A Different Light (51 page)
Athen leaned on the top railing of the deck and watched the gulls sway in graceful circles above a serene blue sea. The morning sun danced a dazzling ballet of endless, glittering arabesques across the water for as far as the eye could see. She shaded her eyes with one hand to cut the glare and watched an osprey dive for a meal. The warming sand lay before her seductively, and she was unable to resist its lure.
Kicking off her sandals, she set off across the beach, startling a red-winged blackbird that landed on the outstretched arm of a lone scrub pine at the top of the dune. The bird took off in an agitated flurry, one short dark feather spiraling down to rest on the sand. Athen picked it up as she passed and followed the wooden boardwalk toward the shore.
She ventured a hesitant toe into the white froth of water left behind by a gentle wave. The sand at the waterline was still cold, the early summer sun not quite strong enough to have warmed the sea, and she stepped backward, her feet seeking a dry, warm spot where the low tide had not reached. A glint in the sand caught her eye. She reached down and picked it up. The sunlight radiated off the bright green piece of sea glass, and she cleaned it off so that it glowed like an emerald. She turned it over and over in her hand to study it before slipping it into the pocket of her shorts. Small bits of well-polished quartz, pink and yellow, went into her pocket as well. On her way back to the house, she kicked up the sand to reveal a cream-colored shell lined with pale pink that lay next to a small, perfect scallop shell. She added both treasures to her bulging pocket.
Halfway up the beach she plunked herself down in the sand and leaned back on her elbows, squinting as she glanced up first one side of the beach and then the other, not seeing a soul on either end. She dug her toes beneath the sand and hung her head back, her face lifted to the sky, savoring the moment’s solitude and the joy of being
exactly who and where she was.
There is something so primitive about being on a deserted beach,
she mused,
something peaceful in lying alone on the sand with the cry of the gulls and the soft lapping of the ocean the only sounds.
“There you are.” Quentin followed the path of narrow boards. From her vantage point, he took the form of a giant striding across the sand.
“Come join me.” She patted the space next to her. “Pull up some beach and sit down.”
He lowered himself to the sand, waving a fat white envelope to taunt her.
“Guess what I have?” he teased smugly.
“Wedding pictures?”
“The ones Brenda took. She just emailed them to me and I printed them off.” He pulled a stack of photos from the envelope and she reached for them. “Uh-uh. Not with those sandy hands. I will hold them and we can both look, but you may not touch.”
“Stop teasing, Quentin, I can’t wait to see.” She leaned over his shoulder. “Oh, look, your mother looks positively flustered.”
“That must have been right before the wedding, when she discovered that the florist had placed the topiaries at the wrong end of the garden.”
“Like anyone would have noticed. But, oh, look how beautiful everything was.” She sighed as he held up the next picture.
The Chapmans’ grounds had been transformed into a bower of roses for the wedding on the previous Saturday. Lydia had insisted that only a rose garden would do for the marriage of her only son, and it had taken several florists to bring her vision of clouds of roses to life. “Was there ever a more beautiful wedding?”
“Never. It was spectacular,” he agreed.
“Look at my father.” She leaned closer for a better look. Ari sat proudly in his wheelchair, Diana behind him, smiling happily, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Wasn’t he handsome? And wasn’t Diana beautiful? I’ll have to have that one enlarged and framed for both of them. And Callie—oh, my, how serious you both look, Quentin. What were you talking about?”
“Callie was informing me in the gentlest possible terms that while she was in fact delighted that I was marrying her mother, I had better not be harboring any thoughts of becoming her father, because she already had one, thank you very much, even if he was dead.”
“Leave it to Callie.” Athen grimaced slightly. “What did you say?”
“I told her that I have great respect for her father, and I am very much aware of how close they were, and that I would never try to step into his place, but that I would always be there for her if she ever needed me.”
“We should have spent more time talking to the kids about what this will mean,” she thought aloud.
“I think we handled it well, before the wedding. You can’t anticipate every possible scenario, but we’ll handle things as situations arise.”
“I guess Timmy must feel the same way.” She hugged her knees. “I mean about me not being his mother.”
“I don’t think it’s quite the same,” he told her. “I don’t know that he has many glowing memories of Cynthia. Timmy might like to be mothered just a little.”
He shuffled through the pack of photos, Athen peering over his shoulder. Meg—a beautiful maid of honor in pale rose silk. Veronica on mile-high spikes—dyed baby blue to match her dress, natch, her hair piled skyward and freshly lacquered for the occasion—clinging to the arm of her husband, the stalwart Sal, who, all muscle, was almost as wide as he was tall. Brenda, in a yellow silk sheath, with her man of the hour, a film producer from California. Caitlin Forbes, in a green raw silk suit, her hair short and casual, her arms around her brother. Athen met her for the first time the week before the wedding, and they sat for hours talking like old friends.
“I will never forget the way you looked when you came through the doors onto the veranda.” Quentin held a picture of his bride as she walked from the shadow of the house into the sunlight, stunning in a simple ankle-length dress of deep champagne lace. “I have never been so touched by a single moment as I was when I looked up and saw you walking toward me.”
He seemed to struggle for a second, collecting the right words.
“It seemed right then and there that I knew what it felt like to be reborn. That after all the pain of the past few years there was something so wonderful waiting for me.” He rubbed the side of his face against hers, his voice all but a whisper. “I would have endured a thousand heartaches to have had that one moment when I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life with you.”
Athen’s eyes filled with tears and she sniffed quietly. She swallowed hard in hopes of gaining control of her voice.
“I feel exactly the same way. When John died, I really thought my life was over. That there would never be another truly happy moment, or a day when I would ever be filled with the sheer joy of being alive. I honestly believed that my only purpose on this earth was to raise my daughter, that there would never be a reason to laugh or feel pain or watch a sunset. No joy, no wonder, not even real pain—nothing to make me feel alive, just a dull ache inside me from the minute I opened my eyes in the morning until I closed them again at night.”
“And then along came Dan Rossi,” he whispered in her ear.
“How can you mention that man’s name at a time like this?” She glared indignantly.
“Because he was the devil who prodded you back into the world,” Quentin reminded her. “As much as I hate to admit it, it was Dan who coaxed you into taking that first step.”
“I’ll give him that much, the scoundrel.” She leaned back against him. “It all seems so long ago now. I look back on those first days in City Hall and it seems like another lifetime.”
“It was. And we have yet another lifetime to discover together.”
“Funny how it worked out, isn’t it?” she asked, drawing circles in the sand with one finger. “You coming east when you did to take the job with Hughes’s paper, me being in City Hall …”
“Everything that happened before was leading me here.” He kissed her. “To this moment, to this place.”
He studied the circles she had drawn, then kissed the top of her head and stood up. She watched him walk across the sand. He was looking down, as if searching for something. He picked up a large clamshell, then began drawing something in the sand about ten feet from where they sat. Amused, she stood to watch him, and then walked closer.
“Watch where you step,” he told her. “You’re standing on the
S
.”
“What
S
?” She backed up and looked down at the markings on the sand.
“There you go.” He stood back to admire his work, placing the shell in his pocket.
QUENTIN LOVES ATHEN
They both laughed, and she draped her arms around his neck.
“And I love you.” She kissed him soundly on the mouth. “With all my heart.”
“Ah, that’s what’s missing.” He pulled the shell out of his pocket and leaned over, enclosing his message inside two swooping arches.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect,” she told him. “As perfect as this morning, as perfect as this week has been.”
“And as perfect as the rest of the day will be. Let’s go upstairs and open up those doors.” He pointed to the French doors off their bedroom balcony. “And let the sun and sea air into our room and take an early siesta.”
“What will Mrs. Emmons think?” She nudged him as they walked clumsily, their hips and shoulders gently colliding from time to time as their feet sunk into the sand.
“We’re sending Mrs. Emmons to Manasquan to do some shopping and as many other errands as we can come up with.”
“Good idea.”
“I forgot the wedding pictures.” He sprinted across the dunes to where he’d left the envelope on the sand.
Athen climbed the steps and stood at the railing, watching Quentin walk toward her, a smile of deep contentment on his face. They would have today and the rest of the week to enjoy each other before returning to Woodside Heights and its turmoil, before taking the first steps into the unknown waters of stepparenting and blending their families into one, before she would face the many problems of her city and the battles that still awaited her there.
For now, it was enough that they were here and alone, and that they had these days. Behind Quentin on the sand she could see the outline of the heart he had drawn. The message it held told her all she needed to know.
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