Chapter Eight
Standing on the bridge, a pair of binoculars clenched tightly in his hands, Brand stared at mile upon mile of open sea. The horizon was marked by an endless expanse of blue, cloudless sky. The wind was brisk, carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. Taking in deep breaths, Brand dragged several lungfuls of the fresh air through his chest.
This was his second week sailing the waters of the Pacific. Generally Brand relished sea duty. There was a special part of his soul that found solace while at sea. He felt removed from the frantic activity of life on the land, set apart in a time and place for reconciliation with himself and his world.
Brand was grateful for sea duty, especially now, with the way matters had worked out with Erin. These next few months would give him the necessary time to heal.
Erin was out of his life. But he still loved her. He probably always would feel something very special for her. He’d analyzed his feelings a thousand times, hoping to gain perspective. He’d discovered that the depth, the strength, of his love wasn’t logical or even reasonable. She’d made her views plain from the day they met, yet he’d egotistically disregarded everything she’d claimed and fallen for her anyway. Now he had to work like hell to get her out of his mind.
She’d flatly turned down his proposal of marriage. At first, after he’d asked her on bended knee, she’d tried to make light of it, claiming it was the liquor talking. Brand had assured her otherwise. He loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted her to be the mother of his children and to grow old with him. She’d gotten serious then and started to weep softly. At least Brand chose to believe those were tears, although Erin had tried hard to make him believe she was actually laughing at the implausibility of them ever finding happiness together.
She claimed his proposal was a last-ditch effort on his part, and on that account Erin might have been right. The fear of losing her had consumed him from the moment he’d received his orders. Rightly so, as it had worked out.
So Erin was out of his life. He’d given it his best shot, been willing to do almost anything to keep her, but it hadn’t worked. In retrospect, he could be pragmatic about their relationship. It was time to move on. Heal. Grow. Internalize what he’d learned from loving her.
One thing was sure. Brand wasn’t going to fall in love again any time soon. It hurt too damn much.
The breeze picked up, and the wind whipped around his face. He squinted into the sun, more determined than ever to set Erin from his mind.
* * *
Erin’s philosophy in life was relatively simple. Take one day at a time and treat others as she expected to be treated herself. The part about not dating anyone in the military and not overcharging her credit cards was an uncomplicated down-to-earth approach to knowing herself.
Then why had she bought a grand piano?
Erin had asked herself that question ten times over the past several days. She’d been innocently walking through the mall one Saturday afternoon, browsing. She certainly hadn’t intended to make a major purchase. Innocently she’d happened into a music store, looking for a cassette tape by one of her favorite artists, and paused in front of the polished mahogany piano.
There must have been something about her that caught the salesman’s attention, because he’d sauntered over and casually asked her if she played.
Erin didn’t, but she’d always wanted to learn. From that point until the moment the piano was scheduled to be delivered to the house, Erin had repeatedly asked herself what she was doing purchasing an ultraexpensive grand piano.
“How many credit cards did it take?” Aimee had asked her, aghast, when she heard what Erin had done.
“Three. I’d purposely kept the amount I could borrow low on all my cards. I never dreamed I’d spend that much money at one time.”
Running her hand over the keyboard, Aimee slowly shook her head. “It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.”
“The salesman gave me the name of a lady who teaches piano lessons, and before you know it I’ll be another Van Cliburn.” Erin forced a note of enthusiasm into her voice, but it fell short of any real excitement.
“That sounds great.” Aimee’s own level of zeal was decidedly low.
In retrospect, Erin understood why she’d done something so crazy as to buy an expensive musical instrument on her credit cards. The two men who’d delivered the piano had explained it to her without even knowing her psychological makeup.
“I hope you don’t intend to move for a long time, lady,” the short, round-faced man had said once they’d maneuvered the piano up her front steps.
Getting the piano into the house had been even more of a problem. Her living room was compact as it was, and the deliverymen had been forced to remove the desk and rearrange the furniture before they found space enough for the overly large piano.
“If you do decide to move, I’d include the piano in the sale of the house,” the second man had said to her as he used his kerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. His face had been red, and his face had glistened with perspiration.
“I don’t plan on moving,” she’d been quick to assure them both.
“It’s a damn good thing,” the first had muttered on his way out the door.
“If you do plan on moving out of the area, don’t call us,” the second had joked.
Brand had been gone one month, and Erin had maxed out three credit cards with the purchase of one grand piano. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t have located middle C on the keyboard to save her soul. Nor did it concern her that she’d be making payments for three years at interest rates that made the local banks giddy with glee. What did matter, Erin discovered, was that she was making a statement to herself and to Brand.
She had no intention of ever leaving Seattle. And she certainly wasn’t going to allow a little thing like the United States Navy stand in the way of finding happiness. Not if it meant leaving the only roots she’d ever planted!
If Erin was actually in love with Brand—and that if was as tall as the Empire State Building—then she was going to force herself to fall out of love with him.
The piano was symbolic of that. Her first move had been to reject his marriage proposal. Her second had been to purchase the piano.
* * *
Friday night Erin and Aimee met at a Mexican restaurant and ordered nachos. They’d decided earlier in the day to make an effort to have fun, drown their sorrows in good Mexican beer, and if they happened to stumble across a couple of decent-looking men, then it wouldn’t hurt anyone if they were to flirt a little. For fun, Aimee had promised to give Erin lessons in attracting the opposite sex.
“We can have a good time without Steve and Brand,” she insisted.
“You’re absolutely right,” Erin agreed. But the two of them had looked and acted so forlorn that they’d had trouble attracting a waiter’s attention, let alone any good-looking, eligible men.
“You know what our problem is?” Aimee asked before stuffing a nacho in her mouth.
Erin couldn’t help being flippant. “Too many jalapeños and not enough cheese?”
Aimee was quick to reply. “No. We’re not trying hard enough. Then again, maybe we’re trying too hard. I’m out of touch…I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.”
For her part, if Erin tried any harder, the bank was going to confiscate her credit cards. As it was, she was in debt up to her eyebrows for a piano she couldn’t play.
“We’re trying,” Erin insisted. She scanned the restaurant and frowned. It seemed every man there was sitting with a woman. Aimee was the one who claimed this place was great for meeting men, but then, her friend had been out of the singles’ world for over a decade. Apparently everyone who’d met there had married and returned as couples.
“Oh, my—” Aimee gave a small cry and scooted down so far in the crescent-shaped booth that she nearly slid under the table.
“What is it?”
“Steve’s here.”
“Where?” Erin demanded, frantically looking around. She didn’t see him in any of the booths.
“He just walked in, and…he’s with a woman.”
Erin had never met Aimee’s husband, but she’d seen several pictures of him. She picked him out immediately. He was standing against the white stucco wall with a tall, thin blonde at his side. Tall and thin. Every woman’s nightmare.
“You can’t stay under the table the rest of the night,” Erin insisted in a low whisper. “Why should you? You don’t have anything to hide.”
A tense moment passed before Aimee righted herself. “You’re absolutely right. I’m not the one out with a floozy.” Riffling her fingers through her hair, Aimee squared her shoulders and nonchalantly reached for a nacho. She did a good job of masquerading her pain, but it was apparent, at least to Erin, that her friend was far more ruffled than she let on.
As luck would have it, Steve and his blonde strolled directly past their booth. Aimee stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her husband. Erin, however, glared at him with eyes hot enough to form glass figurines.
Steve, tall and muscular, glanced over his shoulder and nearly faltered when he saw Aimee. His gaze quickly moved to Erin, and although she could have been imagining it, Erin thought he looked relieved to discover that his wife wasn’t with a man.
His mouth opened, and he hesitated, apparently at a loss for words. After whispering something to his companion, he returned to Aimee and Erin’s table.
“Hello, Aimee.”
“Hello,” she answered calmly, smiling serenely in his direction. Erin nearly did a double take. Her co-worker had been hiding under the table only a few seconds earlier.
“I…You look well.”
“So do you. You remember me mentioning Erin MacNamera, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Steve briefly nodded in Erin’s direction, but it was clear he was far more interested in talking to his wife than in exchanging pleasantries with Erin. “I…thought I should explain about Danielle,” he said, rushing the words. “This isn’t actually a date, and—”
“Steve, please, you don’t owe me an explanation. Remember, you’re divorcing me. It doesn’t matter if you’re seeing someone else. Truly it doesn’t.”
“I thought you were the one divorcing me.”
“Are we going to squabble over every single detail? It seems a bit ridiculous, don’t you think? But technically I suppose you’re right. I am the one filing, so that does mean I am the one divorcing you.”
“I don’t want you to have the wrong impression about me and Danielle. We—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m dating again myself.”
“You are?” Steve asked the question before Erin could. He straightened and frowned before continuing. “I didn’t know…I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“It was no trouble.” Once more she leveled a serene smile at him, and then she intentionally looked away, casually dismissing him. Steve returned to the blond bombshell, and Erin stared curiously at Aimee.
“You’re dating yourself?” Erin muttered under her breath. “I never expected you’d lie.”
“I fully intend to date again,” Aimee countered sharply. “Someday. I’m just not ready for it yet, but I will be soon enough and—” Her voice faltered, and she bit mercilessly into her lower lip. “Actually, I’ve lost my appetite. Would you mind terribly if we called it an evening?”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Erin said, glaring heatedly at Steve, who was sitting several booths down from them. But when it came right down to it, Erin didn’t know who she was angriest with—Aimee, for pretending Steve didn’t have the power to hurt her any longer, or Steve, who appeared equally afraid to let his wife know how much he cared. As a casual observer, Erin had to resist the urge to slap the pair of them.
* * *
The dreams returned that night. The ones where Brand climbed into bed with Erin, slipping his arms around her and nestling close to her side. There was little that was sexual about these romantic encounters, although he kissed her several times and promised to make love to her soon.
Erin woke with tears in her eyes. She didn’t understand how a man who was several thousand miles away could make her feel so cherished and appreciated. Especially when she’d let it be known she didn’t want anything more to do with him.
It got so that Erin welcomed the nights, praying as she drifted off to sleep that Brand would come to her as he often did.
Reality returned each morning, but it didn’t seem to matter, because there were always the nights, and they were filled with such wonderful fantasies.
The letter from her father arrived a couple of weeks later.
“I received word from Brand,” her father wrote in his sharply slanted scrawl. “He claims there’s nothing between the two of you any longer and that’s the way you want it. He was frank enough to admit he loves you, but must abide by your wishes. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Brand Davis is more man than you’re likely to find in five lifetimes, and you refused his proposal? I feel I’m the one to blame for all this. I should have kept my nose out of your business. Your mother would have my hide if she knew I’d asked Brand to check up on you when he was in Seattle. To be honest, I was hoping the two of you would hit it off. If I were to handpick a husband for you, Erin, I couldn’t find a better man than Brand Davis. All right, I’m a meddling old man. Your mother’s right, who you date isn’t any of my damn business.
“You’re my daughter, Erin,” he continued, “and I’ll love you no matter what you decide to do in this life, but I’m telling you right now, lass, I’m downright disappointed in you.”
“I’ve disappointed you before, Dad, and I’m likely to do so again,” Erin said aloud when she’d finished the letter.
Tears smarted her eyes, but she managed to blink them back. Her father rarely spoke harshly to her, but it was apparent he’d thought long and hard about writing her this letter. It wasn’t what he’d said, Erin realized, but what he’d left unsaid, that cut so deep.
Feeling restless and melancholy, Erin went for a drive that afternoon. Before she knew it, she was halfway to Oregon. Taking a side route, she drove on a twisting, narrow road that led down the Washington coast.
For a long time she sat on the beach, facing the roaring sea. The breeze whipped her hair around her face and chilled her to the bone, yet she stayed, conscious every second that somewhere out in the vast stretch of water sailed Brand, the man she was dangerously close to loving. She could pretend otherwise, buy out every store in Seattle and act as foolish as Aimee and her husband, and it wouldn’t alter the fact that she loved Brand Davis.
Wrapping her arms around her bent legs, Erin rested her chin on her knees and mulled over her thoughts. The waves clamored and roared, putting up a fuss, before relinquishing and gently caressing the smooth, sandy shore. Again and again, in abject protest, the waves raged with fury and temper before ebbing. Then, tranquilly, like velvet-gloved fingers, the waves stroked the beach, leaving only a thin line of foam as a memory.
For hours, Erin sat watching the sea. In the end, before she headed back to Seattle, she hadn’t reached any conclusions. She was beginning to doubt her doubts and suffer second thoughts about her second thoughts. Why, oh, why did life have to be so complicated? And why did she find the grand piano an eyesore when she walked in her front door?
* * *
Brand found order in life at sea. Internally his world felt chaotic as he struggled with his feelings for Erin. Each day that passed he grew stronger, more confident in himself.
Gradually the routine of military life gave him a strong sense of order, something to hold on to while time progressed.
Admittedly, the first weeks were rough. He found himself short-tempered, impatient and generally bad company. He worked hard and fell into his bunk at night, too tired to dream. When he did, his nights were full of Erin.
Erin at the zoo. Erin standing in the doorway of her kitchen dressed in a sexless flannel nightgown. Erin with eyes dark enough to trap a man’s soul.
He had to forget her, get her out of his system, get on with his life.
“You still hung up on MacNamera’s daughter?” Brand’s friend Alex Romano demanded a couple of days before they were due to dock in Hong Kong.
“Not in the least,” Brand snapped, instantly regretting his short-fused temper. He smiled an apology. “Maybe I am,” he admitted with some reluctance.
Alex answered with a short laugh. “I never thought I’d see the great Brand Davis go soft over a woman. It warms my heart, if you want to know the truth.”
“Why’s that?” Brand wasn’t in the mood to play word games with his friend, but talking about Erin, even with someone who’d never met her, seemed to help. She’d dominated his thoughts for so long, he was beginning to question his own sanity.
“For one thing, it points out the fact you’re human like the rest of us. We’ve all had women problems one time or another. But never you. At least until now. Generally women fight between themselves to fall at your feet. Personally, I never could understand it, but then I’m not much of a ladies’ man.”
“Ginger will be glad to hear that.” Alex and Ginger had been married for ten years and had three toddlers. Brand was godfather to the oldest boy. Although Brand was sure Alex didn’t know it, in a lot of ways he was envious of his friend, of the happiness he’d found with Ginger, of the fact that there was someone waiting for him at the end of his sea duty. There was a lot to covet.
“So?” Alex pressed. “What you gonna do about MacNamera’s daughter?”
Brand expelled his breath in a slow, drawn-out exercise. He’d asked Erin to marry him, offered her his heart on a silver platter, and she’d turned him down. She hadn’t even needed time to think about it.
“Not a damn thing,” he answered flippantly.
“Oh, dear,” Alex said, and chuckled, apparently amused. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Maybe it was, only Brand was too stupid to admit it.
Hong Kong didn’t help. During three days of shore leave, all he could do was think of Erin. He sat in a bar, nursing a glass of good Irish whisky and thinking he should take up drinking something else, because Erin was Irish. Damn little good that would do. Everything reminded Brand of Erin. He walked through the crowded streets, and when a merchant proudly brought out a piece of silk, the only thing he could picture was Erin wearing a suit made in that precise color.
The sooner they returned to sea, the better it would be.
He was wrong.
They’d sailed out of Hong Kong when her letter arrived. Brand held it in his hand for a long moment before tucking it in his shirt pocket to read later. He felt almost light-headed by the time he made it to his cabin, where a little privacy was afforded him.
Sitting at the end of his berth, he reached for the envelope and carefully tore open the end before slipping the single sheet from inside.
Dear Brand:
I pray I’m doing the right thing by writing you. You’ve been gone several weeks now, and I thought, I hoped, I’d stop thinking about you.
What’s troubling me most is the way our last conversation went. I’m feeling terribly guilty about the way I behaved. I was heartless and unnecessarily cruel when I didn’t mean to be. Your proposal came as a shock. My only excuse is that it caught me unaware, and I didn’t know what to say or how to act and so I pretended it was all a big joke. I’ve regretted that countless times and can only ask your forgiveness.
I bought a grand piano. I’ve never had lessons and can barely play a single note. Everyone who knows me tells me I’m crazy. It wasn’t until after it was delivered that I realized why I’d done anything so foolish. It was an expensive but valuable lesson. I’m taking classes now on Saturday mornings. Me and about five preteens. I strongly suspect I’m older than my teacher, but frankly I haven’t gotten up enough gumption to ask. I don’t know if my ego could handle that.
The others seem to find me something of a weirdo. None of them would be there if their parents weren’t forcing them to take lessons. I, on the other hand, want to learn badly enough to actually pay to do so. The kids don’t understand that. In four months, when you return, I should be well into book 2, and I hope to impress the hell out of you with my rendition of “Country Garden” or something swanky from Mozart. At the rate I’m progressing, I might end up playing in a cocktail lounge by age forty. Can’t you just see me pounding out “Feelings” to a group of men attending an American Legion convention?
Oh, before I forget, you’ll be pleased to know Margo is coming along nicely. She has her own apartment now and found a full-time job selling drapes at the J.C. Penney store. The difference in her from the first time she walked into the class until now is dramatic. She’s still struggling with the pain and an occasional bout of anger, but for the most part she’s doing so well. We’re all proud of her. I thought you might like to hear how she’s doing.
Although I’ve written far more than I thought I would, the real purpose of this letter is to apologize for the way our last conversation went. I can’t be your wife, Brand, but I’d like to be your friend. If you can accept my friendship, then I’ll be waiting to hear from you. If not, I’ll understand.
Warm wishes,
Erin
Brand read through the letter twice before neatly folding it and replacing it inside the envelope. So she wanted to be friends.
He didn’t. Not in the least.
He wasn’t looking for a pal, a buddy, a sidekick. He wanted a wife, a woman who would stand at his side for the rest of his life. Someone to double the joy of the good times and divide the burden of the bad. When his ship pulled into port, he wanted her standing on the dock with the other wives and families, so eager to see him she’d be jumping up and down, hoping for a glimpse of him. When he walked down the gangplank, he wanted her to come rushing to his arms, unable to wait a second longer.
Erin wasn’t offering him any of that. She had some milquetoast idea about them being pals. Well, he wanted no part of it. If she wanted a buddy, then she could look elsewhere.
Disgusted with the whole idea, Brand tossed her letter on his bunk. Erin MacNamera was going to have to offer him a whole lot more than friendship if she wanted any kind of relationship with him.
* * *
For a solid week, Erin rushed home from work to check her mail. She didn’t try to fool herself by pretending she didn’t care if Brand answered her letter or not. She did care, more than she wanted to admit. The way she figured it, he’d received her letter a week earlier. He’d take a few days to think matters over, and if everything went according to schedule, she’d have a letter back by the end of the following week.
No letter had arrived. At least not from Brand. Junk mail. Bills. Bank statements. They’d all made their way to Erin’s address, but nothing from the one who mattered most.
“You might as well face it,” she admonished herself. “He has no intention of answering your letter.”
“What did you expect?” she asked herself a few minutes later. She knew what she’d expected. Letters. Hordes of them, filled, as they had been before, with humorous bits of wisdom that warmed her heart.
No such letters arrived. Not even a postcard.
Erin had never felt more melancholy in her life.
* * *
Erin’s one-page letter had arrived exactly one month before. And for precisely thirty days Brand had been taking the letter out and reading it over again. Then he would methodically fold it and slip it back inside the envelope. After reading it so many times, he’d memorized every line.
At first keeping the letter was a show of strength on his part. He could hold it and touch a part of Erin. It felt good to be strong enough to stand his ground. He was unwilling to settle for second best with her. He wanted her heart…All right, he was willing to admit he needed more…He wanted her love for him to be so strong she was willing to relinquish everything. Frankly, he wasn’t about to settle for anything less.
It was all or nothing, and that was the way it was meant to be. He was tired of going to her on bended knee. Tired of always being the one to compromise and give in. If anyone was going to make an effort to settle their differences, it would have to be Erin.
Besides, the way Brand figured it, Erin needed this time apart to realize they were meant for each other. She’d had two months to forget they’d ever met, and apparently that hadn’t worked. Hadn’t she said she’d been trying to forget him? She’d also claimed it wasn’t working. Brand figured he’d let time enhance his chances with his brown-eyed beauty. She was his, all right; she just had to figure that much out for herself.
Nevertheless, Brand watched the mail, hoping Erin would write him a second time. She wouldn’t, but he couldn’t keep from hoping.
It wasn’t Erin he heard from, but her father.
Dear Brand:
I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while, but you know me. I never was much good at writing, unless it’s something important. This time it is. I owe you an apology. Forgive an old man, will you? I had no business setting you up with my daughter. That was my intent from the beginning, and I suspect you knew it. My Erin’s a stubborn lass, and I thought if anyone could catch her eye, it would be your handsome face.
When I heard what happened, I wanted to shake that daughter of mine, but she’s her own woman and she’s got to make her own decisions, and her own mistakes. I just never thought my Erin could be such a fool. I wrote and told her as much myself.
She isn’t happy. That much I know for a fact. She has this friend, Aimee—you might have met her yourself. Apparently, Aimee and her husband have split, and so the two girls are in cahoots. To my way of thinking, no good’s going to come of those two prowling around Seattle, looking for new relationships. Erin’s a sweet thing, and I can’t help worrying about her, although she wouldn’t appreciate it if she knew. She’ll do just fine. She’s not as beautiful as some, but when she puts her mind to it, she’ll find herself a catch that will make this old man proud. Frankly, the wife and I are looking forward to some grandchildren.
The last time we spoke, Erin mentioned she’d written you. Seems a shame things didn’t work out between the two of you. A damn shame.
Keep in touch, will you? Give Romano and the others my regards.
Casey
Erin and Aimee were in cahoots? Brand definitely didn’t like the sound of this. Not in the least. He read the letter a second time, and the not-so-subtle messages seemed to slap him in the face. Erin was unhappy and looking for a new relationship. If Aimee weren’t involved, that fact wouldn’t concern him nearly as much. Alone, Erin was a novice in the ways of attracting men, but with Aimee spurring her on, anything could happen.
Brand liked Aimee, he just wasn’t sure he could trust her. The other woman had made a blatant effort to catch his eye that first afternoon when he’d followed Erin into the Blue Lagoon. He had the feeling that if he’d paid her the least bit of attention she would have run out of the place with her tail between her legs, but that wasn’t what concerned him now. The fact that the two of them were out prowling around looking for action did trouble him.
Damn it all. This could ruin everything. Casey mentioning grandchildren hadn’t helped matters, any, either. Damn it all, if Erin was going to be making love, it would be with him. If she was so keen on having children, then he’d be the one to father them, not some…stranger.
* * *
“I brought along something for us to drink,” Aimee said as she walked in Erin’s front door. “Friday night,” she grumbled, “and we’re reduced to renting movies.”
“Don’t complain. We’re going to have a good time.”
“Right.” Erin carried a large bowl of popcorn into the living room, having to weave her way around the piano.
“I hope you rented something uplifting—something that’s going to make us laugh and forget our troubles. You know, these might be difficult times for us, but we’ve got a whole lot to be grateful for.”
“I do.” Erin couldn’t help but agree.
“By the way, what movies did you rent?”
Erin picked up the two videos and read the titles. “Terms of Endearment and Beaches.”