The Beach House (29 page)

Then why had he spent what was to her a small fortune sending a team halfway around the world? The question had plagued Julia from the day she'd moved into Ken's office.

She found herself second-guessing him a dozen times a day, trying to do what he would have done without having a clue what that was. While everyone did whatever they could to help her run the place the way they felt Ken would have, no one had offered so much as a nod of encouragement for her to begin making her own decisions.

Ken was an icon, and she was forever cast in the role of his high priestess.

She went to bed but couldn't sleep. After two hours of rolling from side to side in the huge bed, she got up and wandered into the living room, stopping to stand in front of the picture of her and Ken that hung over the fireplace. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it had felt like to have his arms around her. But it was Eric's arms she felt, his lips she still tasted, and his voice she heard.

Tears came to her eyes as she stared at the picture. “I tried so hard, Ken, but I still let you down. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”

 

Julia felt someone pulling her from a place she didn't want to leave. She fought going, but the voice only became more persistent.

“Mrs. Huntington—it's time to get up.”

“Connie?” Julia blinked her eyes open. “What are you doing here already?”

“It's almost eight-thirty. You overslept.”

She'd fallen asleep on the couch. She sat up and looked at the clock on the mantel. Her heart sank. “Damn—I have a meeting in five minutes.”

“Do you want me to call the office and tell them you're going to be late?”

“No, I'll do it.” Still groggy, she started toward the bedroom.

“There's something else I need to tell you, Mrs. Huntington.”

“Yes?”

“Josi is missing.”

Julia heard the concern in her voice. “No, she's not. Eric came home yesterday and stopped by to pick her up after you left.”

Instead of relieved, she looked disappointed. “I was hoping he would forget.”

It was such an odd thing for her to say, Julia couldn't let it pass. “I didn't know you were a cat person.”

“I'm not. I just liked the way she made you smile. You haven't done that a lot this past year.” She went to the sofa where Julia had been sleeping and fluffed the pillows. “Maybe you should look into getting a cat of your own.”

The suggestion stopped Julia cold. Was that how Connie saw her—someone who should look to a cat to bring her happiness? “I'll think about it.”

She called the office from her bedroom phone, then stripped and headed for the bathroom. As she rounded the bed, she caught the monogram on the pocket of her pajama top out of the corner of her eye. The stylized
H
stood out as if she'd been wearing a brand.

 

Pat Faith followed Julia into her office. “I managed to reschedule all your appointments except the one with Adam Boehm. He said he would get back to you later when he'd had a chance to check his calendar.”

“What about David? Did he turn in the new sketches?”

“Had them here at eight this morning.”

“Good.” Julia sat at her desk and picked up the phone. On impulse, she put it down again to catch Pat before she left. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Pat said, coming back into the room.

Julia motioned to the chair in front of her. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“No. . . .”

Refusing to consider the mistake she could be making opening herself up to someone she really didn't know, Julia shoved her doubts to the back of her mind and plunged ahead. “How are you getting along without Howard?”

Pat settled deeper into the chair. Her husband had died a month before Ken, but even though they'd had such a profound tragedy in common, they'd never talked about it to each other. “It hasn't been as hard for me as it's been for you,” she said. “Howard was the best thing that ever happened to me, but he was just an ordinary guy to the rest of the world. With you, it's as if everyone around here thinks Ken's up there sitting at the right hand of God.”

Julia felt as if she'd been given an incredible gift. She had someone she could talk to, someone who finally understood.

Chapter 8

Peter went into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee, and looked out the window. The blinds were still drawn at Katherine's. He glanced at the clock. Ten to eight. Normally she was up by now.

With the previous night's clear skies, he'd set his alarm for dawn, hoping the fog would hold off and give him the morning light he wanted to finish the painting he'd started the day before.

He'd chosen the pose where Katherine was looking out the window rather than into the room. Her expression, her body language, had an intensity he'd never seen her reveal before. It was as if she were seeing a world on the other side of the glass hidden to all but her, a world that seemed to frighten her, but one that she longed to explore.

He hadn't comprehended what he was seeing at first. It took three attempts to put the clues together, to find the emotion struggling to break through the facade. When he was finally confident he'd captured what she'd tried so hard to keep hidden, he still was no closer to understanding what had produced the emotions than he had been in the beginning.

Would she understand the difference when she saw the finished picture, or would she feel he'd wantonly invaded her privacy?

Their friendship was already on shaky ground. The easy rapport they'd always shared had been dealt a near fatal blow. He almost wished he'd let her go on thinking he was gay. Where was the harm if it was what she needed to feel comfortable around him?

What insane hope drove him? What flaw in his personality let him go on year after year loving a woman who would never, who could never, love him back? Would he one day see in hindsight that he'd wasted what should have been the best years of his life?

If there were a treatment, he would take it. God knew he'd tried to rid himself of her. Unrequited love might seem wonderfully romantic in a song; living it was something else. Kindly put, it was stupid. More honestly, it was sick.

Peter poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and went back to his studio. He stood in the doorway and stared at the half-finished picture of Katherine. Stupid or not, sick or not, he would always love her. It was as useless to deny or try to change as the seasons.

 

Katherine grabbed the towel she'd left on a rock and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was half-frozen yet felt wonderfully alive from her swim. Breaking the rules she'd hammered into her children from the first August they'd spent at the beach, she'd not only gone swimming immediately after eating, she'd gone alone.

Now she had goose bumps on top of goose bumps; her teeth were chattering and her skin had turned blue. But she'd watched the sunrise riding a swell and had almost wound up nose to nose with a curious seal. All in all, more than a worthwhile exchange.

Doing something alone was an experience in itself. She couldn't remember ever going to a movie or a restaurant by herself. All her life she'd been attached to someone either by circumstance or by choice. She'd never thought to question the pattern or felt the need to be out on her own. Now that she'd been cut loose, she was discovering a part of herself she'd never known existed.

Simple things astounded her. It was a revelation to realize the world wouldn't come to an end if dinner wasn't on the table at six-thirty. She could eat at five or eight or not at all if she so chose.

Best of all, she could read all night if she wanted and sleep in until eight or even nine without being accused of indolence.

The freedom to do and be whatever she wanted couldn't last, of course. Out of necessity her life would settle into a routine when she went home again. She had Paul to consider and her own class schedule to keep up. But no matter how much she had to do, she would never again let her days become so structured that there was no room for spontaneity.

She was forty-one years old, forty-two in a couple of months. Figuring her family's noted longevity, she could reasonably expect to live another forty or so years. Which meant her life was half over. No, that was something Brandon would say.

She had half her life ahead of her.

Yes, she liked that better.

She managed a smile through half-frozen lips as she headed back to the house. Forty years . . . a lot of adventures could be had in forty years.

Today was a good day to begin. Perhaps she'd even ask Peter to join her. She was still a little disconcerted at the discovery he wasn't gay, but after the initial surprise, she saw no reason their friendship shouldn't go on. The situation obviously didn't bother him, why would she let it bother her? The determining factor had been the thought of losing him as a friend. Just thinking about it had created a profound sense of loss. She liked Peter. He was kind and thoughtful and caring . . . and he made her laugh.

If the day ever came that she considered having someone in her life again, she would want it to be a man like Peter. But that thought hinged on such a big “if,” she had trouble imagining it ever happening.

Now that she'd decided to embark on the second part of her life, she was filled with ideas and anxious to get started. Every year she'd added places to go and things to see to her “August” list, spending her winters poring over the new brochures and free newspapers she'd picked up while staying at the beach house the summer before. Then August would come, and despite his promises to the contrary, Brandon would be there only two or three days a week and want to spend them sitting around doing nothing—his idea of a real vacation. Inevitably the kids were more interested in being with their friends at the beach or on the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, and because she'd never been much of a loner—enjoying the sharing as much as the doing—Katherine never went sight-seeing on her own.

Of all her projects the one she most regretted never doing was the search for John Steinbeck's California. She'd spent her winter four years ago reading the books he'd written about the area. By the time August rolled around again, she'd gathered dozens of passages that described real locations, believing it would be both fun and educational to try to find them.

She and Brandon spent their first morning on Fremont Peak wandering through the park. That afternoon they were at the hospital getting medicine for his poison oak. His rash got a lot worse before it got better, and Katherine decided to let the project go for that year.

Her thoughts focused on the past and the future as she climbed the stairs from the beach, Katherine completely ignored the present. She was almost around the house before she noticed a dark green Taurus parked in front of Andrew's house, taking advantage of the shade provided by a fifty-year-old pine. It was the same kind of car Brandon drove.

Just yesterday she would have been beside herself with hope and anticipation to find him there. Now she wasn't sure what she felt.

“Don't you think it's a little early for a swim?” he said as he came through the garden gate.

Brandon was a clear winner in the genetic dice game; he was hands down the most handsome man she'd ever known. Even after twenty years of marriage she could still be impressed, especially when he smiled. The cotton slacks and golf shirts he favored for everyday wear gave the same effect as a tuxedo on an ordinary man. “What are you doing here?”

He paused, obviously taken aback at the accusatory tone in her voice. “I came to see you.”

She adjusted the towel to cover herself better. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.” She surprised them both at the bluntness of her answer.

“Why don't we go in?” he asked reasonably. “You look half-frozen, and I'd prefer the neighbors didn't see us standing around outside like this.”

Had Brandon not gone into the ministry, he would have made a great political consultant. At the worst of times a part of his mind remained focused on the image he presented. Katherine reached inside the bra cup of her swimming suit and unpinned the house key. When they were inside, she dropped the key on the coffee table, turned to Brandon, and repeated coolly, “What are you doing here?”

He avoided looking at her, instead letting his gaze sweep the room. “We need to talk.”

Brandon had never lacked self-confidence. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. He had an incredible power to persuade people to his way of thinking, making them feel the arguments had been theirs all along. It had taken her years to see the mechanics of this manipulative process. When she'd pointed it out to him, he'd asked why she would question his methods when the end justified the means.

“You told me you'd already said everything there was to say,” she said.

“I was wrong.”

The statement disarmed her. It wasn't Brandon's style to admit he was wrong about anything. She tugged on the towel where it had begun to slip from her shoulder and waited for him to go on.

“I've missed you,” he said. “More than I'd expected. These last few months have been really hard on me.” He waited. When she still didn't say anything, he made a frustrated sound and put his hands on her arms. “I'm not going to dance around this, Katherine. I want you to come back to me. I see now that our separation was a terrible mistake.”

If he'd come a week ago, she would have collapsed in his arms in gratitude that he was willing to give her back her life. Not even a week—three days ago and she would be in the bedroom packing already. “I don't know what to say,” she admitted.

He brought her into his arms. “You don't have to say anything. I can see your answer in your eyes. You're as happy to have this behind us as I am.”

Finally she found her will. “The only thing behind us is a broken marriage.”

He either didn't hear or chose to ignore her statement. He kissed her, his mouth open as he ground his lips into hers. It was the kind of kiss he reserved for telling her he wanted to make love.

Despite the warning voice that told her she would be a fool to give in to him, she felt herself being swept along. It seemed forever since she'd been touched or caressed or even held. She needed what he offered, more than she'd let herself acknowledge. Besides, legally they were still married. After all their years together what harm could it do if they were to bring their relationship to a gentle end by making love this one last time?

“Yes. . . . It's all right,” she said on a whispered sigh as he kissed the hollow behind her ear. Shock waves radiated through her midsection. That quickly she was ready for him.
But was it Brandon she really wanted
? The question came from a voice deep inside her mind. She chose not to listen.

He took her hand and started toward the bedroom.

“No,” she said. “Make love to me here.”

He frowned. “Here? On the sofa?”

“I don't care. The sofa, the floor, it doesn't matter.” He'd said he was bored with their lovemaking. The request should have pleased him. She tugged on his hand to bring him back to her.

“Why would we want to do that when there's a perfectly comfortable bed right down the hall?”

“We always made love in bed.” Again she tugged on his hand. “Come on, Brandon, let go. The kids aren't here. No one is going to knock on the door. The phone isn't going to ring.”

Still he hesitated. “What's gotten into you?” he asked suspiciously, glancing at the bookshelf. “Have you started reading those trashy romance novels?”

She could feel the mood slipping away. Her lips moved into a pleading smile as her stomach did a slow roll. “Never mind. The bed is fine.”

A triumphant gleam shone from his eyes. “I'll be there waiting.”

“Waiting?” she repeated inanely.

“While you take your shower. All that sand and salt must be driving you crazy.”

He couldn't have cooled her off more effectively if he'd tossed her back in the ocean. He wanted her, but it had to be the sanitized version. He was no more swept away with desire than Iran was interested in a good neighbor policy with Israel. She purposefully removed her hand from his. “What's going on, Brandon? Why did you really come here today?”

“I told you. I realized how wrong I'd been when—”

“Cut the crap. I'm not buying it.”

His eyes flashed a mixture of anger and impatience, emotions he usually managed to keep under tight control. “What's gotten into you, Katherine? When did you start questioning what I tell you?”

Had he always talked to her this way?

As if realizing he'd gone too far, Brandon said, “I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I've been a mess since you left. I can't concentrate, and I haven't been eating properly. My sermons are even beginning to suffer.”

“What did you expect? I took care of you morning, noon, and night for twenty years while you were busy taking care of everyone else.”

“I don't understand what's happening here,” he said. “I thought you wanted to save our marriage, that it was as important to you as it is to me.”