hot fantasy of those long dark fingers, which could have belonged to a pianist, playing over her flesh, Savannah had to remind herself to breathe.
“They single-handedly turned an entire bed of perennials into annuals.”
Their shared laughter lightened the mood that had been threatening to turn gloomy. Dan exhaled another brief sigh, then, squaring his shoulders, slid the document across the desk toward her.
“You need to initial here”—he pointed toward the line accentuated with a flourescent red Post-it flag—“and here.” He tapped the pen point on another line on the second page, then flipped to the last page. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Undaunted by the herculean task ahead of her, Savannah ignored his warning.
This morning, when she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, fretting over a proposed construction schedule that dragged into late fall, her grandmother had briskly pointed out in her no-nonsense way that “even Rome wasn’t burned in a day.”
The Ida-mangled advice had reminded Savannah of what she’d suspected when she’d packed up her belongings and walked away from her former comfortable California existence. Rebuilding an entire life from scratch would undoubtedly not be easy.
Knowing she’d suffer setbacks, she wrote her name with a flourish on the final page of the contract to purchase the Far Harbor lighthouse, and for the first time in a very long while, Savannah felt blissfully, incredibly happy.
5
T he Far Harbor lighthouse was draped in a soft haze. A cool curtain of fog hung low over the water, and the dense grove of Douglas fir and western hemlock behind the lighthouse loomed dark and mysterious. The dawn sky had been streaked with crimson, predicting that by afternoon thunderstorms would be rumbling their way from the sea over the mountaintops, creating rain that would hit the water like bullets. Winds would stir up whitecaps, and stuttering trees of white lightning would flash across the blackened sky. Living amidst so much nature might not be for the faint of heart, but Dan found it invigorating.
As his running shoes pounded on the wet sand near the water’s edge, he thought, not for the first time, how ironic it was that after so many years spent plotting his escape from Coldwater Cove, here he was, back home again, right where he’d started.
He dodged a green tangle of kelp that had ridden onto the pearl gray beach on a surge of tide and decided that Savannah Townsend’s recent arrival back in town was additional proof that life tended to have more jigs and jogs than the narrow roads twisting through the jagged Northwest mountains.
The too-early deaths of his sister and brother-in-law had been, hands down, the worst event of his life. But there’d been no time for self-pity as he’d sat vigil beside John’s hospital bed, praying for him to regain consciousness—which, thank God, he had.
During his nephew’s long recuperation, Dan’s attention had been focused on getting John back on his feet. But other events forced him to face the fact that his wife didn’t possess the same deep-seated sense of family that he’d been moderately surprised to discover guided his own life.
His first clue had been when Amanda had refused to even visit him in Coldwater Cove, claiming that social obligations and her part-time career as an interior designer to the mega-wealthy made it impossible for her to leave San Francisco for any extended period of time.
By the time the divorce papers had arrived, he’d taken a long hard look at a marriage that should have been declared dead at the altar and vaguely wondered why Amanda had waited so long. As soon as John was back on his feet and had returned to school, Dan had thrown his energies into establishing a new law practice.
The tide ebbed, leaving behind a sparkling trail of diaphanous sea foam. He pounded up the stone steps leading from the beach and compared the morning solitude with San Francisco’s vibrant pulse.
“They single-handedly turned an entire bed of perennials into annuals.”
Their shared laughter lightened the mood that had been threatening to turn gloomy. Dan exhaled another brief sigh, then, squaring his shoulders, slid the document across the desk toward her.
“You need to initial here”—he pointed toward the line accentuated with a flourescent red Post-it flag—“and here.” He tapped the pen point on another line on the second page, then flipped to the last page. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Undaunted by the herculean task ahead of her, Savannah ignored his warning.
This morning, when she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, fretting over a proposed construction schedule that dragged into late fall, her grandmother had briskly pointed out in her no-nonsense way that “even Rome wasn’t burned in a day.”
The Ida-mangled advice had reminded Savannah of what she’d suspected when she’d packed up her belongings and walked away from her former comfortable California existence. Rebuilding an entire life from scratch would undoubtedly not be easy.
Knowing she’d suffer setbacks, she wrote her name with a flourish on the final page of the contract to purchase the Far Harbor lighthouse, and for the first time in a very long while, Savannah felt blissfully, incredibly happy.
5
T he Far Harbor lighthouse was draped in a soft haze. A cool curtain of fog hung low over the water, and the dense grove of Douglas fir and western hemlock behind the lighthouse loomed dark and mysterious. The dawn sky had been streaked with crimson, predicting that by afternoon thunderstorms would be rumbling their way from the sea over the mountaintops, creating rain that would hit the water like bullets. Winds would stir up whitecaps, and stuttering trees of white lightning would flash across the blackened sky. Living amidst so much nature might not be for the faint of heart, but Dan found it invigorating.
As his running shoes pounded on the wet sand near the water’s edge, he thought, not for the first time, how ironic it was that after so many years spent plotting his escape from Coldwater Cove, here he was, back home again, right where he’d started.
He dodged a green tangle of kelp that had ridden onto the pearl gray beach on a surge of tide and decided that Savannah Townsend’s recent arrival back in town was additional proof that life tended to have more jigs and jogs than the narrow roads twisting through the jagged Northwest mountains.
The too-early deaths of his sister and brother-in-law had been, hands down, the worst event of his life. But there’d been no time for self-pity as he’d sat vigil beside John’s hospital bed, praying for him to regain consciousness—which, thank God, he had.
During his nephew’s long recuperation, Dan’s attention had been focused on getting John back on his feet. But other events forced him to face the fact that his wife didn’t possess the same deep-seated sense of family that he’d been moderately surprised to discover guided his own life.
His first clue had been when Amanda had refused to even visit him in Coldwater Cove, claiming that social obligations and her part-time career as an interior designer to the mega-wealthy made it impossible for her to leave San Francisco for any extended period of time.
By the time the divorce papers had arrived, he’d taken a long hard look at a marriage that should have been declared dead at the altar and vaguely wondered why Amanda had waited so long. As soon as John was back on his feet and had returned to school, Dan had thrown his energies into establishing a new law practice.
The tide ebbed, leaving behind a sparkling trail of diaphanous sea foam. He pounded up the stone steps leading from the beach and compared the morning solitude with San Francisco’s vibrant pulse.
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