"I'm not tired," Drew protested over and over, but Cathryn didn't believe him. He looked awful.
Finally he and Selby left and Cathryn was alone again, but she told herself that she really didn't mind, she needed to get back to business anyway, and there would be plenty of time for them to spend together later.
For his part, Drew was grateful for Cathryn's understanding. He returned to his Palm Beach apartment, so recently and so lovingly redecorated with his and his daughter's tastes in mind. He introduced an awed Selby to her new room and saw her settled in for a nap before falling across his own bed where he slept for hours, worn out with worry over Cathryn.
* * *
The next morning Cathryn crossed the street to the beach for the first time since her accident. She missed her usual morning text from Drew telling her that he loved her, but she hadn't had a chance to buy a new cell phone yet. She wasn't sure if she would see Drew or not, but there he was, swimming along the swell of a wave, and the tiny figure sitting on the sand and watching was Selby.
Cathryn ran toward them, her heart so buoyant that she might have been flying. Physically, she felt wonderful, the best since the accident. She was almost as good as new. As she approached Selby, she slowed her run to a walk
"Hi," said Cathryn easily.
Selby looked up, puzzled at first and clearly not expecting to see anyone she knew. Then she smiled, pure sunshine. "Hi," she replied, recognizing Cathryn. "I didn't know you'd be here." She sounded awed but pleased.
"I like to run on the beach every morning," said Cathryn, easing herself down on the sand beside the child. She searched for signs of Drew in his child. He was there in her black hair and blue eyes, and there was something of him in the set of Selby's small chin. Warmth and a desire to know, really know, Selby moved her so much that she wanted to reach out and draw this child, this part of Drew, close to her. But, of course, she didn't. It was too early for that. Better to take it slow and easy for now.
"I like the way you fixed up my room in my dad's apartment," said Selby, not at all shy now. "It's so pretty."
"I'm glad you like it."
"My daddy likes to swim," Selby told her, gesturing toward Drew out in the ocean.
"I know. Do you?"
"Oh, yes. Lots. I learned last summer."
"Aren't you going to swim this morning?" Cathryn asked. Selby's swimsuit wasn't wet.
"Yes, when Daddy says it's okay. I'm not real good at it yet. My dad's swimming laps. See him turn around and swim the other way?" From out in the water, Drew waved before setting out in the other direction.
Selby ran her eyes over Cathryn curiously, and this made Cathryn feel oddly uncomfortable. "Have you known my father long?"
"A few months," Cathryn replied. Under the little girl's frankly appraising stare, she began to grow fidgety.
"Hello, there," called Drew, who had finished his laps and by that time was splashing toward them through shallow waves that curled over themselves one after the other toward shore. Selby's eyes flew to Drew, sparkling with joy. She stood up and bounced up and down in excitement.
Selby loves her father, thought Cathryn. This didn't surprise her, but her reaction to that love, so clearly reciprocated in Drew's adoring expression, did. There was something beautiful about that kind of father-daughter interaction, and their delight at being together was touching to see.
In the past months she'd learned to feel and experience many facets of love with Drew. But this was a different kind of love, this affection between parent and child. Drew stood with his arm around Selby's slight shoulders, and she slid her arm around his waist. They faced Cathryn in the early-morning sunlight, smiles on their faces, a family unit.
"I hope you wore your swimsuit," Drew said to Cathryn. "We're going to swim for a while, and we'd love to have you join us." He spoke sincerely. He wanted her to know that she was welcome.
Cathryn shook her head, feeling very much an outsider despite Drew's obvious effort to include her.
"I'm afraid I didn't come prepared to swim," she said, and she wondered with dismay why she sounded so prim and proper, like the old Cathryn, as though she were trying to put distance between herself and the two of them. It was that old habit of hers, no doubt, the cool distancing when confronted with a difficult situation.
Drew's gaze penetrated her, telling her silently that he loved her. He knew what she was thinking and feeling.
"Come on, Daddy," urged Selby, removing her arm from his waist to tug at his hand. "I want you to ride me on your shoulders in the water."
"In a minute," he said, his eyes leaving Cathryn's face and resting upon Selby's.
Selby turned and raced into the gently rising waves, laughing as one broke against her stomach and unexpectedly splashed salt water in her face.
"Wait for me," he cautioned Selby. Then he turned and smiled ruefully at Cathryn. "Guess I'm in the business of providing seashore rides—for the moment, anyway." He kept turning his eyes toward Selby, who squealed with glee as every little wave rode by and threatened to sweep her off her feet.
"And later?"
"Daddy!" Selby was getting out a little too deep, and Drew's eyes flashed anxiously toward her.
"Whoa! I'll be there in a second!" he called. And to Cathryn he said, "I'll have to let you know when we can see each other." His eyes apologized in the split second that they rested on her, but his real attention was all on his daughter.
Cathryn watched as Drew dived into the waves and, swimming underwater, reached Selby and swam between her legs, standing up as she clung happily to his head. Their happiness in being together was very evident, and Cathryn could not, would not, feel jealous. Instead, she made a concentrated effort to enjoy vicariously Drew's pleasure as he cavorted with his daughter.
But their joy was not hers and excluded her. She walked thoughtfully back to the apartment building, wondering bleakly how—or perhaps if—she and Drew were going to manage any kind of relationship, meaningful or otherwise, now that he seemed only to have eyes for his daughter.
* * *
A few days later, Cathryn and Judy sheltered from the brilliant June sunlight on a park bench beneath a giant ficus tree, watching Amanda as she played in the park. The three of them had spent the morning together, eaten Cathryn's special spinach quiche for lunch, and strolled to the park so that Amanda could play while the two adults visited.
"You seem preoccupied today," Judy said, regarding her friend critically. She couldn't tell whether Cathryn's peaked look was a lingering effect of her accident or a symptom of something else.
"Do I?" Cathryn abstractedly watched Amanda as she flew off the end of the slide with an excited whoop and ran around to clamber up the steps for another turn.
"Yes, you do. What's wrong, Cathryn? Aren't things going well with Drew and Selby?"
Leave it to Judy to cut right to the middle of it, thought Cathryn. "Everything is fine," she insisted.
Cathryn knew right away that her words hadn't rung true.
"You're not convincing me," Judy replied with a knowing look.
"Well, everything is almost fine," amended Cathryn, staring unhappily down at her hands to avoid Judy's sharp eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It's wonderful to have Drew home. I'm getting to know Selby, and I like her a lot."
"But?"
"But Drew and I haven't been alone since they returned from New York. Everywhere we go, Selby goes, too. He lets her stay up to watch the late television movie every night so that he can spend more time with her. He even takes her to the office for the little time he spends there these days so that the two of them won't lose any time together. It doesn't leave any time for the two of us."
Judy kept a watchful eye on Amanda as she stumbled and fell. Amanda picked herself up and ran away, laughing. Judy returned her attention to Cathryn. "Doesn't he know any babysitters?"
"I guess not. I mean, I don't know. All I know is that I want him and I miss him
, and I wish we didn't always have a seven-year-old in tow. I know it sounds selfish and petty and—" She gulped. She couldn't go on.
"You miss the things you and Drew used to do together."
"Yes," said Cathryn miserably. She thought of the long candlelight dinners on her balcony, of the languid lovemaking that always followed. Selby's constant presence had put an end to those pleasant interludes. With a sharp stab of guilt, Cathryn quickly pulled herself back from such unworthy thoughts. She was happy that Drew had his daughter with him, wasn't she?
Judy rested her lightly freckled hand on that of her friend. "I'd say such feelings are normal in a case like this," she said reassuringly. Amanda flew by, and Judy's eyes followed her daughter.
Cathryn nodded, not minding that her friend's attention was automatically divided between her and Amanda as Judy in her role as mother watched protectively over her child at play.
And then it was as though a light bulb went on inside Cathryn's head, illuminating a previously obscure truth. Judy was no less a friend because she was a mother. The relationship between Cathryn and Judy had of necessity rearranged itself when Amanda was born, but their longtime friendship had not been diminished, only changed.
This thought gave Cathryn pause, and she ran it through her mind once again. It was something to think about as she became integrated into a threesome composed of Drew, Selby and herself. It was what she wanted with Drew, too. She didn't want to be selfish and petty. She wanted a relationship with Drew that was not diminished by Selby's presence, only different, maybe even enhanced. The idea gave her a new outlook and something to strive toward, and her spirits began to lift at the prospect.
"You know what?" said Judy with a sly look. "It has suddenly occurred to me that there's a solution to this problem."
Cathryn blinked. "What?" she said.
"Trust me," Judy answered, smiling enigmatically.
The next evening Cathryn had just returned to her penthouse after another hectic day at the studio when the phone began to ring. Ordinarily she would have let her voicemail pick up the call, but this time, for some reason, she ran to answer it.
"Thank goodness it's you, Cathryn," said Drew's voice in relief. "I'm so tired of getting your voicemail message."
"I just walked in the door," she said, sitting down on the edge of her desk, surprised that it was Drew. He never called at this time of day anymore because he was usually preparing dinner for Selby and himself.
"Well, get ready to walk out the door again. With me."
"With you and Selby?"
"No, only me. Aren't I enough?" She could tell from his voice that his eyes must be sparkling devilishly as he spoke.
"Where's Selby?"
"Invited to spend the night with Amanda, and she jumped at the chance. Remind me to do something nice for Judy sometime."
Judy. Bless her. This meant that Cathryn and Drew would have a long, uninterrupted time together—in fact, the whole night.
"Where are we going?" she asked him.
"Does it matter? Wherever we're going, we're going together." Drew sounded as lighthearted as she felt.
"I'll be ready in fifteen minutes," she said, smiling into the phone.
"Make that ten. Or better yet, five. See you soon."
* * *
They drove to a seafood restaurant at Jupiter Inlet where they sat on the open-air deck beneath the stars and the slowly revolving beam of the old red lighthouse. Afterward Drew drove slowly to the beach house, keeping his arm around her all the way.
"Let's go for a walk on the beach," she said impulsively as they drove up in front of Drew's house. It felt so wonderful to be alone with him again. She wanted to savor every moment, capture every memory, and create more memories to unfold later.
He dug a blanket out of the car trunk and tossed it around his neck before they walked around the house, whose cedar-shake roof looked silvered in the moonlight.
The moon unfurled a ribbon of misty light on the billowing sea. Deserted dunes lay shadowed and quiet, and the grass growing there bent only slightly in the sea breeze. The familiar tang of salt air filled Cathryn's nostrils, and the fragrance exhilarated her.
Just being with Cathryn again filled Drew with happiness. "Let's run," he said, taking her hand, and they raced side by side along the hard, wet sand, holding hands tightly, until Cathryn slowed down, gasping.
"That was a good performance for a non-jogger," she told him.
"Yes, but I'm out of breath," he said. "I'll spread the blanket and we can sit here for a while." They found a level place above the high tide line, and she helped Drew settle the blanket, tucking each corner under a pocket of sand so that the breeze wouldn't disturb it. They sat down and Drew slipped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her close.
Neither of them spoke for a while; they simply watched the race of waves approaching the shore.
"I've almost forgotten what it was like to be alone with you," said Drew finally.
"Yes," she said.
"It's not that I haven't wanted to be."
"I know."
He kissed her on the forehead below the scar from her accident. "Cathryn, it's not easy being a single father. I never thought I'd be one, and I'm totally unprepared."
"What's the hardest part about it?"
"Not being able to see you as often as I'd like," he said without hesitation. "I keep thinking that I've only got a matter of weeks with Selby, and then she'll go back to Talma. Several weeks out of the year, Cathryn. There are countless other weeks when I won't be able to watch her making faces at the puppies in the pet store or listening to me read her a story or concentrating hard when she draws a picture for me. I want to enjoy everything about our time together that I can."
"I understand, Drew. It's hard having to share you, though, after having you all to myself."
His eyes softened to dark-blue velvet. "But you like Selby, don't you?"
"I think she's wonderful. She's spontaneous, cheerful, outgoing, and altogether very dear." She paused, wishing she knew a tactful way to put what she wanted to say into words without hurting his feelings. "I'm very fond of Selby. But I can't deny that having her here has put a strain on our relationship. You know, one time you said, right here on this beach, that it's just the two of us, even in a crowd of people?"
He nodded, remembering the occasion well. It had been when he had suggested that she ask Amanda and Judy to the beach house for company. He'd been touched at that time to learn that Cathryn found everything she needed in his presence, even when he was too busy to pay much attention to her.
"These days, sometimes I feel that three's a crowd. I don't feel that it's just you and me anymore. And it hurts." There, for better or worse, she'd said it. She hoped he wouldn't misconstrue her honest expression of her feelings as criticism of Selby.
He regarded her cautiously, perplexed. "But it is just the two of us," he said in surprise. "You and me together, with the addition of Selby." He was hurt. She could tell by the way his arm stiffened around her shoulders.
"If that's true, if it really is still you and me, you'll have to make more time for us," she said, and her voice broke with the tension of it.
In a rush of intense empathy, of understanding the way things seemed from her point of view, he drew her gently into his arms, feeling the warmth of her body, the sweet miracle of her. He had never meant to hurt her, but he had been torn between Cathryn and his daughter. Now he saw that he had slighted Cathryn in his eagerness to resume his relationship with Selby, and it was clear to him that if he wanted to keep Cathryn, things would have to change.
The truth of it was that he had been without her too long. "My dear Cat," he murmured, "I will make time for us. It won't be easy, but now that I know you feel so strongly about it, we'll manage. We'll work it out, I promise."
Cathryn turned her head to reveal the unabashed desire in her eyes. Drew's lips found hers, and their kiss increased in passion. He longed to rediscover all of her, to r
enew his sensation of her full, upturned breasts, to let his hands roam downward to the smooth, round fullness of her hips, to explore the most intimate places.
Beneath his hands she seemed familiar but somehow different after so long a time. Had her ear always been so neatly curved, so flat and perfect, swirled like a seashell? Were her fingers always so long and tapered, and had they ever before caressed him so elegantly?
One of Drew's hands wove itself into her hair as he eased her head back until her throat arched, the most sensitive skin now exposed for his kisses.
His mouth on her burning skin sent heat waves radiating through her body, and she moaned in readiness. This was what she had wanted for so long; it was what she had been waiting for. His hand released her hair and glided to the zipper at the back of her dress. Very slowly, he skimmed the zipper down and parted the fabric. He unhooked the wisp of silk that held her breasts and slipped the dress off her shoulders. At the same time she worked at the buttons of his shirt so that he could shrug it off and loosened his pants until he was able to slide out of them in one fluid movement. His hands stroked her sides, then curled around to support her breasts, white in the moonlight, while he admired them.
Then she was lying back on the blanket, arms reaching up for him in silent entreaty. He paused for a moment to marvel at the beauty of her as she lay before him in the moonlight, her hair spilling across the sand. He thought she had never looked more beautiful and he had never wanted her more than he did at that instant.
"I love you," he told her unsteadily, gathering her to him.
"I love you," she whispered, feeling the true emotion of her words.
Cathryn trailed a string of kisses from his mouth downward until she had to roll him over to his back so that her lips and tongue could work their magic down his body, across his stomach, along his thighs.
"Cathryn," he said, and the name was a moan. She was making him wait for what he wanted most, and the wait was wonderful agony.
When he was so desperate for her that he could no longer stand the anguish, he sat and lifted her face so that he could see his adoration of her reflected back to him in her rapturous expression. She shone naked and pale and white in the light from the moon, and her hair tumbled over his thighs like a froth of moonbeams.
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