Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  “Sure,” Aaron replied amiably.

  Bella and Aaron stood up. Recognition of the Range Rover suddenly hit her: It was the car Eleanor Reynolds had left for Natalie, and it was Natalie who stepped out of the passenger seat. Her brother, Slade, his eyes hidden by black sunglasses, stepped out from the driver’s side.

  Bella hadn’t expected to see Slade and Natalie again so soon. She’d never expected to see Slade anywhere near Barnaby’s Barn. In the glare of the bright June sunshine, next to the silver Range Rover, Slade didn’t seem real; he was like a Transformer in a farmyard.

  “Hi, Bella! Hi, Aaron.” Natalie was in black, too: tight black pants, black tee shirt, black sandals. “Isn’t it a great day? Slade and I thought we’d explore the area, and we saw your shop. Aaron, this is my brother, Slade.”

  The two men shook hands. Bella and Natalie led the way into Barnaby’s Barn, Aaron and Slade behind them. The four stood just inside, looking around.

  “It’s sweet,” Natalie said, but her compliment seemed forced.

  “It needs a lot of work,” Bella admitted. “I hadn’t realized how shabby it’s gotten.”

  “It’s not shabby,” Natalie protested. She walked over to the display of Lake Worlds. “These are your mother’s? Oh, they’re darling. Slade, come look at this beaver family. Perfection. The teeny buck teeth. The flat tail. Incredible attention to detail.”

  But Slade stalked on his long legs clear to the back of the room and dropped down in a squat. Bella looked at Aaron with an inquisitive arched eyebrow. Aaron’s mouth quirked up and his expression clearly read: I couldn’t tell you what the guy’s doing.

  Lucy Lattimer’s hand-painted stuffed dolls were arranged on the table as if at a tea party, their flounced pinafores and long dresses spread around them. Not, Bella thought, quite what she would have picked for Slade’s interest. But really, she noticed, his interest wasn’t in the dolls but in the table, painted cream with an edging of ivy and daisies. Slade reached under the drop leaf and pulled out the gateleg. Without saying a word, he lay on his back and scooted beneath the lifted table leaf.

  “Slade!” Natalie threw her hands in the air. “I can’t take you anywhere!” She turned to Bella and Aaron. “I told you Slade works in an antiques shop? He’s mad about restoring antiques.”

  “Oh, that table’s not valuable,” Bella insisted. “I think it was in my grandmother’s sewing room, and then Louise painted it to use in the shop to hold things. That leg’s cracked, so we have to keep that leaf dropped.”

  “She shouldn’t have painted it.” Slade’s voice came from under the table.

  “Why not? It’s her table. She needed it to fit in with the gift shop décor.”

  Slade scooted out from under the table and rose, all in one sinewy graceful motion like an acrobat or an eel. “That’s an English tiger oak drop-leaf table with barley twist legs. Restored, easily a thousand.”

  Slade kept his hand on the table, caressing the wood as he talked. His voice was low and smoky, its timbre resonating deep within Bella’s body, gently touching her to open a door so secret even she hadn’t known it existed. Her breath caught in her throat; she stared at him, unable to speak.

  Natalie misunderstood her reaction. “Surprised to discover you own a valuable piece of furniture? Slade’s always doing that. Finding a treasure someone never knew they possessed.”

  “Good Lord, look at this.” Slade crossed the room and inspected the open doors of the cabinet displaying Shauna Webb’s pottery. He ran his hands along the wood and knelt down to investigate the carved doors on the bottom. Without turning to look at Bella, he growled, “Do you have any idea what you’ve got here?”

  “Again,” Bella explained, “it’s a piece from my grandparents’ home. It was my favorite, because of the gargoyle carved on top, but now that we use it for a display piece, I have to admit I get frustrated, dusting all the intricate carvings.”

  “This is a marvelous piece of work.” Now Slade did look at her, and a blue flame of passion gleamed in his eyes. “It’s easily—easily—worth ten thousand dollars. I’ll give you ten thousand for it right now.”

  “I had no idea.” Bella crossed the room and delicately touched her fingertips to the stained glass in the top doors. Slade was running his hands over the long panel of wood on the side. A kind of current of controlled excitement radiated from him like a rushing river she was compelled to enter. “I could never sell it without my mother’s permission.”

  “Slade’s not buying it anyway.” Natalie stalked across the room, snatched up her brother’s hand, and yanked him away from the cabinet. “Slade. Grip. Get one. You are on vacation. We are going to have fun. You cannot buy antiques.”

  Slade allowed himself to be pulled away. “Sorry,” he said to Bella. “Guess I got carried away. It’s just that that really is a remarkable piece of furniture.”

  “We’re going into Northampton,” Natalie told Bella. “Is the shop open tomorrow?”

  “No, thank heavens. Closed Sundays.”

  “Good. Maybe we can all get together for drinks.”

  “I’d like that.” Bella walked the brother and sister to the door and waved at them as they went out to the Range Rover. “Thanks for coming in!” she called. Closing the blue door, she faced Aaron. “That was intense.”

  Aaron shrugged. “But profitable perhaps. That guy really seems to know his stuff. Who cares how odd he is if he can help you make some money?”

  Bella frowned at Aaron. “I don’t know, Aaron. I think my grandparents intended for this furniture to be handed down to their children and grandchildren.”

  “Well, they have been, and look where they are. Not in your house but in your shop.”

  “You’re right,” Bella mused. An idea was taking form in her mind—and in her heart, which was shaking pom-poms of excitement—but she needed to think it through. “But maybe Ben or Brady or I will want them for their homes.”

  Aaron laughed. “Honey, come on. Look at that cabinet. Gargoyles and stained glass? It’s like something from ‘The Fall of the House of Usher.’ ”

  Stunned, she snapped, “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Aaron held up his hands. “Whoa. Sorry.”

  She wrapped her arms around her chest as if she were holding herself together. Why was she in such a state? She felt as if she’d had too much coffee to drink, as if she’d jumped into a cold river and couldn’t catch her breath.

  Aaron gave her a few moments to gather herself, then took her in his arms. “Hey.”

  She spoke into his chest. “Aaron, I’m thinking this through. I guess I’d always assumed that some of my grandparents’ furniture would be in my house when I got married. For my children to see.”

  “Not that cabinet, I hope. It would give children nightmares.”

  “I totally disagree.” Bella pushed away so she could face him. “Aaron, I always treasured that cabinet. I didn’t find the gargoyle scary. He was like a magic friend.”

  “Okay. I get you. It’s a great idea to have some of your grandparents’ furniture in our house. But, Bella, when the time comes, it’s going to be our house. Right?”

  She searched his honest, open face. She allowed her tense shoulders to loosen. “Of course.” She slid past him, out of his arms, and walked to the cabinet. “If we sold this cabinet, it would certainly help Barnaby’s Barn financially.” A thought tickled her brain like a plant searching to wedge its way up into the light of her mind. “If we changed the shop … if we sold some antiques, too … We’ve got old pieces all over the place; we ought to have Slade value them. Ben’s got my grandfather’s old desk in his apartment. I think it’s maple, maybe something that begins with a B.” She laughed. “Of course it would; my grandfather Barnaby loved to begin everything with a B.”

  “Bella.” Aaron remained planted in place. “Even if you sell all the furniture your family owns, it’s going to run out. Maybe you’ll save your shop for a few more months, but then what?”


  Uncomfortably, Bella said, “You sound like you want the shop to fail.”

  “I don’t want it to fail, Bella. But I do want you to be open to possibilities elsewhere. I want you to think about something else. I don’t want to talk with you about it here, in Barnaby’s Barn. I want it to be in my space, or at least in a neutral space.” He looked concerned. “I’d better go. I can get some work done while you’ve got the shop open. I’ll see you tonight, right?”

  “Right.” Bella forced herself to walk to the door with him. She kissed him absentmindedly. “Thanks for the lunch.”

  4

  Petey was taking his morning nap. Morgan was at her computer, so engrossed in a proposed amendment to the solid and human waste management act that when her cell buzzed, she nearly jumped out of her chair.

  “Josh!” Her voice was a bit too chipper, her heart pounding as if he’d caught her with a lover. “Hi!”

  “Just calling to be sure we’re set for tomorrow night.”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her eye roll. “Josh, the Ruoffs are only coming for drinks. You went with me to the liquor store.” And insisted on buying a full range of unbelievably expensive wines and Scotches. “You saw the cheese and crackers I bought. I can’t make the bruschetta until tomorrow night. It has to be heated in the oven for the cheese to melt.”

  “I’m worried about the bruschetta.”

  She couldn’t believe it. “You’re worried about the bruschetta?”

  “It sounds messy. Something could fall onto Eva’s dress.”

  “Josh. Have you lost your mind?”

  “Morgan, we agreed we wouldn’t argue.” He was in his office, his voice tense.

  Morgan took a deep breath. She recalled that when Josh first met the Ruoffs, Josh had nicknamed them “Mr. Wannabe Bill Gates and his wife, Kris Kardashian.” Although they had laughed at the Ruoffs’ pretentious style, they couldn’t help but admire their work ethic and success. The truth was Ronald Ruoff was making significant steps toward a greener world, even if he and his wife were both crass and pushy. And his firm was making money.

  Josh was making money now, too—and all for his family.

  Morgan could never forget the deciding event that propelled them into changing their lives. Their car failed to pass inspection. Morgan had had to push Petey in his stroller for blocks to the grocery store and back in the pouring rain.

  Josh had returned home in time to see his wife and son soaked and shivering.

  “That does it,” Josh had said, lifting Petey in his arms. “I’m taking the Bio-Green job.”

  And he had. And here they were.

  Softening her voice, Morgan assured her husband, “Okay, sweetie, I’ll find another recipe.”

  “Something that doesn’t drip.”

  “Right.” She was an expert in hazardous waste management, and her job was to invent a dripless canapé. “Something that doesn’t drip.” She choked back an insane little titter.

  “Great, thanks, you’re a star. Hey, have you joined a health club yet?”

  Now she was speechless. The Josh she had married would never have called anyone a star. Morgan wanted to warn him: Don’t call me a star. I’m not a client. You’re not a Hollywood agent. Stop talking like Ronald Ruoff. Josh was picking up all kinds of bizarre and unappealing mannerisms over at Bio-Green, and it was making her crazy. But she held her tongue.

  “I thought I’d try the gym outside Amherst this afternoon,” she told him. “I’ve read about it online. It has a great children’s playroom with a full-time babysitter.”

  “Great idea, babe. You might meet some prospective clients.”

  “Hey, babe, life’s not just about meeting clients.” She loved and detested him at the same time.

  “I hate it when you use that tone of voice.”

  “Sorry. I just—”

  His own voice roughened with frustration. “Look out the window, for crying out loud. Look where you are. Look at the house we’re living in. We’ve got a beach for our son to play on. We took him out in a canoe last Sunday. What more do you want?”

  “I guess I want us to be like we used to be,” Morgan said simply.

  “Look, I can’t get into all this now. Just join a health club.”

  Josh clicked off without saying good-bye, something else he’d never done before taking the job at Bio-Green. She didn’t know if he did it consciously, to reinforce the fact of his incredibly stressful busyness, or if he did it unconsciously, moving so fast from one thing to another, which in a way was worse, because it put her among the other things, no more important.

  She sat glumly at her desk, staring at her computer screen. She closed the EPA website and opened one about canapés. Scrolling down, she discovered a recipe for salmon and caviar on crackers. Salmon and caviar, that should please Josh. Maybe she’d sprinkle some silver leaf on it all.

  But no. She was being petty. After all, she and Josh had talked for hours before he agreed to take this job. He was incredibly lucky to get the offer, and they both knew it. It required just the right mix of odd skills and training that Josh possessed. He’d started off as an English literature major in college, but after two years and an increasing awareness of how few professorial positions there were for English majors, he switched over to chemistry. He had that kind of mind; sometimes she thought he could do anything. By the time she got her master’s in environmental health science, Josh had whizzed through the chemistry doctoral program.

  They’d met at the university, and before long, they moved in together, sat on the sofa, legs tangled together, poring over chem texts.

  They knew they were in a growth industry. For better or worse, the world was speeding down a technological superhighway, tossing its waste out the window and forgetting about it. The potential dangers were stunning. It would not be politicians who saved the world, Morgan and Josh agreed, it would be the nerd with the clipboard and glasses who made sure that the masks protecting lab workers from formaldehyde were up to code.

  They were married right after Josh finished his PhD, and both took jobs outside Boston. Morgan worked in the environmental safety office at Weathersfield College, and Josh at one of the high-tech corporations on Route 128. They had tuition loans to repay, and Boston was an expensive place to live, so they decided to put off their dream of having a large family until they could afford a house.

  Accidentally, Morgan got pregnant. Don’t worry, she told Josh, I’ll work after the baby’s born.

  Then Petey came into the world, pink, perfect, helpless, infinitely precious.

  “Don’t go back to work, Morgan,” Josh had begged her. “You should stay home for a year at least. He needs you. He’s so vulnerable. He’s so—” Josh had choked back his emotion, unable to find the right words.

  Morgan had never loved Josh more than at that moment. “I know,” she agreed. “I don’t want to leave him. Not yet. But how will we make it financially?”

  Josh clenched his fist. “We’ll draw up a new budget and learn to economize. I’ll work two jobs if I have to.”

  Morgan had not asked him: If you work two jobs, when will you see your son? When will you see me? She knew Josh was doing all he could for them.

  Josh met Ronald Ruoff at an ecology conference in Chicago, and they hit it off immediately. Josh, with his big shoulders and blazing red hair, had a charisma about him, not a rock star dazzle that made people shy but a gentle charm and a way of listening that made people feel they were the fascinating ones. And it was the truth, after all, Josh did find people fascinating. He was not some phony jerk; he loved learning what made people tick, why they made the choices they made, what their hopes were for the future. Josh had a huge heart; Morgan knew that about him.

  Sometimes these days, though, she wondered whether that big heart had gotten buried beneath a pile of money. Sometimes she wondered if he’d drunk a magic elixir that transformed him from the man she loved into this superstressed, fast-talking, GQ-reading, clothes-co
nscious, Cadillac-driving, overworked, never-home executive who worried about his wife making contacts!

  Shoving her chair away from her desk, Morgan stalked out of her office—office, hah, she had an office but no job!—and down the hall to the living room. It felt good to walk, and their new house was so damned big she could get exercise just going from room to room.

  Be fair, she told herself. Remember your promise to Josh. He would be bringing in so much money they could pay off their tuition loans, put money away for Petey’s college, and still live well. Or, as Josh put it, live in style.

  Morgan had tried to keep her part of the bargain. She agreed with Josh to buy this contemporary house even though in her eyes it had all the coziness of a World War II bunker. The best part about it for her was the beach and the lake. Petey would learn to swim, sail, boat. They’d hike in the woods. The Amherst public school district was superb. Anyway, since when had she been so sensitive to the ambience of a room? When they lived in their rented condo in Boston, they’d joined their grad-student sofas and tables and used them, ugly, mismatched, but comfortable, and just perfect for life with a spitting-up newborn baby whose bowel movements mysteriously leaked out of his diaper.

  Morgan’s part of the job at Bio-Green, Josh had told her, was to make their new home stunning. They were to have lots of glam parties with new posh friends who would be so wowed by the O’Keefes’ sophistication and wealth that they’d feel blessed to be allowed to invest in the company.

  How to make their home stunning? Morgan had never considered such a project before. Morgan had thought of phoning her mother, because her family’s home was so handsomely decorated. Then she remembered how busy her parents were and decided not to bother them. She had shopped the way she lived—online, finding and pricing pieces of furniture before driving to the store to see them. It had been easier to do it on the Internet than lugging her baby in a pack. Immediately she’d decided against black and white; it had a cool look, but one leak from Petey’s diaper and the white wouldn’t have the same chic gloss. She’d found a deep smoke-gray sofa with matching chairs. Her genius touch was a chrome coffee table and chrome end tables. The entire living room gleamed softly, and worked perfectly with the floor-to-ceiling fireplace of variegated fieldstones.