by Carol Grace
“If we continue, what will happen?” he asked. “I, for one, haven’t gotten it out of my system. Good night? You call it a ‘good night’? I call it an incredible night. I still want you. I want another incredible night with you. Many more nights. I admit I never forgot you. I thought about you, wondered about you and compared every other woman with you.”
“So that’s it,” she said, her eyes steely. “You only want to continue this…this affair to get me out of your system so you can quit comparing the women in your life with me. You want to be able to forget me once and for all by prolonging this affair until you’re bored or you leave here, whichever comes first. Until you’ve had enough of me just like all the other women who pass through your life. Then you’ll go back to San Francisco and pick up where you left off.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, putting both hands against his chest and pushing him away from her. “Nothing at all. Except that I’ve made one big mistake with a man I badly misjudged. I like to think I’m smarter now. At least I’m older. And I’m not going along with your plan. I’m bailing out right now. I don’t need an affair with you to get you out of my system. You’re already long gone. Whatever we had is over. It was nothing, anyway. A teenage crush. An infatuation between two people who were forbidden to each other. That’s all.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he said, glaring at her. She’d just summed up feelings that didn’t apply to him at all, and it made him damned mad. “Let me tell you whatever I felt for you was not a teenage crush. And whatever we felt for each other is not over. Not by a long shot.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her so hard he was afraid he’d hurt her. But after a quick gasp of surprise, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and kissed him back—just as fiercely as he’d kissed her. There was no love there, no affection, just plain retaliation.
When she finally broke the kiss and wrenched herself away from him, he watched her leave the kitchen, feeling as if he’d just lost the battle. But one battle didn’t make a war. He wasn’t about to surrender. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel anything for him. Not after last night. Maybe it was just lust. If it was, so be it. It was good enough for him.
Sam pressed his forehead against the wall and stood in the kitchen listening to Hayley’s footsteps on the stairs, heard her slam her bedroom door just as firmly as she’d shut him off a few minutes before. He knew he was too restless to stay in the house, too frustrated to sit still, too wound up to lie in the sun on Hayley’s patio and wonder what she was doing and when she would come down.
He walked out the front door not knowing where he was going or why. He just knew he had to get away from the Bancroft House, the symbol of everything he’d ever wanted and couldn’t have. At this stage of his life he could have almost any woman he wanted. He could afford to buy almost any house he wanted. Then why did he continue to want her, to be bogged down in a love-hate relationship with this house and this town? Because she was a symbol and so was her house and so was New Hope. They symbolized small-town manners and morals and standards. Standards and manners he could never live up to. Until now. The question was did he want to? Did he want to belong to a place that had kicked him out long ago. The answer was no, of course he didn’t.
Where did he belong? He didn’t really belong to San Francisco. Oh, he was happy there. He had his work there. He’d found satisfaction there. But he’d never felt as if he belonged. Not the way Hayley knew she belonged to New Hope.
Without knowing where he was going or why, he walked toward the ocean beach where the waves crashed against the shore. As a kid he’d always found what solace he could at the beach. Away from the turmoil of his house. His mother and her men. The occasional appearance of his drunken father. The roar of the sea was soothing after the clamor of angry voices. He’d pick up an odd shell or a water-polished stone, or sometimes a piece of driftwood.
He once gave Hayley a shell because it made him think of her, pink and polished and perfect. She wouldn’t remember it, but he did. He remembered the way her eyes lit up, the way she ran her finger over the surface as if it was something special.
He took off his shoes and walked for miles along hard-packed wet sand, trying to shake the image of Hayley in his bed last night, the sound of her cries of pleasure, the touch of her skin. She thought he was selfish, that he was using her, but that wasn’t true. Yes, he wanted to be able to leave New Hope this time without regrets, without unfinished business, but hadn’t she wanted to begin an affair just as much as he did?
The answer had to be yes. The difference was she wanted to break it off now. After one night with him, she’d had enough. She thought now they could live under the same roof for six months and pretend they were just old friends. Act as if there was no electricity in the air when they were together, as though he was a guest at her B&B and nothing more. Eat her muffins in the morning, work alongside of her, sleep down the hall from her and not go crazy from wanting her. And he did want her. More than he had as a crazy teenager, more than yesterday when he didn’t know, only suspected, what a warm, generous, giving lover she was. For him there was no going back. He had to convince her to move forward with him. To explore this thing they had together, always had had and, God help them, always would have.
The sun beat down on his shoulders; the salt spray dampened his shirt. After walking for miles, he finally stopped to watch a man and a boy surf fishing. The two were bent over a bucket of bait. The man was showing his son how to put a chunk of sardine on the hook. Pants rolled up to the knees, eleven-foot poles over their shoulders, they walked to the edge of the surf as the tide receded.
Sam sat on the sand, wrapped his arms around his legs and watched the man put his arms around his son and guide the child’s arm back to cast out as far as he could. Then they reeled their line in and started over. Over and over they repeated this action until the line was out. The man helped the boy stick his pole into the sand and repeated the process with his own pole. Then they sat next to each other on the sand, shoulders touching, to watch and wait for a strike.
Sam felt his throat tighten. The affection between father and son, the companionship of the two, was obvious from across the sand and filled him with a sense of loss that hurt like a shaft through the heart. As a kid he’d often surf fished, coming out to the beach at low tide, but not with a surf rod and reel. He’d had to make do with a stick and a string and a can of worms he’d dug up. Of course he’d had no father to show him how to fish. And no mother around to fry the fish when he came home. He didn’t care. He still loved fishing.
He didn’t need a father. He’d figured out surf fishing for himself by watching others. Such a simple thing. A man and a boy fishing together. If he had a son he would teach him to fish. They would spend Saturday mornings on the beach, the wind ruffling the boy’s hair, the waves smacking against their legs. He’d told Hayley he didn’t know how to be a father, since he’d never had one. But today it seemed easy. Easy and so obtainable he could almost reach out and grab it for himself. Fatherhood. The unconditional love of a father for a child. He’d never had a father, but he could have a child. If…if…
As he watched, the boy’s pole bent gracefully down, and the kid got to his feet and jumped up and down with excitement. Sam stood and smiled, held his breath and hoped it would be a big, beautiful striped bass. Big enough to take home. Big enough to fry for dinner.
Then he couldn’t watch anymore. He turned and walked back the way he’d come. He’d seen enough. He’d seen himself on that beach. Himself as a boy, himself as a man. To be the man he wanted to be, he had to grow up. He had to make peace with Hayley. The girl who’d once said she loved him. The girl he’d never forgotten. If he didn’t do that, the past seventeen years had been a waste. She was right. He’d intended to use her, to make love to her until he didn’t need her anymore. She deserved better than that. And deep down he already knew that exorcising her out of h
is mind and his memory was an unattainable goal.
Hayley spent the afternoon in a frenzy of activity, vacuuming, dusting and polishing. It was her antidote for the depression that nagged at her following their argument. The argument that left her shaken and filled with doubts. She wondered if she was right. Would it really make any difference if she had a six-month affair with Sam or a one-night affair? Yes, she was going to have a hard time getting over him no matter what. How could it be any worse?
From her bedroom window she’d watched Sam walk down the driveway and cross the street, his hands jammed into his pockets, his collar turned up. The image she remembered from out of the past. He looked as angry and upset as she was. He couldn’t understand her reasoning. She thought about running after him, trying once again to explain her position. But he was so stubborn, he wouldn’t listen.
She hoped he wouldn’t come back in time for dinner with her friends. She had nothing more to say to him. And she didn’t want to pretend all evening that everything was fine between them. He’d made it clear he wanted a six-month affair with her, then he would walk out of her life forever and leave her behind. It wasn’t going to be easy, watching him leave for the second time in her life, but if she cut off the affair now, she’d be in better shape to get along without him. At least that was the theory. She replayed their argument over and over in her mind to the whir of the vacuum. She wasn’t ready to take it up again in person, so she got ready early to go across town for dinner.
But she wasn’t in luck. Just as she was about to walk out the front door, in her favorite black stretch pants and a white sweater, the bucket of clams in her hand, he appeared in the driveway, sunburned, windblown…so ruggedly handsome, so different from the Sam she’d encountered in his office, he took her breath away. Damn him.
“Time to go?” he asked, and before she could answer he said, “Be right with you, after a quick shower.”
She stood in the doorway without speaking. Wanting to say, you’re too late. I can’t wait. I’m going without you. But she didn’t say anything as he brushed by her. She sat on the front steps and waited for him. Just as he knew she would.
When he came out the front door ten minutes later, he looked even better, in khaki pants and a black T-shirt. He smelled like the sandalwood soap she’d put in his bathroom, and his hair was slicked back behind his ears, leaving his suntanned face, his firm jaw, his dark eyes to stand out in stark relief. He picked up the bucket of clams and put them in the trunk of his car. She strapped herself into the bucket seat of his expensive sports car and gave directions to her friends’ house.
“Have a nice day?” he asked as they drove down Main Street. As if nothing had happened. As if she was Grandma Pringle rocking back and forth on her front porch on Fourth Street as he strolled by.
“Lovely,” she said, staring straight ahead at the stores along the street. She could be just as unconcerned, just as casual as he could. “You?”
“I went for a walk on the beach.”
“Nice day for it,” she said.
“You should have come with me,” he said.
“I had work to do,” she said. As if he’d invited her along.
“You work too hard,” he said.
“That’s funny, coming from you,” she noted. “The original workaholic.”
“What’s the point of living on the coast if you don’t go to the beach on a day like this?” he asked.
“I went clamming this morning,” she reminded him.
“Next time I’ll come with you,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll have any more babies to check out.”
“Sam…”
“I’m sorry about what I said this morning,” he said. “You were right and I was wrong. I was totally out of line suggesting we have an affair while I’m here. We’ve got it out of our systems now, and we can be friends.” He reached over and stuck out his hand. She shook it quickly. What else could she do but let him take her hand in his for a brief moment and pretend she felt nothing? No electric current flowing from his hand to hers, no accelerated heartbeat just from the friction of his skin against hers.
She folded her arms across her waist and turned to look out the side window, trying to still the frantic beating of her heart. From just one apology and a handshake. She was pathetic really. All he had to do was apologize and shake her hand and she was a basket case. Her forehead puckered as she tried to reconcile this side of Sam to the Sam she already knew. This was a relaxed, easygoing Sam, who could admit he was wrong. She didn’t know what to say so she didn’t say anything. But her thoughts were spinning around in her head as she tried to figure him out.
At the Lambs’ house, an old Victorian on Beech Street that they were remodeling, Sam surprised her further by being out-and-out charming. She asked herself what had happened to the chip on his shoulder. Oh, he’d been polite to them in the restaurant last night, but nothing like this. He asked questions, he answered questions, but kept the conversation rolling by drawing them out, getting them talking about their lives and why they’d come back to New Hope.
“I didn’t know what to do when I got out of college,” Pete said. “What do you do with a major in sociology? I never thought I’d come back here, but after I looked around I decided there wasn’t a nicer place to live than New Hope. There’s something to be said about coming home. Then my dad retired and left me the hardware store, so it was an easy choice. Fortunately, Donna agreed with me.”
Hayley held her breath, knowing Sam was thinking that his dad left him nothing, not even one happy memory. But if Sam thought that, he didn’t show it. Instead he recalled that when he was a kid Mr. Lamb had donated his time and materials to install a new playground at the elementary school, which illustrated what a hardworking, generous man Jonah Lamb had been. Pete looked surprised and pleased that Sam had remembered.
“And of course it’s a good place to bring up kids,” Donna said in answer to Sam’s question.
Hayley looked up from the wine cooler they’d poured her. Donna and Pete had been trying to have kids since they got married years ago. But if she’d finally gotten pregnant, she hadn’t told Hayley about it.
“We haven’t told anyone yet, not until we’re sure, but we filed for adoption, and we think, we hope, we’re getting a baby.”
Hayley set her drink down, and her eyes filled with tears. Tears of happiness for her friend. Tears of envy for herself. Donna was thirty-five and she was going to get a baby of her own. Sam shot her a look that said, see, thirty-five isn’t too late. But Donna was happily married to her hometown, high school sweetheart. Another day, another baby. For someone else. She choked back her unbecoming jealousies. “Oh, Donna, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you. When will you…who will you…”
“It’s a teenage, unmarried girl in Portland. Your grandfather was working on getting us a baby through his contacts. When he died I didn’t know what to do, where to turn, but suddenly our number came up.” Hayley could see Donna was radiantly happy as she reached for her husband’s hand. It was plain to see how much in love they still were by the way they looked in each other’s eyes.
The clams, which Donna had steamed in white wine and parsley and garlic, were delicious. Sam said next time he’d bring a striped bass. Just as soon as he bought himself some fishing gear. Pete said he had some for sale at the store and he’d go fishing with Sam himself. Hayley didn’t believe what she was hearing. Sam and Pete going fishing together? Sam, the loner, seemed glad to have the company. Or was he just being polite?
On the way home he said, “Nice people.”
“Yes, they are.”
When they got back to the house, Hayley braced herself for something—what, she didn’t know. Another argument? Another seduction? Sam was being someone else. She didn’t know what to expect from him next. What she least expected was that he’d go right to his room after he thanked her for including him in the dinner with her friends. No sarcasm, no criticism of New Hope, stated or implied. And no
smoldering looks, no flirtation, no kisses. She was relieved…or was that disappointment she felt?
“Are you feeling all right, Sam?” she asked from the bottom of the stairway.
“Fine,” he said from the landing. “Why?”
“You didn’t really know Pete or Donna in high school, did you?” she asked, her eyebrows drawn together.
“No, and I didn’t want to. She was your friend. He was a big athlete. I was jealous of them both. I assumed they were rich snobs.”
“Rich? His father owned the hardware store.”
“To me that was rich.” He took another step up the stairs, obviously tired of this discussion, obviously trying to escape from her.
She nodded. It was insensitive of her not to realize the contrast Sam had felt between the other kids and himself. Also insensitive not to realize he was trying to get away from her. He didn’t want to spend any more time talking to her.
“How would eggs Benedict be in the morning?” she asked.
“Sounds good, but you don’t have to do that. All I need is coffee.”
“This is a bed and breakfast. I can’t let you go to work without breakfast. You’re my guest,” she reminded him as he disappeared from view down the hall. She stood there, her arm on the polished oak railing, listening, thinking, wondering. But the longer she stood there, as the quiet of her house closed around her, the more bewildered she was at the change in her guest.
She made eggs Benedict the next morning. The morning after that she made French toast, and so it went for the next few weeks. He ate the breakfasts she cooked while reading the newspaper. Not the San Francisco Chronicle that he was used to, but the local gazette filled with local news about the tourist industry, logging and fishing. Each morning he thanked her and walked to the office. They worked together in the afternoons, seeing an increasing number of patients each day. In between appointments, Sam would be at his computer, writing or reading.