What the Waves Bring

by Barbara Delinsky

  “No, Jane. She must be sick. I’ll take her home—”

  “Perhaps she’ll feel better if she lies down for a little while!”

  Why Jane wanted her to stay was beyond April. Everything seemed beyond her at that moment. Dizzy, she put her head down onto her knees. Heath’s strong fingers at her neck, massaging it gently, were little help.

  “No. We’ll leave. She’ll be better off in her own bed.” He looked up at Jane, recalling her physical presence, then stared. Did she look so pained because she was badly shaken by April’s sudden illness? “She’ll be all right. I’m sure that what she needs is rest.”

  Jane stood right beside the sofa, wringing her hands, still reluctant to clear the way for them to leave. “Why not send her back in a cab?” she offered desperately. “Then, we can have a little time …”

  April forced herself to raise her head, which felt weighted down with lead. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Perhaps I should take a cab, Heath … maybe you can learn more—”

  “Let’s go, April.” He brooked no argument. “Can you walk?” As he stood, Jane was forced to stand back. Yet she wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight.

  “She’s right, Evan. There’s so much more I can tell you. There must be so much you want to know. Why don’t you stay? The sooner you know everything, the better you’ll feel.”

  April’s knees buckled as Heath pulled her to her feet. With one fluid move, she was safely cradled in his arms. “I’m sorry, Heath,” she whimpered softly. “I knew I was tired, and that coffee should have helped …”

  Heath’s eyes fell darkly to the cups—April’s empty, his nearly full—that stood, side by side, on the table. Jane had never even poured any coffee for herself …

  A jolt of fury seethed through him, erupting in arms that tightened painfully about April’s limp form. “Stay here, Jane. I’ll be back later. And stay off the phone.” He noted the woman’s flinch. “I may want to get through to you.”

  “But, Evan … !”

  “Later!” he roared, as he flung open the door and rushed to the stairs, holding April more closely, protectively, as the curious eyes of a handful of patrons followed his progress with interest. It was, however, one particular pair of eyes—not curious for long, as they narrowed, then hardened, and headed up the stairs toward Jane’s rigid figure—that was the most disconcerting. For in that pair of eyes was justification for the worst of Heath’s suspicions.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The only things of meaning to April were the strong arms that carried her, and the warm body that cradled her, from the soft-lit interior of inn to the darkness outside. She was oblivious to those curious eyes, the expressions of innocent concern that Heath’s low-murmured, “She’s ill. I’m taking her home,” appeared to satisfy. She was blissfully ignorant of those other more piercing eyes, that other man—yes, sour, angry, sinister—who had rushed to join Jane at the top of the stairs following Heath’s premature departure.

  Burying her face against the reassuring solidity of his chest, she let reality twirl in ragged fragments just beyond her mind’s grasp. Awareness seeped around and about her, intermingling with oblivion in a cerebral tug-of-war of which she was the increasingly confused object.

  What was the matter with her? What was the matter with Heath? His arms held her fiercely, as though in sheer anger. Was he angry at her? What had she done?

  “I’m sorry, Heath … I don’t know … w-what’s come over me …”

  His step didn’t falter as he walked quickly on. “It’s all right, darlin’. Not your fault. Damn it.” The tension of his clenched jaw was clearly audible. “Why did we park so far away? We should have driven to the inn.”

  “Need the exercise … it’s a … nice night … beautiful for a walk …”

  “Hah!” he exclaimed, softly facetious. “You’re not exactly walking!”

  “I’m too … heavy. Put me … down …” But she didn’t struggle, couldn’t move.

  “You’re not heavy. And you’re right. This is good exercise. I have to keep in shape.”

  She stirred from her lethargy. “How do you … keep in … shape … ?” The realization that he couldn’t answer that question never registered. Rather, her own condition monopolized her attention. “I feel so … strange … tired … almost paralyzed …” It was an effort to keep her eyes open, even more of one to think of moving a limb.

  “You’ll be all right, darlin’. Just keep talking. Try to stay awake.”

  “You keep … turning around … . What are you … looking for … ?”

  “Just trying to make sure we’re on the right street.” His voice carried the conviction needed to satisfy her temporarily.

  “You’ve been … walking forever … . Why aren’t we … there … ?”

  “Not forever, darlin’. Just for a few minutes. We’ve got another few blocks to go.” The steady pound of his footfall on the pavement was absorbed by his tall body, touching hers as an extension of his pulse. It was a comforting lure to drift off; at the moment she might have, Heath jostled her lightly. “Stay awake, April. I need your company. Don’t fall asleep on me yet.”

  Stirring slightly, April peered through heavy lids at the night. “So quiet and peaceful … here … nobody around …” she murmured haltingly.

  “I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad. Where is everyone?” He turned his head back once more, peered off into the darkness, then continued on, turning a corner. “There it is, darlin’. Almost there. How’re you doing?”

  “I-I feel so … weird … . This has never happened to me before … . I feel as though I’m drunk … but I don’t … drink … or take any … pills … or other medicine … . I’ve never felt like … this before …”

  “I should hope not!”

  “Hmmm?” She hadn’t quite understood his vehemence, but it was quickly forgotten.

  “Nothing, darlin’. There.” He let her legs slide to the ground, supporting her with one arm as he opened the car door. “In you go.” Lifting her, he tucked her safely inside, then rounded the car and slid behind the wheel. “Come here.” Devoid of all sensuality, his command was enforced by strong hands that reached over to pull her into the crook of his arm, nestling her snugly against his body. “I want to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m not … going anywhere …” Her voice sounded strange, even to her. Distant … garbled.

  With the roar of the car’s engine, Heath headed them back out of town. Through his open window, gusts of night air circulated in a continual rush through the car.

  “It’s cold …” she protested, leaning closer into his warmth.

  “We have to stay awake. Both of us …”

  Even in her half-dazed state, she caught his growing concern. “Are you … tired, too? … You slept … I got up … to sit for a while … didn’t want to … disturb you … . Oh, Heath … . What’s the matter with me?”

  “I just need to get you home, darlin’,” he crooned against her chestnut crown. “Everything’s going to be just fine. Keep talking to me. Damn it, does the fog always roll in this way?”

  “Fog … Nantucket … they’re one and the same.” Thoughts merged into each other in her confusion. “Drive slowly … . The fog can … be dangerous …”

  His voice was low and even as he spoke, though the eyes that darted periodically to the rearview mirror spoke of his worry. “That’s the understatement of the year. Actually, it might be nice to be stopped by the police. We could even have an armed escort.”

  “Just remember …” She ignored his subtle intensity. “You’re driving … on my license.” With a deep breath, she sighed. Floating about it all, she drank in Heath’s nearness, a heady blend that drove all other thought from mind. “You smell good …” she whispered, only to be roughly jostled for the observation.

  “Wake up, April! Try to keep your eyes open.”

  His wish, at that moment, was her command. He was her master, controlling her destiny, th
e captain of her ship on this wind-lashed shore. Determinedly, she sat up straighter and struggled to find their place in the darkness.

  The car moved too smoothly along. “We haven’t reached the … moors yet?” she asked, in that faraway voice that had grown familiar.

  “Soon. Am I on the right road? I’ve only done this once before, and that was in broad daylight.”

  “But you’re an avid sailor … she said … . You must have a good sense of direction … .” Her weak monotone droned on.

  Heath paused, lost in thought, as he drove the car at a snail’s pace. “It didn’t help me much in that storm …” And, sense of direction or no, the visibility was no more than ten feet in any direction.

  “Sabotage …” she announced softly and with incongruous pride.

  “What?”

  “Sabotage. Your boat … in the storm … . Maybe it was sabotage.” On the surface, it was a tongue-in-cheek proposal, born of April’s grogginess. It had come, however, from deep within her, from the tension that desperately sought an outlet, from the mystery, the innuendo, and …

  “A very vivid imagination—that’s what you’ve got!” Heath retorted sternly. “You don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “Which makes it all … the more fun,” she sighed. “I can say everything I want, since … I really can’t be … held responsible.”

  “April … !” His warning tone floated right over her head.

  “You know what I think?”

  Heath’s expression was grim, as he eyed the rearview mirror again. “And I insisted you talk …” he murmured beneath his breath.

  “I think it was sabotage … . Jane and her lover … in some daring and … mysterious plot against you … . Why, they even poisoned my … coffee …”

  “Not poison,” he corrected softly.

  “Hmmmm?” Angling her head up, she studied his features, blurred in her sights yet dark, handsome, and intense. Where one line blended into the next, he was smoother than ever. A man to snuggle against, she remembered thinking, and promptly took her own advice. “No poison?”

  “No poison!” His tone held none of her humor.

  “And they’re not all after us … right now?”

  “I hope not.”

  Was it all in April’s jumbled brain, or was there indeed an overlap between imagination and reality, fiction and fact, frivolity and fear? Why did she sense a somber edge to Heath’s retort? Why did she sense imminent danger? It was sheer apprehension, surging up now through layers of drugged padding, that gave her a stronger voice.

  “I was afraid, Heath …”

  “It’s all right, darlin’. You’re here with me now. It’ll be all right,” he reassured her, gently hugging her closer as he fought his way, yard by yard, through the shrouding mists that hid the winding moorland road from his ready view.

  “No, before you came. When I first came to Nantucket …” Her words fell more quickly than they had, as though there were confessions to be made before she allowed herself the luxury of sleep. “I was frightened. I never told them—my friends, my family—but I was really scared.”

  His hand found hers in her lap and closed about them, his strong fingers weaving through her limp ones. “What were you frightened of, darlin’?”

  She paused as a wave of weariness weakened her resolve. “You’ll think … I’m silly …” How much easier just to go to sleep now …

  But Heath would have no part of it. Nudging her awake, he gave her encouragement. “We’re all silly about some things. Please tell me. What frightened you?”

  Everything was dark and murky. The car crept in a blanketed void, its motor the only sound for miles and even that muffled by the thick mist, its headlights reflecting more than penetrating. There was only Heath to hear her thoughts; she could tell him anything.

  “When I first moved here, I was … frightened of being … alone. I kept the old ties … but it was still … a new life. I was frightened of … the isolation … the quiet … being by and with myself all the time … . I was excited and determined … but scared to death. It was a … challenge.”

  “And you like a challenge?” His lips crinkled, amazingly, into a smile.

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Then I guess we share that, too.”

  How much else did they share? How much was reality? How much imagination? How delightful it was to rest this way, her ear flat against his chest, his heartbeat soothing her.

  “Come on, April. Don’t fall asleep now! We’ve still got a ways to go.”

  “You’re driving so … slowly …”

  “I can’t see a damn thing!” he seethed, slamming a fist on the wheel in frustration. Then, feeling her stiffen, he calmed himself. “It’s all right. As long as we’re on the right road, we’ll just keep up. Slow but steady …”

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Tell me more, darlin’.” He urged her to speak and stay awake. Fortunately, his own fatigue was far outdistanced by his heightened awareness of all that was about to happen. “Tell me more about yourself.”

  “Like what?” she murmured into his shirt.

  He shifted to expose her face to the cold air that continued to blow in, now damp in the fog. “Like why you went into counseling? What made you choose that profession?”

  “Oh, Heath.” She tried snuggling again, only to be jolted up. “I can tell you … any other time—”

  “Now, April. Tell me now. Why counseling?”

  With a sigh, she reluctantly forced herself to speak. It had become an ordeal again, one which she was tired of bucking. But for Heath … anything for Heath. “I enjoyed listening … I always enjoyed listening … to problems. I think that’s what my … friends saw in me, over the years … they could all tell me their problems … and I didn’t charge a cent. Besides,” she went on, her words slurring occasionally, “it was the one field they … couldn’t criticize to my face … since they knew I would only turn around … and analyze their attack …”

  Heath grinned in the darkness, then caught a flash of light in the rearview mirror. Instantly, he stiffened.

  “What … is it?” She tried to sit up, but he held her against him. “Heath … ?”

  “Nothing, darlin’,” But the car speeded up, despite the thick blanket of fog.

  At that point, sleep became suddenly even more appealing—a surefire method of escape from the undercurrent of danger that lurked, real as the mist all around, in her consciousness. Something was wrong—very wrong. There was no excuse for her strange sense of detachment, yet she had to fight over waves and waves of haze to grasp at reality. What was happening? Sleep … that would solve everything. When she awoke, things would be better …

  “Uh-uh, darlin’.” He read her thoughts, felt the slackening of muscles moments before tensed. “Not yet.”

  “Then, you talk to me,” she argued, feeling suddenly ornery.

  “What can I say?” he said, humoring her, the gentleness of his tone belying his own keyed state. “You know everything about me—”

  “Then think of something else … . Please, Heath … think back … . Tell me something … to keep me awake …”

  The car veered to the edge of a jagged rut as Heath misjudged a curve, but it was quickly brought back into his firm control. “I don’t know, April. Perhaps you should do the talking …”

  “I’m going to sleep … . I’m so … tired …” The pressure of her arm, draped across his waist, lessened.

  “April, wake up!” He jostled her, but felt little response. Pulling over to the side of the road, he leaned across her, rolled down her window as well, then resumed the tedious drive. The smell of the sea, that salt-sweet scent, was everywhere, carried on the mist from the shore, inland. Now, as the road remotely paralleled the water’s edge, the taste of the Atlantic was strong and invigorating. Still, April barely stirred.

  “Come on, darlin’!” he growled in desperation, shaking her with his one free hand until he saw the outline of her head lift
under its own power.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Heath … . What were you saying …?”

  “Nothing!” He stepped on the gas, accelerated, then slowed as another curve took him by surprise. “Tell me what you want to know.” She heard his words but, in her own private fog, the nerve-jangling intensity of them flew past her.

  “Were you ever … naughty?”

  “Naughty?” His gaze flew to the mirror, then back to the road.

  “When … you were a little boy. Were you … ever naughty?”

  He shifted into a different gear for better traction as he sped up again. When he spoke, there was a new softness, a kind of indulgence about him. “My mother,” he began gently, “always loved to tell of the time I decided that my little sister would look better as a blonde.”

  “What did you … do?” She roused herself from the grasping threads of her stupor.

  “I made her a blonde.”

  “But … how … ?”

  “Mustard.”

  “You didn’t … !”

  “I did!” He seemed suddenly and overwhelmingly preoccupied, his voice now the distant one. Its very faraway tone frightened her, her own daze too dense to allow comprehension of what he experienced now with the slow return of his memory.

  “What else, Heath? Tell me. Were you the oldest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Close to your brother and sister?”

  Still that distance, as though he answered her questions absently, hardly hearing them. Where his mind was she couldn’t fathom, though his eyes were glued to the misted road ahead.

  “In age, no. I was older than my brother by six years, my sister by seven. But we were—we are—close. Particularly after my mother died, we grew together. My father lives with Annie now, in Roanoke.” The darkness of his eyes reflected the dancing lights that came, then went, in the rearview mirror. “Damn it!” he seethed, spurting ahead.

  “April, listen to me!” He took his arm from around her to put both hands on the wheel for better control. “We can’t be more than a mile or two from the house. I’m going to try to lose them. Is there any turn-off up this way?”