Lavender Beach (9 page)

“We’ve both seen horrific things. No one blames you for something you were forced to do by an adult who should’ve known better, certainly your family doesn’t blame you. Everyone understands that you were a small child following directions from a warped female.”

“Eleanor Richmond was most certainly twisted. Even before she picked up a gun, she’d been poisoning her own husband using arsenic. The coroner found the stuff in his hair and bones. The murders were premeditated and vile. The night she jumped in the water and left us was the best thing that could have happened to all of us.”

Eastlyn decided to let him talk because he looked as though he needed to get it all out in the open.

“Did Drea mention the little side note about how Eleanor took off?”

Eastlyn shook her head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Cooper roamed the little living room in a distracted pace. “One night she barged into our bedrooms, shook us all awake, ranting and raving, and marched us across the street and then over to the dock. She loaded us into a boat tied up at the end of the pier. Of course it wasn’t her boat. It never occurred to Eleanor she didn’t own it. Those kinds of details went right over her head. Once she got us in there, she rowed us out into the middle of the harbor. We sat there like survivors on the Titanic wondering what she planned to do until we watched her jump into the water. She left us there—alone and scared. Drea and I knew how to swim but not little Caleb. We’d never seen so much water or blackness. Everywhere we looked we couldn’t see anything but night. All we could hear was the waves lapping against that little boat.”

Cooper took a breath before going on, “There were no emotional goodbyes on mommy’s part, no concern about how we’d get back safely to shore, no care about whether we’d make it on our own or whether someone would come for us—another detail she didn’t think about too much. By chance, hours later, a fisherman going out to sea to snag his catch for the day found us. By that time, Caleb and Drea had fallen asleep.”

“But not you.”

“No, not me. I’d done my best to take us back in, but the current was too strong. I eventually had to give up. But I sat there for hours listening to Drea and Caleb crying, screaming, until they just…cried themselves dry. Ever seen anyone do that before? Cry, but no tears are left. It was gut wrenching to the core, especially for a little kid. I never admitted this to anyone but the entire time we sat there, I was scared to death myself. And yet, Eleanor didn’t even think twice about leaving her kids in the middle of the ocean without a way back in. As far as she knew, we could’ve floated out further into the water. What if the fisherman hadn’t come along when he did?”

Eastlyn got up and went to him then, wrapped him up in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault, Cooper. There’s no need for all this guilt you have stored up. You’re tormented by something you had no part in, no control over. No child is able to stand up to the will of a sick parent.”

“God, I didn’t mean to come off as self-pitying. Sorry. It must be the weeping strings of Shostakovich.” Cooper took her by the shoulders. “Look, have you eaten? How about if I go home, put a couple steaks on the grill, and shake this mood we’re both in?”

She wouldn’t have said no to him now for anything in the world. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m just down Tradewinds on Sandy Pointe. The house is at the end of the street on the left. You can’t miss it. It’s the only hacienda on the block.”

Without warning, he leaned in, smelling like orange spice. The minute he took her head in his hands and crushed his mouth over hers, she felt like a goner. This was no get-to-know-you kiss but a whirl of heat that spread like an uncontrolled fire through tangled, neglected vines. He tasted as sweet as creamy liqueur, packing as much of a kick as hot Jamaican rum.

Eastlyn gave back as good as she got until he suddenly let her go.

“There, I had to get that out of my system. I’ve been wanting to do that since you walked into my shop.”

Amused, she gripped his shirt and laid another one on him. They ate at each other’s mouths for several long seconds. Just as suddenly as he had, she broke the kiss and let him go, patted his chest. “Right back atcha.”

Cooper’s hacienda had
the style of Pueblo revival mixed with Spanish eclectic. Painted in a subtle ginger color, the festive bungalow stood out from the other architecture on the block. It was the only one with a low adobe wall surrounding the yard and a set of wooden double doors at the gated center point.

Eastlyn pushed open the latch and went through the gateway that opened up to a stone-tiled courtyard. Plants in bright containers filled the sunny open space. She went up steps that led to a narrow veranda, a castle-like turret forming the entryway.

Cooper had left the front door open in invitation.

“This is amazing,” Eastlyn noted as she got her first look inside the atrium.

Cooper had made the best use of brick and stone and Creamsicle-colored tile. The indoor garden setting popped with tall windmill palms, dracaenas, and aromatic bay laurel. Towering schefflera adorned the rounded hallway.

The sound of trickling water had her head turning toward a small fountain on one wall. Underneath sat rows of clay containers filled with pink and orange camellias. Several more colorful ceramic planters decorated the entryway.

“Come on back,” he yelled from the kitchen.

“Now I know where most of The Plant Habitat inventory ended up,” she said and followed the sound of his voice to the other half circle at the rear of the house that formed the kitchen.

He stood at the counter marinating two big steaks for the grill. Behind him, she took in the backyard.

Through open double doors, the terrace was home to a forest of lush foliage. Sturdy yucca thrived with an abundance of gold and red kangaroo paws. Pots of pink foxtail and fountain grass adorned the flagstone patio. Chairs formed a circle in front of a cozy fire pit. A teak table with an umbrella provided a place for outdoor dining. He’d set up a telescope and aimed it eastward toward the low retaining wall that helped cordon off the garden piazza from the next property line.

She threw him a look. “So you snoop on your neighbors. Shame on you, Cooper Richmond.”

He chuckled. “How else do I get to know that family of sandpipers nesting twenty-five feet from the Trotters’ fence line? See. There on the ground tucked under the dune buckwheat.”

She peered over the rock wall.

He studied her shapely form draped over the barrier before taking her by the arm and directing her to stand in front of the telescope. “See mama bird and her four speckled eggs about ready to add to the family.”

Through the lens, she focused in on the sight and grinned. She leaned back into him before spinning away. “The train man and the nature lover. Now I see why you call this place the hacienda. Love the Spanish influence in the archways and the tile. And just look at all these plants…”

He gripped her hand and pulled her back inside to the kitchen. “Never underestimate the benefits of knowing the owner of a landscape nursery. Between Drea and Shelby, they just kept bringing over some of Landon’s hybrid experiments and adding all kinds of color to the mix. I’m sure they wanted to make sure the renter had a nice place to hang his hat.”

“It works. So this is a lease?”

“Was. Logan Donnelly started out renting it to me.”

“Because you weren’t convinced you intended to stay.”

He smiled at the way she got it. “Exactly. I thought maybe I’d hang out for a while with Drea and Caleb, maybe take Landon and Shelby out to dinner once a week, shore up the family ties I’d missed over the years. Then I’d get the train shop up and running for an income down the road, and then hand it off to a manager to take care of the daily headaches. But…”

“You found you couldn’t bolt after all.”

Coop nodded. “Within a few weeks of being back, living here, I realized I’d found the spot where I wanted to stay. This house was it. Imagine coming back to the town where I spent those first hellish nine years of my life and finding I actually love it here. Anyway, after closing at the bank, I got to work on renovating the kitchen right off.” He spread his arms out wide. “This is the result. It isn’t beach living, but it’s within walking distance and that’s just fine by me.”

Eastlyn got the gist. It was as far away as Cooper could get from where his father had been murdered under the pier. She turned in a circle, continuing to take it all in. “Airy and open. And you can never go wrong with stainless steel appliances and plenty of cabinets.”

He took two wine glasses out of the cupboard and poured from the bottle of merlot, half a glass for each. “I know we started out with beer, but a little red with our porterhouse couldn’t hurt.”

She took the goblet, sipped the vino. When he took off back outside to put the meat on the grill, she followed with questions running through her head. “You truly don’t miss San Francisco? At all? You’re happy living in this little town?” She watched as he arranged the steaks on the fire and the confident way his body moved to handle the simple chore. 

“Honestly, I thought I would. But the hectic pace I kept up—maybe because I was trying to run from my past—was often too physically exhausting for me to see many of the sights. I didn’t dare put down real roots anywhere, and now, I think I know why.”

“Because this is where you wanted to be all along.”

“You got it. And even though this house needs more upgrading—you haven’t seen the outdated plumbing in the bathrooms yet—I’ve discovered that each night when I close up shop, I look forward to coming home. Home. Now that’s a word I never thought I’d associate with myself, let alone here in Pelican Pointe where it all started. At least anything that leaned toward permanent anyway.”

“Well, you’ve done a beautiful job on the hacienda so far.”

“Ever think about putting down roots yourself?”

“My roots are back in Bakersfield.”

“So you don’t intend to stay here?”

“I didn’t say that. I realize there’s not much for me back in Kern County, especially now that my dad died. I’m just…”

“Keeping your options open?” he prompted.

“I guess I am.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” When she didn’t elaborate or even respond, he studied her eyes, her body language. Even though he recognized a block of hardheaded female, he decided to take a gentler approach. “You’re entitled to your grief. How long has it been?”

“Two years. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He already knew that. “You put up that same wall enough times you’ll find all that anger slowly builds up to rage. I ought to know.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

Coop acknowledged the question with a nod. “Two decades of it, beginning at nine. I don’t recommend it.”

“Then I guess two years is nothing.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t boil over into how you treat people or else it becomes a habit that’s hard to break,” he reasoned as he moved to flip the meat on the grill.

Eastlyn sent him a wry smile. “Duly noted. So when do we eat?”

“Depends. How do you like your steak?”

She peered over his shoulder. “That looks about done to me. Want me to throw together a salad?”

“Sure. While I babysit the steaks why don’t you throw together some greens? Fixins are already sitting on the counter. By the time you’re done we should be ready to eat.”

She wandered into the kitchen, found all the veggies she needed and took out the chopping block. She washed and drained the spinach, sliced red and yellow bell peppers, cut an avocado into two halves, spooned out the pit. She dumped the chunks on top, and finished it off by tossing plump cherry tomatoes into the mix.

Perusing the fridge, she grabbed the bottle of store-bought dressing from the shelf and carried it all over to the table. That’s when her eyes homed in on the book about Black Hawk helicopters she hadn’t noticed before.

Cooper came back in at that moment to get a plate for the steaks. His attention turned to Eastlyn, flipping through the pages of the hardcover. A little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought to put the book away out of sight, he said, “I decided to see what the fuss was all about.”

She gave him a dour look. “Hmm, the fuss. There are things you’ll definitely never get from a book. Let me see if I can sum it up for you. The night missions were the toughest—those that occurred around midnight when you’re flying with night-vision goggles.”

“Really? I’d think they would help see.”

“That’s the general opinion. However it isn’t the whole story. During bad weather they’ve been known to hamper depth perception, cause blurry eyesight and prevent a pilot from picking up cloud formations, or blowing dust and sand. They make already tough flying conditions even tougher.”

“I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t.”

“So go on.”

“Well, like I said, it’s nighttime, you’re sitting at the flight controls in the lead chopper. You suddenly start taking enemy fire from multiple sources. Door gunners yell, six o’clock, six o’clock, because the fire is coming from directly below our position. You cut left, then right, hoping to evade because your mission is to pick up several wounded GIs in a particular hot zone. So you continue on to get them out of a dangerous situation. You focus on doing your job because there are soldiers out there having a worse day than you are.  The job is to get them to a doctor quick. So you keep trying to dodge the fire and work your way to the pick up point.”