Nothing could do that to you, not in any lasting way. You’re beyond those kinds of influences. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  He said the words lightly, an effort to brush away the gray clouds, but Maddie accepted the sentiment and allowed herself to feel the pleasure it brought. That’s what she had learned, after all. It was those small daily pleasures that made up her life. Gather them, hug them close, take delight in them. She grinned now at Sam and asked, “Okay, sir, what’s your pleasure? Over here we have—” She held up the first container and sniffed it dramatically. “M
oo goo gai pan. Wonderful. Exquisite. Perfecto.” She closed her eyes and kissed her fingertips, then went on to the next, until the enticing odors made Sam’s stomach growl and he pleaded for food.

  They ate straight from the containers without bothering to use plates. Maddie fed Sam fried rice from the tines of her fork, and he held a crisp eggroll up to her mouth for her to nibble on. And by the time they reached for the fortune cookies, the moon was high in the sky and the air around them as mellow as the calm night sea.

  “All’s right with the world,” Maddie murmured as she settled back onto the couch and slipped her feet up beneath her.

  Sam’s arm went around her and pulled her close. “All’s right in our world. This little one right here.”

  She nodded. “That’s how I see it too. And that’s the only world we have, after all. This one, right now, right here.”

  “So you don’t care about tomorrow?”

  “I care a lot about it. But I don’t want thoughts of it to ruin right now.”

  “Me either,” Sam murmured, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Hey, hear that?”

  They both leaned slightly forward and listened.

  “Sea lions,” Maddie said. “Let’s go look.”

  They left the remains of their feast behind them, kicked off their shoes, and walked down the stone steps to the beach. From out of the blackness came the familiar friendly bleat of a family of sea lions, perched on some now invisible rock out in the middle of the blackness.

  Sam’s beach was separated from the nearest property by thick vegetation and the house was dark. The only lights were far north, where the boardwalk amusement park faintly lit the sky.

  “It’s so deceptive out here,” Maddie said in a near whisper. “It makes you feel you’re all alone instead of on the edge of the city.”

  “Makes you want to do alone sorts of things,” he said, tickling the back of her neck.

  “You mean like swimming?” Maddie teased. She stopped walking and her feet began to settle into the oozing sand. Foam rolled up and braceleted her ankles.