to be heady.
Felix Hart made the introduction. "I have the delightful task now of
giving you Ms. Chloe Macdaniel. Ms. Macdaniel has been retained by the
county to study our coast with an eye toward the environmental impact of
the Rye Beach Resort and Condominium Complex as proposed by the Hansen
Corporation. She has already spent a good deal of time on the project.
Ms. Macdaniel?"
After lifting a neat folder from the floor beneath her chair, Chloe rose
to her full five-foot-eight-inch height and approached the podium. Her
appearance was understated; she worked at that. Still, the curiosity of
the crowd yielded to a murmur of appreciation when she stepped forward.
Tall and willowy, dark haired and light complected, she was the image of
grace. Her dress was of a soft and simple white eyelet fabric, lined
through the bodice and skirt, the sleeves hanging free and loose to her
elbows. A wide sash of contrasting aqua enhanced both the slimness of
her waist and the porcelain of her skin.
Her voice was steady and well-modulated. "Thank you, Mr. Hart, for your
kind introduction. Let me say how pleased I was to have been approached
by your representatives last spring. Not only do I have a professional
interest in your coastline, but I have an emotional involvement with the
entire New England coast, since it's my home of choice. In keeping with
this, let me begin by saying that I am not opposed to the Rye Beach
Resort and Condominium Complex per se. What Mr. Stephenson has outlined
for you sounds like a project that could benefit this area. But I
question the ecological wisdom of the plan as it stands. The thought of
a beachfront condominium may appeal to the romantic in us all, but this
plan isn't environmentally wise."
As she proceeded to explain the core results of her tests, she was
oblivious to all else but her work. The most powerful tool she had was
genuine concern. "In terms of storm surge alone, the Hansen proposal is
risky," she argued, pointing to the carefully calculated figures now
projected on a slide screen. "Once every six or seven years you folks
get a storm strong enough to do significant damage to structures built
so close to the beach. If the entire complex were to be moved back an
additional two hundred feet, the risk would be lessened."
Again she explained her theory in detail, using statistics where
applicable. By the time she finished and opened the floor to questions,
she felt that her arguments had been well received. She answered the
questions posed with the same patience and care, the same genuine
concern for the environment.
"Great presentation," Howard said when she returned to her seat.
She smiled modestly. "I only hope I've accomplished our objective. What
happens now?"
"You endure brief speeches by Brad and myself. Try to stay awake."
She gave an of-course-l-will chuckle, but with her own job done, her
mind wandered. While Felix introduced Bradbury Huff, she glanced at
Ross. Folded comfortably into his seat, he appeared to be listening
intently to his advocate, the state representative.
The years had been kind to Ross. While his dark brown hair had a touch
of gray at the sideburns, it fell over his forehead with vibrance and
class. There was strength in his unhearded jaw, which flexed as he
listened. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were etched into a
light tan that spoke of a life of sun and smiles. He was perfectly at
ease, maddeningly confident, and devastatingly handsome.
He blinked once, turned his head, and met her gaze and, in that instant,
time stopped. In the next, it reversed, speeding Chloe back over the
years to the first time she'd seen him. It had been a beautiful
Thanksgiving night in New Orleans, the moment as clear to her as if it
had been yesterday. She had been with Crystal then. Crystal. She still
missed her sister with the kind of pain that ate at a person from the
inside out.
Howard covered her tight fist with his hand. "Are you all right?" He
followed her line of sight. "You can talk with him later-"
"No," she interrupted, "no need." Embarrassed, she leaned toward Howard.
"I'm sorry. There are ... memories."
"There must be," he noted softly. "And from the looks of you, they're
pretty awful."
It was a minute before she said, "Not all."
"You're white as a sheet. Can I get you some water or something?"
"No. I'm fine." At his quirked brow she added, "Really," before glancing
at the podium. "Is Huff almost done?"
"He'd better be. I'm next. Take notes for me, will you? I have a
tendency to forget what I say from one minute to the next."
"Baloney."
"Hmmm, I could use some of that, too. Supper was very early. It's nearly
ten."
At least he'd had supper. She hadn't eaten a thing. "How much longer do
you think this will last?" She still had to make the return trip to
Little Compton that night.
Howard checked his watch. "I have no idea. But I have to be out of here
by ten-thirty to make it to Manchester for the eleven o'clock news.
They're doing a live interview. I hope good old Brad speeds it up."
He got his wish within minutes. As Chloe sat back, the long-winded state
representative transferred the podium to "my illustrious colleague in
the New Hampshire state government," and Howard took the reins.
Chloe did take notes. It was the one way she could keep her thoughts in
the present and her eyes away from Ross. Once upon a time, he had played
a cataclysmic role in her life. So much had happened since that night.
When Howard finished delivering a poignant plea for the preservation of
the coast, the crowd came alive with questions and comments that had
less to do with scientific matters, than practical ones. They wanted to
know things like how increased tax revenues would be used to benefit
local residents, and who would pay for the added police and fire
coverage that would be necessary, given the proportions of the Rye Beach
proposal.
It was closer to ten-forty before Howard was allowed to leave the
microphone. To Chloe, with a frantic look at the time, he said, "Thanks
again, Chloe. Think you can cover for me here a few minutes longer?"
"Sure thing, if I can answer their questions. My field is geology, not
politics."
"Don't underestimate yourself. Why not change your mind and spend the
night? There are a number of nice inns close by. It'll be a long drive
back to Rhode Island alone."
She was touched by his worry, but confident. "I'll be fine. Driving
relaxes me. I have plenty of unwinding to do." A movement in the corner
of her eye reminded her of the source of her tension. She ignored the
tall figure who approached for all she was worth. "Go on now, Senator.
You'll be late."
Howard's expression was wry. "I already am. Take care." He shot a glance
at Ross. "Let me know what happens."
Chloe found no humor in his double meaning, particularly with Ross
suddenly at her side. "I think they'd like to ask us a few more
questions," he said and she suddenly wished Howard had stayed, if only
to serve as a buffer. She was on her own now.
With a forced smile, she stood. "Fine," was all she was able to murmur
as she walked to the podium.
Luck was with her. The questions from the audience came quickly,
reimmersing her into the world of coastal geology. She parried the
onslaught with ease, rising to meet the challenge in spite of an unease
in the pit of her stomach. It was only when a question was directed at
Ross that she let herself look at him again. The breadth of his
shoulders was more marked now that his jacket was open and pulled back
by the hand in his trousers' pocket. His other hand rested on the
podium, fingers long and straight, tanned, relaxed.
Several questions later, a gruff-looking local came forward. "I have a
question for Ms. Macdaniel," he said in a forceful voice. It brought her
mind back, along with a certain wariness. "Yes?"
He stared straight at her. "I want to know what makes you qualified to
be a consultant. You look awful young and awful pretty." His words took
on a faint sneer. "What's with you and Wolschinski? Are you a regular on
his payroll?"
A murmur of dismay passed through the audience. It was small solace for
the shock Chloe felt. In the past she'd had to defend her qualifications
on occasion, but never in the wake of such a crude insinuation.
Poise and professionalism were called for, and she mustered them up. But
when she opened her mouth to speak, Ross beat her to the mike.
"I believe," he said in a hard voice, "that your question has no
relevance-"
"Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Stephenson." She leaned toward the
mike, looking at Ross for the first time entirely in the context of the
present. "I would like to respond to the gentleman." Her expression
brooked no argument. She was determined. Ross straightened and backed
off, seeming bemused.
She looked back at the man in the audience. "First things first, Mr.-"
"-Younger," he supplied, dropping the r at the end of his name in true
New England form. "-Mr. Younger. I have a bachelor of science in geology
from Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts, and a master's in
geology from Boston College. I spent three years working for Conarn
Petroleum, performing geological studies on oil deposits in the Gulf of
Mexico. I was then able to co-found Earth Science Education, Inc., the
consulting firm that was contacted by Senator Wolschinski to study the
pros and cons of the Rye Beach Resort and Condominium Complex." Holding
the man's gaze steadily, she pushed on. "I have control over neither my
age nor my looks. And I never worked for Senator Wolschinski prior to
the day he retained my services for this project." She tipped up her
chin a hair. "Have you any other questions?"
Again a collective murmur went through the crowd. Just as the man
shrugged and stepped back, Chloe saw the hand on the podium lift. Ross
pressed his chin with his thumb, looking satisfied, respectful.
He wasn't the only one she had impressed. A different voice rose from
the audience. "The taxpayers' money has been well spent for a change.
Thank you, Ms. Macdaniel!"
Chloe directed a full smile across the ocean of heads as she leaned
toward the microphone a final time. "It's been my honor. If my effort
here has helped to preserve the natural bounty of your state, then we've
all benefited. Thank you."
It was the perfect time to make a gracious, if not sweeping exit. With
Ross still standing aside in deference to the crowd applauding its
appreciation of her, she should have quit while she was ahead. Her
mistake was in looking back at him.
His smile was devastating. Chloe felt her chest tighten, as she was
caught in the throes of memory again. She was suddenly immobilized,
suspended in a matrix of desire and guilt that canceled out the years
that had come between, until there was only yesterday, Ross, Crystal,
and the toss of a coin.
When a last-minute surge brought members of the audience to the stage, a
shaken Chloe returned to the present. She had to concentrate again,
listening to questions, offering answers. She stood at one side of the
stage with her followers, Ross stood at the other side with his. She
gained strength with each new question, so that when the last of the
locals left, she felt more herself-felt more herself, that is, until she
realized that she and Ross were alone.
He showed no sign of sharing either her awkwardness or her apprehension.
Rather, he smiled at her, looking older and wiser perhaps, but no less
alive. The air between them hummed, just as it had eleven years before.
Looking at him, Chloe grappled with a world of inner demons, but the
past was better left alone. She was determined to make this reunion as
brief as possible.
"How are you, Chloe?" he asked, crossing the stage to where she stood.
He was that much taller than she was. She had to tip up her head. "Fine.
And you?"
"Not bad. You're looking well." He gave her a warm once-over. "Very
different." Humor tugged at the corners of his lips.
"So are you." Even in spite of an inner trembling, she could appreciate
the humor. "When I last saw you, you were distinctly antiestablishment.
This is a switch."
His stance was a casual one, the hand in his pocket not only emphasizing
the solid wall of his chest but pulling the fabric of his trousers
across his thigh in a way that showed the strength of seemingly endless
legs.
"Not entirely. It's just that now I save my jeans for free-time wear and
my boots for cold weather."
So he, too, remembered what he had worn that night. "And the peasant
shirt?" she asked softly.
He laughed. "The peasant shirt was replaced for a while by a dashiki,
but I'm afraid the modern me is addicted to ordinary sports shirts and
sweaters."
"Conventional," she murmured with a faltering smile, teasing him as much
as she dared. It was hard to remain indifferent to this man. She felt
the strain.
"Sadly so," he agreed without any sadness. "But look at you. You've done
a turnaround. Last time I saw you, your hair was curled, you wore
makeup, higher heels, and more daring clothes. You also talked New
Orleans. Where'd the accent go?"
Chloe drew in a long breath. "It faded. I've lived up north for too
long. Time does different things to each of us, I guess."
"It's for the better. You look beautiful. Unhappy, but beautiful."
