The Reef by Nora Roberts
“I don’t see myself as anything but what I am,” he said, wearily now. “You were the one who saw something that wasn’t there.”
“You had no right to make that choice for me. No right to expect me to be grateful for what you did.”
“I don’t expect anything.”
“You expect me to believe you’re in love with me.”
What the hell, he thought, he’d already ruined it. “I am in love with you. Pathetic, isn’t it? I never got over you. Seeing you again, eight years later, carved a hole in me I’ve been trying to fill ever since with whatever you’d toss my way. No chance.”
“We had one once.”
“Hell, Tate.” He reached out to rub his thumb over a tear on her cheek. “We never had a chance. The first time it was too soon. This time it’s too late.”
“If you’d been honest with me—”
“You loved me,” he murmured. “I knew you loved me. You’d never have left me.”
“No.” Her vision blurred with more tears, but she could see so clearly what had been lost. “I’d never have left you. Now we’ll never know what we might have had.” She turned away. “So, what now?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Ah, this time it’s up to me.” She wished she could find even one small laugh inside her. “That’s only fair, I suppose. Only this time I don’t have all that simple, innocent faith.”
And this time, she realized, she didn’t know what to do, except protect herself from being so horribly hurt again.
“I guess the only answer here is to be practical. We can’t go back, so we go forward.” She drew a deep breath. “It would be unfair to the others, and shortsighted, to scuttle the expedition because of something that happened eight years ago. I’m willing to continue.”
He’d never expected otherwise. “And?”
“And.” She blew out the breath. “We can’t afford to let personal problems undermine the excavation. Under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s in your best interest or in mine to continue the intimate aspect of our relationship.”
Again, it was no less, and no more than expected. “All right.”
“This hurts,” she whispered.
He shut his eyes, knowing he couldn’t hold her. “Would you feel better if we switched teams? I can dive with Ray or LaRue.”
“No.” She pressed her lips together before turning back. “I think the less upheaval, the better. We both have some sorting out to do, but I don’t think we have to let it affect the others.” Impatiently, she brushed the heels of her hands over her face to dry it. “But we can make some excuse to switch if you’re uncomfortable . . .”
He did laugh. It was such an absurd word for what he was feeling. “You were always a piece of work, Red. We’ll keep things status quo.”
“I’m only trying to make all of this as simple as I can.”
“Fuck.” Nearly undone, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah, you go ahead and simplify. We keep the schedule as is, we cut out the sex. How’s that for simple?”
“You won’t make me fall apart,” she said, terrified she would do just that. “I’m going to see this through. It’ll be interesting to find out if you can do the same.”
“I’m game if you are, sweetheart. I guess that covers it.”
“Not quite. I want to contact Hayden.”
“No.” He lifted a hand before she could spit at him. “Let’s try this. We haven’t found the amulet, and can’t say that we will. If and when we do, we’ll bring up the idea of calling in your backup scientist.”
It was a compromise that made sense, which was why she was instantly suspicious. “I have your word? When we find it, I can contact another archeologist?”
“Red, when we find it, you can take out an ad in Science Digest. Until then, the lid’s on.”
“All right. Will you promise to reconsider your plot for revenge?”
“That sounds pretty dramatic for something so straightforward. I’ll give you a straightforward answer. No. I lost everything that mattered to me in my life, and VanDyke had a part in all of it. Leave it alone, Tate,” he said before she could speak again. “The ball started rolling sixteen years ago. You’re not going to stop it. Look, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Matthew.” She waited until he’d stopped at the companionway and turned back. “You might consider the idea that rather than your ruining my life, I might have made a difference in yours.”
“You did,” he murmured, and walked out into the dying storm.
CHAPTER 23
T HE ROUGH CHOP postponed the morning’s dive. Tate was grateful to have some time alone, so she closed herself in her cabin with her work.
But work wasn’t on her mind.
She indulged herself, lying on her bunk, watching the ceiling. A woman had a right to sulk when she discovered that eight years of her life had been determined by someone else’s decision.
She’d already gone over all the standard lines in her head. He’d had no right. He’d broken her heart for what he’d deemed her own good. Every relationship in her life had been shadowed by what had happened on that beach in her twentieth year.
It did no good to go over it all again and again. But the arrogance of it, the unfairness of it stewed inside her.
Now he claimed he’d loved her. Loved her still.
What a crock, she thought and flopped over on her stomach. Obviously he’d seen her as a dim-witted child who hadn’t been capable of making her own choices. She’d been young, yes, but she hadn’t been stupid.
What games had fate been playing to have brought them full circle?
The hiatus had made her stronger, she acknowledged. She had used her opportunities and her brains to make her mark. There were degrees tucked away in the window seat in her room in Hatteras, an apartment in Charleston that was tastefully decorated and rarely used. She had a reputation, colleagues whose companionship she enjoyed, offers to teach, to lecture, to join expeditions.
Professionally, she had everything she’d ever wanted.
But she had no real home, no man to hold through the night. No children to love.
And she might have, she would have, if Matthew had only trusted her.
That was behind her now, she thought, and rolled over again. Who knew better than an archeologist that the past could be examined, analyzed and recorded, but it couldn’t be changed. What had been, and might have been, was as calcified as old silver in seawater. It was the moment that had to be faced.
She hoped it was true, that he did love her. Now he could suffer, as she had, when a heart was offered and turned aside. He’d had his chance with her. This would be a case in point where history did not repeat itself.
But she wouldn’t be cruel, she decided, rising to glance at herself in the oval mirror over her dresser. It wasn’t necessary to pay him back in kind. After all, her own emotions weren’t involved this time around. She could afford to be generously, certainly politely, forgiving.
Not loving him would help her be carefully detached. They would continue to dive together, work to salvage the Isabella as partners, colleagues. She was certainly able to turn aside her personal past in order to explore history.
Satisfied that she’d reached the only logical solution, she left her cabin. She found her father on the port deck, busily checking gauges.
“Wild night, huh, honey?”
In more ways than one, she thought. “You’d hardly know it now.”
Above the sky was blue and clear with no more than a few tattered powder puff clouds. She glanced over atop the bridge to study the wind gauge. “Wind’s coming from the south now.”
“Bringing in drier air. The sea’s calming, too.” He set a regulator aside. “I’ve got a good feeling about today, Tate. Woke up full of energy, a kind of anticipation.” He rose, took a deep gulp of air. “Your mother said it was leftover electricity from the storm.”
“You’re thinking about the amulet,” she murmu
“Possibilities.” Ray looked out to sea.
“Last night Buck was panicked at the thought of finding it. All Matthew can think about is using it to settle the score with VanDyke. VanDyke himself, a rich, powerful, successful man, is so obsessed by it he’ll do anything to have it. And you.” She pushed impatiently at her hair. “And you. You’ve realized a dream of a lifetime with the Isabella. There’s a fortune down there, for you, for the museum we’ve always wanted. But it’s the amulet that brought you back here.”
“And that makes no sense to you.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “When I was a boy, I was fortunate to have a beautiful home, a yard with rich green grass and big shady trees to climb. I had a jungle gym, sliding board, pals. Everything a kid could want. But beyond the fence and just over the hill there was a swampy area. Dark, junglelike kudzu and ugly trees, a slow, almost stagnant river. There were snakes. I was forbidden to go there.”
“So, of course, that’s where you most wanted to go.”
He laughed and kissed Tate on top of the head. “Of course. Legend had it that it was haunted, which only added to the allure. Little boys went in, so I was told, and never came out again. I would stand at the back fence, smelling the honeysuckle that climbed there and think, what if.”
“Did you ever go in?”
“I got as far as the edge once, where you could smell the river and see the vines clogging the trees. But I lost my nerve.”
“Just as well. You’d likely have been snakebit.”
“But what if,” he murmured. “I’ve never lost that curiosity.”
“You know it wasn’t haunted. Your mother told you those stories so that you’d stay out of it. Otherwise you could have fallen in the river or lost your way. It wasn’t ghosts she was worried about.”
“I’m not at all sure it wasn’t.” He watched a gull soar overhead, then turn restlessly toward the horizon. “I think it would be very sad if we lost our wonder, if we knew there was no possibility of magic—good or evil. I suppose you could say Angelique’s Curse has become my haunted swamp. This time I want to go in and see for myself.”
“And if you find it?”
“I’ll stop regretting I didn’t take that next step through the kudzu.” Laughing at himself, Ray gave her a quick squeeze. “Maybe Buck will stop believing he’s not the man he was. Matthew might stop blaming himself for his father’s death. And you . . .” He turned her to face him. “You might let a little magic into your life again.”
“That’s an awful lot to ask of one necklace.”
“But what if.” He drew her close for a hug. “I want you happy, Tate.”
“I am happy.”
“All the way happy. I know you closed something off inside eight years ago. I’ve always worried that I handled things badly because I wanted the best for you.”
“You’ve never handled anything badly.” She drew her head back to study his face. “Not where I was concerned.”
“I knew how Matthew felt about you. How you felt about him. It worried me.”
“You had nothing to worry about.”
“You were so young.” He sighed and touched her hair. “I see the way he feels about you now.”
“Now I’m not so young,” she pointed out. “You still have nothing to worry about.”
“I see the way he feels about you,” Ray repeated, his eyes sober and seeking. “What worries me, what surprises me, is that I can’t see the way you feel about him.”
“Maybe I haven’t decided. Maybe I don’t want to decide.” She shook herself, drummed up a smile for him. “And maybe you shouldn’t worry about something I have completely under control.”
“Maybe that’s what worries me.”
“I can’t win with you.” Rising on her toes, she gave Ray a quick kiss. “So, I’m going to see if Matthew’s up for diving.” She turned to walk away, but something stopped her, made her look back.
Ray was standing, one hand on the rail, a far-off look in his eyes as he gazed toward open sea.
“Dad. I’m glad you didn’t walk through the kudzu. If you had then, you might not need to take the step now.”
“Life’s all timing, Tate.”
“Maybe it is.” Mulling that over, she headed around to starboard. Timing, she supposed, could stop or start a war, save or end a marriage, take or give a life.
There was Matthew on the Mermaid, an elbow on the rail, a coffee mug in his hand. She didn’t want that jolt of emotion, the stir and simmer. But they came nonetheless. Her heart went butter soft in her breast and melted out a sigh.
Did he have to look so lonely?
It wasn’t her problem, she assured herself. She wouldn’t let it be her worry.
But he turned his head. Across the choppy waves, his eyes met hers. There was nothing in them to read. Like the storm, whatever raged inside him had calmed, or was controlled. She saw nothing but that deep, enigmatic blue.
“We’re down to a light chop,” she called out. “I’d like to dive.”
“Could smooth out more if we wait an hour or two.”
Something was swelling in her throat. “I’d like to go down now. If it’s too rough once we do, we can scrub the dive.”
“All right. Get your gear.”
Turning, she walked blindly away. Damn him, damn the Isabella, damn Angelique and her cursed necklace. Her life had been manageable without them. She was afraid it would never be manageable again.
There was nothing to decide, nothing to control. She was still in love with him after all.
The storm had stirred and shifted the sand. Several of the excavation trenches needed to be cleared again. Matthew was grateful for the extra work. The skill and delicacy required to work the airlift left no room for deep personal thoughts.
He’d had enough of them during the night.
It gave him some small pleasure to suck away sand and see the hilt of a sword.
Déjà vu, he thought, almost amused. He turned the airlift aside. A glance around showed him that Tate was efficiently picking through the debris.
Matthew clanged on his tank, waited for her to look around. He signaled her over. Once she’d joined him, he gestured toward the hilt.
Take it, he indicated. This one’s yours.
He watched her hesitate, knew she was remembering. Then her fingers closed around it, tugged it free.
Halfway down, the blade came to a jagged halt.
That, he supposed, studying the shattered sword, told the whole story. Struggling against keen disappointment, he lifted a shoulder. With the pipe, he widened the trench.
They saw the plate at the same moment. Even as she grabbed his arm to signal him to stop, Matthew was turning the pipe away. Hand fanning, Tate uncovered three quarters of the plate.
It was nearly transparent china, delicately painted with violets dancing around the rim. The rim itself was gold. With great care, she closed her fingers over the edge and tried to ease the plate free.
It was stuck fast. Frustrated, she looked at Matthew, shook her head. They both knew that dislodging it with the airlift was as chancy as cutting a diamond with an ax. If the plate was whole, which would be a miracle itself, the flow from the pipe could snap it.
They debated their options with hand signals until it was decided that they had to try. Ignoring the murk and discomfort, Tate kept her fingers lightly on the edge of the plate while Matthew removed the sand and debris, almost a grain at a time.
It was probably missing a fist-sized chunk, he thought, but ignored the strain in his back and shoulders. Degree by degree, he cleared the translucent china, exposing another sprig of violets, and the first swirl of a monogram.
Feeling a give, she stopped him. Working to keep her breathing steady, she eased the plate out another fraction before it jammed again. She could read the first ornate letter, painted in gold. T. Taking it as a sign, she nodded for Matthew to resum
It would have a bite out of it, he was certain. The steel sword