Right Place, Wrong Time by Judith Arnold Page B

in Manhattan—but she did still play around with watercolors, which she could work with at her kitchen table or even outdoors, propping a pad on her lap. She believed Jackson Pollack was grossly overrated and Georgia O’Keeffe was a goddess. She’d never been to the northwestern part of Connecticut, where Ethan lived, but she’d traveled the coastline plenty of times, either on the interstate or by train, in her journeys to and from her art school in Rhode Island. She was twenty-eight years old and she hoped someday to live in a house or apartment big enough for a dog to share her home with her. “I like mutts,” she’d said.
    He hadn’t been surprised. She seemed like a mutt-type person, the exact opposite of Kim, whose childhood pet dog, one of those breeds with long elaborate hair and a pudgy little face, had taken ribbons at regional dog shows. Ethan had seen photos of Kim’s dog and he’d thought that if dogs could talk, this one would have had a voice like Betty Boop.
    Beside him Kim sighed and shifted against her pillow. Her hair spread fluid and golden around her face. At one time, just the sight of her hair would have made him hard.
    Now he felt no excitement, no arousal, nothing but restlessness. He could have slept more easily sitting upright on that terrace chair, next to Gina.
    A veritable stranger. An unexpected friend. A sharp, funny, utterly unselfconscious woman who loved snorkeling as much as he did and had the most beautiful feet he’d ever seen.
     
    A T SOME POINT he must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes daylight was seeping under thedrawn drapes and into the bedroom. Rolling away from the window, he discovered that Kim was gone.
    He glanced at the clock on the night table. Eight-fifteen.
    If Kim had been given to high drama, her absence might have concerned him. But she tended to be stable and staid, and again, deeply devoted to maintaining appearances. He doubted that she would have fled to her parents’ hotel, not only because she couldn’t very well go crying to Mommy and Daddy about the lack of sex in her life but also because she’d be hesitant to drive on the left side of the road.
    She was probably in the kitchen, drinking some of Gina’s coffee. Or she was sitting on the terrace, in the chair Ethan had occupied last night, and enjoying the view. Maybe Gina was out there with her, chattering away. Maybe Kim found Gina as easy to talk to as he did.
    He wondered if he could persuade Kim to travel to St. John today, so they could go snorkeling at Trunk Bay Beach and see that spectacular sea life. She hadn’t been thrilled about yesterday’s snorkeling. Maybe if they swam together, had a little fun together, shared an exotic experience together, they could find their way back to, well, togetherness.
    Not likely, but he really wanted to visit Trunk Bay. He heaved himself out of bed, made a halfhearted attempt to smooth the blanket and fluff the pillows and donned a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. Barefoot and rumpled, he left the bedroom and headed down the hall, following the sound of female voices and the aroma of coffee.
    They were in the kitchen. Kim looked surprisingly chipper, considering that yesterday had ended withenough hostility that he and she hadn’t even said good night to each other. She wore a peach-hued blouse-and-shorts outfit, and her hair was pinned back from her face with matching peach-colored barrettes. Alicia had on blue denim shorts and a shirt with glittery threads running through it. Gina wore white shorts and a sleeveless top. Her exquisite feet were naked except for the silver ring circling one toe.
    He let his gaze slide up her body. He hadn’t looked at her face much last night, mostly because they’d been sitting side by side and staring out at the horizon, but also because he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her unique beauty while he was in the throes of a major problem with Kim. But he looked at her now. Her features were too