Chapter 9 - The Harbor at Dusk
That evening, as the sun finally sank below the western horizon of Lake Michigan, Adrian and Naomi walked down the long wooden staircase that led from the high bluff down to the private sand beach.
The air was crisp and cool, carrying the sharp scent of freshwater and cold sand.
Naomi was wearing an oversized navy sweater that belonged to Adrian, the sleeves rolled up twice over her wrists, and a pair of white linen trousers that fluttered around her ankles in the lake breeze.
Adrian walked beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist, his large frame shielding her from the strongest gusts of wind coming off the water.
They walked to the edge of the wet sand, where the small, foaming edges of the waves lapped gently against their shoes.
In the quiet distance, three miles out into the gray waters of the lake, the bright red and green navigation lights of a massive freighters were visible, moving slowly toward the entrance of the St. Joseph harbor channel.
"That's one of yours, isn't it?" Naomi asked, pointing a hand out toward the distant ship.
Adrian looked out at the long, dark hull cutting through the water.
"The Vale Pioneer," he said softly. "Ten thousand tons of grain from Milwaukee, heading for the rail yard in South Bend."
Naomi looked up at his face. The golden light of the dying sun caught the sharp angles of his cheekbones, casting his eyes in deep, luminous shades of blue.
"Do you miss it?" she asked softly. "The work?"
Adrian reached down, taking her small hand in his broad palm, his thumb skittering softly across her knuckles.
"For ten years," he said softly, "I thought that ship was the only thing I was building that would last after I was gone. I thought if I built a fleet big enough, heavy enough, and strong enough, my name would mean something."
He turned her toward him, pulling her close against his chest until her head rested over the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart.
"I was wrong," Adrian whispered into her hair. "The ships rust, Naomi. The docks get torn down by the city. The money gets spent by lawyers and accountants."
He reached down, placing his hand over her lower abdomen, feeling the deep, miraculous warmth beneath her yellow sweater.
"This is the only thing that lasts," he said softly. "This is the only thing that matters."
Naomi closed her eyes, letting the cool wind off the lake blow over her skin as she pressed her cheek against his chest. The terror of the morning outside the courthouse, the cold fear of the examination room, and the three years of silent, lonely nights had all melted away into the quiet, magnificent reality of the beach at dusk.
"We have to go back to Chicago eventually," she murmured against his white shirt.
"We will," Adrian agreed smoothly. "Next week. We’ll sell the Lake Forest house."
Naomi pulled her head back, looking up at him in surprise. "Sell Lake Forest?"
"It's too big," he said flatly. "And it smells like lawyers. We’ll buy a place in Evanston near the water. Something with a big garden, six bedrooms, and no gatehouse."
"No gatehouse?" she teased gently. "Where will Roman sleep?"
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"Roman can buy a house down the street," Adrian said, a tiny, dark spark of humor lighting up his eyes. "He needs to learn how to buy lemon tarts anyway."
Naomi laughed—a clear, beautiful sound that carried across the water to meet the distant, low horn of the Vale Pioneer as it turned into the harbor mouth.
