Moon Shell Beach

by Nancy Thayer

  Clare finished inhaling her food and licked her fingertips.

  Adam handed her a paper napkin. “Want another one?”

  She shook her head. “That was heavenly, thanks.”

  He took her hand and pulled her up. “Let’s get back in bed.” He laughed at her expression. “I have to lie down before I fall down, that’s all.”

  They snuggled together, spoon style, sated in all ways, the duvet warming them in the cool night. Bella and Lucky curled up on the rug next to the bed, and soon their snores filled the room.

  “That was a rather Cro-Magnon experience,” Adam said to Clare, smoothing her hair down so it didn’t tickle his nose.

  Claire chuckled. “It was.” She maneuvered her body even closer to his, her bum resting against his groin.

  “Want to talk?”

  She closed her eyes. “If I can. I’m so sleepy…”

  “Then sleep,” Adam said. “We can talk in the morning.”

  But in the morning when they woke to find each other naked in the bed, they made love again, and then they both had to shower and dress and hurry off to work.

  It was a glorious day. Clare unlocked the door of Sweet Hart’s and went around her shop, raising the blinds, organizing the cash register, getting things ready for the day. She moved in a kind of suspended bubble, performing ordinary duties without really thinking about them. She had a thousand things she needed to do. Instead she perched on the tall stool behind the counter, tucked her chin into her hands, and thought about Adam.

  The phone rang.

  “Hey,” Adam said. “I miss you.”

  “Ooh, I miss you, too.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s take a picnic to the beach.”

  “Good thinking. Shall we bring the dogs?”

  “Sure.” They settled on a time and place, and Adam said he had to go deal with his first patient, an obese cat, and Clare laughed and they said good-bye. She didn’t think she’d ever been happier in her life.

  THIRTY

  Moon Shell Beach opened. The first day, a few women drifted in, curious and idly gazing, and some of them gasped at the price tags, shot Lexi a look, and left, but many more smiled as they touched the fine material of the clothing and held it against them while they stared in a mirror. The next day was her Grand Opening. Clare brought in an opulent congratulatory arrangement of calla lilies and bird of paradise. Adam and their parents sent a huge vase of roses. Perfume drifted lushly through the air. Lexi offered her customers small cups of champagne or seltzer water. They sipped, and shopped, and bought, sometimes so infatuated with a scarf or bracelet that they wore it right out of the store. After that, word of mouth drew people to the shop, and Lexi had no time to think of anything but work.

  She could tell that Clare was busy, too, by the amount of foot traffic passing her window. She’d assumed there would be enough of a lull in every day to sit out back sipping coffee and relaxing, comparing notes with Clare, but she discovered she couldn’t leave her shop alone for a moment. There was simply too much to do.

  At the end of the week, she locked her door just before five and ran next door to Sweet Hart’s.

  “Clare, can you give me a minute? I need your advice.”

  Clare was flushed and rumpled from moving as fast as she could. “Come upstairs and help me fold boxes while we talk.” She locked her door, turned her sign to Closed, and led the way to her second floor. She threw herself into a chair and waved at the refrigerator. “Diet Coke or water if you want it,” she offered.

  “How are you?” Lexi pulled out a chair, moved a pile of flats waiting to become boxes off the chair, and collapsed in it.

  “Busy. Really busy. Which is good. But I haven’t had time to think. Every year I forget how crazy summer gets.”

  “So you haven’t seen Jesse?”

  “Nope.” A smile lit her face. “But I’ve seen Adam.”

  Lexi stared. “Get out. Clare!”

  Clare hugged herself. “Oh, Lexi. It’s all so new, and I’m so much in love it’s scary. But we’re trying to be adults about it. I’m trying to take it slow…”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t heard about this from someone. At least Mom and Dad should have told me.”

  Clare shook her head. “We haven’t been out in public together yet.” She blushed deeply. “Haven’t been out of bed yet, really.”

  “Are you talking about marriage?”

  “No, no, no, Lexi. Back up! We haven’t even talked about seeing a movie together. I’m just feeling very teenage right now, like a girl with my first adolescent crush.”

  “Appropriate, since Adam was your first adolescent crush.”

  “I know. But it’s still so raw—I’m a little scared, Lexi. I don’t know if I can trust my emotions, they’re so intense.” She gave herself a shake. “Let’s talk about something else. How are you? How’s the shop?”

  “It’s great, Clare. I’m really doing well. But I’m barely keeping up with it all. And yesterday I had a shoplifter!”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone was asking me to show her one of the more expensive necklaces from the display case, and both dressing rooms were full, and people were going in and out like crazy. I just had a moment to glance toward the pashminas, and I saw a really chic older woman looking at them, she had a hyacinth-colored shawl in her hand, and I took the necklace out for my jewelry customer and when I looked back, the woman had gone, and so had the hyacinth pashmina.”

  “A moment is all it takes,” Clare told her. “You’re going to have to hire some staff.”

  “But my shop is so small! And that means I have to pay someone…”

  “Would your mother want to work for you? She has retail experience.”

  “No. I wouldn’t ask her. She loves being retired.”

  “Then hire two or three people part-time. Either that, or watch your merchandise walk out the door. How much did that pashmina go for?”

  “Four-fifty.” Lexi smiled apologetically at Clare, because Clare was so touchy about money. “Four hundred fifty dollars.”

  “Ouch.” Clare shot Lexi a serious look. “You’re going to have to call the Merchants Association and get added to the shoplifting phone list. If any merchant spots a shoplifter, he phones three people and describes her or him and they phone three people, and right away all the other merchants know who to watch out for.”

  “I can’t believe the people who come to Nantucket for vacation would steal.”

  “Why? Because they’re rich?” Clare snorted. “How do you think they got that way? Case in point—your ex-husband.” She shook her head. “Sorry, Lex. That was mean.”

  Lexi smiled. “Yes, mean…but true.” She tapped her fingers on the table as she thought. “Okay, how do I find decent part-time help?”

  “You can advertise, but maybe you don’t have to. There’s a community of Russian women on the island, good-looking, hardworking, honest, with good English. And they’re all drop-dead gorgeous. They’d be perfect for your shop. I know they’re all looking for work. Do you know Sophia who runs the lunch counter at Congdon’s Pharmacy? Talk to her. She knows everyone.”

  Two days later, Lexi had her first employee, Oksana Volnapova. Almost six feet tall, Oksana had auburn hair streaked with magenta and green eyes slanted like a cat’s. If Moon Shell Beach was a dream universe, Oksana was the dream resident. “This will be for you,” she would say to a customer, holding up a swirl of silk, and you believed her, because she looked as if she’d just arrived from the Winter Palace where she lived with her lover the tsar, and their minions.

  That was not the reality. When Lexi had asked her what her parents did, she’d replied, “My mother is a nurse. My father is a shoemaker. Where I lived, we did not throw away our shoes.” But Oksana didn’t make Lexi feel any obscene-American-consumer guilt. She loved clothing, admired Lexi’s creations, and knew how to show them off. Every day she wo
re clothing the store sold, and she was the perfect walking advertisement, so willowy and graceful and striking, she enhanced anything she put on. She complimented Lexi on her garments; she rubbed the fabric between her fingers, nodding, saying, “Very nice.” Other times, after an especially trying customer had pulled all the pashminas off the shelves only to desert them in a wadded pile in another part of the store, Oksana would mutter under her breath: “Durak.” When Lexi asked her to translate, Oksana told her it meant “stupid.” After that, if a customer annoyed Lexi, she’d mutter “durak,” and catch Oksana’s eye, and they’d grin.

  Lexi’s mother wandered in occasionally, and Lexi grabbed a moment to go outside and catch her breath. They didn’t discuss Adam and Clare. They didn’t discuss anything but casual subjects, the weather, local gossip. They knew they’d be interrupted by walk-in customers, and they always were. Some evenings Lexi drove over to visit her parents, and to indulge in one of the meals Myrna kept ready, in case Lexi visited. Then they would talk about her shop, but often they simply relaxed in front of the television, watching a Red Sox game. With every passing day, Lexi felt more and more at home on the island.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Rain pattered against the roof like a volley of spilled beads or clicked against the windowpanes when the wind gusted it sideways. Moon Shell Beach was crowded all day long with shoppers more bored with the weather than seriously looking. Lexi and Oksana were busy helping customers and discreetly mopping up the rain people tracked into the store. They didn’t have time for lunch, they scarcely had time to run to the bathroom.

  Late in the afternoon the clouds rolled away, taking the wind with them, and the sun broke out. The evening was radiant, fresh-washed, and warm. Suddenly no one was in the shop. Everyone was out enjoying the sunshine, and Lexi was glad. This gave her and Oksana a chance to tidy the shop and restock the shelves and racks. Oksana sang a light Russian folk song as she worked. Lexi couldn’t understand the words, but the tune was cheerful. At seven, they put the Closed sign on the door and dimmed the lights. Oksana strode off to meet her friends, and Lexi went upstairs to her living quarters to catch her breath.

  She’d been on her feet all day, but even though she felt like falling flat on her bed and never moving again, an evening like this was too good to waste. She tossed her dress on her bed and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, stuck her feet into thongs, and grabbed up a beach bag into which she tossed a bottle of red wine, a glass, an opener, a box of crackers, a package of cheddar, and an apple, and hurried down to the street and her car.

  She set out driving without a clear idea of where she wanted to go. She only knew she needed to be away from town with its clusters of people. She needed some time alone with the sand, sea, and sky, so she steered toward Surfside Beach on the south side of the island. It wouldn’t have been busy today, not with the storm.

  Several cars were already in the parking lot. Standing at the top of the hill, she scanned the beach and saw the sand curve emptily toward the west. She sauntered down between the dunes and turned, strolling along the shore away from the few beachcombers. The surf pounded dramatically, driven by the day’s wind, the whitecaps blazing like jewels in the sun’s light. She took a long, deep breath of the fresh salt air. The crazy froth of the leaping waves excited her. She wanted to run into the cold surf, to dance in the waves, to be knocked over, drenched and dragged by the ocean. But she knew the undertow was dangerous here, so she resisted the urge.

  One lone figure rode the waves on his surfboard, the crimson and black of his wet suit flashing in and out of the turquoise water like flying fish. Lexi found shelter between the dunes, spread her beach blanket, and settled down to watch. She’d never surfed, she’d always been afraid to, especially out here where the undertow was so strong, but she loved watching others ride the waves like mythical half-fish, half-human creatures.

  Sitting cross-legged, she opened the wine and poured herself a glass. Except for the occasional cry of a gull, the only noise was the seething of the surf. She felt her shoulders relax and her heartbeat slow.

  And then the surfer came out of the waves, carrying his surfboard, and her heart jumped like a dolphin surfacing because it was Jesse who was walking up the shore toward her.

  “Hey,” he said. “I thought that was you.”

  His blond hair, darkened by the water, was plastered around his face and the wet suit displayed the strong lean lines of his body with perfect clarity.

  Could he tell how she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him? “Hi, Jesse. Good surf?”

  He nodded. “The best. The wind came from the right direction today to get it going just right.”

  Suddenly Lexi felt lit up, vividly alive, like an Alice in Wonderland who’d just drunk a magic potion and walked through a shining glass into another world. This world was all summer sky and sea, and Jesse, Jesse wet and masculine. “I…I’d offer you some wine, but I only brought one glass.”

  “No problem. I’ll drink from the bottle. Just let me get out of this.” He nodded toward the east. “I’ll grab my stuff.” Dropping the surfboard, he sprinted away, sand flying up from his feet.

  In a few moments he was back, carrying a towel and a sweatshirt.

  “What a day,” he said as he unzipped his wet suit and pulled it away from him. Lexi couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lean body as it emerged, one arm, another arm, his slender back, his muscular chest with swirls of hair matted between his nipples, twisting down past his belly button to the top of his swim trunks. He tossed the suit aside like a husk, yanked the sweatshirt on over his head, then dropped down next to Lexi.

  “Mind?” he asked, gesturing toward the bottle.

  “Help yourself.” She was overwhelmed by his presence. His legs, furred with blond hair, seemed so physical, so naked; his bony, sand-encrusted feet so masculine and somehow primitive.

  Jesse took a swig of wine, then accepted the cheese and bread she held out. “Thanks. Come here often?”

  It sounded like such a pickup line, they both laughed. “Actually, no. I’ve been too busy getting the shop up and running to enjoy myself.”

  “I know what you mean. Well, everyone who works in the summer knows. But I decided a long time ago I was going to enjoy myself.”

  “I’m so surprised,” Lexi said with obvious sarcasm.

  “Hey.” Jesse punched her shoulder softly.

  “Ow.” Impulsively, Lexi grabbed his fist.

  Jesse unfolded his fist and slid his palm against hers, slipping his fingers around hers, so that a delicate sexual heat rose against their skin.

  “Life is short,” Jesse said. “I can’t let it be all about money.”

  “Of course not,” she answered, glad her voice worked.

  “You were brave, Lex. You got to live your life.”

  She was shaking now. She pulled her hand away. “You mean when I married Ed? Well, I got to travel, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t say it was exactly living.”

  “Why not?” Jesse tilted the bottle again. Lexi watched his mouth circle the bottle’s rim. She saw his throat work as the liquid slid down.

  “Because I didn’t love Ed. And he didn’t love me.”

  Jesse stared at Lexi. “How could any man not love you?”

  She felt his eyes on her, a steady gaze. Her heartbeat tripled. “Well, love is pretty complicated.”

  “I’ve always thought it was pretty easy,” Jesse said quietly.

  “Easy,” she echoed. What she wanted was as easy as her dreams.

  “Life can be just about the moment,” Jesse told her. “Just about now. The beach, the sun on our skin.”

  She tried to joke. “Now you’re getting philosophical on me.”

  “No,” Jesse told her. “Just the opposite. I’m getting physical on you.”

  With one strong movement, Jesse shoved the bottle of wine so that it stood anchored in the sand. He took Lexi’s wineglass from her and laid it in the wicker basket next to the bread and cheese. Gr
ipping her shoulders, he pressed her firmly onto the ground. She was aware of the shifting pockets of sand beneath her, the cotton towel beneath her legs. Jesse stretched out next to her, lying not quite on top of her, and very intently, as if he were about to give CPR, he stroked her hair away from her face and brought his mouth down on hers. His breath was sweet, his lips slightly chapped, and strands of his hair tickled her face. His kiss was soft, his tongue salty. He lifted himself so she could get her arms around him, and he slowly drew his fingers over her face, and chin, and neck, and then he touched her breasts.

  A low moan moved through her. Her body arched up, seeking his. His fingers fumbled for the zipper on her shorts. The sun had moved toward the horizon, and shadows from the dune draped them in an indigo blue. Jesse tugged off her shorts. Slowly, he slid his fingertips along the line of her jaw, around her neck, over her collarbone, over her breasts.

  Jesse moved his hand down and down, over her belly, over her pubic hair, and then, with such languor, he parted her legs. A sweetness surged through her like she’d never known before. She had never known a man could be so gentle. It was as if Jesse were hypnotizing her, and as he stroked her, she sensed the delicacy of her skin as everything once dormant and cringing awakened with delight.

  The dunes rose around them, enclosing them, and the light of day softened, sheltering them, and the sand beneath her surged into little hills and valleys, supporting her body as Jesse circled his fingertips and slipped his fingers against the silk of her skin, and like a magician, conjured up a rich cream between her legs that had never been there before. Gulls sang out as they flew overhead. She spread her legs and arched her hips, and Jesse moved down inside the V she made.

  He thrust inside her. She felt a pressure, a deep internal shifting, like a bolt of liquid silk uncoiling within. Jesse’s face was next to her ear, his breath warm and labored. He lifted himself up to give himself leverage as he shoved himself deeper into her. She closed her eyes, abandoning herself to sensation, as her body allowed itself to be a cup, a channel, a basin, flooded and foaming with pleasure. Still he pressed into her, like a creature forcing his way home. Something broke off inside her, something was unlatched and unleashed. Pleasure spilled through her like the sea breaking through the jetties, tumbling, frothing, undeniable.