Page 71 of Bookworm and the Beast
Jack was out on the stone terrace that ran along the entire back side of the house, looking out at the water.
He was dressed for a day at the beach as well, in a pair of navy and white board shorts, Sperry deck shoes, and a white linen button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
With his classic attire and windblown hair, he looked like a lost member of the Kennedy clan. When he heard my approach, he turned around and ran his eyes subtly up and down my body.
“Found one you liked?” he asked.
“I did.”
Smirking, he said, “Too bad.”
He held out a hand to me, and I took it, walking with him down the steps to the rocky margin between his property and the water. As he led me along the shoreline, I looked around for this alleged perfect swimming spot.
The area was beautiful but there was no soft, white sand in sight.
“You know, I think the water’s going to be too cold for swimming,” I said.
The air temperature was warm, but I’d never known the Atlantic to be particularly balmy.
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Jack gave me a mischievous look and tugged at my fingers to keep me moving around a curve in the landscape.
As we rounded it, I stopped short.
There in front of us, on a flat, paved landing pad hidden from the road, sat a helicopter. Its blades whipped through the air over our heads, as if it were ready and waiting to take off.
And then I realized itwaswaiting—for us.
“What is this, Jack?”
“Our ride to the beach,” he said, beaming and raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the chopper.
Tightening his hold on my hand, he ducked and pulled me with him toward the aircraft. “Come on.”
Having never been on a helicopter in my life, I dug my heels in for a second, but my refusal was half-hearted. This unexpected opportunity fit with Mrs. Potts’ advice, enjoy what I had while I had it.
My father had been right. Ididused to long for adventure, and the past two years had been disappointingly devoid of it. But here was an adventure in full living color. There was only one thing to do.
Make the most of it.I let him lead me and give me a hand up into the helicopter.
When we were both strapped into our seats, Jack handed me a headset with a microphone. I put mine on and adjusted it the way he’d done his own.
The chopper lifted, leaving my belly on the ground for a moment before it snapped back into my body, quivering with excitement.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Cape Cod. Mayflower Beach is on the bay side—it’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”
“Cape Cod? Isn’t it a long way away?”
“It’s a long drive from here, but this way we’ll get there in about a half hour. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”
The flight was incredible, providing ocean vistas part of the time and overhead views of the famous New England fall color the rest of the trip. From above, the trees displaying their autumn finery resembled a very large, very complex patchwork quilt.
Once again, my pulse danced. I could hardly believe I was actually here, living this rarified life, even temporarily.
We landed in Dennis, Massachusetts, and a car picked us up and conveyed us the short distance to the beach. When we got there, Jack handed the man a tip and received a large picnic basket and a duffle bag in return.
He nodded to it as the car drove away. “Sunscreen. Beach blanket. Towels.” He lifted the basket in his other hand. “And lunch.”
