She was freezing and steaming simultaneously. She and Greg had fought about money just before they left, thanks to a past due notice on her car payment. He was pulling them further and further down financially, but he didn’t care. He continued to turn blind eyes to the problem and deaf ears to her.
“You don’t have any faith in me,” he’d said sullenly.
“And you aren’t listening to me!” she’d cried.
“That’s because all you do anymore is bitch.”
“Greg, I’m scared.”
“I’ve told you, you don’t need to worry. I’m handling it.”
She’d thrown up her hands at that. “Handling it? How?”
There’d been no time to finish the argument. Miranda had entered the room, her backpack in tow, and then Chris and Sarah had arrived.
And Taylor had fumed all the way down.
“I want to go eat,” whined James as Chris led their little troupe to the motel office.
“We just ate,” his mother reminded him. “We’ll go out later.” To Taylor she said, “That restaurant shaped like a lighthouse looks like fun.”
No, that restaurant shaped like a lighthouse looked like money.
The woman handling the reception desk was pretty, with big blue eyes and blond hair. She wore a black sweater over jeans and had a red scarf looped around her neck.
“Hi. I’m Jenna. Welcome to the Driftwood Inn,” she greeted them.
“We have two rooms reserved—Brown and Marsh,” said Chris.
“We have a Groupon,” Sarah added, presenting her printout.
“Yes, we’ve got you down,” said Jenna the receptionist.
“Does our room have a hot tub?” Christopher asked eagerly.
“I’m afraid not, but you’ll be so busy having fun on the beach and at the festival you won’t miss it.” Jenna gave him a smile and shared it with the other adults.
Taylor couldn’t bring herself to return it.
Christopher spotted the plate of cookies on the reception desk. “Cookies!” he shouted and started to reach for one.
His mother grabbed his hand. “You ask first.”
“Can I have cookie?” he asked.
“Please,” Sarah prompted.
“Please?”
“Of course,” said Jenna, who was irritatingly pleasant. “That’s what they’re here for.”
Both boys dug in.
“I want a cookie,” Miranda said and Greg gave her one, too.
He offered one to Taylor, but she shook her head. The burger she’d choked down earlier was still churning in her stomach.
Jenna finished with the business of checking them in, then handed over keys. Keys? Who used keys anymore?
“Our rooms all have different themes,” she explained. “You’re in the Sandy Beach room,” she told Chris and Sarah, “and we have you in the Sunrise room,” she said to Greg and Taylor. “If you need anything, let me or my staff know.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said. She got herself a cookie and led the way out of the office. “All the rooms having themes, that’s so clever.”
“Clever,” Taylor echoed sarcastically. Talk about corny.
Their rooms were side by side, and right before they entered, Sarah smiled at her and said, “This is going to be fun.” The F word again.
“Yes, it is,” Greg agreed before Taylor could say anything.
Oh, yeah, fun. She was all about staying at a dump and sharing a room with a husband she was barely speaking to. They didn’t even have the luxury of enough privacy to fight, since their daughter was in there with them.
Greg opened the door to the room, stepped inside and flipped on the light to reveal...oh, good Lord. The carpet was orange. A bilious burnt orange. The bedspread was vintage and yellow, the walls decorated with framed photos of sunrises. A trundle bed had been placed in a corner of the room for Miranda.
“This is pretty,” Miranda said happily, flopping on her parents’ bed and checking out the kitschy lamp with its metal base shaped to look like a smiling sun.
Taylor eyed the bed with distaste. Their one at home was a king. This one was too cozy.
She walked to the bathroom, which was microscopic. The vinyl on the floor was a neutral brown and the walls were cream-colored. There was no shower, only a bathtub with a shower nozzle, hidden by a plastic shower curtain dotted with brown seashells. Ugh. Another picture of a sunrise hung over the toilet.
“This is abysmal,” she muttered as she stepped out.
“Knock, knock,” called a voice from the doorway, and Sarah entered the room. “Wow, this is wild.”
“That’s one word for it,” Taylor said, making her sister frown.
“Does your room have a sunshine lamp, Aunt Sarah?” Miranda asked.
“No, my room has seashell lamps.”
“Can I see?” Miranda asked eagerly.
“Sure, come on,” Sarah said.
Miranda dashed out of the room. Sarah followed her, and Taylor trailed behind them, curious to see what her sister’s room looked like.
Sarah and Chris’s room wasn’t the Hilton, either, but it was an improvement over Taylor and Greg’s, with brown carpet and the walls painted a subdued shade of tan and hung with beach photos.
A lamp with a glass base filled with shells drew Miranda like a magnet. “Look at the shells, Mommy!”
Meanwhile, the boys were bouncing on the bed, making dents in the light blue bedspread patterned with—surprise, surprise—shells.
“We ready to go check out the town?” asked Chris.
Not really. “I’ll get Greg,” Taylor said and went next door.
“So, what’s their room like?” he greeted her when she walked back into their room. “Nicer than ours?”
She shrugged, refusing to take the bait.
“It’s free,” he reminded her. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Okay, if he wanted to pick up where they’d left off, she could do that. “Yeah, and whose fault is it we’re beggars?” she snapped. “Who just came home one day and announced he’d quit his job?”
“You know, some wives would actually support their husbands when they’re trying to start a new business,” he growled and gave their suitcase a kick.
“And some husbands would care enough about their families not to be irresponsible and bankrupt them,” she growled right back. “You never really asked me what I thought about you quitting your job. You just plunged in and did it.”
“I did it for us!”
“No, you did it for yourself.”
Miranda was back in the room now, which ended the fight. “Are you and Daddy mad at each other?” she asked in a small voice.
Yes. Mommy wants to feed Daddy to a giant squid. “It’s okay, baby,” Taylor said and held out a hand to her daughter.
Miranda took it and asked, “When are we going to see Santa?”
“Tomorrow.” Maybe I’ll ask him to bring me a new husband.
Chapter Twelve
“We made it,” Lisa Whitaker crowed as she pulled into the parking lot of the Driftwood Inn. “And you can tell Doug that we didn’t get lost.”
“Well, except for missing our entrance onto Highway 101. I told you that was coming up,” said Karen.
“You told me too late,” Lisa said, and not for the first time. Honestly, what was it with big sisters that they always had to be right?
“No. You just can’t drive in the dark. I told you we should’ve left earlier.”
“I can see fine in the dark,” Lisa insisted.
“Right,” muttered her sister. “Anyway, we’re here now so let’s get checked in.”
“I can hardly wait to see our room,” Lisa said as they walked to the office. “They looked adorable online.”
“Then we can go get dinne
r. I’m starving,” Karen said.
“We gorged ourselves all the way down,” Lisa reminded her. Cheetos, chocolate and lattes. “I don’t know how you even have room for dinner.”
“I can manage a salad. And a drink. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Yeah, here.”
A pretty woman with blond hair was working the reception desk and gave them a cheery welcome. “We have you in the Seaside room,” she said.
“That sounds so cute,” Karen gushed, and the woman beamed. Karen was a gusher, and people loved her for it.
“Be sure and take a festival brochure,” said the woman. “It tells you when and where the parade is tomorrow, and it lists all the businesses participating in our Best Dressed for the Holidays contest. Make sure you visit as many as you can and cast your vote. They’re all running specials.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” Karen said.
“And help yourself to a cookie. My great-aunt bakes them for our guests.”
They both took a home-baked cookie from the plate on the reception desk, then got their keys, and went to their room to begin unloading. “I think we might have overpacked,” Karen said, grabbing a tote bag stuffed with goodies. Between the two of them, they’d packed enough for a week—chips, bottled Starbucks coffee drinks, the requisite chocolate, wine, beef jerky and cookies they’d picked up at the grocery store on the trip down. And that was only the food. They’d brought shoes, boots, extra coats and sweaters and, between the two of them, enough hair products to stock a salon.
“I think you might be right,” Lisa admitted, pulling out her overnight bag and backpack, which had her extra shoes and a windbreaker.
“Are you sure you’re just going for the weekend and not running away?” Dean had joked.
“It pays to be prepared. You know Karen will be packing at least as much.”
“You two do not get the concept of traveling light.”
“Why should we as long as there’s room in the trunk?” she’d retorted.
“By the time you’re done spending money down there, you’ll be lucky if there’s room for the two of you in the car on the drive back.”
“Don’t worry,” she’d said and kissed him. “We can always rent a U-Haul.”
He hadn’t been amused. Dean was a little on the cheap side. But, hey, it was the holidays, and she intended to do plenty of holiday shopping. She’d find space for her purchases.
She probably hadn’t needed to bring her yoga mat, though.
“You’re gonna use that?” Karen asked, once they were in their room. It was charming, with a mural of an ocean beach painted on one wall and framed beach photos hanging over their beds, lamps shaped like lighthouses on their bedside tables. But it wasn’t exactly spacious. “Where were you going to lay it out?”
“Right here.” Lisa pointed to the space between the beds and the bathroom.
“Better hope I don’t trip over you,” warned her sister. “Anyway, do you seriously think you’re going to have time?”
“I might have gotten a little carried away with my packing,” Lisa admitted.
“Well, I don’t have room to talk,” said Karen, who had brought some quilting hand work. She grabbed a chocolate from their stash. “Come on, let’s go see what this town has in the way of restaurants.”
They opened the room door, and a strong gust of wind blew in like a playful ghost.
“I forgot how windy it gets at the beach,” Lisa said.
Karen pulled her coat collar tightly around her neck. “Hopefully it will blow itself out by tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” said Lisa. “I kind of wanted to take a walk on the beach.” She’d envisioned them both getting in some exercise, maybe a little bit of beachcombing.
“I think I’ll settle for walking through the shops,” Karen said as they hustled to the car for the last of their bags. “This damp and wind will wreak havoc with my hair.”
Yep, the sister beach walk probably wouldn’t happen. Oh, well, they’d have fun anyway.
They were about to leave the parking lot when Karen’s cell phone began to play “I Just Called to Say I Love You,” her ringtone for Doug. Their song. More like I just called to pester you, if you asked Lisa. Honestly, what didn’t he get about the idea of a girls’ weekend?
Her moment of superiority was cut short when her own cell rang. “Footloose.” Dean. “Why are you calling me on my girls’ weekend?” she answered, even as her sister was saying, “No, we didn’t get lost.” Good girl, Karen.
“Just wanted to make sure you guys made it down there okay,” Dean said.
“We got down here, no problem. We’re about to go eat dinner.”
“Okay, well, have fun then. Call me when you start back on Sunday.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Karen was saying to Doug.
They both ended their calls, shaking their heads over their husbands’ unfounded lack of confidence. “You’d think we were twelve,” Lisa said in disgust as she started the car. “We should never have told them about Canada.”
“That whole getting-lost thing is simply an excuse to call. Bottom line is they don’t like being left behind,” Karen said. “But it’s good for them to miss us. It’ll make them appreciate us so much more when we get back.”
“Wisely said.”
“I am the wise one.”
“No, you’re just the old one,” Lisa teased.
“Remind me again why I’m subjecting myself to a weekend with you?”
“Because you love me.”
“There is that.” Karen consulted her brochure. “Let’s try the Porthole. If I remember correctly they’ve got a nice view of the ocean. We can have a drink and watch the waves come in.”
And the wind blow.
* * *
It was nearly six o’clock when Darrell Wilson pulled up in front of the little office at the Driftwood Inn. The place was a light blue throwback to the fifties and early sixties, when road trips were the thing to do and mom-and-pop motels populated state highways. It was hardly a luxury hotel. Had he blown it?
“This is so cute,” Kat said.
Good. Hopefully, he hadn’t. “Reserve judgment until you see the room,” he told her. “Wait here. I’ll get us checked in.” He drew his coat tight against the wind and hurried into the office. “Looks like you’ve got a storm brewing,” he said to the pretty blonde woman behind the desk.
“It gets a little windy here sometimes,” she admitted.
A little. That was putting it mildly. He gave her his name, and she gave him a room key and a brochure with info on the weekend festival. “Be sure and take a cookie,” she said, pointing to the plate. “They’re home-baked.”
He did, and one for Kat. Chocolate chip were his favorite, and it had been a while since Kat had baked. He took a bite. Oh, man, that was fantastic.
Back at the car he gave Kat hers, and she bit into it, shut her eyes and smiled. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Not as good as yours,” he said gallantly. Actually, it was better than hers, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
The compliment backfired. She lost her smile and stared out the passenger window. “I wish I had the energy to bake.”
He hated it when she got despondent. It was so not her. “You will again,” he assured her. “When this is all over.”
She nodded and bit her lip. The rest of the cookie went untouched. Oh, yeah, they were getting off to a great start.
“Hey, you need to finish that,” he said with mock sternness.
“I’m not very hungry.” She handed it over. “You finish it.”
He’d lost his taste for cookies, too, but he took it anyway. They couldn’t both be down at once. “Okay, fine. Your loss.” It didn’t taste as good as the first one had.
In addition to the wind, the
clouds were spitting rain, and he hustled her into the room, turned on the light, then hurried out and dragged in their suitcase. When he got back she was sitting on the bed, looking around.
“It’s really charming,” she said.
It was the sort of room a woman would like—a bedspread with seashells, framed black-and-white beach photos on the wall. The nightstands had lamps shaped like blue crabs. A little chair sat in one corner, a small pillow on it printed with the message Life’s Good at the Beach. He hoped so. He wanted them to have a good weekend, to make some happy memories they could slip in between the hard times and the struggles.
“So, what do you say we grab a bite to eat?” he said.
“Is there room service?” she asked.
Even though she’d napped most of the way down, she was still looking tired. “Probably not, but I’ll go see what I can find.”
Kat nodded and scooted back against the pillows, and he returned to the office. With every step he questioned the wisdom of this weekend getaway. She’d had chemo only a couple of days before, and by about the third day it always caught up with her, leaving her exhausted, her whole body aching. He hoped she’d be up for seeing the parade the following day. And darn, he wished he’d gotten them some place with a view. She could at least have sat at the window and watched the waves.
“I think we’re going to try and find some place that does takeout,” he told the receptionist, who, he learned, was also the manager. “What restaurant would you recommend?”
“They’re all good,” she said.
“Do you have a favorite?” he pressed.
“Well, we don’t play favorites here at the Driftwood.”
“I do,” said a stylish dark-haired woman, coming in behind him. She was shedding her coat. Probably the next shift. “You can’t go wrong with anything at Sandy’s. They’re right down the street.”
“How about that place across the parking lot?” he asked.
“The Seafood Shack?” The receptionist smiled and nodded. “They have great fish and chips.”
Kat loved fish and chips. He thanked her and ran across the parking lot to the fast-food joint with a giant wooden razor clam perched on its roof. Inside it was festooned with red tinsel and smelled like grease and frying fish. A string of fish-shaped Christmas ornaments hung on one wall, and as he walked past it, a mounted fish on a nearby wall turned its fishy head and began to sing, “Take me to the River.” Mr. Fish was accompanied by the sound of visiting and laughter. Several people sat at tables, and there was a line of customers waiting to order. Lots of customers, the best testimonial a food place could have.
Winter at the Beach Page 16
