But now this. He wanted to cruise up the Hudson River on a luxury yacht with the Hamiltons of New York. What other young women would be there? The daughter, Olivia? Wealthy and sophisticated and confident. She had everything to offer Dean, and I had nothing. Of course he would prefer her dazzling wealth and refined beauty over someone like me. Drab, unhappy, and colorless. I wanted to scream.
I stood abruptly and went to the kitchen. Dean didn’t get up. He just sat there on the sofa, sitting forward with his head bowed low. Why wasn’t he following? How could he let me feel this way and not care?
I burst into tears.
Suddenly, he was there, holding me in his arms, speaking in tender tones, uttering words of comfort and reassurance. “Please don’t cry. We’ll go another time,” he said. “Besides, you’re not done polishing your thesis paper yet. You can work on it on Sunday, and then we’ll go for a nice long drive when you’re finished. We’ll have something to celebrate then. We’ll have a much better time, don’t you think?”
I wanted to believe him, but I could sense his detachment. This wasn’t genuine. He wasn’t the least bit disappointed about our Sunday drive. He only wanted to spend the day with the Hamiltons.
“Will she be there?” I asked, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“Who?”
“You know who. The daughter. Olivia.”
He stepped back. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“Is that why you want to go? To see her again?”
“No,” he replied, his cheeks flushing. “I told you, it’s for work. Melanie, please stop . . .”
“I just want you to love me!” I sobbed. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t. Please, Dean. You can’t leave me. You promised me you wouldn’t.”
But had he really promised? I wasn’t sure.
His eyes flashed with something—concern or fear or possibly resignation. I found myself letting out a breath of relief because that meant he was still mine, that he understood that he couldn’t end this. He couldn’t just walk away from me—from this great love that existed between us. I had never loved anyone like this before. Never in my life. We were meant to be. He was everything I’d ever dreamed of.
“Promise me you’ll come over as soon as you get off the boat,” I pleaded.
“I promise,” he said. “But you have to promise me something as well. You won’t spend the day doing nothing but missing me and working yourself into a state of anxiety like you did tonight. Focus on your work. It’s an important project, Melanie. It’s important to you.”
I wiped under my nose and sniffed. “Okay, I promise. I’ll go to the library. I won’t sit by the phone.”
“That’s a good plan,” he said. “Now come back to the living room.” He took a step in that direction, urging me along. “We’ll watch some television together.”
Feeling somewhat better, I took his hand and followed him back to the sofa.
CHAPTER 18
DEAN
New York, 1986
When my alarm went off on Sunday morning, there was a part of me that thought I shouldn’t go. I seriously considered calling my boss and claiming that I had come down with a stomach bug that might be contagious. That would get me out of it, and Melanie would never know that I had kissed another woman, and she would continue to keep our relationship a secret. But who was I trying to fool? I couldn’t stop thinking about Olivia. It was a yearning that had begun the first moment we met, and though I tried to banish her from my thoughts, the effort was futile. I was falling in love, and I was falling hard.
Consequently, a few hours later, I walked up the gangplank to the main deck of a seventy-five-foot luxury yacht. It was not a sailboat, as I had imagined, but something that resembled a small cruise ship.
As soon as I stepped aboard, I was met by a crew member with a tray of champagne flutes. I took one, just to be polite, and was shown into the spacious main salon where everyone was gathered. It was the same crowd from the dinner party, and when my gaze connected with Olivia’s, the whole world, and everyone in it, disappeared.
She made her way toward me. “Hi. I’m glad you made it.”
“Me too.” The euphoria was back. The blissful, thrilling euphoria.
Her parents approached, and her father shook my hand and welcomed me aboard. “I hope you like seafood,” he said. “We’re having shellfish for lunch. No allergies we need to know about?”
I turned to look at the dining area with a large oval table set with crystal stemware, floral decorations, and stylish leather chairs all around. “I love seafood,” I replied. “Everything looks wonderful.”
We chatted for a while until I heard the engine roar. As we slid smoothly away from the dock, the deck shivered beneath our feet.
A few miles up the Hudson River, we sat down for a delicious lunch of lobster and snow crab clusters served with roasted potatoes and a colorful salad. I wondered if the seating arrangements were prearranged, because this time, I was shown to a seat beside Olivia’s half sister, Sarah, while Olivia sat at the far end of the table, across from me diagonally. Her sister was a gifted conversationalist, and I enjoyed getting to know her.
After lunch, Mr. Hamilton took Caroline’s husband and me up to the raised pilothouse to meet the captain and view the state-of-the-art electronics suite. Mr. Hamilton seemed to enjoy explaining every bell and whistle to us. I couldn’t hide my amazement, for I had never seen anything like it.
Later, when we returned to the main salon, the ladies were engaged in a fast card game that had them laughing and shrieking as they battled it out. If there was one thing my father had done well—and only one thing—it was to teach me how to play cards. At the end of the first hand, Olivia insisted that I join in, and I began to feel more comfortable in my surroundings, less like a fish out of water.
The boat eventually docked in Tarrytown, where we disembarked to visit a few antique shops and get some ice cream. While the others continued shopping, Olivia and I found a bench on the waterfront and talked about our very different upbringings and how they had shaped us into the people we had become.
I held nothing back. I told her everything there was to know about my family, including my father’s and brother’s prison incarcerations. It was the opposite of what she had experienced—both financially and emotionally—yet somehow, we had emerged with similar temperaments and core values that matched up in every way. She was impressed that I had survived so many hardships yet carried no bitterness in my heart, which was mostly true. The fact that I was optimistic about my future and wanted to spend my life helping others to find a similar sense of optimism within themselves made her lean close and kiss me.
“I love that you believe that people can overcome any obstacle, no matter how dire, and find happiness.”
“I do believe that. I have to believe it.”
She raised my hand to her lips and kissed it. “What’s amazing to me is that so many of my friends—who have everything to be grateful for—don’t share your optimism. They can be so spoiled and selfish, and it drives me mad when they complain about things that aren’t laid out perfectly to their liking.”