He stood, too. “I’d better go to the hardware store,” he said.
“See you later,” she said.
“Right.”
Chloe heard Ben drive away and return some time later, when she was in her workshop. He began to chisel the broken glass out of the window in the back door; she could hear that, too. Finally, she got up and closed the workshop door.
She’d expected that the ensuing quietness would help her to concentrate, but all it did was increase her isolation. After a while, she opened the door again, but by that time Ben had gone, and she couldn’t hear him at all. All she heard was the rhythmic rush of sea to shore, and the querulous cries of seagulls overhead.
CHLOE WAS UP EARLY the next morning and wandered into the library to find something to read. She’d hooked up an old hammock between two posts on the front porch and intended to avail herself of its comfort when she took breaks from her work.
The library was big and airy, all four walls lined with books. She studied Tayloe’s collection of Harvard Classics, deciding that they were heavier reading than she required, before moving on to Gwynne’s collection of paperbacks.
A romance was what she needed. She and Gwynne had devoured them by the boxload during the summers when they were teenagers. She chose one with a familiar cover and realized she’d read it before. But that didn’t matter. Sometimes reading a familiar book was like reconnecting with a dear friend. And then a slim paper notebook fell from between the covers, and Chloe stared at it in her hand.
Property of Fire Timberlake, she read, which made her smile. She and Naomi and Gwynne had given themselves aliases when they were kids. Naomi had been Earth because she was so settled and serious, Chloe had been Fire because of her red hair, and Gwynne was Ocean because she liked that name better than any other. Sometimes they’d driven Tayloe crazy by refusing to answer to their real names, but when she complained, they’d retaliated by naming her Wind, which Tayloe had considered extremely unflattering.
Chloe opened the notebook and recognized a diary she’d kept during her sixteenth summer.
Diary of My Sixteenth Summer, she had titled it. Pensive at the sight of her girlish handwriting, she carried the diary to the hammock and settled down to reacquaint herself with the person she had been all those summers ago.
Dear Diary (oh, what shall I name you? You’re going to be important to me, and you need a name. I promise I will think about it.)
You won’t believe it, but I am in love. Yes, I’m finally over that stupid Todd Volmer, who doesn’t have any interests but the stupid calf he’s raising for 4-H. I have met a true man among men. A swashbuckler of a guy. An adventurer above all adventurers.
His name, dear diary, is (here a big smudge where she had erased) Gold. I’m calling him that because he has value. (!) And besides, his job is finding it. Gold, I mean. He’s a diver for Sea Search.
He’s very handsome. He’s fun. He is so different from the boys I know in Farish that he might be another species altogether! Did I forget to tell you how old he is? Well, he’s 21. My parents would kill me if they knew.
I haven’t told Ocean, either. And certainly not Earth, who is eighteen and married and can’t be expected to understand how anyone older than she is could be attracted to me!! But I think (hope) he is!! Gold smiled at me especially today before he left for work. He lives at the Frangipani Inn because it’s the best place in Sanluca and my aunt is a good cook. She fixes a special breakfast every morning for him because she says he works hard and requires a lot of carbohydrates. I made the toast for him this morning, but he didn’t know it.
More later…Ocean and I are going to wait where Gold parks his motorcycle and ask him if he wants to play Parcheesi after dinner. Ocean says he’s played checkers with her before and she beat him.
’Bye! from Fire (Chloe D. Timberlake)
Chloe smiled wistfully to herself, wondering that she had ever been so young and silly. She had no recollection of meeting Ben when he parked his motorcycle at the inn after work that day, though she didn’t doubt that she and Gwynne had done it. They’d always been up to something, and chasing after a guy that one of them liked was standard operating procedure.
Chloe quickly shoved the diary into her pocket when Ben passed by and hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was flustered to see him. She jumped up from the hammock and spared him a casual wave, expecting him to keep walking.
He surprised her by halting at the bottom of the steps. “Hey,” he said, “I thought you might like to walk on the beach with me.”
“I have work to do,” she began, but seeing how his face fell, she kept talking. “But I could take a short break.”
“Great,” he said. He grinned at her. “We’ll take my metal detector and head toward the Santa Ynez.”
While he went to get the metal detector, Chloe ran inside and smoothed her hair. Reading about her teenage self had stirred up all her old emotions for Ben, and it wasn’t easy to put them out of her mind. If he’d ever discovered how she felt about him back then, she wouldn’t have been able to face him now, she was certain of that.
Schooling herself to look disinterested, she met him at the beginning of the dune path, noting how different and yet how much the same Ben was now. He was still tall and tanned, still someone she’d turn to stare at on the street. But the sun had taken a toll on his face; deep grooves ran from his nose to his mouth and tiny lines feathered out from his eyes. This weathering only made him look more rough-hewn and rugged, both appealing attributes. Still, a new gravity these days overlay his attractiveness.
“How many wrecks are out there?” she asked as they started through the dunes.
“Eleven,” he said. “Sea Search has the rights to salvage all of them, too.”
“All in good shape?”
“They’ve been down there for almost three hundred years,” he told her.
“I’m surprised there’s anything left.”
“The hulls have rotted, sand has shifted around, ballast is strewn over the ocean floor. The plate fleet of 1715 was the first fleet to head for Spain from the New World in four years, so it was loaded with gold and silver.”
“All there for the taking?”
“The Spanish sent divers to bring up the treasure soon after the ships sank, but with their primitive methods, they couldn’t get it all. Some of the divers secreted caches on the beach, planning to return to collect them in the future. Most of them never made it, and the changing shoreline spits up items of value from time to time.”
A flock of brown pelicans skimmed in loose formation over the rippling blue water. One dived into a wave, came up with a fish. Farther along, Stuart’s Point and Manatee Island stretched into the misty distance. North of there, but so far away that none of it was visible from here, was the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral.
They stopped beside a pile of seaweed while Ben explained how to use the metal detector. “This model is made for locating underwater finds as well as those in the sand, but because this is a state park, we can only operate lawfully between the high-water line and the dunes. Put on the headphones.” He handed them to her. “The technique is to swing the detector back and forth over the sand and wait to hear a beep. Then you dig.”
Intrigued, she followed Ben’s instructions. The headphones fit tightly over her ears, and although the metal detector was heavier than she’d expected, she got the hang of swinging it back and forth in an easy rhythm. Once, the headphones transmitted a beep, but the find turned out to be an old corroded bolt, modern in nature. Another time, the metal detector beeped so crazily that she was sure she’d discovered something major, but it was only a quarter and fairly new.
When Ben took over, he had better luck, unearthing a chain marked fourteen-carat and missing a link. Chloe had to admit that being in on the discovery of this bit of jewelry was exhilarating, and she told Ben on the walk back to the inn that she now understood how people got hooked on this hobby.
He treated her
observation seriously. “Some folks expect to find important treasure from those wrecks out there right away. They’re almost always disappointed. Sometimes, their metal detectors aren’t state-of-the-art. Often, they get disgusted when they only find beer bottle tops or kids’ sand shovels.”
“From the way some people talk, there’s treasure lying around waiting to be plucked out of the sand.”
Ben laughed. “Amateurs should be satisfied with turning up the kind of thing that is readily available. The chain we found today, for instance.”
“That you found, you mean.”
“We,” he said firmly. “It’s a pretty piece.”
“Agreed.” Chloe glanced at her watch, surprised that so much time had passed. “Yikes! I’ve spent all morning out here.” Usually, nothing was allowed to interfere with her work.
“We’ll head back,” Ben said.
They were more than halfway to the inn when Chloe felt a sharp pain in her big toe. Looking down, she realized that she’d stepped on a jagged piece of aluminum and cut her foot.
“Oh, no,” Ben said, drawing even with her, his brow furrowing in concern.
“It’s only superficial,” she said hastily. Her foot was bleeding, sand clumping around the wound.
He bent for a closer inspection. “You’re probably right, but we’d better take care of it. I have a first-aid kit in my apartment.”
As Ben stepped into the lead, she limped after him, trying to hold her toe up so the cut wouldn’t attract even more sand. This made walking awkward, and she wished she’d paid more attention earlier to where she was putting her feet. The wound was beginning to hurt.
When they reached the annex patio, Ben opened the sliding screen door and waited until she had passed through before closing the door behind her and setting the metal detector in a corner. The apartment was now very neat, with few personal items strewn around. Only the collection of artifacts on the built-in shelves, which she’d admired on her previous visit.
“You’d better wash that off,” Ben said, gesturing at her foot. “The tub has a detachable shower spray.” He nodded toward the bathroom.
“Really, it’s not that big a deal,” she protested, but he came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders to steer her in the right direction. The bathroom was small and cramped, and he turned on the shower.
“Wash it off,” he ordered, disappearing into the bedroom and returning in a few moments with a plastic first-aid case. He produced a tube of antibiotic and some bandages while she removed the hand-held nozzle from its bracket and hosed off her foot.
“You can sit there,” he said, indicating the edge of the tub.
“You don’t have to—” she began, but he eyed her sternly.
“Please, Chloe, stop arguing,” he said, handing her a towel. “You’ll need to dry that cut off, and then either you put on the antibiotic or I do.”
Chloe did as she was told, tending to the wound herself, though Ben stood by and watched. When she’d finished with the antibiotic, he had an adhesive-and-gauze patch ready and bent to apply it to the cut. Chloe had the ironic revelation that her discomfort in this situation was possibly due to the fact that people usually didn’t take care of her; she took care of them. What was it Naomi had said? Something about her always being ready to slap bandages on other people’s hurts?
She had a half smile on her face when she stood up, and Ben smiled back. “All better?”
“Yes. Thanks,” she said. As an afterthought she added meekly, “Could I please have a drink of water?”
He laughed then, the sound booming as it echoed off the tiles of the tub and shower surround. “Sure. It’s not as if that’s a major request.”
He led the way to the kitchen, where she hitched herself onto a bar stool and regarded her bandaged toe. Then he opened the refrigerator door and handed her a bottle of water, which she uncapped and drank almost all in one great gulp. As she lowered the bottle from her lips, she saw the clothes she’d shucked when she’d invited him for an impromptu swim neatly folded on the stool beside her. The idea of Ben’s handling them, folding them, seemed too intimate by far.
Ben went on talking. “I noticed a wasp’s nest up under the edge of the roof on the side of the house near the driveway,” he said casually. “They’re nasty little things, and we’d be wise to get rid of them.”
“Things with lots of legs and venom are exempt from mercy,” she agreed.
“I’ll spray them right away.”
She tossed the empty water bottle in the wastebasket. “Thanks for the treasure-hunting expedition. It was fun.”
“You’d better take the antibiotic with you. You’ll need it.” Instead of handing the tube across the counter, he walked around so that he stood directly in front of her. His eyes were warm, and he was so close that she was reluctant to make a move for fear that she’d brush against him.
She went very still as she stared up at him. Without realizing it, she had been leaning in his direction, and now her arm touched his. The contact seemed to bring him to his senses, and he shook his head as if to clear it before wheeling abruptly and retreating behind the counter.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, accepting this reprieve with considerable relief and all but stumbling toward the exit in her haste to escape. She grabbed her clothes off the stool on her way past.
“Dinner?” he said, only the one word. They hadn’t discussed it earlier.
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She kept walking out the door, up the path, clutching her clothes to her chest.
You idiot, she chided herself. You’re making something out of nothing.
Maybe she was, but it would be a long time before she forgot the raw hunger in Ben Derrick’s eyes. And it wasn’t that he only wanted dinner. She was sure that he had much more in mind.
The odd thing was that she was in a mood to give it to him, which could be disastrous. She was finally in a position to make a life of her own, and there wasn’t supposed to be room in it for anyone else.
Chapter Five
During the next week, Ben kept his distance, consulting Chloe in a businesslike way from time to time about repairs. He claimed to have caught four mice and released them to the wild, but Chloe never saw them and didn’t care to. He got rid of the wasps’ nest, substituted fresh two-by-fours for several rotten pieces of wood in the front porch railing and took it upon himself to crawl all over the roof and replace loose shingles.
Gwynne, who had finally phoned to ask how things were going, set Chloe’s mind at ease by telling her that she and Tayloe would finance any necessary repairs, but Chloe was still concerned about money. Gwynne suggested that Chloe consider opening the Frangipani Inn as a bed-and-breakfast again. Chloe insisted that she had enough to do without cooking for guests, not to mention that she couldn’t expect anyone to stay in the house when all the rooms were so dirty.
“Let them do their own cooking. Hire cleaning help,” Gwynne told her. But Chloe put off making a decision. All she wanted right now was a chance to work quietly.
And it was quiet, except for Ben’s hammering and sawing and tramping around the house. Still, she discovered that she didn’t mind the kind of noise he made, because she didn’t feel so alone with him nearby.
Loneliness was something Chloe had not expected to feel after her long-anticipated escape from Farish. In retrospect, however, it wasn’t so odd that she missed being around other people. Living alone was a skill that she’d never had a chance to develop. She missed her grandmother, who could always be counted on to say something that would brighten Chloe’s day. She missed Naomi and her husband and kids, and she missed her friend Beth, who was newly married and expecting a baby. Most of all, and this surprised her, she missed her niece Tara.
She phoned Tara one sultry afternoon when Ben had disappeared down the beach and she couldn’t concentrate on her work. First, Chloe chatted with Marilyn, who had to tend to an emergency with one of her numerous brood and quickly t
urned the phone over to her teenage houseguest.
“Hi, Chloe,” Tara said brightly when she came on the line. “How are things in sunny Florida?”
“Hot,” Chloe said, easing a finger around the collar on her shirt. “Blamed hot. How are you getting along, Tara?”
“Oh,” Tara said. “Okay, I guess.”
Something in her niece’s tone set Chloe on alert. “Want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Mmm,” Tara said, and Chloe heard a shuffling followed by the sound of a door closing. Tara lowered her voice. “I’m in a closet where Marilyn and the kids can’t hear me. Honestly, Chloe, I’m beginning to wonder if this is such a good idea.”
“What do you mean?” Chloe asked, playing for time. Maybe Tara wanted to go home to Farish. That would be a good move, in Chloe’s opinion, and she was prepared to encourage it.
“It’s Marilyn. I never realized that she was such a tyrant.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“She makes everyone follow all these rules and gets mad if I don’t. Like, we all have our chores to do and she yelled at me for not cleaning the shower yesterday. I’m like, well, I did it the day before, but she didn’t want to listen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chloe said, trying to muster more sympathy. Tara would need to learn at some time in her life that she didn’t live in a perfect world.
“Yeah, but what am I going to do?” Tara said in a bewildered tone. “My life was supposed to be way better here, but Marilyn and Donald have their own rules and they’re as bad as my mom and dad’s.”
Live and learn, Chloe thought, but she didn’t suggest the obvious: that Tara go home. “There are rules everywhere,” she said as consolingly as she could.
“You live exactly as you please,” Tara pointed out.
“It may seem that way, Tara, but remember when I lived with Grandma Nell? She wanted me to go grocery shopping only on Fridays because she was convinced that was when I’d get the best bargains. She insisted that I use that ugly old furniture in my bedroom because it belonged to her mother, and I wanted something bright and modern. I put up with Grandma’s requirements because I had to be there to take care of her, and I love her. I can assure you that I would have rather had more freedom in choosing what I did from day to day.”
The Treasure Man Page 7
