He sighed heavily. “I won’t buy the horse.”
She heard his defeat and it saddened her. But there was nothing else she could say to change the way things were. She couldn’t leave it at that, however. She needed to sound supportive. Grace searched her mind for words as she reached up to pat his hand on her shoulder.
“Come to bed,” she said in a kindly tone. It was all she could think of.
Charles stepped back and his hand slipped from her shoulder. “Not yet. I want to walk out to the barn to check on the horses.”
Grace rubbed her eyes. “Don’t stay out too late. You’re tired.”
“I enjoy it,” he said. “Besides, I want to stay up for the eleven o’clock update on the hurricane.”
“Oh, God, I can’t listen to another word about that storm today.”
“Good night,” Charles said, and turned to walk away.
The distance across the carpet felt like miles as she watched him make his way to the door. She turned with a heavy sigh to fluff up her pillows.
“Turn the light out, please,” she called after him wearily.
Charles paused at the door, his back still to her. “I don’t know why you’re so worried about me jumping.”
His voice was sharp and tinged with frustration. Grace went still and turned her head to look at him. She saw that his face was colored with suppressed emotion.
He met her eyes. “I can’t even get back up on a damned horse!”
She stared, openmouthed, as Charles turned on his heel and shut the door behind him.
EIGHT
August 20, 11:50 p.m.
Freehold Farm, North Carolina
Hurricane weakens to Category Four over Cuba
It was late and the clouds had shifted, allowing the waxing moon and a sprinkling of stars to shine in the dark sky. It had been a roller-coaster day and night. The lows of the evacuation, the high of seeing old friends, and the whirl of getting horses and dogs settled. The dogs . . .
Elise laughed just remembering the equestrian elite’s reaction to seeing a trailer full of rescue dogs yapping. And that smell! Still, everyone had rolled up their sleeves and helped. They were even cheerful about it. It was a new experience for them, she was sure. But also there was a good feeling that came from helping others in times of trouble.
Once the dogs were corralled in the yard and Grace had left for bed, she and Moira had filled buckets with soap and water and one by one bathed each dog clean of the sick and poop. It was a crazy collection of purebreds and mutts. There were three big dogs. One was a boxer mix named Birdie, the sweetest comic of a dog, who weighed in at about sixty pounds. His best buddy was Murph, a ninety-pound, goofy, easygoing hound mix whose powerful bark could rattle your insides. Then there was Jack, a McNab herding dog, an exuberant boy with big, soulful eyes. This dog was a natural leader.
The other five were smaller. Nacho, a small tan Chihuahua, strutted across the yard like he owned the place. He didn’t take guff from any dog, big or small. Two terriers—an adorable Yorkshire mix named Benji, and Maybelle, a sleek white terrier mix with a black eye patch—chased each other, one trying to put paws on the other’s back in a classic dominance move. Then there was Tut, a large Boykin spaniel who seemed to care more about people than other dogs. He stood by the gate with his yellowish, mournful eyes and whimpered to get out. Lastly, there was Izzy, the funniest little dachshund mix with the ears of a bat and the curly tail of a pig—an adorable total mess of a dog.
Together she and Moira had bathed, dried, and brushed all eight of the dogs, scrubbed their crates, and put in fresh bedding. Each crate was labeled with its tenant’s name and history. In the hours of work, the awkwardness between them had dissipated, and in its place she felt the old kinship kindle.
Elise had no idea what time it was when they closed up the garage. Or if it was even still evening . . . it could well be the early hours of the morning. She couldn’t remember ever being so filthy and exhausted. With unspoken cooperation, she followed Moira’s lead across the yard with a sluggish gait, careful not to step in the dogs’ land mines. She smiled in the darkness when she figured out where they were headed, as memories of nights when they were young flitted through her mind like bursts of starlight. They used to sneak out after a long night of talking, giggling and hushing the dogs, to quietly skinny-dip.
The starlight guided them to the shimmering water. The clink of the iron gate sounded in the night. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted its eerie call, and the lamplights of the fireflies glimmered in the woods. Wordlessly they stood at the edge of the pool and began to strip. Their dirty clothes fell to the flagstone patio in piles at their feet. Moira glanced at her, a devilish smile on her face, her dark hair freed from its hold. Elise had always loved the glossiness of Moira’s hair, how it fell like a thick waterfall down her shoulders. She quickly unwound her own skein of a braid, allowing her hair to drape her body. When done she smiled back at the woman silhouetted in the darkness, accepting the dare.
As one, the two women lifted their arms over their heads and dove into the black water. Oh, it was glorious how the silky warm water felt as it flowed across Elise’s body, washing away the soil, the currents like gentle fingers loosening her hair. After a few leisurely laps, she flipped to her back.
They swam in tandem, synchronized swimmers, as the years washed away between them. Elise felt the loosening of her tension, as well as her inhibitions, like her hair flowing in the water behind her. She always felt the world was watching, judging, waiting for her to fail. With Moira, in this gentle moment under the stars, she felt that burden slide away and again was a young girl, without a care in the world. Above, the night sky winked at her.
“This is nice,” she said on a sigh, breaking the long silence.
Beside her, Moira responded in her low, melodic voice, “Yeah. Like old times.”
“Skinny-dipping.” Elise snorted a laugh. “The last time I did this was with you. God knows how long ago.”
Moira giggled. “Me too. It was your swimming pool in Florida. I’ll never forget how silky the water felt. But,” she said with a shiver, “I’m getting cold. Let’s get out. I’ll grab some towels.” She flipped over and began swimming with long-armed strokes to the steps.
Elise followed and grabbed the large towel Moira had handed her. It seemed remarkably white in the darkness. They dried their hair, unconcerned with their nakedness, then wrapped the towels around their bodies island-style, walked to the chaise longues. Then they lay back to look once again at the stars.
The breeze was like a soft and moist tongue lapping against her skin. Elise felt like her bones were melting into the cushions as the past and present coalesced. “I feel like we’re back in college.”
“What happened to us?” Moira asked, turning her head to face Elise. Her tone held the hint of sorrow. “I mean, to our friendship?”
Elise deflected the surge of emotion that rose up. She hadn’t seen Moira since her wedding. She’d seen Grace in Palm Beach more often than her friend. She’d never felt their distance as a betrayal as much as the loss of a treasured, unique friendship that had diminished into a vague, sad acquaintance. “We’re still friends.” It was a lame answer, she knew. It was the best she could come up with.