Samuel said as soon as we turned into my driveway. The gate had been left open for us.
"What? Oh, yes."
"I had a wonderful time, Olivia. I really did," he said pulling to a stop. "I hope you did, too."
"Yes, I did, Samuel. Thank you."
He leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow, to a lot of tomorrows."
Once again his boldness took me by surprise. I could only nod. He got out quickly and rushed around to open my door. He escorted me to the front door and there he put his hands on my shoulders to turn me to him.
"Good night," he said and leaned in to kiss me on the lips this time. "I feel like a pirate who's discovered a buried treasure," he said and returned to his car, leaving me speechless at the door.
Cape Cod was famous for its weather, famous for the way a storm could sweep in and sweep out, all in the same morning. No wonder Samuel Logan liked it here so much, I thought, and went into the house, flushed and overwhelmed by his energy and determination. Someone had lit a fire under him, I concluded. I only hoped it was me.
8
Deathbed Confession
.
There were times when I believed that Samuel
Logan had been advised that the way to my heart was to dominate my every free moment. Not a day passed since our first dinner date that he didn't call and propose some activity. Most of the time, I did enjoy his company. Our sail
ing date was pleasant and successful. He was skillful at boating, and looked to be even more comfortable at sea than he was on land.
"The sea is in my blood," he told me.
"Whatever percentage that salt normally makes up in our bodies is doubled in mine. My father says that as a baby I was most content when he and my mother took me in a boat. The roll of the waves and the sound of the surf was the best lullaby. We are both children of the sea, Olivia. Our lives are so tied up in it, we can't go far from shore."
I would sit and listen to his speeches over dinner, or in the car, or just while we were walking through town and I would think that if Samuel Logan was anything, he was surely a good salesman. I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed the attention, enjoyed being taken to restaurants and the movies, having car doors opened for me, having a good-looking man escort me everywhere until people began to take note and think of us as an item. I know Mother was happy for me. Belinda, on the other hand, took all the credit.
"If I hadn't talked you into fixing yourself properly, you might never have kept his interest, Olivia."
"If he's only interested in me now because of a little lipstick and rouge, I feel sorry for him," I told her. She took it wrong, of course.
"So you've slept with him. How was it?" she asked one night while I was preparing to go out to dinner again with him. "Everything you've hoped it would be?" she added with that silly, little laugh.
"Of course I haven't slept with him," I snapped. "I don't jump into bed with the first man who comes calling. Or with every man who comes calling, like someone I know."
"Hasn't he tried?" she followed, undaunted, her eyes sparkling wickedly. "Haven't you wanted him to try?"
"Stop it," I said turning back to the mirror. "You might have this sort of a conversation with your bubble-gum friends, but not with me."
"I'm just wondering what you do then," she said with a shrug.
I spun back on her.
"You're wondering what we do? We do what
mature adults do. We go to dinner. We talk. We admire the scenery. We go to art galleries or to the community theater or a film and talk about the story, the characters. We get to know each other better to see if we really belong together, and then, then, after we are comfortable with each other, we develop in other ways," I lectured.
She burst into laughter.
"What is so funny, Belinda?"
"By then you'll both have gray hair and no