by Mary Haskell
Mary Haskell - Hold Fast 'Til Dawn
Jenny loved Larry's sun-bleached hair, his dazzling smile, his love for the sea--and his love for her and their children. Their marriage of fifteen years was as solid as the rock-hard muscles that enveloped her in the most intimate embrace each night. Nothing could shake it.
Nothing, perhaps, except the arrival of an Oriental beauty from Larry's past. Ky tempts Larry with torrid memories, torments him with ancient guilt, and sends him and Jenny spinning into a vortex of whirlwind emotions. Suddenly the foundations that had felt so stable, so sure, are threatened with rumblings of doubt and discord...
Chapter One
"Wa-hoo! Look at this baby go!"
Jenny Andrews laughed aloud with pleasure, shoving the wildly flying strands of her hair out of her eyes as she held tightly to the wheel, steering a straight course. Her husband, Larry, had yel ed his excitement when the jib caught the wind and, fil ed with fueling breezes, began pul ing the forty-foot Bristol along like an insignificant toy.
"Okay, Jen, we've got it!" Larry winched the line down tightly against the leeward rail. The boat heeled over, cutting a swath through the rol ing foam-tipped swel s in Vineyard Sound.
Jenny eased herself down on the windward side of the cockpit, firmly bracing her feet on the deck and smiling her joy as Larry sat down close beside her, his face one big ecstatic grin, his sun-bleached golden hair ruffled and whipped by the ocean winds.
He leaned over and bestowed a salt-water kiss on her lips. "Hey, wife, isn't this great?" His dancing eyes matched the bril iant blue of the sky, and the white flash of his teeth made a striking contrast to the honey-gold color of his skin.
What a handsome man, Jenny thought. A happy, handsome man, in love with his boat, in love with the sea, and in love with me. She grinned, pleased with her mental rhyme. Pleased, in fact, with just about everything in the world on this glorious sunny day. "I'd rather be sailing!" she yel ed, her voice caught and swiftly carried away by the wind.
"You nut, you are sailing," Larry teased good-naturedly.
"I know, I just felt like saying it anyway." Jenny laughed again. "Look at those two." She tipped her head toward Joe and Gina Greene, two of their best friends and most regular sailing buddies. Gina was sunning herself up on the cockpit, and Joe was wedged against the leeward rail, sound asleep.
"Do you suppose he knows he's getting soaking wet?" Jenny asked.
Larry stretched out to give his friend a nudge with the toe of his shoe. "Hey, Joe, do you know you're getting soaking wet?"
"Buzz off." The mumbled grunt sent Jenny and Larry into a fresh round of laughter.
Larry gave him one more poke. "You'll be sorry when we real y tip this baby on its side and dump you into the drink."
There was another retort.
"What did he say?" Jenny asked.
"Unrepeatable," Larry said with a chuckle. "What are the kids doing?"
"They went down to the cabin to play cards."
"Hmm, it's awful y quiet down there. They're probably tel ing dirty jokes."
"Larry, what a thought! They wouldn't do that with Christy there, would they?"
"Sweetie, I hate to tel you this, but your darling daughter is twelve years old. In today's world that's old enough for dirty jokes." Larry grimaced at the thought. He hated to see how fast his children were growing up. Like most doting fathers, he wanted to keep them little forever. But their son, Rick, was almost fourteen—a ful -
fledged teenager. Luckily his personality didn't yet hint at any of the dreadful adolescent traits Larry and Jenny kept nervously watching for.
Sighing, Jenny tipped her head back, savoring the rush of warm air and the flicks of cool salt water that brushed her face.
"Look at this, Jen. How could anything be more perfect?" Larry waved his hand in a horizon-encompassing arc.
How, indeed, she mused, squinting up at the total y cloudless sky. It was a perfect sailing day, the wind steady and strong enough to keep them streaking along at a fast clip, but not so violent as to whip the ocean into a pounding, plunging maelstrom. She was amazed at how fast the time went, how quickly they sighted the first of the Elizabeth Islands, their destination. Soon they would have to take down the sails; the approach through the channel had to be made under power.
"Okay, got it!"
Jenny took one more hitch in the line around the furled mizzenmast and paused. She watched the muscles ripple across Larry's back as he leaned against the rail to secure the mooring. It was hard to believe he was thirty-nine years old; he looked so young and supple and lean. The disciplined jogging seemed to do the job; there wasn't an extra ounce on his body. And what a very nice body it was. Jenny smiled at herself. Married fifteen years and she stil got al moony-eyed over her own husband.
She pul ed off her strawberry-colored tank top and let the hot sun warm her bare back. It felt delightful, as if it were shining al the way through her. "Ummm..."
"What are you umming about?" Larry squatted on the deck next to her, his hand reaching out to cover hers. It was an automatic gesture. He loved to touch her.
"I was just thinking how delicious I feel."
"You certainly look delicious in that bikini." He moved his hand to her ankle and slid it up the smooth, lightly oiled length of her trim leg.
"Larry," she whispered, "stop that! We're surrounded by people."
"Nonsense. They're al below getting their gear. There's probably just enough time for a quickie." His hand crept over her hip, tightening on the curve of her waist.
With a reproving stare, Jenny tried to dislodge it. "Larry, behave yourself. They'll be up here any second. You'd better get the dinghy ready."
"My dinghy is ready," he answered with a lascivious smirk.
"Larry!"
"Okay, okay."
Larry and Jenny planned to do some cleaning up on the boat, so Christy, Rick, Gina, Joe, and Jeff, the Greenes' fifteen-year-old son, were to go ashore to pick up lobsters at Captain Marlow's. Everyone was soon assembled, anxious to be on their way.
Jenny happily watched the others lower the dinghy and begin the sea-to-land transfer. Larry fussed about, ever fearful that someone would put a scratch on his beloved Bristol. Jenny felt just as protective about it as he did. For the first ten years of their marriage they had dreamed of owning their own sailboat. They had both grown up on the water. They had, in fact, met briefly for the first time at a regatta in Camden, Maine. His parents had kept their Concordia yawl there for years, and Jenny's mother and father were visiting contenders in a special y planned race to Nantucket. Her first memory of Larry was of a tow-headed young man hoisting a mainsail. He'd been only twenty-two then.
"Hey, Mom!" Jenny peered over the rail to see what Christy wanted. "Could you toss down my sweater? I left it right by the wheel."
Jenny fetched the sweater and dropped it, with deadly accuracy, on top of Christy's head. "Thanks a lot, Mom." The muffled voice held a touch of sarcasm.
Jenny admired Rick's sure, strong stroke as he eased the dinghy away from the hul . He was already a fine sailor, and his grace with the oars was in sharp contrast to the gawkiness his fast-growing body displayed in most earth- bound pursuits.
Larry appeared beside her and put his arm around her waist, hugging her tightly to him. "Nice couple of kids you're raising there, Mrs. Andrews."
"Thank you, Mr. Andrews, and may I say the same for you."
She and Larry watched contentedly until the ful party was gathered onshore.
Sliding her arm around his waist, she commented, "It's such a treat to come to Naushon; it's a lovely island.
Aren't we lucky that the Samuelsons invite us every year?"
"Clever on our part to ha
ve the right friends."
The Samuelsons had started out as business acquaintances of Larry's and had become close friends. They had rented a summer house on Naushon for years, and it had become a tradition, for the last seven of those years, for the Andrews family to spend a couple of days with them. This year the Greenes had been invited, too.
"Jenny?"
She jumped. "What?"
"You were miles away. Shal I offer the proverbial penny for your thoughts, or has inflation driven that to $2.95?"
She laughed. "I was just remembering the first few times we came here on the little commuter barge, and thinking how fortunate we are to come into the harbor in our very own boat."
"Yeah." He turned and leaned against the rail. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, which testified to his quick wit and ever-present humor, deepened with his expression of satisfaction. "This is our, what... fifth summer with it? It stil makes me feel al puffed up and superior to know it belongs to me. Whoops." His eyes slid sheepishly sideways to meet hers. "Us," he corrected.
Jenny directed a barefooted kick at him. "Male chauvinist boat-owner!"
"Hey!" With amazing swiftness, he grabbed the foot, holding it fast. "Now what?" he taunted. "You're in my clutches." He held on doggedly while Jenny ineffectual y pummeled his back. "Where are al your equal-rights feminist friends when you need them, eh?"
"You cad." She tried to control the bubbling giggles; she'd lose the wrestling match for sure if they overcame her. "Just because you can't beat me mental y, you resort to brute force." She sank helplessly to the deck, stil trying to pry his hand loose.
Larry let go of the ankle and snatched both of her hands.
Holding them close to her chest, he brought his face nose to nose with hers. "I resort to brute force! What brute aimed the first kick?"
Jenny struggled to free herself. Oh, to win just once! She tried to gain leverage by bucking with her hip as he pushed her to her back. She was strong; surely with just one more shove—"Drat!" She was pinned to the deck, her smirking husband sitting astride her, spread-eagling her hands.
"Now, now, no foul language on shipboard, if you please. What are you giggling about? Think it's funny, do you? Have you no respect for your superiors?"
"Superiors!" She renewed her struggles. "Oh, Larry, no! Don't tickle. You know I go crazy when you tickle me!"
Jenny began to writhe in uncontrol able laughter, flailing about, kicking, clawing, scratching.
"Ouch!" Larry sat back, clutching his left shoulder. "You gouged me." He removed his hand, studied it a moment, and licked a finger. "Blood. You drew blood!"
Jenny sat up and contritely checked his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but why don't you ever learn? You know I lose control when you tickle me."
He gave her a devilish grin. "Yeah, I know."
She clucked at him in a deliberate imitation of a mother hen. "Such a bad boy." She picked up a discarded brass-polishing cloth and wiped off the tiny drops of blood on his shoulder. "Stil trying to prove that just this once you won't get hurt."
"Hey!" He recoiled from her ministrations. "That cloth is dirty! What are you trying to do, give me blood poisoning?"
"Oh honestly, what a baby! I'm using a clean edge. Besides, this wound isn't deep enough to carry even the most virulent of germs back to the bloodstream."
"Cal ous. You are total y cal ous. Don't you realize, woman, that I am the best husband you have?"
She kissed the shoulder. "You're the best husband anyone has."
He feigned amazement. "What? A compliment from my own wife?"
Jenny gave him a playful shove as she stood up. "You don't need my compliments. You get plenty from al the ladies at the club."
He stood beside her. "That doesn't count. Besides, I've never seen one single lady at the club look even remotely that good in a bikini."
Jenny sent him an exasperated look. "That's because no one wears bikinis at the club."
"Wel , most of them shouldn't. But you should. You look sensational in it. Come to think of it, the only place I see you wear one any more is on the boat. At the beach or pool you always have on one of those suits that cover up far too much of that toothsome flesh."
Jenny sidestepped the roving hand. "I do believe you're a sex maniac. The boat is our private domain. I think it's indecent for a woman who's almost forty to be seen in public in a bikini."
"You're only thirty-eight."
"That's almost forty."
"I think it's indecent to mention the number forty until you absolutely have to. You can avoid it for a whole year longer than I can."
The remark jarred her. "Why Laurence Andrews. Don't tel me you're afraid of turning forty! Do I catch the scent of a mid-life crisis hovering on the breeze?" She gave him a teasing pinch, trying to turn her words solidly into a joke.
He fol owed her lead, sliding quickly back into the jesting tone. "Are you kidding? Not for another ten years. I intend to live to be at least one hundred."
"What an awful thought. Although,"—she looked at the cloth in her hand—"if I lived that long, maybe, just once, I would actual y be able to finish polishing the brass."
"Never." He gave her a gentle swat on the rear. "Corroding brasswork on a boat is like death and taxes—
always right there waiting for you. Wel , guess I'd better go get at those charts."
Jenny's surprised "Oh?" popped out, halting his departure. "You're going to work on the charts right now?"
His eyebrows raised as he cocked his head to one side. "That was my intention. However, I'm more than wil ing to postpone it if you have something else in mind." The remark was close to a chal enge.
Jenny felt her body tightening, becoming immobile. Reach out, touch him, say "I want you," do something, her mind raged. She couldn't seem to move her arms.
He looked at his feet for a second, then moved his shoulders, as though discarding a momentary tension. "I'll go take care of the charts, so we can be ready when Joe comes back for us."
"Larry." She touched his arm. "I love you."
He gave her a quick kiss. "I love you, too."
The tightening didn't disappear as she watched him descend into the cabin. She loved that wonderful husband of hers so much. She knew how much it would mean to him if she would initiate their lovemaking more often.
She did it occasionally, but with decided effort. Larry was openly affectionate and sensual. He viewed sex as not only perfectly natural but also lots of fun.
To Jenny, any overt display of sensuality was difficult. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex; she had simply never been able to rid herself of the feeling that it should be talked about in whispers and indulged in only in the privacy of a locked bedroom. Her mind knew that was ridiculous, but her emotions were another matter.
The differences between their attitudes had always been there, but for some reason they seemed to bother Larry more lately. Darn. Why couldn't she have been born into a bawdy, gregarious brood instead of her stiffly proper household? Wel , enough of that. Jenny's practical Yankee mind was not given to lengthy excursions into introspection. Sometimes the best thing to do with problems was to leave them alone and let them resolve themselves.
She looked around, trying to remember where she'd put the brass polish when she had stopped that chore to furl the mizzen. She'd finish the one fitting, then go down and reorganize the pans and dishes in the gal ey.
Larry slid out the wide, flat drawer and careful y removed the neatly stacked charts. A fel ow sailing enthusiast at his office had explained a clever system of using different- colored markers to indicate the vital buoys and channels in the areas they traveled most often, to make for easier spotting in case they were trying to find their location in a storm. Larry was a partner in one of the largest, most prestigious accounting firms in the country.
He had reached the position at such a young age through natural aptitude, plus hours and hours of hard work.
He was a systems analyst, and a project like thi
s one was intriguing to his mathematical y precise mind.
He took the markers out of his canvas ditty bag and settled on the bunk, spreading the first chart out in front of him. Damn. He went back to the bag and rummaged around for his glasses case. What a royal pain in the butt to have to rely on glasses to see the fine markings. He had never worn glasses in his life until less than a year ago. He slipped them on and sat down again, irritated at the sudden clarity of the lines and print. One more step toward senility, he groused.
He stopped, startled by the thought. Could Jenny be right? Was he fighting the age battle? Nonsense. He had seen the symptoms in a lot of his col eagues, but he had never consciously worried about aging. Growing older was a perfectly natural process. It sure beat the alternative.
Larry drew the red marker through the Woods Hole Channel. Stil , he had to admit he'd been pushing himself to run that extra mile lately. He grinned. He'd better watch it. Next he'd be chasing his young secretary around the office. He glanced up as Jenny came down the steps, pushing her long, straight, dark brown hair out of her face and sending him a smile.
"Wil I bother you if I bang the crockery around?"
"Not at al ," he answered truthful y. He liked to have her near him. He fol owed her motions surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. It made her nervous when she knew he was watching her. But watching her fil ed him with pleasure. She was so cute. She hated that description, but she was. The way she sat on the floor of the cabin with her leg tucked under her, supple as a child, pul ing pans out of the cupboard. If he tried to sit like that, he'd never stand up again. Being married to Jenny was fun. Her quick, inquisitive mind darted from project to project and issue to issue with amazing agility. She was a superb mother, interested and involved in the activities of their bright, energetic children, always ready to help with homework or cart them to a buddy's house. What a blessing that she was like that. With his crazy schedule, most of the day-to-day responsibility of raising the children and running the house had fal en, out of necessity, to her.
"Would you like some tea?" She was putting the kettle on the stove.
"Sure, love some." He fol owed the graceful movements of her body with frank admiration. She was tal , about five- foot-seven, and very slim. Her thick mane of hair fel wel below her shoulders. Her face was smooth and almost unlined, its healthy glow enhanced only by a touch of lipstick and a little cheek stuff—what did she cal it? Blusher. She looked more like a graduate student than the mother of teenagers.
