Safe Harbor by Judith Arnold Page B

in
her, the affinity they’d shared, the honesty that had never, never
abandoned them in their friendship.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked, realizing
at once that that was a inane thing to say.
    “I work here.”
    “On the island?”
    “Here in the pharmacy. I’m the pharmacist.” As
if to prove it, she pointed to the name tag pinned to the breast
pocket of her jacket: Shelley Ballard, Pharmacist.
    He shook his head. “Never, in my wildest
dreams, would I have predicted that you’d wind up a pharmacist. You
were supposed to be...an English teacher, right?” Just before she’d
dropped out of his life she had loaded him up with all those novels
from the library, he recalled. Excellent novels. She’d known what
she was doing when she’d recommended them.
    “Well...” Her smile took on a certain
poignancy. “Things worked out differently. But tell me, are you
staying long? I guess your folks’ house is empty now, isn’t it?
Jean Sanderson usually closes things up right after Labor
Day.”
    Kip frowned. “Who?”
    “Jean Sanderson. She’s a realtor here. She
oversees a lot of summer rentals, including your parents’ house.”
Shelley grinned. “I’m a year-rounder now, Kip. I don’t know the
summer people anymore, but I know the islanders.”
    “How long have you been living
here?”
    “Three years,” she told him. “Jean says your
folks have been to the house a few times in the past several years,
but I’ve never seen them. Since I’m working and all... You haven’t
been on the island recently, have you? If you were here and I
missed you I’d die.”
    A quiet laugh filled his throat. In their youth
she had always been threatening to die over some minor
embarrassment or mishap. “No,” he assured her, the urge to laugh
fading as his heart filled with an aching nostalgia for those
simple days, when all he knew of death was Shelley’s melodramatic
declarations. “I was living out in California until a few months
ago.”
    “California! Oh, how exciting! I’ve never been
to California.”
    Lord. This was really Shelley. He was actually
standing two feet from her, talking to her, gazing at her, inhaling
her faint honey-sweet fragrance. “Why are you here?” he asked,
regretting at once the accusing undertone in his voice. More
gently, he said, “I mean here, on Block Island? Back then, Shelley,
you just—one day you just disappeared, and...” He realized he was
stammering and shut up.
    Her smile expanded and at the same time grew
pensive. “It’s a long story,” she said.
    “I’d like to hear it.”
    She glanced away. “I’ve got to work. I’m taking
inventory. When you’ve got to order everything from the mainland it
can get tense if the stocks dwindle.”
    “Maybe we could have dinner tonight,” he
suggested.
    She brightened. “That would be great. Where
should we go?”
    “Anywhere. You decide.”
    “I close up here around five-thirty. We could
meet at a restaurant at six, or...do you want me to pick you up? Or
you can pick me up. Whatever is easiest for you.”
    “I’ll pick you up. Where do you
live?”
    “A few blocks from here, on Spring Street. I’ve
got an apartment in a two-family house. Let me write down the
address.” She pulled a blank receipt from a pad on the counter and
scribbled her address and telephone number. Then she tore the sheet
from the pad and pressed it into Kip’s hand. “This is fantastic,
Kip. I’m so glad you’re here.”
    “I’m glad you’re here, too,” he
said.
    She clasped his hands in hers. “Six o’clock,
then,” she confirmed. Her hands felt slim in his, cool and smooth.
Abruptly she arched her eyebrows and looked down at his left hand.
Her thumb rested against his ring finger--against the plain gold
band circling it. “You’re married!” she exclaimed clapping her
hands together in jubilation. “Oh, Kip, how wonderful! You’re
married! Why didn’t you say something? Is your wife here with you?
Oh, please—bring