A Different Kind of Forever(40)

Max came bounding from somewhere, and Michael yelled loudly, “Fred, it’s me.” He looked at Diane. “Want the tour?” She nodded.

Beyond the living room was a dining area, equally quiet and gracious. The kitchen was a gleaming space of stainless steel and black, with a small, round gentleman Michael introduced as Fred, who bowed over Diane’s hand and welcomed her. There were guest rooms and a large media room, and on the other side of the house, a small office, a vast studio, and Michael’s bedroom, walled on two sides with glass, looking out over the lake and lush trees.

Michael led her back to the kitchen. “Fred, can we have lunch? Around one. Out on the dock?” He asked.

Fred smiled and nodded. “Very good cold crab. Salad. Good bread. White wine.”

“Fantastic. Thank you.” Michael led Diane out past the pool, down a beautifully manicured lawn to a small dock that stretched out into the water, with two weathered Adirondack chairs facing the water.

Diane had never been in a sailboat before, and he was patient, explaining what everything was and what it was used for. They practiced a few moves with the sail down, the boat simply rocking in the water. When they really got underway, Diane felt confident. They sailed around in small circles within the sight of his house. She was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and had worn a heavy sweatshirt on his advice. The wind was high and cold out on the water, but she found it exhilarating. They brought the boat back in and had lunch, sitting at a small table Fred had set up at the edge of the dock.

When they went out again, he took her past a curve of land and there was the rest of the lake, huge and glistening. They spent the next few hours racing across the water, Diane sailing the little boat by herself while Michael sat back and watched her. She caught him looking at her intently at one point, but when she questioned him, he just smiled.

“You look happy,” he yelled as an explanation.

They returned to the house and went into the village for dinner, to a loud, lively place in the center of town, where their casual clothes and Diane’s tousled hair did not matter. The staff was young and friendly, and they all knew Michael. Their waiter brought him a mug of beer without being asked. A waitress came over to chat, a young girl who Michael knew by name, and cast puzzled looks in Diane’s direction. Afterwards, they drove back to his house, and made love on his huge bed, the windows open to the cool night air, the room flooded with moonlight and the scent of water.

They had breakfast the next morning outside on his terrace, looking out over the lake. Fred served them Eggs Benedict. Diane stared down at her plate and shook her head.

“This is incredible. Do you get this kind of thing every morning?”

“Nope.” Michael poured coffee. “Fred must like you. I usually get half a grapefruit and stale Raisin Bran.”

“You do not. This coffee is delicious, and fresh squeezed orange juice. God, I could get used to this.” She spoke lightly, just chattering, stirring cream into her coffee cup, and she glanced at him and found him staring at her.

“What?” She glanced behind her. “What is it?”

He shook himself and looked down at his plate. “What should we do today?”

“I need to go home. I have work to do in my yard. I’m putting in a rose garden. Remember that azalea you helped me with? Well, that used to be under this huge tree that finally died, and last year I had it taken down and hauled away, so I finally have a sunny spot. I’ve always wanted roses. I’ve been planning and plotting all winter. I need to finish some heavy-duty soil turning today.”

“Okay. I’ll help you.” He drank orange juice.

Diane put down her fork and stared at her half-eaten breakfast. “Thank you, but no, really. I want to do this by myself.”

Michael ate thoughtfully, watching her face. She was still staring at her food.

“It’s just that my Dad, he had this big self-reliance theory,” she said, looking up at him. “He always said that if you relied too much on others, you would forget your own strength. So I like to do things alone.”

“That must have been tough on Kevin when it came to raising the girls,” Michael observed dryly.

“No. I know when to share.” She picked her fork back up. “Kevin always was right in there, pitching in, and I always let him. It was important for them to have two good parents. He’s still a great dad. It made me squirm a few times, but I got over it.”

“Then why don’t we have dinner tonight?”