Return to the Beach House

by Georgia Bockoven

  “I was hoping to see you too,” she said, moving toward him. “I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done. And to let you know that Christopher loves the truck.”

  “He’s okay with the standard transmission?”

  “Turns out I was right about our neighbor letting him drive the farm equipment. I just had no idea that it’s been going on since he was thirteen.”

  “Most farm kids are behind the wheel of their dad’s tractor the day they can reach the pedals.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t know. But I’m also glad he had the opportunity to be a normal kid. I have a tendency to hover.”

  “I assume Benita took care of you and that everything was in order?”

  Alison nodded. “She also told me about the insurance. Thank you for that too.” On impulse, she added, “Would it be okay if I took you to lunch sometime? To thank you.” Where had that come from?

  He didn’t hesitate. “I’d like that.”

  “When?” If she didn’t move fast, she’d lose her nerve.

  “How does today sound?”

  “Great. What time?”

  He checked his watch. “Eleven-thirty?”

  “Okay. I was thinking about someplace on the wharf. Do you have any preferences?”

  “That depends on whether you’re more interested in the food or the view.”

  “The view first, the food a close second.”

  “Then why don’t you let me take care of the arrangements.”

  “Okay.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say and was afraid if she did, it would be something dumb. She headed for her car, stopping to call over her shoulder, “Eleven-thirty?”

  He was still watching her. “I’ll be here. And I’ll drive. Traffic around the wharf can be a real pain that time of day.”

  She backed toward her car. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  She believed him, and it felt wonderful.

  Alison started her walking tour at the Pacific House Museum, where she picked up additional material to add to the brochures Grace had put in her file. She’d been an information junkie all her life, with a passion for discovering obscure bits of trivia about the places she visited. There were times she was sure she’d seen Dennis’s eyes glaze over when she insisted on sharing what she’d learned, but he’d never complained.

  Having been raised in Connecticut, she hadn’t been taught much about California history beyond the gold rush era and the mission settlements. The tribes she learned about in school were the Apache and Navajo and Lakota; even though the Indians who’d inhabited California before the mission settlements were also a part of Western lore, what she knew about them wouldn’t fill the pages of a toddler’s picture book.

  Between the cattle grazing that depleted the traditional food sources of the Rumsien Indians and the diseases the Spaniards brought with them that wiped out entire villages, the native people who’d lived in the Monterey area for thousands of years were gone in less than two hundred years after the Spaniards arrived. The last-known speaker of the Rumsien language was a woman who died in 1939.

  Alison hated the word “last.” Last dinosaur, last passenger pigeon, last Javan tiger, last kiss, last good-bye, last words on a voice-mail message. . . . .

  She had a list of things she loved too, like puffy white clouds in a brilliant blue sky, songbirds announcing spring, Christmas trees laden with memory-rich ornaments, wistful memories that made her smile, and the sense of freedom she’d experienced since coming to California.

  At home everyone knew her, even people she’d never met. After thirteen years, she and Nora and Christopher were still gossip fodder. They were classified the way doctors and lawyers and actors and politicians and criminals were labeled, who they were being lost in what they were. Her name forever carried the tag: You know, she’s the one who lost her husband and son in the World Trade Center attack.

  When her friends insisted it was time for her to start dating again and she’d finally agreed to give it a try, just to let them see she wasn’t turning into a recluse, she hadn’t dated one man whose eyes didn’t cloud with his own memories when he found out how she’d become a widow. Once anyone, man or woman, knew who she was, they were more interested in her story than they were in her. She’d come to the conclusion that 9/11 was a wound that needed more time and an entire new generation to heal. The scar would never fade for those who had lived through that day.

  She glanced at her phone. She still had another hour before she met Kyle. Plenty of time to go to the nearby Custom House and discover a wealth of information that fascinated her and bored her friends to tears.

  Chapter 6

  When Alison arrived, Kyle was standing beside a Chevy sedan talking to a young couple with a baby in a backpack. She caught his attention and pointed toward the art gallery next door. He excused himself from the couple and caught up with her. “Are you ready?”

  “I can wait.”

  “Not necessary.” He nodded his head in the young couple’s direction. “They’re just looking. He works the late shift at one of the restaurants on Cannery Row. They come in two or three times a month to see what’s new and make plans—same as the couple you saw the other day. It’s cheap entertainment and a reason to get out of the house. Best of all is that I get a kick out of talking to them.” He turned and waved as they wandered back to their seventies-era Toyota. “One day he’s going to own his own restaurant and he’ll be shopping for a new car. Until then, I’ll keep them and their baby in inexpensive, safe transportation.”

  “You have an interesting way of doing business.”

  “I started out liking money,” he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Now I like people.” He guided her to his car, a model she didn’t recognize.

  “What is this?” She took a minute to look the car over before getting inside.

  “A Tesla Roadster. I know the guy who makes them and couldn’t wait to get my hands on one.”

  There wasn’t any noise when he started the engine. “Kind of like a Prius,” she said.

  He laughed. “A little. But this one’s all battery. It never switches over to a combustible engine because there isn’t one.”

  She ran her hand over the dashboard. The car might be pure economy to drive, but she’d bet her pottery collection that it hadn’t been economical to buy. “Impressive.”

  She wasn’t the only one impressed. As they made their way through the city the car drew serious and comical attention from the people they passed, everything from appreciative whistles to honking horns to thumbs-ups to a young man at a stoplight who got down on his knees, put his hands in a pleading position, and begged Kyle to adopt him.

  Kyle took it all in stride, acknowledging the attention with a smile or wave and laughing out loud at the kid on his knees. “He’s the kind of person I like to have working for me,” Kyle said. “Makes the day more fun just being around people like that.”

  “Pure California,” Alison said. “Or at least what I’ve come to think of as California. That isn’t something anyone would do where I come from.”

  “Really? That’s too bad.”

  She considered what he’d said. “I don’t know if it is or not. I like knowing what to expect from the people around me. But then maybe it would be different if I drove a flashy car.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Yes, you did, and it’s fine. I put you on the defensive and got exactly what I deserved.”

  “Then tell me, why do you drive a car like this?”

  “Lots of reasons. The most important being that I’m a car guy. I love everything about them, even the old ones like the ’59 Cadillacs with those ludicrously huge fins. I went to a car show once that had nothing but homemade amphibious cars. I came home all excited about making one of my own, but Jenny put an end to that about as fast as she clos
ed down my sailing solo around the world in a twenty-foot boat.

  “She was the practical one in our marriage, which allowed me the occasional bits of craziness that made me feel young and adventurous. I didn’t appreciate how important a part she played in allowing me my sense of freedom when she was alive. It wasn’t until I took over raising the girls and saw what it meant to be the responsible parent that I finally understood the gift she’d given me.” He paused, then added, “Of all the things I’ve had to learn to deal with, hindsight is the worst.”

  “And the words ‘if only,’ “ Alison said.

  “After everyone had gone home from the funeral, I told the girls that they had my permission to use any swear words they could string together to express their frustration, but that I wouldn’t allow ‘if only’ to be spoken in our house.”

  “Wise man. Did it work?”

  “It did what I’d intended. I didn’t want them looking back with regret or guilt.”

  A car pulled up beside them, the passenger trying hard not to be obvious in his perusal of the Tesla. As he pulled away he gave a thumbs-up signal.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  A lifelong conservative, Alison was a little disappointed to discover this flashy side to Kyle’s personality. “It is a pretty car . . .”

  “It’s so much more than that. It’s the future. Or at least it should be. Can you imagine the difference it would make if all our cars ran on batteries that were charged by solar panels?”

  “I never gave it much thought,” she admitted.

  “It’s pretty hard to ignore around here. We take this stuff seriously.”

  “So the only reason you drive a Tesla is the environment?”

  He smiled. “It’s not the only reason.”

  She sounded like she was about to tie him to a chair and shine a light in his eyes. “Can we start over? This is supposed to be a way for me to thank you for all you’ve done. I have no idea why I’m being so aggressive about your car.”

  “Could it be that I don’t fit in your comfort zone?”

  Oh great, he was a mind-reader too. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you’re not the same person you were the other day, and I think that person is the real you.”

  Just like that she was crying. Was it possible for her to make a bigger fool of herself? She dug through her purse for a tissue. “You know—I think it might be better if we did this another day. Plainly I’m not fit company to be around today. Certainly not in a fancy restaurant.”

  He reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “And what makes you think it’s a fancy restaurant?”

  She looked at him, at the twinkle in his eyes, at the half-cocked grin, and couldn’t help but return his smile. “Jenny was a lucky woman.”

  “My kids insist I’m a nicer guy now than I was when she was alive, but Jenny and I had a good thing going for a lot of years. I just didn’t have the sense to realize how good until it was gone.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Ten years.”

  “You’re a nice man. I’m surprised you’re still single.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not for lack of trying by my friends. I can’t imagine you haven’t been going through the same thing. How long has it been for you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Lots of little clues, but mainly the fact that you never once mentioned bringing anyone else into the decision-making process about the truck. It’s obvious you’ve learned to do this kind of thing on your own.”

  “It’s been thirteen years. And I have a suspicion I’m still single for the same reason you are. Haven’t met anyone I wanted to be around more than a couple of hours at a time.”

  “Yeah, it’s not a great sign when you’re looking at the clock on the mantel instead of the door to the bedroom.”

  She glanced out the car window and realized they were passing the wharf. “I think you missed the turnoff.”

  “Change of plans.”

  They drove past signs directing them to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, then west for several blocks before turning right on Seventeenth Street. Kyle pulled into a parking lot next to a small park, got out, and walked around the car. “We’re here,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  The “here” was the top of a rocky outcropping with a panoramic view of the ocean and the bay. There was a small beach in a cove on one side and more rocks with barely enough sand to build a castle on the other. Waves hit the outlying rocks with a force that sent foamy salt water thirty feet into the air.

  “Wow,” Alison said appreciatively.

  A man wearing an apron with a picture of two crabs holding claws on it got up from one of a pair of lawn chairs on either side of a small picnic table. “Ciao, Signore Tanner. You pick a beautiful day for your picnic. No fog.” He looked toward the ocean. “At least not yet.”

  He shook hands with Kyle and turned to Alison. “And who is this lovely lady?”

  Kyle brought her forward by putting an arm around her shoulders. “Alison Kirkpatrick, this is Antonio Formisano, extraordinary chef and even better friend.”

  Antonio took Alison’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Bella,” he said.

  “Grazie,” she replied.

  He tilted his head and looked at her. “Parli Italiano?”

  She laughed. “Molto poco. I had a set of CDs that promised I’d speak fluent Italian in six weeks. I either didn’t go enough places in the car or the CDs promised more than they could deliver, because not even my Italian grocer can understand anything I say.”

  “I wish I had the time to give you a lesson today, but sadly, I must get back to work. Perhaps next time. Buon appetito.”

  “What’s this?” she asked Kyle when Antonio was gone.

  “You said you preferred the view over the meal, but I didn’t think you’d mind if we had both.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I went on a picnic. What a terrific idea.”

  “I used to go on them all the time with Jenny,” he said as he guided her to the lawn chairs. “I nearly forgot how much fun they can be.” He glanced at the advancing clouds rolling in with the waves. “Even in the fog.”

  Before sitting down, she went to the short rock wall that provided a safety railing at the top of the cliff and looked over the side. Most of the waves broke before hitting the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff, releasing their energy on barrier rocks farther offshore. Still, there was enough force to create swells of rushing water and foam that swirled around and over the tenacious vegetation.

  Another life lesson—learn when to hang on and when to yield.

  “I love how something can be so scary and so beautiful at the same time.” She came back, sat down, and adjusted a clip that anchored the checkered tablecloth to the small table.

  “It’s an intoxicating combination,” he agreed. “A little like skin diving and having a great white shark brush against your leg.”

  “That happened to you?”

  “Once.” He chuckled at the memory. “Once was enough.”

  Kyle reached into the basket and brought out a covered dish and checkered napkin. Inside was a triangle of artfully arranged crab cakes. After handing her the dish and napkin, he pointed to the area on the other side of the outcropping and said, “If you look closely, you’ll see otters in the kelp bed. A lot of them are mothers with their pups.” He poured a glass of white wine, offered it to her, and when she took it, poured a short splash for himself.

  “Do you come here often?” she asked, squeezing the muslin-wrapped lemon over the crab cakes.

  “I used to. Whenever I could manage time off in the middle of the week, we’d have at least one lunch here at the park. Rain or shine.” He chuckled. “There was one time we couldn’t drink our wine fast enough to keep it from being more water than wine. Best picnic I ever had with Jenny. Now that I actually live here full-time, I’m more likely to make a reservation at
the restaurant. There are some things that are better shared.”

  He studied her for several seconds. “Truth be told, I haven’t wanted to come back.”

  “Too many memories?” She would take her cue about how much or how little he wanted to tell her from his reaction to her question.

  “Something like that.”

  Alison took a forkful of crab and dipped it in the sauce. “Oh my God,” she sighed. “This is amazing.”

  “Antonio doesn’t believe in cans. If he can’t get something fresh, it’s not on the menu. I could live on his wild mushroom soup.”

  “And he still has time to fix a picnic basket and sit around the park waiting for us to show up?”

  “He’s a special friend,” Kyle said. “But I had no idea that he’d come himself rather than send one of the staff, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  Kyle opened a third napkin held together with a length of raffia tied into a bow. “Forgot the bread,” he said, holding the napkin open so she could take a piece.

  A heated stone had kept it warm. There was a lovely bite to the smell that let her know it was sourdough freshly baked. She topped the bread with a slice of the accompanying brie and took a bite. “It’s a good thing I don’t live here. I could wind up as round as I am tall without giving it a second thought.”

  Kyle laughed. “My kind of woman.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. “So you like your women plump.”

  “I like a woman who isn’t obsessed with how she looks.” He offered to refill her wineglass, but she declined, and he put the bottle back into the basket without taking any for himself.

  They finished their lunch, ending with strawberries the size of lemons that had been dipped in melted sugar. The crisp, translucent outer layer was a window into the perfectly formed and perfectly ripe strawberry inside. Alison looked at the exquisitely simple creation, was tempted, but was also convinced she didn’t have room for one more bite of anything.

  Until Kyle bit into the strawberry and she saw the look on his face.

  Chapter 7

  “Well?” Grace said, waiting for Christopher to move his saddle and helmet from the front seat to the back of the truck.