“What did Nehemiah say?” Durant’s voice held both power and kindness.
Jim’s fingers coiled, the muscles working, covering the scars, warming him inside. “‘O God, strengthen my hands.’”
“Yes.” Durant slapped his knees and stood. “Now, I intend to enjoy my Saturday night out. I expect you to do likewise.”
On the outside Jim smiled, but the warm feeling oozed away. If only he could enjoy his evening.
Arch wanted to see the new detective filmThe Maltese Falcon. He insisted they take Mary and Quintessa. The ladies would expect them. They knew theAtwoodwas in port. They knew the men would probably get liberty.
Staying on board would be cowardly. But so tempting.
Jim made his way down the passageway to the cabin he shared with Arch, dreading the upcoming land-sickness.
Last week Mary acted as if she were bequeathing Quintessa to him, and Quintessa acted as if she’d granted him a huge favor by bestowing her affections on him. Well, where was his say in the matter?
Jim banged the door open.
Sitting on his bunk, Arch jumped and stared at him.
“Sorry.” He offered a limp smile.
Arch stood and grabbed his cover and overcoat. “Are you ready?”
“Suppose so.”
“You sound like a man heading to the gallows rather than a man about to spend a night on the town with his dream girl.”
Jim shrugged and punched his arms into his overcoat.
Arch straightened his collar in the mirror. “Dream girl isn’t so appealing after you’ve spent the majority of 1941 falling in love with her best friend.”
Jim’s jaw clenched to see his heart splayed out in front of him. Playing the fool, once again. “She doesn’t see me as anything but a friend. She made that very clear to me. She’s thrilled that Quintessa is interested in me. Thrilled. Does that sound like she’s interested in me herself?”
“All right. Let’s leave Mary out of the equation.” Arch led the way down the passageway. “What about Quintessa? Is she everything you remember?”
“More so.” Every bit as sparkling but less silly, tempered by time and heartbreak.
But she wasn’t Mary.
Jim huffed out his breath and climbed the ladder to the main deck, where crisp autumn air tickled his nose. Yes, he had to leave Mary out of the equation, because Mary didn’t want to be in the equation. That left Quintessa.
The lovely Quintessa Beaumont, who came all the way to Boston to see Jim. “I’ll see what happens with Quintessa. It’s only fair.”
Arch trotted down the gangplank. “You’re floating again.”
Only a month earlier, he’d stood in this same spot, waving to Mary, his lips warm from her kiss. He snapped. “What do you expect? Mary doesn’t want me, but Quintessa does. So leave me alone.”
Two blond eyebrows rose. In over five years of friendship, Jim had only snapped at Arch a handful of times, and usually during final examinations.
An apology was expected and deserved, but Jim dug his hands into his overcoat pockets and marched down the pier. Later. He’d apologize later.
He’d been testy with Mary too. She didn’t deserve it either. She was only being honest with him. How could she know she’d hurt him? She didn’t know he loved her. He’d never told her, and now it was too late. If he told her now, he’d make a fool of himself, embarrass Mary, and hurt Quintessa. He might even damage the ladies’ friendship.
A fine mess he’d floated into.
Now he’d snapped at Arch for telling the truth. Jim’s sigh turned white in the cool air. “Sorry, buddy.”
On Chelsea Street, Arch raised an arm to hail a cab. “Perhaps each of us should refrain from commenting on the other’s love life.”
