Just Married! (7 page)

Right now it had one extra character.

Amanda was there still in the too large shirt Sam had left her in this morning.

Her friend was a huddle of misery on the couch, bare legs tucked inside the shirt, patting at her tears, her face swollen and blotchy. She was glued to a DVD.
Wedding Crashers.
Beside it were a number of other DVD cases,
The Wedding Singer, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Four Weddings and a Funeral.

Sam picked up the control and turned off the TV, before putting her arms around her friend. “You’ve seen some of these a dozen times,” she said gently.

“I want to see what real love looks like!”

“These are fantasies, not the greatest source for a reality check. You threw a piece of cake at real love this afternoon.”

“I don’t think Charlie married me because he loves me,” Amanda whispered, forlorn.

“What?” Sam sank down on the couch beside her, but Amanda leaped up and dashed to the washroom. She didn’t even get the door shut before she started throwing up.

Waldo, thankfully, was so tired from his big day that he stayed curled up in his bed by the door.

Amanda wandered back in, looking like death.

“Amanda, this has got to stop. You are making yourself sick. Charlie loves you madly. At least talk to him.”

“You think I’m sick because I’m upset?” Amanda
asked shrilly, and then bitterly, “I guess he hasn’t managed to tell everyone in town yet.”

Samantha felt herself go very still. Suddenly she saw Amanda getting sick and the firestorm of emotions in a different light.

“I’m pregnant,” Amanda announced joylessly, though Sam had already figured it out. “That’s why we rushed everything, why we decided to get married so fast. And then he had to go and tell his mother at the wedding, when he had promised he wouldn’t. You know her. She’ll tell everybody.”

It seemed to Sam everyone would know in fairly short order anyway. “Why the big secret?” she asked carefully.

“Because I don’t want everyone in town thinking I got married because I
had
to,” Amanda said shakily.

“Amanda, honey, in this day and age no one gets married because they
have
to.”

“No, I guess not,” she said doubtfully, and laid her head companionably on Sam’s shoulder. “He makes me madder than anyone on earth, Sam. Is that love?”

“You’re asking me what love is?”

But for some reason she thought of how she had felt at Annie’s Retreat earlier today, had that moment of
belief.
She could picture, again, her group of friends there, their young families with them.

And leading the charge would be the oldest of this coming generation, a little boy or girl who would
probably look like some delightful combination of Amanda and Charlie.

“I could probably get an annulment,” Amanda said, and started crying again.

Sam was no lawyer, but it seemed to her the relationship had been consummated, just not on the wedding night, and that made her uncertain how the whole annulment thing worked. Not that she thought it would be a very good idea to share that with Amanda right now.

Instead she felt again that
sense
she had had in the cottage. Of one stage of life ending, and another beginning, all unfolding seamlessly according to a plan that she might not be able to predict, but that she could trust.

“Everything is going to be all right,” Sam said, and she heard the strength and the confidence in her own voice.

“It is?” Amanda asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly, “it is.”

Amanda lifted her head off her shoulder, regarded her thoughtfully. “There’s something different about you.”

“Oh,” Sam said carelessly, “I’ve been out in the sun all day. New freckles, salt in my hair. You know.”

Apparently Amanda didn’t know. “That’s not it,” she said before asking, her head tilted to one side, smiling, the first smile since she’d run out of the reception, “Whose shirt is that, anyway?” And then
she squinted at the fine print that Sam had forgotten was above the pocket.

“Ethan,” she whispered, and then she smiled as if the sun had come out.

For a woman disillusioned by the course of true love, Amanda was a hopeless romantic.

Or maybe she wanted to focus on a love story other than her own, her choices in movies being a case in point.

“You and Ethan would be perfect together,” she breathed.

“You’re being silly,” Sam said. “We barely know each other.”

But Amanda insisted on acting like they had posted banns at St. Michael’s. She hugged Sam hard to her.

“I always knew there would be a perfect guy for you,” she whispered. “And I’m so glad it’s Ethan.”

And then she burst into tears—presumably at her own lack of a perfect guy—all over again.

Or maybe because she was pregnant.

“Look, I don’t have to go out tonight,” Sam said. “Maybe it would be better if I stayed with you.”

“Oh, no,” Amanda said. “My mom’s coming over in a bit. Before she does, I’ll help you get ready.”

Unfortunately Amanda, who
had
picked the pink fuchsia, insisted on helping her pick out an outfit for the evening.

And didn’t seem to hear her when she said they were barbecuing on the beach.

Looking at herself in the mirror a while later, Sam wasn’t quite sure how Amanda had made this outfit materialize from her wardrobe. Her friend had turned a sow’s ear into a silk purse. Sam might have tried to stop Amanda’s enthusiastic makeover, but Amanda had been so animated, and seemed to be forgetting her own troubles, so she had gone along.

Now what Sam saw made a light go on in her eyes. She looked stunning: shorts ending mid-thigh, underneath a casual short-sleeved beach top that Amanda had totally recreated with the simple addition of a tight belt. Lastly, Amanda had dug up the silk scarf that she had given Sam herself last Christmas, and knotted it casually at her throat.

Then she’d dug into the makeup they had used for the wedding, and again because it was making Amanda so happy, Sam had gone along.

But maybe it wasn’t the outfit or the makeup that had put this new light in her eyes, the light that made her look—and feel—as if she was not a little girl, not anyone’s little sister anymore.

In the mirror, what looked back at her was onehundred-percent pure woman. And Sam felt, not a sense of betraying her
real
self, but rather a sense of welcoming a disowned part of herself home.

E
THAN
watched the flames of their fire leap against the black star-studded sky, pulled Samantha deeper into the V of his legs, felt her settle back against his chest. They had just cooked clams in a bucket over the open fire, and now the night was growing a bit chilly.

She was already wearing his shirt over her own. Today, she had been wearing another camisole-style top, misty gray, a delicate concoction that had showed off the fineness of her figure and skin. But what he had noticed most of all was that it made her eyes look more gray than green.

He suspected it was new, and he loved how Sam was, day after day, embracing the feminine side of herself. There was no doubt she liked the reaction an outfit like that got from him, but he saw that she was genuinely enjoying allowing herself to be pretty.

Somehow his business kept getting delayed—he’d now been on Cape Cod for nearly a week. It was the third night they had finished the day like this:
bringing the barbecue down onto the beach, talking, teasing, tormenting each other late into the night.

Last night, on the Fourth of July, instead of joining the crowds in town they had come here, to the place he was beginning to think of as
their
beach.

And as the sky had lit up with the fireworks from town they had floated in calm waters beneath the exploding rockets, staring up at a dazzling sky, the symphony of fire reflecting in the water all around them. It had easily been the most magical experience of his life, more magical than the first big-league game, more magical than the first huge renovation and successful sale.

Ethan, a man who could afford many pleasures, was being constantly awakened to the joy in the simplest of things: a freshening breeze stirring beach grass and her hair, watching her play tag with the dog.

Ethan knew it was getting late and he should take her home, but he had the feeling he’d had every day since he had met her, of not wanting to let go.

Sunday and Monday her business had been closed, but after that he had talked her into playing hooky. Amanda had moved home with her parents and was still holding out against Charlie. Despite her own romantic disaster, Amanda was taking absolute delight in he and Samantha’s deepening relationship, and had volunteered to look after Groom to Grow for a couple of days. It was good for his cousin. She obviously needed something to do other
than think about Charlie, and she had given them the gift of allowing them to have these wonderful first days of July together.

Today had been the most perfect day he could remember in a long time. Samantha had taken him for his first sailing lesson this morning on her beautiful little boat, the
Hall Way.
He’d been in awe of her expertise and agility, but mostly in awe of the look on her face as the wind caught in the sails: joy, freedom, connection with this world she lived in.

They’d had a long lunch, driven down the coast, explored parts of the Cape Cod National Seashore. She had taken him to a beach after, where they had dug clams for their supper. The day had been playful, honest, intense.

Just like this woman he was with, that he was coming to know, even as he felt a thirst to know her better.

He kissed her hair, ran his fingers through it. “I love your hair,” he whispered, but he heard a deeper whisper, and didn’t speak it.

Her hand covered his where he touched her hair, and he marveled at this comfort they had in each other.

“My hair is what reminded me I was a girl all those years growing up with my brothers. It would have been so much easier to cut it, and I remember coming close so many times, but in a way, it was what I had left of my mom.”

Her voice went very soft as she continued, and he
knew he was being given another gift, maybe more spectacular than all the others.

She was giving him her trust.

“I could remember Mom brushing my hair, our bedtime routine. She would sit behind me and brush my hair until it crackled around my head, and she would tell me what a beautiful girl I was and how glad she was that I was hers, and how glad she was we had each other in our household full of men.”

He touched her cheek, and found a tear had strayed down it. And he felt an enormous sense of gratitude for this gift of Sam’s trust. After all these days of playing, she was going to show him her more vulnerable side, and he felt honored by her moving effortlessly into the next step between them.

“What happened to your parents?” he asked softly, stroking her hair.

“This is a beautiful place,” she said quietly, nodding toward the sea, “and a hard place, too. It’s unforgiving out there. And the more time you spend on the sea, the greater your chances of making the one mistake that it won’t forgive.

“They loved to sail. They never lost that, even with all the hectic activity of raising four kids, they always carved out time for each other. It was almost as if that time alone with each other was sacred to them. They were very experienced, and they knew these waters, but a sudden storm blew in.”

“I’m so sorry, Samantha.”

“Thank you. Sometimes, now, all these years later, I feel moments of gratitude that they went together, because I really cannot imagine one of them being able to survive without the other, or one having to watch the other getting sick and dying a slow, painful death.”

He realized, then, that Sam had seen real love, deep and abiding, and that was a part of who she really was as much as anything else. He had known her only a short, short while. How was it possible that he was wondering, already, if he could be worthy of that?

But he had known Bethany for eight months before he had popped the question. Time had not made him any more certain of what he was doing. He had confessed his doubt to his father, who had suggested he test her. Quit playing ball. See how long it lasted then. She had failed that test with flying colors!

He had known this woman for a week and felt a deeper sense of connection, of certainty.

Maybe love, of all things, was what most resisted man’s efforts to put it in a box, to tame it with time, to place rules and restrictions around it. Maybe it just happened, even when it was inconvenient, even when it made no sense, especially when you were least expecting it.

Love.
He had not said those words to her. But that is what his mind had whispered to him when he had
stroked her hair. Ethan was shocked that they came to him so easily when he thought of Samantha.

“Still, it couldn’t have been easy for you.” He slid his hand along the delicate line of her shoulder, let it rest on her upper arm. Such a small gesture. And yet it filled him with a sense of possessiveness, tenderness, warmth.

“No, being a little girl in a totally male household was not easy. Mitch was newly married when we first arrived on his doorstep, me, Jake and Bryce. His wife couldn’t handle the sudden death of the honeymoon. She left after a month.”

Ethan remembered Sam’s deeply cynical expression at the wedding and understood it.

Slowly she told him all of it. The trying to kill her own longing for things feminine because her brothers teased her so much about attempts to dress up, to look pretty, to put on makeup. She was embarrassed instead of overjoyed when she needed her first bra. Her brothers approved of toughness and disapproved of “sissy” things, and since that was her only safe harbor in the world, she became what they wanted her to be.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this.”

“Why not? It seems to me maybe you’ve needed someone to tell for a very long time.”

“I’m not condemning my brothers,” she said hastily.

“I know that. I could see at the wedding their love
for you was very genuine. They just didn’t know what you needed. Or not all of what you needed.”

“Okay, I’ve spilled,” she said, taking refuge in what he was coming to recognize as her sassy defense, what her brother had told him was toughas-nails, and wasn’t. Not even close. “Your turn.”

And so he told her about growing up in a very wealthy family, and about how they hadn’t approved when he had been drafted out of college to play major league ball.

“I had the college sweetheart. She was just what my big ego needed. I could do no wrong when I was a college star, and then when I was drafted to the Sox she went into love overdrive. Naturally I was swept off my feet, bought her the biggest diamond you can imagine and asked her to marry me.

“But you know, something in me thought something wasn’t right. It was as if we were both playing roles instead of being real. Even though I didn’t always get along with my father, especially back then, I went and talked to him. He suggested I tell her I was going to quit baseball and see what happened.

“She jumped ship as quickly as your sister-in-law, and it left me pretty disillusioned. I didn’t want to lead a life anymore where people liked me because of what I did or what I had. So, I really did quit baseball and I signed off on the family fortune, too, which wasn’t exactly what my dad had been expecting. I set out to make it on my own.

“I had the baseball money, and I had something to prove. Pretty soon, I was finding my relationship with business so much less fickle than my relationship with people. I turned all my substantial competitive nature on that.

“And you know what? It was enough for me. Until now.”

And then he turned his face to her and kissed her. And realized once you had tasted someone like her, nothing else was ever going to be enough again.

And he knew it was time for something else.

She had brought him into her world. Now it was time to bring her to his.

“Come to Boston with me,” he said softly. “Just for a few days.”

She hesitated, but she was full of yearning when she said, “My brothers would kill me. Or you. It hasn’t exactly been an accident that all our activities have not taken place in St. John’s Cove.”

Now that she mentioned that he recalled, even this morning, that her expression had been furtive until they had gotten that sailboat safely out of the harbor.

“The truth is,” he told her softly, “that I appreciate the fact your brothers are so protective of you.”

“Only because you haven’t seen them in action. Last time I was on a date, Mitch showed up, and ever-so-casually mentioned his shotgun collection.”

Ethan laughed, but she didn’t see the humor. “I’ll speak to your brothers,” he reassured her. “If
you come, it will all be aboveboard. I’ll get you a hotel room.”

“No,” she said softly. “I guess it’s time for me to speak to my brothers myself.”

But all he heard was that she was coming, and he felt his heart soar upward like the kites they had flown the first day they had been together.

When Samantha got in that night, Amanda was just leaving the store, though it was very late.

“How are things between you and Charlie?” she asked hopefully.

Amanda shrugged, which Samantha took to mean an unfortunate
No progress
, especially when Amanda launched into a detailed blow-by-blow on what had sold at the store, and who had been in that day, deliberately avoiding the topic of her marriage.

“Oh, and the real estate agent brought somebody through. They asked if they could see the apartment, and I didn’t know what to do, so I let her take them through. Is that okay?”

In truth, Sam hated the idea of someone touring her personal space. The real estate agent was supposed to give her forty-eight hours notice before showing it. But it was done, and really, there was probably no sense putting obstacles in the way of the sale.

She could
feel
change on the wind, ever since Amanda’s wedding she could feel it. Only she didn’t feel quite as frightened of it as she had a few short days ago.

In fact, she was aware her stomach didn’t knot up at the news somebody had looked at the building, for the first time since it had been put up for sale.

“Amanda, Ethan asked me to spend a few days in Boston with him.”

Amanda’s delight was as short-lived as her own had been. “Don’t tell your brothers,” she said with a shudder. “Mitch will kill him.”

“Thanks,” Sam said dryly. And as tempting as it was not to tell Mitch, she had never lived her life like that and she wasn’t starting now.

She picked up the phone. Despite her attempt at bravery, reminding herself that she was the one who made the first plunge into the ocean every year, Sam felt her stomach turn sideways when he answered.

“Mitch, I have to talk to you.”

“Talk away, little sister.”

But her stomach swooped again, making what she had felt about people looking at the building feel like a small upset.

“In person would be better.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice rough with concern.

“Yes. I’ll come over for coffee in the morning. See you then.” Her hand was shaking when she hung up the phone.

And she still felt like she was shaking when he opened the door in the morning, pulled her into a
crushing bear hug. Then he set her back at arm’s length and frowned.

“You’re all dressed up. Are you wearing makeup? What’s going on? Are you going on a job interview? Did your building sell? I heard there were people looking at it.”

That was a small town for you. It was only by the grace of God he hadn’t heard about her taking Ethan sailing.

“Mitch, you can wear makeup for things other than going on a job interview!”

“It’s a little early in the day for a wedding.” And then his scowl deepened. “Uh-oh. A man.”

She shoved by him and went into his messy kitchen, back to a typical bachelor pad now that she no longer lived there. She kept her back to him and poured a cup of coffee.

She took a sip, took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I’m nearly twenty-five years old, Mitch. Would a man be such a bad thing?”

“You’re not going out with any guy I haven’t vetted first, little girl!” His face was like thunder. He was unconsciously flexing and unflexing his huge arm muscle.

“Mitch,” she said, “I’m not a little girl anymore.” And just by saying those words, she felt the

power and the truth in them and suddenly she felt courageous and not afraid. It allowed her to see the fear in his protectiveness, and she felt tender for
him, even though she knew it was time for her to move out of the shadow of his protection.