as church mice now."
Her full lips parted in an expression of unquestioning—and unwanted—sympathy. "Sam! Oh, that's awful! No wonder you're after Eden . Why didn't you tell me?"
So that I wouldn't have to deal with that look on your face, that's why.
All his life Sam had been an emotional loner. Millie and Jim Steadman had done their best, but a loner he had remained—until Eden . The one time he had fully trusted someone ... the one time he'd given in to what he now saw was a pathetic need to be wanted and needed by someone ...
"I didn't see the point of mentioning it," he said with a shrug.
Bad answer. Holly didn't like it at all. "Does everything have to have a point?" she said, sitting back in exasperation. "Can't you just confide in someone because it feels good?"
"You've read way too many books in that bookcase," he shot back. There was definitely an edge in his voice. He could feel it coming, that prickly, defensive reaction whenever someone talked psychobabble. He remembered a title on her bookshelf and said acidly, "Men are from Mars, remember?"
She scowled. "That's right. So tell me, why don't you all just go home?"
Yep. It was getting down and dirty at the Ritz. Sam decided to back away smiling before the two of them ended up in a food fight. Abandoning his half-eaten crab salad, he glanced at his watch, feigned surprise, and stood up. "Time and tide wait for no man," he said lightly, "and neither does the Vineyard Express."
He laid his napkin neatly on her prettily arranged table. "Thanks for going to all the trouble. As it turns out, I won't be coming back to the apartment."
"You must be psychic," she said in a deadly tone.
He took the hit and turned to leave, then turned around again. She wasn't expecting it; he saw her unguarded look of baffled dismay and pretended not to notice. He was behaving like an ass, but he didn't see what he could do about it.
"Look ... Holly ... this has nothing to do with who you are or what I am. I have a lead, okay? A lead that might take me to Eden . That's why I came to the island, that's why I'm leaving it. To find Eden . It's as simple as that."
"You don't have to explain," she said, gathering her dignity around her like a mailed cloak. "You have a boat to catch. I hope you find her."
"If I don't, I may be back," he said with an apologetic smile.
"Then I hope you find her."
Surprising, how soft words could pierce like a hail of bullets. He sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Holly. No kidding."
"Good-bye, Sam."
He took the key from his pocket, laid it on the table, and left.
****
Holly's hand trembled as she reached for the phone and punched in her mother' s number on the speed dial. It rang six times before Charlotte Anderson said hello in a desultory voice.
"Mom? Can I come over later?" Holly asked plaintively. "We have to talk."
Chapter 10
B oston in August was definitely not the Vineyard in August. Brutally hot pavement sent spirals of heat around Sam as he walked the length of fashionable Newbury Street , dotted with upscale galleries tucked discreetly between high-end salons and clothing shops. Almost at once he was able to eliminate the two galleries whose ads he had hunted down in the Sunday Boston Globe. No one claimed to have heard from Eden , and Sam believed them.
Undaunted, he continued to canvas the street of shops, until he stumbled into The Hungary I, a small gallery below street level that specialized in East European art.
At the end of a long wall hung with dozens of obviously mass-produced religious icons, he discovered a wild-haired man in an ill-fitting suit and with a desperately eager smile on his face. The gallery would be closing in a week, the obese shopkeeper told Sam in fractured English, so this was, absolutely, last chance. Half price! For two, take off extra twenty percent!
Sam had to decline a series of increasingly final offers before he got the chance to put forward his own agenda: Had anyone in the last several weeks
Her full lips parted in an expression of unquestioning—and unwanted—sympathy. "Sam! Oh, that's awful! No wonder you're after Eden . Why didn't you tell me?"
So that I wouldn't have to deal with that look on your face, that's why.
All his life Sam had been an emotional loner. Millie and Jim Steadman had done their best, but a loner he had remained—until Eden . The one time he had fully trusted someone ... the one time he'd given in to what he now saw was a pathetic need to be wanted and needed by someone ...
"I didn't see the point of mentioning it," he said with a shrug.
Bad answer. Holly didn't like it at all. "Does everything have to have a point?" she said, sitting back in exasperation. "Can't you just confide in someone because it feels good?"
"You've read way too many books in that bookcase," he shot back. There was definitely an edge in his voice. He could feel it coming, that prickly, defensive reaction whenever someone talked psychobabble. He remembered a title on her bookshelf and said acidly, "Men are from Mars, remember?"
She scowled. "That's right. So tell me, why don't you all just go home?"
Yep. It was getting down and dirty at the Ritz. Sam decided to back away smiling before the two of them ended up in a food fight. Abandoning his half-eaten crab salad, he glanced at his watch, feigned surprise, and stood up. "Time and tide wait for no man," he said lightly, "and neither does the Vineyard Express."
He laid his napkin neatly on her prettily arranged table. "Thanks for going to all the trouble. As it turns out, I won't be coming back to the apartment."
"You must be psychic," she said in a deadly tone.
He took the hit and turned to leave, then turned around again. She wasn't expecting it; he saw her unguarded look of baffled dismay and pretended not to notice. He was behaving like an ass, but he didn't see what he could do about it.
"Look ... Holly ... this has nothing to do with who you are or what I am. I have a lead, okay? A lead that might take me to Eden . That's why I came to the island, that's why I'm leaving it. To find Eden . It's as simple as that."
"You don't have to explain," she said, gathering her dignity around her like a mailed cloak. "You have a boat to catch. I hope you find her."
"If I don't, I may be back," he said with an apologetic smile.
"Then I hope you find her."
Surprising, how soft words could pierce like a hail of bullets. He sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Holly. No kidding."
"Good-bye, Sam."
He took the key from his pocket, laid it on the table, and left.
****
Holly's hand trembled as she reached for the phone and punched in her mother' s number on the speed dial. It rang six times before Charlotte Anderson said hello in a desultory voice.
"Mom? Can I come over later?" Holly asked plaintively. "We have to talk."
Chapter 10
B oston in August was definitely not the Vineyard in August. Brutally hot pavement sent spirals of heat around Sam as he walked the length of fashionable Newbury Street , dotted with upscale galleries tucked discreetly between high-end salons and clothing shops. Almost at once he was able to eliminate the two galleries whose ads he had hunted down in the Sunday Boston Globe. No one claimed to have heard from Eden , and Sam believed them.
Undaunted, he continued to canvas the street of shops, until he stumbled into The Hungary I, a small gallery below street level that specialized in East European art.
At the end of a long wall hung with dozens of obviously mass-produced religious icons, he discovered a wild-haired man in an ill-fitting suit and with a desperately eager smile on his face. The gallery would be closing in a week, the obese shopkeeper told Sam in fractured English, so this was, absolutely, last chance. Half price! For two, take off extra twenty percent!
Sam had to decline a series of increasingly final offers before he got the chance to put forward his own agenda: Had anyone in the last several weeks
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