Enough to Miss Christmas: A Story of Family Love

9781483512891

CHAPTER ONE

I searched the faces of several hundred wedding guests scattered across the ballroom floor, but I couldn’t spot her. How could I not recognize someone who was one of the three dearest people to me for the first twenty years of my life? Because twenty more years passed by without any contact with my sister that didn’t have Hallmark and gold crown printed on the back.

My search was interrupted when a bubbly little woman wrapped me in pudgy arms muttering, Sarah Jeanne Blanding, I declare!I’d never seen her rouge-colored face in my life but I gave a great-to-see-you smile and escaped, wallowing in my guilt by the punch bowl as soon as she turned away. Why was I here? I should have taken the advice of my luggage. My one suitcase was off to god knows where, leaving me so late to arrive I missed the wedding ceremony, grand march and a couple of desperately needed drinks. Here I stood, dressed in a borrowed and inappropriate outfit, thanks to a friend of a friend of niece Maureen. My benefactress was obviously taller, wider and had much larger feet than mine.

I knew a total of four people out of the multitude, only three of whom were pleased to see me. My nephew Mike was the groom. My last look at him was his bare butt when I was changing his diaper. His sister Maureen was a year behind him in age, and I have some vague recollection of her breast feeding, and wishing my sister would cover up her bosom more prudently. Ben, their father and my brother-in-law liked everyone and acted as if my twenty-year absence had never happened. Sister Suzanne was another matter. While I hadn’t spotted her yet, my stomach wasn’t sure it wanted me to. I fully deserved her ire.

Although I was estranged from my family, I wasn’t surprised by the wedding invitation; I’d decline attendance and sent gifts to similar family gatherings but attached to this invitation was a personal note from my sister, asking me to come. After twenty years, the note was difficult to ignore so I tapped my limited resources and flew to New England for the weekend.

The reception was held at a major Boston hotel, lavished with more food and liquor than a Roman orgy. The scene was peopled with young and happy bodies making thirty-nine years old me feel like an aged, ill-dressed wallflower. Not that my own now-missing dress was high fashion, but I’d spent more than I could afford on something sort-of appropriate I’d now never wear.

Those few attendees close to my age gathered in family groups, chatting about people and topics as remote to me as the big bang theory. I sat in the darkest corner I could find, sipping a drink and quietly slipped off my borrowed, tissue-stuffed shoes, plotting how soon I could escape.

My sister and I spotted each other at the same time, across the room. There was one quick glance before she first looked away and then, with a jaw-dropping second peek she recognized me and tendered a weak smile before turning away. Not even a wave. If Suzie wanted me to attend, why was she shocked at seeing me? Why didn’t she come over and greet me?

I’d visit the Gardner Museum so the trip to Boston wouldn’t be a total wash; any place but here where I stood self-consciously trying to pretend I wasn’t alone. As I turned for the cloak room, two little tuxedo-dressed munchkins ran up to me, coloring books in hand. They tugged me to a table with an invitation I couldn’t decline. My niece Maureen waved from across the floor and I realized the two were her twins, Daniel and Dennis. I sat down with them, three outcasts, crayoning farm scenes with the intensity of left bank masters. We seldom strayed outside the lines as the band played on.

When their yawns became more frequent, mommy came by, with unnecessary apologies to me. The boys insisted on finishing one last page before going up to their hotel room so Maureen joined our little group to wait them out.

You’re a saint to watch them, she said, adjusting her pregnant body to a more comfortable position. I smiled a response as she glanced down at my still-bare feet. I guess the shoes are getting to you, she added.

Blame the airline, I answered. Thanks for coming to the rescue. Loose as they are it beats my being the only bare foot guest.

Maureen looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. Don’t mind my mother for being a bit standoffish, she said, apologizing for my sister.

When I received the note from her with the invitation, I thought …

Maureen bit her lip. I sent that, Aunt Sarah.

Maureen!

I’m sorry but she talks about you all the time and it’s stupid for you to stay pissed at each other, like forever. I know you’ve lived all over the place but now you’re in Washington, less than a day’s drive away. I figured if you two were in the same room, perhaps one of you would stop being so damn stubborn.

Maureen, your mother and I keep in touch…

Oh, sure. ‘Here’s a school picture of little Maureen in the sixth grade. I know you’ve never seen her, but she’s your niece’. Thanks for the post cards from Germany, England, Texas, Alaska and hell and gone.

I’m sorry, Maureen, I said.

No, I should be the one to apologize;I’m just being a busy body. At least I got to finally meet you. Ma is just in a mood. She’s pissed at Mike for having a J P wedding and not marrying in the church. I experienced a wave of déjà vous having done the same thing myself.

Maureen changed the subject. Mike’s wife Martha is tops. They’re off to California after the honeymoon. Mike got promoted. He will make more money in a month than my Jake makes in a year. She added, and we have four mouths to feed.

I motioned toward her waist line. You’ll have four and a half mouths, by the looks of things. Congratulations.

Jake’s an animal; barefoot and pregnant is his idea of a woman’s place. She said it lovingly. I’m due in June.

The twins are marvelous, I said.

Ma dotes on them. She spoils them rotten.

My niece and her family lived an hour and a half south of Boston, across the border in Rhode Island. My sister resided in Elmwood, Connecticut, in the same house and town where I’d been born and raised. It was a hundred miles from Boston so we were all staying in the hotel.

I took her hand. Look, I said. You mean well. I’ve been a real jerk to stay away so long. Suzie has a good reason to give me the cold shoulder.

I embarrassed Maureen with my candor but she didn’t deny her mother’s attitude. Maybe now you’re closer, we’ll get to see you. D.C. must be a big change from Alaska.

I’d left home in a snit twenty years ago to marry a soldier who dragged me to army posts around the world for fifteen years before he was killed in Alaska, leaving me to eventually obtain a teaching degree and remain there. It was only last month I’d returned to the lower forty-eight, taking a job instructing army inductees.

There are lots more people than Alaska, I answered; not adding more wasn’t a plus. I missed the isolation and privacy of the tiny island in the Bering Sea I’d called home for the last two years. I hadn’t yet made the adjustment to the chaos of big city life in the nation’s Capital. So far, I despised it.

Mike and I used to call you our Eskimo Aunt. I still have all the post cards you sent us.

I smiled a reply but post cards and small gifts were weak substitutes to being a part of their lives. I wanted to apologize for not attending her wedding and not meeting her family until the children’s crayon work was better than mine. I felt like a shit about it, but couldn’t find the words for a sincere apology.

I’m sorry about Uncle Doug, she continued, referring to my deceased husband.

It’s been five years next month.

That’s a long time to wear black. Your husband must have been a heck of a guy.

I didn’t have a chance to answer. Young Dennis jumped to his feet, holding his completed art work high for our approval. After appropriate ohs and ahs, Maureen toddled them off to their upstairs hotel room. That was my cue to exit the ordeal of ducking a flying bouquet. My sister and I had waved. It wasn’t a break in the ice but perhaps a crack.

I sashayed up to the coat room when I turned and nearly bumped into a well-dressed man with an engaging smile.

Hi, Sarah. I’m Paul North, he said holding out his hand.

While I was flustered that he knew my name, I was too embarrassed to ask how. I held my coat in one hand and the crayon drawing of a mostly-red horse in the other. I dropped the coat on a table and murmured something inane as I took his hand. I looked up at him. Mr. Paul North, at six feet plus, towered over me by nearly a foot.

He looked at the drawing. I have one of those, he said.

A coloring book or a red horse? I asked too quickly.

No, a four year old artist. You’re not going to leave me here alone, are you? The smile remained while I must have looked like a cookie-jar thief as I picked up my coat, with the drawing still in my hand.

I’m just. … My mind lacked any plausible excuse or an intelligent reply. Still holding my hand, he reached for my coat and tossed it over a chair.

We’re the only two people here without a mate or not collecting Social Security. We have an obligation to rescue one another.

Thank you, but …

Good. I hereby claim you for the balance of the evening. Now that you’ve finished your art lessons, it’s time to enjoy yourself. He led me away from the cloak room to an empty table.

As we chatted, it became obvious Paul didn’t know me, or anyone else at the affair. His connection to the wedding was through some work related association with the bride’s father. My sister or niece must have given him my name. Paul, who appeared to be in his mid-forties, made it easy to carry on a conversation. We soon found ourselves shouting out agreeing opinions on obscure topics over the nonstop noise of music from another era.

Between diatribes on the inefficiency of the airlines, the escalating price of gasoline and the artistic merit of crayon drawings, I learned Paul worked in Boston and lived in the nearby Newton. Crouching beneath a potted palm, with my mouth close to his ear, I told him I instructed uninterested and near illiterate military recruits in the basics of communications. That was the limit of our personal revelations. The balance was limited to chitchat. We were together by default, but between his engaging company and the circulating waiters who made sure our champagne glasses were never empty. I began warming to his company.

At one point he asked, If I sneak off to the bathroom, you won’t run away, will you?

I surprised myself by realizing how much I was enjoying the evening and all thoughts of escaping were long dismissed. I agreed to stick around.

The orchestra began playing something closer to our generation and Paul pulled me to the dance floor. By then I wasn’t the only one in stocking feet. I didn’t admit I hadn’t danced in twenty years, but my unprotected toes learned he was no more adept than I. That didn’t stop us. From the sidelines, my niece, barefoot and sweating from her more exuberant dancing, kept winking and giving me a thumbs-up sign. I even caught my sister smiling. Paul just laughed at the pantomime.

As we left the floor after a particularly robust endeavor, I felt an arm about my shoulder and turned to face Suzie Kelly, my sister. My heart was in my mouth. She smiled at Paul as the three of us stood awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor. I prayed my sister wouldn’t vent her frustration with my insensitive behavior in front of my two-hour friend. Instead, she smiled and asked if I was enjoying myself."

As much as twenty free rides on the Ferris wheel, I answered.

More than a peck of ice cream with a quart of chocolate syrup?

A dozen times more, I answered, giving her a tentative hug. I bit my lip. We were kids again, if only for a moment. She continued to smile, turned, and walked away. I saw Maureen give me a victory sign from across the floor. It was a start, after a twenty-year hiatus.

While Paul didn’t ask for an explanation, I felt he deserved one. That my sister. We haven’t exactly been on the best of terms, I said as we strolled back to our table.

It happens in families.

It’s my fault, I continued, the champagne making me far less reticent than usual. Our mother’s in nursing home and Suzie’s been the person who cares for her. I know I have to visit but I’m not sure she’ll even know me. It’s been twenty years but I keep remembering her the way she was, once upon a time. I looked up at him, I guess expecting sympathy.

Come on, he said. They’re playing our song. He rose and took my arm before I could protest.

I’ve never heard of this music before!

Me neither, he answered; as he tugged me back out on the floor.

There followed a series of those get acquainted dances designed to get everyone sufficiently mellow for the balance of the evening. It worked better than high school where I’d dashed off to hide in the girl’s room. Paul made it easy to join in the festivities. Thoughts of my sister and mother fled my mind as a Latin beat rang in my ears. Later in the evening, as we sat exhausted at our table, Paul resurrected the subject of my sister.

I’m not close to my family either, and it’s none of my business, but as distasteful as it might be to visit your mother, the guilt of your staying away seems to be bothering you. Before I could reply, we were off on another dance. And another and another, until the band called it a night.

When we rode the elevator to my floor and I stepped out the door, Paul smiled and took my hand.

This was too much fun for one time only, he said, but offered no plans for more. He bent down, kissed me lightly on the lips, hopped into the elevator and waved as the door closed.

I stepped off the carousal of his company, back to the mundane world of still-missing luggage and an empty room. Without turning on the lights I dropped my borrowed clothes where I stood, untangled hose from toes, my tired body from day-old under things and slipped naked between the chilly sheets. I stretched arms and legs wide, unable to touch the sides of this bed designed for two. Engulfed in a boozy but maudlin state I replayed the evening. It was a warm feeling that forced me to admit how long since I’d enjoyed this much fun. Paul’s parting words echoed in my brain as I tried to chase them away. He’d never telephone me, I told myself, but it was a nice thing for him to say. All that, and my sister and I had finally spoken.

I woke with a shock and a throbbing head to the shrill cry of the telephone. The room remained in semi-darkness with the velvet drapes muting the outside light. My surroundings were a momentary blank until I heard the morning sounds from the Avenue below and felt the chill of my nakedness.

Hello, I mumbled as I gradually swam back to reality. I was startled to hear my sister’s voice.

Can you talk?

Barely, I muttered, my sour breath assailing my nostrils. What time is it?

It’s nearly six o’clock. Are you alone?

Of course I’m alone!

I was going to come by your room but Maureen was positive you’d have company.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Maureen has a dirty mind. I’m just an old widow lady … who drank too much.

You didn’t bring that man up there with you?

God, no! He just introduced himself because he was alone too. Didn’t Maureen tell you?

"I wasn’t speaking to her after she told me what she’d done; sent you a note to please come to the wedding and signed my name. I nearly fainted when I saw you."

You must have thought it was some bag lady. I had to borrow duds. I began to wake up, astonished that I was having a casual conversation with my sister!

I was mad as hell at her. I’m her mother and she called me a stubborn old bitch. Can you imagine either of us calling Ma that?

I had to laugh. Maureen’s heart was in the right place. You have a great daughter. I feel I’ve known her for years and we’ve barely met. I added, I’m glad she sent the note.

Maureen is like that; pushy. She said she’d never speak to me again or let me play with the twins if I didn’t talk to you. Even Ben got on my case.

Thank you coming over and talking to me. I was too chicken to do it myself.

We’re leaving to go back to Connecticut; that’s why I called so early.

You’re going now? I’m sorry. I was hoping maybe we could talk. Sort of feel each other out. Catch up. Suzie remained silent.

Why do you have to go back so soon? I asked. It’s Sunday. Ben doesn’t work until tomorrow, does he?

I have to get back. Then Suzie added the zinger, and visit ma. I didn’t say anything as new wave of guilt washed over me. I pulled the covers up to my chin. My sister continued. I didn’t want to leave without calling you.

I’m glad you did.

She changed the subject to the wedding with both of us saying all the right things. I took some kidding about my escort. There was a hint of old times, yet the conversation remained unsettled. Still, Suzie seemed unwilling to end the call. I knew it was my turn to move forward; what I had to say before we ended our first conversation in twenty years.

I will come up and see you. To Connecticut, I mean. When Suzie didn’t answer I added, I’ll visit ma too. I promise.

She sighed. Thanks.

Suzie was silent for a few minutes. I’ll call you when I get back to Virginia, I said, assuming the conversation was over.

We have to talk, little sister. Ben says so. There’s stuff you should know.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. We’ll talk. Now that I’m back east, I’ll call you.

Now. It’s time. I sensed she was crying. "It never should have gone so long. You and I were too close; it never should have happened.’

It’s my entire fault, Suzie. I’ve been a total shit.

Yes, you have, she said with the candor I remembered. But you don’t know the whole story.

You don’t have to dredge up that stuff now. We should talk in person, when I visit. Get to know each other again and move on.

No. I can’t wait. Let me do it now. I thought I could tell you on the phone but I can’t."

Suzie …

Meet me downstairs, outside. Let’s walk. I can’t tell you on the phone. We can walk, like we used to, remember?

Now?

It has to be now. Ben wants to get on the road. Just toss on a coat. Please?

My sister hung up before I could answer. I stuffed my sore feet into on my travel sneakers, peed, pulled on a top, couldn’t find my jeans, said the hell with it and put on a knee length coat. I was out of the room, in the elevator, and out of the hotel in minutes. Suzie was waiting in front of the building. It was freezing and the wind was blowing.

I could see my sister was crying. She took my arm, pulled me close and we began walking, at the quick pace I remembered.

There’s stuff about Doug you should know, she began, looking not at me, but at the sidewalk in front of her.

Suzie, Doug is dead. He’s been gone five years next month. I know you and Ma despised him but let’s let it rest, okay? I’m thrilled you and I are talking again but let’s not spoil it with old hurts.

Ben says you have a right to know. He’s always said we should have told you.

I know why it happened. You and Ma thought the guy I wanted to marry wasn’t good enough; that I should have stayed in Elmwood and taken care of Mom and not run off to Texas. Period. End of history. Please, Suzie. I don’t want to spoil our getting back together with this old shit.

Doug was no good.

You couldn’t have known that!I said with a defensive snarl. I wished I’d remained in my empty bed and not agreed to rehash the past. I could feel what little progress we’d made in our twenty-year rift began to melt away. I commenced to shiver.

We knew. Oh, God did we know. All of us. Only no one had the guts to tell you and it screwed up all our lives for years.

I wouldn’t answer and confirm what she was saying.

Doug was a first class bastard and we should have told you the truth. I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead. She still wouldn’t turn around and look at me. He was still a bastard, till the day he died, wasn’t he?

When I wouldn’t say anything, she continued. Ben knew from the start, more than any of us. Doug slept with everyone he could grab. I could hear the sob in my sister’s voice. Everyone.

He was a soldier. I knew he was experienced … I couldn’t believe I was defending him.

He screwed everyone, Sarah. Even me. I was flabbergasted.

I jerked her to a stop. You slept with Doug?

God help me. It was in our house, with you studying down stairs. I know I fooled around a lot back then; before I met Ben, but Doug … was different. He didn’t let you say no. He was … forceful.

Are you saying he raped you?

"No. I don’t know what I’m saying but I know I didn’t like what he did to me. He wouldn’t take no for an answer long after I told him to stop. I didn’t like Doug. I never encouraged him. God, he kept at me even after he dated you and proposed to you! Even that didn’t stop him."

You used to sleep with a lot …

"I know, I know, more guys than I should have, but I was afraid of Doug. I didn’t dare get caught alone with him, even after I was married. Ben didn’t know it back then; he would have killed him. When you had Doug home for dinner one time, he kept trying to reach up my skirt under the table. He would grab my tit or grope my ass if Ben was just looking the other way. He thought it was funny. Mother saw what he was doing, but she didn’t want to hurt you by telling. She just hoped you were smart enough to see the truth."

So you just pretended not to like him but wouldn’t tell me why? How was that better?

Would have you listened to us or believed us?

You could have tried harder!

It tormented Ma so much she confronted Doug. He dragged you away to Texas before she could talk to you, and then he told you lies about us.

I loved him …

I think he hit Ma. She wouldn’t admit it, but she had a red bruise on her cheek … and could hardly lift her arm for days.

Suzie …

So help me God, Sarah, I’m so sorry. We should have spoken up or done something! He lied to you; I know he did and dragged you away. I missed you so much. She stopped and put her head on my shoulder. Please forgive me.

My mind was in such a turmoil I didn’t respond. She repeated, I missed you so much, little sister.

As much as a really great garage sale? I finally answered through my own tears.

As much as winning at monopoly, she answered and added, hardly able to get out the words, I love you enough to miss Christmas, Sarah Jeanne. That was always the ultimate.

It’s nice to start a morning with someone saying they love you. I said through my tears. We walked back to the hotel, the cold Boston wind blowing up my bare legs. We parted with a hug in the lobby.

CHAPTER TWO

As I stumbled into yesterday’s clothes, the phone rang. I dismissed a fleeting thought it might be Paul North or Suzie calling again. It was neither. My niece Maureen hardly paused for my hello.

I can’t believe you didn’t spend the night with him! What’s wrong with you Aunt Sarah? I smiled at her exuberance as I lay back down on my bed. Tell me you at least …

No! I screamed back at her. We acted like civilized adults and had a nice evening.

God, your generation is so uptight! He’s a catch, Aunt Sarah! Don’t tell me you can’t see that! He’s perfect for you. Everyone could see you were gaga over each other! God, I couldn’t sleep fantasying over the sex-thoughts of you guys screwing each other’s brains out!

I managed to blurt out her mother and I had a long and fruitful conversation. The announcement stopped her cold.

That’s great! she said. The talking to I gave her must have helped.

I understand you called her a stubborn bitch. That wasn’t very nice.

It’s what I called you, Aunt Sarah and I met you for the first time yesterday.

No, you didn’t. I held you at your christening and changed your diapers.

Now you can change my new baby’s nappies when you come up to visit. But wait until you hear the name I’ll call you if you don’t nail down Paul North and haul him in!

I tried to change the subject by telling her I’d return her friend’s dress but she ignored me. Here’s the poop, she said, proceeding to spiel out background on my wedding reception companion. He’s a widower. His wife died a year or two ago; she was sick for ages, bed ridden. He has two children, a boy and a girl, ages unknown, but young. He’s worth a gazillion bucks, he’s handsome, and really likes you! What are you waiting for? God, Aunt Sarah, an opportunity like this doesn’t come along in a million years! She added, You’re not getting any younger, you know.

I felt a pang of guilt learning a detailed history of Paul North from my niece who’d done some quick ask-around research, but I didn’t stop her.

You should see the wedding present he gave Mike and Martha! It’s a crystal set of glasses that I bet cost a thousand bucks! He never met them before, only Mike’s father. God, if you had put out for him last night you’d probably have a new convertible parked in front of the hotel!

I laughed in spite of myself. I already loved this rediscovered family. Are you suggesting I should have offered my body? …

God, yes! Just be practical! Maureen squealed and went on to say Paul North wasn’t simply well to do, he was, as my niece described, rich in capital letters. I continued to protest that I’d just met the man. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company but, contrary to my unsaid wishes, I doubted I’d ever hear from him again.

I managed to laugh the conversation to conclusion but my niece’s not-too-subtle evaluation of her uptight widow aunt left me hoping I’d not made a spectacle of myself at yesterday’s affair. Or, was I such a stick in the mud I couldn’t enjoy the occasional company of a man without entertaining teenage Cinderella dreams?

I’d not had a true relationship in my five years of widowhood. There’d been two men and neither offered a hint of a future, nor even much passion. After Doug’s death I’d had enough of the military men. When I returned to college, everyone was so young I felt like their parent. Sarah Blanding …I’d dropped my married name Jacobson … was resigned to remaining a widow, content with her boring life.

Was a fun evening, the first in years, or hearing my sister once again tell me she loved me, starting to chip at that contentment? The thought of going back to Virginia and an empty apartment with closed doors and straight ahead looks from transient neighbors was putting me out of sorts. I needed time to reflect on the past twenty-four hours.

It was a strange forgotten feeling that surrounded me as I prepared to go down to breakfast, hoping the phone would ring while convincing myself the prior day was simply a pleasant one-time happening. When the phone rang again, I was nearly in the hall. Disappointingly, it was only the hotel deskman saying my lost baggage had found its way to me.

I dined aloneBtoast and black coffee, retrieved my luggage and was changing into clean clothes when Paul North called me. I was as elated as a school girl.

It’s Sunday, he said, without as much as an identifying introduction. There’s not much going on so I’d like to take you to the beach for a picnic. It shouldn’t be crowded.

It’s cold out there! It’s early March.

That’s good. Cold weather holds down the ants. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. He paused just long enough, in case I might decline. I never considered it.

I do have a flight out at four o’clock. It will have to be a short picnic.

Change your reservation.

I can’t do that. It costs money. Besides, tomorrow’s Monday. I have to be at work in the morning. The literacy of the armed forces depends on it.

Work at a job you don’t like? I didn’t answer. He continued. How about this? If I can change your flight and it won’t cost you any money, will you call in sick and stay over?

I couldn’t believe I heard myself agreeing. Paul hung up before I changed my mind. He called back in ten minutes as I waited by the phone.

All set. You fly out on Wednesday morning. I’ll come by your room in twenty minutes.

Wednesday? I only said I’d stay over until tomorrow! I hadn’t given him my airline or flight number.

You were sicker than you realized. I fixed it with the hotel too. The room you’re in was booked but they’ll move you while we’re out. I was learning for the first time that mundane concerns of us ordinary citizens are but minor obstacles to the very rich. I asked for more time than twenty minutes but agreed to meet Paul in front of the hotel at eleven. He arrived in a black car, far more luxurious than anything I’d ever ridden in.

We drove north from Boston, through a tunnel and through several miles of suburbia until reaching a long stretch of beach between the cities of Lynn and Nahant. During the drive Paul chatted about the reception and how he’d enjoyed himself. I was surprised he seemed as nervous as I. He’d sounded much more confident on the phone. We parked facing the ocean and Paul told me to remain in the car until everything was ready. From the trunk he carried two chairs, an umbrella, a small table, blankets, a large wicker basket and two bottles of wine. After three trips, he opened my door with a bow. How he was able to secure the supplies on such short notice, on a Sunday morning, amazed me.

While the sun was shining, there was a stiff breeze. The temperature was near freezing. We were the only humans save a bundled figure with a playful dog yards to the north and an old man with a metal detector equally far away in the other direction. However, wrapped in blankets and with the umbrella tilted to protect us from the steady breeze, we were almost comfortable. We drank white wine and ate cold chicken, chilled further by the Atlantic wind that blew white caps off the water. There we sat, bundled in coats and mittens and I loved it.

Later, when casual conversation dwindled, Paul asked a more personal question. How did you end up in Alaska?

My husband was in the military and stationed there. Prior to that, we lived all over, even in Europe. After he died, I stayed on in Alaska.

You must have liked it in polar bear country.

I smiled. Staying put was the easiest thing to do.

He expanded my answer for me. You find yourself in a spot that fits and stay there.

I guess. When Doug died, I wasn’t left with many options. Alaska seemed to suit me at the time.

You were on an island, hundreds of miles out in the Bering Sea. Most people would have gone daft with that kind of isolation.

It disturbed me someone else was doing research besides my niece Maureen. I answered anyway, in more detail than necessary. My job while I was married was clerking in a military base store. I picked sand from a piece of chicken and continued. Once I got my head together, I went back to college in Anchorage, got my degree and teaching certificate. Jobs were scarce so I signed a contract to teach for two years, on St. Paul Island. The isolation was comfortable.

Like not having to see your mother? When he saw the look on my face, he immediately apologized. Sorry. That’s a tad personal.

True. But I’ll confess to it anyway. There was some inertia involved. The more I stayed there, the harder it was to leave. I almost signed on for a second stint.

But you didn’t. You made the effort and left. What made you finally come east?

Guilt, for running away I guess. I’ve always managed to have more than my share of that. I was offered a job in Virginia, near Washington and accepted, on the spur of the moment.

Now you’re sorry you did?

I smiled. A conversation at dawn this morning with my sister made me know coming back was the right decision.He asked about my new position in Virginia.

I’m disappointed at my choice of job and location, I answered, but talking to Suzie has opened a world back up. The job’s not difficult; just boring. I added, And my supervisor is a jerk.

Paul picked up a shell shard and tossed it back and forth in his hands. Life should be more than just getting used to it. He looked over to me. Why don’t you quit and move to Boston?

I laughed. You’re a real control-type guy, aren’t you?He didn’t bother to disagree. Don’t listen to me, I continued. Maybe I don’t adapt well to change.

Paul seemed to ponder this. Me too, he answered. Sometimes death forces the issue.

Your turn, I said.

My life is far less exciting, he said.

I’ll bet!

Really. I run a business that helps other businesses get going. They’re located all over the country and with a couple overseas, so I travel a lot. That’s all. I have a dozen people helping me and I’ll admit I’ve been lucky because I don’t charge much for my service. Instead I take a small piece of the businesses I help. We’re both either successful or fall on our faces. Enough of my clients have made a go of it to pay the bills.

I filled in the next paragraph for him, if only to let him know he wasn’t the only one to research. You live in Newton in a mansion and you’re filthy rich. You have two children. You’re a widower. I secretly gloated that I’d shocked him. I continued. No, I’m not some gold digger who’s stalking you. I just have a niece who’s nosy and a blabber mouth. My gloating was short lived.

You have no children. You were married for fourteen years. Your husband was a lifetime soldier and both of you lived all over the world before he was killed in an auto accident five years ago.

God! I exclaimed. I feel violated. I came by my information without asking for it; you went out and dug up yours. You must have worked overtime!

He could see how irritated I was, and it embarrassed him enough to apologize. I do this for a living. I was curious, not snoopy. I’m sorry.

When does curious differ from snoopy? What do you mean; you do it for a living? You pry into people’s lives?

It’s important for me to learn as much as I can about people before I commit to join them in business.

You’re not going in business with me! I just met you and I don’t like what you did! I feel as if I’m on some FBI short list! Where do you find all this stuff?

It’s all out there, public records, credit history, school records, telephone, earnings; practically everything. I didn’t even look at your file; I just asked a couple of questions.

My file; my dossier. Thanks a bunch.

Let’s start over. I had a great time yesterday and I wanted to learn a bit about the person who was responsible. It’s as simple as that.

Why didn’t you ask me? I don’t have any secrets.

He held up his hand. Truce. No more history; only the present and the future.

Before I could respond, a gust of wind toppled our umbrella and by the time I’d extricated myself my temper had cooled down. When Paul finished collecting our things, we both agreed our picnic was over. Back in the car, I assumed we’d return to Boston but instead we drove further north, up the coast. We were both silent for the first few miles, afraid to disturb our temporary peace. A few tentative comments on the scenery gradually moved us back to comfortable dialogue as we approached the seaside town of Rockport.

I’d heard of Rockport and beautiful Cape Ann but never visited. I knew its history as a favorite with seascape artists such as Winslow Homer and many others. We spent a pleasant afternoon perusing the few open gift shops and galleries. The only bump in our stroll occurred when I commented on a beautiful piece of jewelry and Paul made a move to purchase it for me until he saw my reaction and slipped his wallet back into his pocket.

Still bundled against the cold, we strolled along boulder-strewn paths and the ocean shore. Once again, Paul apologized. I’m new at this business. God, I shouldn’t have used that term! I’m new at dating, if that’s what we’re doing. I inquired about you because I wanted to see more of you and didn’t want to screw it up by saying something stupid.

You damn near did! I’m a private person and I was offended. I’m sorry if I over reacted. I had fun yesterday too. It was the first time in a very long while. I’m glad you called. I just don’t want to be swept off my feet, even for a day or two. I added, I’m not looking for a long term relationship.

I am, he said, shocking me but he changed the subject before I could comment. He took my hand and suggested dinning at a quaint restaurant, fronting on the sea.

Conversation floated back to generalities over a delicious meal and wine with a price tag I didn’t want to see. When a second bottle was opened, I cautioned it was a long drive back to Boston. Paul said he’d rent a limo for the return trip but when I raised my eyebrows he thought better of the idea and pushed the nearly full bottle my way. He abstained for the remainder of the evening. His abstinence left it up to waste-not, want-not me to drink more than my share. At his coaxing, I laid my head back on the seat for the return trip and promptly fell asleep. While I was mortified at my action, and hoped I didn’t snore, Paul found it amusing.

My nap precluded worries on how this day would end, but as it happened there was no need for a should-I-shouldn’t-I decision on my part. I wobbled to the front desk on Paul’s arm and asked for the key to my newly assigned room. Paul kissed me lightly on the lips, and as soon as I’d fumbled my plastic card in the lock and opened my door, he was back on the elevator and gone. I couldn’t make up my mind if I was relieved or disappointed as I entered my quarters but I knew I was too drunk to make a rational decision. I stumbled into my newly assigned room to find myself in a suite the likes of which I’d only seen in the movies.

CHAPTER THREE

I lay in bed, my head throbbing and the room rolling, unable to sleep. Last night I was tipsy, tonight I was drunk. No doubt. I tried to undress but I kept breathing in the fragrance of thirty-six by quick count long stem roses now invisible in the darkness. The smell made my stomach roil and I stumbled to the massive bathroom, banging my shin, before losing my evening meal in an Italian marble toilet.

This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. I stumbled back to bed, still dressed. This man wasn’t playing by any rules I knew. I was so far out of my league I couldn’t see the playing field. I enjoyed his company. I felt a definite attraction. Whom am I kidding? What was the next level above a simple attraction and the feeling frightened me to death? Could Paul North be seriously pursuing me? Any normal woman, the recipient of so lavish a treatment, would be thrilled but I kept reminding myself, everything is relative. Yes, he’d spent hundreds of dollars on me but according to my niece’s research, that sum was a drop in his very large bucket. I treasured my independence and I would not forfeit it for whatever it was Paul North had in mind no matter what Maureen thought of her stick-in-the-mud aunt. I was so uncomfortable with Paul North’s freewheeling credit card that I was ready to flee Boston without a word of an apology. Maybe I’d kick myself later when I’d retreated to my bleak and boring existence but it would be my life and not the contrived whim of a man I hardly knew. Okay, maybe I’d miss him but I’d have my pride, whatever that was worth.

When I struggled out of bed after nine on Monday morning, it was with the conviction I’d return to my empty apartment by whatever means I could acquire. My head throbbed worse than yesterday but my mind was clear. I’d take a train or rent a car if need be, if my credit card could take the pressure. One way or another, I’d stop this man’s manipulation in the bud.

After a lengthy shower I sat naked on the edge of the bed and took stock of my situation. My wrinkled slept-in clothes lay strewn on the floor. I had no others, save what I’d planned to wear to the wedding. I was supposed to be home by now. I fumbled on the last of my clean underwear and my now-inappropriate dress. When I’d worked myself into a half-presentable condition I ignored the conspicuously placed note for complimentary room service and made my way to the dining room.

I prayed to be alone but Paul was seated at a corner table and waved me over. There was an empty cup of coffee in front of him. He rose and held out a chair for me. I sighed and plunked myself down.

Before I opened my mouth, he was apologizing. I booked the room before I knew you didn’t like this fiscal overkill business. It was foolish of me to go overboard. The roses too. Then he added, as if trying to change the subject. "You look nice.