Rainshadow Road

Nineteen

Lucy’s mother, of course, was instantly smitten with Sam. Her father’s reaction was more guarded, at least initially. However, during dinner at Duck Soup, they found common ground when Sam asked about the robotic space probe that her father had helped to design. Comprehending the generous helping of geekiness that lurked under Sam’s exterior, Lucy’s usually reticent father started chattering like a magpie.

“… so what we expected,” Phillip was saying, “was that the comets would consist of a combination of presolar particles, and ice that had formed at the edge of the solar system at absolute zero.” He paused. “If you’re not familiar with the term, absolute zero is—”

“The null point of any thermodynamic temperature scale,” Sam said.

“That’s right.” Her father practically beamed at him. “Contrary to our assumptions, most of the comet’s rocky matter had been formed inside the solar system at extreme high temperatures. So comets are formed in conditions of severe heat and ice.”

“Fascinating,” Sam said, and it was obvious that he actually meant it.

As the men continued to talk, Lucy’s mother leaned close to whisper to her. “He is wonderful. So good-looking and charming, and your father loves him. You have to hold on to this one, sweetheart.”

“There’s nothing to hold on to,” Lucy whispered back. “I told you. He’s a lifelong bachelor.”

It was obvious that her mother relished the challenge. “You can change his mind. A man like him shouldn’t stay single. It would be a crime.”

“I’m not going to torture a perfectly nice man by trying to change him.”

“Lucy,” came her mother’s impatient whisper, “what do you think marriage is for?”

After dinner they went to the house at Rainshadow for coffee. That hadn’t been the original plan, but after hearing Sam’s description of the vineyard and the renovated Victorian house, Lucy’s mother had all but demanded to see it. Mark and Holly were away for the weekend, having gone with Maggie to visit her parents in Bellingham. Obligingly Sam asked Cherise if she wanted the twenty-five-cent tour.

“I’ll stay in the kitchen and make some coffee,” Lucy said. “Mom, don’t interrogate Sam while he’s showing you the house.”

Her mother gave her a look of wide-eyed surprise. “I never interrogate anyone.”

“You should probably know that I only take preapproved questions,” Sam said. “But for you, Cherise, I’ll allow some latitude.”

Her mother giggled.

“I’ll help Lucy with the coffee,” her father said. “Discussions of home renovation are lost on me—I don’t know a pediment from a pergola.”

After Lucy ran a cupful of beans through the electric grinder, she measured the coffee into the machine, while her father filled a pitcher at the sink. “So what do you think of Sam?” Lucy asked.

“I like him. A smart fellow. He appears to be healthy and self-supporting, and he laughed at my Heisenberg joke. I can’t help but wonder why a man with such a good brain would waste it on tending a vineyard.”

“It’s not a waste.”

“Thousands of people all over the world make wine. There’s no point in coming up with yet another one, when there are already so many being produced.”

“That’s like saying no one should produce any more art, because we already have so much out there.”

“Art—or wine—doesn’t benefit people the way science does.”

“Sam would say the opposite.” She watched her father pour water into the coffeemaker.

The appliance clicked and steamed as it began to percolate.

“A more significant question,” her father remarked, “is what you think of him.”

“I like him too. But there’s no chance of the relationship getting serious. He and I both have future plans that don’t include each other.”

Her father shrugged. “If you enjoy his company, there’s no harm in spending time with him.”

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the placid sputter of the coffeemaker.

“You’re going to see Alice and Kevin tomorrow?” Lucy asked.

Her father nodded, his smile turning grim. “You know that that marriage—if it happens—doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.”

“You can’t be a hundred percent certain,” Lucy said, even though she privately agreed. “People surprise you.”

“Yes, they do,” he admitted. “At my age, however, not often. Where are the coffee mugs?”

Together they opened a couple of cabinets until they found them.

“Your mother and I have been talking recently,” Phillip said, and stunned her by adding, “I gather she’s told you that I’d been married once before.”

“Yes,” Lucy managed to say. “That was kind of a shocker.”

“All this business with you and Alice and Kevin has stirred up some issues your mother and I haven’t faced in quite a while.”

“Is that bad?” Lucy asked gingerly.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been convinced that everything in a relationship needs to be talked about. Some things can’t be fixed by a conversation.”

“I’m guessing these issues have to do with … her?” For some reason the words “your first wife” were too jarring for Lucy to say.

“Yes. I love your mother. I would never make comparisons. The other relationship was…” A pause, fraught with a kind of pensive strain she had never seen from him before. “It was in its own category.”

“What was her name?” Lucy asked softly.

His lips parted as if to answer, but he shook his head and stayed silent.

What kind of woman had she had been, Lucy wondered, that decades after her death, he couldn’t speak her name?

“That intensity of emotion…” he said after a while, as if to himself. “That sense of two people being so right for each other, they’re halves of a whole. It was … extraordinary.”

“So you don’t regret it,” Lucy said.

“I do regret it.” Her father looked at her directly, his eyes glittering. His voice was thick as he added, “Better not to know. But that’s just me. Other people might say that it’s worth any price to have just a few moments of what I had.” Turning away, he began to pour the coffee.

Stunned into silence by the rare display of emotion, Lucy hobbled to get spoons from the flatware drawer. Had he been a more tactile man, she would have gone to embrace him. However, his buttoned-up civility had always been a suit of armor, repelling gestures of affection.

Now she understood something about her father that she never had before—his calmness, his endless composure, had nothing to do with peace.

* * *

After the Marinns had returned to California, Lucy’s mother called to tell her that the day they had spent with Alice and Kevin had gone as well as could have been expected. According to Cherise, the pair had been subdued. Kevin had been especially quiet. “But I did get the feeling,” her mother said, “that they’ve both made up their minds to go through with it, no matter what. I think Kevin’s being pushed by his parents—they seem very intent on getting him married.”

Lucy smiled ruefully. Kevin’s parents were an older couple who had spoiled their only son and had subsequently been dismayed by his immaturity and self-centeredness. But it was too late for them to wonder what might have been, what they should have done differently. Perhaps they thought that marriage would be good for him, make him more of an adult.

“We went out to dinner,” Cherise said, “and everyone was on their best behavior.”

“Even Dad?” Lucy asked wryly.

“Even Dad. The only awkward moment came when Kevin asked me about you.”

“He did?” Lucy felt a startled jab in her stomach. “In front of everyone?”

“Yes. He wanted to know about your leg, and how you were feeling, and then he asked how involved you were with Sam.”

“My God. I bet Alice wanted to kill him.”

“It wasn’t good timing on his part,” her mother said.

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth—that you look well, and happy, and you seem to be getting very close to Sam. And I couldn’t be any more pleased about it.”

“Mom. I’ve already told you why there’s no chance for me to have a serious relationship with Sam. So please don’t get your hopes up for something that’s impossible.”

“Don’t say ‘it’s impossible,’” her mother said with annoying sanguinity, “about something that you’re already doing.”

* * *

Two days after her parents’ visit, Lucy moved into the condo at Friday Harbor. To her surprise, Sam had objected to her leaving Rainshadow so soon, insisting that she needed more time to rest and heal. “Besides,” he’d said, “I don’t think you’ve gotten the hang of those crutches yet.”

“I’ve totally gotten the hang of them,” Lucy said. “I can even do tricks with them. You should see my freestyle moves.”

“All those stairs. All that walking. And you can’t drive yet. How are you going to get groceries?”

“I’ve got a whole list of numbers from the Hog Heaven congregation.”

“I don’t want you to hang out with a bunch of bikers.”

“I won’t be hanging out with them,” Lucy said, amused. “They’re just going to lend me a hand every now and then.”

Although it was clear that Sam would have liked to argue further, he muttered, “It’s your life.”

Lucy gave him an impish grin. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll let you come over for a quickie every now and then.”

He scowled at her. “That’s great. Because sexual convenience was my main concern.”

Although Lucy was rather sorry to leave the house at Rainshadow, she felt it was better for both of them. Another few days of proximity, and she was fairly certain that Sam would have started to feel claustrophobic. And most important, Lucy was happy to be able to return to her studio.

She missed her glass desperately, could almost feel it calling to her.

On her first morning back at Swing on a Star, Lucy was filled with creative fire. She set out to produce a cartoon, or a full-sized design, of the tree window for the Rainshadow Vineyard house. Using a combination of hand sketching and computer software, she detailed the cut lines and numbering sections for color shading. When it was finished to her satisfaction, she would make three copies of the pattern, one for reference, one to cut apart with shears, and one on which to assemble the window. Then the meticulous process of glass scoring and breaking would begin, accompanied by reshaping and grinding the edges of pieces as needed.

Lucy was still working on the cartoon when Sam came to the studio at lunchtime. He brought in two crisp white paper bags from the Market Chef, both of which looked satisfyingly weighty. “Sandwiches,” he said.

“I didn’t expect you,” Lucy exclaimed. A teasing grin spread across her face. “You just can’t stay away from me.”

Sam glanced at the pile of sketches on the table. “Is this preferable to the life of leisure you had with me?”

Lucy laughed. “Well, being waited on hand and foot was very nice … but it’s good to be productive again.”

Sam set the bags on the worktable and came around to view the cartoon. He stared intently at the design. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s going to be stunning,” Lucy said. “You have no idea what the glass will add.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “Knowing you, I’ll be prepared for anything.” After studying the design for a minute, he said, “I brought you a housewarming present. I thought you’d probably want to keep it here.”

“You didn’t have to get me a present.”

“You won’t be able to use it for a while.”

“Where is it?”

“Sit still. I’ll bring it in.”

Lucy waited with an expectant grin as Sam went outside. Her eyes widened as he wheeled in a bicycle with a huge bow adorning the center of the handlebars. “I don’t believe it. Oh, Sam. You are the sweetest, sweetest—” She broke off with a crow of delight as she looked at the fabulous vintage restored bike, painted a rich forest green with crisp white ballooner fenders.

“It’s a 1954 Ladies Schwinn Hornet,” Sam said, rolling it over to her.

Lucy ran her fingers over the rich patina, the thick black wall tires, the white leather seat. “It’s perfect,” she said, surprised to discover that her voice was scratchy and her eyes were blurring. Because a present like this could only have come from someone who understood her, who got her. And it was a sign that Sam truly felt something for her, whether or not he’d intended it that way. She was surprised by the realization of how much that meant to her, how much she had wanted him to care for her on some level.

“Thank you. I…” She stood and threw her arms around him, and pressed her face against his shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Sam patted her back uncomfortably. “No need to get all girly.”

Feeling how tense he’d gotten, understanding the reason why, Lucy said in a muffled voice, “It is incredibly sweet, and probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.” She forced a laugh and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Relax. I still don’t love you.”

“Thank God.” He grinned at her, relaxing visibly.

* * *

For the next two months, Lucy occupied herself with her work. Sam often dropped by on the pretext of checking on her, but his visits usually resulted in the two of them having dinner together. Although there had been countless romantic interludes at the condo afterward, sex was not something that Sam demanded or automatically expected. He seemed to enjoy talking with her, just being with her, whether or not they ended up sleeping together. One afternoon he brought Holly to Lucy’s studio, and Lucy helped her to make a simple suncatcher with glass and copper foil. On another day they took Holly to the sculpture park, where Sam was quickly surrounded by at least a half-dozen children, all of them giggling wildly as he led them in attempts to pose like statues.

Lucy found Sam’s behavior more than a little perplexing. For a man who was so determined to avoid emotional involvement, his actions were those of a man who desired closeness. Their discussions frequently strayed into personal territory, as they shared their thoughts and childhood memories. The more Lucy gleaned about the Nolans’ background, the more compassion she felt for Sam. Children of alcoholics often grew up to be suspicious of intense emotion. They usually tried to isolate themselves, to defend against being hurt or manipulated, or worst of all, abandoned. As a result, intimacy was the most dangerous thing of all, something to be avoided at all cost. And yet Sam was drawing closer, gradually learning to trust her without seeming to be aware of it.

You’re more than you think you are, Lucy longed to tell him. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Sam might someday reach the point of being able to love someone and be loved in return. On the other hand, that kind of momentous change, of self-realization, might take a very long time. Perhaps a lifetime. Or it might never happen at all. The woman who pinned all of her hopes on Sam would almost certainly end up with a broken heart.

And only to herself, Lucy acknowledged that she was dangerously close to becoming that woman. It would be so easy to let herself love Sam. She was so irresistibly drawn to him, so happy when they were together, that she understood there was a fast-approaching time limit for their relationship. If she waited too long to break it off, she would be seriously hurt. Far more hurt, in fact, than she had been by Kevin.

In the meantime, she resolved to enjoy every moment she could with Sam. Stolen moments, filled with the bittersweet knowledge that happiness was as ephemeral as moonlight.

* * *

Although Lucy wasn’t in direct contact with Alice, her mother had kept her informed about the progressing wedding plans. The ceremony would be held at the Our Lady of Good Voyage chapel at Roche Harbor, on the west side of the island. The tiny white chapel, more than a century old, was poised on the shoreline overlooking the harbor. Afterward a reception would be held in the courtyard of McMillin’s, a historic waterfront restaurant.

It galled Lucy that even though her mother was lukewarm about Kevin, she was becoming enthused about the wedding itself. Once again, it seemed, Alice could do whatever she wanted and get away with it.

On the day the invitation arrived, Lucy put it on the corner of the kitchen counter and felt bitter and annoyed every time she looked at it.

When Sam arrived to have dinner with her, he noticed the sealed envelope right away.

“What’s that?”

Lucy made a face. “The wedding invitation.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“I’m hoping that if I procrastinate and ignore it, it will somehow disappear.” She busied herself at the sink, rinsing lettuce leaves in a colander.

Sam approached her. He settled his hands at her hips and pulled her back against him. And he waited patiently, a steady presence behind her. Ducking his head, he brushed his lips against the edge of her ear.

Lucy turned off the water and blotted her hands on a nearby dishtowel. “I don’t know if I can go,” she said in a surly tone. “I don’t want to. But I have to. I can’t see an alternative.”

Sam turned her to face him, putting his hands on either side of the counter. “Do you expect it’s going to hurt, to see Kevin walk Alice down the aisle?”

“A little. But not because of Kevin. It’s all about my sister. I’m still furious about how she betrayed me and how they both lied to me, and now my parents have gone right back into the old pattern and they’re paying for everything, which means Alice’s never going to change, she is never going to learn—”

“Breathe,” Sam reminded her.

Lucy inhaled deeply and let out an explosive sigh. “As much as I hate the idea of going to that wedding, I can’t sit at home while it’s going on. It’ll look like I still have feelings for Kevin, or that I’m jealous or something.”

“Want me to take you somewhere?” Sam asked.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You mean … while they’re getting married?”

“I’ll take you to a nice little resort in Mexico. You can’t get too worked up about their wedding day when you’re relaxing on a white sand beach, drinking mojitos.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You would do that for me?”

Sam smiled. “I’d get something out of it too. Starting with the sight of you in a bikini. Tell me where you want to go. Los Cabos? Baja? Or maybe Belize or Costa Rica—”

“Sam.” Lucy patted his chest in an anxious little flutter. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer more than I can say. But there wouldn’t be enough mojitos to blank out the fact that it’s their wedding day. I’m going to have to go. I don’t suppose you—” She broke off, unable to bring herself to ask him.

“You’ve agreed to be my plus one at Mark and Maggie’s wedding,” Sam said. “It’s only fair if I go with you to your sister’s.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No … really,” she said earnestly. “I already feel better, knowing you’ll be with me.” As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to take them back, fearing she had revealed too much. Any indication that she needed Sam, depended on him emotionally, would drive him away.

But he took her head in his hands and kissed her. His palm traveled along her spine before settling low on her hips, pressing her against him. Her eyes widened as she felt the pressure of his arousal thickening against her. By now Sam knew far too much about her, where she was most sensitive, what excited her. He kissed her until her eyes closed and she leaned heavily against him, her heart racing. Slow, searing kisses, draining her strength and filling her with sensation.

Lucy turned her face away just enough to breathe, “Upstairs.” And he lifted her in his arms.

* * *

The following weekend Mark and Maggie were married on the retired ferry in Seattle. The day was warm and beautiful, the waters of Lake Union a glittering shade of sapphire blue. A feeling of serenity pervaded the wedding. There were no signs of nerves or uncertainty, no tension or fuss, nothing but a wholehearted happiness that emanated from both the bride and groom.

Maggie was beautiful in a knee-length slip dress made of textured ivory silk, the V-neck and the straps edged with delicately translucent cream chiffon. She wore her hair in a simple updo adorned with a cluster of white roses. Holly was dressed in a similar cream-colored dress, the skirt puffed out with a tulle underlay. It touched Lucy when, as Mark and Maggie stood with the justice of the peace for the vows, they gestured for Holly to stand with them. After Mark kissed the bride, he bent to kiss Holly as well.

A spectacular buffet was served inside the ferry: a cornucopia of fruit, a selection of brightly colored salads and pasta and rice, fresh Pacific seafood, brioche loaded with cheese, bacon, and chutney, and rows of tarts and vegetable roulades. Instead of the traditional wedding cake, a tower of tiny individual cakes was arranged on Plexiglas tiers. A live jazz quartet played “Embraceable You.”

“I’m sorry this wedding didn’t happen after Alice’s instead of before,” Lucy told Sam.

“Why?”

“Because everyone is so happy, and Mark and Maggie are so obviously in love. It’s going to make my sister’s wedding look even worse by comparison.”

Sam laughed and gave her a glass of champagne. He was breathtakingly handsome in a dark suit and a patterned tie, although he wore the clothes with the collar-tugging impatience of a man who didn’t like to be bound up in formal clothing. “Offer of a Mexican getaway still stands,” he told her.

“Don’t tempt me.”

After the guests had loaded their plates at the buffet and the tables were filled, Sam stepped forward to make the toast. Mark stood with his arms around both Maggie and Holly.

“If it weren’t for public transportation,” Sam said, “my brother wouldn’t be getting married today. He and Maggie fell in love along the ferry route from Bellingham to Anacortes … which brings to mind the old saying that life is a journey. Some people have a natural sense of direction. You could put them in the middle of a foreign country and they could find their way around. My brother is not one of those people.” Sam paused as some of the guests started laughing, and his older brother gave him a mock-warning glance. “So when Mark by some miracle manages to end up where he was supposed to be, it’s a nice surprise for everyone, including Mark.” More laughter from the crowd. “Somehow, even with all the roadblocks and detours and one-way streets, Mark managed to find his way to Maggie.” Sam raised his glass. “To Mark and Maggie’s journey together. And to Holly, who is loved more than any girl in the whole wide world.”

Everyone clapped and hooted, and the band started playing a slow, romantic version of “Fly Me to the Moon.” Mark took Maggie in his arms, and the two of them took a turn around the dance floor.

“That was perfect,” Lucy whispered to Sam.

“Thanks.” He smiled at her. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Giving his empty champagne glass to a passing waitress, Sam went to Holly and led her to the dance floor, twirling her, dancing with her feet standing on his, then catching her up in his arms and turning a slow circle.

Lucy’s smile turned pensive and distracted as she watched them. In the back of her mind, she was worrying over an e-mail she had received from Alan Spellman, her former professor, that very morning. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, feeling troubled and conflicted when she should have been nothing but thrilled.

Alan had written that the committee at the Mitchell Art Center had elected to offer her the year-long artist-in-residence grant. He had congratulated her effusively. All she needed to do was sign a document agreeing to the terms and conditions of the grant, and then the official public announcement would be made. “I couldn’t be more pleased,” he had written. “You and Mitchell Art Center are a perfect match.”

Lucy had been mildly amused by that phrase. It wasn’t lost on her that after all her failed relationships, her perfect match had turned out to be an art program. She was going to spend a year in New York. She would have national recognition. Working with other artists, experimenting with new techniques, giving occasional “design performances” in the art center’s public glass lab. She would have her own featured exhibition at the end of the residency. It was the kind of opportunity Lucy had always dreamed of. And nothing stood in her way.

Except Sam.

She had made no promises. Neither had he. The entire point of the arrangement was that either of them could break it off and leave without a backward glance. An offer like the one from Mitchell Art Center wouldn’t come her way often, if ever again. And she knew that Sam would never want her to make such a sacrifice on his behalf.

Why, then, was she filled with such melancholy?

Because she wanted more time with Sam. Because their relationship, even with its limitations, had meant a lot to her.

Too much.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present as she watched Maggie’s father claim a dance with his daughter, while Mark went to cut in on Sam and Holly. More couples joined them, dancing to the sweetly yearning music.

Sam returned to Lucy and wordlessly extended his hand.

“I can’t dance,” Lucy protested with a laugh, gesturing to the Aircast brace on her leg.

A slow smile curved his lips. “We’ll fake it.”

She went into Sam’s arms. She breathed in the scent of him, tanned male skin and cedary sweetness, mingled with the hints of summer wool and starched cotton. Since Lucy couldn’t dance in the brace, they merely swayed from side to side, their heads close together.

A tumult gathered inside her, longing tangled with low-level panic. Once she left him, she realized, she could never come back. It would hurt too much, seeing him with other women, watching the path of his future diverge from hers … and remembering the summer when they had been lovers. They had come so close to making a rare and wondrous connection, something beyond the physical. But ultimately all their inner defenses had remained intractable. They had remained separate, never reaching the true intimacy that Lucy had always craved. And yet this might be the closest she would ever get.

“Better not to know,” her father had said. God help her, she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“What is it?” Sam whispered.

She summoned a quick smile. “Nothing.”

But Sam wasn’t deceived. “What are you worrying about?”

“My … my leg’s a little sore,” she lied.

His arms tightened around her. “Let’s go sit somewhere for a while,” he said, and led her from the dance floor.

* * *

The next morning, Lucy woke up later than usual, rich sunlight pouring through the bedroom of her condo. With a long, shivering stretch and a yawn, she turned onto her side, and blinked with surprise at the sight of Sam sleeping beside her.

Combing through her recollections of the previous night, she remembered Sam bringing her back home. She had been cheerfully tipsy after one too many glasses of champagne. He had undressed her and put her to bed, and had laughed quietly as she had tried to seduce him.

“It’s late, Lucy. You need to sleep.”

“You want me,” she had crooned. “You do. I can tell.” She had loosened the knot of his silk tie, and had used it to pull his head down to hers. After a smoldering kiss, she had succeeded in drawing the tie free of his collar, and she had given it to him triumphantly. “Do something wicked,” she said. “Tie me up with this. I dare you.” She lifted her good leg and wrapped it around him. “Unless you’re too tired.”

“I would be dead before I was too tired for that,” Sam had informed her, and he’d kept her busy well into the night.

Apparently after those pleasurable exertions, the temptation of sleep had overridden Sam’s rule about never staying all night with a woman.

Lucy let her gaze travel over the long, powerful limbs, the sleek expanse of his back and shoulders, the tempting disarray of his hair. His face looked younger in sleep, his mouth relaxed, the thick crescents of his lashes flickering infinitesimally as dream images chased through his mind. Seeing the faint notch gather between his brows, Lucy couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to smooth it with a gentle fingertip.

Sam awakened with a quiet sound, disoriented and drowsy. “Lucy,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, reflexively reaching out to gather her close. She snuggled against him, nuzzling into the light mat of hair on his chest.

But in the next moment, she felt the jolt of alarm that went through him.

“What … where…” Sam’s head shot up, and his breath stopped as he recognized his surroundings. “Jesus,” she heard him mutter. He sprang out of bed as if it had just burst into flames.

“What’s the matter?” Lucy asked, startled by his reaction.

Sam stared at her with an expression of near-horror that she found distinctly unflattering. “I never went home last night. I slept here.”

“It’s okay. Renfield’s at the kennel. Holly is with Mark and Maggie. Nothing to worry about.”

But Sam had started to snatch up his discarded clothes. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”

“I fell asleep too,” Lucy said defensively. “And I wouldn’t have woken you up anyway—you were exhausted, and I didn’t mind sharing the bed, so—”

“I mind,” Sam said forcefully. “I don’t do this. I don’t stay until morning.”

“What are you, a vampire? It’s no big deal, Sam. It means nothing.”

But he wasn’t listening to her. He took his clothes into the bathroom, and in a minute she heard the shower running.

* * *

“… and then he just took off,” Lucy said to Justine and Zoл later that morning, “like a scalded dog. He barely said a word to me on the way out. I couldn’t tell whether he was pissed off or scared shitless, or both. Probably both.”

After Sam had left, Lucy had gone to the inn to see her friends. The three of them sat in the kitchen with mugs of coffee. Lucy wasn’t the only one with problems. Zoл’s usual sunny disposition was dampened with worry about her grandmother, who was having health problems. Justine had just broken up with Duane, and although she was trying to be nonchalant, it was clear that the situation was difficult for her.

When Lucy had asked what had caused the rift between them, Justine had said evasively, “I, er … accidentally scared him.”

“How? Did you have to take a pregnancy test or something?”

“God, no.” Justine waved her hand in an impatient gesture. “I don’t want to talk about my problems. Your problems are way more interesting.”

After telling them about Sam’s behavior, Lucy leaned her chin in her hand and asked with a scowl, “Why would someone freak out over spending one night in a bed? Why is it that Sam has no problem having sex with me, but the idea of literally sleeping with me sends him into a tailspin?”

“Think about what a bed is,” Justine said. “The place where you sleep is where you are most vulnerable. You’re helpless. You’re unconscious. So when two people sleep in one bed in that ultimate state of vulnerability, it’s an enormous act of trust. It’s a different kind of closeness than sex—but just as powerful.”

“And Sam won’t let himself be close to anyone,” Lucy said, swallowing against the needling pain in her throat. “It’s too dangerous for him. Because he and his brothers and sister were hurt repeatedly by the people who were supposed to love them the most.”

Justine nodded. “Our parents teach us how to have relationships. They show us how it’s done. Kind of hard to rewire yourself after that.”

“Maybe you could talk to Sam,” Zoл suggested, laying her hand on Lucy’s tense arm. “Sometimes if you bring something out into the open—”

“No. I promised myself I wouldn’t try to change him or fix him. Sam’s responsible for his own problems. And I’m responsible for mine.” Lucy wasn’t aware of the tears that had slid down her cheeks until Justine handed her a napkin. Sniffling, sighing, she blew her nose and told them about having been awarded the art center grant.

“You’re going to take it, right?” Justine asked.

“Yes. I’m leaving a few days after Alice’s wedding.”

“When are you going to tell Sam?”

“Not until the last minute. I want to make the most of the time we have left. And when I tell him, he’ll say I should go, and that he’ll miss me … but inside he’ll be incredibly relieved. Because he can feel it too, this … thing that’s happening to our relationship. We’re becoming involved. And it has to stop before it goes too far.”

“Why?” Zoл asked softly.

“Because Sam and I both know that he’ll hurt me. He’ll never be able to say ‘I love you’ and surrender his heart to someone.” She blew her nose again. “That last step is a doozy. It leads to a place he has no intention of going.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” Justine muttered. “I never would have encouraged you to get together with Sam if I’d known it would make you unhappy. I thought you needed some fun.”

“It has been fun,” Lucy said earnestly, wiping her eyes.

“I can see that,” Justine said, and Lucy gave a watery giggle.

As Lucy worked in her studio later that afternoon, she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Setting aside her glass-cutting tools, she reached up to tighten her ponytail as she went to see the visitor.

Sam stood there with a mixed bouquet of flowers, including orange roses, yellow lilies, pink asters, and gerbera daisies.

Lucy’s gaze went from his inscrutable face to the vivid bouquet. “Guilt flowers?” she asked, trying to bite back a smile.

“Also guilt candy.” Sam gave her a rectangular satin box, weighted with what had to be at least two pounds of premium chocolate. “Along with a sincere apology.” Encouraged by her expression, he continued. “It wasn’t your fault that I slept with you. And after thinking about it, I’ve realized I wasn’t actually harmed by the experience. I’m actually glad it happened, because it was the only way I could ever have found out how beautiful you are in the morning.”

Lucy laughed, a tide of pink rising over her face. “You give great apologies, Sam.”

“Can I take you out to dinner?”

“I would like that. But…”

“But?”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And I was wondering if we could just have the friendship without the ‘benefits.’ At least for a few days.”

“Of course,” Sam said, his gaze searching. Quietly he added, “Can I ask why?”

Lucy went to set the flowers and chocolate on a table. “I just have a few things I’m trying to work out. I need a little personal space. If that changes your mind about dinner, I understand.”

For some reason that seemed to annoy him. “No, it does not change my mind about dinner. I”—he paused, casting about for the right words—“want you for more than just sex.”

Lucy smiled as she returned to him, a warm and unforced smile that seemed to bemuse him. “Thank you.”

They stood facing each other, not quite touching. Lucy suspected they were both grappling with the puzzling contradiction that something was wrong between them, and something was equally right.

Sam stared down at her intently, his gaze causing the hairs on the back of her neck to lift. His features were austere, still, except for the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. The silence became acute, and Lucy fidgeted as she tried to think of a way to break it.

“I want to hold you,” Sam said, his voice low.

Flustered, aware of her light blush deepening to crimson, Lucy gave a nervous catch of laughter. But Sam wasn’t smiling.

They had shared the most intimate sexual acts possible, had seen each other in every possible stage of dress and undress … but at this moment, the simple matter of a casual embrace was positively unnerving. She stepped forward. His arms went around her slowly, as if any sudden move might frighten her. They drew together in cautious increments, curves molding against hard places, limbs fitting just so, her head finding its natural resting spot on his shoulder.

Relaxing fully, Lucy felt every breath, thought, heartbeat adjust to his, a current opening between them. If it was possible for love to be expressed purely between bodies, not in a sexual union but in something equally true and whole, then it was this. Here. Now.

She lost track of time, standing there with him. In fact, it seemed as if they had slipped outside of time altogether, lost in each other, in this mysterious quintessence they had become together. But eventually Sam pulled away and said something about picking her up at dinnertime. Lucy nodded blindly, gripping the door frame to keep herself upright. Sam left without looking back, walking along the path with the slightly overdone caution of a man who wasn’t quite certain on his feet.

* * *

When Lucy called Alan Spellman to tell him that she would accept the art center grant, she asked him to delay the announcement until the end of August. By that time, Alice and Kevin would be married, and Lucy would have finished all of her current projects.

She set aside a portion of each day to work on the stained-glass window for the house at Rainshadow Vineyard. It was a complicated and ambitious piece, demanding all her technical skills. Lucy was possessed by the urgency to get every detail right. All her feelings for Sam seemed to pour into the glass as she cut and arranged the pieces in a visual poem. The colors were all natural shades of earth, tree, sky, and moon, glass fused and layered to give it a three-dimensional quality.

After the glass had been shaped, Lucy stretched the lead came using a vise and pliers. She assembled the window carefully, inserting glass pieces into lead channels, then cutting and fitting the lead around them. Once all the interior leading was completed, she would use the U-shaped perimeter came to finish all the outside edges. Next would come the soldering, and the application of cement for waterproofing.

As the window took shape on her worktable, Lucy was aware of a peculiar warmth in the glass, a glow that had nothing to do with heat transferred from soldered metal. One evening as Lucy was closing up shop, she happened to glance at the unfinished window, lying flat on the worktable. The glass glowed with its own incandescence.

Her relationship with Sam had remained platonic since the night he’d slept with her at the condo. Platonic, but not asexual. Sam had done his utmost to seduce her, with sweltering kisses and passionate interludes that made them both feverish with unsatisfied desire. But Lucy was afraid of the very real possibility that if she were to have sex with him now, she would blurt out how much she loved him. The words were there, in her mind, on her lips, most of the time, desperate to be said. Only her sense of self-preservation gave her the strength to refuse Sam. And although he had received her refusals with good grace at first, he was obviously finding it more difficult to stop now.

“When?” Sam had asked after their last session, his breath hot against her mouth, a dangerous flare of heat in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Lucy had said weakly, shivering as his hands stroked her back and hips. “Not until I can be sure of myself.”

“Let me have you,” he had whispered, resting his forehead on hers. “Let me make love to you all night. I want to wake up with you again. Just tell me what you need, Lucy, and I’ll do it.”

Make love. He had never called it that before. The two words had clamped around her heart like a vise. This was the torture of loving Sam—that he was willing to get so close, but not quite close enough.

And since the thing that she needed most—for him to love her—was impossible, she refused him once again.

* * *

Lucy finished the window two days before Alice’s wedding. People had started to arrive from out of town, most of them staying in cottages at the Roche Harbor resort, or taking rooms in the Hotel de Haro. Lucy’s parents had arrived that morning, and had spent the day with Alice and the wedding coordinator. Tomorrow Lucy would have lunch with them, but tonight she was going to have dinner with Sam. And she would tell him that she was leaving Friday Harbor.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the studio door. “Come in,” she called. “It’s unlocked.”

To her surprise, it was Kevin.

Her former boyfriend gave her a vaguely sheepish grin. “Luce. Got a couple of minutes?”

Lucy’s heart sank. She hoped this would not be an attempt to make peace, to discuss their shared past and smooth things over so that his wedding day with Alice was untarnished. It was entirely unnecessary. Lucy was over him, thank God, and she was willing to let bygones be bygones. The last thing she wanted to do was to autopsy their past.

“I’ve got a couple of minutes,” she said cautiously, “but I’m kind of busy. And I’m sure you must be even busier with all the wedding stuff going on.”

“Actually, there’s not all that much for the groom to do. I just show up when and where they tell me to.” Kevin was as handsome as ever, but there was an odd look about him. He had the blank, bemused expression of a man who had just stumbled on the sidewalk and turned to see what invisible object had tripped him up.

As he approached, Lucy found herself pulling spare pieces of paper over her tree window, feeling the need to shield it from his view. She went to the side of the worktable and leaned against it.

“Your brace is off,” Kevin remarked. “How’s the leg?”

“Great,” she said lightly. “I just have to be a little careful with it. No high-impact stuff for a while.”

He stopped a little closer to her than she was comfortable with, but she didn’t want to back away.

Contemplating him, Lucy wondered how a man she had once been so close to could now seem like a stranger. She had been so certain that she had been in love with him … and it had been a good approximation, just as silk flowers could look very much like real ones, or cubic zirconium could sparkle just like diamonds. But their version of love had been a form of playacting. All their love-words and cozy rituals had been a way to cover up the emptiness beneath. She hoped that he had found a deeper, more genuine relationship with Alice. But she doubted it. And that actually made her feel sorry for him.

“How are you?” she asked.

Something in her tone caused Kevin’s shoulders to lower. He sighed deeply. “It’s like being caught up in a tornado. The color of the flowers, the guest favors with personalized ribbons, the photographer and videographer and all that crap … this thing is way more complicated and crazy than it should be. I mean, it’s just a wedding.”

Lucy brought herself to smile at him. “It’ll be over soon. Then you can relax.”

Kevin began to pace around the studio, which was familiar territory to him. He had been in there countless times when they had lived together. He had even helped to install the vertical storage racks for the glass. But Lucy felt uneasy as he intruded farther into her studio. Kevin didn’t belong there anymore. He no longer had the right to wander through her workplace in such a cavalier way.

“The weirdest part of all of it,” he said, inspecting a shelf of finished lampshades, “is that the closer the wedding gets, the more I find myself trying to figure out what happened with us.”

Lucy blinked. “You mean … you and me?”

“Yes.”

“What happened was that you cheated on me.”

“I know. But I need to figure out why.”

“It doesn’t matter why. It’s over. You’re getting married the day after tomorrow.”

“I think if you’d just given me a little more space,” Kevin said, “I would never have gone to Alice. I think the relationship with her started as my way of showing you that I needed more room.”

Her eyes widened. “Kevin, I really don’t want to go there.”

He came back to her, standing even closer than before. “I felt like there was something missing between you and me,” he said, “and I thought I would find it with Alice. But lately I’ve realized … I had it with you all along. I just didn’t see it.”

“Don’t,” Lucy said. “I mean it, Kevin. There’s no point.”

“I thought you and I were too settled, and life was getting boring. I thought I wanted excitement. I was an idiot, Luce. I was happy with you, and I threw it away. I miss what we had. I—”

“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “You’re having second thoughts about the wedding? Now, after all the plans have been made and the out-of-town guests are arriving?”

“I don’t love Alice enough to marry her. It’s a mistake.”

“You made promises to her. You can’t back out! Do you get some kind of sadistic thrill out of making women fall in love with you and then dumping them?”

“I’ve been pushed into this. No one’s asked me what I wanted. Don’t I get to decide what makes me happy?”

“My God, Kevin. That sounds like something Alice said to me. ‘I just want to be happy.’ Both of you think happiness is this thing you have to chase after, like a child with a shiny toy. It won’t happen until you start finding ways to take care of other people instead of ways to please yourself. You need to leave, Kevin. You need to live up to the commitment you’ve already made to Alice. Take some responsibility. Then you might have a shot at being happy.”

Judging from Kevin’s scowl, he found her advice condescending. There was a mean, raw edge to his tone. “What makes you the fucking expert? You, who’s going out with that D-class poser, Sam Nolan. Mr. Wine Expert who comes from a family of trailer-trash drunks and is going to end up just like them—”

“You have to leave now,” Lucy said, going to her worktable, putting it between them. In the spectrum of self-pity to rage, he had swung from one extreme to the other.

“I talked him into going out with you. It was a setup, Luce … I was the one who did it. He owed me a favor. I showed him your picture on my cell phone, and asked him to take you out. It was Alice’s idea.” Now Kevin was smiling as if at a macabre joke. “To stop you from acting like the victim. Once you were going out with someone, once you moved on, it would get your parents off our case.”

“Is that what you came here to tell me?” Lucy shook her head. “I already know that, Kevin. Sam told me about it at the beginning.” She reached down to the worktable until her fingers encountered the soothing flat coolness of glass.

“But why did you—”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re trying to cause problems between me and Sam, there’s no point. I’m leaving the island right after the wedding. I’m going to New York.”

Kevin’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“I’ve got an art scholarship. I’m going to start a new life.”

As Kevin took in the news, a bright flare of excitement appeared in his eyes, and his color rose. “I’ll go with you.”

Lucy stared at him blankly.

“Nothing’s keeping me here,” he said. “I can move my business—I can do landscaping anywhere. God, Lucy, this is the answer! I know I hurt you, I know I fucked up, but I’ll make it up to you. I swear it. We’ll start a new life together. We’ll leave all this shit behind.”

“You are insane,” Lucy said, so astonished by his behavior that she could hardly find words. “You’re … Kevin, you’re getting married to my sister—”

“I don’t love her. I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I know you feel the same way about me, it hasn’t been that long. It was so good between us. I’ll make you remember, you have to—” He came to her and gripped her arms.

“Kevin, stop it!”

“I slept with Alice, and you slept with Sam, so we’re even. All in the past. Lucy, listen to me—”

“Let go.” In the midst of her outrage, she was intensely aware of the glass all around them, panes of glass, shards of it, beads and tiles and frit. And she understood in a fraction of a second that with the force of her will, she could shape it into whatever she wanted. An image appeared in her mind, and she focused on it.

Kevin gripped her closer, breathing harshly. “It’s me, Lucy. It’s me. I want you back. I want you—”

He broke off with a muffled curse, and Lucy was released with startling suddenness.

A bone-chilling squeak rent the air as a small dark shape darted and flapped around Kevin’s head. A bat. “What the hell—” Kevin lifted his arms and flailed at the aggressive winged creature. “Where did that come from?”

Lucy looked at her soldering table. Two of the corner pieces she hadn’t yet affixed to the rest of the window, cuts of black obsidian glass, curled and wriggled. “Go on,” she said, and instantly they flew from the table, another pair of bats joining the attack against Kevin.

The trio of bats sliced through the air with serrated wings, diving until they had driven Kevin to the door. Stumbling and swearing, he went outside. Two of the bats followed him. The third flew to the corner of the room and dropped to the floor, scuttling across the cement surface.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy went to the window and opened it. The sun was low, rolling toward twilight, the air weighted with the lingering heat of the day.

“Thank you,” Lucy said, standing back from the window. “There you go.” After a moment the bat took flight, slipping through the open window, disappearing into the sky.