Time After Time (20 page)

The gangplank led to a
float to which the yacht was tied up. Between the rolling gangplank
and the floating dock, Liz was feeling a little rubbery-legged. "Be
careful, honey," she cautioned.

Susy, as sure-footed as a
three-legged stool, laughed at her mother's warning and dashed up
the five boarding steps through a cut-out gate in the side of the
hull.

And there they were:
aboard their first and probably last true yacht. It was a
spectacular vessel: miles of teak decks with every seam in place;
varnished cabinsides that gleamed in the midday sun; a small
sailing dinghy hanging in davits, ready to be swung over the side
and lowered into the water; an afterdeck with a built-in crescent
of cushioned seats around a low round table topped with a crystal
bowl filled with cut flowers. Cut flowers, for Pete's sake! On a
boat!

Susy sat gingerly on one
of the canvas-striped cushions, looked around briefly, then slid
off, ready for the next feature on the tour. Cornelius said to her,
"Wanna see the anchor? It weighs more than I do."

Susy said, "Yes!" and ran
forward, despite her mother's warning to
"Walk, young lady!"
sounding in her
ears.

"You listen to your
mother," Cornelius said amiably.

He turned to Liz and said,
"She's a doll. Reminds me of my — of Caroline. We'll have to have
'em out for a little cruise soon."

Jack gave his father a dry
smile and said, "Caroline hated the boat, Dad."

"Because she had no one to
talk to," his father said easily. He ambled up to the bow, where
Susy was waiting, with little hops-in-place, for the tour to
continue.

Spoiled forever,
Liz thought as she fingered the name of the
yacht,
Déjà Vu,
that was gold-leafed on the white lifering hanging alongside
one of the cabin doors. "This truly is a magnificent yacht," she
said to Jack. "I always thought of wooden boats as old, smelly, and
leaky."

"I prefer to think of her
as 'seasoned,' " Jack murmured with a dangerous smile. "As for your
other misconceptions: she smells clean and sweet — and she's real
tight."

"Oh," said Liz, coloring
deeply. "Then I guess I was wrong. Is ... is the hull fiberglass?"
she asked, just to have something to say. "It looked so
smooth."

"Fiberglass wasn't
invented then," he said, brushing her windblown hair away from her
mouth with his fingertips. "The boat's over a hundred years
old."

"Oh," she said faintly.
"Wrong again."

"And contrary to what
you're thinking, when it was built, it was regarded as a modest
vessel for the time — especially considering the owner had a
shipyard at his disposal."

She heard a loud thump and
whipped her head around. "Susy!" she cried.

"It's all right, Mommy. I
was just jumping down from the — the
capstan!"
Susy said proudly,
glancing at Cornelius. "That's what holds the chain for the
anchor!"

"Well, come back here by
me," Liz said sharply. "We've taken far too much of these people's
time as it is."

Looking chastised and
sullen, Susy began dragging her steps toward the back of the yacht.
She perked up when she reached the small dinghy hanging in its
davits, however, and said to Jack, "Do you ever go for boat rides
in this?"

Jack smiled and said, "I
used to sail that when I was just about your age."

Susy's mouth fell a little
open; she gave Liz a big brown-eyed look of reproach that
said,
"You
won't
even let me take lessons with a
grown-up!"

They went through the
wheelhouse and down the cabin steps and toured the sparkling
galley, with its gleaming brass sinks, leaded-glass cupboards, and
wood-paneled fridge, then made their way through the cozy
staterooms and the main salon, with its varnished furnishings,
built-in bookcases, and deep-green-velvet upholstery. It was all
very stately and dignified, as masculine as East Gate itself. Liz
wondered where, if anywhere, the Eastman women got to express the
softer side of the empire. It was a silly thought; obviously the
men ran the show in this family.

They came back up into the
wheelhouse, and Cornelius sat Susy on the tufted leather helmsman's
seat, where she pretended to steer the brass-bound varnished wheel.
"When I grow up," she announced blithely, "I'm going to drive a
ferry. Or maybe even a big ship."

"I thought you wanted to
be president," Liz said, smiling.

"—if I don't get elected,"
Susy shot back.

They all laughed and
retraced their steps through the boat, with Liz warning Susy at
regular intervals to go slow, be careful, not touch, and leave it
alone.

Jack murmured to Liz, out
of Susy's earshot, "She's not going to be president
or
ferry captain if you
keep such a tight rein on her. I mean, an untamed cub like Caroline
is one thing, but don't you think
—
"

Surprised by his
impertinence, Liz turned to him and said tersely, "Excuse me, but
Susy is all I have."
All I'll
ever
have,
she thought, washed over by a complex wave of
emotions. "
Naturally
I'm protective."

"Okay, okay," he said,
throwing up his hands as if she'd pulled a gun on him. "None of my
business."

"None at
all
,"
Liz agreed.

At the top of the
gangplank she said to her daughter, "Go get your backpack, honey.
I'll catch up to you." After Susy thanked Jack enthusiastically and
set off for the office with Cornelius, Liz said to Jack, "I guess
we're done for now?"

"Look, I'm sorry if I
stepped over some line you've drawn. After all, I'm not a parent —
as far as I know. What do
I
know about childrearing?"

"Apology, such as it is,
accepted," she said, annoyed by his flippancy.

"Prove it," he said
suddenly. "I'm taking the boat out on a twilight cruise tonight
with half a dozen friends. Cocktails, the usual thing. Join
me."

"Um..."

Was it a date? It didn't
sound like a date. It was a cocktail, with other people just like
him. What did one wear on a yacht at twilight? What did one say
when one was asked where one went to school, and what yacht clubs
one belonged to, and what one thought of so-and-so, the new tennis
instructor at the Casino?

And what did one tell
one's daughter when one's daughter — who'd give her baby teeth to
be able to go for a boat ride — learned that her mommy was going
instead?

"Um. . ." Liz bit her lip
and shook her head.

Jack gave her a level
look. "I see."

No, he
didn't
see; but she let it pass. Let
him think she was still angry over his bachelor-knows-best advice.
Let him think anything except the ultimate rock-bottom truth: that
she didn't want to end up being another notch in his gun. If he
couldn't find a suitable match among the rich and the gorgeous, he
sure as hell wasn't going to be swept away by a thirty-something
mom who couldn't even bear him the heir he would so obviously
require.

Still, it would be nice if
she could come up with another reason besides "um."

She gave him a carefully
friendly smile and said, "I have other plans." (She didn't.) "I'm
sorry." (She wasn't.) "It would've been fun." (It would've been
agony.)

Jack was about to say
something when an older, overweight man in a plaid sportshirt came
hurrying up to them shouting, "Jack, Jack — my boat's been broken
into!"

"What! Impossible, Jay!"
Jack said automatically. Under his breath he murmured,
"Shit."

Liz gave Jack a quick,
sharp look; he seemed almost to be expecting the news.

"What'd they take?" Jack
asked as the man got near.

"Can't tell," Jay said,
winded from his sprint. "It looks like a hurricane went through
belowdeck. Everything's in a heap. They even busted in some of the
bulkheads, by God." He held his hand over his left ribs; he'd
gotten a stitch from running. "Should I call the cops?"

"Absolutely. You can use
my office. Was the
DeeJay
locked?"

"Well, no," Jay said
sheepishly. "Dee and I came down for sundowners a coupla nights
ago; we knew we'd be coming right back on the weekend, so ...." He
shrugged. "Who woulda thought? There's not a damned thing on the
boat that's valuable. You know that."

"Yeah," said Jack vaguely.
He turned to Liz, all business now, and said, "I'm sorry. Please
excuse me."

"Of course," Liz
said.

They were all headed for
the same destination, so Liz hung back a moment, apparently to
admire Jack's yacht a little longer. The men hurried on ahead while
she walked slowly along the pier, studying the boat from stern to
stern. No question, it was someone's labor of love. The thought
popped into Liz's head from nowhere at all:
If he can cherish and protect
a
yacht
his whole life, why can't he do the
same to
a woman?

She shook off the
question, a truly idle question, the way she'd shaken off the
memory of his kisses earlier.
He can have
anyone he wants,
she told herself,
and he doesn't want anyone—at least, not for
long.
That's how bachelors stayed that
way. Well, nuts to that; it wasn't how Liz did business. She had
the wedding ring — and the divorce papers — to prove it.

She found herself staring
in a daze at the afterdeck, with its deep cushions and fresh-cut
flowers, imagining it as it would be at twilight ... and after the
sun went down ... with no moon ... only the amber glow of the
kerosene lamps ... and the faraway flicker of stars in the sky.
What a setting for soft lies and faint promises.

Suddenly the chime-sound —
loud, rich, ringing in the air — shattered her reverie like a
baseball through a window. Liz let out a muffled cry and jumped
back, terrified. Why now? Why here? What was the pattern?
Nighttime, noontime, his house, her house, here, there,
everywhere!
Why?
It was making her wide-eyed, making her crazy. Liz whirled
around, a cornered, haunted creature, ready to do battle with —
what?

Who
are
you?

The fact that she was
cavorting alone on a pier in broad daylight bothered Liz not a
whit.
Show yourself,
she demanded silently, all but stamping her foot.

The chime filled the air
between her and the sun. She stared in the direction of the sound,
blinded by sunlight, unwilling to look away, unable to keep it up,
furious beyond fear now.

Dizzy from the effort to
stare into the sun, Liz dropped her gaze, trying to blink away the
dark spots that bobbled across her line of sight. What an
ass
she was being,
blinding herself that way! She rubbed her eyes with her hands,
which only made things worse, and began to panic, convinced that
she'd ruined her sight forever. She closed her eyes and kept them
closed, standing as still as a pilon, gathering what was left of
her wits, trying desperately to stay calm.

She took a deep breath,
held it, released it slowly, and then opened her eyes
again.

And there he was, just as
clear as could be, nothing vapory about him: on the afterdeck,
standing in just about the same place where she'd been imagining —
well, someone she shouldn't have been imagining at all.

He was wearing some kind
of old-fashioned yachting getup this time.
Sure. Why not? He's on a yacht,
Liz
reminded herself with bizarre lucidity. He seemed shorter than when
she'd seen him lounging against the grandfather clock in the hall
at East Gate; but then, Liz was standing high on the pier, looking
down on the
Déjà Vu.

Navy slacks, elegantly
cut; a long-sleeved white shirt with the sleeves rolled up; a dark
tie (was it
really
fluttering in the wind?); and a yachting-cap trimmed in gold
braid that glittered in the sun ....

"No blazer," she muttered
inconsequentially. It must have been hot out.

Then? Now?

His hands were hooked in
his pockets, and his head was cocked a little to the right as he
looked up at her, returning her stare with an insolent, arrogant
one of his own.

Except for the insolent,
arrogant part, he didn't look like an Eastman. His jaw was less
squared, his face a little longer. She had no idea what color his
eyes were, but his mouth — ah, she knew the Eastman mouth, and his
was not the same. The upper lip was wider, perfect for a handlebar
mustache. She wondered why he wasn't wearing one, since they were
all the rage.

Then? Now?

God help me,
she thought dizzily.
Have I gone back? Or has he come forward?