Surfside Sisters(53)

Keely grinned. She understood the challenge implicit in his words—see if you can be the special one to catch me. And he was handsome. Even so, she felt no instantaneous rush of desire to be the amazing woman who would win his heart.

“You’re safe with me,” Keely told him. “I have no desire to marry.” And those words threw the challenge back at him—could he make her want to be his wife?

Really, they were playing a kind of game. It was fun, and it woke up Keely’s mind. Tucking her legs under her, she turned toward him on the sofa. “So tell me about the man who doesn’t want to marry again.”

    As the noise level in the main room rose to a crescendo and the thump of music reverberated through the apartment, Gray spoke about himself: his training at Yale School of Medicine. The trips he’d taken with a group called Freedom Aid to countries that had few medical services. He’d just returned from Haiti, which was why he had such a good tan. And there was his position on the board of the Metropolitan Opera, and his art collection.

“Impressive,” Keely said

Gray shrugged. “Fortunate, really. And you?”

The question threw her. “Fortunate? Oh, yes. Small-town girl gets novel published, makes the bestseller list, moves to the most exciting city on the planet.” She tapped her lip, thinking. “I haven’t been to Haiti or anywhere south of Florida, and I haven’t attended an opera yet—I’m not sure I’d enjoy it.”

“I’ll have to take you to one,” Gray said. “If you’d like to go…”

She knew the question was about more than one evening at Lincoln Center.

“I’d like to go,” she answered.

At one-thirty, they left the party. Gray called an Uber and stayed with Keely until she was at her doorstep, which she thought was courteous. They made a date for the next night. And that led to another date, and another.

Gray was a serious man, always beautifully clad in Ermenegildo Zegna or Paul Stuart, his skillful hands clean and knowing, his mind quick and demanding. He was like no one else Keely had ever met, and she enjoyed his company. He was a surgical magician with rocket fuel energy, and he was also smart and charismatic and wealthy.

For their first date, he took her to the opera to see a thrilling production of Carmen. Afterward, they dined in a small, quiet restaurant that served them meltingly tender prime rib and rich red wine. They talked about easy things first. The opera reminded Keely of one of her favorite movies, Moonstruck, with Cher. It was a favorite of Gray’s, too, and for a long time they entertained themselves talking about movies.

    Late at night, they walked along brightly lit avenues with laughing crowds going in and out of bars and restaurants. They talked. Keely told him about her childhood on Nantucket, about her dream of becoming a writer. Gray told her about his childhood in bucolic Connecticut, his dream of becoming a doctor. At some point, they stopped in an all-night diner to warm up, and over hot chocolate, they kept talking. It seemed to Keely that they were circling in increasingly smaller protective rings, sharing the easy stuff, saving the hard stuff, the inner core of their lives and loves, for the last. She didn’t mind moving slowly this way. She liked talking about her life to a stranger. It gave her a new perspective. And Gray’s green eyes were full of intelligence and understanding. If nothing else, he would give her material for a new character in one of her books—and she knew that thought was mostly a matter of self-protection.



* * *



—

As the new year unfolded, Keely saw Gray so often she believed, even though they didn’t say the words, that they were becoming a couple. Certainly she had no other man in her life. Most of her time she spent in happy isolation, writing. She knew Gray’s schedule. Most days he was busy at the hospital. Most nights he went right to his apartment to sleep. When he had a free evening, he took Keely to the opera, the newest plays, the best restaurants. On cold winter nights, he came to her apartment and they watched old movies.

Her writing was going along in fits and starts. She couldn’t get settled in her own skin, and she thought it was all because of Gray. How did she feel about him? She didn’t experience that instantaneous, breathtaking sense of yearning that had made her want to drop to her knees whenever she had set eyes on Sebastian. She didn’t have the rush of warm affection and admiration and even a touch of maternal love she’d felt for Tommy. She never experienced any shock when she heard Gray’s voice, her heart never leapt when she saw him. And yet, she liked him. She did like him.

    Also, she was worried about her mother. Eloise turned sixty-five this month, and retired from the hospital. The doctors and nurses and staff gave Eloise a marvelous party, with cake and champagne and piles of gifts, both humorous and real. Keely called her mother often over the next few days, and Eloise sounded fine, maybe a little down, but normal.

“Why, yes, darling, I’m keeping busy,” Eloise had assured Keely. “It’s going to take me a century to clean out the basement and the guest room—all those things I’ve been promising myself I’d get to when I have time. And now I have time!”

“So are you seeing other people?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like going to the movies with Brenda. Or joining a bridge club.”

“Now, Keely,” Eloise said, and her voice was as firm as it had been when she’d told Keely as a child to wash her hands before dinner. “You know I have never been the joiner type. I see my friends, of course. I promise you I am not isolated and babbling like some old hag.”