Distant Shores

"Im jealous," she said.

She should be. Shed had every reason in the world to be here with him. If shed really wanted to, she could have gotten one of her friends to watch the house.

His second line buzzed. "Just a second, honey. Im getting another call. " He put her on hold and answered line two. It was Sally, saying shed meet him at the car in an hour. He felt a flash of guilt, as if hed been caught doing something wrong. But that was crazy; it was simply dinner with a colleague.

"Great. " He went back to line one. "Honey?" he said, "Ive got to run. Ive got dinner reservations. "

"Im proud of you, Jackson," she said softly.

Thats what hed been waiting for--her pride in him--and he hadnt even realized it. "I love you," he said, wanting to mean it with a ferocity that surprised him.

"I love you, too. Ill call you tomorrow after the interview. "

"Perfect. Bye, honey. "

He hung up the phone and went into the bathroom. By the time hed taken a shower and dried his hair, hed finished one drink and poured another. He dressed quickly in a pair of gray slacks and a black Calvin Klein sweater. Then he stood at the window, sipping his drink until it was time to leave.

At seven-thirty, he went downstairs. The limousine was waiting for him. The uniformed driver got out and opened the passenger door. "Good evening, Mr. Shore. "

Jack got into the car and settled back into the plush, dark seat. It was only a moment before the door opened again and Sally joined him.

She was stunningly beautiful in a plain black dress with a round collar and barely-there sleeves. Her hair--how was it that hed never noticed how blond it was, almost white--hung straight down the middle of her back. When she sat down beside him, he couldnt help noticing her legs . . . or the sexy, spike-heeled sandals that Elizabeth wouldnt have worn in the middle of summer, let alone in the middle of winter.

"You look beautiful. " Hed meant to say "nice. " He tried to loosen his collar. It felt too tight suddenly. "Is the heat on?" he asked the driver.

She leaned toward him. "Here, let me. "

He smelled her perfume, and the sweet, citrusy fragrance of her shampoo.

She unbuttoned the top button of his sweater. "There. Now you look a little more hip. "

He looked down at her. All he could see were red lips. "Im too old to be hip," he said, trying to put some distance between them. Years were a natural boundary.

"Henry Kissinger is old. Youre . . . experienced. "

The shimmering heat of possibility suddenly swirled between them.

He looked at the driver. "Tagliacci Grill," he said. "Weve got eight-oclock reservations. "

Elizabeth was exhausted. Shed spent the last twelve hours working on the dining room. Amazingly, the local hardware store had had a perfectly lovely set of French doors on sale. Someone had ordered them and declined acceptance.

The doors were exactly what Elizabeth wanted, and she got them at a discounted price. The only downside was that shed had to increase the size of the opening by six inches, then frame the damn thing and figure out how to mount the doors. The whole back-breaking process had taken her hours to do.

Now her shoulders ached and her fingers were cramped up like an old mans, but the new doors were in place. She set down her hammer and tool belt and made herself a cup of tea. Sipping it, she went out onto the porch.

A full moon hung overhead, huge and blue-white against a silvery sky. From this small, jutting lip of land, the stars seemed near enough to touch. It made Elizabeth feel small and safe; no more important in the great scheme of things than a blade of grass, but no less important, either.

She walked down the porch stairs and stepped out onto the mushy grass of her front yard.

She was about to go back inside when a sound caught her attention.

At first she thought it was the wind, moaning through the trees. But there was no wind. Turning slowly, she faced the ocean.

Far out to sea, moonlit waves radiated in broken rows away from the shoreline.

She heard it again. A plaintive, elegiac like sound that lingered long after the final note had run out. She knew what it was.

She crossed the front yard, ignoring the way her old work boots sank into the wet soil. She stopped at the edge of the cliff steps.