Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (102 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

Dawn was breaking as Clare biked down to Swain’s Wharf. She wore mittens, a wool cap, and a vest because these spring mornings and evenings were still cold. During the day, especially working like a maniac in her shop, she was warm enough in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. Her assistant, Marlene, wasn’t coming in until nine, when they would open the shop together, but there was still so much work waiting to be done, Clare had hardly slept for thinking about it. She assured herself that with older, plumper, cheerful Marlene bustling around, they’d get it all done.

Her bike bounced when she hit the Belgian blocks of Commercial Street. She braked to a halt, crossed the narrow lane to Sweet Hart’s, wheeled her bike around to the back, and locked it up. Just a few feet away, the water of the harbor sparkled as the sun and wind stirred it. Boats bobbed along the town pier, small motorboats, fishing boats, pleasure boats. Mallards paddled near the curve of beach and herring gulls dropped sand crabs on the wooden boards of the pier, then dove down to tease out their breakfast from the cracked shells.

As she unlocked the back door of her shop, she saw that the lights were on next door. So Lexi was here early, too, but of course, all Lexi had to do was to walk downstairs from her little apartment. She hoped Lexi would be ready to open tomorrow. When she asked Jesse how the work for Lexi was going, he’d been abrupt, said he’d gotten a good start but had to go back. Brown paper still covered the shop windows and no sign hung above the front door.

She was so curious about the kinds of things Lexi was selling. Impulsively, she rapped on the shop’s back door.

A moment later, Lexi opened the door just wide enough to peer out. She wore black leggings and a long white shirt covered with paint splotches. Her hair was messily clipped back and she had circles under her eyes.

“Clare!” Lexi wandered outside, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I’ve worked all night long, can you believe it?”

“Are you going to be able to open today?”

“No, not until tomorrow, but that’s okay, most people don’t start arriving until Friday, right? I’ve got a few more finishing touches.” She looked shyly at Clare. “Want to see it?”

“I’m dying to see it!”

Lexi hugged herself and did a little jog in place. “Oh, I’m so nervous, so excited! Come around to the front door. I want you to see it the way a customer would.” Lexi went back into the shop and Clare went around to the front.

Lexi held the door wide. “Ta-da!”

Clare walked inside. Her jaw dropped. “Wow.”

It was a dreamy summer paradise. Painted over all the walls were dreamy scenes of azure and turquoise water, golden sand, pale blue sky. Wind chimes and seashells dangled from the ceiling, gently spinning in the breeze from the open door. Racks of clothing along the two longer walls held garments in myriad shades of blue, and in the middle of the shop were curved display cases glittering with jewelry like a pirate’s trove. A tall wicker shelf held pashminas, silk scarves, clever purses, sparkling belts, and hair accessories. Scattered over the walls were gold-framed photos of beaches, the sand of each beach a slightly different shade of gold or white. A lone woman stood on the beach, draped in loose, dreamy turquoise or indigo silk.

Clare clasped her hands to her chest. “Lexi! How fabulous! So magical!”

“I’m so glad you feel that way! I want it to feel magic. And look!”

Lexi reached behind the counter at the front and brought out her shop’s sign, a quarter board carved in an elongated spiral. Against a cream background, gold letters read:
Moon Shell Beach
. “It’s heavy. I’ve got to have Jesse hang it for me.”

Clare said, “Moon Shell Beach?”

“Yes! Don’t you love it? Everything here is totally Moon Shell Beach. All the garments—the sarongs, beach cover-ups, little tops, long skirts, everything. Not only are they beachy colors, but look what I’ve done!” Lexi held up a turquoise skirt with a gauze lavender overlay hemmed with tinkling beaded silver shells. “Every single item from this shop has a sterling silver moon shell on it somewhere.” She picked up a lace cami from the wicker shelf. Tied to the left strap by a thin silk ribbon was a tiny silver shell.

Numbly, Clare fingered the white price tag on the camisole. “One hundred fifty dollars?” she squeaked.

Lexi carefully folded the camisole and returned it to its place. “Yeah, everything here is special, Clare. Made from the finest fabrics, with lots of hand-sewing. And of course the silver shells.”

Clare pulled out a caftan hanging from a rack. It was a swirl of blues, embroidered lavishly with silver threads, the neckline adorned with a rainbow of beads, stones, and shells. The price tag said a thousand dollars. “You’re kidding.”

“Clare, most of the women who come here for the summer can pay this kind of money. And for everyone else, I have so many little things—that beach bag is only fifty dollars. And look, for thirty dollars, you can buy these little blue silk boxes with a sterling silver shell on top. I mean, that’s not much to pay for a memento to take home, or to give to friends.”

Clare looked at the box. It could hold a roll of stamps. Running her fingertips over a Moroccan-inspired beaded skirt, she said, “I can’t believe you named your shop Moon Shell Beach.” She glared at Lexi. “What a crappy thing to do.”

Lexi looked as if she’d just been slapped. “You don’t like it?”

“Lexi, it was the name of
our private beach
. Our childhood secret place. It was
our
name, yours and mine, our
private
name.” She shook her head angrily. “I can’t believe you just claimed it for yourself alone. Or perhaps I should believe it, that’s the kind of thing you do now.”

“But Clare, don’t you see? I meant it as a kind of … homage—” Lexi pronounced it the French way,
o
mage, “to our friendship. To our perfect sunny summers, and freedom, and laughter!”

Clare wanted to tell Lexi just where she could shove her
homage
. “Really, Lexi, how can you not get this? I feel so
violated.
You’ve taken something precious and private and used it as a kind of gimmick! And for what? To make money! It’s just so, so
smarmy
of you!”

Lexi’s eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Clare, I never meant that. I thought you’d be pleased. Honestly, I thought you’d be so pleased.”

Clare glared. “Pleased that you would capitalize on a private childhood memory.”

“Well, it’s
my
memory, too!” Lexi protested.

“Right. Well, Lexi, it’s
all
yours now. Good luck with it.”

Clare whirled around and stormed out the front door. With shaking hands, she unlocked the front door of her own shop, her little shop that shared a wall with fucking Moon Shell Beach, her little shop where the average transaction was thirty dollars. Lexi could make more in her shop selling one overpriced caftan than Clare could make in a day’s work. But it wasn’t the money that burned Clare, it was the
concept.
It was the selfish appropriation of one of her most dearly prized memories; it was like stealing an entire phase of her childhood.

Stomping up the stairs to her kitchen, Clare fought back tears. Automatically she began preparations for work, washing her hands, setting out sugar. Glancing at the recipe she’d perfected, she tried to focus on her work, but she was shaking, and she couldn’t concentrate.

Moon Shell Beach.

She stopped, staring into space, thinking. What a clever concept, really. That shop was an entire world. Just entering it was like a mini-vacation from reality. Why had she responded so childishly? Okay, she admitted to herself, perhaps she was shocked at the sheer scope of Lexi’s creativity. Certainly she’d been surprised at the ambience of the shop. But was she jealous? No, not jealous. Perhaps a bit intimidated. The clothing was so expensive, way past her budget. But it wasn’t just the money. She really did feel violated by Lexi appropriating their secret name. And yet a memory could not be owned.

Irritated with her thoughts, Clare picked up her cell phone and punched in Penny’s number. When her friend answered, Clare said, “Hey, I’m just calling to chat. How’s Mikey?”

“Oh, Clare, we can’t talk now, we’re getting dressed up for play group.” In the background, Mikey was babbling.

“Play group? How can he
play
? He’s eight months old!”

“Mostly they just lie on blankets and look at each other, but Mikey loves seeing little people like himself. And there’s this one little girl, she’s a year old and can reach out to touch him, and he just squeals with ecstasy whenever he sees her. Anyway, I’ll call you later.” Penny clicked off.

Clare forced herself to work, trying to calm herself with the familiar and engrossing motions of pouring and stirring, but she still felt rattled and uncomfortable with herself. She was glad to hear the door slam and Marlene tromping up the stairs.

TWENTY-FIVE

“Hey ho!” Marlene clattered in, bringing in a gust of fresh air and her own cheerful energy. “Hey, look at you! What’s up? Got a cold?”

Clare ran her hands through her hair, scrubbing her scalp, trying to jolt her mind into the present. “Hi, Marlene. I’m fine. Just having a little brain stall.”

Marlene hung her jacket on a hook. At the sink, she washed her hands. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“More truffles, to start with.” Clare forced herself to focus. It helped that Marlene was around. Together they went into automatic work mode, working with the ganache they’d made from cream and chocolate.

For a few hours, work required her complete concentration. By late afternoon, though, Clare felt wired and slightly anxious, as if she were infected with a fever. Several times she looked at Marlene, wanting to talk things over with her, but Marlene was a compulsive gossiper, and Clare didn’t want her private musings shared with the entire town.

“Let’s stop for the day,” she told her employee. “You go on home. I’ll clean up.”

“Sure?” Marlene asked.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks! It’s so nice out, I can’t wait to get outside.”

It was nice out? Clare realized she’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts she hadn’t even looked out the window. Now she did, and she saw how the day glowed. Pulling on her sweater, she hurried out into the sunny afternoon. She paused by the door to Lexi’s store.

Moon Shell Beach. That shop was an entire dream world.

Shoving her hands in her pants pockets, she ambled over the cobblestones toward the beach, trying to understand her emotions. She felt as if Lexi had stolen something from her. Had cared so little for their sacred fantasy that she was carelessly selling it to the world. Yet Clare had been the one, years ago, who had first grown up and away from their little beach.

She arrived at the town pier, and stood on it a moment, looking around. A few sailboats drifted on the horizon and a fisherman motored steadily from the Sound toward the harbor. From Tris Chandler’s boatyard came the sound of voices and the revving of engines.
Tris.
She hoped he was all right. Somehow all right. Miracles did happen, men did wake up from amnesia, or from comas. It was possible that Tris had been injured when his boat sank and was now lying in a hospital, gradually healing. Clare whispered a prayer for Tris, and for Jewel.

Jewel Chandler sat at the end of the pier, a small brave figure with her glowing red hair. Lexi sat next to her—they were playing cards. Jewel shouted triumphantly and Lexi laughed in response. It was so nice of Lexi to spend time with Jewel, Clare thought, and suddenly she was wistful. Why was Lexi doing this, spending time sitting on the end of a pier with a child, waiting for the impossible, for a man who was almost definitely lost to the sea to come sailing home? Was Lexi kinder than Clare? Or just most
hopeful
?

She walked on, her thoughts churning. It had taken a certain kind of courage for Lexi to leave the island to marry Ed Hardin, and it had taken more courage for her to return to the island to start her business. It was like leaving the safety of shore and swimming into the ocean, hoping it wouldn’t take you under, hoping for that phenomenal lift and ride the waves gave, that breathtaking experience nothing else could provide. To throw yourself in wholeheartedly, surrendering to the waves, was always a bit of a risk.

Somehow Lexi could do that in her life. Could Clare?

Could
she
leave Jesse?

Jesse had a sweetness about him that he would carry throughout his life. She did love him. But over the past few years that love had changed. Jesse had become a challenge for her, a contest. When he slept with someone else, she was betrayed. When he returned, she was triumphant. How sad, really. She didn’t want to live that way for the rest of her life.

But she was almost thirty. She had invested so much time, emotion, and patience in sexy Jesse Gray, and they were both getting older. It was time to settle down and have children. Any baby of Jesse’s would be the cutest infant on the planet! All right, she was getting nesty like all her friends this age, but she was so close to marrying Jesse, so close to having his baby, could she really give that up?

She didn’t want to hurt Jesse. But in her heart, she suspected that if she left him, he might not be destroyed. After his dramatic proposal of marriage almost two years ago, he had not suggested a wedding date, and he practically broke out in a rash when she mentioned children. Jesse was like a child himself, depending on her to keep him on the straight and narrow. He was like a caged beast, and she was his trainer, and if he purred under her gentle touch, still in his deepest nature, didn’t he yearn to range free? What would be the best for Jesse?

And now, Adam. When she was with Jesse, she was always just a little anxious, trying to guess in advance what would make him happy, what would keep him with her. But with Adam, she felt so completely at home.

Could that be because she’d had her first girlish crush on Adam? Was she simply revisiting old emotions?

No. No, the way her body came alive when she looked at Adam, when she heard his voice, the way her breath caught in her throat when his hand touched hers—that was no childish memory. That was fiercely in the present, and completely transfixing.

Clare gazed out at the harbor shimmering beneath the sun. She felt the same fierce physical tug on her body when she was with Adam that she thought the oceans felt from the moon. But there was more. Adam was the sensual pull of the tides, but he was also the safety of the waiting shore.

In comparison, Jesse was a heron, a sleek free spirit, too wild to rest on the land, too restless to stay in one place.

Perhaps Adam was not in love with her. But perhaps he was, and perhaps she could set Jesse free, and free herself as well.