Beach Girls Page 17

  “She never does that,” he said, turning to face Stevie. “Falls right asleep. There usually have to be three or four books, and a back rub, and checking to make sure no one's hiding in the closet. How did you do it?”

  “I didn't do anything,” Stevie said. “It's the full moon. It has magical powers, it really does. It entices even the most wound-up children to sleep.”

  “No, it was your wonderful story,” Jack said. “It soothed her . . . that, and the sound of your voice.”

  “I've been thinking about her—about both of you,” Stevie said. “So much. Ever since . . . did you wind up taking her to see Dr. Galford again?”

  “I did. It was good to talk to you about that—it helped.”

  “I'm so glad.”

  “About your story—is there really a place like that? What did you call it—Lovecraft Hill?”

  “Yes. There is,” Stevie said.

  “Where is it?”

  “Just a few miles from here. My aunt lives there.”

  Jack's eyes widened. He pushed the dark hair back from his face, watching Stevie and waiting for her to say more. She was entranced by him. The shape of his face, the way his long hair fell into his eyes. When she didn't speak, he asked, “Is it a true story?”

  Stevie nodded, shaken from her trance. The full moon had a hold over her—that's what it had to be. The girl in the moon was playing games with her heart. She stared into Jack's emerald green eyes and wondered whether she had ever felt anything quite like this. . . .

  “She lives in a castle?”

  “No, she moved out of it years ago,” Stevie said. Thinking of Aunt Aida, and the truth of her situation, chased the magic away. “The upkeep was too much. She lives in a cottage on the property. But she loves the castle, and goes inside often. She says it's where her husband's ghost lives. She's an artist too, and I swear she needs the place for her inspiration. She comes up from the Florida Keys in May or June and paints all through the summer. She knows every bird species, every owl call. . . . I can't bear to think of something happening to the hillside.”

  “The bulldozers are real?”

  “Realer than they've ever been before,” Stevie said, her heart sinking. “Developers have offered her a lot of money for the property, but she's always sent them packing. This summer . . . she's worried about the taxes, and that the castle is really falling apart. She's afraid someone will sneak in and get hurt. Another developer has come along. . . .”

  “And she's considering the offer?”

  “Seems so. It would break her heart, though. It really would.”

  “Why doesn't she donate the land to a nonprofit? Or form her own land trust?”

  Stevie had never thought of such a thing, and she bet Aunt Aida never had, either. They were artists through and through, without much care or concern for how the financial or real estate world worked.

  “She could do that?”

  “Absolutely. I worked on a project up on Mount Desert Island, in Maine, where the property owners donated their land to the national park. I had to go up and rebuild the stone bridges on all the carriage trails, and plan others consistent with the original architecture.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I guess . . . we could get someone to do that with the castle.”

  “I'd be happy to take a look.”

  “Are you serious? Thank you!” Stevie had a sudden vision of Jack rebuilding the castle, of a nature center opening for all the people of Black Hall to enjoy.

  “Aunt Aida and I could give art classes,” she said out loud.

  “What?”

  “Oh, my thoughts are racing,” she said. “I just had a wild picture of turning the castle into a nature center . . . with exhibits on birds, trees, the animals . . . and I imagined my aunt and I teaching a couple of classes . . . about feeling ‘what is,' and using nature as our inspiration. Giving back, you know?”

  “That sounds wonderful. So, you really have a wise aunt?” Jack took a step closer.

  “I do,” Stevie said. She felt her face flush as she gazed up at him. She couldn't hold the next part back; she had to say it—she cared too much not to. “And so does Nell.”

  He blinked, looked away.

  “I took your suggestion,” Stevie said. “And called Madeleine on my own.”

  “I was wondering,” he said, his expression hardening, “if you'd done that.” He closed his eyes, and Stevie had the idea it wasn't so much to shut her out but to better face something deep inside himself.

  “Jack, you came here because you have history here. Even though you left Atlanta because it's so painful and reminds you of Emma, you came here, to a place where you couldn't help spinning back into the past every time you turn around.”

  “That's what it's like, you're right. . . .”

  “Your family spent summers here. You and Maddie. That's why I think you came. Because you can't bear the distance between you and your sister.”

  Jack didn't respond to that. He was so silent, Stevie heard only crickets chirping and wind blowing through the trees outside.

  “How is she?” he asked after a long time.

  “She's . . . sad,” Stevie said gently.

  “Because of me?”

  “Because of life. Losing Emma, losing you and Nell. It was hard for her to be here, knowing you were up the road. She got mad at me for tricking her, and she left.” Stevie looked into Jack's face. He looked so troubled and somehow locked in, with something that went excruciatingly far beyond this conversation. “You're probably mad at me now, too,” Stevie said.

  “What do you want me to do, Stevie?”

  “Forgive her.”

  “You don't understand—you really don't. It's not just a matter of forgiveness.”

  “Then what is it? Why can't you talk to her?” His words, and the look on his face, tore her heart. He was suffering terribly, and it brought tears to her eyes. “Can't you do it for Nell?” she said. “And Maddie . . . and mostly, Jack, for yourself?”

  She thought she had gone too far. She was pushing him, and he was right—she didn't have the whole story. She reached up to touch the side of his face. She wanted to apologize, but mostly she wanted to soothe the agony away. He caught her hand—the motion was so sharp, she gasped.

  Jack took her in his arms and kissed her. His body felt hard, and his mouth was so hot. She stood on her tiptoes to reach up, and she felt his arms holding her, pulling her closer and tighter. Her head was tipped back, her heart beating in her throat, her blood on fire.

  He led her to the sofa. They sat down together, holding hands. Jack reached over, to brush the bangs away from her eyes. She felt the earth go out from under her. She hadn't been touched in so long.

  She tried to get control of her breath. She had butterflies in her stomach, and she felt a wave of shyness wash over her. Looking into Jack's eyes, she held his gaze. It was so direct and filled with desire that she turned to liquid, hot and melting. Her thoughts were racing: Don't do it, Stevie. Don't let this go any farther.

  She could almost hear Henry teasing her, calling her Lulu, Luocious . . . the newest character in the Odyssey, the one whose song lured men to crash their boats on the rocks. He'd tell her to warn Jack to block his ears and sail on. Weren't three marriages enough? Her head was telling her one thing, her heart was pushing her toward another. She told herself, It's not marriage, for heaven's sake—it's just sitting here holding hands; it's just a few kisses. . . .

  But those few kisses . . . they were so sweet. Stevie tilted her head back, felt Jack kissing her lips, the side of her neck. She shivered and wanted him to keep going. She also wanted him to stop. Her thoughts got crazy again, all jumbled up: she always wanted so much, never knew how to hold back, was a bottomless pit for affection. She curved over slightly, protecting her heart.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have.”

  “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have,” she said.

  The apologies brought them up short. Stevie bowed h
er head. What was she doing?

  “What do you think is going on with us?” he asked, their arms still around each other.

  “I think,” she began, but stopped herself, because suddenly all she could see was a picture of them at dawn, alone on the deserted beach, meeting to kiss by the water's edge. It was the culmination of all her dreams of this entire summer. . . .

  Their eyes locked. Jack was hanging on her answer. She wanted to warn him, tell him that she was no good for him—fantasy was one thing, this was something else. She had made big mistakes before, and she didn't want anyone to be hurt. She thought of Nell sleeping in the other room, and remembered what it had been like to lose her mother. The loss had created an abyss of longing, and Stevie felt it even now.

  In fact, gazing into Jack's dark eyes, she felt it in a whole new way. Although she had pulled away, he kept one arm around her shoulders. His touch was wildly romantic and somehow erotic, the feel of his fingertips against the bare skin of her left arm. She found it hard to sit still.

  “I should go,” she said.

  “You're saying that, but I don't believe you want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know how I feel . . . and I think you feel the same way.”

  He leaned down, brushed his lips against hers, found the kiss. Stevie's arms went around his neck again. He smelled of salt and sweat and citrus. She wanted to swim with him. Her body yearned for it, and she pressed her chest against his, feeling wild and wordless, for once the thoughts stopping and the sensations taking over.

  Nell turned over, made a small sound.

  And that was it. Stevie was on her feet. Swaying, none too steady, she backed away. Jack reached out, tried to pull her back. But Stevie didn't want Nell to wake up and find her new friend kissing her father.

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  “No—Stevie . . . I want to talk to you.”

  “Not tonight,” she said. She felt dizzy. “Okay? I really do have to go.”

  “When can we see the castle?”

  “Tomorrow? The next day? Anytime you're ready.”

  “The sooner the better,” he said. “We'll be leaving in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks?” she asked.

  “That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” He stood, walked over, touched her arm.

  She nodded. Her face felt hot, and the dizziness felt more intense. She knew she had to get out of there right then, or she never would. She pulled back her arm, smiled into his eyes.

  “I'm taking a job in Scotland,” he said, and she felt the smile leave her face.

  “When?”

  “In three weeks,” he repeated.

  Stevie thought of Nell, going so far away. She thought of Madeleine, losing the chance to reconcile. And she thought of Jack, of how very little she could hope to sort out her feelings for him during three short weeks. Her heart caved in, and she made herself stand tall.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I'm sorry you have to leave,” she said. “With so much left to do . . .”

  “Your aunt's castle?”

  Stevie smiled sadly. “That's what you think?” she asked.

  He squinted, not replying. Then he shook his head. “It's just the easiest,” he said finally.

  “Wow,” she said, thinking of the ivy-covered walls, the vines snaking through mortar, the tumbling-down rocks, the overgrown paths . . . He was right, really, that the physical work was so much easier than the emotional. “I wish, I wish,” she began.

  “What do you wish, Stevie?”

  “I wish that Nell could have her aunt in her life, the way I have mine.”

  He looked away, cleared his throat, ignoring her words. “We'd better go see the castle soon,” he said. “Tomorrow—how's noon?”

  “Noon is fine.”

  “I'm just curious,” he said after a moment, touching the side of her face.

  “What?” she said, her skin tingling.

  “Is that the only reaction you have to my saying we're moving to Scotland?”

  “The only one I'm prepared to say out loud,” she said softly. And then she turned and walked out the door into the bright, moonlit night.

  JACK WATCHED her go. He had to hold himself back, to keep from following her. His heart was racing, and he felt strange. Stevie was gone, but some kind of . . . of aura, or spirit, was left behind. The room crackled. Jack didn't understand, had never felt anything like this before. He felt overloaded with energy—as if he could run twenty miles. He stretched, trying to discharge it.

  He wanted everything to be different, he wanted to undo so much. He knew that Stevie was right about Nell. But she didn't know the whole story. There was more to it than she thought.

  Still, he felt the strange energy left by their talk, and he found himself picking up the telephone. He dialed information, got a number.

  His fingers were trembling as he held the receiver to his ear.

  The phone rang and rang. He looked at his watch: maybe they were out.

  But then a woman answered, and he heard her voice.

  “Hello?” his sister said.

  Jack didn't speak. He just held on, wanting to say the one thing that would make everything okay, wipe away all the hurt and suspicion. He didn't want to leave with this between them.

  “Hello?” she said again.

  Jack's mind spun out with their last meeting, the truth of what Madeleine had told him, the fury with which he'd fought her story. If he talked to her now, it would be letting her version of the events back into his life, and he knew he couldn't do that to Nell.

  “Who is this?” Madeleine asked.

  Jack wanted to tell her, but he couldn't. So he just hung up.

  Chapter 16

  STEVIE PICKED THEM UP AT NOON, AFTER Nell's morning at recreation, and they drove under the train trestle and onto Shore Road. Nell was beside herself with excitement—she squirmed in the backseat, pointing out landmarks and talking nonstop. Jack's excitement surpassed his daughter's. For once, Nell had slept through the night while he lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was happening.

  They stopped at Paradise Ice Cream for lunch, with Stevie ordering an extra lobster roll for her aunt. They carried their trays over to picnic tables behind the white shack, overlooking the marsh. Seagulls circled around, watching for someone to drop a scrap.

  Bright sunlight turned the streams and coves to mirrors. It highlighted Stevie's ebony hair, close-cropped to expose the beautiful neck that Jack recalled kissing the night before. He wanted to reach across, push the bangs from her violet eyes, touch her porcelain cheek. He restrained himself, and it wasn't easy. Especially when she looked directly into his eyes with a look that said she was having the same difficulty.

  When they finished, they climbed back into Stevie's car and drove a little farther along the main road. Then they turned off onto a lane that took them back under the train line, and then onto a side road that led them up a steep hill. Soon the pavement gave way to a gravel track, and the ride got bumpy. Nell jumped and cried out—her nightmares all had to do with what she imagined about her mother's last ride on that godforsaken country road—so Jack just reached into the backseat to hold her hand and tell her they were safe.

  “We're almost there,” Stevie said, glancing into the rearview mirror. She could see that Nell was pure white, gripping her father's hand. “Look, Nell—see? There's the gatehouse!”

  She slowed the car down, and tooted the horn. A man and a red-haired woman leaned out the door to wave. The man was beaming, and he raised the woman's left hand in the air and pointed at it as the car drove by.

  “Who's that? Is that Aunt Aida?” Nell asked.

  “No,” Stevie said, smiling broadly. “I can hardly believe it, but that's Aida's stepson, Henry, and his friend Doreen.”

  Suddenly the castle came into view, and Nell gasped. Even Jack was stunned—it was spectacular and strange, compl
etely unexpected in the staid Connecticut countryside—it looked like it belonged in the Alps, in the Black Forest, some half-mad baron's fantasy of fairy-tale grandeur.

  “There it is,” Stevie said proudly as they climbed out of the car. “And there's my aunt!”

  A tall, elegant woman, dressed in a painting smock and jeans with the knees torn out, velvet slippers, and a gold lamé headband, strode from the small cottage beside the castle. She had a high, intelligent forehead and violet eyes made up with kohl and blue shadow. Although she was much taller than Stevie, the resemblance was striking. It was there in her eyes, her bearing, and her beauty.

  “This is my aunt Aida Von Lichen,” Stevie said.

  “You must be Jack,” she said. “And you must be Nell. Please, call me Aida. Will you join me for lunch?”

  “We stopped at Paradise and ate already,” Stevie said, handing her the brown bag.

  “Stevie brought you a lobster roll!” Nell said.

  “She is the most darling, thoughtful niece an aunt could have,” Aida said. “Let me just put this in the refrigerator, for later.”

  “Aunt Aida—what was that sparkling on Doreen's ring finger?” Stevie asked when the older woman emerged from her door.

  “It's a miracle—that's what it was! Henry asked her to marry him, and she accepted. They're affianced!” Aida said in an imperious but affectionate way as her eyes filled with tears. She spoke in exactly the tones Jack would expect of a woman who owned a castle, but he was taken by her obvious emotion and love.

  “I saw him pointing at her hand,” Stevie said.

  “Yes . . . I gave him my engagement ring to give her.”

  “Oh, Aunt Aida,” Stevie said, hugging her. Jack watched the private moment between aunt and niece; he remembered what Stevie had said about her uncle's ghost haunting this castle, and had a sense that Aida's ring was precious beyond its mortal worth.

  Aida steadied herself against Stevie, and then pushed back. Her eye makeup had smudged. Stevie wiped it from her cheek. Jack felt a stab, thinking about their lifelong relationship, thinking of Maddie and Nell. Aida nodded that she was fine, and she laughed lightly.