Sweet Waters (28 page)
Authors: Julie Carobini
Josh stops. He pulls me to stand in front of him and rests one hand lightly at my waist. His other hand hovers over my shoulder, pointing due west.
“I don't see anything.”
“Listen for the tapping sound and look beyond that jagged rock out there.” His whispers tickle my ear and I hear tapping all rightâin my chest.
“See it?”
I listen. And squint. “There! I see it!” I laugh and slide a look over my shoulder at Josh. “What is it?”
“An otter. Look real close and you'll see a raft of them playing out there. A raft just means the group, it's like saying âa school' of fish.”
I lean forward, conscious of Josh's protective arm slipping further around me. “I do see them. Oh, they look amazingâlike wet puppies!”
“My mother always thinks they look like teddy bears, but I can see the puppy resemblance too.”
We stand, mesmerized, until the distinct sound of tapping rises above the lull of waves, followed by loud cooing. “What are they doing out there?”
“That's how they eat. They float on their backs and bang hard-shelled food, like abalone, against a rock that's balanced on their chest.” His enthusiasm for sea life reminds me of my father's.
“They're the cutest animals I've ever seenâway prettier than those fat elephant seals. Although, they're a sight too.” I pull away from Josh. “I want to go closer.”
He tightens his hold on me. “Whoa-whoa-whoa. It's too dangerous down there.”
I stiffen. Why is it that when I finally decide to try somethingâanythingâadventurous, opposition comes my way? One turn to glance into Josh's face, though, and I'm taken aback by the slight downward curve of his mouth. “So you're serious?”
He attempts a smile, but his eyes give him away. “Even the docent won't come down here, especially now that the tide's coming in. Stay here . . . with me.”
A staccato puff of air escapes through my parted lips. “I would just love to see one up close. Don't worry. I can move fast. Promise.”
Josh squeezes shut his eyes and then pulls me closer, as if he never wants me to leave. A tingle runs up my arm and ignites, spreading wildly through me. All thoughts of petting lovable sea otters dribble away as I find myself wanting to lean further into him and yet cognizant of his confession moments ago. His eyes open inches from mine and they are like liquid, clear and bright. They elongate when he smiles. “You might be fast, but not faster than me.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Floating on a cloud does not begin to describe the Pollyannaish bounce in my step as I head into the house. I had walked to work this morning, so after our day trip up the coast, Josh drops me off at home. Mel and Camille are sprawled in the middle of the rather ratty shag carpeting, surrounded by skeins of yarns and patterns, along with pictures and old photo albums.
“My, aren't you the glowing one?” Mel assesses me from her spot on the floor.
“Oh, Mel-Mel, even your snide attitude won't bother me today.” I step over her and the accompanying mess and head into the kitchen. “Lemonade, anyone?”
Mel comes up from behind. While I open the fridge, she leans against the door frame. “So. You followed my advice and decided to let the man lead this time? Good girl.”
I pour myself a tall glass, plunking two cubes of ice into my drink. I cast Mel a blasé smile. “Whatever.”
Camille's voice carries into the kitchen from the living room. “Hey, Mel, Tara. Come see what I've found.” She's standing now amongst mess. “It's a picture of Dad and some old cronies of his here in Otter Bay, I think.”
I scramble over to her, with Mel close behind me. “He was so young,” I say, unable to keep the sigh out of my voice.
“Yeah, Cam, you made him sound so old. He was what? Twenty-three in that picture?”
Camille pulls the picture from me and gives it another look. “Man, poor Dad looked old even when he was young!”
There's truth in her words. For a man so young and with a vibrant life ahead of him, Dad's shoulders slumped far too low in this picture. The issues I'd forgotten, or at least had laid aside, now emblazon themselves like a Vegas marquee in my mind. What was going on in his head? Was he thinking about Peg's money? Another woman?
The thought forces my mouth into a frown, and I turn away. “What are you doing with those pictures anyway?”
“I'm trying to crochet a frame. Well, not a frame, but a cover for one. Thought this place could use some personalizing. Don't you want to look at it again, Tara?” Camille holds the picture out to me. I begin to shake my head “no” when Mel pulls it from her grasp and studies it.
“Check out the James Dean wannabe in the back. Reminds me of Nigel.” She tips her chin up. “Did he know us back then?”
I glance over her shoulder. Most of the men in the shot wear rumpled tees and shorts that expose too much leg á la the '80s, but one leans against a burnt tree trunk in the back, looking very much a rebel in his tight jeans and leather bomber jacket. Mel's overzealous observation lightens my mood. “Yeah, that Nigel, always strikes me as the renegade-type.” A cackle escapes me.
“It's not impossible.”
“Except that he hasn't lived here all that long. He inherited the inn and came back to run it after his sister died. But seriously, Mel, our dear Nigel in bad-boy leather?”
Mel shrugs. “So maybe it's his evil twin.” She hands the photo back to Camille, who giggles as she files it in the box with the others. “I'm going outside to watch that sunset you're always fawning over, Tara,” Mel says. “Feel free to come along and give me the real scoop about your afternoon with lover boyâhe was terribly eager to know your schedule today.”
Outside she plops herself into the center Adirondack and I take the chair on her right. The hard slats of wood provide a surprising amount of comfort. Neither of us speaks, as the waves cry out their swan song for the evening. Streaks of fuchsia dash across the sky and from the corner of my view, a bunny feasts on a patchy section of grass.
This. This is what I longed for, what I remembered most about Otter Bay. Not an exact memory, as I was too young to enjoy the things adults often do, but a sense that this place along the coast had the ability to take the wrongs of my dayâmy lifeâand in one grand sunset, make everything all better.
“I bet Dad loved these sunsets.”
Mel stays quiet. She's often quiet as she's thinking, so I don't take offense. Still, and even though it's a small thing, I hope she agrees with me. After a moment she inhales. “Mom sent an e-mail today.”
I pull myself up to look at her. “What did she say? Did she finally get international calling?”
Mel turns, her expression thoughtful, her eyes searching. She shrugs. “She's worried about you. She says that you're going to learn some things that neither she nor our father had the courage to tell you.”
I sit back down, taking in the cooling sunset along with our mother's words. “Too late for that now, isn't it?”
“Rather cynical, coming from you, big sister.”
I groan. “Maybe. But can I ask you something? Why is it that she trusts you more with information than she does me?”
“Are you kidding? Trust me? Hardly. Mom's always so concerned with you and
your
reaction to everything. I don't know why she tells me so much, but I can promise you it has nothing to do with trust. Sometimes I think she just needs me to be her sounding board.”
your
reaction to everything. I don't know why she tells me so much, but I can promise you it has nothing to do with trust. Sometimes I think she just needs me to be her sounding board.”
“Oh, Mel.”
“I guess she figures if I don't pass out over her latest news, then you'll be just fineâand that's what matters most.”
“You're serious. You really think that Mom favors me.” I laugh. “How ironic is this?”
“Oh, really. And why's that?”
I slowly shake my head, hardly noticing as the sun submerges itself into the sea. “Because while you were busy resenting me, I was just as busy . . . resenting you.”
“JOSHUA ADAMS, WOULD YOU look at that! It's like you brought Cinderella herself to the ball.” Glory Sims, wearing more pink than a flamingo, approaches us from across the lawn, two steps ahead of Burton.
My arm is looped through Josh's, and he smiles. “Guess that makes me the prince.”
“I'll say. And you know what that makes me now, don't you?” We all look to Burton, who wheezes between sentences. “The jester!”
We all laugh and nod, and as Josh guides me through the throng of strangers gathering for the outdoor wedding, I realize how very much like a princess I feel. Come to think of it, Camille and Mel were the antitheses of ugly stepsisters, the way they fussed and carried on over me this afternoon. I'd completely forgotten about shoes when I bought this dress from Simka's and it took a bit of searching through Mel's unpacked suitcases and boxes, but eventually, the girls came up with the perfect, shimmering black pumps for me to borrow.
“If the night's a dud,” she whispered when Josh picked me up, “just tap your heels together three timesâlike you're Dorothy.”
So I mixed my fairy tales. I'm still in one, as far as I'm concerned.
“Tara, you look stunning!” Norma gives me a hug and turns to a wiry man who resembles Mikey. “I'd like you to meet my husband. Mike, this is Tara, the new friend I've told you about.”
“Good to meet you, Tara.” He shakes my hand, his grip firmer than I'd expected.
“And you as well. You have a lovely family.”
Norma takes my arm in hers. “Speaking of which, may I speak to you for a moment?”
Josh's face registers slight surprise, but he steps back, his smile congenial.
When we're a few steps away, Norma lets go of my arm. “I just wanted to tell you in person how very sorry I am that your private news got back to your sister. I'm so ashamed.”
I touch her shoulder. “Please don't be. It was all for the best. Mel needed to know and I, well . . . I was having a hard time figuring out how to tell her.”
Norma's shoulders lower as her smile deepens. “So you forgive me?”
I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. “Yes. Yes, of course I forgive you. No harm done.”
“I called my sister this morning and forgave her for snapping at me the other day. She sounded so relieved! We can't receive forgiveness unless we give it first, you know.”
I wasn't aware of that.
She hugs me tight. “Find us after the ceremony, okay?”
I promise, and Josh leads me to find our seats next to Billy and Beth, who have apparently come together. The men shake hands while Beth and I just smile our hellos. I try not to notice the long sleeves she wears on this warm day.
Seats all around us fill in as the time for the wedding nears. Peg doesn't notice me, as she strolls down the side aisle, and I almost don't recognize her myself in that smart gray suit with pillbox hat. Funny, but associating Peg with Audrey Hepburn had never come to mind before. It's not the clothes, though, that alter her appearance so much, but the gracious smile displayed across her face. Like she's genuinely happy.
Imagine that.
“Trouble at ten o'clock.” Billy's clandestine message may be meant for Josh's ears alone, but I hear him too. Beth's on his other side and seems fairly occupied with the wrist orchid she's wearing, a tender gesture on Billy's part, if you ask me.
Josh groans quietly, a muscle twitches in his jaw. “Can't believe he'd show up here.”
“And with her,” Billy whispers back.
Like a couple of old women with nothing but time to kill, they each, in turn, take surreptitious glances toward the left front where a striking couple takes their seats. The man's hair, so dark, thick, and wavy, rivals the richest chocolate. And the woman turns heads. Her mane of white blonde locks obediently hold themselves in place, as if they've done so her entire life. They are one of those couples, like Eliza and her first husband, Charles, the kind who know the life they've been groomed forâand never let anyone around them forget it.
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