The Beach House

by Sally John

  Molly gave up trying to convince Jo she was going stir-crazy lying in bed. Instead she simply changed into a T-shirt and sweat pants and carried her pillow out to the front room couch.

  “Jo, it’s no worse than last night. I’m okay.” She settled down on the cushions and tried to set her face into a compliant expression.

  Jo loomed over her. “Don’t you dare move until I get back.”

  Molly held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Andie nudged Jo aside with her elbow and handed Molly a cup of tea with a neat array of saltines on the saucer. “Go get her some real breakfast. The eggs are gone and we only have a few crackers left.”

  Molly smiled. “Thanks, Andie. How were the waves?”

  “Super.” She sat on the edge of the couch at Molly’s feet. Her hair was still wet from her early morning swim. “How I wish there were an ocean in Wisconsin!”

  Char entered from the hallway, her eyes at half-mast. “How I wish there were coffee in San Diego. Is there?”

  Andie laughed. “I didn’t expect you up already! But the pot is ready to go.”

  “I didn’t want to miss any of our last full day together.” She moved to the kitchen counter and flipped on the coffeemaker.

  Molly exchanged a smile with Andie.

  Jo said, “Char, do you want a breakfast burrito? I’m going to Kono’s.”

  She wrinkled her nose and headed for the loveseat.

  “Okay, nothing for you just yet.”

  Molly said, “You won’t forget Jimmy Mack?”

  “I will deliver breakfast to him only if you promise not to move off of that couch.”

  “I already promised.”

  “You said ‘Scout’s honor.’ We were never Scouts.”

  “What a stickler! I think I’m glad you weren’t around for my other pregnancies, Dr. Josephine.” Molly caught sight of Jo’s shoulders sagging and dropped her mocking tone. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “I know.”

  “I promise not to move.”

  “Okay.”

  Andie cleared her throat. “I’d like to say something.”

  Molly laughed. “Andie, your face is lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Her grin stretched even wider. “The most amazing thing happened last night. I got all fearful again, all anxious and mousey sometime in the middle of the night. Just woke up with it. But I prayed. And I sensed—you won’t believe this! But it really happened. I sensed Jesus was with me, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’m going to be all right whether Paul changes or not.”

  Molly thrust a hand in the air. “Amen!”

  From the other couch Char warbled a subdued version of her rebel cry. “As I live and breathe! Me too!”

  Molly laughed. “You too what?”

  “I prayed last night, and then I talked to Savannah and then I figured out—no, I didn’t figure anything out. I just knew Cam loves us and God will take care of us. No matter what.”

  “Amen again,” Molly said, more quietly because a feeling of awe was filling her. Both Char and Andie had prayed! And they both felt a new peace.

  Jo turned abruptly and walked to the door. Molly knew she was eager to go. She wore shorts and athletic shoes, planning to jog to Kono’s. She had missed her routine exercise all week.

  But Molly knew she also felt left out of the conversation. Her heart ached for Jo. What could she say?

  Hand on the screen door latch, Jo turned. “Egg and black bean for you two?”

  “Yes, please,” Andie said.

  She didn’t wait for Molly’s reply but walked out the door. It fell shut behind her.

  Dear Lord—

  The door reopened and Jo stepped back inside. “Well, okay. I guess I’m supposed to tell you. I had my own come-to-Jesus meeting.” She raised a hand and closed her eyes. “I mean no disrespect, Lord.”

  Tears sprang to Molly’s eyes.

  Jo walked across the room. “I confessed everything. Old and new stuff. I told Him I really want to see my baby girl. I told Him if He keeps your baby safe, Moll, I’ll work in that clinic.” She sat on the edge of the coffee table. “I’ll take care of every poor pregnant woman in San Diego County. Of course, that was an exaggeration, but I will try my hardest.” She sounded breathless.

  “And?” Molly prompted. There was more in Jo’s eyes.

  She gulped. “I didn’t hear voices, but…I came up with an idea. The thing is, my life needs a major overhaul. The only place I can figure out where to begin is with you, Moll.”

  “With me?”

  “I mean I want to just hang with you for a while. As in for months. As in I want to deliver this baby. As in I don’t want you flying home tomorrow. I want you to come home with me.” She glanced at Andie. “And Andie. Then, when you’re ready—that is, when I’m ready to let you go—I’ll pay the flight change fee. But I’d rather drive you home to Oregon.”

  Jo rushed her words together. “We could probably leave in a few days, be there by Friday. And then I want to stay and rent a place to live until Joseph-slash-Josephine arrives in April. I want to figure out what to do with my future—like I mean, honestly, can I live in an old one-bedroom apartment, work in a clinic, and not charge an arm and a leg above public aid payments? I just hope He doesn’t send me to Africa!” She drew in a deep breath. “Moll, the bottom line is I need to watch how you live in the grays. Is that too much to ask?”

  Molly wasn’t precisely sure what Jo had asked, but she heard rumblings of a newborn faith and of a desire to see it change her life. She smiled. “No, it’s not too much to ask.”

  Jo brushed impatiently at her eyes. “I think I even want to invite Julian and Zeke over for dinner.” She shrugged.

  Molly grinned with Char and Andie as they all nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  Andie said, “Oh, Jo! What an adventure for you! I want to come. Can I come? Just till next week? I could fly home from Oregon. I’d love to see where you live, Molly. What do you think? I can help you drive.” She opened her mouth into an O and her brows rose up her forehead. “Me, driving in California! Yikes!”

  Jo hiccupped a tearful laugh. “Yes! Spunky Andie lives! Of course you can come with us.”

  Andie turned to Char. “How about you?”

  “Thank you, sugar. We haven’t had a road trip in ever so long. It would be such fun, but…” She smiled. “The thing is, Cam called already today. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard? The man who hasn’t called me in fifteen years wakes me up today because he can’t wait to talk to me!” The smile went crooked. “And, well, he got the business loan approved—this morning. He was on his way to sign the lease for the restaurant space. If I don’t get home tomorrow, he’ll be choosing wallpaper without me. His decorating skills are not something you would envy.”

  Andie said, “Oh, dear. Talk about yikes. Are you okay?”

  Char’s smile disintegrated. “I will be. I think I need a group hug. Maybe even one more cry fest?”

  Molly set her teacup on the end table and held out her arms. Andie scooted along the couch and grasped one of her hands. Char bustled over from the chair and sat next to Molly on the couch, taking her other hand.

  Jo slid to the floor beside them and caught the two available hands, closing the circle. “What is it about this beach house, anyway?”

  Epilogue

  September 27, One Year Later

  San Diego, California

  Dr. Josephine Zambruski studied the five-by-seven framed photograph displayed on her desk and smiled. The picture always made her smile. How could she help but grin at that awful reddish-orange so-called Southern California beach house? In front of it, she, Molly, Char, and Andie stood, caught in the middle of a belly laugh. Her friends’ faces were a sure guarantee of a smile. The memory of their week in the house a year ago would forever produce a rush of joy.

  They had waited until the last morning, right before Char left for the airport, to pose f
or the “official” reunion snapshot. Char had snagged Julian, that odd duck who lived next door, as he walked by and shoved the camera into his hands. He said something about cheese in his Sean Connery accent, Andie mimicked him, and that was all it took. They clung to each other to keep from rolling on the patio’s flagstones.

  Andie was at her spunkiest, wearing a black wet suit, damp hair springing all directions. Char wore the huge earrings Jo had given her, a genuine smile—not the pert one—and a colorful hip outfit that only an attractive diminutive Georgia peach could get away with. Molly, dear Molly, always comfortable in her own skin, wore a T-shirt and shorts and an open-mouth grin that made her laugh nearly audible. Peace reigned in her face even as her body threatened to reject the tiny new life which had barely begun to live.

  Although Jo herself smiled in the photo, she appeared in shock with eyes too wide and bright. Of course she was in shock. By then she had more or less decided to sell out, move to a dinky apartment, work in an underprivileged, crime-infested neighborhood, right after spending six months of R & R in, of all places, rainy Oregon with a pastor’s family.

  Jo’s office door opened and stopped just short of bumping one of the two chairs in front of her desk. Rearrangement wasn’t possible in the cramped space. She had learned to make do.

  The receptionist, a widow and gem of a grandmotherly type, poked her head inside. “Dr. Jo, there’s a man on the phone who wants to make an appointment for his pregnant wife after eight o’clock some night next week. I said we don’t do that, but he said, quote, ‘You tell Sister Jo this is Brother Zeke.’”

  Jo laughed. “They’re pregnant?” She clapped her hands. “Yes, Ginny, by all means make the appointment for whenever they need it. I owe that man a lot.”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  “Thanks. Hey, isn’t it after five? Please go home.”

  The woman smiled. “Like I have something better to do on a Saturday night? When are you going home?”

  Jo glanced down at an open file on her desk and the stack of folders beside it. “Uh…soon.”

  “Mm-hmm. That’s what I thought. How about fish tacos for dinner?”

  She grinned. “Perfect. I have to make some calls.”

  “I’ll lock up and be back in a flash. With extra guacamole.” Ginny shut the door.

  Jo stood and turned her straight-back chair around to face the window. There wasn’t enough space in the office for her swivel recliner, but the chair she used was padded. And if she situated it just right, she could lean it back against the desk and prop her feet on the windowsill in between potted plants. Healthy potted plants, she added, marveling at the green thumb she never before knew she possessed.

  She gazed through the prison-like metal bars that covered the window and saw a patch of autumn sky above a palm tree. The blue deepened. Somewhere quite a number of miles west of where she sat, nowhere near within her sight, the sun sank into the Pacific.

  She reached for her telephone.

  A Chicago suburb, Illinois

  Char’s cell phone lay on the white linen tablecloth. She had left it out with its ringer set to vibrate. The date was September twenty-seventh and she hadn’t heard yet from Jo.

  She sat alone in a booth at The Wilcox, listening to piped-in soft jazz, admiring the eclectic nouveau style of artwork and chinaware, smelling luscious garlicky pasta and roasted meat scents, and tried not to count customers. Cam admired her head for business, but she thought she sometimes got carried away. A night like this one with every table full, people waiting in the foyer, and waitstaff running expertly to and fro made her want to climb up on the seat and shout hallelujah!

  She had done that one night after closing. The chef still teasingly referred to her as a closet Jesus freak. She wasn’t sure. She only knew that God had caused the impossible to happen. Cam called her honey-buns every single day of the week and the restaurant paid the bills. Her husband was carrying her over life’s mud puddles just as he’d promised all those years ago. Who wouldn’t shout an amen or two?

  The phone buzzed like a bee. Before answering it, she read Jo’s name and number on the ID display. “Hi, sugar!”

  “Hi, sugar, yourself! Happy birthday, Char!”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry to call late. Are you in the middle of dinner?”

  “No. I’m sitting in our favorite booth with coffee, debating what to have for dessert. Cam’s over checking on Savannah. This is her first Saturday night on the job as hostess. Cole is so cute bussing tables and advising her on where to seat people.”

  “And how is she taking that from Little Brother?”

  “She is learning the art of being gracious. I imagine Cole’s willingness to share tips with her has something to do with it.”

  Jo laughed. “Is the place bursting at the seams?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Isn’t that great? So how was your special day? Hopefully turning forty-one was not hazardous to your health?”

  “Not in the least. First off, Cam remembered! Roses and breakfast in bed.”

  “Aw.”

  “Then we ate lunch downtown and shopped. He picked out a gorgeous red dress at Saks, which I’m wearing now, of course. He never in his life has chosen a dress for me! And I quit shopping at Saks months ago, but he insisted. Jo, it was a wonderful day. Oh my word!” She watched as an enormous cake was rolled into the dining room on a cart.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, my—It’s a cake with sparklers! It looks like a wedding cake, it’s so huge. It’s even tiered. It’s beautiful. But there’s no reception—Oh!” She squealed. “Cam is pushing it this way!”

  “It’s for you! Okay, I’ll let you go. Char, happy birthday!”

  “Thank you so much for calling, Jo! Love you!”

  “Love you too. Bye!”

  The cake approached, sparklers sizzling, their light reflected in Cam’s smiling eyes. Waiters and waitresses, Savannah, and Cole approached from every direction, and they all began singing “Happy Birthday” to her. Patrons around her added their voices. As the song drew to a close, applause and cheers resounded.

  Talk about hazardous to her health! She could scarcely catch her breath. She just might hyperventilate!

  Cam leaned over and kissed the tears streaming down both her cheeks. “Happy birthday, honey-buns. I love you.”

  Maybe health hazards could be good things.

  Madison, Wisconsin

  Andie closed the front door behind a client whom she had convinced to come for a reflexology treatment on a Saturday evening. She watched the elderly woman and her husband make their slow way down the sidewalk to their car at the curb.

  “Lord, please heal her sciatic pain.”

  The phone rang. She hesitated for a fraction of a second. Even quick prayers whisked her to another place. The fact that she had lived in the condominium less than six weeks added to her disorientation.

  The phone rang again.

  “Kitchen.”

  Andie walked through the living room, into the kitchen, and picked up the cordless from the table. “Hello?”

  “This is your therapist calling.”

  She laughed. “Hi, Jo! Did you talk to Char?” Jo had asked for birthday reminders.

  “Just now. Guess what’s going on.”

  “I bet they were having dinner in their restaurant. Hmm. Let me think. I bet Cam did something special. What was it?”

  “Well, as we said goodbye, he was pushing a cart across the dining room. There was a huge tiered cake on it.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. With sparklers!”

  “Oh, wow! He is the peach, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. So…how are you?”

  Andie did a quick self-assessment. Jo never asked the question frivolously. She understood that resuscitating Spunky Andie called for a major shot in the arm at times. And, bless her heart, Jo was there to give it.

  The boys were fine. Surprisingly they lived most
of the time with her in the small three-bedroom condo she leased rather than at the house with Paul. Jo thought it not all that surprising. And so the mothering part of Andie was fine.

  Work was going exceedingly well. Old and new clients had found their way to her very own home office, aka the living room. The functional side of life was fine.

  Bible studies, new friendships, and volunteering at a women’s shelter occupied her off-hours. Spiritually and socially she was fine.

  Then there was Paul. He had rejected her efforts at reconciliation, moved out, and filed for divorce. The dynamic duo of Andie and Jesus was not something he had bargained for. In the end, she didn’t want the house. It was too big with too many reminders. It fed the mousey side of her. Using a different lawyer than his and a different real estate agency, she sold him her portion of it.

  Last week, though, Paul’s marriage to the “other woman” who hadn’t even been the “other woman” in Andie’s life was a major hurdle. The boys said she had worn a white wedding gown.

  Heart-wise, she wasn’t quite fine.

  “I’m okay, Jo. Better than yesterday. Heaps better than last week.”

  “Day by day letting go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thatta girl. Hey, I have some good news. Well, not so good for Mildred.”

  Andie walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Jo had moved into her apartment building when a tenant unexpectedly became engaged and wanted to move out. Mildred was another tenant and ninety-six-years old. “What happened?”

  “She had one too many conversations with her imaginary friends and phoned her son—again—at three AM to come join them for tea.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes. They’re moving her into a home October first.”

  Andie heard the implication in Jo’s silence, but played along, trying to ignore the delightful prickle of goosebumps. “Hmm. You’ll need a renter then.”

  “Mm-hmm. I have someone interested in an eight-month lease. A Navy couple. When he ships out, she moves back to Kansas.”

  Andie smiled. “Really? Then you’ll need another renter, say in early June?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She paused. “Oh, Andie. Do we thank Him for dementia?”