Safe Harbor (29 page)

She clung to the newel post behind her to keep
from shivering. Holding her breath, she waited to hear what Jamie
would say. He only gaped at the balding, skeletal man hunkering
down in front of him.

“Do you know who I am?” Shelley’s father
asked.

“You company,” Jamie said.

Her father’s smile widened. “Yes, I suppose I
am.”

“This is your grandfather,” Kip said when it
seemed obvious that Shelley wasn’t going to introduce
him.

Jamie looked bewildered. “My Gramma Grampa in
Chester Hill.”

“Chestnut Hill,” Kip corrected, moving to Jamie
and placing his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, easing him away
from Shelley’s legs. “That’s your other Grampa. You’ve got that
Grampa and Gramma, and then you’ve got your other grandmother in
Texas, right? And this is your other grandfather.”

Jamie twisted to give Shelley a quizzical look.
It took every ounce of strength in her body to nod in
confirmation.

Turning back to Shelley’s father, Jamie tilted
his head and appraised the stranger. “You my other
grampa.”

“How about if you called me something
different, say, Granddad?” he suggested. “That way you won’t get
confused.”

“Granddad,” Jamie said.

“I’ve got some surprises for you in my
suitcase. Do you like surprises?”

“Soo-pri!” Jamie whooped. Shelley’s father had
spoken the magic word; he had won Jamie’s eternal devotion. “Mommy!
Company bring soo-pri!” Unable to contain himself, he pranced into
the living room and out again, clapping his hands and shrieking for
joy.

Shelley’s father opened his suitcase and pulled
out several clumsily gift-wrapped packages. Jamie flopped down on
the hardwood floor and tore the wrapping to shreds.

Kip inched closer to Shelley and discreetly
slipped his arm around her. His touch seemed to drain her of what
little energy she had left; her body went limp against him.
Watching Jamie rhapsodize over his presents—a plastic dump truck
and a clown doll that beeped when its stomach was squeezed—was
almost unbearable. This felon, this cruel, selfish, deceitful man
who had broken his vows and abdicated his responsibilities, who
stood for everything Shelley abhorred, had won over her son with
five dollars’ worth of toys.

“Are you hungry, George?” Kip asked, covering
for Shelley’s lapse in manners.

Her father glanced up from his position on the
floor next to Jamie. “No, thanks. I’d just like to spend some time
with Jamie.”

“Maybe we could go to the beach. Would you like
that?”

“Beach!” Jamie bellowed. “Let’s go
beach!”

Shelley closed her eyes and swallowed. “I don’t
feel too well,” she whispered.

Kip peered at her, his eyes shimmering, his arm
snug around her quaking shoulders. “I could take your father and
Jamie down to the beach for a while,” he suggested. “If you really
aren’t up to it—”

She almost wished she could ask her father to
take Jamie and let Kip stay home with her. She wanted to bury
herself in his embrace, draw strength from him, let him shelter her
from this agony. She wanted to lose herself with him, the way she’d
lost herself one fog-shrouded September night, when his love had
carried her far away from reality, from venal parents and lost
wives and all the pain she and Kip had ever suffered.

But she couldn’t abandon her son to her father.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she mumbled. “Please take them to the
beach. I’ll...I’ll just rest a while.”

“Sure.” He gave her a comforting squeeze and
then released her. “Come on,” he said brightly to the others.
“Let’s get some stuff together and go to the beach.”

Shelley watched as the men in her life joined
forces to prepare for their outing. Hanging onto the newel post as
if it were a crutch, she observed them, three generations, three
men who had inhabited her heart in their own individual ways. One
she had loved with all her heart, and now hated beyond measure. One
she loved now and would love always.

One was Kip, and as difficult as it was to have
her father back in her life, trying to figure out her relationship
with Kip was even more difficult. As he lifted her father’s bag and
ushered him and Jamie up the stairs, she almost cried out, “Don’t
go, don’t leave me!”

She had sworn to herself that she would never
become dependent on a man. But today, as she watched Kip vanish
upstairs with her father and her son, she comprehended that she had
broken that vow. She was utterly dependent on him—and the
realization frightened her to her soul.

***

HE TOOK THEM to Scotch Beach. Some twenty or so
other people were enjoying the sunny afternoon there—a mob by Block
Island standards, but really not much of a crowd. Kip had brought
along a beach umbrella, several beach chairs, a blanket, towels and
a tote full of toys. Taking Jamie at the beach was a lot more
complicated than taking Shelley to the beach used to be. So much
more equipment was involved.

Before they’d driven to the beach, George had
wanted to wash up from his long trip. He hadn’t changed his
clothes, though. Once they’d reached the beach he had pulled his
shoes off and rolled up his trousers, revealing calves so pale and
spindly Kip understood why he chose not to wear a swim
suit.

Kip lounged in one of the beach chairs while
George and Jamie played in the damp sand near the water’s edge,
building a sand castle and trying out the new toy dump truck. The
sun was high, the water placid. He gazed at the white sand, the
stalky reeds of grass climbing the dunes, the clear line of the
horizon and the deep blue-green of the waves rolling toward the
shore in a gentle rhythm. Scotch Beach wasn’t as pretty as the
secret cove Kip and Shelley favored, but it was special in its own
way.

It was here that he had first met Shelley, over
two decades ago. They had circled each other, sized each other up,
and tramped through the grass together to examine a dead snake.
They had been so fearless back then.

Jamie trudged across the sand to Kip. George
followed, lugging the toys. As soon as Jamie reached the shade of
the umbrella he tore off his sun hat and let out a whimper.
“Dirsty,” he said.

Kip suspected he was more tired than thirsty,
but he dutifully pulled a juice box out of his bag, inserted the
straw and handed it to Jamie. The child took two sips, then handed
the box back to Kip and sprawled out on the blanket.

Kip lowered himself from the chair to lie
beside Jamie, who happily nestled in the curve of his arm. His skin
smelled of salt and sand and the baby-oil fragrance of sunscreen.
In short time he was fast asleep.

George had settled into the other beach chair,
adjusting it so the umbrella would cast its shade over him. “That’s
a great kid you’ve got,” he remarked.

“I know.”

“You’ve done a good job with him.”

“Shelley’s done most of it,” Kip said. This was
a simple fact, not an attempt to hype Shelley to her father. If
George didn’t realize what an amazing person his daughter was, that
was his problem.

George ruminated for a while, squinting as he
surveyed the vast expanse of the sound. “I don’t get it,” he
finally said.

“Don’t get what?”

“The two of you make this wonderful child.
You’ve got a nice house, you’ve got money, you seem to like each
other...” He fixed an accusing look on Kip. “You don’t want to talk
about marrying her, Kip, so we won’t talk about that. But she’s my
daughter. She’s beautiful and smart. She’s a woman of quality.”
Obviously George did realize what an amazing daughter he
had.

“So, what is it?” he went on in his scratchy
voice. “You put my suitcase in that bedroom, and I saw it was
filled with your things. I could understand if she took over the
closet in her room so you had to hang your things in another
closet. Her mother used to take up three-quarters of the closet
space; I understand how women are. But...it’s not just the closet,
Kip. That’s your room. It’s where you live. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Kip said, focusing on the horizon to
avoid meeting George’s inquisitive gaze.

“I could tell.
You don’t share a room with Shelley. You don’t
live
with her.”

Kip closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
This was not a conversation he’d planned for—and certainly not one
he wanted to have.

His feelings must have been evident, because
George continued, “You’re thinking it’s none of my business. You’re
thinking I’m way out of line, discussing my daughter’s relationship
with you, questioning the sleeping arrangements. And you’re right,
Kip. It’s none of my business.”

“Then let’s not talk about it,” Kip muttered.
Beyond the basic awkwardness of discussing such a sensitive subject
with Shelley’s father, Kip was disturbed by his own yearning that
things could be different between him and Shelley. He himself
questioned the sleeping arrangements almost every night. When he
climbed into Shelley’s bed tonight, he would still be questioning
them. He knew he would be there not as a lover but as a comforter,
something for her to hold onto, something she needed the way Jamie
needed his teddy-bear and his nightlight. He wanted her body, her
soul, the warmth of her around him—and she wanted security. For one
night. Tomorrow he’d be safely back on his own side of the hall,
aching for her but too scared of jeopardizing what little he had
with her to demand more.

“I’ll tell you, Kip—at this stage of my life, I
don’t give a damn whether something is my business or not, whether
I’m stepping on toes or getting on people’s nerves. I’ve done so
much damage to my loved ones, at this point it doesn’t matter
anymore. You want to hate me? Be my guest.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I’m not a fool. I’ve done some foolish things
in my life, but I’m not a fool. I’ve got a business degree from
Columbia University. Just because I work as a motel desk clerk
doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”

Kip groaned inwardly. “No one’s calling you an
idiot.”

“So, what is it, then? What do you find so
distasteful about my daughter? You won’t marry her, you won’t sleep
with her. What is it? Are you gay?”

Kip let out a short laugh. “No, I’m not gay.
Believe me, if Shelley was interested, I would be very happy to
sleep with her. And marry her.”

“You
mean,
she’s
gay?”

“No.”

George ruminated. “All right. Maybe I am an
idiot. I just don’t understand the situation.”

Kip’s wry
amusement at George’s confusion vanished, replaced by a healthy
surge of anger. “I’ll explain it, then, George: it’s
you
. Shelley sees what
you did and she doesn’t trust men. She sees the agony you caused
her mother, and she refuses to open herself to anyone. You scarred
her, George. You hurt her so badly she’s afraid to love
anyone.”

Kip’s enraged accusations seemed to bounce off
George. “She loves Jamie,” he pointed out.

Kip lowered his gaze to his son, warm and
slumbering, his chest rising and falling as he snored. “Jamie
hasn’t betrayed her.”

“And you have?”

“No, I—” Falling silent, Kip glanced away. Two
teenagers, a boy and a girl, were playing in the water, splashing
and dunking each other, sending silver arcs of sea spray into each
others’ faces. Flirting. Falling in love.

The way he and Shelley had fallen in love so
many years ago.

A profound sadness filled him. “She thinks I’m
in love with someone else,” he said quietly.

“Are you?”

“No. I was, but... The woman died.”

“And now?”

“I love Shelley.”

“And she doesn’t know that?”

He shook his head.

George cursed. “Damn it, boy—why don’t you make
sure she finds out? What the hell are you waiting for?” When Kip
turned back to him, too astonished to speak, he added, “She’s my
daughter, and I love her, and I came back to make sure she finds
that out before I die. You may think an old convict doped up on
pain killers has no good advice to give a young hot-shot like you,
but you’d be wrong. Tell her you love her. Let her know before it’s
too late. Make my daughter happy.”

Kip turned back to the horizon, his mind
reeling. George made it sound so simple—and perhaps, when one was
old and sick and had nothing left to lose, things did become
simple.

What did Kip have left to lose? When it came to
Shelley, all he had to lose were his heart and his pride and the
loneliness of his bed at night.

She already had his heart. His pride was worth
risking. And he could think of nothing he’d rather lose than the
lonely torment of having to confront each night without Shelley in
his arms.

Chapter
Fourteen

SHELLEY EMERGED FROM the master bathroom, clad
in a demure cotton nightgown. She’d kept her shower brief in order
to save hot water for her father and Kip, and the five minutes
she’d spent under the spray had done little to calm her. Her
nervous system was suffering a critical overload; the only thing
that kept her from falling apart completely was the understanding
that by the same time tomorrow night her father would be gone, and
Kip would be back in his own bed.