Whatever the nice young man had put in the needle was making it difficult for me to keep my eyes open and as I closed them I once again saw Dan’s sweet, concerned face. Why was he concerned? I felt fine.
Blessed sleep swept over me as the clattering Coast Guard helicopter lifted off Maidenstone Island.
The hospital room at Boston Medical was cold, stark and quiet. No beeps, clicks and whirrs like the ones that had filled Damon’s room.
What day was it? How long had I been here?
My arm was heavy and I could move it only at the shoulder. A plaster splint kept it immobile from above my elbow all the way to my fingertips. Why was it in a cast? Had Bobby broken it?
Bobby! The horror of it all came back to me. My mind reeled at what had happened. I’d been coming to the realization that he hadn’t been my knight in shining armor but I never imagined him capable of murder. Thank God for Aimee.
I no longer had anything to fear, but the anger and humiliation of having been so wrong about him made tears well in my eyes. Feeling sorry for myself, I suppose. I really did feel like an idiot.
Miss Romantic reminded me that the same thing had happened to Aimee. “Yeah,” I countered, “but she was a sweet, young girl, sheltered and naive, as were all daughters of wealthy Edwardian men.” Making it easy for her to be swayed and seduced by a handsome rogue. What was my excuse?
I considered myself an educated businesswoman, to some extent experienced in the ways of the world, yet I had been just as easily duped by a handsome stranger. And like Aimee had been given fair warning by friends—i.e., Damon—but had blithely refused to take heed. Just as Aimee had ignored her parents’ warnings. And we’d almost come to the same end.
I sighed, saying again, Thank God for Aimee. I only hoped that Bobby’s fall over the icy railing of the Maidenstone Lighthouse could take the place of Ned Bingham’s aborted plunge and allow Aimee to move on into the Light.
A strange noise made me open my eyes and I tried to sit up but got too dizzy, collapsing back onto the bed. From my slightly elevated position I looked around the room in an effort to discover the source of the noise; that’s when I saw Dan asleep in a green vinyl club chair. He looked tired and uncomfortable. The two-or three-day beard told me he’d been waiting for me to wake up. My heart swelled with the love I’d been suppressing, I couldn’t help but smile.
I watched him sleep for a while, then called his name. My voice was scratchy and almost a whisper but his eyes popped open and in a single smooth motion he was sitting on the edge of the bed, my hand in his.
“How do you feel?”
“Not too badly, all things considered. How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
I could see he was restraining himself, afraid he might hurt me. I reached up and placed my hand on his cheek, brushing away a tear with my thumb. He couldn’t seem to help himself and leaned down, gathering me in his arms. I felt the warmth of his tears on my neck and held him as best I could with my one good arm.
“I was afraid I’d lost you,” he sobbed as he released me and sat up.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I said as chirpily as possible.
His eyes flashed. “It’s not funny, Susan, you almost died. The doctors said the cold was the only thing that kept you from bleeding to death.” He paused and more quietly added, “On the helicopter it was touch and go.”
I was sure that seeing his face had been a delusional vision brought on by my injuries. “You were on the helicopter?”
He dropped his eyes in embarrassment or pain, I couldn’t tell. “I carried you down from the lighthouse to the chopper.” He almost whispered, “I saw Aimee.”
I reached out and took his hand. “It’s over now, for Aimee and me.”
He looked up and smiled; it was a heartbreaking smile that made the breath in my chest catch. I realized in that instant that I truly loved this man.
Our emotional reunion had drained what little energy I had and after getting multiple assurances that Damon was doing well, since Dan unequivocally refused to take me to him, I fell asleep.
I finally realized that I’d never really loved Bobby at all. As Damon had insisted, I had been in love with the idea of being in love. I had tried desperately to turn it into the real thing but had failed miserably.
Dreaming of Dan, I was glad.
He returned a few hours later, having showered and shaved, his arms filled with flowers, magazines, books and a stuffed pelican. I’d never seen a stuffed pelican before but it was very cute and Dan said it reminded him of home…our home. He put the flowers in my water pitcher, the magazines and books on the bedside table, and gave the pelican to me with a kiss. Then he said he had a surprise for me and left.
Within moments he wheeled a chair into the room with a boisterous Damon. Dan had convinced Alice Cahill that a meeting would be good for both of us and promised her faithfully to not let us overdo it.
I burst into tears when I saw my best friend’s bruised and battered body, and the look on his face made it clear that I wasn’t in much better shape. Dan pushed the wheelchair next to the bed and gave me a quick kiss, then stepped back, allowing Damon and me our time together.
I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around him but got dizzy when I sat up; with all the hardware in his legs he couldn’t stand. So we had to content ourselves with holding hands and crying for each other.
When his tears were fianlly dry, Damon admonished, “You just can’t do anything the easy way, can you?”
In spite of the pain, I laughed. “I’m not sure you’re the one to be throwing stones.”
On we went without missing a beat as though the last few days had never happened.
But they had and we all had our stories to tell.
Damon started by relating to us that he’d seen Bobby on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building and although they didn’t speak Bobby knew he’d been found out and had bolted. But Damon had seen a look in his eyes that made him afraid for me. He didn’t know why but was compelled to get to me when the phone service proved inadequate.
Dan pulled his chair closer to the bed to hear all the sordid details of my own encounter with my vengeful ex-lover. They were both awestruck and fearful for me by turns. Quiet throughout the telling and sorry that they hadn’t been there to help me. I guess I was stronger than I’d ever imagined possible.
But now I was anxious to find out why I had seen Dan’s face as I drifted in and out of consciousness.
Turned out, he had walked back to my house when his car had run out of gas, thanks to Bobby. He had arrived just as my Volvo was pulling out of the driveway, being driven by a man Dan had never seen. Terrified that I was inside the house lying injured he rushed inside and searched from the kitchen to the attic and back down. Unable to find me he ran back out into the raging storm.
After finding the carriage house open he ran after the Volvo, realizing that I must have left on the moped, and since I hadn’t passed him on the street he assumed I’d gone to Maidenstone Island and followed both of us there.
Lashing wind and surf slowed him down as he ran across the causeway leading to the lighthouse. He found the steel door to the tower open and blood pooled in the entry, where I’d stopped to gain my bearings. He ran up the metal stairs unheard through the sound of the wind buffeting the building.
He reached us just as Bobby went over the railing. He saw Aimee as she watched Bobby land on the painted rocks below. She turned and smiled at me and then at Dan, before fading away into the mist that shrouded the lighthouse.
Dan rushed to my side, which was the first time I remember seeing his face and, cradling me against his chest, he carried me down the steep, winding steps to the waiting helicopter.
And now here we all were, weary but alive and well and together.
I was starting to fade and Dan could see it; he stood up, taking my hand and Damon’s hand in his own, he smiled. “Okay, you two, that’s enough. You both ne
ed rest.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then took hold of Damon’s wheelchair.
“I’m taking you back to your room now so you can continue to make life miserable for Alice Cahill.”
Damon looked up at Dan and smiled like a cat who had just eaten a canary, then looked at me and in a stage whisper said, “Don’t throw this one back, girl. He’s a keeper.”
Then, as Dan started to pull the chair away, Damon reached out and patted my hand. “I love you, you know.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
I watched as my men left the room. Sighing, I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 36
I was grateful for the luxurious comfort of the Mercedes seats. After my confrontation with Bobby and a week in a hospital bed everything ached, not just my arm.
My tearful departure from Damon, who would remain in the hospital for another week or so, had drained a lot of my energy and I laid my head back against the soft leather seat.
Dan had graciously offered the use of the penthouse for my recuperation so I could stay near Damon and as much as I appreciated it, I really wanted to go home. Sleep in my own bed.
The house looked like one of the picture postcards they sell at the shacks along the beach every summer. With the lighthouse behind it, white puffy clouds in the azure sky, it even looked like a Freedan painting. I smiled at the thought.
My trusty Volvo sat in the driveway, no worse for the wear. While I was in the hospital Dan had brought it and the Vespa back from Maidenstone Island and closed up the house. He stopped the Mercedes behind it and looked over at me.
“Well, here we are.”
“It feels like it’s been months.”
Weaker than I realized, I leaned heavily on him as he helped me out of the car.
“My legs feel like Jell-O.”
It was all I had to say before he swept me into his arms and carried me toward the house. I’d never felt more safe and secure than at that very moment. With my injured arm in a sling I put my good arm around his neck and held tightly, resting my head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head.
You know the old movies where the groom carries his new bride over the threshold? That’s how I felt as Dan took me into the house. I giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing.” I sighed.
He smiled at me with the question still in his eyes as he deposited me on the sofa in the parlor.
The first thing he did was start a fire and turn on the heater so the rest of the house would be comfortable soon.
Going out to the car to retrieve our bags Dan left me with the roaring fire melting the cold of that late-October day from my bones.
There was something different about the room but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then I noticed it. The painting of Aunt Ellen that I’d hung only a couple weeks before was gone. Replaced by another.
Pointing at the portrait when he came back in I queried, “What’s this?”
“Homecoming present.”
Aimee seemed to be smiling at us again.
“Thank you, it’s wonderful.” I paused. “Although I’m not sure a Victorian parlor is the appropriate place for it.” I stopped short; it was as though I was channeling Aunt Ellen. Dan and I looked at each other and laughed.
“How did you ever get Greystone to give it up?”
“Trade. Years ago I did a watercolor of the club.”
He sat next to me on the edge of the sofa and with a lecherous grin said the scandalous painting reminded him of me.
“In your dreams, maybe.”
“Yes,” he said and kissed me. A long, passionate kiss that was so gentle I wasn’t sure how it was possible. Warmth spread throughout my body and I longed for him. I pulled away slightly. He sat up suddenly.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Looking up at the portrait of my ancestor I demured, “But I was thinking that you might be interested in doing a comparative study.”
With a huge grin, “Am I dreaming?”
With a grin of my own, “Maybe.”
Dan, once again, held me in his arms and carried me upstairs. I felt like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind. I sighed, burying my face in his neck.
Unable to be of much help I let Dan gently undress me and then modestly cover me with my light but warm down comforter. He slipped under it next to me and took me in his arms.
There in my captain’s bed we made wonderful, unhurried love. Luxuriating in each other and the warm afterglow, I lay with my head on his shoulder, his arms around me, happier than I ever remember being.
Tenderly outlining the curve of my jaw, then with his fingers under my chin he tipped my face up to meet his and kissed my nose. I smiled, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace.
A flock of gulls flew by the window and we watched as a pelican dived into the sea, catching his evening meal.
Looking out over the top of my head Dan said, “I’ve been thinking that with the lawn going down to the beach in front of the house, it would make a perfect…” He paused a moment and I was sure he was going to say painting.
“…location for a summer wedding.”
More than a little surprised I looked up at him. “Is that a proposal?”
“Could be. If it was, what would your answer be?”
Without hesitation I almost shouted, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Well, then I guess it is.”
We kissed, then turned back to watch the sun set outlined by the casement window. The white lace curtains hung still as the sun reached the horizon and cast a wondrous glow on the Maidenstone Lighthouse standing sentinel over our love.
Author’s Note
Often I’m asked how I write, what the process is. The truth of the matter is I don’t write; we did—Michael and I. Here’s a secret…He did most of the writing.
I lost my husband, Michael, suddenly, unexpectedly, several years ago. My happiest memories are the hours and hours we spent collaborating—whether on the business Kelly (his daughter) and I had, entertaining friends, taking care of family or writing.
Michael was a gifted writer capable of bringing the written word to life in stories like The Man Who Loved Jane Austen and The Maidenstone Lighthouse.
How these stories came about is the story of our partnership. We’d talk about new ideas…What if Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice was a twenty-first-century man? What if a New England lighthouse was haunted by a girl thought to have committed suicide, but didn’t?
That’s how they started. We’d talk things through, then Michael would write. Sometimes I would write something, like interior descriptions or some direction I wanted the story to take, and he would make it better. I would edit and then we would go on to the next project.
Sally Smith O’Rourke was originally chosen as a pen name that incorporated my name, Sally Smith, and Michael’s name, F. Michael O’Rourke; as his wife, however, it is my legal name as well. So even the name is a result of our collaboration, the collaboration of our lives.
I like to think that his spirit has been guiding me as I prepared the books alone for publication. It has kept his spirit that much more alive for me and kept his words alive for you to enjoy.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2007 by Sally Smith O’Rourke and Michael O’Rourke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-6661-3
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