The Beach House (18 page)

“Somehow I knew you would.”

There it was again, that inexplicable connection. “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Keep trying. It's the only thing I can do.”

A half dozen clichés came to mind, but he refrained from using them. She was as smart as she was beautiful and sure as hell didn't need recycled advice from him. “Do you want me to have Joe or Maggie call you when they get home?”

“Just tell them I checked in and that I'll try again in a couple of days.”

“And if they want to reach you?” He sensed she was getting ready to hang up and didn't want the conversation to end.

“They have my number. But I don't think I gave it to you—just in case something happens and you need to reach me,” she added quickly.

“I have a pen right here, go ahead.”

She read off the ten numbers and then had him repeat them to her. “Before I go . . . how is the book coming?”

“The agent asked to see the first half, so I sent it to him a couple of days ago.”

“Is that good?”

He laughed. “I don't know.”

“What happens now?”

“I don't know that, either. I guess he reads it and either tells me to keep going or to round-file it and start on something else.”

“Did he say how long it would be before he got back to you?”

“No, and I didn't ask.”

“Which means your heart is in your throat every time the phone rings.”

How could she know him so little and yet know him so well? “I had no idea the waiting would be so hard.”

“Will you call me when you hear?”

It was difficult, but he resisted making more of the request than she'd intended. “Sure. If you're not home, I'll leave a message on the machine.”

“Take care,” she said.

“You too.”

He hung up and glanced out the window at the beach. It was even more crowded than usual with the influx of people for the holiday. The ocean was active and foamy, agitated into white peaks and green valleys by a far-off Pacific storm. The sky was a Dallas Cowboy blue, with brightly colored kites sprinkled across the horizon. If he'd spent the morning listing his requirements for a perfect day, he couldn't have come up with one better than the one he'd just been given.

 

Julia tossed the pen she'd been holding onto her desk and leaned back in her chair. She had five minutes before her meeting with John Sidney and his staff to discuss the quality control problems they were having with their shipping boxes. Her initial reaction had been to let John handle the supplier himself, but that wasn't the way things were done at HCF.

Although Ken's first love had been product development, he'd been a hands-on boss, involved in every aspect of his business through daily minimeetings with the managers of the different departments. When Julia took over she felt overwhelmed trying to cope with Ken's loss and learn the business at the same time and had cut the meetings to twice a week. The drop in morale had been immediate and startling.

The men and women who worked at HCF were in her corner, willing to go the distance and do whatever necessary to facilitate her takeover. Their loyalty was unquestioning, their enthusiasm intimidating. If she'd run into resistance—and it wouldn't have taken a great deal—she could have convinced herself it would be better for everyone if she sold the company and let someone who knew what they were doing take over. Instead she faced a kindness and sympathy and patience that made it impossible to walk away.

A light knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Julia said.

Pat Faith, her secretary, popped her head in. “I just heard that John Sidney's wife miscarried last night. I knew you'd want to know.”

Julia was certain they'd met at one or another of the company parties, but she couldn't summon a mental picture. “I can't remember who she is.”

Pat stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “She's really quiet, but very pretty—long blond hair with a mole under her right eye.”

“Always wears a dress, even to the picnics?”

“That's her.” Pat started to leave, then remembered something else she wanted to ask. “Did you find Joe and Maggie?”

Over the sixteen years Pat had been Ken's secretary and then Julia's, she'd become as much friend as employee to both of them. “Yes—no. I didn't actually find them, but at least I know where they are and that they're all right. It seems they've been adopted by their new neighbor at the beach house.”

“The writer?”

Julia had forgotten she'd told Pat about Eric. She nodded. “His kids are staying with him, and you know how Joe and Maggie feel about kids.”

“Oh, he's married, then?”

It seemed an odd question. “Divorced.”

Pat smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

“Now why—”

“I like the way you look when you talk about him and just don't want to see you getting yourself into something sticky.”

Julia's mouth opened in surprise. “You're imagining things. I don't look any different when I talk about Eric than I do when I talk about any other friend.”

“I'm not saying there's anything wrong with finding someone you're interested in,” she protested. “It's bound to happen sooner or later. It's just that you've got to be a lot more careful than someone like me.”

She'd heard the warning in one form or another from every one of her and Ken's friends. Not only were they convinced she was a stationary target for every fortune-hunting man on the planet, they couldn't imagine why she would ever allow another man in her life again, no matter how wonderful he was.

After having the best, why—
how
—could she ever settle for less?

Another knock sounded on the door. “It's probably John,” Julia said. “I'll see if there's anything he and his wife need. In the meantime why don't you call McLellan's and have them deliver whatever orchid they have in bloom now. Be sure they know we want something especially nice, and make it in white or pink or yellow, nothing dark. Keep the note simple and sign it from all of us.”

Pat nodded. “I'll take care of it.”

Julia got up to meet John at the door. If losing Ken had done nothing else for her, it had taught her how much it meant to have someone show they cared. She couldn't give John what he wanted most, but she could give him that.

Chapter 5

The five of them arrived at the pier early, armed with blankets, books, and games for Jason and Susie, a folding chaise longue for Maggie, and chairs for Joe and Eric. Sea lions barked in the background as if setting up their protest early to be sure their feelings about the intrusion were heard while Eric kept an eye on the fog bank sitting offshore.

Stuffed from fresh peach ice cream and a variety of picnic excesses, they were content to sit the two hours and wait for the show to begin. After several minutes of polite but pointed encouragement, Joe sprawled out on the blanket, Susie on one side, Jason on the other, and began reading aloud the books Susie had brought with her.

As others drifted in to fill the spaces around them, Eric and Maggie watched the sun lazily make its way to the fog-pillowed horizon.

“How are you doing?” Eric asked, his voice low so that only she could hear.

Maggie studied him for several seconds before answering. “You know, don't you?”

“Joe confirmed what I'd already figured out the night we had pizza.”

She nodded. “I'm a little tired,” she admitted. “But I wouldn't trade one minute of being here for a truckload of energy.”

“You know, you really should try to pace yourself.”

Her only answer was to look at him.

“I'm sorry. That was a pretty stupid thing to say.”

“Did you say things like that to your patients when they knew they were dying?”

“I may have. I honestly don't know. One of the reasons I quit was that I saw myself turning into the kind of doctor I swore I'd never be.”

“My aunt once told me that even death has a beginning, that it's simply another of life's journeys. I think about that whenever I begin to feel weighed down by everything that's happening.”

“I like that. Would you mind if I use it?”

“In what way?”

“There's a scene I'm working on in the book that could use a philosophical touch.”

“My aunt would be most pleased.” Maggie smiled. “And so am I.”

Eric reached his arms up over his head to stretch, stuck his legs out in front of him, and crossed them at the ankles. “Julia said you and Joe have been coming to this area for a long time.”

“We spent our honeymoon in Santa Cruz and have been back every year since. Sixty-five of them, all told.”

“I understand you used to own Julia's house.”

“Bought it over fifty years ago, right after the doctor told us we wouldn't be needing to add any more bedrooms to our house in San Jose. Then Joe had his stroke just after he retired and we sold the place to Ken. He made the deal contingent on our staying here during the summer—said he was afraid to let the house stand empty all those months.” She smiled at the memory. “Of course, the way he made it sound, we were the ones doing him the favor. We didn't take the whole three months. Joe found renters for June and August, good solid people he was sure would take care of the place. We thought we were doing Ken a favor helping him out with the payments that way.” She chuckled. “Can you imagine?”

“I think I've been infected with whatever bug bit all of you,” Eric said. “Now that I've been here a while, I don't want to leave. It's going to be hard to turn Andrew's house back over to him when he comes home.”

“I wish you could have seen what it was like around here when we first came. It's not that I don't like what the cities and towns have become, it's more that I sometimes miss what they were.”

“I'd love to hear what it was like back then.”

“Goodness, I wouldn't know where to begin.” Rarely did she let herself slip into stories of the past, believing that doing so was more barrier than connection to others, but as they sat and waited for dusk Eric began to ply her with questions about the area, how it had changed and how it had stayed the same.

She told him of the stink and noise that had made up Cannery Row when the money had come from sardines and not tourists, how boats had unloaded and processed the larger fish at the end of piers now filled with restaurants and shops. She described the unspoiled charm of Carmel when ordinary working people had lived in the cottages that now sold for more than any of these people could have hoped to make in a lifetime.

Over their years of exploring the Monterey Peninsula she and Joe had made friends with artists and fishermen and farmers. And then slowly the makeup of the area had begun to change. Tourists arrived with hefty wallets, liked what they saw, and began to buy pieces of paradise for themselves. The cypress- and pine- and oak-covered hillsides soon sprouted No Trespassing signs on solidly gated driveways.

To accommodate the visitors who came on a budget, T-shirt shops now dotted Carmel's Ocean Avenue. They were located between, across the street from, and around the corner from galleries that sold paintings that left all but the most affluent slack jawed. Once meticulously clean, the still quaint village now suffered from tourist overload. Candy wrappers and beverage cups spilled from trash containers, while, at times, sidewalks barely accommodated the shoulder-to-shoulder pedestrians. Visitors arrived by the busload, laden with cameras and fanny packs and secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous so they would have something to tell their friends when they got back home.

Eric was still asking questions about Carmel and Monterey when nightfall settled and enveloped them. He'd barely gotten to Santa Cruz and the effects of the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake when the first of the fireworks, a set of three rings in red, white, and blue, lit up the sky. Maggie promised they'd finish another time as she moved deeper into her chaise longue to make room for Jason. Susie crawled onto Joe's lap and put her hand on her father's arm.

Appreciative ooohs and aaahs filled in the spaces between reverberating booms.

“Daddy, they really are just like flowers,” Susie said in awe. “I wish Mommy could see, too.”

Maggie's heart went out to her. People you loved were supposed to love each other. The absence of that love was a hard lesson for someone so young to have to learn. “You could draw her a picture tomorrow. I'll bet she would like that.”

“I'll draw her one, too,” Jason said, his gaze never leaving the sky.

“And one for Roger?” Eric suggested gently.

“Okay,” Susie said.

“I suppose,” Jason added.

Maggie could see how much the peace offering had cost Eric. It was obvious that given the choice, he wouldn't have wanted to share his children with another man, but no matter the possible consequences, he would always put their needs above his own.

Without warning, a breath-stealing stabbing pain shot through Maggie's midsection. She gripped the armrests as she waited for it to pass. Could she have forgotten to take her medication? No, it wasn't possible. Joe delivered the assortment of pills with unerring regularity.

Eric started to say something, turned, and saw what was happening to Maggie. Without drawing attention to them, he circled her wrist with his hand, his fingers probing the pulse point. After several seconds he quietly reached for her purse and pulled out a plastic bag filled with dark orange prescription bottles. After scanning the labels, he chose one container, opened it, and removed two tablets. With deft, subtle movements, he slipped them into her mouth. “Do you need water?” he asked softly, slipping her hand into his.

She shook her head, leaned back, and closed her eyes as she waited for the narcotic to take effect. Joe had been adamant that she be put under the care of an oncologist as concerned with quality of life as cancer. The doctor had warned them that the time might come when pills weren't enough, but they were supposed to have several more months before that happened.

The narcotic lapped at her pain like waves hitting the shore, gradually washing it away until she was left with nothing but its memory and the fear of its return.

Maggie opened her eyes and saw Eric watching her. “I'm fine now,” she mouthed. The incident had occurred so fast and with so little fuss, not even Joe had picked up on what was happening. “Thank you.”

Eric gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “If you ever need me, just call. Anytime.”

Jason looked at his dad. “What for?”

“Anything,” Eric told him, ruffling his hair.

“How come Maggie would need you?” he pressed, refusing to be put off.

Maggie believed the surest way to lose a child's trust was to lie to him, but now was not the time or the place to tell Jason that she was sick. “To help make more ice cream.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy him. “Can we?”

“Of course we can,” she said.

Jason's attention was drawn back to the fireworks as a series of explosions marked the spectacular finale, lighting up the sky with an entire garden of the ephemeral flowers.

As if on cue, the fog rolled forward. Maggie watched the last flaming blue trailer fall into the ocean through the encroaching mist and felt a strange peace come over her. In part, the beauty of the display had come from its transitory nature. As much as she didn't want to leave Joe, neither had she a desire to live forever. She regretted that she hadn't worked harder to be a better caretaker of her small corner of the world. She should have done more to let people know how many birds died because of balloons released at celebrations, or entered the battle to institute mass transit systems throughout the bay area.

She was proud of the awards she'd received for convincing people to neuter their pets and lowering the number of kittens and puppies that died at local shelters and the work she'd done to help the homeless—but she should have done more.

“Ready?” Joe asked.

It took a second to register what he was asking. She smiled an acknowledgment as she moved to extract herself from the chaise longue. “My, that was wonderful. I'm so glad we came.” She looked at Jason and Susie. “Thank you for asking us.”

“You're welcome,” Susie said.

Jason gave her an impromptu hug. “You can come with us next time, too.”

She put her arms around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you,” she said simply.

The ride home was quiet as first the kids, and then Joe, fell asleep in the backseat of Eric's car. As they neared the power plant at Moss Landing, Eric glanced over to see if Maggie had fallen asleep also. Seeing that she was still awake, he said, “I know how annoying it can be to have people constantly ask how you're doing, but I'm going to risk it anyway. How
are
you doing?”

“Right now, or overall?”

“Both.”

“As well as can be expected.” She caught his look of surprise and grinned. “I'm sorry, I've always wanted to say that to a doctor. Frustrating, isn't it?”

He laughed. “Extremely. It's also a very good way to tell me to mind my own business.”

“I'm winding down, Eric. I'm sure you know the process, and I really don't have anything new to add.” She put her hand on his arm. “But please don't think your caring isn't appreciated, or that I won't take you up on your generous offer and call if I need you.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You're a nice man. I hope you find someone to share all the wonderful things that are ahead for you.”

“Which wonderful things are you referring to? If you've had some revelation about the book, I wouldn't mind hearing it. I had no idea waiting could be so hard.”

“I was talking about life. The book will take care of itself.”

“Remind me of that every so often, will you?”

She might not be his friend for long, but she would be the best she could be while she was there. “It would be my pleasure.”