“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her.”
He pulled away to look a question at her. “Jenny?”
“Hannah. She took every one my mother sent and hid them. Henry and Floret didn’t even know about them. She must have waited every day at the mailbox to intercept them.”
Just to prevent what? Eve knowing that her mother had loved her even though she couldn’t or wouldn’t keep her? Eve had cried herself to sleep more nights than she could count. She hadn’t at first. Not until she began to see other kids with mothers. Floret became her mother. Or as like a mother as she could be. She’d never had her own children. She said it wasn’t in the cosmos.
Eve hadn’t understood until much later what she meant.
“She thought I didn’t want to know her because I never wrote back to her.” Eve buried her face in Mike’s shoulder. “I never knew.”
Mike wrapped her up in his bear arms, and she felt safe. Safe to cry, to let her nose run, to not be in control, not be successful, not take responsibility for strangers’ psyches.
“I never knew.”
And Mike just held her. Occasionally he’d lean forward to reach for his beer, carrying her with him, then settled back onto the couch.
After a while, Mike took her phone. Texted someone, Noelle probably. Put the phone down. A responding ping. Mike ignored it.
“She saw me graduate, Mike. She came to see me graduate.”
Chapter 14
It was barely light when Zoe left her hotel room the next morning, her tote stuffed not with the celadon urn, but with two plastic laundry bags from the hotel. She didn’t think anyone would question where she was going. She doubted Mel or Noelle would be manning the desk. There had been a few frantic phone calls last night, and both of her nieces, not being able to find their mother, had deferred to Zoe to help them out.
It was an odd feeling. To have family, not strangers, depending on her. And she didn’t want to look too closely at that revelation. Being the baby, she’d always been taken care of. Now it seemed it was her turn to do the caring.
“A feud, star-crossed lovers, an angry old rock star, and a missing hotel proprietor—it’s just like Shakespeare in the Park without the mosquitoes,” said Chris after the third call from Eve’s worried daughters.
They’d been returning to the hotel from dinner in one of the trendy bistros along Main Street.
“She’s probably in the bar and can’t hear her cell over the music,” he added.
A quick look into the bar showed that it had closed early and only Mike was there, bent over a laptop computer and with papers spread out along the bar top.
Zoe went to bed; Chris had gone back out. He was a city boy through and through. He liked his night life. Zoe did, too, normally, but she was tired. Overwhelmed in a way that she’d never been before.
And she needed to call her other brothers, let them know about the beach. About the ashes. About not being their real sister.
She had to do it before she sent her mother’s ashes into the next world.
What held her back was the fear that they would want nothing to do with her.
She didn’t call, but the thought kept her up long into the night, so she was awake for the lifting of the red alert over Eve’s disappearance. She’d spent the night with Mike, the bartender.
The lobby was empty this early; there was no one on duty at the reception desk.
Zoe tucked her tote under her arm and hit the streets. Her first stop was the coffee bar. A double-shot latte and she was on her way.
She didn’t follow the drive all the way to the house, but cut through the edge of woods that surrounded the property. She didn’t want to run into Dulcie and have her alert the household to her presence. She just needed some time to herself to clean up some of the trash from the beach—and to think. Then she would go up to the house. They’d invite her in for coffee, give her some pastries, maybe reminisce about her mother. Make her feel like family.
But first she needed to make some decisions. Alone, without everyone and their memories and advice and their opinions. Even their support. She just needed a bit of quiet. To hear the wind chimes in the breeze and try to recapture the magic she had felt in those few seconds of sound, when for that moment she’d felt as if everything made sense, would work out. Before her whole world had gone haywire.
Then she would decide once and for all what she would do with her mother’s ashes and her own life.
The undergrowth was very thick in places, and she tried to move quietly as she made her way to the path that would lead her to the beach. She was alert, waiting for the first breaths of wind, the faint tinkle of the first chime.
She’d almost reached the path when she felt it, the slight shifting in the air. She stopped to listen. Almost holding her breath for it to begin.
And was startled by the whack of a hammer.
She knew where it was coming from. She hurried along, the music forgotten until she stepped off the path into the sunlight and saw David Merrick in jeans and T-shirt, hands protected by thick work gloves. He raised a heavy sledge hammer over his head then swung it downward.
Whack. The left side of the rotten stair handrail creaked, swayed, and then a piece broke apart and dropped out of sight below the ledge. But the stairs held. He dropped the hammer to the ground and stood back, his hands fisted on his hips.
“I hope this isn’t about me,” she said in the sudden quiet.
Slowly, he turned around, gave her a resigned look, but didn’t answer.
“Because I wouldn’t think of suing.”
“Floret and Henry are up at the house.” He picked up the sledge hammer and turned away from her.
Zoe started down the path toward the beach.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped, turned back to him. “Well, I do want to see Henry and Floret, but first I want to clean up the debris on the beach.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s an eyesore.”
He didn’t react, which was a bit annoying, and didn’t offer to help, which was more annoying, so she climbed behind the tree trunk, slid down the boulders, and jumped onto the sand.
She was surprised to see even more garbage than the last time she was here. Washed up by that brief afternoon storm?
She set the tote down next to the driftwood bench and was glad to see the glass shard of wind chime still sitting where she’d left it. She pulled out one of the plastic bags she’d brought from the inn and began to pick up pieces of garbage. Soggy cardboard that had once been a corrugated box. Two bottles of kombucha, half empty; they looked new. Maybe she wasn’t the only person visiting the beach. She poured out the contents and went back for the second plastic bag. No reason not to recycle what she could.
She looked up to the ledge where David had stopped and was watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“Could you wait until I get these stairs down? I don’t want you to get injured by flying debris.”
“It doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere fast.”
“When they go, they’ll go without warning.”
He was right, she knew. But she was driven to get this done. The thought of putting things off another minute, much less all morning and possibly the afternoon, might push her into a total meltdown.
“Thanks for the warning.” She knelt down and lifted up something that looked like pillow stuffing. Holding it between two fingers, she slid it into her bag.
“Stand back, dammit.” David raised the hammer.
Zoe held up her hand. “Wait a minute, there’s something under there.” She started toward the stairs.
“Stay away, Zoe. It’s unstable.”
She stopped, not because of his warning but because he had called her by name. That was a first. They must be making progress.
“I’ll be careful, but there’s something under here.” She trod cautiously across the sand, peered into the underbelly of the stairs. So
meone had made a nice little nest there. A human someone.
What appeared to be a nylon sleeping bag was crumpled up on the sand. An orange crate with a Coleman lantern. A plastic grocery bag lay on its side, a package of Oreos half concealed inside.
Someone was living rough on Wind Chime Beach. She tugged at the sleeping bag and held it up. “Hey, check this out. I don’t suppose you know anything about this?”
He looked down at her. Zeroed in on the bag.
It hit her at about the same time he threw down the hammer and started down the path toward the beach.
Not a transient’s hovel. A trysting place.
Damn. Mel and her boyfriend must meet here. Didn’t Mel say he lived at the commune? Oh, jeez. The feud. She’d just ratted out a pair of twenty-first-century Romeo-and-Juliet lovers. She could smack herself.
This time when David reached the beach, she was ready for him.
“Look. No reason to get all—” She didn’t get a chance to finish. He pushed past her and looked beneath the treads.
“Damn. So this is where they’ve been going.”
He ducked beneath the wooden structure.
“Be careful. It might be unstable,” she mimicked, but she meant it. The whole structure seemed about to fall over.
All she got in return was a growl. Followed by the orange crate, the lantern, and the grocery bag, spewing cookies across the sand.
“Is that really necessary? It’s the twenty-first century. They’re kids. They’re in love. You did give him ‘the talk,’ right?”
He just glared at her and snatched the sleeping bag from her hands. He looked around the sand. Looking for a place to discard it? She shoved the plastic garbage bag behind her back.
He went after the other one.
“That’s the recycling bag.”
He looked as if he might be contemplating murder. Hers. More likely this would lead to the grounding of a teenager or two. Zoe had never been grounded, herself. She’d always prided herself on being too smart to get caught.
Though thinking back, she wondered if her mother had decided to just look the other way.
“I don’t want to get them in trouble.”
“You have no idea.”
He started shoving the sleeping bag into the recycling bag.
“Oh, don’t be cranky. At least don’t take it out on teenagers in love.” A snatch of the old fifties song meandered through her head. She sang a verse out loud. She couldn’t help herself.
As if in chorus, the chimes began to sing. And she could see the woods, the beach, not as it was now, but before the stairs rotted away, before the trash took over the sand. The perfect place to fall in love.
She swallowed. “Do you hear them?”
“Of course I hear them, that’s not the point.”
“They’re saying to let love be.”
“God, give me patience.” He snatched the garbage bag from her. “The chimes are sound in reaction to the wind, not a conversation, and they don’t give a shit about love, young or otherwise.”
She laughed. “You don’t believe that.”
He gave her a look and leaned over to pull a rusted can out of the sand. He gave it a vigorous shake. “Just because I live here doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind.”
“Maybe not, but the photographer of LIGHT wouldn’t be such a Neanderthal.”
He shoved the can into the bag, narrowed his eyes at her.
“I saw your book in the bookstore. LIGHT.” She didn’t think he needed to know she’d also bought it. “You don’t think the chimes are just reactive sound. You think they’re magic.”
He stuck the bag under his arm, ran his forearm across his forehead. “You don’t know what I think. And you don’t know what trouble those kids will be in if anyone finds out about this.”
“The feud,” she intoned. Seeing his expression, she asked in her normal voice, “It’s as serious as that?”
“For years.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“I’m afraid it might already be too late.”
“Oh, come on. Things like that don’t happen in this day and age.”
“Have you been living under a rock lately? Not only do they. They’re thriving.”
He let the bag drop by his side and came to stand in front of her. “Look, there’s a lot you don’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand half of it. And I know you’re dealing with your own life crisis. And—”
“And you want me to stay out of it.”
“Please.”
“They’re my family, too.”
“Only since Saturday. And half of them don’t want you.”
He might have slapped her. She froze, tried to suck in air that refused to get to her lungs.
“Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Just forget it. Do what you want. You strike me as someone who would anyway. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when all hell breaks loose.”
“Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on. I’ll take you up to Floret. She’ll give you a cup of something and make you believe everything will work out fine.”
Zoe looked around the beach, but she wasn’t really seeing anything. Half of them don’t want you. “Which half?”
“Come on. I’ll come back and clean up the garbage.”
“No really, which half?”
His answer was to take her elbow and steer her toward the rocks.
She pulled away. “You don’t have to come. I know the way.”
“I’m coming. I was rude. I spend a lot of time alone. I don’t always remember my social skills. I’m sorry.”
“Too late.”
“Listen, there’s more at stake than your injured feelings or teenage hormones.” He took the lead, reached back down to help her up the boulders.
This time, she accepted his help. “Like what?” she asked when they were back on the path.
He didn’t answer, just grabbed the sledge hammer and waited for her to precede him.
She looked at the hammer. Then at him.
He laughed. “Just returning it to the shed, but I’ll walk in front.”
So he could laugh.
She ran to walk beside him. “Why do you always escort me everywhere?”
He frowned down at her. “You’ve only been here twice.”
“Why are you so surly?”
“What are you? Two?”
She laughed; she couldn’t help herself. “Let’s just call it inquisitive.” She walked a few steps. “Besides, I’m beginning to feel a case of ‘know your enemy’ coming on.”
“I’m not the enemy.”
“Who is?”
“Here at Wind Chime House”—his voice took on a dreamy quality—“there are no enemies. Just acceptance.”
“That sounded like sarcasm. I thought you liked it here.”
“I do.”
“Then . . .”
“It’s . . . exhausting.”
She stared at him. Opened her mouth to ask him . . .
“And don’t say, ‘Why?’”
She grinned. “Why?”
He let out an exasperated groan, walked faster, and soon they stepped into the sunlight.
Floret and Henry were talking to a man standing next to a mud-splattered SUV. He was medium height, halfway between Floret and Henry. He was smiling and gesticulating in the air; his head, which was topped by a Crocodile Dundee hat, bobbed back and forth between them. He was surrounded by a battered suitcase, a dusty frame backpack, several metal file cases, and Dulcie, who gamboled about his legs, nearly knocking him over.
“They’re busy, I should come back.”
“That’s just the professor. He’s been on vacation.”
“He lives here, too?”
“For now. People are always coming to live here. Some move on after a while, some stay.”
Zoe swore she heard an odd tinge in his voice and wondered if the end of that sentence was “
against their will.”
David strode forward. Zoe followed reluctantly behind.
David reached them first and the professor greeted him with a hug-slap-on-the-back combination that guys used for good friends they hadn’t seen in a while.
Henry noticed Zoe and motioned her over. “Zoe Bascombe, come meet the professor.”
Zoe stepped toward them.
The professor turned his bright eyes on her, and they widened slightly. “Indeed. A pleasure.” He whipped off his hat. His hair sprang out like a ballerina’s tutu from a totally bald head.
“Albert Lippincott, retired anthropologist,” the professor said. “And currently hunter home from the hill.” He saw Zoe’s frown. “Oh, not of the animal variety, but relics of the past. I’ve just been in Mexico touring and studying the recent Mayan discoveries. An exciting addition to history.” He smiled, nodded, reinforcing his enthusiasm. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Zoe is Eve Gordon’s sister,” Henry said.
“Jenny’s daughter?”
Zoe’s smile faded, and she looked from the professor to Henry and Floret. Did everybody know her mother? How was it possible?
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” Floret said.
Wonderful? thought Zoe. She was here to bury her mom.
“Jenny’s come home at last.” Floret sighed, smiled slightly. “Sooner than we thought.”
All three of them looked past David and Zoe and into the woods behind them. Zoe shivered. All that was missing was eerie movie music.
“I’ll take your stuff upstairs,” David said.
“If you could just take the file cases. They’re rather heavy, I’m afraid. I’ll take the rest of this to the laundry room.” He winked at Zoe. “Less than adequate laundry facilities on the dig, I’m afraid. A pleasure my dear.”
The professor pushed his hat back onto his head, hauled the backpack onto his shoulders, and rolled his suitcase after David. Dulcie trotted after him, jumping after one of the straps that trailed loosely from the pack.
Zoe, Henry, and Floret were alone.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Zoe blurted, before Floret suggested tea and whatever she’d baked that day. There was much she wanted to know about her mother and the days she’d spent with them, but Zoe didn’t feel it was fair to ask without Eve being present.
A Beach Wish Page 17
