The Whiskey Tide (56 page)

     
"Had a lamp that matched it nice, too." Drake pointed to a floorlamp with a green shade.

     
"Rita came hunting you," Irene said, conscious of her behavior and settling back into her role as wife and mother. "I told her you were still sleeping."

     
Guilt took the edge off Joe's euphoria. He'd forgotten Rita. He owed it to her to tell her his plans before she heard from someone else.

     
"I was thinking of heading over there," he lied. "Soon as I get some coffee."

     
But the coffee was bitter going down and lay uneasily on his stomach. Rita was going to be hurt, and he didn't know how to lessen it. He hadn't meant to lead her on. He might have married her in time, with Kate an impossible dream. He thought of taking flowers, then recalled how Rita had thrown them back at him that time. He climbed the stairs to her apartment still struggling to put his words in the right order.

     
She opened the door. She smelled of perfume. Same mounding breasts, ripe lips, hair that she gave a tantalizing toss. Yet now he saw crystal clear she'd never been what he wanted.

     
"Hi, Joe." She smiled. "Come on in."

     
"Thanks, Rita. I can't. I came because, well, we've had some good times together. I think a lot of you."

     
Her smile started to fade.

     
"So I wanted you to hear it from me first. I'm going to get married. I hope — I hope you understand."

     
Anger sparked in her eyes.

     
"It's the rich girl, isn't it? The one with the boat. The ones who gave Arliss a job."

     
"Yes."

     
She sank back against the door frame. Her hands made fists.

     
"They'll treat you like a lapdog, her family will!"

     
"We're not going to live with her family."

     
"Where then? With yours?"

     
"No—"

     
"Of course not! She'd be too good for that, wouldn't she?"

     
"Kate's not like that!"

     
"When do you say vows?"

     
"I don't know. We haven't talked. Haven't even told our families. I'm going over to see her as soon I have a haircut."

     
Her thick lashes fluttered closed for a minute. He could almost see her force down her anger. When she spoke again, her voice was husky.

     
"I wish you well, Joe. If you're sure this is what you want. If it doesn't work out... well, you know where to find me." She held her hand out and managed a smile when he took it. "Just do one thing for me, will you?"

     
"Sure, Rita," he said with relief this was over.

     
"After you've had your haircut, go light a candle and sit awhile, will you? Just think on it some and — and ask the Holy Mother about it. That would mean an awful lot to me."

     
He gave her hand a squeeze. "I will." It was probably a good idea.

***

     
Kate tried not to be impatient. He would need to sleep — more than ever after another day at sea and her not there to share responsibilities while he caught forty winks. He would want to bathe. Eat. Talk with his family, perhaps. But it was already past mid-afternoon. Why hadn't he
called
at least? What if something had happened?

     
She didn't really believe that it had. The
Folly
was tied up safely down at the dock. Yet she paced, unable to read. She had changed clothes three times.

     
When the doorbell rang she almost ran. Rosalie was rattling pans in the kitchen. Woody was spending the afternoon with Aaron Finer. Bursting with happiness she flung the door open, then stopped in surprise. An unknown girl perhaps a bit younger than she was stood on the doorstep. Dark curly hair. Full lips. She looked Kate over bluntly, head to toe.

     
"You're Kate, aren't you?" She tried the name as though it had a bad taste. "You came hunting Joe once in The Lanyard."

     
Alarm fluttered in Kate's throat. "Has — something —?"

     
"No. He's okay."

     
Kate stepped back in uncertain invitation. The girl came into the hall. Her eyes catalogued the surroundings. Her grudging reassurance hadn't diminished Kate's sense of alarm.

     
"I thought you ought to know. There's been a set-to at his house. His uncle and aunt have said they'll have nothing to do with him if he marries you. Turns his back on his own kind like that."

     
The girl was gripping the top of her purse in both hands. Her fingers were white with tension. And she despised Kate. It showed in her eyes. "People don't marry outsiders where Joe comes from. Where
I
come from." She tossed her head. "You may think we're ignorant, but that's how it is."

     
Kate forced herself to breathe. She didn't want to listen.

     
"It would just about kill Joe, being cut off from his family. If you care about him at all, think of that."

     
Her words echoed Theo's. Played back his warning:

     
Don't ruin his life.

     
"You may think I've no place coming here." The girl shrugged, showing how little she valued Kate's judgment. "Joe and I have been sweethearts since we were babies. Grew up with our families planning our wedding. I care... what happens to him. About him being happy. If this, if you and him would work, well, okay. But it won't. He'll give up everything and — and it'll hurt him more than he'll ever let on!"

     
Determination burned in her eyes. She was female in a way Kate never would be. Curves. A dress that displayed them.
Joe's sweetheart.

     
"I...." Kate's hands pressed to her mouth, though it was her ears she wanted to cover to block out the words. The truth.

     
"Is that what you want?" her visitor persisted.

     
"No, of course not. I — I know what his family means."

     
Something darted across the face of the dark-haired girl. Relief? Her hardness melted and she turned shyly coaxing.

     
"Don't let on to Joe that I've told you any of this. He's proud, Joe is. It would drive a wedge between him and the Santaynas if, well, if he thought you were doing anything for his sake. If he thought it wasn't your own idea."

     
Kate couldn't answer. A giant's hand was squeezing her heart. Her visitor studied her intently, then finding whatever she sought in Kate's desolation, gave a small nod. She turned and let herself out and after a moment Kate sank weakly onto the stairs. It shouldn't matter where she came from. Where Joe came from. But it did. Theo had told her and she hadn't wanted to listen and now she had heard it all over again. Surely she and Joe could prove nay-sayers wrong — prove they were right for each other and win acceptance by both their families — yet for his sake, she dared not risk the chance they couldn't.

     
Tears trickled from her closed eyes. She gave in to the luxury. The vanity. When had she last wept for herself?

     
But Joe would be here soon. Surely. Unless the feelings expressed by his aunt and uncle kept him away. She had to prepare. She wiped her face dry and went to see Rosalie.

     
"I'm expecting Mr. Santayna," she announced, calmly she thought. "We have things to discuss."

     
Rosalie put down the gelatin mold she was oiling. "Kate, are you all right?"

     
"Yes. Perfectly."

     
"Are you sure? You look — well, you look almost the way you did when they brought the news that Pa was dead."

     
Kate wavered, but Rosalie's sympathy would only undo her. She shook her head. She was closing the sliding doors between parlor and dining room when the front bell sounded again.

     
A scent of sea and sunshine flooded in with Joe. His smile embraced her and she couldn't speak.

     
"Don't look so worried, Kate. Neither I nor the boat have another scratch on us."

     
He reached out, strong fingers circling hers with things unspoken. She couldn't gather discipline to draw hers away.

     
"Christ but I've missed you!" He was half laughing.

     
Countless hours of conversation washed through her mind. Small things he had told her about the household where he'd grown up, the love in his voice. Nothing on earth could replace that sense of belonging. Yet here he was, willing to sacrifice it for her. And she couldn't let him.

     
"Let's — talk in here."

     
She slipped free, turning into the parlor. She stepped deliberately behind a chair. A barricade. A place to brace her shaking hands. He was smiling still, his spirits high enough for both of them. The need to touch his face, to trace its contours as she had that... night in the cave... was almost overwhelming.

     
"Before I forget." He took an envelope from inside his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. A check for her share of this trip's profits, she knew, written in his precise strokes.

     
"Now, then." He rounded the chair, which was no barrier at all. He took her hands in both of his and turned her toward him. "I've done nothing but think for twenty-four hours. I don't know how to manage some of the details yet, but I know that more than anything on this earth I want you to be my wife."

     
The giant's hand was squeezing again. Her throat flooded.

     
"Joe, I can't. The night we spent together meant the world to me. The world! But it wouldn't work. Marrying. We're — we're too different."

     
She looked up in time to see his face go pale.

     
"I thought you weren't a believer in class distinctions."

     
"That's — not fair. The real world is — different from the
Folly
. Our families — neither of them — would accept it."
Mine
wouldn't, she'd say if necessary, taking the blame. "We'd end up hating each other, and I couldn't bear that."

     
He looked as though a sword had been driven through him. Shock outstripped pain. That was good, she thought. Good. He'd recover.

     
He stepped away, as nerveless as a clockwork figure.

     
"Joe... I hope someday you can forgive me...." Her voice broke.

     
But Joe hadn't heard. He had turned on his heel and was already out the front door.

Forty-one

     
Vic didn't mention the accident until they had sold their fish and were on the wharf headed for home.