Dreams Adrift (A River Dream Novel) (4 page)

Her laughter turned to a look of concern when
she saw the evil smile of intent on my face. The band changed the
words to “the groom feeds the bride,” as I sliced a piece of cake,
carefully picked it up, carefully held it to Maeve's now nervous
lips and waited for her to take a bite.

She hesitated just an instant and then lunged
quickly, hoping to forestall any payback I might have in mind by
gobbling up the whole piece before I could carry out my vengeance.
Having expected that, I moved the cake down ever so slightly and
she plunged her chin right into the frosting.

Her dark laugh made me just a bit nervous as
she used her hand to wipe the frosting from her chin. I gingerly
held out what was left of the cake to her and she bit it from my
hand. Then, with a triumphant look, she wiped the frosting in her
hand on my cheek.

Knowing she’d gotten in the last word, so to
speak, I handed her a napkin to clean her hand, took one for myself
to clean my face, and we were soon frosting free.

It was a good thing we cleaned up quickly
because it was time to start the dances. For our dance we chose
“She's Got a Way” by Billy Joel. That song always made me think of
Maeve.

Maeve and Ted danced to “Through the Years” by
Kenny Rogers for their father-daughter dance. There wasn't a dry
eye in the house when they finished.

My mother chose Rod Stewart's “Have I Told You
Lately” for us to dance to. My mom was an excellent dancer. I was
glad for the lessons I’d taken in high school. After the mother-son
dance the floor was opened up to anyone who wanted to join in the
fun.

The band finished their first set, and it was
time for throwing the bouquet. A cheer went up at this
announcement, and the single ladies - including Kim, Cynthia, my
cousin Denise, several of Maeve's friends from school, and my
little sister Malori - jockeyed for position on the dance floor. I
wasn't sure Malori should be included - she was barely twelve - but
Maeve insisted.

Everyone cheered when Kim caught the bouquet.
I was secretly relieved. It would have put a damper on the throwing
of the garter had Malori been the lucky lady.

The single men, including Hans and Chase, then
crowded close to see who would catch the garter. Maeve's cousin,
Paul, who was home from the Army on leave, won the contest. Paul
was on his way from Fort Lewis, Washington, to a twelve-month tour
in Korea.

Kim smiled coyly at Paul when he proudly
showed her the garter. Maeve put her arm around Kim’s shoulder and
whispered something in her ear. Kim’s eyes flew wide open in shock,
and she turned a scandalized look on Maeve. I could only imagine
what Maeve said to her, but Kim and Paul had danced several times,
so I had a pretty good idea.

Chase grabbed a chair from a nearby table and
placed it in the middle of the dance floor. Kim was escorted to the
chair by the other single ladies. She sat down and crossed her legs
demurely.

Paul, clasping his hands over his head like a
victorious prize fighter, joined her at center stage. He took a
knee at Kim’s feet, slowly removed her shoe, and slid the garter
over her foot and up to her ankle.

Pointing with his hands at the position of the
garter, Paul looked at the other single guys with a raised
eyebrow.

“
Higher,” they urged.
“Higher.”

Paul moved the garter slowly up Kim’s calf and
stopped just below her knee. Again, he pointed to the
garter.

“
Higher, higher.”

Paul leered at Kim. She smiled back but didn’t
say no. He slowly moved the garter past her knee and began to slide
it up her slender thigh. About three inches past her knee, Kim
reached down and stopped him. Paul frowned, but Kim shook her head
decisively
no
.

A chorus of good-natured booing ensued from
the men while the ladies laughed. Paul replaced Kim’s shoe, stood,
and helped her to her feet. She kissed his cheek, and they
hugged.

Our final act before leaving on our honeymoon
was to thank our guests. Then it was up to our room, a room we had
reserved solely for this purpose, to change into our traveling
clothes before making our way to the airport where the Cessna
Skyline, fully loaded with the luggage we would need for our
honeymoon, awaited us. It was a short flight to Raleigh. After we
confirmed arrangements for storing the Cessna while we were gone,
we caught a cab to the nearby Hilton. We spent our wedding night in
their finest suite.

What Maeve and I hadn’t known was that there
had been one inconspicuous uninvited guest at our wedding. She
didn’t sit in the congregation, nor join us at the reception, but
Rhiannon had watched the ceremony from her beach-front room on the
fourth floor. As we disappeared into the reception, she’d said
aloud to herself, “I wish you much happiness, Michael. I'm sorry
that you didn't find it with me. I will keep my promise to you
Michael; if you ever need me, I will be there for you.” She closed
the shade, picked up her suitcase, and being careful to avoid the
reception, left the hotel, Wrightsville Beach, and the man she
loved behind.

Four

Maeve and I rose late the next morning. Our
flight out wasn't until mid-afternoon, so we were in no hurry. The
dining room at the Hilton offered a lavish breakfast buffet,
including a station where a talented young chef made a show out of
preparing omelets to order.

Seeing how much the exuberant fellow loved
working with the ingredients, I told Maeve, “I think I'll have a
western omelet with the works.”

Maeve wrinkled her nose. “I'll stick to my ham
and cheese omelet, thank you very much.”

Besides the omelets, the buffet included
Belgian waffles, pancakes, biscuits with or without saw mill gravy,
scrambled eggs, sausage links, bacon, several flavors of fruit
juices, and some decent brews of coffee. The only thing lacking was
genuine maple syrup. Everything else we tried was so good Maeve and
I decided we could forgive the hotel for that.

After breakfast we returned to our room to
repack our bags, check that we had our passports and plane tickets
handy, and go over our flight itinerary. Then Maeve looked at me
and asked, “What do you want to do until it’s time to leave for the
airport?”

My grin and the look in my eyes let her know
what I was thinking we could do to pass the time.

“
Michael,” Maeve said, trying to
sound scandalized. But she walked over, put her arms around my
waist, and pulled me toward the bed.

We barely made it to checkout at eleven. I
called the concierge from the room before we headed to the
elevator, and she had a cab waiting to whisk us to the
airport.

After checking our bags and getting our
boarding passes, we had time for a leisurely lunch.

“
Did you save room for dessert?”
our server, Stephanie, asked after clearing away our lunch
dishes.

I looked at Maeve, and said, “I don’t know
about you, but I’m going to try the marble cheesecake.”

After gnawing at her lower lip for a moment,
Maeve smiled and said, “We are on our honeymoon, after all. I’ll
have the chocolate mousse.”

We enjoyed our desserts and then spent the
rest of the time before our flight in front of the big plate-glass
windows watching the planes take off and land.

“
Airports are really cool places,
Mike,” Maeve commented. “They’re full of people coming and going to
all sorts of destinations around the world. There’s a sense of
adventure just being in an airport, don't you think? It’s all very
exciting.”

“
Whenever I see a plane take off I
wonder about the people on board,” I told her, gesturing towards a
Boeing 727 starting down the runway. “I try to imagine where
they're going and why, who they're leaving behind, and who they're
going to see. Will they find what they're after or come back
empty-handed, if they come back at all?”

The expression on Maeve's face told me she was
trying to imagine those things. Then her expression changed and she
turned to me. “What about the planes landing? What do they make you
think about?”

“
When I see a plane land, I think
about coming home. A landing plane always makes me think the people
on board are returning from somewhere even though I know many
probably aren’t from here. I don't know why I think that. That's
just how it feels.”

We lost track of time while watching all those
arrivals and departures, so we were caught by surprise when the
attendant at the gate called for our flight to start boarding.
Maeve and I grabbed our carry-on bags and got in line. The
attendant checked our boarding passes and passports, smiled
graciously, and wished us a pleasant flight.

We went out the door, down a flight of stairs,
across the tarmac, up the boarding ladder, and into the plane. Our
adventure had begun in earnest, and a few minutes later, as the
pilot revved the engines and we started to taxi toward the runway
threshold, we were truly on our way.

We changed planes at JFK and boarded our
flight for Madrid. Eight hours later we landed in Spain. One last
hop and we were in Gibraltar. We'd spent eleven hours on one plane
or another and four more hours waiting around airports for
flights.

Maeve and I were exhausted. Our bodies thought
it was morning when in fact it was lunch time where we
were.

“
I think we should grab a bite to
eat and then check into our hotel for a nap,” Maeve suggested. I
heartily agreed.

There was a quaint little bistro near our
hotel, so we stopped there for some lunch before settling into our
room for a nap. After waking up only long enough to enjoy dinner in
the hotel's restaurant, we went back to our room and slept off the
lingering effects of our flight.

A night of rest left us in good spirits as
Maeve and I headed for the marina the next day. We boarded our
chartered forty-one-foot sailboat and spent a day on the bay
learning her ins and outs. The next morning just after sunup, fully
provisioned and provided with the charts and paperwork we would
need for our voyage, we left port. It was June 27.

We docked the first night at a marina near
Sabinillas. Not wanting to miss the experience of Sabinillas’
Friday Street Market, we’d arranged our sailing schedule to allow
for a couple of days there. Sabinillas had a wonderful small-town
feel, and we were tempted to stay longer, but the sea beckoned us
onward.

Our second port of call was Marbella. Marbella
was quite a change from the quiet little town of Sabinillas. After
enjoying the sites and nightlife in Marbella, we sailed on to
Fuengirola. In Fuengirola we enjoyed a visit to the zoo and Sohail
Castle.

At our third port of call, Malaga, we finally
spent a few nights away from the boat. Leaving the boat in Malaga,
Maeve and I traveled inland about fifteen miles, or twenty-five
kilometers to be metric about it, to a horse-riding resort in
Alora, where we spent a few days riding the beautiful hills of
Andalusia. The cabin we stayed in was somewhat austere but
comfortable.

“
They remind me of the cabins at a
KOA campground back home,” Maeve commented.

The horses were not Andalusian stallions.
Instead I rode an Anglo-Arabian gelding while Maeve's mount was a
Thoroughbred mare. We spent a couple of days working with the
horses before going on an overnight trail ride into the
highlands.

Around the campfire that night Maeve confessed
to me. “Michael, you know I love sailing with you but, really, I
think this has been my favorite part of our trip.”

As much as I loved sailing, I had to admit it
was pretty nice being off in the wilds of central Spain, camping
out with my true love.

“
I never knew you were so into
horseback riding,” I told Maeve.

“
I used to ride a lot when I was
younger. My Aunt Nancy, my mother’s sister, paid for me to take
riding lessons at day camp before I started going to Camp
Riversail.”

She leaned back and put her head on my
shoulder. Looking up into the night sky, she said, “There are so
many stars out tonight. Isn't it beautiful?”

I joined her in admiring the stars and with a
slight twinge realized I couldn't recognize Star Jillian in that
Spanish night sky.

“
It is beautiful. For some reason
I never thought European skies could be so dark and
clear.”

Maeve laughed. “Out here we're miles from any
city lights. It's almost like being out in the middle of the sound
at night. The stars shine through in all their glory.”

Our ride the next day took us through some
beautiful country. All too soon it seemed our days on horseback
came to a close and we were in a taxi on our way back to
Malaga.

Leaving Malaga, after restocking our
provisions, we sailed the longest single stretch of our voyage to
date, reaching Almunecar just as dusk was falling. It was a little
tricky picking up the mooring buoy, but we made it on the second
try, thanks to some helpful advice from a neighboring boat.
Thanking him profusely for his help, we made fast and then invited
him and his mate to come over for a visit.