“Your parents will be thrilled to have a grandchild.”
“You’re right. They will.” Lexi looked down at her flat belly. “I’m still not telling anyone else yet. I’ll tell my parents when I’m in the twelfth week, but no one else until I start to show.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I’m so tired all the time, Clare. I feel drugged.”
“I’ve heard that’s normal. Are you going to be able to keep the store open?”
“I’m going to have to. Oh”—she waved a hand—“I know my parents would always let me live at home and they’d take care of me, but they’ve worked hard all their lives and I don’t want to be dependent on them. The store is doing really well, and I like it, well, most of the time at least.” She leaned forward, thinking aloud. “This will be an April baby. That means I won’t be really cumbersome until after the first of the year. So I’ll be able to keep the shop open through the Christmas Stroll. By then I’m sure I’ll have found some reliable help for the store, someone like your Marlene.”
“You should advertise right away,” Clare advised her. “You’ll need help for the rest of the summer season. Besides, you’ll need to take care of yourself and rest.”
Tears welled in Lexi’s eyes again. Reaching out, she took Clare’s hand. “Oh, Clare, what a generous spirit you have! I’m so grateful.”
Clare squeezed her hand. “It’s easy to be nice when I’m so happy with Adam.” A yawn suddenly overtook her. “Sorry about that. I’m just so tired.”
“Are you and Adam getting serious?” Lexi asked.
“We’re just taking it one day at a time, really. Which is what you should do. And right now it’s time for you to rest.” She rose and began gathering up the plastic food containers.
Together the two women washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen counter. Lexi walked Clare down to the back door. They hugged each other tight.
“How can I ever thank you?” Lexi asked.
“Oh, stop with the drama.” Clare went out into the warm night. Looking back at Lexi, she said, “Take care. Take care of both of you.”
For the next few days, Myrna came and helped Lexi with the store. She took money to the bank, brought in lunch, signed for UPS deliveries, and unpacked boxes with a practiced hand. Even so, Lexi was too tired to be open after six o’clock. She put an ad in the local papers and Myrna phoned everyone she knew, looking for anyone who could use a part-time job, but without success.
“Honey,” Myrna said one morning, “are you okay? You look so tired, so pale.”
Lexi had just come down from her bathroom where she’d quietly vomited away her breakfast. It was a struggle to hide her condition from her mother, but she kept her silence. She was too seasoned and too superstitious to admit how hopeful she was.
She tried to derail her mother’s thoughts. “I’m fine. Just exhausted and running fast and falling behind.” She looked out the back window. From here, she could see Jewel, sitting alone at the end of the pier. “You know, Mom, I’ve been thinking. I love this location. I like running a shop. But I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the kind of merchandise I’m selling. I want to sell clothing my friends can afford—Spring and Amber, for instance. I’m thinking teen clothing, too—Jewel’s age. And maybe, oh, this is just an idea, teen jewelry, or maybe younger, jewelry you can make yourself …”
“I see where you’re going,” Myrna said. “It’s not a bad idea. But you seem to be making a go of the store as it is.”
“True. But in the winter, when there aren’t as many summer people, it might be fun to have something else, something extra.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to play around with new ideas when the summer’s over,” Myrna said. “You seem pretty content, being back on the island.”
Lexi smiled. “I am, Mom. In spite of everything with Jesse, I’m really glad to be home.”
FORTY-THREE
For a few days Sweet Hart’s was flooded with customers, some wanting chocolates, others sniffing around for gossip. Clare was actually glad when a day arrived that was so intensely hot it kept everyone at the beach or in their pools or in their air-conditioned homes. She relaxed that evening by playing around with a new recipe for fish tacos, and was about to serve them to Adam and her father when Adam’s beeper went off.
“Sorry about that.” It was his night on call, and an islander’s dog had been hit by a car. He had to leave for the animal hospital, so Clare served her father and sat with him and Ralphie while they ate.
It was two hours before Adam returned, and Clare could tell by the look on his face that he’d had to put the injured animal to sleep.
“Oh, honey. Sit down and have a beer. I’ve got your plate heating in the oven.”
“Thanks, Clare.” He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table.
For a few minutes he just ate, staring into space, and Clare knew he was allowing the sadness of the past hour to evaporate.
She was dealing with her own emotions. She was still stunned by Jesse’s absence—she thought of it as Jesse’s escape. She hoped he’d be happy, and yet the island didn’t seem right, somehow, with Jesse gone.
And she was so secretly, fiercely, passionately jealous of Lexi and her baby. She loved Lexi, she wanted Lexi to be happy, and she didn’t want to be filled with the poison that was envy; she knew how envy could eat away at one’s heart.
When she looked at Adam, everything bad and sad and sorrowful vanished, replaced by a welling of tenderness and affection and hope. But it was too soon for them to discuss children. She was still on the birth control pill. Marriage, having a family … those were serious, important matters. So she kept her silence, feeling her heart swelling like the ocean during flood tide.
She forced herself to chat idly as Adam ate, about easy things—how Ralphie had fallen in love with one of her father’s loafers, or perhaps she considered it a child, because she had taken to carrying it with her everywhere and sleeping with her head on it. That friends of hers had called to invite her and any guest she wanted to bring to a clambake Sunday evening.
“They’re probably holding the clambake just to see who you’ll bring,” Adam said, and he grinned, and Clare was so glad to see him looking happy. “I wonder if they’ll be surprised when you show up with me.”
Adam had finished eating, and he sat in his chair, large, masculine, relaxed, the sleeves of his blue button-down rolled up, exposing his muscular arms.
“Oh, and what makes you so sure I’ll take you?” Clare teased. She moved around behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders, which were tight with exhaustion. “You aren’t the only male in my life, after all.” She could feel the tension leave as she rubbed his shoulders, and she bent down and teasingly drew her mouth across the back of his neck. He smelled so good, like soap and salt.
Adam groaned deeply and went lax in his chair, and all her thoughts vanished in the pleasure of touching this man.
Clare nibbled on his right ear, then slowly ran her hands up the side of his face and massaged his temples, nuzzling kisses into his hair, then kissing lightly across the top of his forehead. His head fell back, resting against her rib cage and the lower part of her breasts. She slid her hands down his face, down his neck, and continued kissing his neck while she unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hands inside. She brushed her fingertips across his nipples. She curled her fingers in his chest hair with one hand and slid the other down to his trousers. He was erect, straining his trousers.
Adam reached up and grabbed both her hands. “Clare. Your father.”
“Is upstairs asleep with the bedroom door shut.” She wriggled her hands free. She walked around and eased herself between Adam and the kitchen table. Without looking, she shoved his plate and glass away and lifting herself slightly, sat down on the tabletop. Adam sat in his chair and watched her as she did a slow striptease, pulling her tee over her head, unfastening her bra, lifting one hip and then the other to tug her shorts and silk thong away from her body
. The kitchen light was bright, illuminating her every pore, the freckles above her bosom, the mole on her inner thigh, the moist, sweaty tangle of her pubic hair. She parted her legs.
Adam looked at her. His gaze was almost tangible. Her body trembled slightly under his intensity. He seemed to pull himself up from some profound place as he placed his hands on her thighs. He slid his hands up toward her pelvis, moving slowly. So slowly. She closed her eyes. His hands left her as he stripped off his trousers and boxers. She heard the rustle of fabric as they fell to the floor. She lay back on the table and he penetrated her, yanking her hips toward him to force himself deeper.
She raised her legs high, lifting her hips. Opening her eyes, she saw the dark thatch of his hair, and high above that, the kitchen ceiling, the ordinary ceiling. She wrapped her legs around his back. Her hairline grew damp with sweat; sweat broke out between her back and the table, allowing her to slip farther down the table, so that he was deep inside her. She clutched him against her as her body shuddered with sensation.
When he was through, he slowly lowered her hips against the table. He was still inside her, growing limp, and she felt the sticky moisture like a glue between them. She lay against the table, catching her breath, feeling her blood thud in her chest and neck and groin. She stared at him as he leaned down over her.
He smoothed her damp hair away from her face. He put his mouth to her ear. He whispered, “Now which male do you think you’ll take to the party?”
FORTY-FOUR
The hurricane started in Florida and screamed up the East Coast like a horde of hellions let loose from ancient myths. Through the night, it battered the coasts of the Carolinas. Toward dawn, it whirled toward Long Island and Connecticut. The waters around Nantucket grew choppy, the air howling as the gusts picked up speed.
When people woke on Nantucket that morning, they found gale-force winds assaulting the island. High seas surged up the beaches and crashed over the wharfs. Yachts, catboats, and Boston whalers rolled and bobbed in the heaving water of the inner harbor, already congested with fishing trawlers looking for safe harbor. Rain slashed down over the streets, shops, houses, moors, and beaches. On TV, orange alert banners ran steadily, advising residents to remain in the safety of their houses. All ferries and planes were canceled for the day. Day camps, golf games, tennis matches, and picnics were canceled. The only shops doing any real business were the bookshops, where people flocked in, rain dripping off their slickers, to buy a good read for a stormy day. Heavy black clouds rolled overhead like tanks from an advancing army, and the birds, even the crazy gulls who liked to sail on high winds, had vanished from the sky.
The Weather Channel forecast was dire. Several merchants closed their shops and boarded up their plate-glass windows. Homeowners crisscrossed their windows with tape to keep the glass from blowing in if the hurricane hit hard.
Lexi spent a restless night, her own thoughts as turbulent as the wind that battered at her windows. When she woke at six, she was so nauseated her small apartment seemed to whirl around her. She staggered to the bathroom and vomited, then sipped warm 7-Up and chewed a saltine. The wind shrieked past her little island home like a freight train. Looking out, she saw the harbor waters tossing beneath a dark sky. She turned on the Weather Channel and watched the forecast. Should she try to open Moon Shell Beach today? Who would come out in this weather? Who would even want to walk out onto the wharfs in a storm like this?
She munched another cracker, drank more soda, and stood under a pounding hot shower. The tang of her jasmine-mint soap woke up her senses. She dried and dressed in a scarlet silk skirt and a turquoise cashmere sweater—the warmth felt good on this cold August day.
When she looked out the window again, she saw that lights had come on all over town. The beach around the town pier was empty, but the sea-green lights on the town wharf were still glowing in the gloom.
As Lexi watched, a small figure in a yellow rain slicker trudged determinedly down the beach.
“Jewel!” Lexi gasped. “You idiot!”
What was she doing? Why would the girl come out onto the pier in this storm? In a flash, Lexi knew what Jewel was hoping—so many boats had come in to shelter, perhaps a boat carrying her father would come in, too.
What the hell was Bonnie Frost thinking, letting the child out in this storm?
The wind was powerful, shoving at the girl so she had to push forward with each step to make her way down the pier. Lexi marveled at such sense of purpose, at how the power of Jewel’s desires matched the towering storm.
But waves were leaping over the pier, breaking into foam, subsiding back into the water. Jewel grabbed a stanchion to steady herself against the drag.
Lexi couldn’t allow the girl to stay out there. She’d bring her here; Jewel could sit here and watch from her window. Thrusting her feet into sandals, she clattered down her stairs and threw open the back door.
As she emerged from the shelter of the shop, the wind tore at her hair and clothing, whipping it in every direction.
“Jewel!” Lexi yelled, but her voice was lost in the wailing wind.
She forced herself forward, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as the relentless wind struck at her. Torrents of rain soaked her clothes, gluing them to her skin, while the wind yanked at her skirt like grasping hands. Her feet sank into the sodden sand as she raced over the beach.
Jewel was almost at the end of the pier now. The hood of her yellow slicker had been torn back by the wind and her red hair exploded up, flying around her head like flames.
Lexi reached the steps to the pier. She took them two at a time, and finally she was on the pier, advancing against the gale’s resistance. She cupped her mouth with her hands, calling “Jewel!” The girl didn’t hear.
Suddenly a monumental wall of water reared up. It crashed down on the pier with the elemental power of Niagara Falls, ruthlessly sweeping the girl off the pier and into the heaving waters.
“Jewel!” Lexi screamed, and ran.
FORTY-FIVE
Clare’s dreams were turbulent. She woke early, exhausted, and agitated, to find the island under siege from gale-force winds.
Adam phoned to say he’d be at the MSPCA all day—the hospital was inland, and his calendar was full of appointments.
“Are you going to open your store today?” he asked.
“I am. Stormy days are often really profitable. Sometimes the crazy weather makes people crave chocolate.”
“Well, be careful,” Adam cautioned. “Keep your eye on the winds. This is going to be one hell of a storm.”
Adam’s concern warmed and calmed her. “I’ll be careful,” she promised.
She pulled on an ankle-skimming skirt patchworked in lavenders and blues and a scoop-necked azure cotton sweater. She wrapped a striped red scarf around her hair to keep it away from her face as she went out into the wind, but the moment she set foot out the door, she knew today was not a day for her bike. She put the leash on Ralphie and took her into the yard for a quick toilet run, then let the dog back inside. Ralphie, freaked by the weather, raced back up the stairs and under her bed.
“Bye, Dad!” she yelled.
“Be careful!” he yelled back.
It was easy to find a parking space near Commercial Wharf. Anyone with half a brain would stay home, Clare thought wryly as she left her van and battled her way over the cobblestones to her shop. Lights were on all over town, but she could see Closed signs on some of the other shop doors.
She unlocked Sweet Hart’s and nearly fell inside. It was a relief to get out of the tearing winds, but even inside the sound of the storm was overwhelming. Stripping off her raincoat, she hit the Play button on her answering machine.
“Clare,” Marlene said. “You’re not going to open today, are you? Let me know.”
Clare phoned Marlene back. “I’m here, but you stay home. I thought I’d open, but it’s pretty bad out here on the harbor, so I’ll probably leave soon.”
“You should,” Marlene told her. “The Weather Channel’s announcing a severe storm alert for the island.”
“Well,” Clare answered, “they don’t always get it right. But I’ll be careful.”
She went around her shop, automatically making mental lists of all the tasks needing to be done—shelves dusted and restocked, the glass display case washed again, and if nothing else, she could spend some time in her office paying bills. She flipped her sign to Open, then headed back to her office.
She booted up her computer. While it geared up, she looked out the window at the harbor. Waves spewed upward like geysers, sending boats and small craft rolling and dropping. The town pier was reduced to a long ledge of gray, drenched with foaming surf—and a small figure in a yellow rain slicker was staggering toward the end.
“Jewel, what the hell are you doing?” Clare shouted. She had to call Bonnie Frost, tell her to come get her daughter. She grabbed her cell phone, then noticed a woman stumble up the steps and onto the wharf. The wind tore the woman’s clothes into flags of red and blue. It was Lexi.
“Well, thank heavens for that,” Clare said aloud, relieved. Lexi would bring Jewel back to safety.
A violent swell exploded over the pier and surged back, sucking everything in its path down into the harbor waters. Jewel was swept from the pier. Suddenly she was only a spot of yellow among small craft bouncing in the frenzied water. Then she disappeared.
Clare saw Lexi run.
Yanking open her back door, Clare raced outside, along the bulkhead and onto the beach. Her sandals slowed her down. She kicked them off. Her bare feet gripped the cold wet sand as she ran for the pier. She kept her eyes on Lexi and saw Lexi dive. Clare sprinted down the pier, her heart bursting with adrenaline and fear.
Rain stung her eyes as she searched the seething waters. She saw a smudge of yellow. Then she glimpsed Lexi, a blur of blues, lifted up on a wave and slammed into the side of a bobbing boat. Lexi sank into the perilous depths. Clare dove.
Summer Beach Reads Page 86
