Safe Harbor

by Antoinette Stockenberg

  "Hi, honey," he said, sounding guilty and happy at the same time.

  His tone infuriated Holly. She wanted to lash out at someone, and Eric Anderson was the second best someone she knew.

  "What."

  Sounding sheepish, her father said, "You heard about the stolen Volvo, of course. Your mother must be relieved."

  When Holly didn't bother to answer, he said quickly, "We want to arrange to hand the money over to the Steadmans, and Eden thinks the best way to accomplish that is to give it directly to their son."

  The idea absolutely floored Holly. "Sam, you mean. Eden's husband."

  "Please, Holly. That's only a formality. I've recommended an attorney to Eden who will handle the divorce."

  "And you don't feel threatened by her wanting to see him," said Holly, incredulous.

  "No, actually. I don't," her father said in the lawyer's tone that she knew so well. "Obviously Eden can arrange to see Sam any time she likes. I'm not her jailer. Nor could I be if I wanted to."

  He added in a gently beseeching way, "Holly, I'd like us—all of us—to act like adults in this. It's been a little rough, a little emotional, but now we have to start mending. It's Eden who's setting the example; she wants to begin the process by setting things right with Sam."

  "That should make him very happy," Holly said dryly, but inside she felt as if someone was on the loose and pulling apart her organs.

  "After that, Eden would like to sit down with your mother and just ... talk, woman to woman. She'd like to see us all be a family again. She'd like, eventually, to be friends. She knows it won't be easy or quick—"

  By now Holly was hemorrhaging emotionally; she said faintly, "Are you out of your mind, Dad? Are you completely insane? Eden will never be welcome here. Mom shouldn't—I can't—Ivy won't—accept her. Are you completely out of your mind?"

  "All right, all right, I'm sorry I brought it up," he said, cutting short her breathless rejection. "It's too soon; I see that now. The reason I called is to find out where Sam is staying on the island. He is still on the island, isn't he?"

  Holly glanced at the rental check that Sam had handed her in the barn. It had a smear of blue paint on it now that obscured the numbers in the amount box. She wasn't sure she could cash the check if she wanted to. Was it the numbers or the written words that the bank went by? She couldn't remember.

  "I don't know if he's still on the island," she said, staring at Sam's chicken-scratch writing. "He was staying in the barn." She walked over with the phone to a window and looked out in that direction for lights. In the winter, she would know. Not now, with the trees leafed out. She told herself that she didn't care; but if it were winter, she would know.

  "Can I ask you just to run out and check?" her father said meekly. "I know there isn't a phone."

  "No, Dad. You'll have to go see for yourself."

  There was disappointment in his voice as he promised to keep in touch.

  Holly hung up in a state more numb than depressed. She felt like a ladybug who's been flitting happily along from flower to flower, minding her own business, and suddenly gets caught in a vast and sticky web of relationships. Family? Friends? Lovers? The words were so tangled that they had no meaning anymore.

  All in all, the best thing, the most logical thing, was for her to enter a cloister. Yes. One of those places where you tended the vegetable garden and ate on wood trestles and most of all, never had to converse with another living soul. Because people only told you what they wanted you to know, anyway, and never what you wanted to know. So nuts to everyone; it was the cloisters for her.

  There was a knock at the door—Ivy, irate. "Where the hell have you been?" she asked, breezing past her sister into the kitchen. "Mom half-convinced me that you'd challenged Eden to a duel."

  Holly rolled her eyes. "Life should be that simple. I was in Chilmark all afternoon, fawning at the feet of a new client. I should have blown off the appointment."

  "Have you heard from Sam yet?"

  "Nope."

  "Not to sound picky," Ivy said, "but you're not making this any easier, getting involved with Eden's husband. Or ex-husband. Or whatever he is at this point. I think he shares a little too much history with Eden for Mom's taste."

  "Ha. Trust me, Sam's the least of Mom's problems," said Holly. She dropped down on a chair, pulled another one out with her toes, and put up her feet on it. "Dad just called and told me that Eden wants to become best friends with us all."

  That took Ivy's breath away. She stood with mouth agape and then, unexpectedly, broke into laughter. It was contagious; Holly laughed, too.

  "I have to meet this woman," said Ivy. "She doesn't sound real."

  "No problem: Dad can hardly wait to bring her around."

  "He's not that dumb!"

  "Sure he is."

  "She's not that dumb."

  Holly scrunched her face into a thoughtful squint. "No, there, I'd have to agree with you. Eden has an ulterior motive, I have no doubt."

  "Forcing us to seem like the bad guys?"

  "There you go," said Holly, raising her water bottle in salute. Wearily, she said, "You know what? I don't want to think about her any more; she makes my head hurt."

  "Fine. Let's go over tomorrow: beach in the morning, Bouchards for lunch, and then to the Camp Ground for the festivities. Pray that it doesn't rain; they're talking about pop-up thunderstorms. I feel so bad that we came so late this year. Usually we work up to Illumination Night; this is like having dessert before dinner."

  She glanced at her watch and grimaced. "I promised the girls we'd have make-your-own pizza tonight; they must be starving by now."

  Holly got up to walk her sister to the door; it was still such a treat to have her around again, and now the visit was almost over. She embraced Ivy in a quick hug and said, "You didn't have to drive over. Why didn't you just call instead?"

  "I did. Three times. Check your machine." A kind of grayness passed over Ivy's blue eyes. Her voice sounded clouded, too, as she said, "I can't shake this feeling that something awful is going to happen, I just don't know to whom. Things have been so strange ... and it doesn't help that I know about Stefan Koloman. Really, Holly, keep that stupid back door locked. I feel better now that I've seen you, but ... keep it locked, please."

  "Yes, big sister," said Holly, hugging her again. "Move east. Then you won't have to worry about me all the time."

  "You're too trusting. You always have been."

  "Yeah. Look where it's got me."

  "I have to go," said Ivy, glancing at her watch again.

  "Wait! One more thing. Jack?"

  "We talked. I haven't decided whether to let him come out next week or not," Ivy said over her shoulder on her way to the Volvo. "See you tomorrow."

  ****

  An hour later, Holly was showered and no longer hungry, but her heart ached in a way that it hadn't so far. Eden wanted to see Sam. It was as if someone had pulled hard on the barbed wire that had wrapped itself around Holly's heart when Sam finally told her about Eden. Holly could scarcely breathe; it hurt too much when she did.

  Not a heart attack, exactly—more an attack of the heart, she decided. It wasn't life-threatening, but her soul was barely limping along, and it frightened her. And all because Eden Walker wanted to reunite with her long-lost husband to give him the money. And to say she was sorry. And—whether her father knew it or not—to check out Sam one last time before throwing in her lot with Eric Anderson. How could her father not see that? But then, he had always been oddly naive; that's what had made him such easy pickings.

  She wondered if Sam had already been contacted by Eden, but she couldn't see how. Even Holly didn't know where he was. He might be photographing lighthouses or off on a lark with a Vegas showgirl. As Holly well knew, he wasn't beholden to tell her.

  Or how about this? He might be in the apartment above the barn, with Eden. She had a key. He'd paid the rent. Wouldn't that be a kick in the teeth.

  The thought
began as little more than a grain of irritant sand; but by the time Holly turned down the sheets of her bed that night, it had become a full-blown, dark Tahitian pearl of certainty.

  It would be just like Eden to pull something like that.

  And if she did, it would be all Holly's fault, because she was the one who'd told her father where Sam had been staying.

  Holly groaned. She was so much dumber than her father.

  Angry with Sam, herself, her father, and pretty much the rest of the world, Holly pulled on a pair of shorts under her nightshirt and slipped out the back door to check the barn. She despised herself for being jealous and craven and needy, but there it was: as a sophisticated lover, she more or less stunk.

  The night was murky. No moon filtered through the swaying trees, and the rising wind drowned out the usual friendly and familiar nightsounds. Holly waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark and then struck out on the mulched path. She wished her sister hadn't gone on and on about feeling spooked, because now she was spooked. She felt an irresistible impulse to run, but, remembering the spill she'd taken on the path the night before, she forced herself to walk.

  The trees fell away and Holly's heart soared: lights were on in the apartment above her studio. Her joy leveled off when she saw that no car was parked near the barn. Where was his rental du jour?

  The lights could be on and Sam could be out, she supposed. But in her new and edgy mood, Holly didn't think so. She stepped back into the shadows of the trees, both to hide and to get a better angle of viewing. Heart thumping and more wary than ever, she stood in the darkness and watched the loft window for signs of an occupant. If her sister's premonitions were right, it could well be Koloman, poking around. But Sam had promised to take care of him, and Holly believed wholeheartedly that he had.

  Fool. You believe too much.

  A shadow moved across the living room on the way into the bathroom, which told her nothing: even burglars had to pee once in a while. She backed up a little and stood on a tree stump and waited. The occupant came out of the bathroom, and yes, the good news, the bad news, the only news, was that it was Sam who was up there, not bothering to come and see her.

  She saw him disappear from view at the bed end of the room—to sleep, perchance to dream, but please, please, not to make love with someone already lying there.

  Holly bowed her head, completely, miserably aware that she loved Sam Steadman despite his entanglement, and that nothing would ever change that. She knew that she was going to spend the rest of her life with make- believe cows and cats and cottages and kids, mere painted images of her deepest desires, unless Sam were around to make those dreams reality.

  It hurt. Once, her art had been enough to satisfy her. No more.

  She climbed down from the stump and turned to go, but it occurred to her that she had to give Sam one last chance. People had been trying to reach her all day long; maybe he had been one of them. She brushed aside the obvious fact that her sister and her father had succeeded where Sam apparently had not, and she made a noisy business of sliding the barn door open and setting up to work in her studio. There was no possibility of her going upstairs, of course; not with Eden remotely in the picture.

  But if Eden was there, by God, then Holly was going to make absolutely sure that Sam stayed aware of her all night. If Eden wasn't there, then Holly wanted Sam to have every chance to come downstairs and do something, anything, about the tattered state of their relationship.

  Please, God. Anything.

  An hour passed, and Sam didn't come down. Another hour. Holly kept banging on metal and slamming drawers and hammering birdhouse walls together, and in between, listening for sounds from upstairs, happy that there were none, crushed that there were none.

  The barbed wire tightened; breathing became harder than ever. Her heart seemed to be getting squeezed into two pieces. Sam heard her, she knew; he had to. But he didn't come down.

  And Holly didn't go up.

  ****

  Upstairs, Sam lay in profound misery alone in his rented bed. The homely, workaday sounds of a folk artist at work—which in Holly's case always seemed to involve moving furniture—pounded home to him the fact that the one worth waiting for wasn't off on a yacht somewhere, but working her magic just a few feet below him.

  Holly had his heart, no question about that. He could taste her warm mouth, feel her warm flesh so intensely that it took his breath away. Funny; whimsical; sexy; amazingly and infuriatingly frank—Holly was a gift straight from God, pure joy to behold.

  But. There was this small, deep puncture wound in the most inner recess of Sam's soul. He thought that it had healed over, scarring him in the process, to be sure, but that it was essentially closed and done with. Now he knew that it was not. He had denied that to his parents and to his best friend, to Holly, and to himself. But tonight—either despite or because of Holly's tantalizing nearness—he realized that he would never really be done with Eden, not until he saw her again. So Billy was right; Sam had to know.

  And meanwhile, he lay bitterly alone and in darkness, just a few feet away from sweetness and light.

  Chapter 27

  Holly and Ivy stood up to their knees in the ocean, watching Cissy perform aquatic feats and Sally trying to duplicate them.

  "I never should have told you about Dad's call, not without warning you to keep it from Mom," Holly told her sister.

  Ivy tugged in irritation at the high-cut leg of her new swimsuit and said, "That's not why she didn't come to the beach today, dope. It's cloudy."

  Holly was adamant. "I'm sure she's afraid she'll run into Eden with arms extended."

  "Ridiculous. The island is surrounded by beaches."

  "And this is our favorite. Dad knows that."

  "Boy, you're in a mood."

  Cissy had been standing on her hands underwater. After flopping on her back, she stood right side up again with her arms stretched wide like an Olympic gymnast: a perfect little ten.

  Both women dutifully applauded. Sally shouted, "Watch me, watch me. I can do it for longer." Down into the water she plunged.

  "What's wrong, Holly? You look exhausted," said Ivy as they waited for feet to emerge.

  "It's Sam. I'm so numb. It really is over, almost before it began."

  No feet. Eventually Sally popped up, choking and gasping for breath. Holly felt a stab of sympathy; she knew exactly how her niece felt.

  Ivy said, "You're better off without him. I don't understand why he's still in your loft."

  Holly shrugged. "It's that or his Corolla."

  "Tough! Let him live in his car like any other self-respecting homeless person."

  "Cut it out, Ivy; the kids will hear and take you seriously. Actually, he has a home in Westport, on the water," said Holly, cupping a little ocean in her hands and wetting down her thighs in preparation for the Big Plunge.

  "Then why isn't he living there?" Ivy persisted.

  "You want my theory? I think he's planning to take Dad head-on. I think he's sticking with Eden because his own father walked out on his birth mother, and he doesn't want to be even remotely that kind of man."

  "Aren't you kind."

  "Okay, and possibly because Eden is gorgeous and hard to get," Holly admitted. "But I really think that with Sam, it's more the trauma of his childhood. It was truly rotten until the Steadmans took him in and adopted him."

  "Come on, Holl. He's old enough to have got over that. He has a career, a house, a certain amount of fame and respect. Not to mention, no children."

  "I don't think you ever get over something like that. It dogs you your whole life long. Consider your own kids," Holly said as she whistled Cissy from swimming too far out. "Would you want them ever to know about Jack?"

  "Of course not! That's different."

  "How? Because they're your daughters, and not just some guy you've never met?"

  "They'd be devastated! They adore their father."

  "Yes. Which is exactly what children are supp
osed to do. If they can't, who knows how they'll choose to work it out? Maybe some way screwy like Sam. God, I wish Eden had never come into his life."

  "I'd like to meet your Sam,' said Ivy, dipping to her waist and popping up with a little shiver. "I'd know in a New York minute if he was any good."

  "Oh, because you're so perceptive," mocked Holly.

  "More than you, dollink. Come on; we came here to swim, so let's swim."

  "Race you to that kid on the boogie board," Holly said, and she dove in, leaving her sister to catch up.

  ****

  The cloudy, breezy day made it easier to coax the girls out of the water for the visit to the Bouchards. It was Ivy's belief—and even her mother agreed—that the Bouchards should not be shunned for being the most forgiving and nonjudgmental people on the island. They had given shelter to a tormented man, and if he had come to a decision that no one liked—well, no one could blame the Bouchards. They were simply too good for that.

  So the children gobbled up their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while their mother and their aunt lunched on chicken salad and on tomato slices the size of dessert plates. The girls played with the cat and went shelling on the beach, and Ivy brought the Bouchards up to date about life on the other side of the country. Before long, it was time to go—because in the summer, on an island, there always seemed to be another treat around the next bend.

  Illumination Night was unquestionably the most magical of them. For nearly a century and a half, islanders, cottagers, and lucky day-trippers had gathered at the Camp Ground in Oak Bluffs to say goodbye to one another and to the season. This year, the event was going to be more of a hello-goodbye for Ivy and the children; but there was no drop in the level of excitement in the big house on Main as everyone donned her summer best for the festivity.

  Even Cissy, who normally despised wearing dresses, consented to wear one for the occasion: a bright yellow jumper with big white buttons over a knit top printed with wildflowers. She looked wonderfully sweet and charming, but no one dared tell her that. Sally took longer to dress, working her way methodically through every item that her mother had packed before settling on a pale blue shift that set off her blond hair, done up for the evening with an extra-grownup single French braid. She looked pretty and ultra-feminine—and she expected everyone to notice out loud.