Free Maidenstone Lighthouse by Sally Smith O' Rourke Page A

Daddy thought private school would give me a more proper education.”
    Dan Freedman rolled his eyes. “Proper education?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t think Daddy knew what to do with me so he sent me to an all-girls school. He thought that with Mom gone I needed female supervision and guidance. It’s why I came here for the summers—he hoped Aunt Ellen’s staid, upright attitudes would help make me more ladylike and keep me in check.”
    Dan smiled a sad smile and reached out, covering my hand with his. “I was sorry to hear of your aunt’s passing. She was always kind and fair to me…despite my wild reputation.”
    I nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks.”
    Pulling his hand away he asked with a smile, “Why did you need to be kept in check? I don’t remember you ever getting in trouble.”
    His sharp green eyes twinkled merrily and he regarded the moped parked nearby. “Wait! Unless memory fails me, you had a run-in of your own with old Harvey Peabody.” He wrinkled his brow, pretending to think. “I seem to recall having heard a rumor about you driving that little putt-putt down Commodore Milton Lane buck-naked one night…”
    I flushed bright red. “And that’s all it was, a vicious, small-town rumor,” I said ruefully. “Actually, I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. But a slightly tipsy teenage boy had just thrown me off the town wharf and I was a little…damp. So I was trying to get home to change.”
    I suddenly found myself giggling like a teenager as I remembered that awful night. “Harvey did stop me in his police car,” I explained. “But when he got a look at my, uh, wet T-shirt he was so flustered he just ordered me to go straight home. And whatever I did, he said, I was not to mention the incident to my aunt.”
    Dan laughed. “The poor old guy was probably afraid she’d have a stroke.”
    â€œShe would have,” I agreed. “And I would have been grounded for the rest of my natural life.”
    â€œWell, you seem to have turned out okay,” he offered.
    We sat quietly for a short time and watched a strange little pelican eat the remains of what, more than likely, had been a picnic for a group of teenagers who’d left French fries and hamburger buns on the beach.
    We looked at each other and laughed. Then Dan asked, “So, are you back in Freedman’s Cove for good, or just visiting? I seem to have heard somewhere that you’d made it very big on the antiques scene in New York.”
    My smile faded as I remembered the real reason I had returned to Freedman’s Cove, and I immediately felt terribly guilty. Guilty for sitting there in the bright October sunshine, laughing with Dan Freedman. Guilty just for being alive on such a fine day.
    Guilt is painful, too. In fact it ranks right up there on the pain charts with grief and regret.
    More useless but expensive advice from Laura.
    â€œI needed some time away from the city,” I responded truthfully. “So I decided to come up here and do a few things to the old house,” I lied. I didn’t want to have to explain about Bobby or my near breakdown to Dan, or to anyone else, for that matter. Not now.
    â€œWell,” he said, getting to his feet and extending a callused hand to me, “I’ve got to go now, but it’s been really good seeing you, Sue. Maybe we’ll run into each other again while you’re here.”
    â€œI hope so,” I said, realizing that I sincerely meant it. I took his big hand in mine and gripped it tightly, not wanting to let go. Because Dan Freedman was the first human being in months with whom I’d managed to carry on a normal conversation. The normality felt damned good and I didn’t want it to stop. But there was more to it than that.
    I was also curious to know more about him.
    When I was a teenager, Danny Freedman had been the older guy that