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Chapter 3

Layla was never one for sitting in traffic and knew that city dwellers would be packing up to head to the shores come Friday afternoon. The idea of bumper to bumper cars, noise and horn blowing put her spine in a vice grip. She decided to hit the road on Thursday at mid-day. Getting around the winding streets of lower Manhattan was half the battle. Once she hit the William Floyd Parkway toward Shirley, Long Island it got easier. She put her foot down on the gas and didn’t let up.

The two and a half-hour drive took just about two hours and before she had a chance to get tired she saw the signs for the Sag Harbor turnoff up ahead.

She pressed the button on the armrest to lower the windows and took a deep inhale of the ocean-tinged air. The scents of salt, sand and sea were carried along by the balmy breeze. Layla inhaled deeply. Her grip loosened on the steering wheel and her shoulders slowly lowered from their sentinel position near her neck. She had no idea how tightly wound her body was until she felt the embrace of the leather cushion of the seat.

Her clients were lukewarm about her departure and one woman began to whine about how Layla’s leaving was interfering with her calendar. Mona told her that her job at Jack and Jill’s would be waiting for her when she got back and not to worry about a thing. Mona had lent strong shoulder strength after the utter devastation of her engagement to Brent. Mona spent many an hour and drank countless mimosas listening to Layla pour out her heartache and fury and just as many assuring her that it was Brent who was the asshole, that it was his loss not hers and that a real man was out there waiting for her—when she was ready. She was certain she would never be ready. She couldn’t survive another hurt like that and the only way to get hurt like that is to love someone. That was something she had no more intentions of doing. She was going to build her business, travel, enjoy her friends and maybe even write a book one day about the art of healing through touch. But love…she was done.

She’d paid up her rent for three months, had her utilities and cable temporarily suspended, packed her bags and hit the road. Taking in the magnificent view and allowing the tranquility of the shore to seep into her limbs, she knew she’d made the right decision.

Her foot eased off the accelerator as she entered the town proper. The cobblestone streets were lined with bright colored canopies and shiny glass windows advertising the array of shops, restaurants, bakeries, specialty stores and art galleries. The waters along the pier were home to everything from basic fishing boats, to outboards to large yachts and party boats that lolled atop the soft waves.

The Port was beyond the center of town, across a wide swath of beach and soft rolling hills. Lincoln had built the place up from two small cabins to a dozen, complete with the kind of amenities expected at high price hotels—a bar, sit down restaurant, exercise room, a lounge and room service. And now The Port had its own masseuse.

Layla followed the winding streets out of the main part of town until the shops began to recede in her rearview mirror. The summer homes, and for some, yearlong homes, began to dot the landscape with pops of color against the sandy shores and green slopes.

Twenty minutes later she was driving onto The Port property. She pulled into an available parking space and got out. She arched her back and stretched her arms high over her head then took a look around.

Not much had changed that she could determine since the last time she’d visited. But knowing Desiree and Lincoln, Mr. & Mrs. DIY, she was sure that there were many new changes yet to be discovered.

Layla grabbed her oversized purse from the passenger seat, shut the car door and walked into the reception area.

A gorgeous young woman who looked as if she’d been carved out of polished ebony wood greeted her.

“Welcome to The Port. My name is Gina. Do you have a reservation or would you like a tour?”

“Hello, Gina. Umm, I’m actually a friend of Desi and Lincoln. I’m going to be doing massage therapy for the summer.”

Gina’s brows lifted and her lush mouth widened into a brilliant smile displaying two rows of even white teeth. “Of course. Mrs. Davenport told me to expect you. Let me tell her you’re here.” She picked up a phone on the desk, spoke briefly then glanced up at Layla. “Follow me, Ms. Brooks.”

Much of what Layla remembered since her last visit was the same. The Port was still a classy place, from the high-end furnishings to the sense of elegance, style and professionalism that seemed to ooze from the staff. She did notice some new artwork, and a humungous flat screen television that served as an entertainment medium, and also provided updates about The Port and the town of Sag Harbor that scrolled across the bottom.

Layla followed Gina down the short hallway to where she remembered Desiree’s office to be. Gina tapped lightly on the partially opened door.

“Come in,” rang out the cheery voice.

“Your friend Ms. Brooks is here.” Gina headed back to the front.

Before Layla could put one foot in front of the other the door swung fully open and Desiree burst out like sunshine after a storm.

“Layla!” Desiree swept her friend up in a tight hug then stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “How was the drive?”

“A breeze. You look fabulous. And happy.”

Desiree had opted for a short, natural spiral hairstyle and her complexion fairly glowed from the inside out.

“Thanks and I am.” She beamed, then a frown tightened her brow. She glanced around the space where Layla stood. “Where are your bags?”

“In the car.”

“Oh,” she breathed in relief, pressing her hand to her chest. “For a minute I thought you weren’t planning to stay.” She hooked her arm through Layla’s. “Let’s get your bags and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

“I’m not sure for how long, but I have enough clothes and accessories to last me a minute.”

Desiree laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

They walked arm-in-arm out of the main building and across the landscaped front. Desiree had one of the staff gather Layla’s bags from her car and bring them to her room.

“I’m so glad that you decided to come,” Desiree said while she turned the key in the cottage door lock. “You’re going to love it and my guests are going to love you.” She swung the door open and they stepped inside.

As Layla expected, the space was beautiful. Pale walls and whitewashed floors gave the rooms an expansive, open aired feeling and the rattan furnishings, glass accessories and the bay windows topped it off. Although The Port had a full-service restaurant and bar as well as room service, each cabin came with its own fully functional kitchen.

Layla’s cabin looked out onto the beach and down the pathway that branched right and left with a cabin on each side of comparable size to hers.

She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and turned toward Desiree with a broad smile on her face. “Beautiful.”

Desiree took a mock bow. “And you’re going to have a ball. I’ll leave you to get settled. When you’re ready come on over to the main building. Lincoln can’t wait to see you.”

“Okay. Give me about an hour.”

“See you then.”

Desiree let herself out and Layla took her bags to the bedroom and began to unpack. She laid out an outfit and then went into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Wrapped in a thick, pale peach towel, Layla padded around her new digs and she had to admit, from the moment that she’d stepped onto the property and inhaled the ocean-washed air and spectacular views, she felt lighter inside. All of the worry and stress of everything related to home evaporated. She went into the seating area and turned on the stereo, and then two-stepped to the beat back into her bedroom.

Totally refreshed, and dressed for the sultry spring afternoon, Layla followed the path back to the main building and took in the sights along the way.

Maurice Lawson lounged beneath the shade of the blue and white striped canopy that hung above his back deck. His injured leg was elevated on a pillow. Absently, he rubbed his upper thigh while he watched the waves gently move in and out from the shore. The temperature was perfect, and the light breeze blowing off the water combined for a near hypnotic effect. Although he’d been reluctant to take his therapist’s advice, he was glad that he’d come. The past few nights were the first in months that he wasn’t awakened by the nightmares. Simply being able to rest through the night was beginning to have a positive effect on his spirit.

It was hooking up with Ross that finally changed his mind.

There’d been several moments of panic when he’d pulled up in front of Ross’s Long Island home. He’d sat in his car debating on whether to get out and go inside. But then the front door to the house opened and Ross stepped out and all the time apart slipped away. It didn’t matter to Ross and Janet that he’d been hurt or that he’d cut them off for so long or that he was seeing a shrink to try to get his head right. All that mattered was that their friend was alive and he was back.

He and Ross talked long after the last guest went home. They talked until the sun rose, and when he returned to his apartment in Brooklyn he felt almost human. Human enough to take Ross and Janet and Dr. Morrison’s advice and go to Sag Harbor. Do some thinking and some soul searching. And whatever he decided, they would be there for him when he returned.

He rested his head against the back of the chair and was just about to close his eyes and let the pain medication settle in when movement to his right drew his attention. At first he thought that perhaps it was an apparition, a vision like the ones he would see at the end of the tunnel of light—beckoning him through those painful nights of recovery. That light and the ethereal image at the end of it were the only things that gave him hope and the will to go on. He hadn’t seen the vision since he’d left the military hospital in Afghanistan, until now.

But it wasn’t his imagination and the image wasn’t a result of hallucinations from the pain. She was real and she moved as if walking on air. The lightweight white clothing that she wore gently floated around her, lifted by the gentle breeze.

Maurice sat up a bit to see where she was going, and to convince himself that she was real. She turned a corner, and disappeared behind one of the houses. He stared at the space where she’d been until his vision blurred. He shook his head and blinked his eyes several times to clear them. The strange, unsettling sensation rippled in the center of his stomach.

“Crazy,” he muttered to himself and tried to push the moment aside. He closed his eyes, leaned back and let the medication do its work. He dozed lightly and the one thing that he remembered when he awoke and found the sun setting down beyond the horizon was that he’d dreamed of the illuminated image again.