Safe Harbour

by Danielle Steel

  When Blake spoke to Ophélie after the group, he asked her if she'd be interested in volunteering at a homeless shelter. Matt had suggested something like that too, and she thought it might be meaningful to her, and less emotionally charged for her than volunteering in the field of mental illness. She had always had a keen interest in the welfare of the homeless, and no time to pursue it, while Ted and Chad were alive. She had far more disposable time now, with no husband and only one child at home.

  She responded with considerable warmth and interest, and Blake promised to get some referrals for her, of volunteer projects dealing with the homeless. This was exactly what he was good at. She was thinking about it as she drove back to Safe Harbour. She had to take Pip to get her stitches out that afternoon. And as soon as they did, Pip chortled with glee, and put on a pair of sneakers when she got home.

  “How does that feel?” Ophélie asked, watching her. She was beginning to enjoy her again, and they seemed to talk more than they had in a long time. Not as much as they used to, but things were definitely a little better. And even she wondered if talking to Matt had helped her. He was a very kind, soothing person. And very caring. He had been through so much himself that he was full of empathy for others, without being sappy. And there was no question that the group was helping too, and she liked the people in it.

  “It feels pretty good. It only hurts a little.”

  “Well, don't overdo it.” She knew what Pip had in mind. She was dying to walk down the beach to see Matt. She had a load of new drawings to show him. “Why don't you wait till tomorrow. It's probably too late today anyway,” Ophélie said wisely. She could read Pip's mind sometimes. It was just that for months, she hadn't tried to. She was starting to tune in again, and Pip liked it.

  The next day Pip set out with the sketch pad and pencils he had given her, and two sandwiches in a brown bag. Ophélie was tempted to go with her, but she didn't want to intrude on them. Their friendship had been the primary one, hers with him had been an offshoot of it and came later. She waved as Pip set off down the beach in her sneakers, to protect the newly healed foot. And she didn't run, as she usually did. She was being a little more circumspect, and respectful of the foot, and as a result, it took her longer to reach him. And when she did, he stopped painting and beamed at her.

  “I was hoping you'd come today. If you didn't, I was going to call you tonight. How's the foot?”

  “Better.” It was a little tender after the long walk down the beach, but she would have walked on nails and ground glass to see him. She was so happy to be there. And he looked equally pleased to see her.

  “I've really missed you,” he said happily.

  “Me too. I hated being home all week. Mousse didn't like it either.”

  “Poor guy, he probably needed the exercise. I had a nice time with you and your mom the other night by the way. That was a delicious dinner.”

  “A lot better than pizza!” She grinned at him. He had brought out the best in her mother, and even since then. She had seen her mother rooting around in her purse the day before, and she had finally come up with an old lipstick, and put some on before she went into the city. It made Pip realize how long it had been since she'd worn any. And it made her happy to see that she was getting better. It had been a good summer in Safe Harbour. “I like your new painting,” she commented to Matt. He had done a sketch of a woman on the beach, with a haunted expression. She was looking out to sea, as though she had lost someone there. There was something anxious and uncomfortable about it, almost tragic. “It looks very sad though, but she's pretty. Is that my mom?”

  “A little maybe. She might have inspired it, but it's just a woman. It's more about a thought process and a feeling, than a person. It's a little bit in the spirit of a painter called Wyeth.” Pip nodded solemnly, fully aware of what he was saying. She always enjoyed their conversations, particularly about his paintings. And a few minutes later, she sat down with her own sketch pad and pencils, close to him. She liked being next to him.

  The hours flew by as they had before, and they were sorry to leave each other at the end of the afternoon. He wanted to sit there with her forever.

  “What are you and your mom doing tonight?” he asked casually. “I was going to call her, and ask if you wanted to go into town for a hamburger. I'd cook for you, but I'm a rotten cook and I ran out of frozen pizza.” Pip laughed at their comparable menus.

  “I'll ask Mom when I go home, and tell her to call you.”

  “I'll give you time to get home, and then call her.” But as she got up, and he saw her start down the beach, he saw that she was limping, and called after her. “Pip!” She turned when she heard him, and he waved her back. It was a long walk for someone who had just had stitches taken out, and the sneakers had rubbed where the scar was. She walked slowly back to him as he beckoned. “I'll give you a ride home. The foot doesn't look too great.”

  “I'm okay,” she said gamely, but he was no longer worried about her mother.

  “Don't wear it out, you won't be able to come back tomorrow.”

  It was a good point, and she followed him willingly over the dune, to where his car was parked behind his cottage. He had her home five minutes later. He didn't get out of the car, but Ophélie saw him from the kitchen window and came out to greet him.

  “She was limping,” he said by way of explanation. “I figured you wouldn't mind my driving her.” He smiled easily at her.

  “Of course not. That was sweet of you. Thanks, Matt. How are you?”

  “Fine. I was going to call you. Can I lure the two of you to dinner in town tonight? Hamburgers and indigestion. Or maybe not, if we're lucky.”

  “That sounds nice.” She hadn't thought about what to cook yet. And although her spirits had improved somewhat, her culinary interest hadn't. She had given it her best shot the night he'd come to dinner. “Are you sure that's not too much trouble?” Life was so easy at the beach, and so casual, meals were never formal, and didn't seem terribly important. Most people barbecued, but Ophélie wasn't very good at it.

  “I'd enjoy it,” Matt said. “How about seven?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” He drove off with a wave, and was back, punctually, two hours later. Pip had shampooed her hair, at her mother's urging, to get the sand out of it, and Ophélie's hair looked pretty too. It hung in long soft waves and a few graceful curls to below her shoulders. And as a symbol of her slowly reviving spirit, she had worn lipstick. And Pip loved it.

  They had dinner in one of the two local restaurants, the Lobster Pot, and all three of them ate clam chowder and lobster. They decided en masse to make a real feast of it, and forget the hamburgers, and all of them complained on the way out that they could hardly move. But it had been a fun evening. No serious topics were introduced, and they exchanged funny stories and bad jokes, and laughed a lot. Ophélie asked Matt if he wanted to come in afterward, but he only stayed for a few minutes. He said there was some work he wanted to do. And after he left, Ophélie commented to Pip again how nice he was, and she turned to her mother with an impish grin.

  “Do you like him, Mom? You know… like a guy, I mean.” Ophélie looked startled by the question, and then smiled as she shook her head.

  “Your father was the only guy for me. I can't imagine ever being with anyone else.” She had said as much to the group, and many of them had challenged her, but Pip didn't dare. She was disappointed to hear it. She liked Matt. And she didn't want to make her mother mad, but her father hadn't always been nice to her. He used to yell at her, and was mean to her sometimes, especially when they argued over Chad, or other things. She loved her father, and always would, but she thought Matt was a lot friendlier and easier to be with.

  “Matt's really nice though, don't you think?” she asked hopefully.

  “Yes, I do.” Ophélie smiled again, amused that Pip was trying to matchmake for her, but it was obvious that Pip had a crush on him, or a serious case of hero worship at least. “He's going to be a
good friend to us, I hope. It would be nice to see him after we leave the beach.”

  “He said he'd come to town to visit us. And he's going to take me to the father-daughter dinner at school. Remember?”

  “Yes, I do.” She just hoped he would. Ted had never been good about that. He hated going to his children's sports events, or anything at their schools. It wasn't his thing, although he did it when he had no other choice. “He's probably pretty busy though, Pip.” They were the same excuses she had always made for Ted, and that his children hated hearing. There was always some excuse why he couldn't be there for them.

  “He said he'd be there for sure,” Pip said fiercely, looking at her mother with huge, trusting eyes, and Ophélie hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. It was impossible to know at this point if their friendship would last, but she hoped it would.

  9

  ANDREA CAME OUT AND VISITED THEM AGAIN TWO weeks before they left the beach. The baby was fussy and had a cold again, and she said he was getting teeth. This time, he cried whenever Pip held him. He wanted his mommy and no one else. So after a while, Pip took off down the beach. She was going to sit for Matt that day. He wanted to have plenty of sketches of her for the portrait he'd promised to do, as a gift for Ophélie.

  “So what's new? Anything?” Andrea asked as the baby finally fell asleep.

  “Nothing much,” Ophélie said, looking relaxed as they sat in the sun. The last golden days of summer had set in, and they were loving their final days at the beach. And Andrea thought Ophélie looked better than she had in months. The three months at Safe Harbour had done her a world of good. She hated to see her go back to the city, and her sad memories in the house.

  “How's the child molester?” Andrea asked casually, she knew they had befriended him finally, and she was still curious about him. They hadn't met. And from Pip's description, he sounded like a hunk. Ophélie had said very little, which Andrea thought was suspicious. But Andrea saw nothing secretive in her eyes. No magic. No carefully hidden agenda. No guilt. She looked very relaxed.

  “He's so good with Pip. We had dinner with him the other night.”

  “That's odd for a man with no kids,” Andrea commented.

  “He has two.”

  “Then that makes sense. Did you meet them?”

  “They live in New Zealand, with his ex-wife.”

  “Uh-oh. How's that? Does he hate her? How bad is the damage?” She was an expert in the field, and by now she had seen it all. Men who'd been cheated on, ripped off, abandoned, lied to, screwed over, left, and hated every woman in their life from then on. Not to mention the ones who were sexually confused, still in a relationship, had lost wives who had been absolutely perfect, men who'd never married and were middle-aged, and those who forgot to mention that they were still married. Older, younger, same age. Andrea had dated them all. And she was willing to cross a number of boundaries, when she found a man she liked. Even damaged, they were sometimes fun for a while. But she at least preferred knowing what the damage was.

  “I'd say there's a fair amount of damage,” Ophélie said honestly, “and I feel bad for him. But it's not my concern. He got pretty badly screwed over by his ex-wife. She walked off with his best friend, and married him. She forced Matt to sell their business, and seems to have estranged him from his kids.”

  “Oh my God, what else did she do? Slash his tires and set fire to his car? What else was left?”

  “Not much, from the sound of it. He got a lot of money for their ad agency, I suspect, but I don't think he really cares.”

  “At least that explains why he was so friendly with Pip. He must miss his kids.”

  “He does,” Ophélie said, thinking about the things they'd said the night he came to dinner. It had definitely touched her heart.

  “How long ago was the divorce?” Andrea had a clinical look on her face, and Ophélie laughed.

  “About ten years ago, I think. Give or take. He hasn't seen his kids in six, or heard from them. They cut him off.”

  “Maybe he is a child molester, then. Either that, or his ex is a piece of work. More likely that. Has he had a serious relationship since?”

  “One. She wanted to get married and have kids. He didn't. I think he's too wounded to try again, and I can't say I blame him. What he describes is about as bad as it gets.”

  “Forget it,” Andrea said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, shaking her head. “Trust me. Too much baggage. This guy's a mess.”

  “Not as a friend,” Ophélie said calmly. She didn't want anything from Matt, other than his friendship. She didn't want a relationship either. She had Ted, in her head and heart. She didn't want anyone else.

  “You don't need a friend,” Andrea said practically. “You have me. You need a man in your life. And this one is too damaged. I've seen guys like that. They never get their shit together again. How old is he?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “Too bad. But I'm telling you. You'd be wasting your time.”

  “I'm not wasting anything,” Ophélie said with quiet determination. “I don't want a man in my life. Now or ever again. I had Ted. I don't want anyone else.”

  “You had problems with him, Ophélie, and you know it. I don't want to bring up ugly memories, but there was a little incident about ten years ago, if you'll recall.…” Their eyes met and Ophélie looked away.

  “That was a one-time thing. It was an accident. A mistake. He never did it again.”

  “You don't know that. He might have. And whether he did or not is irrelevant. He wasn't a saint, he was a man. A very, very difficult man who gave you a tough time sometimes, like with Chad. Everything was about him. You're the only woman I know who could have put up with him for as long as you did. He was a genius, I concede that, but no matter how much I liked him, and you loved him, he was a sonofabitch at times. The only person he really cared about was himself. He wasn't exactly a gift.”

  “He was to me,” Ophélie said stubbornly, upset by what Andrea had said, whether true or not. He had been difficult, but men of his caliber and genius were entitled to be, or she thought so anyway. Andrea didn't agree. “I loved him for twenty years. That's not going to change overnight, or ever.”

  “Maybe not. And I know he loved you too, in his own way,” Andrea said gently, afraid she had gone too far. But Andrea didn't pull any punches with her friend, and never had. And if nothing else, Andrea felt Ophélie needed to free herself of Ted now, and her delusions about him, in order to have a life. Ophélie and Ted had had their differences over the years, and the incident she had been referring to, which Ophélie said was a “mistake,” was an affair he had had one summer while Ophélie and the children were in France. And it had been a total mess. He had nearly left Ophélie over it, and she had been heartbroken. Andrea had never been sure if things were quite the same between them again. It was hard to say. After that Chad got sick, and things got worse between them anyway. But the affair couldn't have helped. Despite the fact that Ophélie had been willing to forgive him. It was a liberty he had not only taken, but allowed himself. Ted had had a sense of entitlement on all fronts.

  “The real issue here is not how good or bad he was, but that he's gone. He's never coming back. You're here, and he's not. You can take as long as you need to recover, but you can't stay alone forever.”

  “Why not?” Ophélie looked sad as she asked. She didn't want another man in her life. She was used to Ted. Familiarity was part of it. She couldn't even imagine herself with another man. She had been with him since she was twenty-two, and married since she was twenty-four. At forty-two, she couldn't even begin to imagine starting all over again. She didn't want to. It was easier to be alone. Which was Matt's conclusion too. They were both the walking wounded, which was another thing they had in common.

  “You're too young to stay alone,” Andrea said quietly. She was the voice of reason, and of the future. Ophélie was steadfastly clinging to the past. And in some ways, a past that had never existed, except
in her heart and imagination. “You have to let go eventually. Maybe not now. But sooner or later. You're only halfway through your life. You can't even begin to think of being alone forever. That's ridiculous, and a terrible waste.”

  “Not if it's what I want,” Ophélie said stubbornly.

  “You don't want that. No one does. You just don't want the pain of exploring. And I don't blame you. It's rotten out there. I've lived there all my adult life. I hate it. But someone is bound to turn up eventually. A good one. Maybe even better than Ted.” There was no one better in Ophélie's estimation, but she didn't argue the point with Andrea. “But I don't think your child molester is the answer. He sounds pretty screwed up, or maybe just screwed over. But either way, I don't think he's the guy you want, except as a friend. I think you're right there. But that means that eventually, you're going to have to find someone else.”

  “I'll let you know when I'm ready, and you can leave my name on bathroom walls, or hand out leaflets. Come to think of it, there's a man in my group who's desperate to get remarried. He might be just the thing.”

  “Stranger things have happened. Widows meet guys on cruises, at art classes, in grief groups. At least you'd have a lot in common. Who is he?”

  “Mr. Feigenbaum. He's a retired butcher, he loves opera and the theater, is a gourmet cook, has four grown children, and he's eighty-three.”

  “Perfect.” Andrea grinned. “I'll take him. I can tell you're not taking this seriously.”

  “No, I'm not, but I appreciate your concern.”