Swim Deep Page 3

  I glanced uneasily to the backseat. My mom was passed out cold, her cheek on my father’s chest, her head rising and falling to the cadence of my dad’s soft snore. Mom’s face was an older, more interesting version of Jessica’s.

  “Ambien,” Jessica said in a clipped tone before she popped two Tic Tacs in her mouth. “Mom got them from her doctor. She’s been nervous about flying lately. I guess Dad decided he didn’t want to miss out on the party, and took one too. They’ll be out until we reach his Highness’s castle, at the very least. I doubt the news of your sudden wedding helped Mom’s anxiety much.”

  “Don’t be such a bitch, Jess,” I said, but there was no heat in my tone. Jessica wasn’t being unkind, not really. Knowing her as well as I did, I understood she was in a state of frantic curiosity and concern. I hadn’t done much to help soothe her in the past two weeks…

  Ever since Evan and I had called all three of them and announced the news of our engagement.

  It was just so hard to put what had happened to me—what was still happening—into words. I sensed Jessica next to me as I drove, waiting with increasing impatience and worry. She wanted to understand, but she couldn’t. As long as she didn’t understand, I was like a stranger to her, and she to me. That’s what was causing Jessica’s sharp tone.

  “It’s really been more like four months since Evan and I first started talking, you know,” I said lamely. I glanced over and saw Jessica’s rising irritation: the wrath of an angel.

  “What do you want me to tell you? It’d probably be best if you just meet Evan. Then you’ll understand. He really is amazing.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the Second Coming,” Jessica said petulantly, slouching in her seat and distractedly petting the supple leather of the cushion. Despite her uneasiness over this whole situation, my little sister couldn’t help but admire the uncustomary trappings of luxury. Evan had given me his Mercedes to pick up my family at the airport, while he and Tommy and Ellen Higoshi had gone ahead to Tiburon to prepare things for guests and the upcoming wedding. My family, Tommy and Ellen would be the entire guest list for the small ceremony.

  At first, I’d been taken aback at the idea of so few guests, especially when I understood that Evan’s parents wouldn’t be there. But Evan had explained that his father was recovering from a surgery. His doctor didn’t want him to fly, and his mother didn’t want to leave him alone.

  In a roundabout way, I’d managed to get the idea that Evan had hated his first wedding: the elaborate details, the hundreds of guests he barely knew, and the artificiality of it all. I knew him well enough by now to understand how much he despised inauthenticity, so I agreed to the small ceremony in the natural setting. I didn’t need hundreds of people telling me how happy I was to know I was ecstatic.

  Last night had been the first night I’d spent away from Evan in the past six weeks. Did that have something to do with the abrupt halt of the dream-ride, or had it been the appearance of my mom and dad, practical, down-to-earth, Dick and Amanda Solas from Oak Park, Illinois?

  “I honestly don’t know what more to tell you about him than I have—”

  “I don’t care about him,” Jessica growled loudly. She grimaced and glanced into the backseat, clearly worried she’d awakened one or both of our parents. “I care about how he makes you feel. What would make you act this insane, Anna?”

  I gripped the wheel tighter, searching for an answer.

  “Evan gets me,” I finally said. “He sees me.” I glanced aside and see Jessica’s puzzlement. No cheeky remark this time. She was interested, at least.

  I inhaled. “Remember that painting I showed you when you guys visited two summers ago, and we went to the SFMOMA?”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to reply. I knew she didn’t recall. Like my father, who was a corporate lawyer, Jessica was all about numbers and practicalities. She’d graduated from the University of Wisconsin this spring with a business degree, and planned to get her MBA from the University of Illinois starting in the fall.

  “All right. So you don’t remember. I thought you wanted me to give you an idea of why I’m acting insane, as you so nicely put it.”

  “I do,” Jessica said.

  “Well, I’m sorry I can’t do that with a pie chart or statistical analysis, Jess.”

  “You’re right,” she said quickly, sounding a little contrite. “I’m listening. Go on. But don’t just tell me about some boring painting. Tell me how the hell you two matched up, and I’m not just talking about on that dating site.”

  So I tried to shed some light on what my family obviously considered a case of my early onset madness.

  This all happened before: before the night of the Cartier earrings and my guilt burning a hole in my evening bag, before the night of the restaurant and the dance, when everything had changed. Because although I hadn’t fully understood the deep connection between Evan and me until that night, even though I had been swamped with doubt, the promise was there. I still sensed the hint of something bigger and brighter than I’d ever even guessed at so far in my relatively small and light-muted world.

  I started with the question, because in the beginning, that question was everything. Why would a thirty-seven year old, good-looking, widowed, private fund manager want to date me? I didn’t even know what a fund manager was. At twenty-three, I had only a vague, hazy idea about what it would be like to be married. I was completely clueless about what it would be like to wake up every morning and have to cope with the painful wound of losing a spouse.

  I didn’t tell Jessica this part, but in the beginning, I figured Evan Halifax had probably expressed interest in me on the dating site for the same reason a lot of guys had in the past. I had a college degree and a lot of blonde hair. My parents’ investment in braces had paid off. I looked okay in a tank top. You know the drill. Like hundreds of thousands of others, I’m swipe-rightable. It means absolutely nothing.

  Point being, I figured Evan’s motivation was likely as calculated as mine for expressing interest. His claims of being a Stanford graduate and the owner of a private fund might have been false, and maybe he really didn’t enjoy hiking, jogging, skiing, hockey, scuba diving, sailing, and art, like he claimed. But photos don’t lie, for the most part. Evan Halifax filled out that business suit extremely well.

  I didn’t tell my little sister that the attraction between Evan and me was off the charts. I knew hearing about our blistering sex life wouldn’t reassure her. Or maybe it was me who was still in awe, and a little uncomfortable, about the power of our need for each other. A veil of mystery still hung about our shared bed.

  “Are you saying everything Evan put on his dating profile was true?” Jessica interrupted skeptically at this point of my explanation. “I tried to look up his profile after you told me about him, but he’d already taken it down.”

  “That’s a good thing, Jess,” I reminded her. “And yes. Evan was like the polar opposite of most guys on dating sites. Unlike most girls, too, because there was no need to fluff the personal details. Everything he mentioned wasn’t only true, it was an understatement.”

  “I’m hearing Prince Charming’s theme again.”

  “Do you want me to talk about this or not?”

  “Okay.”

  The sound of a chuffing breath and rustling could be heard from the back seat. Both of us glanced over our shoulders. Mom took a heaving breath and sagged again onto my Dad’s shoulder. Ambien to the rescue.

  “Just get to the part about how he gets you or sees you, or whatever the hell you were talking about,” Jessica hissed.

  I thought back to three months ago, when Evan and I went to the SFMOMA on a gorgeously gray and rainy afternoon. He had showed me a few of his favorite pieces at the museum. Again, I was impressed by his artistic knowledge, clear insight, and sensitivity to the work. It was a novel quality in such a masculine man, an
d far too irresistible for a girl like me.

  “Now let me guess one of your favorite pieces,” Evan said, taking my hand.

  I laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

  He just gave me a bland, knowing glance and began to walk, leading me through the museum.

  I was tickled by his playful proposition. What were the chances he would guess correctly? He’d only known me for about three or four weeks at that point. But my amusement quickly faded to amazement as he led me—very accurately—to a small, exquisite portrait from a Nigerian artist of a young village girl. I’ve loved the piece from the moment I first saw it. There was a dreamy quality on the girl’s face, but also a strength that was almost noble, somehow.

  “How did you know?” I asked him. My hands and feet tingled with disbelief. I couldn’t comprehend that he could understand me so well.

  He shrugged. “It reminds me of you,” he said simply. “Innocence as power.”

  The small gallery we were in was empty, except for us. I stared up at him as he studied the portrait for a stretched, silent moment.

  “I know that I’m older than you,” he said abruptly. “I know that I’m… complicated, Anna.”

  “I like complicated sometimes.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise in my case. But what I’m trying to say is, I care about you. I don’t want to ruin your life.”

  “Ruin my life? How would you do that?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe just by being with you.”

  “I’ve never been so happy in my life as I have been spending time with you,” I told him in a burst of honesty. He reached and opened his hand at the side of my head, his thumb gently tracing my cheekbone. I waited in anguished anticipation. Was he going to kiss me? Finally? I couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment.

  “Thank you for that,” he said. “I’m glad. Because I want you to be happy. I want that very much. I hope you believe me.”

  “Of course I do,” I whispered, trying to decode the message in his light eyes, unable to breathe because of my craving to feel his mouth on mine.

  But then he dropped his hand from my face and led me into the next gallery.

  And the message remained a mystery.

  Of course, I didn’t tell my sister that stuff about how Evan had said he worried about ruining me, or how he’d dropped his hand during such an intimate moment. Why didn’t I tell her?

  I told myself it was because everything had changed since then. Completely altered.

  I was gratified to see that Jessica seemed mollified by my little story. Maybe even impressed?

  As we got closer to Evan’s home in Tiburon, my parents must have sensed the car’s slowing motion as we left the highway. They snuffled, yawned, and roused. I heard the click of my mother’s compact and pictured her putting on her lipstick and smoothing her bobbed blonde hair. Jessica didn’t ask any more impertinent questions. We all grew silent as we stared at the palatial homes set into the hillside.

  Finally, the GPS directed me to turn down Evan’s drive.

  Evan walked out of the sprawling Italian villa. He wore jeans—something I’d rarely seen him in—and a short-sleeved sports shirt that showed off his athletic build and tan. His saunter toward us was casual and confident. Undeniably sexy. I sensed his stare on me through the window, and felt that familiar charge.

  I glanced over at my sister, and saw that she watched me, as well. There was this tinge of wonder on her open, frank face, like I wasn’t precisely who she’d thought I was.

  It made me feel hollow, to see someone who filled up my very first memories, look at me that way.

  Evan was the perfect host and gentleman when it came to my family. I worried when my mom and dad launched into embarrassing stories about my childhood, or retold snippets about their college days at nearby Berkley that Jessica and I had heard hundreds of times. But my concern was short-lived. Evan seemed relaxed and content listening to boring family history and nostalgia. His indulgent smiles at me while those stories were being replayed warmed me to the core.

  On Friday evening before dinner, Evan offered everyone a tour of the gardens, where we would be married tomorrow. My parents, Jessica, and Ellen trailed after him onto the terrace, glasses of chardonnay reflecting like liquid golden globes in everyone’s hands. I started after them, but Tommy Higoshi snagged my wrist, holding me back.

  Tommy was the owner of Yume, but gallery ownership was just a hobby for him. Tommy is one of these guys with the Midas touch who created some kind of blood testing technology that made him a fortune. He’d been only twenty-six years old when he’d become a multimillionaire. Like lots of brilliant people, Tommy was an expert on a mind-blowing number of things, art being one of them. Tommy had introduced himself to me at a Curator’s Circle cocktail party at the museum where I work, and he eventually offered me a job at Yume. He’d become like a San Francisco big brother or uncle figure for me.

  Since I’d started seeing Evan, I’d learned that Tommy was a client of Evan’s private fund. Both men shared a passion for yachting. They’d crewed together competitively off and on over the years. At first, I thought that Tommy and Evan were merely acquaintances. Over the past few months, however, I came to understand how close they really were.

  “How are you feeling?” Tommy asked in a low voice.

  “Fine,” I replied breezily. My gaze narrowed on Tommy’s face. I spied a shadow beneath the luminous Northern California evening and his bright smile.

  “What’s up, Tommy?”

  “I just wanted to check in with you before the big day tomorrow. You’re still feeling good? Still Cinderella swept off her feet?”

  “Please. Don’t bring up Cinderella. I’m getting enough of the fairy tale crap from Jessica. That isn’t worry I see on your face, is it, Tommy?” I asked, smiling but cautious. “Not from the man who praised Evan to the high heavens ever since I first mentioned matching up with him on the dating site?”

  “No. It’s not Evan. You know I think Evan’s a terrific guy. It’s not you, either. I’m just doing my due diligence, asking about the state of things before the wedding.”

  “I suppose you are kind of like the best man and the maid of honor combined. You’re certainly the person that’s most responsible for bringing Evan and me together. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have ever agreed to meet him in person after we matched up online.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago that you were convinced Evan Halifax was a dog who went after girls fourteen years younger than him as a matter of course.”

  “I’ve gotten past all that. I hardly ever think about our age difference anymore.”

  It was a lie, but only a partial one. Everything was relative. Compared to how I used to think about Evan’s and my difference in not only years but also experience, I’d advanced by light-years in the insecurity department.

  “I forget the age difference most of the time, too,” Tommy mused. “I forget how young you are. You have an old soul, Anna.” Something about the way he watched me—like his words meant something entirely different than the context of our conversation—worried me.

  “There is something wrong,” I said, taking a step toward him. “What is it?”

  Tommy shook his head and laughed before taking a swallow of his wine. He noticed my determined expression and shrugged.

  “I’ve never been in this situation before—been both the best man and maid of honor, as you put it. It’s a little scary.” “What do you mean?”

  “If something goes wrong between you two—”

  “It’ll be Evan’s and my responsibility, just like it’s the responsibility of every couple when they take a vow of marriage and something goes wrong. It would have nothing to do with you. You know that.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Tommy said, but I still sensed his unease. “Okay, there is something I wa
nt to get off my chest.”

  This didn’t sound good. A confession on the eve of my wedding?

  “Okay, go ahead,” I said quickly, even though I was overwhelmed with trepidation.

  “I showed Evan some of your work a while back, when he visited the gallery. I want you to understand,” he said, noticing my blank expression. “This was before you two met through that dating site. He seemed very taken by your painting.”

  “Oh.”

  “The thing is, I think that’s why he looked you up on that dating site… ” Tommy hesitated. “In fact, I think it might have been the reason he joined it, Anna. To meet you, exclusively. I mean… you know Evan. I can’t really see him needing to use a dating site, can you? I don’t want to give you the impression he’s some kind of Lothario, but he’s never struck me as the type of guy who has trouble getting female companionship.”

  It wasn’t what I expected. Not at all. No room filled with former murdered wives’ bones and dripping blood. I was stunned by his admission. Confused.

  Pleased?

  Wasn’t it good that Evan had been explicitly interested in me versus any generic form of female companionship to help him through a difficult time in his life? Wasn’t it hopeful that he’d sought out the artist whose work had touched him, versus seeking out just any young blonde during a time when he wanted to rekindle not only his libido but also his optimism about living again?

  Still, it was weird. Why wouldn’t he want me to know that he’d admired my paintings before he’d met me?

  “Why didn’t you mention it to me before?” I asked Tommy.

  “Evan asked me not to say anything about it.”

  I rarely saw Tommy look uncomfortable, but he did in that moment.

  “I don’t understand. Why would Evan not want me to know he’d seen my work? He made it seem like he never had before, like the gallery showing was the first viewing for him.”

  “I honestly don’t know why he asked me not to say anything, Anna.”

  “But you must have an idea—”