“And, at the risk of sounding immodest, falling in love with me was one of the best and smartest changes you’ve ever made.”
“I don’t…” She slammed her mouth shut before the lie could come out.
The fact that she couldn’t tell him that she didn’t love him was enough, Dan decided. For now. He’d let her stew for a while, then he’d marry her.
“Tell you what, why don’t you spend some time thinking the situation over and give me a call when you’ve made up your mind.”
“Give you a call?” A temper she didn’t show often snapped in her eyes.
“You said you wanted to sort things out on your own. So, I’ll just leave and give you the space you need.” He could tell this was not what she’d expected.
“Jack gave Raine all the time she needed to make up
her
mind,” she reminded him on a flare of frustrated heat he enjoyed a helluva lot more than her earlier chill.
“I’m not Jack,” he reminded her back. “Besides, their situation was different. She had to choose between Coldwater Cove and New York and the clock was ticking. Right now, where we’re concerned, you’re anchored in that safe little harbor bobbing contentedly on calm waters. There’s nothing to prevent you from toying with my affections until doomsday.”
“Toying with your affections?” She dragged her hands through her hair. The frustrated gesture caused her breasts to bounce in a way that had him almost reconsidering this strategy. The trouble with ultimatums was that they didn’t leave you a lot of wiggle room.
“Hey, contrary to popular belief, we guys have feelings, too.”
He scooped his shirt from the lacy iron pillar of the bed. “Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”
Dan dropped a kiss on her tightly set lips, flashed her the boyish grin that had, over the years, worked on females of all ages. Then, though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, nearly as hard as coming home to bury his sister and claim her son, Dan walked out of the lantern room, leaving Savannah alone in bed.
With his resolve hanging by a thread, he did not allow himself to look back.
Savannah hadn’t really believed Dan. Oh, she knew he loved her. But she didn’t really believe that he intended to break things off entirely. Until he disappeared.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you where he was going,” she complained to Raine. They were in their grandmother’s kitchen drinking tea. Martha had taken the ferry to Seattle to do some Christmas shopping, so they’d spent the morning taking turns reading to Ida.
She’d always loved murder mysteries, the bloodier the better. She might not be able to tackle them herself quite yet, but Kathi, who Savannah had decided was an angel masquerading as a speech therapist, had predicted it would be only a few more weeks.
“I’m truly sorry,” Raine said. “But he refused to tell me.”
“He must have told Jack where he was going, since John’s staying with you. What if something happened to him?”
“Jack probably does know. But he’s not talking. You know how those O’Hallorans stick together.”
“It’s emotional blackmail,” Savannah muttered darkly.
“Is it working?”
“Of course it is. Which is ironic, since he told me that he was leaving to let me make up my own mind.” Savannah glared into her teacup as if she could read the answer to her dilemma in the swirl of black leaves at the bottom. “As if he isn’t trying to manipulate things with this Houdini act. I’m surprised he hasn’t rented one of those planes that make smoke messages to fly over town and write ‘Surrender Savannah’ in the sky.”
“I used to think of marriage as a form of surrender, too,” Raine revealed. “I spent so many years working hard for my independence, if I hadn’t been so madly in love, I might have ended up resenting any man who’d ask me to give it up. But Jack never asked.”
“Neither has Dan,” Savannah admitted.
“I wouldn’t think he would. He’s confident enough that a strong woman isn’t going to intimidate him, or prick his male ego.”
“Do you think I’m too complacent?” she asked.
Raine didn’t immediately respond. “I believe,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that we both developed our own defense mechanisms. Our coping skills. My instinct is to fight like a tiger when I feel threatened.”
“While I dive for the foxhole,” Savannah said with self-disgust.
“You’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve just always preferred to find a compromise.”
“I compromised in my marriage, and look how that turned out.” She threw up her hands. “Don’t say it. I know. There’s no comparison between Dan and Kevin.”
“From what I can tell, sitting on the sidelines, Dan has never asked you to compromise yourself or your dreams or goals. All he wants is for you to love him, the way he loves you.”
“I do.”
“Then surely you, of all people, can find a compromise between your desire for autonomy and his desire to spend the rest of his life with you.”
Raine leaned forward and covered Savannah’s hand with hers. Her woven gold wedding band gleamed like a promise in the light from the copper lamp that hung over the table.
“While you’re making your decision, you might want to keep in mind that since my marriage, my life is fuller than I ever could have imagined possible.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Blessed,” Raine corrected with a slow smile. “I suspect you could have that with Dan.”
Savannah absorbed Raine’s statement. “It’s not that easy.”
Raine sighed. Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I wonder if it ever is.”
He’d made his point.
By the time he’d been gone a week, Savannah couldn’t think. How was she supposed to think about booking reservations and what flowers to put in what room when all she could do was wonder where the hell he was? And if he was thinking about her.
She couldn’t eat. The rest of the family had jumped at the chance to try out possible menu items and assured her that her praline butter Belgian waffles were a gastronomical delight and her braided blueberry loaf topped with vanilla icing was a taste of paradise. But she could have been eating dried ashes. Her own taste of frustration spiced with regret was too strong.
Worst of all, she couldn’t sleep. The lacy white iron Victorian wonder of a bed, which she’d fallen in love with at first sight, the bed that she’d actually seen in her dreams since childhood, now seemed to be as wide and desolate as the Sahara Desert.
She didn’t need him. Not really, she told herself over and over again. She was a strong woman with her own budding career and a loving, supportive family. She didn’t need a man to make her feel complete. She didn’t need him to make her world complete. The little corner of the universe she’d created for herself was still safe. Still secure. And lonely.
“S
avannah?”
Savannah glanced up from the computer, which she’d been using to pay bills, and saw John standing in the doorway.
“Hi.” She was tempted, as she had been each day this past week, to ask him if he knew where his uncle was. But knowing how it felt to have your openness taken advantage of, she’d managed to restrain herself. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t believe it when I came home last night and saw all the greenery you’d hung. I wanted to thank you for all the trouble you obviously went to.”
“I’m glad you like it. The boughs in the lantern room were Uncle Dan’s idea.”
“Well. Isn’t that nice.” She wondered if he’d mentioned it to John before leaving, or if the two of them had been in contact.
She had to stop this, Savannah instructed herself. She was not going to let him make her crazy.
“I was just putting the poinsettias from the greenhouse in all the rooms, like you asked, and I thought you might want me to take a couple over to your grandmother.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” She shut down the computer. “Give me two minutes to button things up here and I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s a nice day and I’ve got the baskets on the back of my bike.”
Savannah looked out the windows at the clouds stippled with the last light of the day. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”
“I’ve got a bike light. Uncle Dan lets me ride at night,” he reminded her. “As long as it isn’t raining and the streets aren’t slick.”
Just because his heart was as open as a child’s was no reason to treat him like one. He was, she reminded herself, on the Special Olympics bicycle team. Still, she worried.
“Ida loves poinsettias. Why don’t I drive by in a while and pick you up so you don’t have to ride all the way to the farm?”
“I’m not going to the farm tonight.”
Okay. She had to ask. “You’re not?”
“No. Uncle Dan called Jack. He’s coming back home tonight because he has to be in court in the morning.”
“I see.” So how long would he have stayed away if he hadn’t had a court case scheduled, she wondered.
“Oh. I forgot something.” He reached into an inside pocket of his parka and pulled out a small book she recognized right away. It was another of Lucy’s journals.
“Where did you find it?”
“I was putting the wheelbarrow away in the crawlspace and I had to move some stuff to fit it in.”
While she didn’t spend any more time than necessary down there, she’d inspected the crawlspace when she’d bought the property. It ran nearly the entire length of the keeper’s house, had a packed dirt floor and a ceiling about six feet high, which made it large enough to use for outdoor storage.
“There was this old, rusted box beneath a broken wagon wheel,” he revealed. “The book was inside it.”
When he handed it to her, a spark of electricity arced from his fingers to hers. Savannah told herself that it was only static electricity. And that was strange, because they were both wearing sneakers planted firmly on the wood floor. Seeming not to notice, John wished her a nice evening, then left.
Savannah stood at the window and watched him pedal away with a cardboard box in each of the wire baskets on either side of his rear wheel. She looked out toward Dan’s house and wondered if he was home yet.
Then she shook her head with self-disgust, sat down on the Victorian lady’s fainting couch she’d had recovered, and studied the embossed leather cover of the journal. There’d been a time when she would have tried to convince herself that she was only imagining the warmth emanating from the slender volume. But there had been enough odd moments that defined explanation to convince Savannah that the stories were true. Lucy’s spirit did live on in this lighthouse.
She opened to the first page and began to read.
The letter came by mail packet this morning. I was, at the same time, both shocked and saddened to learn that Hannah, of all people, could have been hiding such a secret for so long. To think that her husband would have taken to beating her these past years that I’ve been away is unimaginable. I do remember his temper, on those occasions when he’d overindulge in liquor, as being exceedingly hot. But it always flared out quickly, and afterwards, while a palpable tension might linger for a time, outwardly things returned to normal and such lapses were never spoken of. At least within my hearing
.
I’d always believed such strains and occasional storms were part of being married. Now, of course, after nearly seven years with Harlan, I know differently. My husband is as incredibly passionate as I’d always dreamed. Indeed, I believe my darling Henry was conceived that first time we made love, on our wedding night here at the Far Harbor lighthouse
.
Yet he’s also a gentle man. A caring man. Having watched the way he shows his love for our son, I can as easily picture him holding this new child I’m carrying beneath my heart as I can imagine him rowing his dory out into storm-tossed seas to rescue some poor sailor who’s fallen overboard
.
One thing Harlan did not exaggerate was this piece of water’s reputation as a “ship killer.” I could not count the number of ships that have nearly wrecked on the rocks below the cliff and shudder to think what might have happened if this light, and Harlan, had not been here
.
I do find myself on the horns of a dilemma. Hannah writes that she ran out of her escape funds upon reaching San Francisco. My first thought was to send her the necessary money immediately, but she then writes, in a hand so shaky that she could not be exaggerating, that she’s taken ill. If I don’t come to rescue her, she and the children could well be thrown out in the street
.
I know I should discuss this with my husband, but Harlan is in Portland, receiving training on new shipwreck rescue techniques, and I don’t expect him back for another five days. The schedule he keeps in his desk reveals that the
Annabelle Lee
is sailing out of Seattle tomorrow morning
.
After much thought, I’ve decided to leave Henry in the care of the assistant lighthouse keeper’s wife, take the ferry to Seattle, and book passage to San Francisco. Clouds are gathering in the western sky, which disturbs me since I’ve never been a good sailor. But Harlan, who points out the new ships as they pass our lighthouse, has told me the
Annabelle Lee
is one of the most stable ships in the passenger fleet. I only hope that turns out to be true, since I won’t be much help to my sister if I arrive in San Francisco as ill as she
.
I plan to write Harlan a letter explaining my unexpected departure. Then I will find hiding places for my journals. As much as I love my sister, I have never welcomed her unfortunate habit of invading my privacy in her apparent need to know the most minuscule details of my life. Now that I know the secret life she’s been forced to live, I suppose I can understand her need for control
.
There is little I would not do for my older sister. But I refuse to share the intimate secrets of my love for Harlan, and his for me. That is not only secret, it is sacred
.
As she closed the journal, Savannah once again compared her situation to Lucy’s. Both had left behind a former life to come to Coldwater Cove. Both women had found the lighthouse a source of comfort and fulfillment.
Both had found men they loved. Men who loved them. Men who wanted to have families with them.
The difference was that Lucy had been brave enough to risk everything for Harlan Hyatt. Tragically, their time together had been cut short, but the journal entries assured Savannah that even if Lucy had been able to look into a crystal ball and see what lay in store for them, she still would have chosen those seven happy years over a life without him.
“This is what you wanted me to know, isn’t it, Lucy?” Savannah murmured into the silence. “You weren’t running away. You didn’t desert your husband and son.”
She felt a zephyr waft over her, stirring her hair. That was, of course, impossible, since it was December, and no windows were open.
Savannah reminded herself that the lighthouse was a hundred years old. It was bound to be drafty.
She almost had herself believing that logical explanation—until the electric candles she’d placed in the windows suddenly turned on.
A week after he’d left Savannah in bed at the lighthouse, Dan walked into his cousin’s office.
“Hey, the prodigal returns.” Jack was sitting back in his chair, his feet up on the scarred desk that had belonged to his father, working his way through one of Oley’s Timberburgers with all the trimmings and an order of French fries.
“I’ve got a court date tomorrow.” Dan snagged a fry and sat down on the other side of the desk. “Kathi Montgomery’s divorce.”
“How’s she doing?” Jack shoved half the burger on its yellow waxed-paper wrapper across the desk.
“A lot better.” Dan bit into the juicy flame-broiled burger. “As you know, she’s gone back to work—”
“Yeah, Raine says Ida gets better every day.”
“That’s undoubtedly partly due to Ida’s unsinkable spirit,” Dan allowed. “Anyway, Kathi’s moved out of the shelter into an apartment, and by this time tomorrow she should be a free woman.”
“I’m a little surprised her husband hasn’t caused any more problems.”
“Me, too. Maybe the idea that he can’t keep her married to him by force finally sank in.”
“Maybe.” Jack didn’t sound as hopeful. Then again, Dan considered, if he had spent all those years as a big-city cop, he’d probably expect domestic violence cases to go from bad to worse, too.
He leaned over the desk to grab some more fries and was amused by the title of the book next to Jack’s boots:
Everything the Expectant Father Should Know, But Is Afraid to Ask
.
“How does it feel to be facing fatherhood for the second time?”
“Terrific.” Jack took a drink of root beer. “And terrifying. I’d also forgotten that pregnant women tend to go insane from time to time. Raine actually cried at a tire commercial last night. You know, the one with the babies?”
“That sounds a bit extreme. But she seems pretty sane at the office. Or at least she was when I left.”
Jack mumbled something around a mouthful of fries that Dan couldn’t quite make out.
“Besides, it could be worse,” he suggested. “
You
could be pregnant.”
“That’s what Raine keeps reminding me. She also suggested that it’s easy for me to stay calm since I’m not the one who’s going to have to pass something the size of a basketball through a small opening in my body.”
Dan grimaced. “Good point.”
“She’s also got me reading all these damn books.” He nudged the thick book with the toe of his boot.
“Never hurts to be informed.”
“Yeah. But you know Raine when she sets her mind to something.” He took another noisy slurp of root beer. “Christ, I keep expecting to come home to a pop quiz.”
“Sorry pal, you’re not going to get any sympathy from me.”
During the week he’d forced himself to stay away, far from temptation at his cousin Caine’s fishing cabin in British Columbia, Dan had not stopped thinking about Savannah. One of the more appealing fantasies, after the hot sex ones that had him waking up as horny as a two-peckered billy goat, was the image of her ripe and round with his child.
“You’re damn lucky.”
“I know.” Jack glanced over at the framed photograph of his wife and daughter. “I could put up with the tears and the stacks of books she keeps bringing home. I could even handle the Mexican food we’ve been having every night for dinner for the past two weeks because she has a craving for hot sauce. But you want to know the kicker?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You may have noticed that the Boob Fairy has paid us a visit.”
“This may come as a surprise, but I don’t spend a lot of time checking out your wife’s breasts.”
“Well, if you did, you’d have noticed that they’re suddenly spectacular. Playmate quality.”
“Congratulations,” Dan said dryly.
“The trouble is”—Jack plowed his hand through his hair—“I’m not allowed to touch.”
Dan laughed at the exasperation on his cousin’s face. “That
is
a bummer.”
“It’s not funny.” Jack took a huge bite of burger, as if attempting to crave his sexual hunger with ground beef. “She told me they’re for the baby. For Christ’s sake, we’re talking another five months before the kid’s born…. Remember back when we were in high school, all we could think about was how to score with a girl?”
“Sure.”
“Well, second base has never looked so good.”
Dan laughed as the intercom from the outer office buzzed. Still muttering about injustice, Jack scooped up the receiver.
“What’s up?” Something hard Dan had never seen before moved across his face. “Goddamn it.” It was fury, Dan realized. Ruthlessly, rigidly controlled. “Any word on injuries? What about people inside the house? Did you call it in to the State Police? Okay. I’m on my way…. Montgomery just went ape-shit and shot his wife when she came out of Ida’s.”
Dan shot to his feet. “How is she? Is anyone else hurt?” Had Savannah been at the house? The possibility sent a chill racing through his blood.