“I’ll be ready.” His my love was duly noted. Even though it was just an expression, a tease, it felt like a good fit.
The morning passed quickly. She ate a sandwich at her desk and finished up some paperwork. At three o’clock, she put away her files and yanked her jacket off the coat tree. She fiddled with the pens and scratch pads on the desk—busywork. She had half an hour before Cash would arrive. After a quick good-bye to Tom and the receptionist, she took the elevator to the lobby. Her running shoes padded softly on the polished marble floor as she headed for the large glass double doors leading to the street.
She checked her watch. Five minutes more to wait. She could count on his promptness. She pushed the door open and was caught up in the sounds of San Francisco, the constantly moving panorama of city life. She watched a large Muni bus trundle along the street, left behind by cars and taxis that whizzed by, horns blaring. In the daytime San Francisco was in perpetual motion and she loved it.
Cash’s SUV pulled to the curb and she quickened her steps. The door swung open and she hefted herself into the passenger’s seat. “Right on time.” An inane remark, she knew, but it was a greeting of sorts.
Cash leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek. She knew he was glad to see her, and that made her heart sing. She turned to face him, to take in his broad smile, the glint in his eyes, and she shivered with delight. An afternoon escape with Cash. What better way to spend the day?
It was too early for the commuter traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge, and they made it to Sausalito with ease. Cash had called ahead and ordered a takeout meal, and they stopped to pick it up. He was out of the shop in minutes, swinging a blue-and-white insulated bag.
Behind the wheel of the SUV once more, he swiveled to drop the bag into the backseat. “Roast chicken, potato salad, and apple pie. Sound good to you?” he asked.
“Sounds like heaven.” Heaven was being with Cash, whether dinner was included or not, she mused. Alone on his boat without distractions…umm.
They pulled into the harborside parking lot and scrambled along the dock to Serenade’s mooring. On board the boat, it took a minimum of time to unlash and raise the sails, and then they were motoring away. A light breeze, relatively warm, pushed at the sails, and Cash shut down the engine. The sails billowed like a half-filled balloon and the boat skimmed the water.
She stood beside Cash as he handled the wheel, guiding the ship into the lightly rolling waves. He put an arm around her and drew her close so that their bodies were comfortably aligned. He kissed the top of her head and pushed away a stray tendril of hair that had been swept by the wind. As she leaned into him, her heartbeat began to race. She turned her face up to see him smiling at her. The smile turned serious and his lips slowly descended to meet hers. She drank in the taste of him, and felt a prickling sensation run up and down her arms.
The boat rocked gently as it swept through the water. Christie rested her head against Cash’s chest, happy and content.
“Look,” he said, indicating a midpoint in the distance. A pod of dolphins, five or six of them, danced in graceful ballet-like arcs along the surface of the water. Their gray bodies shimmered like silver in the reflection of the afternoon sunlight.
They continued sailing along the coastline, following the route of pelicans searching for supper, and sea lions barking hoarse sea lion language from rocky outcroppings. Cash steered Serenade into a cove, where the water was calm, and dropped anchor.
They busied themselves setting their sumptuous dinner on a portable deck table. Cash poured two glasses of chardonnay and handed one to Christie. “To us,” he said, and then clinked his glass against hers. She sipped the wine while the word us ran through her mind. It sounded right, she thought, and hoped it would last.
She didn’t have long to wait for the promised sunset. The golden orb was fast dipping toward the ocean. Wanting to reach Sausalito before dusk, they hauled anchor and headed into the wind. Before they reached the harbor, the sun seemed to splash into the ocean. Orange rays fanned across sky and water, painting the Golden Gate Bridge awash in brilliance. Christie’s breath caught at the startling beauty.
“Better than sitting in an office all afternoon,” Cash remarked, dropping the sails and motoring to the dock.
“An understatement,” she answered.
“You’re not an understatement,” he said. He reached for her hand and pulled her close. “You’re all I want.”
He kissed her again, and in the fading light, the warmth of his body chased away the wisps of chill air that trailed the loss of sunlight.
The following day, at five minutes before noon, a FedEx deliveryman was at Christie’s desk. She signed for the bulky package and could hardly contain the impulse to rip the sturdy envelope apart. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she pulled at the adhesive strip. Dani had sent four journals. Three were mottled black-and-white composition books, the type familiar to students. The fourth must have been a gift, judging by the tapestry cover and fine-quality paper.
Christie handled the books as though they were museum pieces. They might offer the key to a history that was of the utmost importance to three people, information that could change their lives forever. While the books she held were not heavy, the responsibility to her client was.
She sat down and reverently placed the books on the desk blotter. She held her breath and opened the first book. The date at the top of the page indicated it had been written when Dani was about thirteen years old. The others must be earlier, she thought. She thumbed through the journal with the tapestry cover. It covered the second half of Dani’s eighth year in school. Her heart dropped; each book held the story of junior high school life. Childhood, yes, but not early enough to compare writing.
The first book told the story of an adolescent girl on the brink of becoming a young lady, with all the accompanying anxieties that a mother might quell. Christie could almost hear young Dani’s voice as she longed for her mother, a safe haven in her distress. Although the handwriting would not shed light on the question of Dani’s identity, Christie planned to scrutinize the books. Perhaps luck would be on her side and she would discover an answer to the mystery, something that would prove who Dani was…or was not.
At one o’clock Tom peered into Christie’s office. “I’m ordering sandwiches, anything you’d like?”
“Turkey on sourdough would be great,” she answered without looking up.
“I see you’re absorbed, so I won’t interrupt.”
Christie nodded. She was absorbed.
A couple of hours after lunch, she put down the last book. Her hands rested lightly on the cover, her eyes were misty, and she looked out the window, barely seeing the San Francisco skyline. She could only see a child in pain. Had Dani’s mother died? Or had her father perpetrated a cruel and despicable hoax?
It was six o’clock by the time she left her office. At home she cradled a hot cup of mint tea in her hands. She could not shake the Farley case from her mind. Putting her tea on the end table, she reached for the phone; she wanted to talk to George Porter’s widow.
Jane Porter answered on the fourth ring and did not seem in the least surprised to hear from her. “I thought you might call. Dani told me that she sent her journals to you yesterday.”
“I’ve read the journals, but I thought I should speak to you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. I didn’t enter George and Dani’s lives until Dani was in college. George told me his first wife was killed in a car accident when Dani was six years old.”