The Sea of Aaron (16 page)

“Why does this have to be so difficult?” he asked. “You don't like anything, and it's not that we're on a tight budget.”

She sighed. “You didn't seem impressed by anything we saw, either.”

“The one in Greenwich was nice.”

“That was a barn, Aaron.”

“It was a restored carriage house. The place had a lot of land.”

“We're not going to live on the land, and you never said you wanted to have horses.”

“What's wrong with horses?”

She laughed in spite of herself and patted him on the shoulder. “Nothing. I love horses, but one thing at a time.”

Snow flurries were tumbling from the sky when they neared a familiar exit sign, and a flash of sentimental nostalgia hit her. She nudged Aaron. “Could you exit here, please?”

He obliged, and they soon found themselves on a local back road entering the seaside town of Lobster Bay. “Where are we going?” he asked warily.

“I know you're going to think I'm cuckoo, but humor me. I just want to look at Mr. Allard's house to see what's going on there.”

Aaron groaned. “Haven't you had enough of that place?”

“Please. I know it's crazy.”

“As you like.” He shrugged.

They cruised into the empty circular driveway, which still contained traces of last month's snowstorm. Valerie stared up at the abandoned house, which managed to maintain its towering elegance despite appearing as gray, depressed, and forlorn as it had the day she and Jasmine had gone by to pick up the books. Only now there was a slight difference. Even though there was no for-sale sign, the house looked wistful, as though waiting for the resurgence of spring and, with the season of rebirth, the hope of a new owner.

Transfixed, she reached out to touch Aaron to make sure he was still there.

“Can we go now?” he asked with boyish urgency.

Valerie laughed as his odd tone of voice shook her out of her trance. Aaron whining? Imagine that.

“I wonder why there's no for-sale sign?” she said.

He yawned. “Maybe the nephew decided to keep it.”

“Why would he? He's from England, remember?”

“Probably intends to rent it out.”

“Aaron.” She hesitated for a second. “Do you think we could possibly find out what's going on with the house?”

He inhaled deeply and looked her in the eyes. “You really are a crazy woman. You would actually consider living in this house, wouldn't you?”

Valerie bit her lip. He was right. She was being crazy. But, yes. She had always loved the house, felt drawn to it, and everything about the place spoke to her. In her mind's eye, she could see the estate restored to its original grandeur.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you that insanity runs in my family. Yes, I do like this house, and if it's for sale and it was up to me, I'd buy it in a heartbeat.”

Aaron seemed taken by her enthusiasm. “In that case, I guess we'll just have to find out what the status is. Tomorrow I'll check, but don't get your hopes up.”

Valerie said nothing. She simply turned and kissed him. He smiled and her heart skipped a beat. That tentative slow burn of a grin got her all the time, because it was like a puff of smoke that always vanished so quickly that it left her wondering if it had really been there at all.

“Love you,” she whispered, after he returned her kiss.

“Now let's get out of here before some neighbor calls the police and we're accused of trespassing,” he said.

“Imagine that,” Valerie said, as he pulled the car out of the driveway. “Someone might mistake us for teenagers making out near an abandoned house.”

Aaron was not amused.

Upon consulting with the lawyers, Aaron discovered that Gordon Allard's nephew, John Larsen, did intend to put the house up for sale, but he had run into problems. The house was a white elephant. It needed a lot of repairs and he had put off his decision until the summer, when he could come back to the U.S. for a longer period of time.

When the information was related to Valerie, she was disappointed that there would be a long delay. Aaron could see that she had her heart set on the house. Personally, he didn't understand her obsession at all and thought it was bordering on ridiculous, but he wanted her to be happy, so, without telling her, he obtained John Larsen's phone number and gave him a personal call. Larsen turned out to be a reasonable sort and they discussed the property over the phone. In the end, they negotiated a deal that worked for both of them. John Larsen was overjoyed to unload the house as-is, and was well satisfied with Aaron's lump sum bid. A team of lawyers handled the paperwork and, in record time, Aaron had the deed and the white elephant belonged to them.

***

“Stop frowning,” Valerie said lightheartedly as they stood in the entrance foyer of the house.

It was late afternoon and Aaron, who looked dashing in business attire and a long overcoat, had just returned from a board meeting in Manhattan and had met her at the house. In a theatrically exaggerated gesture, he swept a cobweb out of the way as they walked into the huge, now-empty drawing room. He tilted his head up toward the antique chandelier suspended from the high ceiling. “Think that ornament's steady up there?”

Valerie elbowed him. “That
ornament
has survived generations. Why should it fall now?

“Because its new owners are of a different ethnicity.”

“Very funny.”

He listened with apparent amusement as she expressed her vision of how the house would look once the renovations were done, and he tolerated being dragged into a kitchen so outdated that he wouldn't have been surprised to find a colonial brick oven and pots hanging from a rack. He looked around. There was a rack, but the pots had been confiscated. He smirked.

He laughed outright when they went into the bathroom and were confronted with the enormous water-stained claw-footed tub.

“So it's old,” Valerie said, “but it's now considered retro.” She looked at his expression. “Don't worry, we'll definitely update the bathroom.”

Next she led him up the creaky, winding staircase. There was a distinct nostalgic artistry to the curve of the staircase, but she was aware of him shaking the loose balustrades, knowing that the staircase, too, would need extensive work.

“
Voila!”
she exclaimed, switching on the light. “The greatest home library in the world.”

To her relief, he looked impressed that the entire second story was nothing but a gigantic library with shelves and shelves of books and a long, well-appointed oak table in the center square, with matching chairs in which phantom patrons could sit. The library was no doubt what had caused Larsen most of the problems. True to his word, he had not touched anything here.

She watched Aaron wander down the aisles looking at the shelves. He selected a book from one. “All labeled and categorized according to the Dewey Decimal system. Amazing,” he said.

He blew the dust off the book in his hand, replaced it, walked farther down the aisle, and turned a corner leading to the reference section, which contained biographies, encyclopedias, and local Long Island history. He picked up a thick ancient book of atlases with nautical charts and began thumbing through it.

“And we could…” Valerie began, but she stopped talking, realizing that he was absorbed in the book. She smiled to herself. Finally, they were in agreement. The library was of interest to both of them.

When they had at last gotten out into the blustery March sunlight, Aaron surveyed the sweeping property in the rear of the house. There were tangled winter-slumbering gardens that a decade ago must have been beautiful, an old, boarded-up well, and a crumbling trellis, which heralded the way to a cracked stone path. He followed the path to where it sloped down a bank and ended at a sea wall and boat dock overlooking the glistening Long Island Sound.

Valerie quietly trailed him down the path but remained on the bank, watching as he stepped cautiously out on the wooden dock to survey the body of water. She wished she had taken her camera to capture the way he stood, his oh-so-elegant
GQ
model pose, resplendent with head lifted to the horizon, exotic sculpted features, penetrating eyes, and his long gray overcoat flapping in the breeze.

On that day in Belize before they'd agreed to get married, he had warned her not to try to change him, but it delighted her to realize that without prodding or nagging, she had done just that. The changes were subtle, but he definitely smiled more and appeared more relaxed and youthful. Even his manner of dress had changed somewhat, thanks to her careful tampering. She had recently taken to buying him dress shirts in pastel colors that he normally wouldn't wear, and instead of pointing them out to him, she'd simply hung them in his closet, mixing them with his other clothes. In truth, she had the feeling that Aaron knew exactly what she was up to, but he never said a word and she was deeply flattered when he actually did wear them.

She closed her eyes momentarily and saw their home the way it would be when it was restored. Her life was becoming almost perfect. She saw her husband tying a sailboat to a brand new dock, and she heard the emotive chatter of their children running to meet him. Children? Her eyes flew open and she clenched her hands in a fist so tight the knuckles blanched.

There were not going to be any children.

By the beginning of April, the remodeling plans for the house had been discussed with Jasmine and a construction team was being assembled. Aaron was out of the country again on some cargo delivery run, which Valerie found troubling. Since he owned the company and had many skilled pilots employed expressly for courier duties, she didn't quite understand why he felt the need to handle any of the deliveries himself. She also knew that his typical flight plans included third-world countries possessing some of the most hazardous runways. She had expressed her concerns, but his only response was that he enjoyed flying and wasn't about to give up his wings anytime soon.

While he was away, Valerie was staying in her old apartment again. On this particular day, she had plans to go out to Long Island to check up on the house, but first she dropped by her aunt's place and was surprised to be greeted by a disgruntled and hung-over Denise, who had the place to herself because her mother and stepfather were away for a few days.

Still in her bathrobe, hair disheveled, eyes red, and her voice slurred, Denise clearly hadn't been expecting any visitors. “There's not going to be a wedding,” she announced the minute Valerie stepped in the door. “Tony and I are through.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tattered tissue.

“What happened?” Valerie asked.

Tony was the third suitor Denise had almost married and then tossed to the curb, so the news came as no surprise, although the hapless Tony had advanced a lot farther than the others.

“I'm tired of him, that's all.” Denise sank down on the living room sofa. “He's a first class jerk who cares more about his mother and the rest of his stupid family than he does about me. And guess what? Maybe I'm just gonna fly to some island like you did and marry a good-looking old guy with money.”

“This isn't about me,” Valerie said irritably. “And if you're looking for advice on how to marry your romantic fantasy, don't hold your breath, because I have none to give. I'll be the first to admit that what I did wasn't wise, but I'm okay with my decision and so far it's working for me, even though I wouldn't recommend it for anyone else.”

She definitely would not recommend it for anyone else. What she had done—marrying a reclusive stranger—was in most cases a prelude to disaster.

“I'll say it's working for you,” Denise said enviously. “You've got more money than you know what to do with. You'll never have to work nine-to-five again, so even if you don't love Aaron Rambo, you've still got a good deal.”

Valerie put her hands on her hips. “My marriage to Aaron has nothing to do with money. Yes, he's wealthy. Yes, money can be useful, but it's…”

“The root of all evil.” Denise smirked.

“That's not what I was going to say, smarty pants. But now that you misquoted it, it's the
love
of money that's the root of all evil, not money itself.”

“Yes, Mommy. Are we going to get out the Bible now?”

“Maybe if you'd been reading the Bible more, you wouldn't be sitting around here half drunk and sniveling.”

“Oh, shut up. You're no saint. Don't tell me you didn't sleep with Rambo before you married him. Oh…wait. No. You're too much of a self-righteous follow-the-rules type to do that. You probably married him just so you could have sex.” Her face lit up. “That's
exactly
what you did, isn't it?”

“Goodbye, Denise.” Valerie opened the door to leave, realizing it was the wisest move because she was on the verge of slapping her cousin across the room. “When you find where you left your one brain cell, then maybe we'll talk.”

It hadn't really been all about physical attraction or sex, had it? Of course not. Why was she even considering the words of a nitwit like Denise? On the other hand, physical attraction seemed to be the most tangible thing that was holding her and Aaron together at this point. Her husband's other quirks were hardly endearing. On the days he was actually around, he got up punctually every morning and jogged the city streets, rain or shine, for about an hour. When he returned, he spent another hour in the gym lifting weights. He never let his hair grow beyond three inches, never wore any type of shoes that didn't lace up, never answered a phone call if he suspected it was for her, even if she was out of the room when it rang and he was present. He insisted on always being the driver when they were both in the car, and whenever they ate out or went to some public place he always managed to sit near the exit so he could watch the surroundings. But these habits were just petty rituals, weren't they?

“Wait.” Denise hiccupped, sneezed, and then reached for another tissue. “I didn't mean to say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Valerie retorted icily. “And you're not going to deny it later with the excuse that you were drunk.”

Denise stood up and wobbled uncertainly toward her. “Don't go. I didn't mean to put it like that. But…well…so what if it is true? You've only been wanting him for years, and now you've got him.”

Valerie stepped outside and stood in the doorway blocking Denise's exit. “Listen to me, and don't come out here with your crazy drunk self. You're upset because you believe things have gone so perfectly for me and they seem to be falling apart for you. Yes, I wanted Aaron…and not only for some physical reason. Now I've got him, and no, there is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow because the rainbow never ends. Relationships aren't perfect. Even if you love someone very much, you have to realize that joining your life with that of another who's got a whole different set of genes, and a totally different way of thinking, that things aren't always going to be in sync. You have to compromise a lot, make sacrifices, and work really hard to keep things together.”

“I…I know that.”

“Then prove it. I think you still love Tony, and maybe you can work things out. What was the disagreement about, anyway?”

Denise looked momentarily confused. Valerie realized, of course, that the argument had probably been over something trivial.

“You're right, it was stupid,” Denise admitted. “It was over where we were going on our honeymoon.”

Valerie tried not to roll her eyes. “Where does he want to go?”

“Bermuda.”

“And you?”

“Hawaii. He says Hawaii's too expensive.”

“Well, for goodness sake, Denise. Tony's just being sensible, and he's bent over backward for you on every other issue but this. Cut him some slack. Bermuda is a beautiful island and you might get the opportunity to do Hawaii at another time. Unless, of course, you really believe this is worth breaking up over.”

“I don't want to break up.” Denise blew her nose again. “He just made me so mad, that's all, and now I don't even care that much about Hawaii.”

“Call him and tell him you changed your mind. See what he says.”

“He…he called me this morning, but I hung up on him.”

“The fact that he called means he still cares. Don't be such a brat. Call him back and apologize.”

“Apologize for what? For wanting to go to Hawaii?

“No, silly. For hanging up on him.”

Denise grinned sheepishly now. “I'm going to try and see what happens.”

“Good. I'm out of here.” Valerie stepped onto the stoop and was about to close the door when she had a second thought. “Oh, and just one more thing.” She smiled sweetly. “Don't ever call my husband Rambo again, or you'll be colliding with the fist of GI Jane.”

After leaving Denise snuffling in the doorway, Valerie thought about how unchallenging her cousin's relationship with her fiancé was. They quarreled about the most pedestrian things, like wedding invitations, showers, and honeymoons, whereas, in stark contrast, she hadn't even gotten a legitimate honeymoon out of Aaron, unless she chose to consider their time in Belize to be one.

They'd had a rudimentary wedding—still no reception. And then there was his staunch refusal to wear a wedding band. She'd asked him why, and he'd told her that it was nothing personal, but he never wore any kind of ring and never would. She'd determined that she would not sweat the small stuff. But was it really small stuff that he always unnecessarily used protection whenever they were intimate? And her most obvious concern was the lack of communication between them when he spent long periods of time away.

He'd insisted that he wasn't currently involved in any treacherous mercenary activity; yet, she hadn't seen or heard from him in the two weeks since she'd last kissed him goodbye. No calls. Nothing. How many marriages could survive that?

By the time she reached Long Island and stood in front of the former Allard house with its recently acquired building permit in the window, she wondered just how long it would be before her dream became a nightmare.

***

The phone rang just before midnight. Valerie awakened from a deep sleep with her heart pounding and her throat dry. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Aaron asked.

The anxious thudding of her heart stilled as she murmured a thank you to God. Then her pulse rate and blood pressure increased for another reason entirely.

“What do you mean, where am I? Where are you? I haven't seen or heard from you in two weeks. You call me up in the middle of the night and that's all you can ask. Where am I?”

“I'm home in Manhattan,” Aaron said calmly. “Shouldn't you be?”

Arrgh. That man
. The outrageous patronizing calmness in his voice made her want to strangle him even more.

“Since you called this number, you know good and well that I'm at my apartment in Englewood. The apartment
you
suggested I hold on to.”

“Are we arguing?” Aaron asked.

“What's it sound like?”

“Sounds like we are. Go back to sleep. I'll see you when you decide to come home.”

Her mouth opened and she heard the phone click.
Jeez.
Had she dreamt that bizarre exchange? She sat bolt upright, flung out her arm, and nearly knocked the clock off the night table.
The nerve of that arrogant whack job, telling me to go back to sleep
. There was no way she could simply go back to sleep. She got up, paced around the room, and suddenly began to get dressed.

“You think we're having an argument, do you?” she muttered aloud. “Well, I'll come in person and show you what a real argument is.”

She was absolutely livid as she launched her car like a missile across the George Washington Bridge, grateful that at this unearthly hour there was very little traffic to contend with. She reached the Manhattan skyscraper in record time, parked her car in the security-controlled underground lot, and took the elevator up to the loft.

Instead of using her key, she banged loudly on the door, shouting his name.

Aaron took his good time answering, of course, and when he did, he flung the door open so abruptly that she lost her footing and tumbled right into his arms, colliding against the brick wall of his chest—his bare chest. Even though he seemed wide-awake, he'd obviously been in bed, because he was wearing black silk pajama bottoms.

“Fiery tonight, aren't you?” he commented, pulling her inside and shoving the door shut.

“I'll have you kno—”

His mouth closed firmly on hers, muffling whatever piece of her mind she intended to give him. She floundered hopelessly for a second and momentarily succumbed, allowing him to draw her into the bedroom. Finally, regaining her senses, she planted both hands on his chest and pushed herself away.

“First,” she took a deep breath, “I love you and I'm glad you're home safe. But if you think this is entertaining, think again. It's not. We seriously have to discuss this problem, and we're not going to kiss, make out, and sweep everything under the rug.”

“There is no rug.” Aaron sat on the bed and looked at her with intense blue eyes. “I'm not going to guarantee you a satisfactory outcome, but suit yourself. Let's talk about whatever problem you have in mind.”

Talking was really the last thing she wanted to do. He had gotten her all hot, bothered, and, quite frankly, discombobulated. Her first instinct was to find him a T-shirt to wear, so his physical attributes wouldn't distract her; but doing that would only flatter his indomitable ego and provide more cause for entertainment. No, she had to confront him now, or the problems would only escalate and explode at a later date.

Unbuttoning her coat, she stripped it off and tossed it in his direction. He caught it without batting an eyelid.

“To begin with, I was worried about you. You were gone a long time and, as usual, you didn't even consider me enough to call. What am I supposed to think? Are you involved in something military again?”

Aaron regarded her for a moment, as though he were about to lecture a not-too-bright child. “I told you when I left that I was delivering cargo. If you want specifics as to places, I was in Morocco, Comoros, and Seychelles. You seem to have forgotten that I told you back in Belize that I have little tolerance for clingy women, and my rules haven't changed.” His eyes narrowed. “I'm not going to constantly update you on where I might be located at any given time of day.”

Seething, she held her tongue. In her heart she knew she was only being caring, not clingy. There was a big difference between the two. But at the same time she didn't think it wise to openly challenge his insistence on freedom from accountability. Before they were married he had made that clear and she had stupidly accepted his rules.

“Okay. Okay. You call it clingy, but I call it concerned. So be it.” She gestured emphatically. “Of course I don't expect you to constantly update me on everything. All I want is one compromise.” She didn't wait for him to respond. “When you're away for a long period of time, just call me once in a while, okay? You don't have to do anything more than just say hello…whatever.”