Within Reach (8 page)

He shot her a fast glance. “It’s business. You should know that. What does Bill say when you ask him?”

“I never ask. With him, it’s a way of life. From the earliest I can remember, he was going to political functions of one sort or another, and Mom accepts them, trouper that she is. You, well, I guess I didn’t expect you’d become so involved.”

“I was involved when you met me. Then I was raising money for Bill.”

“For the longest time I wondered about that. After all, you were a resident of Massachusetts while Dad was the senator from Connecticut.”

“Bill was a friend. I also happened to approve of his stands in the Senate, especially those affecting big business.”

“You were buying an insurance policy.”

His lips twitched at her subtle sarcasm. “It’s done every day of the week. In Bill’s case, it was easy. I liked him personally. And I liked you. With Claveling, it’s business all the way.”

They drove on for a while in silence before Danica spoke again. “If Claveling is elected, what will it mean to you?”

Blake’s answer was on the tip of his tongue, suggesting where his own thoughts had been. “Import quotas. Favorable trade agreements. Tax benefits. Who knows, maybe a cabinet appointment.”

She saw his grin when she darted a look his way. “Fun-ny,” she murmured, and relaxed back in her seat as the Mercedes crossed the Piscataqua River and entered Maine.

In her very biased opinion, the house was stupendous. Since Blake had insisted she let the decorator supervise all the furniture deliveries—and since she had been unable to get away to do so herself—she was seeing the finished product for the first time alongside Blake.

He seemed to approve, though whether he was simply indulging her she wasn’t sure. He walked from room to room, hands buried deep in the pockets of his slacks, and nodded from time to time.

“Well?” she finally asked. Her own excitement was tempered only by the suspense of not knowing what he thought.

“It’s very nice.”

He said the words without passion. Her shoulders sagged. “You don’t like it,” she murmured.

“I do. It’s perfect. You’ve done a wonderful job, Pook.” He gave her a broad smile, then turned. “I’ll get the bags.”

Very diligently, given the fact that they had only brought clothes for two days, and strictly casual ones at that, Blake unpacked while Danica went through the house a second, then a third time. Determinedly overlooking her husband’s apparent indifference, she enthusiastically examined every piece of furniture that had been delivered. It was the antithesis of the Beacon Hill town house, which, in keeping with its structure, had been decorated in a more classical style. Here, newly installed skylights illumined modular sofa clusters, low swirling coffee tables, custom-made wall units. The feeling was one of openness and lack of clutter and was precisely what Danica had wanted.

Blake returned from the bedroom to wander around the living room. He didn’t touch anything, simply wandered.

She rubbed her hands together. “What would you like to do?”

He shrugged and looked toward the deck. “Walk out there.”

He stood on the deck for no less than ten minutes, staring in the direction of the waves. When Danica had grown tired of waiting, she came to stand several feet from him. “Pretty, isn’t it,” she offered with a smile, hoping to get him talking. She hated the lengthy silences that so often existed between them, because she could never tell what he was thinking. His face was always composed, his manner as unruffled as his hair. But she knew that he
felt
, that he
thought
. What she didn’t know was why he couldn’t share those thoughts and feelings with her.

This day, this setting, apparently was going to make no difference. He simply nodded.

“It’s been interesting watching the changes since I’ve been here,” she went on, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible when in fact she was forcing conversation. Normally she would have been perfectly happy just to quietly appreciate the scene. Somehow now, beside Blake, she felt impelled to chatter. “When I came up in March, it was really cold. The ocean was a mass of whitecaps. You couldn’t smell much of anything because your nose was frozen. Then last month it was warmer. The air was moist and the wind didn’t bowl you over.” She inhaled deeply. “This is nice, though. May. You can smell the beach grass, feel the sun.” Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and basked, momentarily forgetting Blake’s presence until he made it known.

“You said something about wanting to pick up paintings?”

Righting her head, she looked at him. “By local artists. Maybe a sculpture or two, also.”

“Why don’t we go now? I want to explore the streets and plot out a route to run.”

“You’re going to run up here? I kind of thought you’d take a break from all that.” When he shook his head, she felt another tiny bit of hope die. “I suppose it would be nice for you to run along the shore,” she rationalized, then sighed and forced a smile. “I’ll get my purse.”

They spent the next few hours idling through shops, looking unsuccessfully for artwork, then lunching at Cape Porpoise, buying groceries at the market, driving round and about the local streets while Blake calculated the best eight-mile route for him to run. In theory, it was an easygoing afternoon, just the two of them doing things together as Danica had dreamed.

In fact, it was a letdown.

To Danica, who was ever watchful, Blake seemed uncomfortable. It was as though he felt out of place, which she couldn’t understand since Kennebunkport was sophisticated, certainly enough to satisfy his tastes. But he kept looking around, restless, as if waiting for someone to talk to. Evidently Danica wasn’t that someone, for he seemed disinclined to carry on more than the most superficial conversation with her.

Between her watchfulness and those attempts at conversation, she felt drained by the time they returned to the house. Once there, things were no better. Blake wandered around like a lost soul, looking more frustrated than pensive, more awkward than unsure. She was half relieved when he disappeared into the den with the briefcase he had smuggled into the house. When she peeked in on him an hour later, he was talking on the phone and looking happy for the first time all day.

Busying herself in the kitchen, Danica studied the cookbooks she had brought, then painstakingly prepared a meal she felt sure would impress him. Indeed, he complimented her when he finally emerged for dinner, but no sooner had she brewed his coffee than he escaped back into the den, leaving her alone with her tea and her thoughts.

She lifted the tea bag tag. “Love is the magic that makes one and one far more than two,” she read silently, dropped the tag and wondered what had gone wrong. She and Blake were very definitely two. No more, no less. Two individuals, wanting, it appeared, increasingly different things in life.

She went to sleep thinking about that, awoke early the next morning thinking of it. Blake lay on his side of the large bed, his back to her, distant even in sleep. She wondered what time it had been when he’d come to bed, wondering if it had even occurred to him that she might be waiting. Not that she had been; by now she was used to being alone. Still, he was a man. Surely he thought of sex
once
in a while.

Studying his sleeping form, she reflected on the early days of their marriage. She had been attracted to Blake for his sureness, his social grace, his maturity. Sex had never held a high priority in their relationship, and she had never minded it. She had never seen herself as being a highly passionate person. In that, she and Blake seemed well matched. Still, she couldn’t help wondering whether he found her attractive. He rarely reached out for her, and even then she felt he did so more out of obligation than real need. Even now he looked untouchable.

The sound of a buzz jolted her from her thoughts. Blake stirred, pushed himself up on an elbow, reached over to turn off the travel alarm Danica hadn’t known he had brought. She had assumed they would sleep late, awaken leisurely, break the pattern that dominated their everyday lives.

Clearly, she had assumed too much, a point the events of that day drove home. Bounding from the bed, Blake put on his fashionable navy running suit and left the house. She had a big breakfast ready by the time he returned and showered, but he ate only the amount he apportioned himself every other morning of the week, so the bulk of her efforts went down the drain.

At her gentle request, they drove up the coast toward Boothbay Harbor, stopping along the way to browse in craft shops and galleries, purchasing a ceramic sculpture and several planters for the deck. Blake was agreeable, if otherwise passive. Again she felt he was merely indulging her whim rather than finding enjoyment in the day himself. Again he disappeared into the den when they returned, and again she felt vaguely relieved. She also felt discouraged, though, and, with a quick word to him, headed for the beach.

Feeling suddenly freer than she had since she arrived, she wandered over sand and pebbles, around fingers of rocks, heading almost by instinct for the boulders she and Michael had shared a month before.

Michael. His name sparked thoughts of relaxation and fun and excitement. Just thinking about him, she felt better. He was different, so different. And he was her friend.

“Yeo!”

She looked up and started to smile, then, without thinking, broke into a jog, coming to a halt not six feet from him. “Michael!”

He looked as roguish, as bold, as welcoming as ever. He wore an open-necked plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, a pair of jeans that had seen better days, sneakers in a like state, and he was smiling from ear to ear. With his hair lightly mussed and his jaw faintly shadowed, he had to be the most stimulating sight she had seen in days.

When he opened his arms, she ran forward, tightly clasping his neck while he swung her gently from side to side. He smelled clean and felt strong, and she reveled in his affection.

Finally, he set her back to study each of her features in turn. “You look great!” he said at last, then swooped down to give her another fast hug. “It’s good to see you, Danica.”

“And you,” she managed, breathless and flushed. “How are you?”

“Better now. I saw the car in the driveway last night and was wondering if I’d get a chance to see you.” It had been the Mercedes rather than the Audi. Her next words confirmed his suspicion.

“Blake’s up with me, but he’s doing some work, so I thought I’d come out for a walk.” She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

Neither could Michael. “I noticed that your furniture arrived.”

She laughed. “Lots of trucks lately?”

“Lots of trucks lately. How does it all look?”

“Great.”

“No more sleeping on the floor?”

“Nope.”

Michael was about to express his satisfaction until he realized that the arrival of beds meant she would have slept with Blake last night, and he didn’t care for that idea at all. Pushing it from mind, he reached for her hand. “Can you stay and talk for a while?”

She nodded and let herself be led to the same granite seat she had occupied last time, thinking that though there was many a higher spot, she felt on top of the world.

“I read your book,” she ventured shyly when they were perched on the rocks facing each other.

“You
did
?”

“Uh-huh. It was wonderful.”

“You must have gotten one of the first copies out.”

She laughed. “I pestered the manager of the bookstore so often that he called me the minute it came in. It was really good, Michael. Interesting and informative. Your writing style makes the reading fun.”

“You really think so?”

She could see that he was pleased because he was grinning and his voice was higher than usual. In response to his question she nodded, then asked several questions about the things she had read. Michael answered them enthusiastically, though, as quickly and comfortably as possible, he changed the subject.

“How have you been?” he asked more soberly.

His tone suggested that he knew there were things that bothered her, things that had been bothering her for a long time. She accepted his perceptivity without question. “All right.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he took the gentler course. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

She gave a shy smile and hesitated until his gentle prodding coaxed from her a cursory account of what she had done since she’d seen him last. When she finished, she looked off toward the waves.

“What is it?”

“Oh—” she darted him a glance and smiled self-consciously “—I feel silly telling you all this. Nothing I do is earth-shattering. I mean, it’s not as if I have a real profession.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You may not get paid for what you do, but you’re certainly performing a service that needs to be performed.”

She gave a dry laugh. “By going to luncheons?”

“By going to luncheon
meetings
, at which you plot out the futures of some very worthwhile institutions.”

“I’m one of many.”

“That doesn’t matter. Every voice counts. If no one took the time to do what you do, many a charitable institution would fall apart. Besides, you care, and that makes your voice all the more valuable.”

“Still, there are times when I wish I had a regular job.”

“Is it a matter of your own self-image?”

“Maybe, in part. Also because I’d like to be busy.”

“You’re bored.”

“Mmmm.” She threw up her hands. “It’s ridiculous. My days are filled with one thing or another and it’s not like I have time on my hands, but…but…”

“Your mind’s not occupied.”

She gave him a helpless look that confirmed what he’d said. “Maybe that’s why you can read it so easily. You do, you know.” Playfully she narrowed her gaze. “What am I thinking right now?”

He grinned. “You’re thinking that I’m a handsome devil who should have caught you before Blake Lindsay did.”

“Well, you are a handsome devil, that’s for sure.” Her gaze fell to his arm, propped straight on the rock. Golden hair dusted his skin, which in turn was stretched taut over the twist of firm muscle. “You are…” she began, but her words trailed off.