Safe Harbor Read Free

of blood running down the side of his face.
    Dana just smiled, supporting him in the water.
    â€œI’ll never forget this, Dana,” he said, holding her hand.
    â€œLily too,” Jack said. “They both saved you.”
    â€œI mean it.” He brushed the blood out of his eyes. “Never. As long as I live. You two sisters never have to worry—I’ll protect you forever.”
    Dana and Lily smiled. The wind had died, and the sun broke from behind a dark cloud, spreading strange butterscotch light across Newport Harbor. The spires of St. Mary’s and Trinity churches gleamed on the hill, and the hulls of several hundred boats glistened on their moorings. Dana’s eyes met Sam’s and held.
    â€œDo you think I’m kidding?” he asked.
    â€œCome on,” Lily said, trying not to laugh. “Let’s get you into the boat now.”
    â€œJust because I’m young,” he said, “doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Just wait, you’ll see.”
    â€œYou’re my hero,” Dana said, her smile growing larger, “and if I ever need help, I’ll know who to call. But listen to Lily and let us get you into the boat. You can save us some other time, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” Sam said, allowing himself to be lifted from the water, sounding for all the world as if he had just made a promise.

CHAPTER 1
    Twenty-one years later
    T HEY WERE SISTERS AND THEIR MOTHER AND aunt were sisters. Quinn and Allie Grayson sat on the wall by the road, waiting for Aunt Dana to arrive from the airport. She lived in France. She was an artist. She was different from every single person they knew. Every time a car drove down their dead-end street, they craned their necks and Quinn felt a funny flip in her stomach. She wondered whether Allie felt it too, but she didn’t want to ask.
    â€œIt’s not her,” Allie said when the Tilsons—the new neighbors—drove past in their green station wagon for the third time in an hour.
    â€œThree times. Back, forth, and back again. What do you think they’re doing?”
    â€œBuying every plant the garden center has. Their yard is a showplace.”
    Quinn gave her a fishy look. “Showplace” was just the kind of thing Allie would say. She had picked it up from hanging around their grandmother, who was inside the house, way too much.
    A different neighbor, Mrs. McCray, rolled down the window of her blue car and smiled. Mrs. McCray had owned her house forever, had known their mother and aunt since they were younger than Quinn and Allie were now. She was old with white-blue hair, and her rocks had the best tidal pools with the most crabs and starfish.
    â€œIs Dana here yet?” she asked, smiling.
    â€œNot yet. Any minute now,” Allie said, but Quinn just stared straight ahead.
    â€œIt’s marvelous—very, very exciting. To think of her coming all the way from Europe for an art opening! Some artists work all their lives without becoming known. We are all so proud of her. She and your mother got their start painting on my rocks, you know. I still have the pictures they gave me.”
    â€œAunt Dana’s the best there is,” Allie said.
    â€œYes, she is. But she’d better not forget where she got her start. Tell her I’ll see her at the Black Hall Gallery tomorrow night. We all will!”
    â€œLucky us,” Quinn said under her breath as Mrs. McCray drove away.
    Allie didn’t reply. She resettled herself on the stone wall. Looking more carefully, Quinn saw that Allie was posing. She had arranged herself to best advantage, legs tucked beneath her bottom, the spring sunlight striking her bright yellow hair.
    â€œYou want her to paint you, don’t you?” Quinn asked.
    â€œI don’t care,” Allie said.
    â€œNo, you do. I can tell.”
    Allie wheeled around. “You might have changed your clothes,” she said, eyeing Quinn’s torn jeans