Moon Shell Beach

by Nancy Thayer

  Adam lifted his wineglass to her in a toast. “Good for you, Lex.”

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  Myrna squinted her eyes. “How special?”

  “My own designs. I’ve got a seamstress I know in New York who will be making the clothes. Well, she and her staff. She did a lot of alterations and custom work for me when we lived in New York, and I got to know her and respect her work.”

  “It’s a lot of work, running a business,” her father warned her. “Not much glamour, lots of window washing and paperwork.”

  Lexi leaned forward. “I know, Dad, I remember how it was at the store. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Fred continued, “how are you paying for your inventory?”

  Lexi wasn’t surprised by the question. She knew money would always be a touchy subject with her parents. “I’m not rich,” she admitted. “I stupidly signed a prenuptial agreement when I married Ed that leaves me with, basically, nothing. No alimony, nothing like that. But I did come away with a lot of amazing jewelry and designer clothing. I sold most of it, and that’s what I’m using to start this store.”

  Her father was quiet a moment, considering. “Well,” he said slowly, “this all sounds very exciting.”

  Lexi’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Dad, I know I was a horrible little snot when I was nineteen. I know I said a lot of really stupid, hurtful things, and I’m so so sorry about that. Perhaps I was just too young to know how much I loved my family, or how much I love this island.”

  Fred was beginning to get that pinched look he got when things got too emotional. He cleared his throat. Myrna’s attention was fixated on the dogs.

  Again, Adam came to the rescue. “About your shop, Lex. You’ll have to join the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “Good idea, Adam!” Lexi brightened, glad to be out of the Slough of Remorse and up on firmer emotional ground. “I need all the advice I can get. But I have a shop space and a living space. I came to the island two weeks ago and looked at rental properties, and I’ve signed the contract, and tonight I’ll sleep in my new apartment and tomorrow I’ll start organizing my shop for its grand opening in July!”

  “Where is it?” Fred asked.

  “On Commercial Wharf. The brick building.”

  “You mean the duplex where Clare’s shop is?” Myrna asked. When Lexi nodded, she said, “Well, have you spoken to Clare?”

  “Not yet,” Lexi said. “I’ve got some apologies to make there, too.”

  Her father rose. “Time to get the pizza.”

  “I’ll ride in with you,” Adam said.

  “Come into the kitchen with me,” Myrna told Lexi. “We can make a salad.”

  At the end of the evening, Lexi drove back to her new home on the wharf. Her parents didn’t invite her to stay in her old room, and that was fine. She wanted to be on her own. She was the new, improved, grown-up Lexi, and as she drove along Lower Orange Street, past Marine Home Center and Hatch’s and Orange Street Video, she looked at it with affection, remembering how, when she was nineteen, this same street, these same buildings, all weathered gray shingles and low to the ground, had seemed shabby to her, and unfashionable—rural. She had craved city lights, skyscrapers, opera houses, fabulous shops.

  And now here she was, back on the island. True, the island itself had changed in the past eleven years, becoming more sophisticated—and more expensive. But she had changed, too.

  She parked her car on the cobblestones, crossed the narrow lane, slid her key into the lock, and went into the silent building. She climbed the stairs, opened the door, and entered the long empty room. Moonlight spilled in from the wide windows. For a while she leaned against the window, entranced by the shimmering path of white moonlight on black water. She had missed this so.

  She wished she could stay awake all night, just staring out at the harbor.

  But an enormous yawn overtook her, making her eyes water and her jaw nearly crack, so she unloaded her duffel bag and shoved her clothing around to make a kind of nest on the floor. She folded up some sweaters for a pillow, and spread her coat over her for a blanket, and as she curled up on her funny little pallet, she was deeply content.

  ELEVEN

  So what’s the scoop?” Jesse demanded.

  “Hang on.” Clare untied her apron, settled in her chair, and looked around, savoring this moment. Jesse stared at her like a sleek tawny-pelted mountain lion, captured and tamed at her table.

  Clare waited an extra beat, enjoying the power of possessing good gossip. Outside, the spring wind whirled, but it was cozy in the kitchen, and her father was in a good mood, really enjoying his steak.

  “Come on,” Jesse said. “The suspense is killing me.”

  Clare announced, “Lexi’s back in town.”

  Jesse looked puzzled. “In April?”

  “She’s not here to visit. She’s moving back.”

  Jesse snorted. “What? She and Daddy Warbucks building a McMansion so she can lord it over the rest of us?”

  “Not at all.” Clare was surprised to find a hot spurt of protectiveness warm her blood. Where did that come from after all these years? “They’re divorced. She’s moving back here by herself. She’s going to open a business here. In fact, she’s rented the shop space next to mine.”

  Jesse put his fork down. He looked at Clare. “Babe, don’t get your hopes up.”

  Clare arched an eyebrow. “What hopes would that be?”

  “That you and Lexi are going to be best buddies again. That she won’t be the snob she was when she met that crook and left the island.”

  “Oh, come off it, Jesse.” Clare sipped her wine and gave her fiancé a knowing look. “You didn’t like Lexi even before she met Ed Hardin. You never liked Lexi.”

  Jesse grumbled, “Lexi’s arrogant.”

  Clare argued, “Jesse, Lexi was shy, not arrogant. Remember, Jesse, those friends of yours who went drooling after her trying to get in her pants when she turned sixteen were the same guys who made fun of her when she hit five foot ten at age twelve and wore braces and had no boobs.” The memory made her mad all over again. “When she turned sixteen, suddenly all those guys wanted to”—she glanced at her father and toned down her language—“get her in bed. They didn’t know her. They didn’t care for her.”

  “They didn’t get the chance to know her,” Jesse shot back. “Since she never spoke to anyone. And I don’t buy that shy stuff. If she was so shy, why wasn’t she shy around Ed Hardin?”

  “I don’t know,” Clare admitted. Those last few weeks with Lexi had been so messed up. “Anyway, the rest of us sure made plenty of mistakes when we were young.”

  Jesse responded by stuffing salad in his face like a rabbit machine, and Jesse hated salad. Clare knew he was trying to think of a way to change the direction the conversation was taking, away from the topic of all the mistakes he’d made, all the times he’d been unfaithful to Clare. She didn’t want to go there, either. And she remembered how jealous Jesse had been of her closeness to Lexi. The bad thing about Jesse disliking Lexi had been that she was always torn between the two people she loved most. The good thing was that Lexi was the one island female who’d never slept with Jesse.

  She cut a bite of steak and chewed. “Good steak, huh, Dad?”

  “Your mother always liked Lexi,” her father said. “Even when Lexi went off with that Hardin bastard, she stuck up for her.” His face softened with memory.

  “That’s right, Dad.” Clare was pleased that her father had joined the conversation.

  “Your mother was as nice as they come.” Deftly, Jesse changed the subject. “Clare, there’s a storm story on the Weather Channel I’ve been wanting to see. Would you mind if your father and I had our dessert in the den?”

  Clare flashed a grateful smile at Jesse. “That’s fine. I’ll bring it in.”

  Jesse pushed back his chair and stood up, lean and lanky in his jeans and flannel shirt. “Come on, George. Time for t
he men to put their feet up.” He waited by Clare’s father’s chair as the older man mentally regrouped. It was an almost physical act for George to retreat from his thoughts about his deceased wife and pay attention to the here and now, but he finally dropped his napkin next to his plate, rose, and allowed Jesse to usher him out of the room.

  Clare finished her dinner in silence. It was sweet of Jesse to be so protective of her. What she hadn’t told him, because she was a grown woman now and no one needed to know, was that the thought of seeing Lexi again thrilled her—and made her just a little nervous.

  TWELVE

  Clare was in the kitchen above her shop, banging around pots and stainless-steel mixing bowls and whisks and ladles and spoons. In the spring, she always cleaned out the shop’s kitchen, repainted the walls, and scrubbed the very back inches of every cupboard, shelf, and drawer, but she never did it this early in the spring. Since she woke up this morning, she’d wrestled with herself like a cartoon split personality, half of her desperate to get out the door, the other half trying to force her to stay. Now she was here, so she might as well use all this crazy energy to accomplish something. She tossed a mix of CDs into her player—Faith Hill, U2, Alanis Morissette—so the music could rev up her blood and lighten her mood, and she worked fast and efficiently, but deep inside she remained seriously cranky.

  She felt so damned childish! She felt like Lexi would think Clare was in her shop because she’d heard that Lexi had rented the space next door and that Clare was so pathetically eager to see Lexi again that she’d come down to the shop and was making all this noise so Lexi would know she was here!

  And that was true.

  How embarrassing!

  Ever since she’d heard of Lexi’s return to the island, Clare’s emotions had frothed like cream in a double boiler. Bubbles circled to the surface—excitement—Lexi! Her Lexi! Here again! Then Pop! Lexi, snotty Lexi, bad Lexi, gorgeous Lexi, shooting Clare a look that would make a giraffe feel short. Clare screamed along to Alanis Morissette’s “You Ought to Know” as she pushed and pulled one of the work stations away from the kitchen wall.

  A moment of silence fell when the song ended and in that silence, someone said, “Hello.”

  “Aah!” Startled, Clare stumbled backward, knocking her elbow on the wall.

  Right there in the doorway between the kitchen and the packaging room stood Lexi, all grown up and looking like three hundred million dollars. Her shoulder-length white-blond hair was sliced in a sharp blunt cut that gave her a trendy, urban air, not that she needed it, wearing those hip-hugging black stovepipe pants with the ornate beaded belt and a cashmere cardigan sweater. It looked like her boots had seven-inch heels, but that was only because Lexi was so tall and thin. Just a slice of her sleek belly peeked between sweater and pants, a fad that Clare considered one of the fashion world’s most significant errors of judgment, but on Lexi even this looked good.

  Clare thought how she must look to Lexi in her old baggy athletic pants and one of Jesse’s faded blue work shirts, unironed, her normal cleaning garb. Her brown hair was rumpled and she hadn’t bothered to put on lipstick.

  Oh, very nice, she told herself. You came here expecting to see Lexi, so you made yourself look as sloppy as possible. How perfectly self-defeating.

  Alanis started yelling about something being perfect. Clare stabbed the Off button and the room went quiet.

  “How did you get in here?”

  Lexi produced a shy smile. “Through the connecting door.” She waved her hand vaguely toward the wall.

  Clare bent to drop the sponge in the bucket, to grab a moment to hide her confusion. “You might have phoned first.”

  “Um, but your sign says Closed. I didn’t know you were going to be here until I heard the music.” She hesitated, then said in a rush. “I rented the place next door. I’m going to live upstairs, and have a shop downstairs. I…I didn’t know this was your shop.”

  Clare squinted her eyes at Lexi. “It’s called Sweet Hart’s and you didn’t guess?”

  Lexi blushed. “Well, I suppose I assumed…but that’s not why I rented this particular space. It’s just so perfect for what I need.” She shifted her weight, flapping her hands around awkwardly like she’d done when she was younger. She looked like a stork on roller skates. Like she always had. “You look great, Clare.”

  Clare bridled. “Right. I’m a fashion classic.”

  Lexi waved her hand again. “I mean, not your clothes, I mean, we all look like that when we clean, I mean, you just look great. Happy. Healthy.”

  “Well.” Clare rubbed an imaginary spot on the counter. “You look good yourself. Sensational, actually.”

  “I look like a moron,” Lexi corrected. “High-heeled boots on cobblestone streets? What was I thinking?”

  Clare grinned in spite of herself at the thought of Lexi stumbling her way over the brick sidewalks and cobblestones in those boots, flapping her hands for balance.

  Her smile encouraged Lexi. “Hey, would you like to…maybe some coffee?”

  Clare paused. “Well…I could use some coffee right now.” She stripped off her rubber gloves.

  “Oh!” Lexi jerked her head, did a kind of full body quiver, and waved both hands. “I don’t have any coffee! I don’t have any cups, either. I mean, I just got here yesterday and the movers are coming today and I haven’t been to the grocery store…”

  Clare tried to work up some resentment because wasn’t it clever how Lexi had manipulated things so that Clare had to be the one to serve Lexi, but after all, the Lexi she’d known, the old Lexi, was always going off half-assed like this.

  Plus, as she moved around the kitchen, Clare was secretly pleased at this opportunity to show off her shop. She might look like the bottom of a bedroom slipper, but her shop and its upstairs quarters looked great. The kitchen, except for the island she’d pulled out from the wall, was tidy and spotless. She glided from cupboard to counter, grinding the beans, organizing the coffeemaker, filling the creamer with fresh cream, setting everything on a vintage Coca-Cola tray.

  She carried everything through the door into the larger packaging room. Near the windows overlooking the street she’d made a kind of employees’ lounge, with a small sofa, two overstuffed chairs, and a coffee table piled with the latest magazines—People and US as well as Gourmet, Bon Appetit, and Chocolatier.

  Lexi scanned the work table, piled high with glossy dark green boxes waiting to be folded. “I like your design. Very clever.”

  Clare didn’t mind admitting, “I think so, too.”

  As a chocolatier with the last name of Hart, she couldn’t not name the shop Sweet Hart’s. It had been tempting to make her logo and decorations a chocolate heart, but Clare had chosen to go in another, less obvious and, she hoped, more distinctive direction. So all her boxes were dark woodsy green, with a hart’s head on them, and hanging from an antler by a gold cord was one glossy dark chocolate truffle. The mocha-cream-colored hart was very endearing, his antlers slightly lighter brown, his dark eyes huge, his nose velvety soft. The tip of his tongue touched the corner of his mouth, his expression delighted, as if he’d just tasted something delicious. On Christmas, Clare had the boxes made with a round gold ornament hanging from his antler. On Valentine’s Day, of course, a heart. For special orders, and she was getting more and more of these each year, she’d had the box maker emboss the antler with a small wrapped birthday present, or a gold ring, or a seashell.

  Lexi traced the hart’s antlers with the tip of her finger. “This place is really cool, Clare.”

  “Thanks.” Clare set the tray on the coffee table and curled up in a chair. She’d put a few handmade chocolates on a plate. “Try one.”

  Lexi sank into the other chair, crossing her endless legs and swinging them to the side so she could reach the truffle. She took a bite. “Wow.”

  Clare smiled.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You make these yourself?”


  “I do. Well, in the summer I have help making them, but I’ve created every recipe. You’re eating the Nantucket Knock-Out Truffle.”

  Lexi laughed. “Cool.”

  “I’ve had the shop for five years. I love it.”

  “Mmm, I can see why.” She licked a bit of chocolate off her lip and when she grinned at Clare, she looked just like she had when they were both sixteen.

  “So,” Clare asked bluntly, “why’d you come back?”

  THIRTEEN

  The wind whined around the building, and for a moment a shaft of light splintered down from the cloudy white sky, streaking the room with a ripple of sunlight and shadows.

  “Last year was hard…” she stopped. She took a deep cleansing breath. She started over. “Clare…Clare, I’m so sorry about the way I was when I left. I saw my family last night, and I apologized to them, and geez, I guess I ought to take out a full-page ad in the newspaper apologizing in general to everyone in town.”

  Clare quirked an eyebrow at Lexi. “A full page might be excessive.”

  Clare was giving her a break! Lexi laughed with relief. “Do you really want to hear some stuff?” She waved her hands, indicating the room with its tables laden with boxes waiting to be folded and bows waiting to be tied. “I mean, I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.”

  “Now’s fine. I’ve got plenty of time for cleaning.”

  “Looks pretty clean to me.”

  “Yes, but I like it to be spotless. Sterile. The State Board of Health inspects, but never mind—I want to hear about you.” Clare drew her legs up and tucked them sideways beneath her, settling in.

  Now that the moment was here, Lexi felt suddenly reluctant. “Could I ask you not to tell anyone?” She cleared her throat, surprised at how little-girl her voice sounded. “I mean, I don’t mind looking pathetic to you, you’re used to it, but I just don’t think I could live on this island with everyone else thinking I’m pathetic, and I really want to be here.”

  Clare made a face. “Pathetic? You’re afraid you’re going to look pathetic? Give me a break.” Then she softened. “All right, fine, I won’t tell anyone.”