“Then what’s the big deal?” He said it harshly. He had no use for gossips. Always sticking their noses into other people’s business. They did a lot of damage.
Maia’s face showed every thought that whirred through her brain. Annoyance, hurt, recovery, hope, and they passed over her face like a kaleidoscope. He felt like a bully. Maybe he was, but if you weren’t careful, your loved ones would try to ‘love’ you into living according to their rules—even the rules they should be ashamed of.
“I was just making conversation. I miss you. You’re still angry. How many times should I apologize? Because I will, you know. Over and over. As many times as necessary, plus one.”
“I have to go.”
She placed both of her hands on his arm. “I’m sorry, Brian.”
“It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.” He stood, moving away from her hands, and picked up his helmet.
“Brian.”
“Enough, Maia. You’re sorry and I’ve moved on.”
“But you still won’t join us for dinner. Won’t even sit here and share a cup of coffee or hot chocolate with me?”
He zipped up his jacket. “I won’t, because you give me no peace. Can’t you accept that I’m fine?”
“No, because you’re not.”
“Drop it.” He walked out and into the alley where he’d parked his bike.
He was angry as he kicked the stand and brought the engine to life. He shouldn’t have looked at her. She used those big eyes like weapons.
Need a little coercion? Hire Maia to bring on the tears. Not many could withstand her. She was emotional blackmail personified.
But he wouldn’t leave angry. Not on the bike. Never again. He breathed deeply, risking fogging up the helmet. After a minute he looked up and there she was, standing at the door with a hand raised to wave.
He didn’t wave. He just rode off.
****
Resentment still drove him the next day. He stomped up the steps and knocked loudly. He heard her light footsteps speeding to answer the door. No need for her to run. He hadn’t pounded on the door.
“Yes? Is there a problem?” She looked at him and then stuck her head outside to look past him, as if something might be chasing him up the stairs.
He almost laughed. In a manner of speaking, he did feel chased.
“Fine. Ready to start the next room?”
His eyes caught on the paint job. Was that satisfaction he felt?
“Looks good, if I do say so myself.”
The door clicked closed. She stayed behind him. He tried not to turn toward her too quickly. To panic her. Why? No idea, but she was so skittish. He recognized a damaged person when he saw one. Took one to know one.
As he paused in the living room, he noticed the small paintings lined up along the base of the wall next to the dining table.
“What’s that? Do you need help hanging them?”
“Oh, those are Uncle Will’s paintings. He ordered them. I don’t know where to hang them. Perhaps we should wait until he can tell us.”
“They’re easy to move.”
“So, you think I should go ahead and hang them?” She pointed to a blank wall in the dining area. “Is that a good space?”
“Up to you.”
She looked down at the paintings. “Yes, it is up to me.”
“They’re kind of neat.” He tilted his head, looking at them. “Like I’m looking at the same stretch of beach but through different windows of the same house. At different times of year, too. Different seasons.”
Frannie stood next to him. “Yes, I see what you mean. I hadn’t pulled it all together in my head. Yes, exactly. Well, I think they should hang on that wall after it’s painted.”
“What’s next, then? The dining area and kitchen?”
She looked at the cabinets. They were chockfull and helter-skelter. That didn’t matter for the painting, but the appliances and general clutter on the counter did.
“What about the almost empty bedroom? I’m thinking of setting it up like a study or something. Staging, you know. Marketability is mostly in the staging.”
Staging. Faking. It all came down to that with women. He walked away without a word. She followed.
“We should save the kitchen until I can move everything out of the way, and I can’t stay to help today.”
“Okay.”
“I have a lunch appointment.”
“Okay.” He started moving the few items toward the door.
“Unavoidable, I’m sorry to say.” She blocked the doorway.
“No problem.” He waited for her to move and she did.
“My mother. She called this morning.”
Did she actually gulp? Like they wrote in books? He thought she had.
“She’s coming to visit. Not to the house. I made sure of that.”
He was getting interested despite himself. Fran had family problems, too? He threw out some feelers. “You can bring her here. I’ll stay out of the way. I can skip today if that’s the problem.”
Her already pale face paled still further. Her hand gripped the doorframe. “No. Lunch is enough.” She looked away. “I’ll get out of your way. I’ll be leaving shortly.”
She looked in the mirror by the door and said, “I hope I look all right.”
Was she expecting an answer? Apparently, no, because she went on, “I didn’t bring much with me. I’m running out of decent clothing.”
She was dressed in the simple kind of clothes that you knew cost a mint and where dressed down was still dressed up. It looked good on her, but not any better than regular clothes would look. She was slender and on the shorter end of tall, and with that face she’d look good in anything, except she was so tightly wound it spoiled the picture.
She tugged on her sweater and put her coat over her arm. “I should go now.”
“Have fun.” What more did she want from him?
“Right.”
He knew what she wanted—an excuse not to go. Illness? Accident, maybe. Even a minor earthquake would do. He couldn’t give her any of them. She was a grown woman. If she had problems, it was up to her to solve them. But then it slipped out.
“Want to borrow my bike?”
Her face went blank, and then suddenly laugh lines bloomed at the corners of her eyes. She laughed out loud. She clutched her middle and then put her hands to her cheeks. “I can see Mother’s face!” Carefully, she dabbed at her eyes.
“Thank you, Brian. Maybe next time I’ll take you up on that. See you later.”
He waited until she was gone, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he returned her smile. It had been hard not to laugh with her. Her face had changed from attractive to…to compelling? As if the tension had washed away leaving something special in its wake. He returned to painting, but with a lighter spirit. It struck him that he’d done a good deed and, in the end, unaware, Fran had returned the favor.
Chapter Five
It was every bit as grim as she feared.
She was grateful to Brian for the moment of laughter he’d given her. She told herself that if she got too nervous, she’d imagine herself straddling that bike.
Laurel walked in like an empress. Frannie watched as her mother spoke to the hostess who then escorted her to the table. She fought the impulse to rise and curtsey.
She cleared her throat. “You look well, Mother.”
“I am well.” She gave her daughter a long look and then capped it with a smile. “You look different somehow.” She managed to seat herself and pull in her chair. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
The waitress stood by the table.
“We should probably order first.”
“Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”
“A salad. A garden salad. Oil and vinegar dressing.”
Laurel placed her order. Frannie listened, wishing she could be as cool. It was one of the many traits she hadn’t inherited.
After the waitress left, Laurel repeated the ques
tion, “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“I’m fixing up Uncle Will’s house. You already know that.”
“So, tell me more.” Laurel perked up her eyebrows and leaned forward.
“Not much to tell. It’s only been a week.” She placed the napkin in her lap. “I’m doing a little painting.”
“No. You?” She laughed. “I’d love to see. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I’m painting walls, not a Da Vinci.”
“Seriously, Frannie. You could hire someone.”
“I could.” Not a lie.
“You should put your time to better use.”
“Doing what?”
“They are missing you down at the shelter.”
“No. That’s one day a week and they’re covered. The same goes for the other charities. I won’t be missed.”
“Sweetheart, that’s only because you don’t dedicate more than the minimum to any of them. You spread your time around like you’re afraid to commit.” Laurel pressed her hands against the tabletop. “And I need your help with any number of things.”
“No, you don’t. All you need is someone to run your errands and play secretary.”
One manicured hand drew up into a fist. “You are as difficult and argumentative as ever. I believe you practice it. I wish you’d try half as hard to learn civility and respect.”
The waitress’s smile was too big and bright. Frannie sympathized. No sane person would want to be part of this luncheon party. The girl hurriedly moved their food from her tray to the table.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Her mother whispered, but in a stage whisper that everyone within a few yards could hear. “Is your stomach upset again?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Have you been taking your pills? You have your hand on your abdomen like you do when you’re having stomach trouble.”
Frannie looked down and brushed her sweater as if that had been the intent. “I’m fine.”
“I care about you.”
“I know.” Frannie tapped the hilt of her fork lightly on the table. “But I’m an adult. I’ve been one for an embarrassingly long time considering I still live at home and don’t have a real job.”
Mother shook her head. “No, darling. You had your sadness and so did I. One of the nicest things you ever did was to give up a bit of your independence to keep me from being alone.”
She waited to hear more about her personal dark time. Her mother took some kind of perverse pleasure in reminding her of it, but this time she didn’t.
Laurel sat up straighter. “You are correct. You deserve time on your own. I’ve been selfish. Do what you need to do. Remember, I’m your mother and I love you. I’ll be here for you whenever you need me.”
****
It was so very unsatisfactory, yet she had to admit few people could make an entrance, or accomplish an exit, with Laurel’s style. Her mother was who she was. At least, she tried.
Unlike her unfilial daughter.
Frannie sat in the car. With the sun hitting the exterior and no wind to speak of, it was cool, but pleasant. She’d parked in a public beach access lot. There were picnic tables near where the parking ended and the dunes began. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
What drove her? Guilt? Over being a bad daughter? Over resenting her father’s death and holding it against her mother?
She didn’t lie to herself. She knew her feelings were unreasonable.
There was something wrong with her. Something broken inside. Something that nibbled at her nerves and refused to let her be comfortable in her own skin. Refused to let her live her life without guilt.
Brian was gone when she returned to the house. Vaguely, she wondered what he did with his time when he wasn’t here.
His business. Not hers.
She was alone at Captain’s Walk, but that was okay because there wasn’t anywhere else she’d rather be just now.
****
That night she swam up out of sleep, looking for something, seeking frantically and finding only a dark room. A faint memory of soft crying, whimpering, lingered. This hadn’t happened in a while and she blamed the lunch date. She’d learned long ago that it was better to get up, have a snack and watch a few minutes of middle-of-the-night TV to break the cycle of restless sleep.
She paused in front of the fridge. She’d bought a few groceries, but it was time to give the refrigerator a real cleaning out and do some serious food shopping.
A real cleaning…the words brought to mind Mrs. Blair. It might be nice to have her in one day a week. She could clean up the fridge and chase the dust bunnies. Maybe some other household duties, too.
The toast popped up from the toaster. She carried it, along with a small glass of apple juice into the living room and snapped on the TV. She snuggled on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her and dragging the sofa blanket down over her legs. A fascinating infomercial selling a new facial care system played out before her. Not much, but better than a blank screen, and mildly amusing in a cynical way.
Starlight twinkled in through the gaps in the blinds. To cover the glass door, she’d fastened a sheet over the drapery rod.
Too bad it was cold. By the time the weather warmed up, she’d be back in Raleigh. Back with Laurel.
She slid down until her head rested against the back of the sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table. The smell of fresh paint lingered.
Back with Laurel.
No, she wouldn’t.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine where else.
She could get her own place again. Maybe get a real job.
Living with Mother had been a temporary arrangement, something that benefitted them both, but was not intended to last indefinitely. Yet the temporary stay had stretched to five years.
Was she so afraid of being alone that she had allowed Laurel to make her choices? Or was it procrastination?
Waiting, that’s what it felt like.
But waiting for what?
Chapter Six
It was morning and her neck ached. She stretched and felt the tug of a pinched muscle near her collarbone. An infomercial had lulled her to sleep. Sales pitches had infiltrated her dreams. Not exactly restful, but still better than the recurring dreams. Like the one about the baby. A searching dream. Or a waiting dream. Sometimes one, sometimes the other, but they both reeked of loss and regret. On this bright morning she thought she might have been wrong. Whether of regret or waiting or searching, those dreams—almost nightmares—probably signaled her failure to move on with her life.
She unwrapped the blanket that trapped her legs. She went over to the front windows and opened the blinds. The morning sunlight sparkled on the water and created mirror-like depths in the wet sand.
Frannie released the sheet from its pins. She slid the door wide and let the morning rush in. The chill air came in with it. She pulled on her coat, wrapped the scarf around her neck and stepped outside. It was cold, yes, but no wind and the sky was a sharp, post-dawn blue. She loosened the scarf.
She stayed well away from the water and walked through mounds of dry sand, watching the sea birds diving for breakfast. On the shore side, rows of colorful houses mimicked the colors of dawn and sunset. The tang of salt and wet sand mixed with the smell of those weedy grasses on the dunes and tickled her nose.
She turned back. After her shower, she’d pay a visit to Uncle Will and make a grocery run. New sheets, too. Uncle Will’s bedding was grim. But her first stop would be in Beaufort at the Front Street Gallery to take another look at the painting that had caught her eye.
****
Frannie parked at the marina and walked down the sidewalk toward the gallery. She paused to cross the street and saw Maia standing outside.
Maia was actually with someone, chatting. The woman had longish brown hair, slim, and there was something about the way she held herself. The woman was pretty, but not remarkable until she smil
ed. She knelt to tuck a blanket around a baby in a stroller. This was the woman who’d been leaving the gallery the other day. Maia bent over the baby, too, and judging by her animation, she was stirring him up as much as his mother had tried to soothe him. Frannie watched as both women started laughing.
No place for her there. A car drove past. She stepped back up onto the sidewalk.
Maia saw her. She waved, but not only in greeting. She motioned for her to join them.
Frannie hesitated, but then the other woman was looking her way, too, and she knew she looked odd standing there and staring. She stepped back into the street and crossed over.
The woman had one hand on the stroller handle. She and the baby were both dressed warmly. Maia wore only a longish, bulky sweater over her clothing. She crossed her arms and gave a little shake.
Frannie said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Not at all. Were you looking for me?”
“I wanted to ask about a painting.”
“Lovely! But first I want to introduce you to my friend, Juli.” She nodded toward the woman. “And this is her darling, beautiful son, Danny.”
Juli held out her hand. “Are you new around here?”
“Yes. I’m staying at my uncle’s house, in Emerald Isle.”
“We live there, too, on the sound side. I hope you like our town. It’s a quiet time of year. Not typical beach weather, but I like it.”
Frannie looked down at the infant. “He’s precious. How old is he?”
“Nine months.”
“Almost ten months,” Maia corrected. She added, “He’s a sweetheart.”
Danny was watching them, his eyes moving from his mama to Maia to her, a stranger, but with that semi-vacant, slightly unfocused look that signaled he was on the edge of sleep. His mama smiled, but there was something in her expression Frannie couldn’t decipher. Different emotions, including something like confusion, played across her features. It kept Frannie from feeling comfortable. She was well trained at taking cues, but she couldn’t read anything with certainty in Juli’s face.
“It’s nice to meet you. Please don’t let me interrupt. I’ll wait in the gallery.”
Beach Winds Page 5
