Before There Was Darkness

Part Seventeen

There was nothing gentle about the wind. It churned the deep water into heaving swells that battered the private expanse of sandy beach fronting the well-manicured grounds of the property the Sullivan's called home.

The house itself was welcoming, weathered cedar shakes and pale gray stone, a white columned seasonal porch wrapping its perimeter, and windows, so many arched, leaded windows that took full advantage of the pristine beauty of its secluded setting. Although it was substantial, sprawling in multi-level wings from a central vestibule, it wasn't quite as lavish as Jim had originally imagined it to be. But there was no denying that living like this, in this location, with the private tennis courts, the pool and the black Rolls Royce parked outside the five-car garage, was the by-product of money, lots of money.

Stepping from his own car, he leaned against the door and stretched his cramped neck and back, drawing in a cleansing breath of air, fresh with the salty aroma of the sea. He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to feel the warmth of the sun on his face.

Christie came around the open door and laid her hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the tension from his muscles. "Everything okay, Jimmy?"

Nothing more had been mentioned about the unexpected detour their journey had taken earlier in the day. The rest of the drive had passed by uneventfully, except for the occasional wind gust that seemed to raise the car from its solid contact with the road. They had shared light conversation, laughter and, apart from those occasions when he had to pull away to fight the elements, she had maintained ownership of his hand; he had gladly relinquished it to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Looking over at her, one eye still closed, he sighed. "That was a tough drive and I'm not so sure I'm ready for what comes next." Pulling her close, he buried his cheek against her hair and whispered, "I'm sorry, Christie, for earlier."

"Shhhhh. We're done with that, okay?" She kissed him, then reached up to rub the telltale lipstick from his face. Taking his arm, she smiled. "Come on, I think we need to go in. They've probably already seen us drive up."

This time, he didn't pull back. "Alright, then, lead the way."

"Christine. You look so good, dear." Her mother enveloped her in a loving embrace and planted a kiss on the cheek of her youngest daughter.

Lillian Sullivan was, as Christie had hinted, the spitting image of what she might look like 30 years down the road. Her hair was salt and peppered, cut in a short, face-framing style that complimented her still youthful features. She was beautiful, slender, impeccably dressed, or as Jim noted, expensively dressed, another characteristic she and Christie obviously shared. She turned and looked at Jim through the same blue gray eyes as her daughter, smiling as she sized him up.

"And this must be your Jim. I am so glad to welcome you to our home." She hugged him warmly. "And to the family I guess?"

"Thank you. It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Sullivan," he said, returning her embrace.

"Oh, Lillian, please. Everyone calls me Lillian. Let's not stand here in ceremony. Come in, please." She motioned to the central hallway. "I've got fresh, hot cider brewing in the kitchen." Jim trailed behind, following the rhythmic clicking of two pair of high heels on the polished marble floors.

Taking a seat at the breakfast bar separating the immaculate kitchen from a casual eating room, Christie patted the stool next to hers for Jim to sit

"Where's Daddy?"

"He had to go to the Club for a while but he should be along anytime now. He's really looking forward to having both his girls home again." Lillian pulled heavy crystal mugs from an overhead cupboard and dropped a cinnamon stick in each. "By the way, your sister is at the Cromwell's; Jake's home for the weekend. I'm sure you know how much your father would love to see the two of them finally get together."

"Oh," Christie said. In response to the puzzled look Jim knew must have been written in his expression, she added, "And it's not just Daddy, I know you'd love it too, Mom. They've been on again and off again since they were sixteen. But, now that Jake's finally settled successfully into his career, I'm sure they're really hoping Erica might decide to follow suit. It's not like Jake hasn't asked."

"Yes, he's made quite a name for himself in the law community, the firm's youngest junior partner ever."

Christie shot a stern glance in her mother's direction and discretely shook her head. "It helps, of course, when your grandfather started the firm."

"Still, dear, he didn't get there based on name alone. He's brilliant, just the kind of man we'd like to see Erica settle down with. Couldn't ask for anyone better." She passed one of the mugs to Jim. "And you're with the NYPD, is that right Jim?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm a Detective with the Eleventh Precinct."

"Lillian, please. That's an admirable job. But is there much of a future in that?"

"I guess that depends on what you mean by a future. I enjoy what I do and I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it." She reached out and patted his hand. " I just wondered if there was the possibility of moving up in the ranks someday."

"If I chose to, I imagine there might be. But like I said, I enjoy what I do." Christie smiled and wrapped her arm protectively around him.

"Well, I guess that's important too," Lillian said, not missing a beat. "If one must work, I guess one may as well enjoy what they do."

Christie glanced at Jim, a hint of regret in her eyes. "Jimmy, I think we should go get the luggage and settle in before everyone gets back. If you want to rest for a bit, now might be the time to do it."

Lillian turned to her daughter. "Oh, we've got Jim in the blue room, and you're in your old room, dear."

The response from Christie surprised him. "Mother," she said, sweetly, "if it's all the same to you, one room will be fine. Jim, we'll take the blue room. The view of the ocean is spectacular."

Stepping onto the porch, he sighed deeply. Christie took his hands and turned him to face her. "Jimmy, I'm sorry. I know what she comes across like, but I don't think she meant anything by it."

"It's okay, Christie, really. I don't suppose she's used to carrying on a conversation with someone like me. And I don't mean anything by that." He patted her firmly on the behind. "Let's get those suitcases and check into the blue room."

It was, exactly that, undeniably blue, not soft baby blue or bright robin's egg blue, but a dark, regal midnight blue. An expansive four-poster bed, graced by rows of plump brocade pillows dominated one wall. Comfortable wing back chairs in a complimentary, masculine plaid of deep blues and greens were placed strategically to take full advantage of the large stone fireplace on the opposite wall. In spite of its size and color, the room was warm and inviting.

"Do all the rooms in this house have a name?" Jim asked, setting his suitcase down on the antique trunk at the foot of the bed.

"No, just this one." Christie laughed. " I don't know whatever possessed her to do it. I think it was one of those moments of sudden inspiration. Thank God it didn't go any further. The rest of the rooms up here are actually quite normal."

Jim surveyed their surroundings and nodded. "I like this, though. Gives it character. Promise me, when we have our own place, you won't be afraid to experiment with some color."

"Only if you promise you won't ask me to paint anything midnight blue," she threw back.

"Deal!" He strolled to the double french doors leading to a private balcony,offering, as Christie had suggested, a spectacular view. "Come here," he said quietly, holding his arms open.

She melted into his embrace and they stood wrapped together, savoring the calm of the scene spread before them. The setting sun blazed an eternal path of glistening gold that sliced through the water and danced on the peak of each crested wave. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the water, swelling and rolling gently under the subsiding wind. With Christie tucked safely in his arms, he was once again awed by an overwhelming sense of peace.

She shifted slightly, turning her attention to the clock on the fireplace mantle. "Oh, Jimmy, I hate to ruin a good thing, but I think we should head downstairs. If Daddy isn't home yet, he will be any time now. He knows dinner is served at 7:00 sharp, always has been, always will be."

"Then we better go. I'd hate to start off on the wrong foot with your father." Giving her one last squeeze before releasing her, he asked hopefully, "Hey, can we continue this later?"

Knocking softly on the library door, Christie called to her father. "Daddy, are you in there?"

The door swung open and Jim caught his first glance of Stewart Sullivan; thick, grey hair, weathered skin, deep tan, looking for all the world like someone who had spent far too much time in the sun, light blue eyes accented by deep laugh lines. Although he was casually dressed in light pleated pants, a striped button down shirt and grey sports jacket, there was no doubt that the clothes were designer and expensive. He was far less imposing than Jim had suspected, but the nerves that had crept in were no less relieved by this observance.

Stewart Sullivan pulled his daughter to him. "It's so good to have you here, Kitten."

"It's nice to be home too, Daddy." She motioned for Jim to join her. Taking his hand, she turned to her father. "I'd like you to meet someone, Daddy. This is ...".

"No need, no need," he said, giving Jim's hand a generous shake. " This must be the man who wants to marry my little girl." He stood shorter than Jim by a good four inches and was not nearly as solidly built, but his grip was strong and secure. "James, Jim, what do we call you?"

"Jim will be fine, sir."

"Then Jim it is." He wagged a finger at him. "You and I have a lot to talk about, and we will. Please, sit," he said, motioning to an over-sized leather couch. "We've got a little time before your Mother will be calling. So, Kitten, how's life in the big City? Work still treating you well?"

"Yes, it's fine, Daddy. But let's not talk about work, okay? Not this weekend."

"You're right, you're right. I guess I miss it more than I thought I would. Retirement's great, but there's only so much golfa mancan play. And with the lousy weather this summer I didn't get out on the boat as much as I would have liked. Do you sail, Jim?"

"No, sir, I've never had an opportunity to."

"Oh, that's too bad. Jake Cromwell's already agreed to crew the regattas for me next summer. Now there's a sailor, it's in his blood.Christie loves to sail, don't you Kitten? Was a time I couldn't get her off the boat."

Christie looked at Jim, apologetically. "Used to, Daddy. It's been years, though. I think my sea legs left me a long time ago."

"Well, doesn't matter now, anyway. The boat's already in dry dock for the winter. Maybe next summer. We'll get you out on the water then." Jim shook his head in agreement, and, looking at Christie, raised his eyes to the roof. She stifled a giggle. With a shrug of his chin, he responded, "Sounds good, sir. I'd look forward to that."

"What about golf, Jim? The course is still open. As a matter of fact, Jake and Cy Cromwell and I are planning on playing a round Saturday morning. Can I interest you in making it a foursome?"

Jim cleared his throat lightly. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't golf either."

"Blaspheme. Everyone golfs." He lifted the brandy snifter and drained it. "I guess it'll just be the three of us then." He stood, empty snifter in hand. " If you'll excuse me."

"Well," Jim said, once it was obvious he wasn't coming back, "that went well."