Imperfect Strangers

CHAPTER 22

The light twin aircraft set down gently; they had left Teterboro something over an hour before.

"Where are we?" Cara demanded. She was blindfolded.

"You'll have to guess," Sandy said.

The airplane taxied to a stop before the little terminal, and the pilot cut the engines.

"We'll meet you here at ten tomorrow morning," he said to the pilot, and the man nodded. Sandy took their two bags in one hand and Cara's arm in the other.

"Can't I see where we are?"

"Not yet." He led her to the little car, an old MGB convertible, stowed their bags and helped her into the front seat. When they were away from the airport he took off her blindfold.

She looked around. "So, where is this?"

"You don't recognize it?"

"This is an eastern place; I'm a westerner."

"It's called Martha's Vineyard."

"I know about Martha's Vineyard," she said. "Where are we going now?"

"To Edgartown," he replied. "I think you'll like it.

He stopped the car in front of the house, a spic-and-span, two-story Victorian with a widow's walk, painted white with green shutters.

"It's gorgeous," she said. "A bed and breakfast?"

"It's mine," Sandy replied. "I bought it fifteen years ago." He got their bags, led her up the front walk, and opened the front door with his key.

She stepped into the foyer and looked around at the old furniture and nearly bare walls. "You never got around to fixing it up, huh?"

"I fixed up everything but the interior," he said. "I put a roof on it, replaced a lot of rotten wood, painted it, rewired and replumbed it. But you're right, the furnishings leave a lot to be desired. I was hoping maybe you could make some suggestions."

"Oh, boy, could I make some suggestions!"

"But don't worry about that now. Come on; I'll give you a quick tour, and then we've got someplace to go."

"I thought we were there."

"Sort of." He showed her the house's three bedrooms, his little study, and the kitchen. She seemed entranced with the place.

"How much time do you spend here?"

"Not as much as I've wanted to. Joan never liked the island, said there were too many tourists. She was right, of course, but the tourists mean there are some good restaurants and galleries, so I don't mind them."

"Good point," she said. "Besides, I'm a tourist."

"Okay, get into your swimsuit, and bring some jeans."

"What now?"

"Stop asking questions, and do as you're told."

"Yessir," she said, saluting smartly.

The little sloop cut through the water like a sharp knife, parting the small seas, heeling to the breeze. They sat up to windward, their feet on the leeward seat, while Cara helmed the yacht parallel with the beach.

"Head in there," Sandy said, pointing to an indentation in the shoreline. He went forward and got the anchor ready, then, with hand signals, conned her to their anchorage. When he was sure the anchor had dug in he came aft to a waiting beer. "Very impressive," he said. "You know how to make a boat go to windward."

"I grew up on San Francisco Bay," she said. "It comes with the territory, if you're my father's daughter. Ready for some lunch?"

"Sure am." He set up the little cockpit table, and watched her arrange lunch on it.

"So," she said, "how did you make all this happen on the spur of the moment?"

"Pretty simple," he said. "I called Teterboro and ordered up the air charter, then I called Seth Hotchkiss at the filling station and asked him to put the battery in the car and leave it at the airport, and I asked him to pick up some lunch and leave it in the fridge. Easy when you know how."

"Your talents never fail to amaze me," she said, kissing him. "I must remember to lay a big tip on the doorman at the Ritz-Carlton the next time I'm in San Francisco."

"You think he was matchmaking?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Who knows?"

"I'll always be grateful to him, in any case."

She clinked her beer can against his. "To doormen," she said. "And matchmakers."

They sat on the deck at the Edgartown Yacht Club and sipped brandy. The sun was well down, and the stars shone in their millions.

"It's all so perfect," Cara said, sipping her cognac.

"It is now," Sandy replied. "It's as though some great piece of a puzzle fell into place."

She laid her head on his shoulder. "That's a lovely thing to say."

"Cara, don't you think you could give my little design job a lot more attention if you were living in the place?" He held his breath. This was precipitous, and he wasn't sure how she'd react.

She sat up and looked at him. "You're offering me the apartment? Are you moving?"

He laughed. "A little slow on the uptake, aren't you? I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh," she said, and her shoulders sagged.

"'Oh'? What kind of answer is that?" He hadn't really expected her to accept, but still, he was stung with disappointment.

"It's not an answer, it's a stall," she said. "I'm stalling so I can think for a minute."

"Take your time."

She did. She gazed out over the water at the moored yachts, bobbing at their moorings, and her face was inexpressibly sad. Finally she turned to him. "Please take this in the best possible way. After what's happened to us this week, your idea is perfectly logical; it's just that I can't."

"Give me your reasons," he said.

"I can't do that, either," she replied. "Not as fully as I would like."

"Some impediment?"

She nodded. "That's fair to say."

"Another man?"

She shrugged. "Sort of."

"Sort of a man?" Sandy asked.

"It's all the answer I can give you right now, Sandy. My life is in something of a muddle, and I have some straightening out to do before I can give you the answer you want." She put her hand on his. "Believe me when I tell you, I'd like nothing better than to go back to Sixty-third Street, pack up, and move in with you."

"If it's what you want, then do it," Sandy said.

"It wouldn't be fair to you, to both of us, really. I know this is hard to take, but you're just going to have to trust me. When I'm on my feet-in more ways than one-I'll tell you, and we can start from there. Will you wait until I tell you that?"

"How long?"

"I honestly don't know. There's no easy solution, but now that I have a motive to sort it out, I'll move faster. I hope you don't think that's too mysterious."

"It's pretty mysterious, all right, but I'll trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Sandy," she said, then kissed him.

He kissed her back. "There's no impediment to going back to the house and going to bed with each other, is there?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "None whatever."

The following morning they met the airplane and flew back toward New York, each silent and sad, lost to the other. When he dropped her off at Sixty-third Street, she kissed him passionately.

"Thank you, thank you," she said.

"Not at all."

"Can I show you some sketches on Wednesday?"

"Come to the office," he said, handing her his card.

"I'd rather come to the apartment," she said. "After all, it's what I'm designing."

He nodded.

"Seven o'clock?"

He nodded again, and she was gone.