Inner Harbor by Nora Roberts Page A

Baltimore?”
    â€œMonday.”
    She hesitated, then reminded herself that this was exactly why she was here. If she was to find that real truth, she couldn’t back away now. “I’d like that. I can’t guarantee what kind of sailor I’ll be.”
    â€œWe’ll find out. I’ll pick you up. Ten, ten-thirty?”
    â€œThat’ll be fine. All of you sail, I imagine.”
    â€œRight down to the dogs.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “We won’t bring them along.”
    â€œI’m not afraid of them. I’m just not used to them.”
    â€œYou never had a puppy.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCat?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGoldfish?”
    She laughed, shook her head. “No. We moved around quite a bit. Once I had a schoolmate in Boston whose dog had puppies. They were darling.” Odd, she thought, to have remembered that now. She’d wanted one of those pups desperately.
    It had been impossible, of course. Antique furniture, important guests, social obligations. Out of the question, her mother had said. And that had been the end of it.
    â€œNow I move around quite a bit. It’s not practical.”
    â€œWhere do you like best?” he asked her.
    â€œI’m flexible. Wherever I end up tends to suit me, until I’m somewhere else.”
    â€œSo right now it’s St. Chris.”
    â€œApparently. It’s interesting.” She gazed out the window, where the rising moon glittered light onto the water. “The pace is slow, but it’s not stagnant. The mood varies, as the weather varies. After only a few days, I’m able to separate the natives from the tourists. And the watermen from everyone else.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œHow?” Distracted, she looked back at him.
    â€œHow can you tell one from the other?”
    â€œJust basic observation. I can look out of my window onto the waterfront. The tourists are couples, more likely families, occasionally a single. They stroll, or they shop. They rent a boat. They interact with each other, the ones in their group. They’re out of their milieu. Most will have camera, map, maybe binoculars. Most of the natives have a purpose for being there. A job, an errand. They might stop and say hello to a neighbor. You can see them easing back on their way as they end the conversation.”
    â€œWhy are you watching from the window?”
    â€œI don’t understand the question.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you down on the waterfront?”
    â€œI have been. But you usually get a purer study when you, the observer, aren’t part of the scene.”
    â€œI’d think you’d get more varied and more personal input if you were.” He glanced up as the waiter arrived to top off their wine and offer them dessert.
    â€œJust coffee,” Sybill decided. “Decaf.”
    â€œThe same.” Phillip leaned forward. “In your book, the section on isolation as a survival technique, the example you used of having someone lying on the sidewalk. How people would look away, walk around. Some might hesitate before hurrying past.”
    â€œNoninvolvement. Disassociation.”
    â€œExactly. But one person would eventually stop, try to help. Once one person broke the isolation, others would begin to stop, too.”
    â€œOnce the isolation is breached, it becomes easier, even necessary for others to join. It’s the first step that’s the most difficult. I conducted that study in New York and London and Budapest, all with similar results. It follows the urban survival technique of avoiding eye contact on the street, of blocking the homeless out of our line of sight.”
    â€œWhat makes that first person who stops to help different from everyone else?”
    â€œTheir survival instincts aren’t as well honed as their compassion. Or their impulse button is more easily pushed.”
    â€œYeah, that. And they’re involved.