Whisper Beach (6 page)

He'd meant to marry her and take her away from her father and
all the stuff that made her unhappy, but he had a scholarship to study dairy management and he'd let it slide. He thought he had plenty of time.

He wasn't ready to get hitched then. He thought if she could just hold on a little longer. But . . .

There was speculation that she'd died. An accident or by her own hand, but Joe didn't believe it. Van was tough. Had to be after what she'd been through. But not hard like Dana. Van had managed to keep her compassion and her ability to love intact. She was sensitive and artistic and thought she might like to go to art school someday. They made plans. But that all ended when she disappeared.

Everyone blamed him and Dana, and it hadn't mattered how much he said nothing happened; Dana was close behind him implying that it had.

The tattoo turned to a drum. At least Van had made a life for herself. He followed her career on the Internet. But he hadn't once tried to contact her. He didn't know why. Maybe it was fear that she'd reject him or that she'd totally forgotten him, or maybe he just didn't want his memory of how special she was to be tarnished by reality.

And now he was sitting in a parked truck like a stalker.

He reached for the keys. He'd go home. Ignore the diggers. Try to sleep.

Dorie's front door opened. At first Joe thought he was imagining things. Or that he'd stumbled on a burglar.

But the dark figure came down the steps, paused at the sidewalk, then turned and walked toward the beach.

And he knew who it was. She was a mere silhouette; there was nothing discernible except the way she walked. And he knew just as if it were broad daylight and she was staring him in the face.

He grabbed the keys and opened the truck door. Was careful to close it quietly. Because he was really crazy.

Really crazy and pitiful,
he thought as he started after her, moving slow, hugging the shadows. If a patrol car passed by, he'd be spending the night in jail. 'Cause he looked guilty as hell.

He followed her for the block and a half to the boardwalk. Stood back when she crossed the street. It was pretty quiet. A few stragglers walked by, but the Blue Crab had closed earlier, and the serious drinkers had moved on to the bars up the beach or in town.

He didn't cross the street but kept parallel to her movements. She was headed toward the Blue Crab, but she walked past the restaurant, and he lost her in the shadows. It didn't matter. He knew where she was going. Whisper Beach.

As soon as she disappeared over the side, he crossed the street.

He didn't think she should be alone on the beach at night. Especially one so isolated. God knew who might be down there. He crossed the street, moving slowly until he was at the boardwalk railing.

She was standing on the sand, facing the sea. She looked almost otherworldly.

Then she raised her arms and turned. Saw him and stopped. He slid back from the rail and into the shadows.

What had he been thinking? He didn't stop to see if she would follow but crossed the street and, ducking his head, quickly walked way.

V
AN COULD SWEAR
someone was watching her. And yet when she turned, no one was there. She was alone with the tide and the
sand and the night. Above her the clouds drifted across the stars, blocking out the sliver of moon, only to pass on like a theater curtain, leaving it center stage.

She'd missed this. The expanse of open space, the dark unencumbered blankness of it all. Life in Manhattan was never totally dark, lights were always on somewhere, and the only panoramic view you got was from the roof of a penthouse, where you could see Queens stretching into Long Island. Or walk through Riverside Park to look at the lights of New Jersey across the Hudson. But it wasn't the same as looking into deep dark that might go on forever.

Now there was too much Manhattan in her to feel completely at ease in the dark. Hence that prickling feeling that made her alert, defensive, ready to run or protect herself. From what? There was no one there. Or if there had been, it must have been another poor insomniac who'd come to be lulled to sleep by the waves.

Van felt calmer now, but she wasn't ready to go back inside, so she walked to the water, her sandals in her hand. Splashed at the edges of the surf. Reveled in the cool water that lapped over her ankles.

Maybe coming here was just what she needed. A little downtime. Not like the scene at Rehoboth. She'd been working hard for a long time. For as long as she could remember. Even on the weekends, she was always planning for the next week or analyzing the last. Because it didn't pay to leave anything to chance. She'd learned that a long time ago, and she wasn't about to forget it now.

But she wasn't stupid. She knew her body and mind both needed a rest. Time to uncoil from the tension of running a successful, demanding business.

And if Whisper Beach wasn't her resort of choice, she was here, she had friends, and maybe confronting the bugaboos from her past would finally set her completely free.

She reached the point where the river spilled into the sea. People used to fish there. She wondered if they still did. She turned and retraced her steps, her footprints already washed away by the tide. As she walked, her footprints disappeared behind her.

A car engine revved in the distance. A door slammed somewhere on the street, then silence and just the
shush shush
of the surf as it swirled beneath the pier—the sound that gave Whisper Beach its name. When they were kids, they all thought that if you stood beneath the pier and whispered the name of the boy you wanted to marry, it would come true.

But Van had always loved the old legend more. The one of poor Melody Kilpatrick, who stood at the water's edge, hushing her baby as she waited for her pirate lover to return.
He never did, but if you come to the pier at night and listen closely, you can still hear her hushing her fatherless child at water's edge.

Van smiled into the night. She used to be fanciful like that. But fanciful had been torn from her years ago. And she ached for that girl who, even with the horror that was her father, still managed to find some joy.

I
T WAS NEARLY TEN BEFORE
V
AN PADDED, YAWNING, INTO THE
kitchen the next morning. She'd showered and dressed, but she still felt tired.

Suze and Dorie were sitting at the table with a plate of pastries occupying the space between them; a trail of crumbs led to Suze's plate.

Van crossed to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup.

“Sleep well?” Dorie asked.

“Like the dead.” Van pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I heard you go out,” Suze said. She shrugged. “I'm having a little trouble sleeping myself these days.”

“I heard you, too.” Dorie half smiled and Van couldn't tell if she was trying not to smile or couldn't manage a decent one.

“I wasn't sneaking away if that's what you were afraid of.”

Dorie looked at the ceiling. Suze took a huge bite of a jelly donut. The jelly oozed onto the plastic tablecloth.

“I wasn't,” Van said.

“I know. I watched you from the window just to make sure you didn't try.”

Van coughed out a laugh. “What were you going to do if I was leaving? Throw yourself under the wheels of my rental car?”

“Nothing so drastic.” Dorie rummaged in the pocket of her housedress and tossed a set of keys over to Van. “You'll need these if you're driving over to Gigi's this morning.”

“You stole my keys?”

“I believe the word is
appropriated
.”

“Some things never change,” Suze said and ran her finger over the jelly spill.

“When?”

Dorie dusted the crumbs off her fingers. “When I walked past your purse on the way to bed last night. I'm smooth. Had lots of practice taking them away from drunk teenagers.”

Van snatched them off the table; then, realizing she didn't have her purse and her capris had no pockets, she put them back on the table.

“I gotta get going over to the Crab. Dairy delivery this morning.”

Van didn't miss the surreptitious look Dorie shot her.

Van sighed. “Okay. I'll bite. Is it still the Enthorpe Dairy?”

“Hell, no. They sold the dairy years ago. The year after you left I think, maybe two.”

“Wow.” Van was stunned. “That's been in the family for generations. What happened? None of the kids wanted to take over?”

“You know that isn't true.” Dorie said. “They'd been losing money for years. Couldn't compete with the prices the corporate dairy business could sell for.”

“That's a shame. A real shame. Did they sell the land? What happened to the family?” Van thought she'd asked that with complete disinterest, but she didn't fool Dorie for a second.

“Sold a big chunk of land to a developer. Nearly broke old Joseph's heart. But they made a bundle off the sale, so at least they're not hurting like a lot of folks around here.”

Van waited.

Dorie waited.

Van could win this battle of the wills. She did it every day with recalcitrant clients.

“So where's Joe?” Suze asked, unwittingly ending the standoff.

“He's working over at Grandy's Marina.”

“What?” Van blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Yep. Looking after the place during the season.”

Van shook her head. “Why? How did he go from studying dairy management to pumping gas and scraping barnacles?” But she knew all too well. Dreams were made and sometimes crushed in Whisper Beach. Just look at them all.

“Maybe you should go say hello.”

“I don't think so.” What was over was over, and Van saw no need to travel down that path again. Besides, she wanted to remember Joe as a boy with a plan, not some poor slob who had given up.

“Suit yourself.” Dorie pushed herself out of her chair. “Now I really gotta get going. Don't have time to sit around and schmooze unless you start getting up earlier.”

“Dorie—”

“Don't make me take your keys away.”

Van sat back, resigned. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Dorie shuffled out of the kitchen. It was the first time that Van noticed how stooped she'd become. Dorie was getting old, and it hit Van with a sharp pang, before it was superseded by another thought. Was Dorie just playing to her sympathies? She hadn't been stooped and shuffling last night.

It was all an act. Wasn't it?

Suze stood and carried her plate to the sink. “I better get to work.”

“Oh, no, you don't. Don't think you badgered me into hanging around and then think you can hole up in your room. I'm sure Gigi would love to see you, too. Just like old times,” Van said. “Won't that be fun?”

“Minus Dana,” Suze said. “And, Van, sarcasm doesn't really make it this early in the morning.”

Van sighed and put her head down on the table. “Please?” She tilted her head to gauge Suze's reaction. “Pretty please?”

It took another cup of coffee and several more minutes to convince Suze to go with her to see Gigi. Suze didn't want to cramp their reunion. Van didn't want to face Gigi alone. They finally compromised. Suze would come if she could have the afternoon to work.

“Deal.”

“But I have to wait for the mail to come.”

“Suze, it's Sunday.”

“Oh.” Suze slumped against the chair back.

“Are you expecting mail?” Van asked only half jokingly.

“Yes.”

“What's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you're having your mail delivered here? Are you planning on staying awhile?”

Suze reached for another pastry, chose one, and pushed the plate toward Van.

Van shook her head. “Suze?”

“Yeah. I'm thinking about staying here for the fall.”

“The whole fall? Why? You didn't lose your job or anything?”

“No.”

“Then why here? You have a great apartment on campus and your family lives in the next town.”

“I need a fresh environment. And if I go to my parents, they'll try to set me up with promising men for the duration. And insist on buying me my own apartment and a car and—”

“So what's wrong with that?”

“Because it all comes with strings attached.”

Van nodded. It would be nice to have a family who wanted to buy you things, make your life better, but she wouldn't want the expectations that accompanied the Turners' generosity any more than Suze did.

“You want to go to Rehoboth with me?”

Suze snorted and ended up in a fit of coughing.

“You shouldn't eat and snort at the same time.”

Suze waved at her and finally got her breath. “I can't afford Rehoboth.”

“I've already paid for the room and everything.”

Suze gave her a look.

“Hey, no strings attached.”

“Thanks, but I really have to get some work done. If I don't get this paper finished and published, I'll be looking for work down at the marina. You've heard the expression publish or perish?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it's true. But I need this grant money to be able to afford to take off from teaching.”

“They don't pay you to publish?”

“Ha. Part salary. But not enough to do all the research, have time to write, and still eat.”

“Wait, they make you write this stuff to get tenure but don't pay you to do it?”

“It's complicated.”

“When's the deadline for the application?”

“It has to be postmarked by next Monday. I've done the preliminary and this is round three. Several others are vying for the same money.” Suze laughed ruefully. “Cutthroat competition behind those ivied walls.”

“Well, come on, let's go to Gigi's. We'll take her out to lunch if she promises not to break down and bawl in the restaurant and then you can come back and work. I promise to be quiet and not bother you.”

G
IGI'S PARENTS LIVED
near the parkway. Not beach property and not exactly the suburbs. The houses looked caught somewhere in between. Most had been refurbished with new siding, or paint. The lawns were fairly manicured, and some were still green even though it was late August.

Nate Moran was Van's father's brother, but unlike her father, he'd taken responsibility for his family, made a comfortable home for them. He'd added on to the house with each new baby, and it was now a rambling ranch.

Several cars were already parked in the driveway.

“This was a really bad idea,” Van said. “I just assumed Gigi would be alone.” She took a breath. “Well, hell, what do I care.”

Van parked on the street.

“For a quick getaway?” Suze asked.

“Yeah, so when I give the signal, don't hesitate, head for the door.”

“It won't be that bad.”

“It might be. Aunt Amelia never liked our side of the Moran
family. Plus I really screwed things up yesterday. That's so not like me. If I hadn't been so ambivalent about coming, I would have come to the wake on Friday and skipped the funeral altogether; I could be sitting on the beach today.”

“You can still sit on the beach today. It's only a block and a half away.”

She gave Suze a look and rang the doorbell.

It opened so quickly that Van took a step backward. Gigi stood in the opening. Hopefully she hadn't been standing at the window all morning, because they hadn't hurried to get here.

“Hi.” Van gave her cousin a quick hug and stepped into the house, avoiding any repeats of yesterday's sob fest.

It was dark inside, and Van had to blink a few times before things came into focus. Too much fabric was her immediate response. Too much stuff in general. She took another step into the room and nearly tripped over a plastic pull toy. Kids. Right. Gigi had two.

“Come on back. Everyone's in the family room.”

Everyone.
Oh, great.

They followed Gigi to the back of the house to a long wood-paneled addition with windows across the back. Several couches and chairs of various vintages were clustered together in front of a huge flat-screen television, muted to a Phillies game. A wall air conditioner rattled and pumped a stream of tepid air at their heads.

“You remember my brothers, Pete and Kirby?”

“Of course I do. Hi, guys,” Van said, then added to the one girl in the room. “Is that you, Jane?”

“No, I'm Leslie. Jane's gone to Mass with mamma.”

“Wow. I won't say how much you've grown.” Especially since she'd grown out as well as up.

Leslie laughed and heaved herself out of the recliner. “Please don't.” She patted her butt and went over to a table where a variety of funeral food had been laid out. “You and Suzanne get yourselves some food and have a seat.”

“Thanks, but we just had breakfast.”

Suze sat at one end of the couch. Van reluctantly sat down next to Pete. He'd been in his early twenties when Van had left. Now in his thirties, his head was shaved, hopefully to camouflage his receding hairline and not denoting his political affiliation. He'd grown pretty thick around the middle.

“How are things?” Van asked him.

“Besides Clay croaking? Pretty good. Got my own place now.” His eyes drifted to the ball game.

About time,
Van thought. “Nearby?”

“Down the street, renting the apartment over old man Dooley's garage.”

“How is Mr. Dooley?” Van cast a help-me-out look at Suze. She'd go stark raving mad making small talk with Pete all afternoon. She hardly remembered Kirby, who had been a gawky preteen when she'd left.

“Oh, he died years back. His widow rents out rooms. Got me a good deal, too.”

“Ah.” Van's eyes strayed to the end tables, Depression veneer but polished to a shine. The doily would have to go. She resisted the temptation to at least straighten it where the lamp resting on it had twisted it out of shape.

Gigi squeezed in between Suze and Van. “Mother will be back any minute now. I know she'll want to see you.”

Van smiled. She was sure Amelia Moran could go a lifetime without seeing Van. Things couldn't get much more stilted. How long would they have to stay? With all the funeral food sitting
around, she doubted they could get away on the pretense of taking Gigi to lunch. It was going to be a long afternoon.

“You back for long? Yes!” Pete jumped to both feet. “What a play! Wow!” He threw himself back on the couch, pumped his fist in the air, and reached for his can of soda. “Damn! Did you see that? Yeah!”

A baby cried from another room. Gigi stood. “Pete, you woke the baby.” She scowled at her brother and left the room. In the family room, silence reigned while Leslie ate, and Pete and Kirby fought over the remote.

“Can't even enjoy a game around here anymore. You have kids, Van?”

“No.”

“No husband, either?”

Van shook her head.

“Well, what are you waiting for, girl?”