Clair (Beach Brides Book 4)

by Grace Greene

  There was no response, of course, though today’s small surprises might have encouraged Clair to hope for more. On the other hand, she had gotten out of the habit of expecting welcome surprises and who wanted the unwelcome kind?

  Clair pushed open the screen door and indicated he should precede her down the steps. As they walked toward the street and his car, he said, “I apologize for asking, but what’s wrong with her?” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m sorry, that came out sounding different than intended.”

  He stopped and stared into the distance. “I thought she was just oblivious to traffic and danger. I was annoyed, but then I realized there was more to it.”

  “She’ll be fine. Thank you again. I’d better get her inside. She’s had a busy morning.”

  “Of course. Time for me to go, too.” He gave her a quick smile and went to his car.

  Clair lifted her hand in an almost wave before catching herself. She hurried back to the porch to get her sister safely in the house and back on schedule.

  Chapter Three

  Greg

  Greg Prescott struggled with what to say to the woman when she rushed over to where he was speaking to the child. Her dark eyes were flashing and her hair, long like the child’s but brown and curly, was blowing in her face. He wanted to ease away casually and leave with as little conversation as possible.

  This was just a drive-by to double-check where she lived. He’d come a long way for a simple job—from California to Virginia. In Richmond, a former neighbor said Clair Bennett moved back home to her family in North Carolina. It had taken him almost as long to drive down to Emerald Isle as the flight had taken from California, but the weather was great and he’d done far more dangerous jobs in his life, so what was he complaining about? This was almost a paid vacation. That thought made him laugh. Really, he felt like he was taking money under false pretenses. In fact, he’d said as much to the client before agreeing to accept the job.

  Fly cross-country to confirm a location? He advised the guy to hire someone local, had even offered to recommend an investigator who was already on site. Someone familiar with the area would make more sense. But the client was the kind of guy who got an idea in his head and couldn’t let it go. Greg had seen that right away. When he showed up at the guy’s house for the appointment and was shown to the pool, the man was set up at an umbrella patio table like someone new to the high life, feeling flush, and playing it up.

  Greg knew who the house belonged to—one of the benefits of being local—and it wasn’t this guy. While they were talking, a long-legged woman, model-thin and wearing expensive sunglasses and jewelry, walked out of the house like she belonged there. Which she did. He recognized her as the daughter of the owner.

  He’d dealt with this kind of client before. A business-type with big ideas. Soft. Who thought he was tough and smarter than most, but who took offense easily if he felt diminished and went from self-absorbed to offended in a blink.

  Greg tried to keep impatience out of his voice. “I can highly recommend some investigators already in the area. It will make more sense, be a lot more economical, than paying for me to travel to the east coast to—”

  The man cut him off with a raised hand. After a quick glance back at the woman to ensure she was still out of hearing distance, he asked, “Do you want the job or not?”

  So, yeah, Greg said he did. A paying job was a paying job and the guy was footing the expenses.

  He handed Greg a folded paper. Greg checked it. “This is her name?”

  “Yes, but don’t contact her. I don’t want to make her suspicious or anything. I don’t want to draw her attention if she isn’t already…you know. Aware. I just want to know where she’s at and if anything looks…well, just tell me where and what.”

  “Does she have family or friends she might go to?”

  “Sisters in North Carolina, on the beach. No one else that I know of.”

  When Greg agreed to take the job, the client visibly relaxed. He babbled on for a few minutes, telling some stupid story about an island and a bottle. An empty bottle which, if on vacation in the Caribbean seemed pretty useless to Greg. He listened, tried to appear interested, and left as soon as possible. The guy, in fact, this whole job, smelled like a nuisance from the start.

  Greg knew he would do a lot better as an investigator, professionally, if he had a higher tolerance for client B.S.

  But he’d come here, found her, and had done as asked except for making contact. He hadn’t intended to do that, but it was okay because it couldn’t be avoided and he’d minimized any potential for damage.

  Not that he could really take credit for the lack of chit-chat there on the street and on the porch. The woman, Clair Bennett, had been so concerned about getting the little girl away and into the house without a fuss, that she never questioned why he was there. She assumed he almost hit the child with his car, but there hadn’t been any real danger. He’d already slowed almost to a stop as he was surveilling the house. The child left the porch and came directly over. For reasons he didn’t understand, she bee-lined straight across the yard and to the road and to him. He’d waited and didn’t know why.

  He hadn’t planned to speak with her. Not to Ms. Bennett or the kid. An almost eerie child. Pale with long blond hair, and with a look on her face…not blank as he first thought, and maybe serene rather than eerie? Made him think of Alice in Wonderland. A girl on an adventure of her own and she was lost. Not geographically, but within the geography of her own reality, in her own mind. She’d moved with purpose as she came toward him, but the expression in that child’s eyes…. He’d seen that look overseas, too. In kids of war and their parents, and occasionally in his fellow soldiers. He wasn’t one of those guys who woke in the night with sweats and nightmares. But he felt it in other ways. So, the child had walked toward him and into the road, and he exited the car. The girl delayed him long enough for the woman to come flying out of the house chasing after her.

  It hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but no harm done. He always focused on getting each day’s work done well, doing his duty. That’s how he lived his life and did his job and it gave him satisfaction.

  He would report back to his client and maybe that would be that. He could put the girl with the lost eyes, and the woman with the wild hair and the most piercing eyes he’d ever seen, behind him, and move on to the next job. He had a few calls to return and with luck the next client would be more interesting and more challenging…more impersonal.

  He parked at the hotel, still thinking about it. Personal. Was that what was troubling him? The job should never feel personal.

  What was different this time? Was it the child? The woman?

  It certainly wasn’t the client, but that’s who was paying the bill.

  Greg was ready to move on. Finish this. He dialed the client’s cell number. There was no answer so he left a message.

  “I found her. She’s where you thought. At the beach, that is. Nothing much to tell. I’ll give it another day and call you back tomorrow afternoon.”

  ****

  Clair

  Clair fixed Darcy’s lunch. After the meal was done, she brushed her sister’s hair with slow, gentle strokes that always relaxed her. She settled her down for a nap. When Darcy rolled over and curled up, Clair relaxed.

  She really wasn’t made for this job. Would she have been a better caretaker if she were Darcy’s mother? Did maternal instincts come to the rescue in cases where the woman wasn’t naturally gifted as a caregiver? She loved her little sister, but this hadn’t been her life until now and hadn’t been planned for.

  She reminded herself, yet again, that the loss of Sean and all they’d been building hadn’t been planned for either. For a while, creditors had chased after her, hunting for Sean, and if not Sean, then for someone from whom they could recover monies through bank accounts or other assets. Their approach had been increasingly threatening and merciless, especially since she’d lost everything, too, including her h
opes and dreams and the man she loved.

  Mallory had said, “Thank heavens you weren’t married yet. Your name’s not on that business or a mortgage.” But Clair couldn’t make the pivot that easily—going from long-made plans of a future with Sean to being penniless and besieged. Yet she couldn’t bite back at Mallory. Mallory had her own heartache and had stepped up to take care of their sister when it counted. She knew, in her head and heart, Mallory was trying to tell her that, along with time and nature, a person had to move forward, one foot in front of the other. You might not get the future you wanted, or thought you wanted, but the future would still arrive each morning and it was up to you to make it worth getting up for.

  About six weeks after Sean’s abandonment, the creditor calls stopped. Just like that. By then, broke and unemployed, she needed somewhere to go, a fresh start, and she took refuge with her sisters. She and Mallory helped each other and thereby helped Darcy, too, she hoped. Mallory insisted that with time, patience and love they’d all get healed and be themselves again.

  Clair had said, “Shouldn’t we try another therapist, Mallory? Someone trained to deal with this…withdrawal….”

  “We’ve done that. None of them seem trained for this. They want to try this pill or that therapy, and so on. I won’t have her further traumatized by being treated like a guinea pig. For now, let’s just give her time.”

  But Clair wasn’t emotionally or professionally equipped to deal with this sort of caretaking either. She wanted a life for herself and Darcy, too, and she didn’t see how love alone could make Darcy well. Was that just what you had to believe when you had nothing else to hang on to?

  Somehow that thought led her back to the stranger they’d encountered an hour ago. He’d grabbed Darcy’s attention for reasons Clair would never know. He had nice eyes. Maybe hazel? Gray? Light-colored eyes, anyway. Attractive face. A little rough looking, but in a nice way, which might not make sense, but that was how she felt about it. A broad jaw, high cheekbones, unusual eyes…in the end, all the usual features that made up a face. Clair decided the sum of his features was intriguing.

  What had led him past the house this morning? If he hadn’t been there, how far might Darcy have wandered? She was carrying her bucket. Clair shivered. She needed to speak with Mallory about getting locks installed that Darcy couldn’t reach.

  After naptime was done, they spent the rest of the afternoon reading (with Darcy staring at the page while Clair read aloud) and working puzzles with little engagement from Darcy. Mallory called and said she was bringing home pizza for supper. Clair said, “Let’s go set the table.”

  Darcy’s help was more euphemistic than actual, but she did straighten the napkins that Clair set next to the plates. Clair made a salad, saying aloud, “Pizza, Darcy. Yum, right? We love pizza.” And the inane sound of her voice, alone and fake-sounding, proclaiming the wonders of pizza, irritated her. Darcy was restless, too. She went to the front door with her bucket.

  “No, it’s not beach time. It’s suppertime. Mallory will be home any moment.”

  Darcy went to her room and Clair was relieved. Her brain felt too full. She was as restless as her little sister.

  An argument she and Mallory had had a year ago, before that trip to the Caribbean and even before she and Sean had set the date, kept wanting to replay in her head. Clair had said, “We’re engaged.”

  Mallory said, “You only see what you want to see. You are so stubborn. So blind.”

  “Blind?” Clair had asked.

  “Blind when it comes to what you want. You see everything in those terms. You are the very definition of rose-colored glasses.”

  “And you are all about reality, but guess what? You see reality through your own eyes and your own opinions. How is that any different, really?”

  Mallory flung her arms wide in frustration, then grabbed Clair and hugged her. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be hurt by him. No more hurt for any of us. Losing mom and dad…this family has had enough.”

  “Oh, Mallory. I agree. All that’s changing now. Our business is going strong and Sean and I are planning our future. I want you and Darcy in the wedding.” She expected her sister to cheer with her about the engagement, but her response was far from it. In a softer tone, Clair added, “Next year everything will be different for us. All of us, all good. You’ll see.”

  Ugh. Well, it might not have turned out good, but it certainly was different. Different than she thought it would be.

  Mallory could be bossy and occasionally utter an “I told you so” but she never complained despite the responsibilities that had been thrust upon her. Clair admired her and wanted to be that kind of person.

  Clair was still waiting for Mallory and pizza when she realized Darcy had been absent for a while and went to find her.

  She was in the bedroom—Clair’s bedroom—and the closet door was open. A pile of white satin and lace was on the floor and it was moving. Clair rushed forward.

  “What are you doing?” It was as if everything, life itself, was conspiring against her. The dream. The bad memories that wouldn’t release their hold on her. She’d tucked that gown way back in the closet the last time Darcy had tried to get at it, but it had been a while. Clair thought she had forgotten about it.

  Clair reached deep into the folds, trying to untangle her sister who was squirming and making panicky noises. There was a hint of roses in the air. This had been her mother’s wedding gown. It didn’t fit Mallory, but Clair was built more like their mom and she’d planned to wear it for her wedding. The scent of roses must be permanently embedded in the fabric because when handling the gown, she would often catch a whiff of roses. Despite the passage of years, despite the gown being cleaned, her mother’s scent lingered. The scent she’d filled the house with. And now, yet again, Darcy had been in Clair’s closet, pulling the garment bag out, and getting the dress free, making a mess and bringing the pain back, keeping the memories sharp and biting. Clair was very close to losing control as she tried to free her sister without damaging the gown. Ugly feelings were trying to form words and were almost said. Mallory arrived before that happened.

  “I’ve got this,” Mallory said, stepping into the room and putting her hand gently on Clair’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of Darcy. Go cool down until we’re ready to eat.”

  Clair went out to the backyard. She sat on the bench and tried to breathe. She touched the blossoms on the azaleas, avoided the thorns on the entwined rose bushes, and whispered, “Mom. Dad. What are we supposed to do? Why did you leave us?” She gulped. “Darcy needs you and so do I. We all do.”

  ****

  Clair believed in the power of exercise, sunshine, and a good ocean breeze. Darcy seemed to agree. She was determined again the next morning, walking through the house with her bucket and making small noises. Clair’s distress from the evening before was mostly gone, and she was determined to move on emotionally and perhaps make a gesture of apology to her little sister. She couldn’t help her sister if she couldn’t help herself.

  She braided Darcy’s hair to keep it from wrapping around her face in the onshore wind. A walk wouldn’t hurt anyone and the April weather was fine.

  No wedding dream last night. That was a plus. And she felt better overall. More uplifted.

  The morning before, that man, the stranger, had somehow snared her attention, even aside from the interest provoked by his encounter with Darcy. He was attractive and well-spoken, and very courteous to Darcy. He picked up the spilled groceries. Clair’s emotional response had nothing to do with the man himself, and certainly nothing to do with his gray eyes and broad shoulders. There’d been an underlying roughness in his manner, but gentleness, too, especially when he was dealing with Darcy. He was nothing more than a stranger passing through and had gone on his way. But the chance encounter, and her personal reaction to it, seemed to offer the promise of better days ahead for her, of life still to be lived.

  When she told Mallory about the encounter�
�omitting her personal response, of course—Mallory didn’t seem concerned. Her sister’s calm rationality reset the guilt meter in Clair’s brain. Children did wander off and no harm was done.

  Today was a new day, and a better day.

  As they walked along the beach, Darcy kept veering toward the ocean. Each time they neared the waves, Clair angled them away, not wanting to get wet, but finally Darcy wouldn’t move until Clair allowed her to stay in the wet sand area. Darcy would have her way. Clair pulled the towel out of the backpack and sat in the dry sand nearby.

  Darcy stood motionless watching the wavelets run up over her toes, and then Clair noticed a change in her posture. A stiffening, perhaps. Darcy stared at her feet and slowly knelt. She reached for a shell left behind by the receding tide, but stopped short of touching it.

  Her sister did occasionally notice shells and pick them up, but this time Darcy stared at the shell as if she’d never seen such an amazing specimen. She moved her fingers near to the shell, first tentatively touching the wet sand around it, then the tiny bubbles that formed at the edges. Finally, she touched the shell itself. It was beige and dark brown, shaped perfectly, and the ridges running from tip to hem were well-defined.

  Darcy touched it, pushed at it gently, then picked it up from the sand. She wrapped her fingers tightly around it. She stood. After that she was content to walk again. Clair abandoned the towel on the sand and strolled with her. She wanted Darcy to rinse the sand from the shell, but nothing could persuade her sister to unclench her fingers. She was still clutching the shell when they returned to the path. She refused to put it into the bucket, but stood quietly while Clair helped her step into her sandals.

  As they emerged from the path, Darcy stopped again. Clair was puzzled, then saw the dark car. It was the same car they’d seen yesterday. There had to be a million sedans just like it. But she knew immediately, as Darcy apparently did, that the stranger was back. Clair was trying to decide what to do when Darcy moved forward. Clair was forced to follow.