Tomorrow's Promise

by Radclyffe

  Such thoughts were far from her conscious mind now, however. The gusting wind from the water invigorated her, and she wished she had worn running shoes. Adrienne smiled at the thought. She hadn’t run in months. It had once been a daily ritual for her—to rise early and run on the beach. It had helped her to face the hours of meetings and indoor obligations with equanimity. This morning she occupied herself instead with getting to know her new surroundings. The East Coast was very different from Southern California, where she had lived for the last fifteen years. The shoreline was lower, less threatening; the ocean somehow mellower. The ever-present power of the raging Pacific was absent here, but the sea nevertheless seemed fathomless, full of secrets.

  Adrienne found herself wondering if the answers to her many questions lay hidden on the barren expanse of this shore. She had never felt so alone, so unable to confide in anyone. She didn't know how to voice her deep uncertainties. Almost out of necessity, she had learned to accept her solitude. The loneliness that accompanied it had become a familiar companion.

  As she rounded a bend in the island, almost a mile from where she had started, she saw a large dark, shaggy shape rise up out of the ground not twenty feet in front of her. She stopped suddenly, stifling a cry of surprise, and stared at the apparition. After a moment she laughed quietly to herself when she recognized the square head and massive body of a Newfoundland. The dog stood motion­less, surveying her with a calm but curious expression.

  Adrienne advanced slowly, softly calling, “Hi there, pooch. What are you doing out here so early, huh?” The dog didn’t seem at all disturbed by her presence, but Adrienne was wary. She didn’t relish the thought of an early morning sprint down the beach with an angry dog at her heels.

  She gasped in shock, close enough now to see a body crumpled in the sand on the far side of the vigilant animal. Images from a dozen movies -- the faithful companion guarding its master’s dead body --flashed through her head. She steeled herself for the horrible sight she was sure was to come, and advanced slowly, continuing to murmur in what she hoped was a reas­suring voice to the dog.

  “Oh, Christ!” she muttered when she was close enough to see that the figure, half-turned away from her, was that of a woman. The curve of hip and disheveled collar-length hair left little room for doubt. Instinctively, she looked over her shoulder, wondering if some psychopath still lurked behind the dunes. The beach was deserted except for the dog and the still figure before her.

  The dog’s tail was wagging, and Adrienne decided she could risk a closer look. Taking a deep breath, she grasped an arm and rolled the body over. The pale face was framed with tousled black hair, scattered throughout with bits of twigs and sand. Her features were boldly sculpted, with a strong nose and square chin framing full, rich lips. Just as Adrienne reached out tentatively to touch the woman's face, nearly translucent eyelids fluttered open to reveal dark, unfocused eyes. Adrienne stood transfixed, staring down, captured by those eyes. For an instant there was a hint of innocence, and something lost, swirling in their depths. It wasn’t until the searching gaze settled questioningly on Adrienne’s face that Adrienne found her voice.

  “God, you frightened me! Are you hurt?” she exclaimed.

  “Eternally,” a husky voice replied.

  Adrienne leaned back a little as a powerful wave of alcoholic fumes exuding from the prone figure hit her.

  “Bull,” Adrienne uttered in exasperation, annoyed now at her earlier fears, “You’re not hurt—you’re just drunk!”

  The dark-haired stranger made an attempt to sit up and fell back into the sand groaning. “Right now that amounts to the same thing,” she gasped.

  The whole scene was so ridiculous Adrienne had to laugh. “How long have you been here?”

  “That depends,” came the weak reply. “If today is still Saturday—a few hours. If it’s not, then you’ll have to tell me.”

  “Must have been some party,” Adrienne muttered as she watched the young woman finally manage to attain an upright position. She wore a light cotton shirt that was half unbuttoned, and Adrienne hastily averted her eyes from the full curve of barely covered breasts beneath. She could see that the arms supporting the woman’s bowed head were firmly but sleekly muscled, as were the denim-clad legs. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, a good ten years or so Adrienne's junior. Adrienne was caught staring as deep brown eyes, now clear, suddenly fixed her with piecing intensity, and the pale face lit up with a brilliant smile.

  “Hello, by the way. I’m Tanner.”

  “Adrienne Pierce,” Adrienne answered somewhat stiffly, annoyed that she had been caught up in this absurd melodrama. All she had wanted was a quiet walk on the beach!

  Tanner leaned her cheek on her knee and studied the woman standing ramrod straight before her. Blue eyes like chips of flint met hers coolly. The face seemed flawless except for the signs of strain that showed in the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. Tanner wondered briefly what was bothering her so much, but the thought passed quickly as her pounding headache penetrated her slowly awakening mind.

  “Ugh!” Tanner grimaced. “If I look half as bad as I feel, I’m surprised you didn’t run immediately for the body bag.”

  Adrienne thought Tanner looked remarkably attractive for someone who had just spent the night in a drunken stupor on the ground, but she certainly wasn’t going to say so. “Well, I can’t say much for your choice of sleeping places,” she commented dryly. “Besides, your dog may be good company, but she isn’t big on protection. She let me walk right up to you.”

  Tanner managed a slightly flirtatious grin despite her splitting headache. She wanted to crack that ice-cold facade. She wasn't sure why it should matter – but it did. “Sam probably knew I would be safe with you.”

  Adrienne remained impassive. Tanner was lovely to be sure, with her devilish grin and confident charm, but she was obviously trouble. “Now that you’re awake, and reasonably oriented in time and space, I’ll leave you to find your way home when you’re up to it.” She turned to go but was restrained by a surprisingly firm grip on her arm. Tanner had risen and stood unsteadily beside her.

  “Wait a minute, please,” Tanner said anxiously. “I don’t even know where you live. I’d like to talk to you sometime when I can make a more civilized impression.”

  Adrienne laughed softly. “I have a feeling you’re never entirely civilized. Besides, I doubt that we’d have much in common. I’m here on R and R—that’s short for reading and resting at this particular point in time. A sabbatical of sorts from the real world. I’m sure you’d find that dull.”

  Tanner regarded her intently, the expression on her face impossible to decipher. “Actually, Adrienne, all of us on Whitley Point are attempting to escape life in one way or another. It seems that you’ve come to the right place if it’s the real world you want to avoid.”

  Adrienne was surprised by the thinly veiled bitterness in Tanner’s voice, but she didn’t want to probe for its source. She didn’t have the energy for someone else’s problems. She could barely manage her own. “I didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded,” she said lightly. “I’m just not very interested in socializing these days. Perhaps we will run into each other some time. Take care of yourself,” she finished lamely as she resolutely turned to leave.

  Tanner watched the tall, thin figure striding purposefully away for a few seconds and then called to her retreating back, “Good-bye—and thanks for rescuing me!”

  Tanner thought she heard faint laughter, but Adrienne did not alter her step. Tanner continued to stare after her until she rounded the curve of the shoreline and disappeared from view. She ran both hands through her disheveled hair and straightened her shirt. Moving slowly in an attempt to reduce the force of the cannon barrage in the back of her head, she made her way over the dunes toward the main house. When she entered the kitchen, the housekeeper fixed her with a stern glance.

  “And where have you been? You look like a vagabond!” May said, her a
nnoyance clearly displayed in the flash of her dark eyes.

  Tanner held up one hand and gave May a pleading glance. “Coffee, please, and don’t go on at me right now. I’m suffering enough, I promise you.”

  “Hmph,” the older woman snorted as she poured the steaming liquid into a mug and set it in front of Tanner, who had slumped into a chair at the table.

  May had been the housekeeper for Tanner’s family since before Tanner was born, and she considered it well within her responsibilities to bring Tanner to task for her behavior. In truth, May was often the person who managed to prevent Tanner’s escapades from coming to the attention of her mother. Tanner knew it, and she was grateful.

  “Your friend was up here looking for you earlier,” May commented reproach­fully. “I had Thomas give her a ride back to the mainland.”

  "My friend?" Tanner looked puzzled for a moment, until she suddenly recalled the events of the previous evening.

  “Thanks,” she sighed heavily. Now she remembered how she had ended up on the beach. For some reason she hadn’t been able to sleep with Lois in her bed. After they made love, Tanner had risen quietly, pulling on the clothes they had left in a pile on the floor in their eagerness to undress earlier. Lois had not awakened as Tanner left.

  “Where’s Mother?” she asked.

  “On the terrace. And you had better not go out there looking like that. Go shower and change your clothes.” She looked at Tanner with a mixture of fondness and concern. “Are you all right?”

  Tanner smiled wanly and rose to her feet. “Sure,” she said, giving May a quick hug as she left.

  An hour later, refreshed from her shower and dressed in a casual white linen shirt and loose drawstring pants, she climbed the winding outside stairs to the terrace. Her mother looked up from her reading as Tanner approached, and smiled.

  “Hello, darling.”

  Tanner stooped and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Hello, Mother,” she said softly. Tanner was often moved to tenderness at the sight of her mother’s calm, gentle face. Somehow, she always felt soothed in her presence. They rarely spoke directly of personal things. Their relationship was more an unspoken kinship, but nevertheless, they were deeply bonded to one another.

  Tanner stretched out in an adjoining chaise and leaned her head back with a sigh. The late spring sun suffused her with warmth.

  Her mother rested her hand gently on Tanner’s suntanned arm and said quietly, “It’s so nice to have you home.” When her daughter didn’t reply, she realized she was asleep. She studied Tanner’s face, thinking how young she seemed when she was sleeping. The shadows that often flickered across her features and haunted her deep-set eyes were gone. Her mother recognized that seething unrest very well. It was the same barely contained energy searching for a focal point that had driven her husband for most of his life. It was the thing she had loved—and feared—most about him. It was the kind of passion that brought great achievement, or, when unchecked, self-destruc­tion. She fervently hoped her daughter found some direction before she too became a victim of her own undisciplined desires.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ADRIENNE ARRIVED BACK at the large empty house feeling strangely unsettled. She couldn’t seem to get the encounter with Tanner out of her mind. Something about the mixture of amusement and self-deprecation in the younger woman’s manner had captivated Adrienne. Probably because she's the first person you've met in months who's in worse shape than you, she chided herself, trying hard to forget the dazzling smile and flirtatious charm.

  She let herself in through the sliding glass doors to the sun-filled bedroom, shaking her head impatiently. She recognized in Tanner the same wild recklessness that she had seen in so many of the young Californians who flocked to the bars and beaches, ready to try anything, or anyone, who happened along. If she had ever been that young, or that vital, she couldn’t remember any longer.

  With a determined glance at the suitcases piled next to the door, she put herself to the task of unpacking. She hung her clothes neatly on hangers in the spacious closet, smoothing out her dress uniform and pushing it to the rear along with the rest of her regulation clothing. She wondered absently why she had brought them along. The force of old habits after so many years was hard to break, she guessed.

  The afternoon passed quickly as she attempted to bring order to her new surroundings. She stowed her few supplies in the vastly oversized kitchen, and discovered to her delight an amply stocked bar courtesy of the absent owners in a small recessed area off the living room. She poured herself a brandy, wandered outside, and settled into a canvas deck chair. She looked out to the water, reminded of the many evenings she had spent this way at home, relaxing after a long day at the base. The only difference now was that she was alone.

  She wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake coming here. Perhaps she should have returned to the West Coast and found some kind of a job. Certainly she was well qualified. She reminded herself of all the reasons she had decided not to do that. She needed time, she knew, to adjust to the new circumstances of her life. She sought some quiet course to order her days, and a calmness of spirit to face her uncertain future without fear. She hoped she could find that here, on this isolated island, where time seemed suspended.

  * * *

  Adrienne’s days settled quietly into a pattern of rising early to walk on the beach, followed by leisurely hours spent reading in the sun. She explored the island only enough to acquaint herself with the general store where she could buy the few supplies she needed. She nodded politely to the pleasant `hellos’ of the island's long-time inhabitants, but avoided conversation. If she was lonely, she did not recognize it as such. When she grew restless, she had only to return to the sea to find the comfort her soul craved. Her initial pallor, left over from weeks of inactivity in Philadelphia, was quickly replaced by a deep bronze tan. Her body too began to respond to the exercise and invigorating fresh air, and she began to feel healthy again. She wrote occasional notes to a few friends, and made the obligatory calls to her family, but other than that, she had little contact with anyone.

  She was unpacking groceries from her car one morning when she was startled by the sound of her phone ringing. It was such a rare occurrence it took her a moment to realize what it was. "Surely, a wrong number," she thought, as she dashed for the phone.

  “Yes,” she said, as she snatched up the receiver.

  “Ms. Pierce?” a well-modulated voice inquired.

  “Speaking,” Adrienne replied, puzzled. She did not recognize the voice.

  “This is Constance Whitley, your neighbor to the north. You’ve settled in comfortably, I hope?”

  Adrienne was nonplussed, wondering how the Whitleys knew of her presence. She should have realized that little escaped the attention of the Whitleys on Whitley Point.

  “Yes, I have. Thank you,” she replied after a second.

  “I’m delighted to hear that. I’m calling to invite you to our open house next Saturday evening. It’s rather a tradition on Whitley Point. Everyone on the island celebrates the beginning of the summer season at a barbecue dinner-dance at our home. I do hope you can attend.”

  “Well, I—” Adrienne began, desperately seeking a polite way to refuse an invitation from the island’s most prestigious family. When she could think of none, she replied, “I would be happy to. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Not at all, my dear. Dress is informal. We’ll expect you around seven.”

  Constance Whitley rang off with a polite 'good-bye’, leaving Adrienne staring at the phone. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. “Just what I do not want to do. But I guess I can't refuse the first family.”

  As Saturday approached, Adrienne found her hard won peace of mind slipping away. She was nervous about the evening’s festivities. She hadn’t attended a public function in almost a year, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the social niceties. She was plagued throughout the day by a vague ache in her right arm and shoulder, the first
time they had bothered her in weeks. Annoyed with herself, she tried to read, but she found she couldn’t concentrate. When she realized she had read the same paragraph three times and still didn’t know what it said, she tossed the book aside in disgust. She found herself craving a cigarette after six months without one.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she exclaimed, grabbing her keys and stomping down the steps to her car.

  She wheeled the vehicle around the cul-de-sac and headed toward the intersec­tion with the main road. Just as she pulled out, a silver Jaguar hurtled around the curve and barreled down upon her. A horn blasted, and only her quick reflexes saved her from being broadsided. She yanked the wheel hard to the right, nearly forcing her car into a ditch. As she slammed to a stop, the sports car roared away. Adrienne caught only a glimpse of the rear of the car as it disappeared around a corner. She couldn’t see the driver, but the letters THW stood out clearly on the license plate.

  “Damn!” Adrienne cursed, beginning to tremble slightly. She waited for her breathing to quiet and backed the car carefully onto the road. She drove at a sedate pace to the store, still shaken by the near accident.

  “Good morning, Mr. Simms,” she said to the familiar face behind the counter. “Could I have a pack of Dunhills, please?”

  “Sure thing. Beautiful sailing weather, isn’t it?” he responded with a smile.

  Adrienne bit back a sarcastic comment, and looked out over the marina; after all, he was just being friendly. Impossibly blue sky, decorated with picture-postcard clouds, joined an expanse of brilliant ocean as far as she could see. “You’re right, the sea is perfect.”