Sail Away with Me Read online

“For both of us,” she agreed. “Of course, the next morning I couldn’t believe it had really happened. But he didn’t let me forget. We saw each other as often as we could, with me here and you guys living in Victoria. Two months later, Melanie Newall, who’s a marriage commissioner, was marrying us in Blue Moon Harbor Park. It seems so crazy, looking back, but it felt right.”

  “It was right,” Forbes said. “As proven by the last seventeen years.”

  “But,” Sonia said, “we weren’t fair to you and Luke, Julian. Your dad and I were obsessed with each other, caught up in this amazing love we shared. And I was . . .” She paused, searching for a word. “Giddy with relief, too. That I could be happy again, love again, live again. I tossed out the meds and I was high on love. I didn’t include Luke in what was going on, and I didn’t understand what you were going through, Julian. Your whole life was shaken up.”

  “I was at fault, too,” Forbes said. “You’d always been such a flexible kid, adjusting to whatever came along. I expected you to do that again.”

  Yeah, he had been able to adjust to anything as long as his dad had been by his side, looking after him. But then Forbes was gone, glued at the hip to Sonia, leaving Julian out in the cold. Luke as well, he realized now, but Luke had had friends. Especially Candace, whom he’d later married. “Guess we all could have done better,” Julian said.

  “You were eleven,” Sonia said. “It shouldn’t have been on you to do better. We were the adults and should have been more responsible. But even adults make mistakes. So, again, I’m sorry, Julian.” She touched his hand and this time didn’t draw away. “I hope you can accept my apology, and that we can be closer now than we have been.”

  He turned his hand so he could grip hers. “I’d like that, too.”

  She had such a warm smile. Why had he never noticed that before?

  She squeezed his hand and then let go. “Now that’s settled, I have a question for Forbes. Honey, are you up to having company for dinner tomorrow? They’ll even bring the food.”

  “Who?” his dad asked.

  “Cathy and Bart Jelinek. She called me today. Again.”

  Julian, who had raised his water glass to his mouth, jerked the glass down.

  “You know they’ve been offering to help ever since your accident,” she said.

  From what Sonia said, it had been Cathy extending the offers, not her husband. So far, Forbes had, thank God, said he wasn’t ready to see them.

  “I know,” Forbes said, “and that’s good of them, but there’ve been enough people around. I get tired even with the guys from the band, or Randall and Annie. The Jelineks, well, they’re more your friends than mine, Sonia.”

  “I suppose. Bart and Luke’s dad were in the Rotary together. I leaned on Bart and Cathy after Hank died. But Forbes, they’re such good people. Bart’s a community leader and—”

  Julian jerked to his feet, almost toppling his chair. Another moment of hearing praise heaped on that sick bastard, and he’d puke. Stomach churning, he said, “There’s an idea I need to work on. I’ll be out in the studio.”

  And if the Jelineks did end up coming to the house, he would be far, far away.

  Chapter Seven

  Iris paid close attention to Julian’s reactions as she ushered him into her condo late Wednesday afternoon. This was the first time she’d invited a male friend over to visit. They had the place to themselves; Aunt Lily would be out for the evening. Even so, he didn’t repeat the friendly kiss on the cheek and Iris tried not to feel disappointed.

  Since Julian had walked in, his movements had been tight and his shoulders high and tense. She hoped he wasn’t regretting that he’d come. Yet he was the one who’d initiated this, by phoning in the morning to invite her out for dinner. Was he annoyed that she’d suggested he instead come over to her place?

  After handing her a bottle of Destiny Cellars pinot grigio, he walked into the living room and set down the guitar case that she guessed he carried as automatically as she did a purse.

  Iris stood by the island that divided the kitchen from the living room, watching Julian gaze around. In black jeans and a charcoal cotton shirt with rolled-up sleeves, he looked very masculine, yet, oddly, not out of place in the gentle, Japanese-influenced room she and her aunt had created. Tense, though. “We could still go out,” she offered. “If you’d prefer.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “No, this is good. Better.”

  As he turned and walked toward the sliding glass doors onto the deck, he muttered something. It sounded like, “Even though the village would be safe tonight,” but that didn’t make sense, so she must have misheard. Tonight was no different from any other night in Blue Moon Harbor. If they ate at one of the several fine restaurants, a number of people would recognize Julian. Some would respect his privacy, but others would drop by to meet him, or to say hi to her. She’d feel anxious and wouldn’t relax into that comfortable space she often felt when she was alone with Julian.

  He opened the doors. “The sun’s setting. Come look.”

  She followed him onto the deck that ran the full length of the condo, shared by the living room, her bedroom, and her aunt’s corner room. There were a couple of zero-gravity chairs that adjusted for sitting or reclining, along with a small table and several potted plants. An Anna’s hummingbird whirred toward one of the three feeders, its ruby throat catching the fading light. Another male darted in to chase it off. They faced off, upright in the air, wings thrumming madly as they screeched in hummingbird language at each other.

  The birds’ antics made Julian chuckle and his shoulders relax. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the wooden railing.

  Iris did the same, a couple of feet away, and gazed out at the ocean. The sun was almost down, painting a few puffy clouds with a peachy-pink glow. A fishing boat and a large pleasure craft were aiming toward the commercial marina at the head of Blue Moon Harbor. A few Christmas-anticipators had already strung lights on a handful of boats and shops, and their twinkle added a festive note. The view was always wonderful but tonight, glancing at Julian’s handsome profile, it was spectacular.

  “You face east,” he said.

  “Yes.” It was rude to stare at someone, so she turned back to the scenery. “The most we see of the sunsets is a reflected glow, but the sunrises can be dramatic.”

  “I bet.”

  “Though sometimes I prefer the sunsets. They’re more subtle. Like lyrics that have many levels, the kind of song that’s not only pleasing on the surface but resonates deeply on reflective and emotional levels.” Without looking at him, she added, “Your songs are like that.”

  “I write the reflected glow of sunsets, not dramatic sunrises. That’s a lovely thought, Iris. Thank you.”

  She sensed his gaze on her but, embarrassed by how spontaneous and loquacious she could be around him, and how tingly aware she was of his presence, she kept her gaze on the ever-changing sky.

  “Tell me why you suggested The Tao of Pooh,” he said.

  “Oh, well . . .” Surprised by the question, she took a moment to consider. “At the commune, and from your music, I sense you have the Tao in you. But I also sense an unrest that leads you to lose touch with it.”

  His body tensed, and so she hurried to get to the point. “I do that, too, let myself be distracted by complexities rather than focus on what’s important. But when I calm and center my thoughts and emotions, then I can perceive things from the appropriate perspective.” Thinking of a previous month’s quote from her wall calendar, she added, “The individual leaves, the trees, and the forest.”

  He had relaxed again. “The conventional saying suggests that the forest is what’s important. The big picture.”

  “One must see the big picture, but shouldn’t ignore the details that go into making it.”

  They watched in companionable silence until the last blush faded from the clouds and the sky darkened. Iris, clad in a short-sleeved silk T-shirt her aunt had created, ivor
y with a pale pink peony on it, wrapped her arms around herself.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I could get a sweater if you want to stay out.”

  “No, let’s go in.” He took her arm, touching her for the first time that night, guiding her toward the door and sending heat rushing through her.

  Once inside, she shut the doors but didn’t draw the rice-paper blinds. From the dining table by the window, she and Julian could watch the lights of the village and harbor.

  “Your apartment’s like you,” he said.

  “Like me?”

  “Harmonious, elegant, relaxing.”

  “Oh!” Flustered, she said, “I’m hardly elegant. If the condo is, then that’s due to Aunt Lily. She owned most of the furniture already. I’ve added only a few things.”

  “You and your aunt live together?” He followed as she walked to the kitchen, where she set the oven to broil. Seating himself on a stool at the island, he asked in a neutral tone, “Will she join us for dinner?”

  Iris felt a moment’s disconnect. JUNO-winner Julian Blake was sitting at her kitchen island, his shaggy hair golden under the track lighting, his skin burnished from sunshine, his body lean and masculine in charcoal and black. Did he only ever wear dark colors? If so, was it his professional image or for some personal reason?

  Remembering his question, she said, “No, I would never spring something like that on you.” She took the filleted salmon from the bowl where it had been marinating, and put it under the broiler. “On Wednesdays, Aunt Lily has an early dinner with a couple of friends, and then they teach a mixed media art course.” Iris took the wine from the fridge and handed it to Julian, along with a corkscrew and two glasses.

  Working the corkscrew, he said, “Your aunt’s an artist?”

  “Fabric art.” She whisked the dressing she’d made earlier.

  “Your blouse,” he guessed, putting a glass of wine beside her on the counter as she tossed the dressing onto the cabbage-fruit-nut salad she’d prepared earlier. “The scarf you were wearing in the store.”

  “Yes. Wall hangings and pillows, too. She takes private orders and also sells some of her things at Island Treasures in the village.”

  “Her work is beautiful.”

  “I agree.” She raised her glass. “To a pleasant evening.”

  His lips twisted, a wry smile that gentled. He touched his glass to hers. “I’ll definitely drink to that. And to you, for yet again providing me with exactly what I need.”

  She read a deeper meaning to his words, and sensed he’d prefer she not ask. “I’m very happy to be with you.” Her lashes fluttered down as she reflected that those words, too, had a deeper truth she’d rather not reveal. Julian must have spent hundreds of evenings with women, but for her tonight was rare and special. A memory to treasure over the years.

  Those dazzling blue eyes of his could be amazingly soft sometimes, as they were now when he gazed at her. “How about you, Iris? I think you have an artistic side, too.”

  “Me? Oh no, sadly not.” A sip of wine made her smile approvingly. “Mm, this is good. Thank you for bringing it. But no, I’m afraid I have no particular talent. I content myself with thinking that the creators like you and my aunt need an appreciative audience. I can certainly fill that role.” It was her belief that the gift she’d been given was one of love: to be a generous, loving, loyal friend, wife, and mother. But that was too private a thought to share.

  “An appreciative audience is a wonderful thing. When I’m onstage and things click between the band and the audience, there’s an amazing energy.”

  “I felt it when I saw you in May.” She opened the oven and brushed marinade on the salmon, figuring it needed only a couple more minutes.

  “You left right after the performance.”

  “You noticed that?” He really had noticed her?

  “I did. That was due to your shyness?”

  “In part.” She spooned a mixture of grains from the rice cooker into a bowl with a cover, a lovely piece from an island potter. “During your sets, I was caught up in the music. After, I wanted to go home and”—fantasize about you—“let the music play over in my head.”

  “Miranda stayed, though. Did she mention that we met?” An odd note in his voice made her glance up from her task. He gazed at her intently, as if her answer mattered.

  “No.” Which was strange, after she and her friend had spent so much time gushing over Julian and his music. She put the bowl of rice on the island, beside the salad and two plates.

  “It was when she and Luke had broken up, but it was obvious she still cared for him.”

  “Oh, yes. She was very unhappy. She and Luke weren’t communicating well.” Iris took the salmon from the oven and transferred it to a platter.

  “I realized that when I talked to him the next day. I’m glad they sorted things out. Luke’s a good guy. It shattered him when Candace died.” He cleared his throat. “I should’ve been more supportive. But we’d never been all that close.”

  “That’s a pity. I always wished I had a sibling. I envy my dad and Aunt Lily their relationship. When I have children, I want more than one.”

  “I bet you’ll make a great mother.”

  “I will do my very best.”

  “Don’t be too much of a perfectionist,” he teased. “One thing I’ve seen with Luke and his twins is that kids are messy and parenting’s an imperfect art form.”

  She would love to have her ordered life disrupted by children. “Wise advice. Now, dinner is ready. Please, help yourself.”

  He slid off the bar stool and topped up their wineglasses. “Everything looks delicious. And beautiful. The food itself, the serving dishes. Don’t deny being an artist, Iris.”

  Feeling herself flush, she said, “It’s just dinner.”

  “That’s like saying that blouse your aunt made is just a T-shirt.” He served himself.

  She followed behind, and then they took their plates and glasses to the living room. She had set the table with woven place mats, sage-colored linen napkins, and a tiny crackle-glazed vase holding a sprig of deep red leaves from the Japanese maple on the deck. “Sit down while I put on some music.” Earlier, she had debated what to play for a talented musician, and had selected several of her grandmother’s albums. If the first didn’t suit his taste, she’d try another.

  Now, as she put a record on the turntable, Julian said, “Vinyl?”

  “Grandmother Rose adored music and had over two hundred albums. Everything from the Beatles to Cleo Laine to Pete Seeger, Ricky Nelson, and this.” Band music began to play, the kind that made Iris imagine a dark, smoky club with men and women in old-fashioned evening dress swaying on the dance floor. A woman sang that she was traveling light.

  “Billie Holiday,” Julian said.

  “Yes. Is that alright?”

  “A smoky, sultry female voice singing the blues? You bet.”

  Relieved, Iris took her seat. “I grew up listening to music with my grandmother.”

  “I’d love to look through her collection. When I was a kid, Forbes never had a lot of money, but there was always enough for food, shelter, and music. He had eclectic taste, too.”

  “She heard some of your songs, you know. She said you had an old soul.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  Iris waited anxiously as he tasted each dish. Then he grinned. “It doesn’t just look pretty, it tastes terrific. I know there’s soy sauce in the salmon marinade and the salad dressing, but what else?”

  “Soy, sesame oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, and ginger. The vinegar and honey are local.”

  “And what’s the rice pilaf? I’ve never had anything like this before. Are there nuts in it?”

  “No. It’s a blend of white rice, brown, wild, and quinoa.” Suddenly remembering something, she said, “Oh, would you like butter? I forgot to put it out.”

  “No, it’s great as it is. I love the combination of stuff in t
he salad, too. The only cabbage salad I’ve ever had is coleslaw. I like the Asian tang, and the cranberries, cilantro, sesame seeds, and other things you’ve put in there.”

  “Thank you. Do you have a favorite kind of food? I imagine you eat out a lot, especially on tour.”

  “Oh, yeah. Too many fast-food hamburgers and delivery pizzas, but some good meals as well. Everything you can imagine, from sushi to steak to Indian and Mexican food. I like them all. Greek’s a favorite. And Italian. Sonia cooks damned fine Italian food, courtesy of a bunch of old family recipes and her own experimenting.” He sipped wine and smiled. “She collects recipes. I’ve never been into cooking, but I’ve taken over doing it on weekdays. There’s pleasure in that, isn’t there? Putting together a meal and having folks sit down and enjoy it.”

  “There is.” Her vivid imagination had her coming home from work to a meal prepared by Julian. That would be almost as incredible as having him play music for her. “You brought your guitar. Will you play something after dinner?”

  “Sing for my supper?”

  Her cheeks immediately burned, and she pressed her hands to them. “No, of course not. I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant. You should never feel obliged to play for me.”

  * * *

  Julian felt a little guilty for flustering Iris, but she was adorable when she blushed. Actually, she was just adorable, period. “Iris, relax. I was teasing.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  Sometimes she was so articulate and so perceptive, yet other times her shyness inhibited her—particularly when it came to male-female stuff. Since he’d met her, he had wondered how experienced she was when it came to men. After a few more bites of the delicious meal, he hadn’t come up with a subtle way of asking, so he just said it. “Do you date much?”

  Her eyes widened, then she lowered her gaze. Her hair was loose today, so those black wings slid forward to frame her oval face. “No,” she said quietly, breaking off a bite of salmon but not raising her fork.

  She was beautiful, smart, and sensitive, a highly desirable woman. Gently, he said, “Either you’re really picky, or your shyness gets in the way.”