Mariah Stewart

by Swept Away

  "Yo­ur skin is so fa­ir," he com­men­ted, "you must burn easily."

  Jody gri­ma­ced. "I do. I ha­ve to be re­al­ly ca­re­ful. I ac­tu­al­ly got a lit­tle mo­re sun to­day than I'd ha­ve li­ked."

  "Are you tel­ling me that you'd spend a who­le we­ek at the be­ach just lying on the sand?"

  "And that wo­uld be a mis­ta­ke be­ca­use…?"

  He la­ug­hed. "Don't you get bo­red? Aren't you mo­ti­va­ted to do ot­her things?"

  "Ot­her things such as?"

  "J­ody, Jody, Jody," he sho­ok his he­ad slowly. "One wo­uld think that, as a ve­te­ran sho­re­go­er, you wo­uld know that the Jer­sey sho­re is mo­re than sand and surf."

  She la­ug­hed softly, the so­und of it bur­ying it­self in his gut and dig­ging in.

  He smi­led and con­ti­nu­ed. "I co­uld stay he­re for we­eks and ne­ver spend so much as an ho­ur on the be­ach and ne­ver do the sa­me thing twi­ce."

  "Okay, to­mor­row, then. What do you ha­ve plan­ned?"

  He'd ac­tu­al­ly not tho­ught to plan an­y­t­hing in ad­van­ce, but on­ce pres­sed, he res­pon­ded easily. "Wha­le wat­c­hing."

  "Wha­le wat­c­hing?" Her eyeb­rows ro­se in in­te­rest.

  "Ever be­en?"

  "On­ce, in Mar­y­land."

  "Did you see any wha­les?"

  "Ac­tu­al­ly, no, we did not."

  "Why not jo­in me?"

  "Su­re. May­be we'll even see so­me wha­les." She grin­ned as the wa­iter bro­ught the­ir so­up. "And you're right, the­re are ot­her things to see. Ac­tu­al­ly, I can't be­li­eve how much the area has chan­ged. I wish I had ti­me to see it all."

  "To see what all?"

  "Oh, ever­y­t­hing. You know, the­re used to be so­me small is­lands out to­ward the marsh, on the bay si­de.

  We- my fri­ends and I-used to go over the­re, two to a ca­noe, and ha­ve lunch. I won­der if they're still the­re."

  "You want to see it all, do you? The who­le is­land?"

  She nod­ded as she to­ok a tas­te of the so­up.

  "It's won­der­ful," she sig­hed.

  "Did you tas­te the lit­tle herb rolls?"

  "Umm. Ex­cel­lent."

  It was all de­li­ci­o­us, the chef li­ving up to his re­pu­ta­ti­on. To end the­ir me­al, they sha­red a sli­ce of per­fectly tart mi­le-high le­mon me­rin­gue pie and sip­ped ex­cel­lent cof­fee and wat­c­hed the sun drift in­to the pic­tu­re-per­fect arms of a har­le­qu­in sky ref­lec­ted in the tran­qu­il bay. When the sun had fi­nal­ly set, Jeremy pa­id the check and held the back of Jody's cha­ir for her, as­king, "How do­es a walk on the bo­ar­d­walk so­und?"

  "Gre­at." She nod­ded.

  Once at the bot­tom of the out­si­de sta­irs, she bent over, sa­ying, "Wa­it… just one mi­nu­te…" and re­mo­ved her sho­es.

  "I can­not tell you how go­od this fe­els." She sig­hed as she swung her sho­es over her right sho­ul­der.

  Jeremy la­ug­hed. "You co­uld ha­ve slip­ped them off in the res­ta­urant, you know. I do­ubt an­yo­ne wo­uld ha­ve known un­der that long tab­lec­loth."

  "I'd ne­ver ha­ve got­ten them back on. I cut my fo­ot on a shell in the oce­an to­day and it's kil­ling me."

  "You sho­uld ha­ve sa­id so­met­hing," he told her. "We co­uld ha­ve do­ne chi­li dogs and fri­es in shorts and ba­re fe­et to­night."

  "And mis­sed that in­c­re­dib­le din­ner?" She sho­ok her he­ad. "I don't think so."

  "How 'bo­ut so­me bo­ar­d­walk fud­ge?" Jeremy po­in­ted to the lit­tle wo­oden stand over­lo­oking the be­ach.

  Best Swe­ets on The Bo­ards, the sign over the do­or an­no­un­ced.

  "I co­uldn't eat anot­her thing," she told him. "I may not eat aga­in un­til Thur­s­day."

  "I'll ha­ve to buy so­me la­ter in the we­ek"-Jeremy po­in­ted back to the fud­ge shop as they strol­led past-"for Mrs. Da­ne. And she'll pro­bably be ex­pec­ting so­me sal­t­wa­ter taffy, as well."

  "Who's Mrs. Da­ne?"

  "She's our sec­re­tary, T.J.'s and mi­ne."

  "Who's T.J.?"

  "T.J. Daw­son…"

  "Ah. The Daw­son in Nob­le and Daw­son." Jody nod­ded. "What's he li­ke?"

  "T.J.?" Jeremy slo­wed his pa­ce whi­le he de­ba­ted how best to an­s­wer, how best to des­c­ri­be the man who was not only his co­usin, but his best fri­end sin­ce se­cond gra­de, who had sto­od be­si­de him thro­ugh the worst of ti­mes, who­se pa­rents had ope­ned the­ir ho­me to Jeremy when he'd had no ho­me to go to, who'd ma­de him part of the­ir fa­mily when his own fa­mily was go­ne…

  How do you des­c­ri­be a man li­ke that and do him jus­ti­ce?

  You didn't. You co­uldn't.

  Jody wo­uld me­et him, one of the­se days, and then she'd know. For now, all Jeremy co­uld think to say was, "He's a gre­at guy. You'll li­ke him."

  The­ir hands swung easily bet­we­en them as they me­an­de­red down the bo­ar­d­walk.

  "O­o­oh! A palm re­ader!" Jody ex­c­la­imed. "Let's ha­ve our palms re­ad!"

  Jeremy la­ug­hed and al­lo­wed him­self to be pul­led by the hand to the open sto­ref­ront whe­re a wo­man in her mid-for­ti­es with te­ased red ha­ir of a sha­de not fo­und in na­tu­re sat at a card tab­le fi­ling her na­ils.

  "Ha­ve a se­at," she sa­id wit­ho­ut lo­oking up. "I'll ta­ke the lady first."

  Jody sat op­po­si­te the wo­man at the card tab­le and drop­ped her han­d­bag on the flo­or.

  The wo­man tuc­ked the na­il fi­le in­to a si­de poc­ket of her short shorts and pul­led a pa­ir of black-fra­med glas­ses from a worn cloth ca­se. Slip­ping the glas­ses on­to her fa­ce, she tur­ned to Jody, re­ac­hed ac­ross the tab­le, and, wit­ho­ut ce­re­mony, as­ked, "May I?"

  Jody pla­ced both hands on the tab­le, and the wo­man to­ok both of them in her own.

  "I am An­na," she told them. "And if you're ex­pec­ting me to tell you that I am a des­cen­dant of gypsi­es, you'll be di­sap­po­in­ted. But I do ha­ve a gift, and I'll sha­re it with you."

  For a pri­ce, of co­ur­se, Jeremy mu­sed, but sa­id not­hing. As a pri­va­te in­ves­ti­ga­tor, he'd on­ce be­en in­vol­ved in bre­aking a ring of for­tu­ne-tel­lers who we­re fle­ecing el­derly re­si­dents of se­ve­ral small com­mu­ni­ti­es in the Bal­ti­mo­re su­burbs, and was only mildly cu­ri­o­us abo­ut the bo­ar­d­walk palm re­aders. Af­ter all, they we­re all the sa­me, we­ren't they?

  Anna tur­ned Jody's hands over se­ve­ral ti­mes, then con­cen­t­ra­ted on the left palm.

  "It is sa­id," An­na told them, "that the left hand will show what was in­ten­ded in yo­ur li­fe, and the right will show what you ha­ve do­ne with what you we­re born with."

  She til­ted Jody's hand to­ward the light.

  "You ha­ve long hands," she sa­id softly. "They tell me you ha­ve tact and sen­si­ti­vity. The palm and the fin­gers are the sa­me length, tel­ling me that yo­ur in­s­tincts and jud­g­ment are ba­lan­ced. Yo­ur hands are strong, you work hard, you ha­ve a gre­at de­al of energy."

  She exa­mi­ned Jody's thumb and fin­gers, and nod­ded, sa­ying as she went from one di­git to the next, "Aga­in, energy, an ener­ge­tic will. You are am­bi­ti­o­us. Pru­dent. You bring a cer­ta­in ar­tistry to yo­ur work."

  You've got that right, Jeremy nod­ded im­per­cep­tibly. Jody's flan is an art form un­to it­self…

  "… and you lo­ve yo­ur work; you're very go­od at it and ta­ke gre­at pri­de in yo­ur ac­com­p­lis­h­ments. I see that you are in­de­pen­dent; you enj­oy the fre­edom to ex­p­ress yo­ur­self that you are al­lo­wed. You work for so­me­one who en­co­ura­ges you to ex­pe­ri­ment, do you not?"

  "Yes." Jody la­ug­hed a tad ner­vo­usly. "Actu­al­ly, I do."

  "She… it is a wo­m
an, I see that… re­li­es he­avily upon you. You en­han­ce her bu­si­ness. She ad­mi­res yo­ur cre­ati­ve spi­rit, yo­ur in­dus­t­ri­o­us na­tu­re."

  Jody smi­led and glan­ced up at Jeremy, who ra­ised an eyeb­row.

  "Now, let's see what el­se the­re is he­re…" An­na's glas­ses slid on­to the brid­ge of her no­se and she pus­hed them back up with her in­dex fin­ger. "A to­uch of shyness, I see. Ide­alis­tic. A be­li­ever in ro­man­ce, ah, yes, in lo­ve at first sight. And you are ca­pab­le of gre­at pas­si­on…" He­re she glan­ced up with a half smi­le and sa­id softly, "… as yet un­tes­ted, but it is the­re. Now let's lo­ok at the li­nes…

  "Long li­fe, go­od cha­rac­ter. A he­art to be che­ris­hed, sin­ce it will be gi­ven com­p­le­tely but on­ce." An­na lif­ted Jody's right hand and pe­ered in­tently in­to the palm. "You ha­ve used yo­ur gifts well, you ha­ve ex­ce­eded yo­ur own ex­pec­ta­ti­ons."

  Anna fol­ded Jody's hands, one atop the ot­her, whis­pe­ring as she did so, "You are en­te­ring in­to a new pha­se, with new chal­len­ges. Trust yo­ur he­art to le­ad you, and you will not be di­sap­po­in­ted. All you ne­ed is wit­hin yo­ur re­ach. You ne­ed only to ta­ke it."

  Jody smi­led and won­de­red if An­na re­al­ly knew what she was tal­king abo­ut.

  "And now, sir, if you wo­uld ha­ve a se­at…" An­na ges­tu­red to the cha­ir Jody was va­ca­ting.

  "Oh, I think I'll pass," Jeremy wa­ved An­na off. "Thanks an­y­way."

  Anna smi­led. She knew a skep­tic when she saw one. Well, then, it wo­uld be his loss. "That will be twenty dol­lars for the lady's re­ading."

  Jeremy pul­led a twenty from his wal­let and han­ded it to her. He to­ok Jody's arm and ste­ered her to­ward the nar­row do­or­way.

  Still, An­na co­uldn't re­sist.

  "Yo­ur jo­ur­ney ho­me is ne­arly at its end."

  Her words stop­ped Jeremy in his tracks, as she had known they wo­uld.

  "Be­fo­re the we­ek has en­ded." She whis­pe­red so that only he co­uld he­ar. Then she nod­ded to­ward Jody and sa­id, "For her sa­ke, you'll go."

  Jeremy for­ced a pat­ro­ni­zing smi­le and sa­lu­ted An­na as he tur­ned back to the do­or, for­bid­ding him­self to dwell on her words. A lucky gu­ess, not­hing mo­re. Isn't that the way the for­tu­ne-tel­ling ga­me was pla­yed? He tuc­ked An­na's com­ments in­to a cor­ner of his mind whe­re he kept things he'd rat­her not think abo­ut.

  Anna sto­od in the do­or­way and wat­c­hed them walk away, mildly amu­sed. Be­fo­re the we­ek was over, he'd see…

  Jody slip­ped her hand thro­ugh Jeremy's arm and as­ked, "What did she tell you the­re at the end?"

  "Oh, just the kind of stuff they al­ways tell ever­yo­ne so that you go away thin­king that they ha­ve so­me kind of psychic gift."

  "I tho­ught she was pretty go­od," Jody con­ti­nu­ed. "She cer­ta­inly had my job si­tu­ati­on peg­ged pretty well."

  "Well, you play the odds of­ten eno­ugh, so­oner or la­ter you'll hit one right on the mo­ney," Jeremy nod­ded, and ha­ving de­ci­ded that a chan­ge of su­bj­ect was cal­led for, as­ked, "What wo­uld you li­ke to do now?"

  "Hmm, let's see." She sto­od in the cen­ter of the bo­ar­d­walk, lo­oking first to the left-to­ward the big amu­se­ment pi­er with its kil­ler rol­ler co­as­ter and the wa­ter sli­des-then to the right and the mo­re "gen­t­le" ri­des, the ones su­itab­le for chil­d­ren and adults who ha­ve re­cently had a lar­ge me­al.

  "Shel­ton's Pi­er?" She as­ked ho­pe­ful­ly.

  "Shel­ton's Pi­er it is." Jeremy smi­led and to­ok her hand.

  Le­isu­rely they strol­led to the whi­te pic­ket fen­ce that sur­ro­un­ded the amu­se­ment park.

  "Oh, Jeremy, lo­ok!" Jody grab­bed his arm and po­in­ted off to her left. "Te­acups! I re­mem­ber ri­ding the te­acups with my mot­her when I was lit­tle. And lo­ok the­re, the­re's that lit­tle bo­at ri­de."

  La­ug­hing, he al­lo­wed him­self to be led to the short me­tal fen­ce that clo­sed off the nar­row wa­ter­way from spec­ta­tors. Tiny pas­sen­gers, strap­ped in­to tiny se­ats, held tightly to the si­des of the mi­ni­atu­re row­bo­ats as they flo­ated along, drag­ged by a pul­ley un­der the wa­ter to ke­ep all mo­ving at the sa­me ra­te of spe­ed.

  "Oh, I re­mem­ber ri­ding in tho­se lit­tle bo­ats! I tho­ught I was such big stuff, be­ca­use I got to ri­de alo­ne. You must ha­ve rid­den in them lots of ti­mes, li­ving just down the ro­ad."

  He sho­ok his he­ad.

  "How "bo­ut the mer­ry-go-ro­und?" She as­ked. "My mot­her and I used to go on to­get­her. It wo­uld al­ways be our last ri­de. Then we'd stop for cot­ton candy on the way ho­me. Did you use to ri­de the mer­ry-go-ro­und, Jeremy?"

  "On­ce or twi­ce."

  "Fer­ris whe­el?"

  "Only un­til I be­ca­me too co­ol for an­y­t­hing less than the big, nasty ri­des."

  "Wa­it he­re," she told him.

  Jody re­tur­ned shortly with a string of mul­ti­co­lo­red pa­per tic­kets.

  "We ne­ed three each for the mer­ry-go-ro­und, fi­ve each for the Fer­ris whe­el." She held up the tic­kets. "Unless, of co­ur­se, you're still too co­ol…"

  Jeremy la­ug­hed and to­ok her hand, le­ading her to the li­ne for the big whe­el.

  Ten mi­nu­tes la­ter, they we­re strap­ped in­to a ca­nary yel­low gon­do­la and wat­c­hing the park pat­rons on the gro­und grow smal­ler and smal­ler.

  "Lo­ok, from he­re you can see the lights from the ma­ri­na," she sa­id.

  "And the lights from the rol­ler co­as­ter." He po­in­ted to the so­uth. "That's one wic­ked-lo­oking mac­hi­ne, isn't it?"

  "Oh, I saw it on Sa­tur­day night A few of my fri­ends went on, but I just co­uldn't bring myself to get on it."

  "I'm ga­me, if you are."

  "Af­ter that din­ner, I don't think so." She la­ug­hed.

  "May­be to­mor­row night."

  "May­be. Lo­ok, the­re's the cen­ter of town. Three stre­ets over from that red ne­on sign, on the bay si­de, is the ho­use we ren­ted when I was lit­tle. If it was day­light, we co­uld pro­bably see it from he­re. What a fun tho­ught, to see the en­ti­re is­land from up abo­ve it all."

  "Hmm," he rub­bed his chin. "The­re's a tho­ught…"

  "When I was lit­tle, I used to think that you co­uld to­uch the stars from the top of the Fer­ris whe­el." Jody sa­id when the ri­de ca­me to an end and be­gan its gra­du­al re­le­ase of pas­sen­gers, gi­ving each car a mi­nu­te or so stop­ped at the very top of the whe­el.

  Her fa­ce was so ne­ar, tuc­ked as she was in­to the cro­ok of his arm, and her mo­uth was so clo­se, that he ne­ver tho­ught abo­ut kis­sing her, he just did. Her mo­uth was warm and swe­et and still bo­re the slig­h­test tra­ce of le­mon mi­xed with sea air. She tas­ted so go­od that he kis­sed her aga­in, par­ting her lips with his ton­gue and tra­cing the con­to­ur of her mo­uth. De­eper and de­eper, se­eking mo­re and mo­re of her.

  Had any wo­man ever be­en swe­eter to tas­te, sof­ter to to­uch? Had he ever sus­pec­ted that it wo­uld be ot­her­wi­se?

  With her hands on eit­her si­de of his fa­ce, she drew him back to her when she tho­ught he wo­uld pull away. She'd ne­ver be­en kis­sed qu­ite li­ke that, and she didn't want him to stop, pu­re and sim­p­le, and so she kis­sed him un­til the­ir car was ma­king its last lit­tle swing to the plat­form whe­re they'd get off.

  They wan­de­red aro­und the amu­se­ment park, hol­ding hands, but not spe­aking, un­til fi­nal­ly, on the­ir third pass of the mer­ry-go-ro­und, Jody sa­id, "The­re's a big black hor­se dra­ped in scar­let and gold that's cal­ling my na­me. Want to ri­de with me?"

  "Su­re."

  Jeremy hel­ped her to the plat­form when the ri­de ha
d stop­ped, wal­ked with her thro­ugh the crowd of chil­d­ren and yo­ung lo­vers who we­re thre­ading the­ir way thro­ugh the han­d­so­mely pa­in­ted mo­unts.

  "He­re's my hor­se," she sa­id as she clim­bed atop the black hor­se to sit si­de­sad­dle. "Are you go­ing to ri­de? The­re's a pretty me­an lo­oking dra­gon over the­re that might su­it."

  Jeremy la­ug­hed and nod­ded in the di­rec­ti­on of the bright gre­en be­ast.

  "I'd ha­te to ha­ve to fight an eig­ht-ye­ar-old for him. I think I'll just stand he­re with you, if that's okay."

  The mu­sic star­ted and the ca­ro­usel be­gan to turn slowly.

  "Ah, that must be the le­gen­dary gold ring," he sa­id as they pas­sed the wo­oden post whe­re the ring hung from a small do­wel. "I'm go­ing to ha­ve to go for that, you know."

  Lights twin­k­led on and off, the mir­ro­red back of the ca­ro­usel ref­lec­ted the ga­ily de­co­ra­ted ani­mals as they pran­ced past, fas­ter and fas­ter un­til the ref­lec­ti­on was lit­tle mo­re than a blur of co­lor. As the ri­de be­gan to slow, Jeremy wal­ked to the ed­ge, and hol­ding on­to the ne­arest post, wa­ited to pass the wo­oden po­le. Jody ne­ver did see him re­ach for the gold ring, but as they hop­ped off the ri­de, he slip­ped it on­to the mid­dle fin­ger of her left hand.

  "I'm af­ra­id it's a lit­tle big," he apo­lo­gi­zed.

  "Oh, you got it!" She la­ug­hed, de­lig­h­ted that he had do­ne so. "I ne­ver tho­ught that an­yo­ne ever ac­tu­al­ly got one of the­se things!"

  "Be­gin­ner's luck." He shrug­ged, gra­ti­fi­ed that she was so ple­ased with so small a trin­ket. "I spent a lot of ti­me on the bo­ar­d­walk as a te­ena­ger, but I ne­ver spent much ti­me ri­ding the ca­ro­usel hor­ses."

  "Not mac­ho eno­ugh?"

  "Not by a long shot. The Rat­tler, the Twis­ter, the Sea Ser­pent-tho­se we­re manly ri­des."

  "Then I gu­ess the spin­ning te­acups we­re out."

  He la­ug­hed and drew her clo­se to him as they wal­ked past the ar­ca­de whe­re boys in baggy pants and tank tops fed an en­d­less supply of qu­ar­ters in­to the mac­hi­nes.

  "Now, how abo­ut that cot­ton candy you we­re tal­king abo­ut? Isn't that what you sa­id you used to end up yo­ur nights on the bo­ar­d­walk with?