Miracle (12 page)

“Oh my God, Quinn, she's incredible.” Seen from where she sat in dry dock, as Maggie looked up at her, she looked more like an ocean liner than a sailboat. The boat Quinn was building was huge. They rode hydraulic lifts to get on board, and Maggie was amazed at how far the interior work had gone, and it reminded her once again of how soon Quinn would leave. But she wasn't thinking of that now, she was sharing in the joy of the boat with him. He looked proud to see her so impressed. He hadn't dared to hope for a reaction as positive as this. Maggie exhibited pure, unadulterated pleasure on his behalf, and enormous admiration for him. It was a huge undertaking, and she delighted in it for him.

They spent the afternoon at the boatyard with Tem Hakker and his sons, and Quinn went over some more drawings with them. They looked forward to his visits to walk around the boat with him, and suggest improvements in the most recent plans.

Quinn and Maggie had dinner in the hotel that night, and went back to the yard at the crack of dawn the next morning. She got up early with him, and enjoyed the sights she saw on the way back to the boatyard. She was immensely grateful that Quinn had invited her to come with him. She knew that his sharing that with her was his way of demonstrating to her how much she meant to him. His excitement was tangible as he walked the boat with the Hakkers again. Maggie followed them quietly, listening to their suggestions and Quinn's. And she was amazed once again at the caliber of the work they had done.

The main saloon was wood paneled, as were all the cabins, Quinn's stateroom looked palatial to her, and all of the bathrooms were done in the finest Italian marble. And of course, the decks were teak. They were still working on the superstructure. She was going to be painted dark blue, and the superstructure was silver. He had thought of a hundred names for her, and had just settled on
Vol de Nuit
, after a book by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, which Quinn had loved since his youth. It meant night flight, which suited the sleek look of the boat, and the purposes he intended her for. Maggie could easily imagine him sailing through the night from one exotic place to another, on his solitary adventures, much like a pilot in a night sky, beneath the stars, feeling at one with his maker. Even the color of the boat reminded her of a night sky, and the silver of the stars within it. Her name had been a long time coming. And when they left that afternoon, all of the Hakkers' most pressing questions had been answered.

They picked up their things at the hotel in the late afternoon, and got to the airport just in time to catch a plane to Paris. They had talked about spending a day in Paris but decided against it. Maggie was content with having seen the boat, which was what they had come for. They spent an hour at Charles De Gaulle, and then boarded a night flight to San Francisco. And because of the time difference, they were due to arrive in San Francisco at midnight. It had been a short trip, but a meaningful one for both of them. As they settled back in their seats, she looked at him with a long, slow smile of gratitude and kissed him.

“What was that for?” he asked, looking pleased. She had been a wonderful companion on the trip.

“For taking me to see your baby,” she said, looking happy. “She's even more beautiful than I thought she'd be.” She had even seen samples of his bed and table linens, flatware, crystal, and china. Everything he had chosen for the boat was exquisite. She was far more spectacular than she would have been if she'd been completed by Bob Ramsay. Quinn's taste and eye were absolutely flawless.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Quinn said graciously, as he settled down in his seat, content next to Maggie. He had enjoyed sharing the boat with her. He had never known another woman with an equal passion for sailboats. And even he had to admit, this one was special. There wasn't another boat like her. It meant a lot to him that Maggie understood that.
Vol de Nuit
was going to be a yacht that no one forgot once they'd seen her. He would have loved to share her with Jane, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that she would not have appreciated or enjoyed her as much as Maggie. Sailboats had never been Jane's passion. In fact, if she'd been alive, he knew he would never have bought her. Particularly after they lost Doug, Jane had wanted nothing to do with sailboats. But she hadn't liked them even before that. It was something one was either born with or wasn't. It was rarely an acquired passion. And as it was in Quinn's, Maggie's love for boats was in her bloodstream.

They each selected movies to watch on their individual screens, and ordered dinner. They chatted quietly while they ate, about the details of the boat, and afterward, Maggie put her seat back and watched the movie till she fell asleep. Quinn looked over and saw her dozing next to him, and with a smile, he gently covered her with a blanket. It had been a whirlwind trip, and he'd accomplished a great deal, but more than that, he had come to know Maggie even better. Not just her love for boats, or understanding of the fine details of the project, what he had discovered was something far more important, and deeper. He had found the true generosity of her spirit, in being able to rejoice for him, and celebrate his accomplishment, knowing full well that the boat she'd seen was what would ultimately take him from her. She had faced her rival squarely, saluted and admired her, and was prepared to move away gracefully when he left her. It was the one thing Quinn had never found in any woman, not even Jane, and it was what made him realize now that he loved Maggie.

10

T
HE PLANE FROM
P
ARIS ARRIVED IN
S
AN
F
RANCISCO
slightly delayed, at one o'clock in the morning. Maggie had been asleep for most of the night, and was rested when Quinn woke her just before they landed. He had filled her customs card out for her, and handed it to her, as she smiled sleepily at him. She was sorry to be home again, and wished they had decided to spend a night in Paris. The trip seemed like a dream now. But she also knew that Quinn was busy. He had much to do before his move, and he wanted to close Jane's estate by September, which was no small project, and Maggie knew that. She followed Quinn's timetable, and was just glad he had taken her to see his sailboat.

They went through customs rapidly at that hour, and took a cab to the city. They were halfway there when he looked at her. They had no reason to go home that night, and suddenly he didn't want to. He liked sleeping next to her, and he was still reluctant to spend a night with her in either of their houses. His own still felt like Jane's house, and he realized it would until he left it.

“Would you like to sleep on the
Molly B
tonight?” he asked with a smile as he put an arm around her, and she nodded. She hadn't wanted to sleep alone that night either. She was growing accustomed to him, and missed him on the nights they didn't spend together. But she also knew that she would have to get used to it eventually. No matter how much she loved sleeping with him, and being with him, and making love with him, he would be gone soon.

“I'd love it,” she said happily. She knew she would forever remember the months they were spending on the
Molly B
together.

“We can take a sail in the morning. I don't have to meet my attorney till four-thirty.”

The boat was locked up tight when they arrived, but Quinn had the key for the doors and the alarm. The crew were on board, but they were undoubtedly sleeping. The first mate was on watch as they came in, and he carried their bags to Quinn's cabin, and offered them something to eat, but neither of them was hungry.

They both took showers and went to bed, and as soon as they did, Maggie nestled close to him, and he put an arm around her.

“Thank you for a wonderful trip,” she whispered to him. “I think you and
Vol de Nuit
are going to be very happy with each other.”

He wanted to tell her then how much her generosity of spirit meant to him, but for some reason, he didn't. He didn't know what to say to her. He knew now that he was in love with her, but it didn't change anything for him, and he didn't want to foster false hopes or illusions. He was afraid if he told her how he felt, she would think that he might stay, or return for her, and he knew he couldn't. He felt he owed it to Jane somehow to be alone, to venture on with his solitary travels. After all he had done, and failed to do in his life, he knew he did not deserve to spend the rest of his life with Maggie. She was young enough to find someone else, have a wholesome life, and forget him.

And he had never said it to her, but it concerned him that he was twenty years older than she was. She was young enough to be his daughter, which seemed ridiculous to him. He never felt their age difference, but he had had his life, his children, his career, his marriage, and now he felt he had to atone for his sins. Indulging himself with a woman two-thirds his age, and dragging her around the world with him seemed as selfish as what he had done to Jane, and the egocentric life he had led, for which Alex could not forgive him. He knew he was doing the right thing in setting Maggie free when he left, and promising her nothing. If anything, he was going to urge her to forget him. His mind was full of thoughts of her, his heart eased with the warmth of her next to him, but he said nothing to her.

He was already up and dressed when she awoke the next morning. They had left the dock at eight o'clock, and the
Molly B
was already sailing. It was a bright June day, and as Maggie got up, it was odd to realize that she had woken up in Amsterdam the previous morning. She smiled to herself, thinking of it, like a delicious dream, and went to join Quinn on deck in her robe and nightgown.

“Good lord, what time is it? Where am I?” she asked as she squinted at him in the sunshine. Her tousled hair cascaded down her back, just the way he liked it. She looked scarcely older than his daughter, and wasn't. There were only eight years between Maggie and Alex, but Maggie seemed an entire generation older. She had suffered a great deal in her lifetime, particularly in recent years, which made her seem far more mature, and a great deal wiser, and more compassionate certainly, than his daughter.

“It's ten o'clock. This is San Francisco Bay, you'll notice the Golden Gate straight ahead, and I'm Quinn Thompson,” he teased her.

“Hello. I'm Maggie Dartman.” She played the game with him. “Didn't I meet you in Amsterdam? You're the owner of that fabulous yacht,
Vol de Nuit
.… or was I dreaming?” It all seemed like a dream now, but it wasn't.

“You must have been dreaming,” he assured her. The stewardess asked Maggie what she'd like for breakfast, and Maggie smiled at how spoiled she was getting. She turned to Quinn with a grin. “To think, I used to eat Hostess Twinkies and leftover hot dogs for breakfast.”

“Don't ever invite me over for breakfast. I'll stick to dinner.” He grinned at her.

“Good decision,” she said, as the stewardess handed her a cappuccino just the way she liked it. The crew of the
Molly B
were terrific. It was going to be tough getting used to real life again, when Quinn was gone. Because of the man, not the breakfast.

Quinn had already begun hiring his crew for
Vol de Nuit
. One was Italian, two were French, and the other seven crew members were British. He had hired John Barclay's captain from the
Victory
, after a letter he had received from him in April, asking if there might be a position for him. He had been following
Vol de Nuit
's progress with interest. Quinn had offered him the job as captain by return fax, and followed it up with a phone call. The man's name was Sean Mackenzie, and he was arriving in Amsterdam with the rest of the crew just before the sea trials in September. They were on schedule so far.

Maggie sat next to Quinn at the helm of the
Molly B
for the rest of the afternoon, and they got back to the dock at three o'clock, in time for Quinn to meet with his attorney. And before they left the boat, they agreed to spend the night on her again that evening. Both the boat and the man were becoming a dangerous habit for Maggie. The more time she spent with him, the harder it would be to see him leave in the beginning of October. He was coming back to San Francisco one last time after the sea trials, and then, she knew, it would be over. But she wouldn't allow herself to think of it, she had promised him that when he left, she would let him go without a murmur, and she had every intention of keeping her promise, no matter how hard for her, or how painful his absence. He was a gift that had come into her life unexpectedly, and when the gift was taken from her, as she knew it would be, she was going to be both gracious and graceful about it. It was all Quinn had ever asked of her, and she owed him that, or felt she did. It seemed to be her destiny to lose those she loved, to let them leave her life, no matter how costly to her.

“Are you all right?” Quinn asked her quietly, as one of the crew members drove them home, and she nodded. “You're very quiet.” He had sensed something in her silence, and he wasn't wrong, but she had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him about his departure.

“Just jet-lagged,” she said, smiling. “How about you?”

“I'm fine.” He was still ecstatic over his visit to
Vol de Nuit
, and invigorated by it. “I wish I didn't have to meet with the attorney. I should be home by seven.” They had left their bags on the boat, so she had nothing to unpack, and little to do until he came back to get her. Her life was very simple now, although she knew it would be busier once she went back to teaching in September. She was going back to work around the same time he left for the sea trials.

Jack was at the house when Quinn walked in, just finishing some work in the kitchen, and when he saw Quinn, he looked mournful.

“Something wrong?” Quinn asked with a worried frown, and Jack shook his head. He looked awful.

“I just finished.”

“Finished what?” Quinn asked, looking for his briefcase with the legal folders in it.