Sharing Sunrise (19 page)

“Come back soon,” she cried. “Oh, Rolph, come back to me! Please, please come back to me!”

“Hush, hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her tears away. “I will. Of course I will. Hey, stop it.” He laughed but it was a strained sound. He brushed the tears from her cheeks as they continued to fall. “What are these all about? I’m going for only two days, Marian.”

She drew in an unsteady breath. She was acting like a fool. “I know. It’s just that … sometimes I feel as if we aren’t really … together anymore.”

He pressed her cheek to his chest. “Ah, babe. We’re together all the time. You’re with me, part of me, wherever I go. I wish I could take you with me, but I’ll be cooped up in office buildings all the time. You wouldn’t be any happier there than you are here.”

The hint of bitterness in his tone startled her. Lifting her head, she looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean? I’m happy here, Rolph.”

He put her from him firmly and straightened his tie. “I mean you wouldn’t like being cooped up in offices in San Francisco any more than you like being cooped up in this one.”

“But I—”

He interrupted, tapping her nose with one finger. “Don’t bother telling me you don’t mind being indoors,” he said with a grin. “We both know better.” Sobering, he added, “So let Andy do the paper work while you do the leg work, if that’s what makes you happy. Your strong point is getting out there with the people, talking to them, dealing with them, showing off boats we want to sell, checking out those our clients might want to buy, and I understand that, Marian.” He held the back of her head in one hand, forcing her face up toward his, his gaze steady on her. “I don’t want you to change, to try to be different. Okay? I want you to be free to do what makes you happy.”

He stroked his hand down the side of her face, lifted her chin up and kissed her with such tenderness that tears stung her eyes again.

“Rolph …”

“What is it?” he asked softly when she failed to continue.

She shook her head. “I … Nothing. Hurry back.”

“I will,” he promised. “Take care.”

If she’d hoped his remoteness might be gone when he got back, she was wrong. Again, he came home, ate the dinner she prepared at her apartment, and went to bed with her where he loved her with exquisite care. Then, as she was drifting off to sleep, she felt him get up.

Sitting up, she turned on a light. He was dressing. “Rolph, where are you going?”

He bent and kissed her, turned off her light and tilted her back until she rested on her pillow again. “I have a call coming in early tomorrow morning. I’ll see you at the office. Okay?”

What could she do but agree? Yet after he left, Marian arose, made herself tea and sat for much too long trying to fathom the unfathomable. She arrived at work early to find Rolph already at his desk. They spoke little, merely shared a quick kiss and a lingering touch of hands, then separated again.

It was a separation that seemed to be grow wider day by day and, as the end of her three months approached, so close she was beginning to count it in days now, not weeks, the distance between them opened into an unbridgeable maw.

And it all started so innocently with a phone call from the Mastersons in Australia.

“Marian, hi, sweetie.” It was Ethel on the line. “Is Rolph there, too? Good, put this on speaker, will you? We have great news we want to share with you.”

This was the third or fourth time she or Slim had called to say hello and to report on progress with their beloved
Catriona
.

“We took her out today for sea-trials!” Ethel’s voice boomed into the office.

“Already?” Rolph asked. “That was quick.”

“She turned out to be in much better shape than we’d dared to hope, so the hull repairs took much less time,” Slim responded. He spoke in technicalities for several minutes while Rolph murmured replies and took a few notes. “We had her out under power, of course,” Slim went on. “The new canvas won’t be ready for at least another two weeks.”

“I can’t wait to see her under sail,” said Ethel.

“Neither can I!” Marian smiled as she spoke. “Send me miles and miles of video tape. What a dream come true it’ll be, seeing her the way her builders intended her to be, the way I used to imagine her when she was tied up to that dock selling seashells and machine made scrimshaw.”

“Why bother with video tapes? Come on down and see for yourself.” Ethel spoke as if the idea wasn’t a new one.

Slim’s next words proved that to be true. “The night you found her for us, Rolph suggested we offer you a job, because when we were ready to go your time with him would be up by then. Right, Rolph?”

“I did say that,” he agreed, failing to meet Marian’s startled gaze.

“We’d both love to have you, Marian, in any capacity you’d care to fill,” said Ethel. “Employee, partner, or simply guest. Please say you’ll come.”

Marian couldn’t speak for several seconds. Rolph had said that? He’d asked Slim to offer her work? From the very beginning, then, he’d had no intention of keeping her on after the training period they’d agreed on? The pain that knowledge brought ate at her. Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back. They flooded up again and she surreptitiously wiped them away with one finger, half-turned from Rolph.

“Marian?” It was Slim. “You there? What do you say? Are you coming aboard?”

“I …” She swallowed hard, conscious of Rolph at his desk, studiously not looking at her. She firmed her voice, made it as cheerful as she could. “No. No, Slim. Thanks anyway, but my three months still have a week and a half to run here. I signed a contract. I won’t break it or ask to have it broken.” She hesitated a moment then added, “Besides, it might be renewed.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, we’ll welcome you. Just don’t forget that, all right?”

“All right,” she said. With an unsteady hand, she hung up the phone.

“You don’t have to see your contract out,” Rolph said several painful moments later. Marian looked at him. He’d swiveled his chair around to face her. His eyes were bottomless, haunted, the line of his jaw was tense.

“And if I want to?”

“Don’t,” he said, standing up. “Don’t do this to yourself. Or to me. I’m not holding you to it, Marian. I won’t. I can’t.” He paced to the window, stood with his back to it, his face shadowed. “What’s a few days, anyway, between friends?”

“I thought we’d become more than friends,” she said in a taut voice.

“We did. We … are. Were. But we both knew it had to end sometime, Marian. So why not now? Look, this is the best way, the easiest way. You have a job to go to, a place to go to, at a time when your present … situation is coming to an end.”

“You’re not going to make me an offer, are you? You aren’t going to renew my contract.”

He shook his head. The sun caught in his hair, creating a golden nimbus that dazzled her, making her eyes sting. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s time for you to move on. Before somebody gets badly hurt.”

Couldn’t he see? Didn’t he know? It was already too late. Never, never in her life had she hurt as badly as she hurt right now.

“Are you telling me to go?” she asked finally when the silence had gone on longer than she could bear.

He shrugged. His mouth twisted wryly. “Yes,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. “I guess that is what I’m doing. Yes, Marian. Go.”

He came toward her, lifted a hand as if to touch her, then dropped it. He smiled, his green eyes sad. “Go and be happy,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

Marian sat where she was, numb, staring at the door he had closed.

It was over. Just like that, it was over. Clean, incisive, like a cut from a freshly honed axe, he had severed their relationship. She wondered when the bleeding would start and how much she would bleed before she died.

It was all because of his ideal woman, of course. He’d found her. In San Francisco? That must be it. No matter that he said that as long as we were together, he wouldn’t be looking for his permanent lady. What could he do if she simply happened along, sneaked up on him when he wasn’t expecting it? Could she blame him if that was the way it had happened? No. Of course not.

No? What was she thinking? Yes, she could blame him! Yes, she did blame him! She hated him! She wanted to do grievous bodily harm to him!

The rage carried her to her feet, helped her pack up the few personal items she had in and on her desk. She stuffed her shoulder bag full, set the toy seal with its big, sad eyes on top of the filing cabinet and slung her now heavy purse over her shoulder. She didn’t say good-bye to Andrea or Kaitlin. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Looking to neither the left nor the right, she walked out of the marina, got in her car and drove home.

There, she filled her suitcases, took them downstairs and put them in the trunk of her car. She left the key with a note and a check in the landlady’s mailbox and drove to her parents’ home.

“Marian!” Thea Crane stood as her daughter entered the house. “My darling, what’s happened to you? Are you ill?”

Her mother’s startled exclamation was her undoing and Marian shattered where she stood.

It took Rolph longer.

A week passed. Another.

One morning he woke up and looked at the haggard image in the mirror and said to it, as he had nearly every morning since that terrible day, “She’s gone. You’re here. You’re alive. Shower, shave, dress, keep going.”

But that morning, something was different. He had no strength, not even the minimal energy it took to shower, shave, dress and keep going. He shook his head, rubbed and hand over his rough jaw and went back into his bedroom. He didn’t want to get dressed. He didn’t want to keep going. He didn’t want to do anything. Anything but remember.

It was those tears as she turned down Slim and Ethel’s invitation that had done it to him, finally. The Mastersons had offered her a chance at some of those faraway places—many of them—if she joined them as crew. They’d offered her exactly what was right for her, and she’d said no, and cried while doing so, and tried to hide those tears from him. Of course she’d wanted to go, but she’d signed a contract with him, one she didn’t want to break. A contract! God, she cited a legal document as her reason for staying, not personal desire to be with Rolph, not love for him making it impossible for her to go, no, nothing more than a piece of paper with their signatures on it.

And he had known, listening to her, watching her half-averted face as the color drained from it and the tears sprang up to glisten in her turquoise-blue eyes, if that contract was his only hold on her, then he had to let her go.

Now, staring out the window of his bedroom, her face superimposed itself over the activity in the harbor, her eyes aglow with a pure, hot light. Again, as if for the first time, he heard her voice, shaken with the depth of her emotion, saying
I love you, Rolph McKenzie
. He remembered the way those words had filled his soul with joy, and how, on the verge of confessing his own love, he’d permitted doubts to surge up to cancel it all and had been unable to voice the emotion exploding in his heart. And so he had shown her with his body the depth and breadth of his passion for her, his tenderness, his adoration, and in the end, it hadn’t been enough.

When the chance had come for her to move on, just as he’d always known she would, she took it. Reached for it with both hands, eagerly, smiling …

No. Wait. She hadn’t been eager. She hadn’t been smiling.

Rolph buried his face in his hands. Always before, when he’d got to this point in his memories of that last day, he’d shut them down, found something to do, buried it somewhere deep so he couldn’t see it, but this morning it didn’t work and again her face swam before him, this time … stricken.

Oh, God, she had looked so damned crushed, her voice had come so close to breaking when she said, “Are you telling me to go?”

And, like a fool, he’d said he was doing that. God, why?

Because I was afraid if I didn’t, she’d do it to me first. Because the tension was growing too strong, the suspense of waiting for the axe to fall, too agonizing, the desire to lock her up forever and ever no matter what it might to do her, too potent.

“God!” he groaned, thrusting himself out of his chair and pacing across the room to lean on the dressing table, staring into the mirror. “You total idiot! What in the hell have you done?”

Sent away the only woman who’s ever meant anything to me, he answered, still staring at his reflection, hating what he saw. And why?

“Because it was best for her. Because, whether she wanted to admit it out loud or not, she wanted to go.”

Yet, the memory of her distraught face insisted on returning. The question kept arising: What if she didn’t want to go? What if she went only because you told her to go? Would she come back if she had a chance?

You could ask her, a voice inside suggested.

“Sure,” he said, and stepped into the shower, turning the water on to a punishingly hard spray. He stood under it for several minutes, thinking. Then, stepping out and snapping a towel around his back, rubbing himself briskly, he said again, “Sure, ask her, and listen to her say that she was grateful for being released from her contract. Hear the final knell of any hope you might have.”

Well, what the hell have you got now? And aching heart and an empty bed, damn fool cretin.

He tugged on a pair of jogging shorts and quickly ran a razor over his face then brushed his teeth roughly.

“Phone her,” he said, striding into the corridor that led to his office. He slammed the door and dropped heavily into his swivel chair. “Just pick up the damn phone and call her.”

And what if she’s not there?

“She’ll be there. Where else would she be?”

He knew she’d vacated her apartment the day she’d left him—the day he’d sent her away—he corrected himself. He’d sent Kaitlin around with a few things she’d forgotten, like that damned big-eyed seal now back on the filing cabinet, mocking him, and Kaity had come back, puzzled, to tell him that the landlady said Marian had asked her to clear out the fridge and hire someone to clean the apartment. She’d left a check with enough to cover that and any rent due. She wouldn’t, the landlady, seemed sure, be back, but that was the way with people who rented furnished apartments. They did it so they could come and go with ease.