Window on Tomorrow

by Joan Hohl

  But he had caressed the most sensitive erogenous zone in the human body, a tiny voice whispered from the depths of her consciousness.

  Paul had caressed her mind.

  Andrea came to a dead stop. Her throat worked against the tightness of fear. Her fingers flexed, in, out, curling and uncurling. Moisture dewed her brow as she strained to hear the murmur from the deepest part of her consciousness. When it came, the information sent a chill through her body.

  Paul swam with the sharks.

  Like a sleepwalker, Andrea slowly moved her head from side to side in repudiation. It wasn’t possible for a human to swim with the sharks. Sharks were mindless scavengers. They were huge, mean eating machines! Once more the murmur worked its way to the surface of her consciousness.

  Think. Remember.

  Closing her eyes, Andrea cast her mind back to the scene, bringing the memory into vivid clarity. Terror crawled through her body as she relived the sight of those evil-looking fins slicing through the water. Joy overcame terror as she once again viewed the beauty of the dolphins at play. And horror returned with the image of a solitary fin closing in on Paul. If he hadn’t thrust his arm out to strike—

  No!

  Andrea’s eyes flew open. Staring, staring, she saw nothing of the room around her, and everything of that traumatic moment. She saw ... saw—

  Paul had not flung his arm to one side to strike the shark! He had reached out to stroke the monster!

  Andrea blinked and glanced around fearfully. She was not on the beach, she was safe in her room. And still she felt a fearful trembling inside, a trembling caused by the question revolving inside her mind.

  What manner of man was this?

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  A light tapping lured Andrea from the depths of slumber. Struggling against the enticement of forgetfulness, she stirred and opened her eyes when the tapping came again, this time followed by a soft call.

  “Andrea, are you awake?” Celia’s voice was raised slightly to penetrate the closed bedroom door. “Melly’s on the phone. Should I ask her to call back later?”

  Melly! Andrea blinked and stared at the ceiling. Full consciousness came in a sudden rush. “No, Aunt Celia,” she replied. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her body felt heavy; her mind felt dull. “What time is it?” she asked in a dry croak.

  “It’s eleven-twenty,” Celia answered, her voice fading as she moved away from the door.

  “Eleven-twenty!” Andrea exclaimed. She jumped up, then had to grab for the brass headboard to steady herself, as her head seemed determined to fly off her shoulders.

  Andrea stood still until her whirling senses righted themselves; then she stumbled toward the door. The long night she had spent tossing and turning, along with the subsequent disjointed and confusing dreams she’d had after finally falling asleep, clung to the edges of her mind. Andrea was awake and moving, yet not fully with it.

  Navigating from her room to the telephone mounted on the kitchen wall required every bit of concentration she could summon. Merely raising the receiver to her ear seemed like an enormous task.

  “Hello.” Andrea hardly recognized the cottony sound of her own voice. “Melly?”

  “Are you all right?” Melly’s usually bubbly voice was subdued by concern.

  Will you be all right?

  Andrea shivered at the memory echo of Paul’s voice, and with a weak smile of gratitude accepted the small glass of fresh grapefruit juice Celia thrust into her hand. She took a long swallow to moisten her dry throat, and then a deep breath before replying to her friend. “I’m fine, Melly. I just woke up and I’m still a little groggy.”

  “Just woke up?” Melly sounded scandalized. “Andrea, it’s nearly lunchtime!”

  “Mmm . . .” Andrea glanced at the clock. Damned if it wasn’t, she mused, yawning. “I know,” she said aloud to her friend. “It was very late before I fell asleep, and I didn’t sleep all that well. I guess that’s why I overslept.” Andrea frowned. Why was she making excuses to Melly? She certainly didn’t owe her friend an explanation . . . Come to that, she didn’t owe anybody an explanation!

  “Oh, I see,” Melly replied in a tone that said clearly that she didn’t really see at all. Her tone was proof of her lack of insight as she continued in a chirpy voice, “I never have trouble falling asleep.”

  Lucky you. Andrea kept the thought to herself and said patiently, “Did you call for a specific reason or just to”-she fought back the word “babble” and inserted—”chat?” Andrea genuinely liked Melly; it was just that, sometimes, the younger woman’s flightiness got to be a trifle too much.

  “Oh! A reason, of course!” Melly exclaimed.

  Beginning to feel as though she should be wearing a white jacket and plastic gloves, and wielding a tooth extractor, Andrea sighed. “Do you want to tell me the reason?” she asked patiently, eyeing the coffee carafe on the table with longing. “Or am I expected to guess?”

  Melly gasped, then giggled—two endearing things Melly did quite often. “No, silly, of course you aren’t expected to guess!” she again exclaimed—a third thing she did often.

  And she calls me silly, Andrea thought wryly. “Then are you going to tell me what it is?” she prompted, her fuzzy mind losing the thread of the conversation.

  Melly replied true to form. “What what is?”

  Closing her eyes, Andrea leaned forward to rest her forehead on the smooth wall. “The reason you called, Melly,” she answered with tired patience.

  “Oh, yeah!” Melly giggled again. “Sara called me a few minutes ago to tell me that the gang’s getting together this afternoon to have a last blast on the beach before fall classes begin” she finally explained. “Want to come?”

  “The gang” consisted of a group of young people, ranging in ages from nineteen to thirty-one, who were all students attending Parker College. Andrea had more or less been absorbed into the group after becoming friends with Melly.

  The beach. A shudder rippled through Andrea’s body. She was on the point of declining the invitation when she suddenly reconsidered.

  The beach where the gang usually held their parties was located several miles away from the little cove below her aunt’s house. And though the cliffs rose from the edge of the sand, there were no enclosing rock jetties. It was not at all similar to the little crescent beach. And being with the usually high-spirited group might restore her normal sense of equilibrium.

  “Did you fall asleep, Andrea?” Melly demanded indignantly.

  Andrea laughed; she couldn’t help herself. She could picture Melly’s pale complexion mottled by irate splotches of pink. “No, Melly,” she said in a soothing tone. “I was thinking. What time is this blast scheduled for?”

  “Whenever,” Melly said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the guys were there already.”

  “Oh.” Andrea was quiet a moment. Then she asked, “Is everybody bringing something?” That was the way the get-togethers usually worked, every member bringing food or drink, or ice to preserve the other two.

  “Sure,” Melly said. “If you want to go, I can come by and pick you up. We can stop at the supermarket along the way for our contributions.”

  Andrea hesitated a moment longer, then would have shrugged, if she’d had the energy. “Okay, Melly. What time will you get here?”

  “Say .. . forty-five minutes?”

  “Say an hour,” Andrea said. “Remember, I haven’t even had a cup of coffee ... never mind breakfast.”

  Andrea was ready and waiting when Melly swept into the driveway in her racy sports car. A bright orange pullover and white shorts concealed the same swimsuit she had worn the day before. Thong sandals protected the soles of her feet. And, determined to avoid the necessity of an improvised fastener for her hair, she had anchored the dark mass to the back of her head with a large plastic butterfly clip.

  Strangely, for reasons Andrea refused to exami
ne, she had saved the dried and brittle piece of seaweed Paul had twined around her braid. Even as she had chided herself for doing it, she had carefully placed it in a small box in which she kept her most treasured mementos.

  “Hi!” Melly greeted her as Andrea slipped into the low-slung bucket seat. “Where were you yesterday? I called you several times during the afternoon.”

  Andrea fastened the seat belt, then raised her trembling fingers to the back of her head. The clip was firmly in place. “I was on the beach all afternoon,” she replied, flashing a smile she had hoped would detract from the strain in her voice. “You should have called after dinner; I was home all evening.”

  Melly backed out of the driveway before answering. “I had a date.” She smiled with smug satisfaction.

  Andrea grasped at the opportunity to steer the conversation away from herself. “How interesting. Want to talk about it?” She already knew the answer; Melly always wanted to talk about her dates. This was no exception.

  “He’s wonderful.” Melly sighed dramatically.

  Andrea rolled her eyes, and was grateful for the concealment provided by the dark sunglasses perched on her nose. “In what way?” she asked, again certain of the response; Melly’s dates were always wonderful in every way.

  “In every way.” Melly sighed again, deeply.

  Andrea groaned silently and was reminded of the white jacket, plastic gloves, and tooth extractor. “Would I happen to know this paragon of wonderfulness?”

  Melly slanted a decidedly sly grin at her. “Prepare yourself,” she said in a teasing warning. “When I tell you, it’s going to blow your mind.”

  You’re too late, Mell, somebody beat you to it, Andrea thought. “I can’t wait,” she said aloud.

  In an obvious attempt to draw out the anticipatory tension, Melly was quiet for a moment. Then she blurted out, “It’s Donald McEllevy!”

  “Mac!” Andrea gaped at her friend, truly surprised. Donald—or Mac, as everyone called him—was the thirty-one-year-old member of the group. He was also the most quiet and reserved of the bunch, the complete opposite, in fact, of Melinda, who was bubbly and outgoing by nature.

  “Yes, Mac.” Melly’s voice held a tremulous note Andrea had not heard before. “I... I’m in love with him.” She bit her lip, then rushed on, “And it scares me, Andrea.”

  “Oh, Melly,” Andrea murmured, reaching across the console to press a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “As you yourself said, Mac is a wonderful man. Why should being in love with him scare you?”

  Melly sniffed. “Because I’m afraid it won’t work.” She spared a quick glance from the curving road for Andrea. “We are just so different.”

  Andrea could relate to Melly’s feelings. An image of a tall, slender, impossibly handsome, and strangely different man drifted into her mind. Oh, boy, she thought, banishing the image. Could she ever relate to that! Repressing her own nervous and uncertain feelings, she tried to bolster her friend’s morale. “I've always heard that opposites attract,” she said teasingly. “Does the difference bother Mac?”

  Melly giggled. “If his actions are anything to go by, I’d have to say not in the least.”

  “And does Mac love you?”

  Melly’s smile was soft. “He says he does.”

  Andrea was quiet a moment. Then, as Melly turned into the parking lot of the supermarket, she asked the one question that, to Andrea, was the most important in a relationship. “Do you trust him?”

  Melly pulled on the hand brake, then turned to look at Andrea with eyes that held not a shadow of doubt. “Completely.”

  Andrea smiled and pushed her door open. “Well, then, I’d say you haven’t a thing to be afraid of.”

  It wasn’t until they were inside the store that either of the women thought to wonder what exactly they were shopping for. As she wrestled a wire cart from the clinging grip of other carts, Andrea threw out some suggestions.

  “Marshmallows?”

  “Uh-uh.” Melly shook her head, setting her blond curls bouncing against her shoulders. “Doreen’s bringing those... and potato chips.”

  Scratch the ‘mallows and chips. Andrea frowned. “Pickles? Olives?”

  “Mari said something about getting those,” Melly murmured, perusing the shelves as they strolled along.

  Andrea brought the cart to a halt at the end of the snack food aisle. “Look, at this rate, the party will be over before we get out of this store,” she said in exasperation. “Suppose you tell me what you’re sure some of the others are bringing, and then we’ll take it from there.”

  Melly frowned in concentration. “Well... I think Mike said he’d pick up the beer, Dan’s bringing the ice and a cooler, and Sara said she’d get the soda.” She paused, then continued, “Oh, yeah, Bobby’s bringing the buns, and Mac said he’d take care of the hot dogs and burgers.” She raised her eyebrows. “So, what do you think?”

  Andrea was thinking about crusty French bread and sharp cheese with chunks of vegetables, cool fruit salad, and a crisp white wine. “I don’t know.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “We could take a couple of melons . .. you know, honeydew, cantaloupe, watermelon?”

  “Great!” Melly agreed, veering off toward the produce department.

  The section of beach where the group usually held their blasts was located close to a wide natural break in the rocky cliffs. There was ample space to park cars, and Melly deftly tooled the little sports car right in beside the open Jeep that belonged to Mac.

  A small, carefully confined fire crackled beneath the protective shelter of the cliffs, well back from the water’s edge. A half-dozen women were busy unpacking food, stashing drinks in a large cooler chest, and spreading blankets on the sand. There wasn’t a male in sight.

  Amid waves and greetings, Melly looked around, scanning the terrain with a narrow-eyed gaze for Mac. A couple of the young women helped Andrea lug the melons to the cooler. Two of the others had obviously been in the ocean, as their swimsuits were wet and their hair clung to their heads.

  “Where’re the guys?” Melly asked.

  Janice, a petite redhead, motioned toward the ocean. “In the water. They’ve been in there since right after we arrived.” She shivered. “I think they’re nuts. The water’s cold.”

  Her eyes shaded by the sunglasses, Andrea gazed out over the water, smiling as she noticed the men engaged in male horseplay in the gently swelling waves.

  “They probably don’t mind the chill,” she observed, suppressing a shiver as she envisioned another man braving the cold water the day before.

  “I hope Mac doesn’t catch a cold,” Melly muttered.

  Smiling at her friend’s over-concern, Andrea stepped out of her shorts, pulled off her top, and settled back on one of the blankets. It was a beautiful weave, in vibrant earth colors interspersed with strips of stark white. Andrea didn’t know whom the blanket belonged to, but then, it didn’t matter. She was certain that the owner wouldn’t object to her lying on it.

  Lulled by the conversation of the young women around her, Andrea lay back and closed her eyes. Memory closed in around her, remembrances of the seemingly endless night she’d spent grappling with the unreality of the situation in which she suddenly found herself.

  Fragments of memories skimmed in and out of her tired mind, the echo of a voice whispered in her ears.

  “Oh, Andrea.”

  Had she only imagined the hunger concealed within his rough-velvet groan?

  “No, Andrea. Not like this. You ‘re too vulnerable now.”

  Andrea moved her head in restless discomfort. The voices of the young women were receding. What could he have meant by “Not like this” and “You’re too vulnerable now”? she asked herself for the hundredth time.

  Unless . . . Paul could have taken her then and there— she had wanted him to take her. And he had wanted her, Andrea was positive of that. His body had betrayed him. But he had denied her and himself. . . because of her vulnerability? Had Paul been c
aring for her, protecting her? Not from himself, but from herself? Andrea wondered.

  The idea tantalized Andrea’s senses. Being cared for and protected by a man was such a novel concept, at least for Andrea, that she was not only intrigued by the speculation, she was soothed by it. But she and Paul had just met, Andrea reminded herself. Was it possible for a man to care so much for a woman he had so recently met, to have protective feelings for her? As little as a day ago, Andrea would have answered herself with an unqualified no.

  But then, what about her own feelings? Andrea reflected. Being terrified of sharks, yet unconcerned with her own safety, hadn’t she run into the water to help him? Did her spontaneous action indicate a caring for Paul?

  Yes.

  For some inexplicable reason, having made the admission to herself about her feelings for Paul induced a sensation of utter relaxation in Andrea.

  She was teetering on the brink of sleep when the deeper voices of the men roused her. She felt a body drop onto the blanket beside her, then went still when a soft voice spoke her name.

  “Andrea?”

  Paul!

  Andrea’s eyes flew open, and her mind went numb. She stared at him in disbelief. Had she conjured him up with her thoughts? A quick perusal of him convinced her that he was real.

  His wet black curls framed his handsome face, looking as if they had been sculpted by an artist. Water glistened on his sun-burnished skin. His beautiful mouth curved into a gentle smile. And his soft, glowing blue eyes seemed to see ... everything.

  In Andrea’s case, everything was the erratic beat of her heart, the unsteady rhythm of her shallow breathing, and the sudden spark of wariness in her eyes, a wariness instilled not only by her new awareness of her own feelings for him but also by her persistent uncertainty about him.

  “You’re afraid of me.” Though his voice was pitched low, for her ears alone, Andrea glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. “Why?”