“So . . . what happened?” Claire said.
Jodi leaned over, fished in the backseat, and came up with some coolers. She handed one to Claire, opened the other for herself, and jumped up on the hood of the car. Claire slid up beside her.
“You know, one of the nice things about surfing is that wherever you go to do it, the view is fabulous,” Claire said.
“True,” said Jodi.
“So,” Claire said, because she wanted to know and because she thought Jodi wanted her to ask, “tell me.”
“Well,” said Jodi. “I’d been vibing Poppy for a while, pretty much ever since I saw her in art studio at school.” And she went on to tell Claire all about it.
So she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt a little smug about Jodi’s true confession. Jodi had told her, Claire, instead of Linley.
Why?
Claire thought about this as she drank her coffee a few mornings later. The house was warm and sunny and quiet. Unless the party went on all night before, Claire often had the mornings to herself.
Until Max appeared, which was another thing that happened as often as not—except that Max usually arrived by way of the beach, in a uniform of ragged cutoffs and faded-to-no-color shirt.
He got coffee and returned to settle wordlessly by her on one of the chairs on the deck. He never spoke unless she spoke first. It was a peaceful way to begin the day.
This morning, she felt like talking. She said, to her own surprise, “Linley’s still angry with me.”
“I know,” said Max, not surprised at all. He was so calm, calm in a different way from Finn.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I thought she was my friend.” How little kid on the playground was that? She wanted to grab the words back.
But Max didn’t seem to notice. He said simply, “She is.”
So Claire said, keeping it just as simple, “Why?” And wondered if Max had always been like this and if so, how he and Linley had ever gotten together.
Max didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be considering the question. He said at last, “Linley’s had some hard times. Bad times.”
In spite of herself, Claire gave a little snort of disbelief. “As Linley herself would tell you, she always gets what she wants.”
“She always gets what she says she wants,” Max corrected. “Big difference.”
“How difficult could her life have been. No worries about money, no worries about looks, no worries about smarts. In short, no worries,” Claire said.
“She’s not the way she seems. I can’t tell you any more than that, because it’s not mine to tell. But I can tell you she’s angry with me, and she can’t go there, not yet.”
Claire said again, “Why?”
He sighed this time, ran his hand through his salt-curled hair. “For so many reasons. Because I’m not who she wants me to be. Because I never was, or will be.”
“Vague,” said Claire.
He smiled at that. “I know. I’m still sorting it out in my own head. But I know this: I shouldn’t have run away the way I did. And I did run, you know. I loved Linley and I ran away from that.”
Claire didn’t say anything this time.
After a long silence, he added, quietly, “And now I’m back. But not the way Linley wants me to be.”
The silence lengthened again.
And then the world joined them. Or rather, Linley did. “How cozy,” she said, coming out onto the deck. “Lose Finn, Claire?”
Claire saw a fleeting expression of what looked like tiredness cross Max’s face. Linley was like a child, Claire thought. An unhappy child. Me. Now. Tantrum.
No tantrums for me, thought Claire. “Finn had an early lesson,” Claire said, as pleasantly as she could, and went into the house for more coffee.
She found Dean lounging at the counter, his eyes on the scene on the deck.
Why am I not surprised? thought Claire. Dean was like an eternally circling shark that never moved in for the kill.
“You remind me of that shark we saw,” Claire said.
Dean switched his attention to her. “So we’re talking about that shark again?” he said, unperturbed.
“That’s not a compliment,” Claire said.
Dean’s gaze went back to the deck. Linley was leaning toward Max, smiling. Max was smiling back.
Tantrum averted, Claire thought.
Dean said, “Now me, I would have said Linley was the shark in our little tidal pool.”
“Really,” said Claire.
Dean waited, but Claire didn’t go on. She didn’t want to talk about Linley to Dean.
“Ah,” said Dean after a minute. He smiled. “So many secrets. So little time.”
Before she could ask Dean what he meant—or even think about if she wanted to know—feet pounded on the stairs. Jodi darted to the coffee, poured out two cups and doctored them, and turned to hand one to Poppy as she made a more leisurely entrance to the kitchen. Settling on the stool, Poppy took a long drink, said, “Perfect,” and then to Jodi, “Thanks.”
Then Poppy smiled at Claire and said, “Good morning Claire,” and Claire knew by the way she said it that Poppy knew Claire knew.
“Hey,” she said.
“About this party,” Jodi said.
“Ah,” said Dean. “I thought we’d get to the party soon.”
“It’s important,” insisted Jodi.
“It’ll be a good party,” Poppy said unexpectedly. “With Claire in charge.”
“Thanks,” said Claire, pleased. She added, “And now that the last month’s rent is all in, I’m collecting for said party.”
“What do you want money now for, rent girl?” It was Linley. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful in the morning light. Her gaze followed Max as he went for more coffee. Then Linley glanced at Poppy and Jodi, a thoughtful, considering look. She didn’t acknowledge Dean at all. She returned her attention to Claire.
“Money. For the party,” said Jodi.
“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal of this,” Linley said. “I mean, dial up the drinks and party favors and you’re there.”
“Would you rather handle it? You can, if you want,” Claire said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Oh, no,” said Linley. “It’ll keep you busy and a busy Claire is a happy Claire, right?”
“True,” said Claire agreeably, because it was.
“I’ve got my share right here,” said Dean suddenly, and for once, Claire had the feeling that he was trying to put out a fire rather than stoke it. “Cash, right?”
“Me too,” said Jodi.
“Get to work, rent girl,” Linley said, and laughed.
Claire whirled. “Right,” she said. “And when will you pay your share, Linley? It shouldn’t be too hard, especially since you didn’t pay any rent all summer!”
“What?” said Jodi.
“Big secret,” said Claire. “Linley decided she could use the extra cash.”
Poppy said, “Well, it is her uncle’s house.”
“You thought you’d need the extra cash?” Jodi said, staring at Linley.
“It’s my house!” Linley cried.
“You know how strapped I am, you know how badly I need to get away from my . . . from home, and you decide to make a little extra cash on my back?” Jodi’s voice went up.
“Claire didn’t pay rent either,” said Linley.
“We’re not talking about Claire. We’re talking about you and me,” Jodi said.
“It’s not that much money,” Linley said.
“Big mistake,” Dean said under his breath. At the same moment, Max said, softly, “Linley . . .”
Jodi went pale. “Not that much money,” she repeated.
Poppy reached out and patted Jodi’s arm.
Linley narrowed her eyes.
Jodi let out a long breath. She shook her head as if to clear it. “You’re too much, Linley, you know that? But Poppy’s right—it is your house.”
No one spoke. Then Linley laughed. “I’m so glad you see it my way. But to be fair, I’ll donate the extra money to the party fund.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Max.
“Good,” said Claire briskly. She stood up. She wanted out of there. “Well, I have to go. See ya.”
“Later,” agreed Linley, and Claire wondered: Was that a promise, or a threat?
Seventeen
Claire opened her eyes to find warm brown eyes staring into hers. “Barrel,” she said softly, and Barrel’s mouth opened in a panting dog grin. She rolled over to look at the clock. It was very early.
Quietly she slipped out of bed and headed downstairs to let Barrel out for his morning loop around the house. She made coffee, working the formerly fearsome cappuccino maker almost automatically. She let Barrel back in, gave him a biscuit, and poured up and doctored two mugs of coffee.
They went back up the stairs, Barrel leading the way and looking over his shoulder as if to make sure she could manage the stairs on her own. She smiled. “Good boy,” she whispered.
Barrel. Two more days and she’d be gone and she’d miss Barrel.
Finn slept like a child, on his back with his arms spread. Asleep, with his sunstreaked brown hair spread across the pillow, he didn’t look much older than a child.
She set the cups on the bedside table and sat next to Finn. Barrel jumped back on the bed and settled down with a sigh.
Claire laid her hand on Finn’s bare chest. He opened his eyes and peered up at her and smiled his familiar smile. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she said. “I brought you coffee.”
It was a ritual they had now. The first one up brought coffee.
Finn sat up. “Excellent,” he said. He patted the bed next to him. “It’s still pretty early. Come back to bed for a while.”
Instead, she leaned forward, her head against his shoulder. He put down the coffee cup and put his arms around her. She listened to the thump of his heart.
“Two more days,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, and began to stroke her hair. “I’m going to miss you, Mermaid Claire. Barrel and I are going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you both too.” She heard the thickness of her voice and thought, I will not cry. She pulled back and sat up. “You know,” she said, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do for the party tonight. And today’s my last day at the Stacked. I’d better get going.”
Finn regarded her for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe later. We’ve still got time.”
No, we don’t, Claire thought, and made her escape as the first tears spilled down her cheeks.
By the time she’d changed into her “uniform,” she’d gotten control of herself. She banged on Jodi’s door, then banged again, louder. “What?” said Jodi, crossly.
“We have shopping to do,” she said.
“Go away,” said Jodi.
Claire looked down at her list. “Nope. Farmers market, grocery store, and I need your help. If you’re not downstairs in ten minutes, I’m coming up to get you.”
She left, ignoring the creative use of swear words she could hear on the other side of the door.
Jodi made it in fifteen, looking rumpled and cross and not at all speedy hyper. Claire thrust a travel mug at her, took the keys from her hands, and said, “You’re giving directions. I’m driving.”
“Who died and left you queen of the world,” Jodi grumbled.
“It’s too early for near-death auto experiences, thank you very much,” Claire said briskly.
“How did I get dawn patrol, anyway?”
“You’re working this afternoon, remember?” Claire said.
“I hate you,” said Jodi unemotionally, and followed Claire out to the car.
But coffee and morning air brought her back to life, and a few sessions of sharp bargaining in the farmers market made her human. They staggered to the car with an amazing array of fruits and vegetables and several melons that Jodi declared, with a professional air, were “perfect spikeables.”
Their haul from the grocery store filled up the rest of the car, and Claire commandeered Max and Poppy for unloading.
She consulted her list. “Max, you and Dean are the kegs. They’re paid for, and here’s what we ordered and a copy of the receipt. Don’t lose it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Max.
“Poppy . . .” Poppy held up her hand. “I know, I know. The booze. The bar. I have the list. And the receipt. You gave them to me yesterday, remember?”
“Just checking,” said Claire. “Don’t forget to . . .”
“Spike the melons,” said Jodi. “We won’t forget.”
“And ice when you pick up the beer . . .”
“On it,” said Max.
Claire looked at her watch. “I’ll be back after work. Start on the fruits and vegetables, and the ones you cut up, cover before you refrigerate. You—”
“Claire,” said Poppy firmly. “Go. I know how to handle fruits and vegetables.”
Which for some reason made Jodi crack up. Claire left Jodi laughing hysterically and Poppy shaking her head at her, and Bladed off to work, not at all sure that she was going to be able to pull off the kind of end-of-summer party she’d so carefully planned.
But as the sun began to set that evening and Claire flew through the last-minute details, she began to think she might succeed after all. Beer kegs on ice waited on the porch, where Dean and Max had lovingly placed them. Party tubs filled with ice and drinks, some tubs designated non-alcoholic, the rest brimming with every kind of bottled goodie Claire could think of, were scattered across the deck. She’d even remembered garbage cans and had labeled them: cans and bottles only and trash.
As Poppy sliced the last of the fruits and vegetables, Claire, in the spirit of party irony, was making little sandwiches of cucumbers and cream cheese.
Linley wandered into the kitchen as Claire finished cutting the crusts off the last of the silly sandwiches.
“What’s this?” Linley demanded, peering down at the dainty-looking triangles.
“Try one,” Poppy advised.
Claire barked, “Max, napkins!” and had the satisfaction of actually being obeyed.
Power. She could get used to it. She could go all Martha Stewart in a heartbeat.
Except for the totally bogus jail thing Martha had gotten, of course . . .
“Cucumber sandwiches?” Linley chewed with an expression of incredulity.
“Good, huh?” said Max. “I’d have never believed it.”
He scooped one up, and Claire slapped his hand and said, “Hey! Wait till the par-tay.”
He grabbed another and crammed it into his mouth, ducking out of reach.
“Little sandwiches?” said Linley. “Finger sandwiches?”
“Strictly vegetarian,” Claire assured her. “No fingers, just cucumbers.”
Staring as Poppy settled a bowl of dip in a tray of fruit, Linley shook her head. “It’s just a party, Claire. Don’t you think you’ve gone, well, a little overboard?”
“Looks good to me,” said Dean.
“Who asked you?” Linley said.
“Ooh, a private conversation,” commented Dean.
“Did you put the plates out yet?” Claire asked him.
“As always, your wish is my command,” said Dean.
Claire handed a plate of vegetables and dip off to Poppy as she returned to the kitchen.
“Plates?” Linley shook her head. “Why not just something simple? Like, oh, I don’t know, napkins?”
“Aren’t you in charge of something?” Claire said. She was only half-listening to Linley. “Like, spiking the watermelons and putting them on ice?”
“Spiked, iced,” said Linley.
“Good for you,” Claire said, almost absently, running her finger down one of the lists she’d magnet-spackled to the refrigerator.
“I’m surprised you’ll allow spiked watermelons in the
same house with finger sandwiches,” said Linley.
“My radically liberal upbringing,” said Claire. Forks? No, right, she’d decided against forks. The only weapons of food destruction being put out were toothpicks for the spiked melon. Everything else was strictly fingers. . . .
“Your banker-in-a-box family?” Linley said. “Hardly radical. Fashionable liberal, maybe. It is fashionable to be rich and liberal in Boston, right?”
Claire frowned. Clearly she needed to give Linley something to do.
The door banged open. “Ta-dah!” cried Jodi. “I’m here.”
“And we cheer,” said Dean, who, with Max’s help, had begun to unroll streamers across the rafters of the house.
“And I brought the strawberries,” Jodi went on.
“Strawberries?” said Linley. “For margaritas?”
“For chocolate-dipped strawberries,” Jodi corrected. “Except they’re all dipped. We did them at work. I made everybody at Banger’s help.”
Dean said, “What about the Vile Vickie?”
Jodi giggled. “Her sister is having a baby and she had to help.”
“Poor baby,” commented Dean.
“So since Vickie wasn’t there and things were slow, Banger said go ahead. And guess what? He might even try to stop by the party!”
“You invited Banger?” said Linley.
“Why not? Claire invited the guys at the Stacked—anyway, it was a slow day, so we got the guys in the kitchen to help. And they sort of threw in some other fruit, so a lot of stuff got dipped.”
“Jodi, that is excellent,” said Claire.
Jodi beamed. “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks to Mynor and Leslie and Allison and Emily and Tina and, let’s see, Malinda and Terri and—”
“Everyone at Banger’s,” interrupted Linley. “Well, since they’re all apparently going to be at the party, we’ll be sure and thank each and every one of them. Maybe Claire can write them all thank-you notes.”
The tone as much as the words at last got Jodi’s attention. It got everyone’s attention. Jodi frowned. “What’s your problem?” she asked.
“I don’t have a problem. But chocolate-dipped strawberries? Cucumber sandwiches? Party streamers, for god’s sake?” Linley gestured scornfully. “This party has gotten a little out of hand, don’t you think?”
The Shore Page 31
