Safe Harbor by Luanne Rice Page B

sister—and mother—must be suffering. But Augusta had encountered sudden death herself, and she knew that isolation must sooner or later be broken. “If she needs time and space, you should let her have it. But listen to me, Sam: not too much time, and not too much space.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    â€œTake that walk. See where it brings you, and see whom you see.”
    â€œYou mean walk to Hubbard’s Point?”
    Augusta nodded. “Whether you actually talk to her tonight is beside the point. Gestures matter, Sam. Leave your footsteps in the sand, and you just might set something into motion.”
    â€œThat sounds far too wise to ignore.”
    â€œI’m thrilled you see it that way,” Augusta said, smiling. “Would you make sure you repeat your impression to my daughters? I’d like them to know a Yale professor considers me wise.”
    Laughing, Sam kissed her forehead and took the long flight of stone steps down to the beach.
    Â 
    T HE GIRLS WERE QUIET . They were lying on separate sofas on opposite sides of the living room while a sea breeze blew through the open windows and twilight left silver and rust-red tracks on the Sound’s surface. Dana sat in a chair, sketch pad on her lap, looking at the beach.
    A few people were having a late swim. The ice cream man was parked in the sandy lot, waiting for the after-dinner strollers. A lobster boat plied the buoy-dotted bay, pulling pots. Dana breathed slowly, remembering her and Lily’s lobster business. They had borrowed their father’s dory, taken out a fifteen-pot recreational license, and become lobsterwomen for the summer.
    The memory made her smile, and then, because it was so happy, made her skin tingle. Everything brought back thoughts of Lily. When she looked at the ice cream truck, she remembered Lily’s favorite flavor: toasted almond. When she saw the lobster boat, she could see her sister grinning, holding a lobster in either hand, heard her laughingly call them messengers from the mermaids.
    There, at the end of the beach, she saw a figure coming down the path from Little Beach. Dark and shadowy from the distance, she imagined it might be Lily herself. Coming home to see her, to get her, to take her back to the sea. But the person wasn’t Lily at all; it was Sam.
    Without taking her eyes off him, Dana reached for the binoculars. The eyepieces pressed to her face, she swept the beach. There he was; the glasses wavered as she got him in sight. He came down the steep trail between the scrub oaks and salt pines. His footing sure, he ambled from the path onto the sand.
    She saw that he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, looking more casual than he had at the gallery. His arms were tan and strong, and she wondered what an oceanographer could possibly have to lift to give him such muscles. Observing him at this distance, knowing he couldn’t see her, her heart sped up.
    Sam Trevor was a very handsome man. His hair glinted in the late-day light, as gold as the grass that grew in the marsh. He walked slowly, looking over the water. What was he thinking? she wondered. Had he walked all the way from Firefly Beach?
    The idea seemed dangerous and passionate. Although the walk wasn’t very long—no more than two or three miles—it was fairly arduous. Dana could picture the rocky promontories he had crossed, the tidal bight—rushing from the swale into the Sound—that he must have jumped.
    What was he doing now? Standing still, he turned away from the water to look up the hill. He was staring straight at her house. Ducking slightly in the chair, Dana pushed herself back from the window.
    His arms were out, as if he wanted to give her something. Her heart pounding, she tried to imagine what it was. She felt so upset by being there, so broken by Lily’s death, she knew she should accept any gift sent her way. Still watching Sam with the glasses, she saw him bend down, pick