Once in a Blue Moon (8 page)

At the moment she had enough turmoil of her own, with the battle over her land.

She gazed out at the darkening landscape, folding around her like the gentlest of arms, arms that for so long had cradled her against the brunt of life’s storms and that, God willing, would continue to do so in the years to come. The fog of earlier in the day had retreated, revealing a semibarren vista matted with low-lying scrub and, off in the distance, windswept bluffs where the bent and twisted shapes of Monterey cypress stood silhouetted like so many hobgoblins. Beyond lay the ocean, gleaming like tarnished silver and rippling with long swells.

It was a view she never tired of. She recalled her sense of wonder, those first weeks after arriving here with her parents, in discovering that the picture-perfect ocean of
Baywatch
and
Beverly Hills 90210
was actually a living entity, its moods as mercurial as the weather. Playful one minute and treacherous the next. On any given day, calm waters and blue skies could give way to a storm that would whip those swells into green-mawed combers and send them racing in to smash against the cliffs, sending geyser-like spumes of spray high into the air. It had its own language, too, one that whispered its secrets in her ear. It told her to be patient, to have faith. That it had endured, and so would she.

She could see the house ahead, lit from within and shining like a beacon in the gathering darkness. It was modest compared to most cliffside homes in this area, small and low to the ground, built out of cedar, with a shingled roof and siding worn by decades of salt spray to the soft, silvery gray of the coastal grasses that blanketed the surrounding fields. It was also in need of repair: Its roof sagged, the front and back decks were riddled with dry rot, and more than a few of its shingles were missing. Even so, she wouldn’t have traded it for a mansion.

“You’re the best—I owe you,” she thanked Ollie again when he pulled to a stop in the driveway. Her gray-muzzled Labrador retriever, Chester, short for Mr. Rochester, loped over on legs stiff with arthritis to greet her as she climbed out of the Willys, and she stooped to pet him.

Ollie stuck his head out the window as he drove off. “Have fun at the party!”

The party. Lindsay’s heart sank once more at the reminder.

She walked in to find Kerrie Ann all dolled up for the occasion, her hair teased and moussed, glittery shadow applied to her eyelids, and her pouty lips glistening with a fresh coat of gloss. She’d changed into a pair of low-rise white jeans so tight they looked spray-painted on and an equally tight, scoop-necked pink T-shirt with shiny metal rivets spelling out the word “Bebe” across the front. She’d traded the high-heeled boots she’d had on earlier for a pair of jazzy platform shoes.

She was a dead ringer for their mother.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the party?” asked Lindsay.

Kerrie Ann, seated on the sofa with the ginger cat, Fagin, curled in her lap, looked up from the magazine she’d been leafing through to give her a wide-eyed look. “Something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s fine,” Lindsay lied.

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “I can change if you like,” she offered with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

“No time now. We should get going.” Lindsay glanced at her watch. “Where’s Miss Honi?”

Ignoring the question, her sister asked, “Aren’t
you
going to change?”

“I’ll throw something on. It’ll only take a sec.”

Kerrie Ann regarded her with the same dubiousness Lindsay had shown a moment ago when eyeing her, as if wondering what sort of outfit she could pull together in so short a time. But, unlike Lindsay, she obviously didn’t feel it was her place to comment. “Sure, whatever,” she said with a shrug, going back to her magazine.

Lindsay’s gaze came to rest on an old chipped saucer sitting on the coffee table. In it were several lipstick-stained cigarette butts. Kerrie Ann caught her eyeballing them and said somewhat defensively, “Don’t worry. I smoked outside.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” Lindsay replied, but her voice was tight.

Kerrie Ann set aside her magazine and languidly rose from the sofa, sending Fagin racing off to join his sister, Estella, who was batting around a stick of kindling by the fireplace. “Hey, you weren’t kidding when you said this place was out of the way,” she remarked, clunking her way across the room in her mile-high platform shoes to gaze out at the view from the picture window. She turned toward Lindsay. “It must get pretty lonesome, huh?”

“That’s what I love about it,” Lindsay said.

“Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the loner type.”

“Because I work around people all day?” Lindsay smiled. “That’s precisely why I need the peace and quiet when I get home.”

Kerrie Ann contemplated this for a moment before giving a nod. “Yeah, I get it. Kind of like when I used to work at Hooter’s. The last thing I wanted on my time off was to have some bozo hitting on me after all the frat-boy crap that got pulled on me during my shift.”

Lindsay didn’t quite get the analogy, but she replied nonetheless, “Exactly.”

“Anyway, it’s cozy.”

Lindsay followed her sister’s gaze, seeing the room anew through Kerrie Ann’s eyes. Very little had changed since she’d lived here with her parents. The same tongue-and-groove paneling and scuffed plank flooring covered in a crazy-quilt assortment of hooked rugs, the same Arts and Crafts lighting fixtures and funky, mismatched furniture. Her gaze lingered on the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. One side was lined with books and old LPs of Arlene’s—mainly opera recordings—the other with Ted’s collection of geodes and fossils. Tucked into the corner next to the fireplace was the antique dentist’s cabinet that held the smaller rocks and bits of fossilized bone. The only thing her parents had loved as much as music and nature was flea markets. The house was filled with treasures they’d hauled home through the years, while Lindsay’s only contribution had been to install new wiring and upgrade the appliances and plumbing.

Kerrie Ann wandered over to the stereo cabinet and began flipping through Lindsay’s CD collection. “So you’re into classic rock, huh? Cool. Though I gotta admit, I can’t quite picture you grooving to Steppenwolf. Goes to show, you can’t judge a book by its cover.” She studied Lindsay as she might a word or phrase in a book that she didn’t understand.

Lindsay only smiled wanly and said, “Books and music are my two favorite things.” She’d have been embarrassed for her sister, or anyone, to see her on those occasions when she cranked up the volume and cut loose, sometimes even dancing in her underwear. The only one who’d ever witnessed that was Miss Honi, who, even at her age, wasn’t above dancing in her underwear right alongside Lindsay. “Anyway, help yourself. I don’t know what kind of music you like listening to, but we have the full range—from Pavarotti to U2.”

“Who’s Pavarotti?”

Lindsay struggled to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Who hadn’t heard of the late, great Luciano Pavarotti? But she only replied, “Oh, just an opera singer.”

With that, she hurried off to change. When she returned a short while later, Miss Honi and Kerrie Ann were waiting by the door, Miss Honi decked in her evening finery: a long-sleeved ruffled silk blouse in the same shade of fuchsia as her lipstick and a full, peacock-feather-green taffeta skirt that rustled as she gave a slow twirl to show off her outfit. Her ersatz “diamond” necklace and matching earrings from QVC completed the look. The lone concession to age was sensible, low-heeled pumps. After being on her feet all day, she didn’t intend to spend the evening hobbling around in spike heels, she informed them.

Lindsay felt almost dowdy in her black cocktail dress and pearls. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” she said, smiling at Miss Honi’s inimitable flair.

“Nobody’s going to be looking at us, that’s for sure,” Kerrie Ann complimented her. Lindsay sincerely hoped that would be the case. She didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, and her sister . . . well, the less she stood out, the better.

Soon they were making their way up the coast along Highway 1 in Kerrie Ann’s rented Hyundai. Pacifica was only a twenty-minute drive from Blue Moon Bay but a world away in some respects. Because it was close enough to the city to make it attractive to commuters, its population was for the most part upwardly mobile, whereas Blue Moon Bay’s was primarily working class. Every square inch of the waterfront, it seemed, was chockablock with pricey developments like the recently built condo complex Grant lived in.

When they were in sight of it, Lindsay began the ritual of ticking off in her head all the reasons not to move in with her boyfriend: (1)
No privacy
. Each of the attached townhouses had its own deck, which meant Grant had a view not only of the marina but of his next-door neighbors, who liked to sunbathe in the nude. (2)
Too noisy
. Lying awake at night listening to the sounds of revelers partying on their boats was a far cry from being lulled to sleep by the sound of surf. (3)
No place to park
, she thought, finally, as her sister circled the adjacent parking lot for the third time in search of a space.

Before she could think of a fourth reason, they were at the door, being ushered in by a smiling Grant. He gave Lindsay a light kiss on the lips, murmuring in her ear, “Mmm. Don’t you smell nice,” before greeting Miss Honi with a peck on the cheek. “And you must be the famous Kerrie Ann,” he said, turning to Lindsay’s sister with a wide, welcoming grin. “Grant Holbeck. It’s great to finally meet you. I can’t tell you what a surprise it was when Lindsay told me the good news. We’d just about given up hope of ever finding you.”

Speak for yourself
, thought Lindsay. But her irritation was quickly swept away by her pleasure at seeing him. He looked handsome in his linen blazer and striped, open-collared shirt, his face tanned from yesterday’s sailing expedition and his blue eyes sparkling.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Kerrie Ann murmured as she shook his hand. Nervously she looked around at the sleek, contemporary surroundings, which were a far cry from Lindsay’s digs.

“I’m honored that you decided to come,” he said, taking her jacket. “I’m sure you and your sister have lots of catching up to do.”

Which we’d be doing right now if it weren’t for this party
, thought Lindsay.

Kerrie Ann glanced at Lindsay, saying with an odd note of defiance, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“Well, come on in. The gang’s all here.” He led the way into the cathedral-ceilinged living room, where the other guests, a dozen or so, were seated with their drinks on the chrome-and-leather sofa and chairs or standing by the fireplace, nibbling on the hors d’oeuvres being passed around. “What can I get you ladies to drink? White wine, champagne?”

“You can pour me some of that bubbly,” said Miss Honi.

“Same here,” said Lindsay.

“Do you have any Diet Pepsi?” asked Kerrie Ann.

No sooner had Grant moved off toward the makeshift bar than Lindsay noticed a slight, stoop-shouldered man with deep-set brown eyes and a receding hairline making his way toward them. Her lawyer, Dwight Tibbet. He greeted Lindsay and Miss Honi, and Lindsay introduced him to her sister, with whom he briefly exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business. “Listen,” he said, leaning in toward Lindsay, his intensity, as always, a bit unnerving, “I spoke with Professor Lever today about a geological survey he did on a similar site up near Yreka, and—”

He was interrupted by Grant reappearing with their drinks. “Talking shop again, Tibbet? Take the night off. It’ll do you good,” he urged, giving his old friend a comradely slap on the back. Dwight flashed him a smile that seemed a bit forced. One of the things that must madden Grant’s colleagues, Lindsay thought, was the seeming ease with which he pulled off his wins. He put in as many hours as anyone but always breezed into the courtroom looking as relaxed as if he’d just stepped off the tennis court. The tactic worked: The few times she’d seen him in action, he’d had the judge and jury eating out of his hand.

Grant steered Miss Honi and Kerrie Ann off to meet his other guests, leaving Lindsay and Dwight to finish their discussion. Her lawyer had been successful in his bid to halt further movement on the resort until a full environmental study had been done and was now busy putting together a crack team. They talked about the merits of one biologist and botanist over another while Lindsay fretted inwardly about what all this was going to cost her.

When she looked up again, Miss Honi was holding court with several men, the youngest of whom had to be at least forty years her junior. Across the room, Kerrie Ann sat on the sofa next to an elegantly attired woman Lindsay recognized as Amanda Newsome, the wife of Grant’s partner, Paul. Amanda was attempting to chat her up, but from the looks of it, Kerrie Ann wasn’t making it easy; her bored expression was that of a teenager forced to make conversation with one of her parents’ friends. Lindsay was working her way across the room to rescue both when Grant summoned them to supper.

At the table, Lindsay was seated next to Amanda. Grant’s partner’s wife was a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue, and over the first course—smoked trout on a bed of greens—they chatted about the latest fashion trends, Lindsay confessing, “I’m afraid I’m hopelessly out of step. I usually just wear what’s in the closet. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went clothes shopping.”

“Meaning you can still fit into your old clothes, which is more than most of us can say. A couple of babies and there goes the waistline.” Amanda gave a rueful downward glance. “What about you? Do you see yourself having kids someday?”

“Sure, but first I’d need a husband.” Like most single women her age, Lindsay couldn’t ignore her biological clock, but unlike those for whom a husband or live-in boyfriend wasn’t essential in making a baby, she believed a solid commitment to a partner had to come first. She knew from close observation what it was like being a single mom and what it could do to your children.