The Second Time (16 page)

“Yes.”

She snuggled into his arms and pulled them more tightly around her waist. “It’s too bad we can’t stay here forever,” she sighed.

“You can’t have everything, Dawn.” He unwrapped his arms from around her and gripped her shoulders to sit her up. “It’s time we were getting the dinghy loaded and headed back for the boat.”

“So soon?” she protested and stayed curled on
the sand while Slater rolled to his feet and kicked out the fire.

“Yes, so soon.”

“Spoilsport,” she accused and held out her hand so he could pull her up.

There was a split-second hesitation before he grasped it and hauled her to her feet. But it didn’t flow into an embrace as she thought it might. Instead Slater walked over and picked up the basket loaded with dirty dishes and gear.

“It is early.” Dawn shook out the blanket and began to fold it.

“It will be early in the morning when we leave, too,” he replied.

“Leave?” She stared at him. “To go where?”

“Back to Key West.” His features were in shadow, the pale moon not providing sufficient light to let her see his expression.

“But I thought we didn’t have to go back for another two days,” she frowned and trailed after him when he headed for the dinghy, grounded on the beach a few yards away.

“Something’s come up and I’m needed back at the office.” It was a very uncommunicative answer.

“But—when you talked to Mrs. Greenstone this afternoon—afterward you said everything was running smoothly.” Dawn was positive he hadn’t mentioned there were any problems.

“Dawn—” he stopped and turned to look at her, the utmost of patience in his tone, “—things can be running smoothly, but there still can be
an item that requires my personal attention. There wasn’t any reason to mention it earlier, because I didn’t want to spoil your last evening.”

“Well, it’s spoiled,” she declared, but mainly by his attitude.

“You knew we had to go back sometime,” he stated.

“Of course, I did. I’m not a child,” she retorted, a little snappishly. “And you didn’t have to keep it from me as if I were a child.”

“Have it your way,” Slater muttered and turned away to stow the basket in the dinghy.

It was a short, and very silent, ride back to the boat. Dawn glanced at the name gleaming on the white hull—
The Second Time.
It had a bitter ring to it somehow.

In the same tense silence, they unpacked the dishes and utensils from the cookout. When Slater went up on deck, Dawn went into the head and used the shower. The cleansing spray seemed to drive out her moody resentment. By the time she had toweled dry, she was regretting her participation in this silent war. She didn’t want their last evening to come to a close on such a sour note.

Hoping it would spark a more pleasant memory, she grabbed his terrycloth robe and tied it around her. As she started down the narrow companionway, she noticed Slater sitting at the table in the galley. A briefcase sat on the bench beside him. A folder of papers was opened on the table while he worked a pocket calculator and made notes on a yellow tablet.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” She paused in the opening to the galley, a bare foot resting on the raised threshold.

He didn’t even look up at her question. “No. I have to go over these papers before tomorrow.”

“In that case, I’ll put on some coffee and sit up with you.” Dawn started to enter the galley.

“No. Go on to bed.” He refused her offer with disinterest. “You know I can concentrate better when you’re not around.”

She should have felt complimented by that, but he hadn’t even looked at her once. He was trying to claim she was a distraction, yet his concentration hadn’t faltered once. His fingers continued to tap out numbers on the calculator.

But there didn’t seem to be any point on which she could argue. “Good night,” she said.

“Good night.” His attention remained on his work, his response absently given.

Alone, she climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to join her. Her mind went back over the evening, trying to pinpoint just when it had gone wrong. It was just shortly after she had told Slater that she was not the rich widow he thought her to be. She had called his attention to the rising moon; then he had said it was time to leave. It had all gone downhill after that.

Had he sounded upset that she wasn’t rich? The minute her mind asked the question, Dawn shook it away. Knowing Slater’s pride, he was probably relieved that she didn’t have another man’s money. Besides, he had just been joking
when he’d said he was marrying her for her money. It was absurd to think such a thing—and worse to take it seriously, even for a minute.

It was possible he’d been upset because she’d kept it from him. He could have felt she should have confided in him before. But it vas no more than that. Dawn rolled onto her side and glanced at the reflected light from the galley. Her eyelids drifted down as she wondered how late he would work.

When she wakened the next morning, it was to the throb of the engines. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and holding on to the edge of the bunk to combat the boat’s motion. Although she couldn’t remember hearing Slater come to bed, the covers were all rumpled on his side.

Since they were already underway, she couldn’t delay their departure by lingering in bed. Dawn pushed aside the covers and climbed out to wash quickly and dress.

The skyline of Key West was an indistinct blur on the horizon when she joined Slater at the bridge. “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked, raising her voice to make herself heard above the engines.

“No point.” He shrugged, dragging his gaze from the water long enough to aim it in her general direction.

A swirling wind whipped her hair across her face. She turned into it so it would blow it back. The idyllic days seemed to be gone and they were rushing back into the world where it wasn’t all love and tranquility.

“I guess the honeymoon’s over,” Dawn said, but she didn’t think it had been loud enough for Slater to hear. She was wrong.

“Nothing lasts forever,” he stated.

Maybe that was it, she decided as buildings began to take shape on the horizon. Maybe things had been too perfect, and she had been foolishly expecting them to stay that way. Maybe, last night, both of them had been resenting it couldn’t always be as sublime as it had been in that tropical cove.

An hour later they had docked and loaded their suitcases in the trunk of the Corvette. Slater helped her into the passenger seat, then walked around to slide behind the wheel. He still seemed preoccupied and withdrawn, even when he looked at her.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?” He inserted the key in the ignition and started the motor. “At home or your parents’?”

For a stunned second, Dawn couldn’t answer. “Aren’t you coming home?”

“No.” His patience seemed worn. “I told you I had business to handle. I’m going to drop you wherever you want to go and head straight for the office.”

“I know that’s what you said.” There was a hint of sharpness in her answer.

“Well?” Slater prodded. “Which is it?”

“Take me home.” It was amazing how he could whip an answer out of her when she wanted to burn him with her silence.

The Corvette seemed to speed through the
streets, not slackening its pace until it swung in the driveway of the “Conch-style” house. While Dawn dug the key out of her purse, Slater lifted the suitcases out of the trunk and set them by the sidewalk. When he slid behind the wheel and shut the door, Dawn stared at him in a kind of angry shock.

“Aren’t you even coming in?” she demanded.

“No.” He glanced at the suitcases sitting by the walk. “They aren’t heavy. You should be able to manage them.”

It wasn’t the suitcases she had been thinking about. This was their new home. She thought he might carry her over the threshold, but she wasn’t about to mention it and possibly have him laugh at her for being so foolishly romantic.

The honeymoon was over in spades.

Opening the oven door, Dawn pulled out the rack and lifted the lid of the roasting pan. The rump roast was more than done; the meat was separating in chunks. She added a glass of water to try to keep it moist, turned the oven thermostat to warm, and slid it back into the oven.

“Boy, that smells good,” Randy groaned in a complaining tone. “When are we going to eat? Do we have to wait until Dad comes home?”

In private, he’d taken to calling Slater “Dad,” although it was done rather self-consciously when he was in his presence. Dawn felt Slater had been gone so much that his absence had contributed a lot to Randy’s occasional unease with him.

“Don’t you think we should wait?” she asked, appealing to his sense of right.

“It depends on how late he’s going to be,” Randy grumbled.

Breathing in deeply, Dawn had to concede that it wasn’t an unfair condition. If they waited much longer, the meal would be ruined. She moved to the wall telephone.

“I’ll call him and find out how soon he expects to be home. If he’s going to be too late, we’ll eat without him.” She picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

It rang three times before it was answered. “MacBride.” His curt voice sounded in her ear, its sharp, clipped tone becoming all too familiar to her.

“Are you still at the office?” she said, trying to sound light and amusing.

A heavy sigh came over the line, weary with exasperation. “I’m busy, Dawn. Why are you calling? If it’s just to check up on me and make sure I’m not with someone else, then why don’t you drive by my office and spare me these interruptions?”

She gritted her teeth and didn’t respond to his biting sarcasm and irritation. “Randy’s hungry. He wants to know what time you’ll be home for dinner.”

Instantly she was angry with herself for putting the onus of the call on their son. She was more interested in the answer than Randy was—and more deserving of an explanation for why they saw so little of him.

“It’ll be late. Don’t wait dinner for me. I’ll send out for something to eat,” Slater informed her that she needn’t keep anything warm for him. “Tell Randy good night for me.”

Which meant he wouldn’t be home before eleven o’clock. “I’m beginning to feel like an abandoned bride,” she laughed brittlely, because it seemed the best way to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t tell me Simpson never had to work late at the office,” he chided unkindly.

“Not night after night,” she shot back, her hand trembling from its tight grip of the receiver. Not caring how rude it was, she hung up the phone with a sharp click. She took a couple of seconds to regather her poise before turning to Randy. “He said not to wait dinner, so we can go ahead and eat.”

“When’s he coming home?” Without being told, Randy went to the cupboard to take down the plates and set the table.

“Not until very late. He said to tell you good night.” There was an underlying threat of tautness in her otherwise light-sounding voice.

“Gosh,” Randy sighed. “I thought it’d be different after you two got married and we all lived in the same house. But I’ll bet I saw him more before you got married.”

“He’s been busy,” she defended Slater’s absence to Randy even if she had her own doubts about the necessity of it. “It won’t always be like this.”

“I hope not.” His mouth twisted grimly as if he didn’t have much hope things would change.

When they had first returned from their honeymoon, Dawn had been willing to concede that Slater had a lot of work that he needed to catch up on, so she had accepted his late nights without complaint. Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night and found him asleep in bed with her, but half the time she never heard him come home—or leave with morning’s first light.

His attitude remained preoccupied, sometimes—like tonight—his lack of patience turned him sarcastic. Naturally with Randy, he was friendly and warm. Dawn was the one bearing the brunt of whatever was bothering him. She doubted that she could take much more.

On Sunday morning, Dawn could hardly believe it when she wakened at seven and discovered Slater had already risen. She hurried to the window and saw the Corvette in the driveway below. It seemed a rarity to discover he hadn’t already left the house. She dressed hurriedly in a pair of white jeans and a red-checked blouse, applied a sparing amount of makeup, ran a comb through her hair, and ran down the stairs.

She found him in the living room, sprawled in an armchair with the sections of the Sunday newspaper strewn around him. His shuttered gaze flicked to her, then back to the article he was reading. A cup was sitting on the lampstand.

“Coffee?” She presumed it was made since the evidence seemed to indicate he’d already had at least one cup.

“I’ve had plenty. Thank you,” he refused. “I think I’ll get myself a cup,” Dawn announced unnecessarily and turned to leave the room.

The clumping thud of Randy running down the steps checked her as she waited for him to come down. When he was around, things didn’t seem as tense.

“Good morning.” He was always bright and
chipper in the mornings. “What’s for breakfast?” And hungry.

“What would you like?” Dawn gave him his choice.

“Pancakes and sausage.” Randy didn’t have to think about it.

“Slater?” She turned to him. “The same for you?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” he refused again. “I’ve already had some toast and juice.”

“Say, Dad—” Randy sauntered over to the armchair where Slater was seated, “—can we go out on the boat today? You’ve been saying we would—one of these weekends.”

“Not today.” He folded the section of paper he’d been reading, laid it aside and reached for the next. “I have to go over to the resort later on. I’ll be tied up most of the afternoon.”

“Ah, not today, too,” Randy complained.

“Surely you can take one day off,” Dawn argued.

“If I didn’t feel it was necessary, I wouldn’t be spending my Sunday working,” Slater countered. “The subject is closed.”

The paper crackled as he snapped it open. Aware of Randy’s crestfallen expression, Dawn curved a protective hand around his shoulder and turned him toward the kitchen.