Beach Season (10 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Beach Season

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“I think the moon needs some of our attention,” he said.

I tilted my head up to him. He smiled, soft and gentle, sweet and sexy. He couldn’t help igniting my rampaging passion.

Don’t fall in love, June, you’ll only get hurt again.

I gave the bright white moon my attention before I lost control and divested myself, and him, of all our clothes and invited him to roll through the sand buck naked.

I absolutely could not do that.

Yet.

My friend Reece and I continued to see each other. Each time, he sizzled my body and sent my spinning mind into a spiral of ... love.

A love that I tried hard to smother.

My smothered love made me laugh when no one was looking. “Good to see that you’ve lost your head,” Estelle said, taking a pin out of her mouth one sunny afternoon, the kite flyers out in force on the beach, two surfers braving the waves. “Didn’t think you could do it. You were a wedding dress designer who didn’t believe a woman should ever wear a wedding dress. Now you’re a wedding dress designer who is dreamy and woozily distracted and only half thinking, all the time. Yoo-hoo. Are you there?”

“She’s in love!” Leoni said.

“I’m trying not to be in love,” I said. “Trying hard.”

“You have an aura of love,” Leoni said. “And quit trying not to be in love, embrace it with open arms, bring the sparkle to your life.”

“And you’re in raving lust,” Estelle said, pointing a needle at me. “What woman wouldn’t feel lust with that bull of a man with steel-you-know-whatsits strutting around in heat?”

“He’s not a bull, he’s not in heat.” I was a bullette in heat, though. I fanned myself with a paperback book on Victorian lace.

Leoni nodded. “Have to agree on the bull comment. He’s got the equipment! And he’s romantic. Always bringing you lunch, and the flowers, ooh la la! And the cushion for your back on your rocking chair so your back wouldn’t get sore ...”

“And the new light that hangs perfectly over the rocking chair,” Estelle said.

“So your eyes don’t get tired.” Leoni patted her chest and sighed.

I sighed, too. In a happy way.

My friend Reece made me happy.

And nervous.

Morgan walked in with her NASA outfit on. “What is ‘lust’? What do you mean about a man being a bull in heat? And what is the equipment of a bull?”

We froze. Oh, sheesh.

“Hey!” She tapped her NASA helmet. “I wrote another letter to NASA. This time I included information on why I think we can get to Mars, based on my studies. Nine pages plus drawings. I think they’ll write back. I’ll show the letter to my dad when he comes and visits me. I’m going to be a famous astronaut and he’ll say, ‘That’s my daughter,’ and be proud.”

I stifled a groan, then patted Leoni’s back as her eyes filled up with tears.

C
HAPTER
8

“I’ve changed my mind,” Grayson said, thumping a fist on the conference table in Cherie’s office.

“What do you mean, you’ve changed your mind, El Monster?” Cherie asked. She tapped both sides of her temple. “You been thinkin’? Did it hurt?”

“I mean, that I’ve been on your website, June, and I think you’ve got a sweet little business going. I could see it making a lot of money. So, I’ve decided that I want half the business. You developed it during our marriage, after all.”

I honestly thought my whole body had been invaded by an iceberg. The last time we met, he was using my business as a bargaining tool: the house for June’s Lace and Flounces. I choked on my own words and had to cough through my shock. “I will not give you any part of my business ever.”

“So keep working,” he went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “The better June’s Lace and Flounces does, the better I do. I might even buy a beach house! Is there one for sale by you? We could live right next door!”

I swore under my breath. This divorce, after all this time, was actually getting worse, not better. My legs, under the table, started to shake and I felt nauseous, the room starting to tilt.

“I do believe, Grayson, that June would rather stick her head in the open mouth of a Tasmanian devil than share June’s Lace with you.” Cherie crossed her legs. Zebra-print skirt today and a black leather jacket. Underneath the black jacket, zebra-print shirt. She is so cool.

I was wearing a white lace dress with a white liner and a jean jacket I’d added lace to on the cuffs, with silver bangles up one arm. I had made the dress. Grayson had gawked at me when I walked in, eyes moving from head to toe, then had swallowed hard. He hadn’t stopped staring at me.

“That ain’t gonna happen, Grayson.” Cherie chortled.

Grayson flushed, high on those cheekbones that I’d come to hate. I remember kissing those cheekbones. Sometimes he’d tell me how many times to kiss the cheekbones, then how many times to kiss him in other places, where to run my hands, how to move. He had a playbook for sex. Yes, a playbook. He’d say, “We’re going to have Sex C tonight,” and then he’d show me the moves.

Gall. And I followed those instructions. I was a female robot. A robot in a suit who had lost all emotion and lust for life the second she quit sewing.

“The thing is, June, I know you. I think you’re going to make this business successful, and I want to be a part of it. We’ll share the profits. We’ll spend time together.”

That comment chilled my bones so hard I thought they’d crack. The thought of him leaning over my shoulder, making comments and suggestions, paying him a monthly check off the profits, made me ill. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. “Never. No.”

Cherie leaned forward and glared at him. “Take the few brain cells in your head that are still working, and let’s figure out a deal that does not involve torturing you.”

I needed the money from the house I owned with Grayson. I needed it for the down payment for the beach house. My chest felt tight, I couldn’t breathe. I did not want to give in. I didn’t want him to win, simply because he could bully me down. I didn’t like living in a stress tornado.

But as I sat and listened to Cherie dive into full-throttle battle, I thought of the view of the waves, the seagulls, and the tide pools. I thought of all the orders I had stacked up, how I would probably have to hire someone else fairly soon. I thought of my business, my baby, my creation, what had been born out of acute depression and despair, but was now flowering. I thought of the article coming out written by my new friend Virginia, she of the smacking gum.

I thought of Reece.

“Give him the house.”

Cherie whipped around to me. “What?”

“Give him the house.”

Grayson was shocked, so was Walid.

“I’ll sign the papers, Grayson and Walid, you itchy creeps. Cherie, draw them up.”

“No, no, no—” Grayson started, bopping in his seat.

“No?” I wanted to throw another law book at him. “You wanted the house in Portland, you get it. That’s what you said last time. You make no claims whatsoever on June’s Lace and Flounces now or in the future and we’ll call it good and this will be done. You keep all the money in the house.”

“I—”

“You what, Grayson? You’ve ripped me off. You ripped me off in our marriage. You were a cold, deceitful, mechanical, thoughtless, critical husband and I temporarily lost my mind when I married you and I want out.”

“I can’t let you do that, sweets,” Cherie said, and I knew she was playing my game. “You have a chunk of money coming to you from your half of that house.”

“Let it go.” June’s Lace and Flounces was me. I am June.

Grayson and Walid had a whispered conversation and I muttered to Cherie, as low as possible, “I need this snake to slither on out of my life.”

And there, in that office, I felt this surge of power.

I had, financially, nothing.

I had nothing but potential and possibility.

I had nothing but a pair of green eyes that laughed into mine.

“It’s yes or no, El Monsters,” Cherie said. “Right now. Give me an hour and I’ll talk my client out of this and she’ll take half the house.”

“But I want part of the business—” Grayson whined. “She could make a mint.”

“Actually, Grayson, I will close my business down if I have to share it with you and start over. Plus, I’ll take half the money in the house and I’ll take half the money you’ve made since we separated.”

He twitched nervously. He made a lot of money, didn’t want to lose it. “I’ll make you sign a non compete so you can’t open another business.”

“You are odd and gooey and creepy,” Cherie said. “She’s not going to sign a noncompete. She didn’t even have an official business before she separated from you, El Monster. Agree to the terms, slugs. If you refuse to sign these papers, I will accidentally let slip to my friend, a reporter at the newspaper, that you were arrested by police last weekend for indecent exposure. Now, why were you wearing red underwear in that parked car?”

Grayson paled. “I could sue you for that,” he whispered. “Red underwear?” I said, opening my eyes wide. “Oh, I remember those ... the tight ones. The ones you wore when you were afraid of a judge.”

“Stop it, June,” Grayson said, so weak.

“Be my guest,” Cherie said. “I’ll make sure that my reporter friend knows exactly why you’re suing me. Now, tell me. How did it go over with that executive’s husband when he found out you were wrestling naked with his wife? Did she truly have on bunny ears when the police tapped on the window? Did you have the bunny tail on? Wasn’t he a client of yours?”

Grayson slunk in his chair and I felt: nothing.

I had felt nothing for so long about Grayson. No jealousy, no regrets about leaving, no nostalgia. Nothing.

I laughed, free and freeing. Grayson turned bright red.

“Your face would have matched your red panties, Grayson.” I laughed again. After today, I would never have to have that man in my life.

That was something to laugh about.

I drove out of Portland in my old truck. The paint was chipping. It was noisy. I was, officially, broke. I’d given Grayson half a house.

I rolled down the windows as I hit the road to the beach. I let the wind blow my hair around and cranked up the country music on the radio. I would get home in time for the sunset.

“Peppermint Lady,” one of my favorite country songs of all time, filled the truck. It was about cowgirl boots, living life with peppermint sticks in your hand, and coming home. It always touched my heart.

It was written by Reece.

I sung along, picturing Reece out on his ranch, under an old oak tree, strumming that guitar in front of fields of wheat, stringing the words together.

I didn’t have any money. I had a house that I rented that would be sold. I would not be able to buy it. I would have to move myself and my business to who knew where. I did have, thankfully, a lot of work and I had June’s Lace and Flounces.

I felt ... free.

Free and easy. It reminded me of honey and cream and applesauce.

I was going back to the beach. I was going back to watching sea otters, tossing bread to seagulls, and sewing faux pearls to ruffles while rocking in my rocking chair.

I was going back to Reece.

I was going home.

All I needed was the peppermint sticks.

“So, your sister August is getting married.”

“Yes, she is, Reece. She is currently flipping out and hoping she survives the scary in-laws.” I kept ironing a stubborn seam on a blue-black-yellow-white swirly-style bridesmaid dress.

The bride loved van Gogh, so the swirls were reminiscent of the sky in his painting
The Starry Night,
along with a sunflower on the left shoulder, to represent his Sunflower series. The bride herself was in traditional, lacy white, with a bouquet of sunflowers on her shoulder. She was an artist and had studied in Paris.

“What’s the date?”

“July twenty-fourth.”

Reece’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know it was so soon.”

That’s because I didn’t tell you because I don’t think I’m ready for you to meet my tartan-kilt-loving family who are out of this planetarium system in terms of uniqueness.
“Yes, it’s coming right up. That’s why you see the lights on over here until the wee hours of the morning.”

I didn’t look up at his hard-jawed face for long, heavy seconds. He was waiting me out, I knew it. I spent hours every day with the man, sewing in the studio, strolling on the beach, dining in restaurants, and I knew him.

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding, June?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“Here’s a date.” He pointed at himself. “Date me.” He leaned back against my red couch, his guitar propped up beside him.

“I don’t think you’d want to be at the wedding.” I knew I was stalling.

“Why not?”

“It’s a typical MacKenzie family affair. It’ll be loud, eccentric, edgy. Relatives will be rollicking around loose, uncaged, unguarded. They’re looney. Looney but loving. There are strange traditions and family dances to be danced. Bagpipes. Possible gunshots. Ouija boards.”

“I like bagpipes. Gunshots, as long as they’re not aimed at me, get the blood pumping, and I find Ouija boards amusing.”

“And Ben’s family. They’re proper, conservative, blue blooded. Who knows what will happen as the families unite and clash?”

“Who cares? It’ll be fun.” He picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. “
Woe is me, I’ll miss it, though. Woe is me,
” he sang.

“Woe is you!” I threw a handful of satin at him.

He caught it, and caught my gaze. “I’d be a good date. I want to meet your parents.”

“You mean the hippies?”

“The hippies and the rest of the gang.”

“Even though many will be dressed as Scotsmen and women during the festivities?”

“I love Scotland, I’ve been twice.”

“We have a watermelon-seed spitting contest.”

“I have some talent in that particular area.”

“We have a scavenger hunt. It gets competitive.”

“I play to win.”

“You need to know that I cannot predict my family and, most particularly, my Great-uncle Seamus, who says he’s coming dressed as Abe Lincoln, my Great-aunt Lolly, who sings songs with swear words, and my twin cousins, Chuck and Duck. Those are their nicknames. Their given names are Cornell Brown Balashov and Harvard Yale Balashov. Their parents thought they were so brilliant they’d go to Ivy League schools. Didn’t happen. They literally joined the circus and travel the world. Daredevil trapeze artists, they do tricks with this giant ring they run on top of, stand on each other’s heads, et cetera. Anyhow, they’ll be there. One cousin, Marci Shinola, recently was paroled. She shot her neighbor.”

Reece’s eyebrows rose again.

“The neighbor stole her dogs. He said they barked too much. She shot him in the knee.”

“Oh,” he mocked. “Only the knee. Did she get the dogs back?”

“Yes, she did.” I put the iron down. “Reece, if you want... .”

“Yes?” He strummed his guitar.

“If you have nothing else to do ...”

“Don’t think I’m busy that day.”
Strum, strum.

“I’ll be swamped with the bride and the bridesmaids ...”

“I’ll find the groom and hang out.”

“You might be asked to do ... crazy things.”

“I’m good at crazy.”
Strum, strum, strum.

“I might be crazy, too. It’s my sister’s wedding.”