Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor 2)

“It’s a 1954 Ladies Schwinn Hornet,” Sam said, rolling it over to her.

Lucy ran her fingers over the rich patina, the thick black wall tires, the white leather seat. “It’s perfect,” she said, surprised to discover that her voice was scratchy and her eyes were blurring. Because a present like this could only have come from someone who understood her, who got her. And it was a sign that Sam truly felt something for her, whether or not he’d intended it that way. She was surprised by the realization of how much that meant to her, how much she had wanted him to care for her on some level.

“Thank you. I…” She stood and threw her arms around him, and pressed her face against his shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Sam patted her back uncomfortably. “No need to get all girly.”

Feeling how tense he’d gotten, understanding the reason why, Lucy said in a muffled voice, “It is incredibly sweet, and probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.” She forced a laugh and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Relax. I still don’t love you.”

“Thank God.” He grinned at her, relaxing visibly.

* * *

For the next two months, Lucy occupied herself with her work. Sam often dropped by on the pretext of checking on her, but his visits usually resulted in the two of them having dinner together. Although there had been countless romantic interludes at the condo afterward, sex was not something that Sam demanded or automatically expected. He seemed to enjoy talking with her, just being with her, whether or not they ended up sleeping together. One afternoon he brought Holly to Lucy’s studio, and Lucy helped her to make a simple suncatcher with glass and copper foil. On another day they took Holly to the sculpture park, where Sam was quickly surrounded by at least a half-dozen children, all of them giggling wildly as he led them in attempts to pose like statues.

Lucy found Sam’s behavior more than a little perplexing. For a man who was so determined to avoid emotional involvement, his actions were those of a man who desired closeness. Their discussions frequently strayed into personal territory, as they shared their thoughts and childhood memories. The more Lucy gleaned about the Nolans’ background, the more compassion she felt for Sam. Children of alcoholics often grew up to be suspicious of intense emotion. They usually tried to isolate themselves, to defend against being hurt or manipulated, or worst of all, abandoned. As a result, intimacy was the most dangerous thing of all, something to be avoided at all cost. And yet Sam was drawing closer, gradually learning to trust her without seeming to be aware of it.

You’re more than you think you are, Lucy longed to tell him. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Sam might someday reach the point of being able to love someone and be loved in return. On the other hand, that kind of momentous change, of self-realization, might take a very long time. Perhaps a lifetime. Or it might never happen at all. The woman who pinned all of her hopes on Sam would almost certainly end up with a broken heart.

And only to herself, Lucy acknowledged that she was dangerously close to becoming that woman. It would be so easy to let herself love Sam. She was so irresistibly drawn to him, so happy when they were together, that she understood there was a fast-approaching time limit for their relationship. If she waited too long to break it off, she would be seriously hurt. Far more hurt, in fact, than she had been by Kevin.

In the meantime, she resolved to enjoy every moment she could with Sam. Stolen moments, filled with the bittersweet knowledge that happiness was as ephemeral as moonlight.

* * *

Although Lucy wasn’t in direct contact with Alice, her mother had kept her informed about the progressing wedding plans. The ceremony would be held at the Our Lady of Good Voyage chapel at Roche Harbor, on the west side of the island. The tiny white chapel, more than a century old, was poised on the shoreline overlooking the harbor. Afterward a reception would be held in the courtyard of McMillin’s, a historic waterfront restaurant.

It galled Lucy that even though her mother was lukewarm about Kevin, she was becoming enthused about the wedding itself. Once again, it seemed, Alice could do whatever she wanted and get away with it.

On the day the invitation arrived, Lucy put it on the corner of the kitchen counter and felt bitter and annoyed every time she looked at it.

When Sam arrived to have dinner with her, he noticed the sealed envelope right away.

“What’s that?”

Lucy made a face. “The wedding invitation.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“I’m hoping that if I procrastinate and ignore it, it will somehow disappear.” She busied herself at the sink, rinsing lettuce leaves in a colander.

Sam approached her. He settled his hands at her h*ps and pulled her back against him. And he waited patiently, a steady presence behind her. Ducking his head, he brushed his lips against the edge of her ear.

Lucy turned off the water and blotted her hands on a nearby dishtowel. “I don’t know if I can go,” she said in a surly tone. “I don’t want to. But I have to. I can’t see an alternative.”

Sam turned her to face him, putting his hands on either side of the counter. “Do you expect it’s going to hurt, to see Kevin walk Alice down the aisle?”

“A little. But not because of Kevin. It’s all about my sister. I’m still furious about how she betrayed me and how they both lied to me, and now my parents have gone right back into the old pattern and they’re paying for everything, which means Alice’s never going to change, she is never going to learn—”

“Breathe,” Sam reminded her.

Lucy inhaled deeply and let out an explosive sigh. “As much as I hate the idea of going to that wedding, I can’t sit at home while it’s going on. It’ll look like I still have feelings for Kevin, or that I’m jealous or something.”

“Want me to take you somewhere?” Sam asked.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You mean … while they’re getting married?”

“I’ll take you to a nice little resort in Mexico. You can’t get too worked up about their wedding day when you’re relaxing on a white sand beach, drinking mojitos.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You would do that for me?”

Sam smiled. “I’d get something out of it too. Starting with the sight of you in a bikini. Tell me where you want to go. Los Cabos? Baja? Or maybe Belize or Costa Rica—”

“Sam.” Lucy patted his chest in an anxious little flutter. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer more than I can say. But there wouldn’t be enough mojitos to blank out the fact that it’s their wedding day. I’m going to have to go. I don’t suppose you—” She broke off, unable to bring herself to ask him.

“You’ve agreed to be my plus one at Mark and Maggie’s wedding,” Sam said. “It’s only fair if I go with you to your sister’s.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No … really,” she said earnestly. “I already feel better, knowing you’ll be with me.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back, fearing she had revealed too much. Any indication that she needed Sam, depended on him emotionally, would drive him away.

But he took her head in his hands and kissed her. His palm traveled along her spine before settling low on her hips, pressing her against him. Her eyes widened as she felt the pressure of his arousal thickening against her. By now Sam knew far too much about her, where she was most sensitive, what excited her. He kissed her until her eyes closed and she leaned heavily against him, her heart racing. Slow, searing kisses, draining her strength and filling her with sensation.

Lucy turned her face away just enough to breathe, “Upstairs.” And he lifted her in his arms.

* * *

The following weekend Mark and Maggie were married on the retired ferry in Seattle. The day was warm and beautiful, the waters of Lake Union a glittering shade of sapphire blue. A feeling of serenity pervaded the wedding. There were no signs of nerves or uncertainty, no tension or fuss, nothing but a wholehearted happiness that emanated from both the bride and groom.

Maggie was beautiful in a knee-length slip dress made of textured ivory silk, the V-neck and the straps edged with delicately translucent cream chiffon. She wore her hair in a simple updo adorned with a cluster of white roses. Holly was dressed in a similar cream-colored dress, the skirt puffed out with a tulle underlay. It touched Lucy when, as Mark and Maggie stood with the justice of the peace for the vows, they gestured for Holly to stand with them. After Mark kissed the bride, he bent to kiss Holly as well.

A spectacular buffet was served inside the ferry: a cornucopia of fruit, a selection of brightly colored salads and pasta and rice, fresh Pacific seafood, brioche loaded with cheese, bacon, and chutney, and rows of tarts and vegetable roulades. Instead of the traditional wedding cake, a tower of tiny individual cakes was arranged on Plexiglas tiers. A live jazz quartet played “Embraceable You.”

“I’m sorry this wedding didn’t happen after Alice’s instead of before,” Lucy told Sam.

“Why?”

“Because everyone is so happy, and Mark and Maggie are so obviously in love. It’s going to make my sister’s wedding look even worse by comparison.”

Sam laughed and gave her a glass of champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome in a dark suit and a patterned tie, although he wore the clothes with the collar-tugging impatience of a man who didn’t like to be bound up in formal clothing. “Offer of a Mexican getaway still stands,” he told her.

“Don’t tempt me.”

After the guests had loaded their plates at the buffet and the tables were filled, Sam stepped forward to make the toast. Mark stood with his arms around both Maggie and Holly.

“If it weren’t for public transportation,” Sam said, “my brother wouldn’t be getting married today. He and Maggie fell in love along the ferry route from Bellingham to Anacortes … which brings to mind the old saying that life is a journey. Some people have a natural sense of direction. You could put them in the middle of a foreign country and they could find their way around. My brother is not one of those people.” Sam paused as some of the guests started laughing, and his older brother gave him a mock-warning glance. “So when Mark by some miracle manages to end up where he was supposed to be, it’s a nice surprise for everyone, including Mark.” More laughter from the crowd. “Somehow, even with all the roadblocks and detours and one-way streets, Mark managed to find his way to Maggie.” Sam raised his glass. “To Mark and Maggie’s journey together. And to Holly, who is loved more than any girl in the whole wide world.”

Everyone clapped and hooted, and the band started playing a slow, romantic version of “Fly Me to the Moon.” Mark took Maggie in his arms, and the two of them took a turn around the dance floor.

“That was perfect,” Lucy whispered to Sam.

“Thanks.” He smiled at her. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Giving his empty champagne glass to a passing waitress, Sam went to Holly and led her to the dance floor, twirling her, dancing with her feet standing on his, then catching her up in his arms and turning a slow circle.

Lucy’s smile turned pensive and distracted as she watched them. In the back of her mind, she was worrying over an e-mail she had received from Alan Spellman, her former professor, that very morning. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, feeling troubled and conflicted when she should have been nothing but thrilled.

Alan had written that the committee at the Mitchell Art Center had elected to offer her the year-long artist-in-residence grant. He had congratulated her effusively. All she needed to do was sign a document agreeing to the terms and conditions of the grant, and then the official public announcement would be made. “I couldn’t be more pleased,” he had written. “You and Mitchell Art Center are a perfect match.”

Lucy had been mildly amused by that phrase. It wasn’t lost on her that after all her failed relationships, her perfect match had turned out to be an art program. She was going to spend a year in New York. She would have national recognition. Working with other artists, experimenting with new techniques, giving occasional “design performances” in the art center’s public glass lab. She would have her own featured exhibition at the end of the residency. It was the kind of opportunity Lucy had always dreamed of. And nothing stood in her way.

Except Sam.

She had made no promises. Neither had he. The entire point of the arrangement was that either of them could break it off and leave without a backward glance. An offer like the one from Mitchell Art Center wouldn’t come her way often, if ever again. And she knew that Sam would never want her to make such a sacrifice on his behalf.

Why, then, was she filled with such melancholy?

Because she wanted more time with Sam. Because their relationship, even with its limitations, had meant a lot to her.

Too much.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present as she watched Maggie’s father claim a dance with his daughter, while Mark went to cut in on Sam and Holly. More couples joined them, dancing to the sweetly yearning music.

Sam returned to Lucy and wordlessly extended his hand.

“I can’t dance,” Lucy protested with a laugh, gesturing to the Aircast brace on her leg.

A slow smile curved his lips. “We’ll fake it.”

She went into Sam’s arms. She breathed in the scent of him, tanned male skin and cedary sweetness, mingled with the hints of summer wool and starched cotton. Since Lucy couldn’t dance in the brace, they merely swayed from side to side, their heads close together.

A tumult gathered inside her, longing tangled with low-level panic. Once she left him, she realized, she could never come back. It would hurt too much, seeing him with other women, watching the path of his future diverge from hers … and remembering the summer when they had been lovers. They had come so close to making a rare and wondrous connection, something beyond the physical. But ultimately all their inner defenses had remained intractable. They had remained separate, never reaching the true intimacy that Lucy had always craved. And yet this might be the closest she would ever get.

“Better not to know,” her father had said. God help her, she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“What is it?” Sam whispered.

She summoned a quick smile. “Nothing.”

But Sam wasn’t deceived. “What are you worrying about?”