David had grown up here. He had returned eight years ago, when his brother and sister-in-law were killed in an accident and he became the guardian of ten-year-old Eli. He was only twenty-seven then and clueless about how to raise a grieving boy. But he knew who would. Eli had thrived living with Henry and Floret and the other few hippies who had returned to live here in their retirement. And living here gave David the freedom to accept an occasional assignment that required travel.
Hannah would have to walk over him to get her hands on Wind Chime House.
While David had wandered off on the path of memory, the tension around the table had grown, most of it emanating from Hannah Gordon.
She pushed her chair back and stood, looking more awkward than powerful, and for just a second David found himself feeling sorry for her.
Hannah raised a crooked finger. “Don’t talk to her again.”
“Hannah,” said Henry patiently. “Will you never learn that some things are inescapable?”
“Let me tell you what’s inescapable. If you encourage that little bitch, I’ll make sure you lose this place. I will stop at nothing. Do you understand?”
Henry smiled.
David knew it would infuriate Hannah.
“You know, Hannah. Sometimes I see the girl in you. And I truly don’t know what happened to make you so not your true self.”
Hannah cut a vicious look toward Floret, but it was wasted on Floret, whose attention was rapt on her life partner.
“Do not cross me in this.” Hannah turned and, looking much older than when she’d arrived, walked determinedly to the door. A look from Henry, and David rushed to see her to her car. But she stopped him at the kitchen door.
“I know the way, don’t bother to see me out.”
He returned to the kitchen and watched from the window until he saw the Cadillac drive away. Then he turned to Floret and Henry.
“What’s going on here?”
“All in good time, my boy. Shall we finish our tea? Then we’ll get the rest of those shutters hung.”
Mel ducked into the trees just as the silver Cadillac came down the drive from Wind Chime House and turned onto the road. She’d doubled back through the woods or else she’d be sitting in that car right now, being treated like some idiot who didn’t have a mind of her own. But she’d jumped into the trees without hesitating a second. It was an automatic reaction, something she had perfected over the past few months. It was like the whole world was against her—her and Eli. She hated the sneaking and hiding. But it didn’t seem like she had a choice. In anything.
She peered out from behind the tree until she was sure the car was gone, then sank back against the rough bark and let out a huge sigh of relief. It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to hide from her whole family just to see her best friend?
Was that why her great-grandmother had gone to Wind Chime? To tell David not to let Eli see her anymore? Threaten would be more like it. Mel didn’t get why they didn’t like him. Well, they did like him, except for Granna. And it seemed as if she didn’t like anybody.
What if she’d come to threaten Floret and Henry because Mel was seeing Eli? If she did something to those two to make them lose their home, Mel would never forgive her great-grandmother.
And Eli would never forgive her. Her eyes stung just thinking about the things that could go wrong. Her mother was already on her case.
They didn’t understand. Her mom, since her dad left, was finished looking for love, and David Merrick had never wanted it in the first place. At least that’s what Eli said. Who didn’t want love? That was crazy.
No wonder they were all against her and Eli being in love. But why were they mad because Zoe Bascombe had asked about Wind Chime Beach? No one had ever told Mel not to mention the commune. People were always visiting it.
Now, just because this girl—woman really, but she seemed more like Mel than her mother or sisters—had asked, everyone was arguing. Well, Mel was a woman, too. Eighteen in three months. Eighteen, then she’d be legal and no one could boss her around anymore.
The thought made her giddy and sad. And frightened. If they couldn’t tell her what to do, would they still take care of her? Could she still come to Sunday dinners, and what about Christmas and birthdays?
Would she be estranged from her mom? Her mother had never had a mother. Not a real mom. Granna and Floret had taken care of her when she was young. Then she had taken care of herself. Mel knew that Granna had bought the inn for her, but she’d made it work all on her own.
Mel could do that. Turn something into a way to live. She wasn’t sure what yet. Maybe the inn, except that already belonged to her mother. But something.
“Gotcha!”
Mel jumped about a hundred feet. And turned into Eli’s arms. “You scared me. Where did you come from?”
“I saw you walking back from town and was coming out to meet you, but I had to wait until Hannah left. Did you see her? Cripes! There was such a scene.” He pulled her closer. Kissed her.
She gave in to the feelings of safety and love and wanting to be with him forever. The other stuff went out of her head—almost.
She pushed him away just a little bit so she could see his face. “What was she doing here?”
“I don’t know. They all went into the kitchen. And I couldn’t really hear without putting my ear to the door. No way was I going to take the chance of your great-grandma catching me. That would be the end of everything.”
Mel sighed. “What are we going to do?”
Eli grinned and she loved him all the way to her toes. He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and held it up. “Everything we need for a getaway picnic.” He frowned. “One thing I did hear was that someone came to the house today asking about our beach.”
Mel grabbed his arm. It was muscular, not built like some guys, just hard and strong.
“The woman from the hotel. She was asking about our beach? I thought it was called Old Beach. It’s really called Wind Chime Beach?”
“First I ever heard of it. I was just coming back from town when I saw her running down the driveway like ghosts were after her.” Eli laughed. “It wasn’t a ghost; it was Uncle David.”
“He was chasing her away?”
“I think so. Henry called her Pandora.”
“Pandora? Why?”
Eli shrugged. “Floret said not to worry, but you know Floret, she wouldn’t worry.”
“Do you think something bad is going to happen?”
“Nah. I hope not. I don’t think so.”
“But if it does?”
“It won’t.”
But if it did, Mel knew it would be all her fault.
Chapter 7
Zoe tossed her bookstore package onto the bed and headed for the bathroom and her sewing kit. She spent the next ten minutes digging slivers out of her palms and dousing them with an antibacterial cream. Then she took her new book to the balcony where she stretched out on the chaise and opened to the backflap of the jacket.
And there was the face of the man who had thrown her off the Wind Chime property.
He looked very dashing in the photo, artistic with sensitive brown eyes looking back at the camera. The sarcasm she’d borne the brunt of today was nowhere to be seen.
False advertising, she thought. A lie. She turned the book over and flipped through the first pages until she got to the title page.
There was a preface that she didn’t read, written by someone whose name she didn’t recognize. The first photo page appeared without warning. She’d been expecting a table of contents or at least an author’s note.
But it just started. And the first photograph was . . . a beach? She peered more closely. A desert? It was sand, contoured into dunes, the heat visibly rising from its surface. There was no description, nothing to tell the reader what they were seeing.
After the desert photo, there was a close-up of something that might be an orchid. She’d seen curved petals like that at the New York Botanical
Garden, but she couldn’t be sure.
It was a little annoying not to have a clue, not to know what you were looking at. Then came the two pages of wind chimes. They were the first of several wind chime photos, as she was to discover. Sometimes hanging from a branch, sometimes hidden among the trees like Where’s Waldo?, sometimes so close that you couldn’t really tell what they were.
They were spread throughout the book, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Waterfalls, deserts, rock formations, tree bark, waves, hummingbirds—and always wind chimes. Some photos were powerful, others so delicate that she was afraid to breathe on the page.
There were no descriptions, no explanations, no poetic sayings, not even an index at the end.
There were also no people.
Intentional? Or a window into the photographer?
Poignant, quiet, angry, accepting. Woven together into a wordless story.
The guy could take pictures. She’d been sucked into them in the same way she was with a beautiful song, a symphony, or when the wind chimes today had passed through her world and opened a new one.
There was something about David Merrick’s photos. Beautiful—but solitary.
She knew how that felt.
Zoe closed the book.
It was a sunny day, high clouds floating through a blue sky. A heady breeze blew cooler than the air around it. Below her on the lawn, a yoga class was just ending. Spirits renewed, the participants would soon be sunbathing on the hotel beach, drinking healthy drinks or spiking them with liquor concealed inside their beach bags.
All in all, a nice day’s work on their psyches and their tans. And suddenly she wanted to be down there with them. Not here alone, hands raw, heart sore, holding on to her mother even after her mom was clearly gone. Fulfilling the wishes of the dead and not enjoying life.
Was it selfish to want some fun when she was here to mourn?
The only time she ever stayed at a hotel was when she was working. Making sure important people got where they needed to be, ate what they wanted to eat when they wanted to eat it. Always grabbing sustenance on the run, her cell phone on the table of some canteen or fast-food joint so she could hear it if someone needed her ASAP. Sometimes she didn’t even get to the concerts until it was time to pick up her group and shuttle them to some fancy party.
It was hard not to think that maybe her mother had sent her here on purpose. Not because she was efficient, or because they had some special mother-daughter bond, but because she thought her daughter had something to learn.
Which was ridiculous. Her mother’s instructions had been written months before, when Zoe had been on a career path to the stars. Rock stars, at least.
Maybe it was the spa’s good energy, or the crazy people at the commune, Mel and her boy troubles, or the enigmatic, sarcastic photographer, but something felt different. A sense of freedom with no schedule to keep to, no one demanding her time, her energy, her skills. And with it was the awakening feeling that there was no hurry.
And the sudden knowledge that at Wind Chime Beach, her mother would find peace.
It might take some work to convince Henry and Floret, but she wouldn’t go creeping about like some thief. She’d clean up the beach, spread the ashes with love, sing and carry on and send her mom out in style. Maybe the people at the commune would join her.
It might take time. And guess what? She had time. She’d spend a few days at the spa, try a package, lie out at the hotel beach. She even had a swimsuit hidden beneath a stack of folded underwear in the top drawer of the dresser. She always took her swimsuit when she traveled, though she barely ever got a full hour at a pool. And though she certainly hadn’t planned to swim while she was here, she’d packed it out of habit. Now she was glad she had.
She’d listen to some music, not at the bar downstairs, but at one of the other restaurants or pubs in town that advertised live music. If she got drunk enough, she might even sit in with one of the bands if they were amenable. Hell, she even had an instrument sitting in the back seat of her SUV.
Soon enough she would be back on the job market. But for now . . .
She turned back into the room, marched over to the phone, and booked her room for another five days, then turned to the urn.
“There’s been a snag. It could take a few days. Hope you’re not in a hurry.”
She moved closer, ran her finger along the cool, hard contour of the urn. “I found Wind Chime Beach. I heard the chimes. I get it. The peace, the magic, the specialness. I just don’t understand why you of all people got it. You were never fanciful, you couldn’t even come up with an idea for a Halloween costume. You never gathered us all in the car and took off on an adventure. You never even went to a beach, because you said it made your hair frizz. But I get it. What I don’t get is how you got it. And it’s really important to me.”
There was no answer from the urn. There never would be.
The phone rang and her first thought was that Chris was calling at last. But it was the house phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Zoe?”
“Yes?”
“This is Karen. We met this morning at breakfast. We’re all headed downstairs to the bar for happy hour; they have great appetizers. Would you like to meet us there?”
“I—” She stopped her usual autoreply, that she’d love to, but she was just too busy. She wasn’t too busy. “Sure. I’d love to.”
“Great, about fifteen minutes? See you.”
Karen ended the call. Zoe changed into slacks and a silk tee, dumped essentials into her shoulder purse, then stopped at the urn.
“I’m going out with the girls.” And she swore her mom said, “Text me when you get home.”
Zoe met them in the lobby.
“Hope you don’t mind eating here tonight,” Karen said, and they went into the bar. “Elaine has something going with the fiddle player.”
Brandy rolled her eyes. “At least there won’t be any jokes about embouchure this trip.”
“It was the clarinetist in a New Orleans jazz band last time,” Karen explained.
“Hey,” Elaine said, and gave Karen a playful punch. “I’m legally divorced after the longest-running court case of the century. The ex finally took the kids for the weekend—God forbid they should interfere with his golf game. The last time they came back, Robbie said he wasn’t going anymore, all they did was sit in the golf cart for two days running.”
The hostess showed them to a table near the bandstand.
Elaine pulled out a chair and sat. “Hopefully he’ll do something fun with them this weekend.”
“How many kids do you have?” Zoe asked.
“Three. In rapid succession.” Elaine sighed. “Lots of fights. Lots of unprotected makeup sex. Not a good start or finish to a marriage that was hopeless from the beginning.”
“I guess not,” said Zoe, and sat down.
They ordered drinks, then headed for the hot buffet bar where they loaded plates with wings, sausages, quesadilla wedges, and a pile of other happy-hour food—all organic. Brandy was the only one who ended up with more hummus and crudités than fried meats, but she seemed perfectly happy. And she was definitely in better shape than her friends—or Zoe, for that matter.
The bar began to fill up. They ordered another round of drinks and decided to have dinner. Zoe was stuffed but she thought, what the hell, she hadn’t had lunch. Actually, she’d been neglecting meals for weeks now. Her clothes were loose and she’d been out of breath just running down someone’s driveway this afternoon. It was a long driveway, but still.
Maybe she’d join the others in some yoga tomorrow. Who was she kidding? The closest she’d come to yoga in the past few months was a hot pretzel from a vendor on Fifth Ave.
But tonight was about socializing and laughing—something else she hadn’t done much of lately. Brandy kept them in stitches with stories about her recent honeymoon. Her new husband was an ex-basketball player, now an announcer with a sports television affil
iate in Philadelphia.
The three friends ordered another round of drinks but Zoe knew better—she didn’t want to be the one staggering through the lobby toward her room. The other three were obviously big drinkers and eaters, even Brandy, who was still munching carrot sticks and hummus along with her Moscow Mule.
The band began to set up, and Zoe began to think about going upstairs. She’d caught the eye of the guitarist several times as he climbed back and forth among the amps. She supposed that angry look was part of his persona. It had probably been sexy a few decades ago. But the “bad boy” appeal was nonexistent in this old guy. It just made him look unpleasant.
And angry at her.
“I really have to do some work.” She started to stand.
“You’re kidding, right?” Karen said. “The night is young.”
“Sorry. But I’m behind as it is.” Behind in getting her life together, maybe. Mainly, she just didn’t want any more weirdness from the bandstand.
“Let me get the tab,” she said on impulse, and took the check the waitress had been adding to throughout the evening.
“No,” Brandy said. “We go dutch all the way.”
The guitarist was still staring at her and it was beginning to creep her out. “No, really. My treat.” Zoe backed away, nearly hitting a passing waitress.
“Then tomorrow we treat you,” Karen said.
“Meet us on the beach after morning classes,” Brandy said.
Elaine merely waved distractedly in her direction. She was already in full flirtation mode with the fiddler.
Zoe hurried to the bar where the bartender was talking to the woman she’d met that morning, the proprietress, Eve. Mel’s mother, who was mad at Mel for telling Zoe about Wind Chime House, and who Mel had asked Zoe not to tell that she’d seen her that afternoon. She was too tired to confront their family idiosyncrasies tonight.
“Making it an early evening?” the bartender asked as he took her credit card.
“Work to do.” She smiled her too-busy-to-talk-now smile.
People usually got the message. Eve didn’t.
A Beach Wish Page 8
