Beach Girls Page 24

  “The best part about Boston is, it's not very far from Hubbard's Point. So, please, Dad . . . Go back to work at Structural, and that'll be fine.”

  “I can't, Nell,” he said, the truth of it all hitting him. “I gave my notice there. And my new boss, in Scotland, is waiting for me to start.”

  “No!” she sobbed.

  “Nell,” he said.

  “Please, Dad. Please don't do this. I love it here.”

  “I do, too,” he said. But even as he spoke, he knew: sometimes love wasn't enough. If it was, he would have been able to make things work with Emma. If it was, then he and Madeleine would have been able to make everything okay between them. Sometimes love was a driving force—but in opposite directions. And at that moment, however hard it was, he was sure that going to Scotland was the right thing. It would be new, fresh—they'd have time to get on their feet, both of them, he and Nell.

  I've got to go now, Madeleine had said.

  Well, so did Jack. He was an idiot to think he could stop running now.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her.

  “You're hurting me,” she wailed, tearing at her own hair. “Can't you tell? You're hurting me, Dad! First you won't let me see Aunt Maddie, and now you're taking me away from Stevie. And Peggy! I don't want to go to Scotland. I don't want to, I don't . . .”

  Sobbing, she tore up the stairs. Her wails came through the floorboards, as if her heart were being broken, and Jack sat in a chair down below, his own heart cracking at the same time.

  THAT NIGHT, Stevie couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, listening to the waves build, pierced through at bringing everything crashing down on Nell. A storm was building out at sea, and the wind picked up a little more each hour. The moon was waning, but still over half full. Filtered through high clouds, its light shone through her window all night long, till finally she gave up, got out of bed, pulled on her bathing suit and a shirt and walked down to the beach.

  The sky was dark blue, glowing with moonlight. Thin clouds were moving in, veiling the light. Stevie walked all the way to the end of the beach, feeling the hard sand under her feet. The waves came in and out, licking her ankles. She had had a lifetime of love and happiness here, dating all the way back to her summers with Emma . . . and then Madeleine.

  Beach girls today, beach girls tomorrow, beach girls till the end of time . . .

  What had gone wrong? And why did she have the feeling she had failed them both—her two dearest friends? She had tried to bring Madeleine back with Emma's family, and she'd tried to welcome Nell into the fold. Her heart felt heavy; she should have stayed a hermit. Walking along, the darkness was thick and heavy. She heard the waves, saw the white ripples, silver in the moonlight. A wet, salt breeze blew from the east, stinging her cheeks.

  When she got near the footbridge, she dropped her shirt on the sand and stood there in her bathing suit. She needed to swim, to feel the salt water buoying her up—she just wanted to feel held, even by the sea. The tide was all the way out, as far as it would go. She hadn't skinny-dipped since that first morning when Jack was sitting on the boardwalk watching her. Remembering that, she turned around to look—and he was there.

  Stevie froze, then began to walk up the beach. He came down to meet her.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “Of all the beaches on all the oceans, you had to walk onto mine,” she said. They stood together, toes touching, as she looked up and tried to see his eyes. His hair fell across his face, shadowed by the moon.

  “I'm sorry for telling Nell about Scotland,” she said. “I thought she knew.”

  “I've tried to broach the subject with her before,” he said. “But she's stubborn about things she doesn't want to hear. So, don't worry. She had to find out somehow.”

  “Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “Finally she is. It took half the night, but she eventually cried herself to sleep. I—the walls were closing in on me up there. I needed a walk. Are you going to swim?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Me, too. Let's go in.”

  He dropped his shirt beside hers, and they dove into the next wave. The night air was cool, so the water felt warm. Stevie swam strong and fast, out toward the raft. She felt the tide start to turn—felt resistance as it started coming in. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a wide, gold path on the rising black water. She heard Jack swimming nearby, caught a glimpse of his sleek back.

  Her lungs ached, but the exertion felt so good. She had the feeling that he was trying to wear himself out, too. Her muscles stretched as she sped up, picking up the pace. Jack got into the spirit, racing her to the raft. They hauled themselves out, laughing. She shook her hair and sat down beside him.

  “Didn't your mother ever tell you not to swim after dark?” he asked.

  “That was one thing she didn't tell me,” Stevie said. “She had a serious appreciation for the beach, and she knew that night swimming, especially with a friend and a storm moon, is one of the high points.”

  “But you didn't know you'd have a friend tonight,” he said. “Did you?”

  “No,” she said. “But neither did you. Did you?”

  “I thought you might be there.”

  “Those other times, I swam at dawn. I don't know what time it is now—”

  “Probably about four-thirty. I felt it anyway. I can't explain how. Maybe it's because I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “Maddie came to see me.”

  “Jack!” she said, thrilled.

  “It was so good to see her,” he said, but his eyes looked stricken. Her heart caught in her throat as she saw him shake his head.

  “What, Jack?”

  “Nell and I are leaving.”

  She turned slowly to look at him, her stomach dropping.

  “Now that the reality has sunk in for her, the longer we stay, the harder it'll be. She's . . . she's really crazy about you. And about this place. I've screwed up something huge—but I can't undo it.”

  “But seeing Maddie—you said it was so good to see her.”

  “It's too hard, Stevie. It's too big—for both of us. She drove away first—she couldn't handle it either. There's too big a hole in our family for anyone to fix.”

  “It doesn't have to happen all at once,” she said.

  “I wanted to stay,” he said. “I did. You have no idea how much. When you said it that night, after the beach movie . . . stay. I've heard your voice ever since. And I've thought—really thought—what if we did? I tried—I wanted it to happen.”

  “Why can't you?” she asked.

  “I've signed a contract. I changed our plane tickets—we're going to leave Hubbard's Point tomorrow, leave for Scotland this weekend.”

  “You can't,” Stevie said.

  “I wish I couldn't, but I have to.”

  She thought of Madeleine, how unfinished everything was. There had to be a way to heal it, to make everything right before Jack left—if he had to go at all. “Maddie loves you,” she said. “And I know you love her.”

  “There's no doubt about that,” he said. “There's a part you don't understand. And I can't talk about it. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to. It's easier to push it away when I'm not so close . . . to people who knew Emma.”

  “But think of Nell,” she whispered into the chilly wind. “You're taking her away from people who really love her.”

  “Stevie, I'm doing it for Nell. I'm her father—I have to take care of her the best way I know. You know how much I wish things were different, don't you?”

  She nodded, but he didn't give her a chance to reply. He threw his arms around her, kissed her with fierce intensity. His mouth was hot, and his salty skin was wet against hers. They kissed wildly as Stevie's thoughts raced, as she fought to hold back tears. They held each other for a long time, their bodies keeping each other warm in the chilly air, until Stevie gave up and let the tears come—she was covered with salt water
anyway. Lying back, holding each other, they felt the raft moving beneath them on the waves.

  Stevie held his arms, tingling from his touch, soothed by the movement of the sea. Why did he have to leave? The question would hit her, and she'd tense up again. But he kept holding her. The wind came up, drowning out the words he tried to say to her. They were on a ship, far from land; she told herself they were far from all their problems. The full moon had cast a spell when she had seen it rising from the castle tower, had brought them together out here, on this raft in the bay.

  The wind swirled down, chilling their skin as they slid off their bathing suits. Jack's body gleamed in the tawny light, powerful shoulders and arms, strong thighs, poised over her. Stevie was strong, too, pale from working in her studio. She couldn't wait for him, arching up to kiss his neck, taste the salt, moan as he entered her. The wind-whipped waves moved underneath, and he thrust from on top, and she never wanted to let go.

  Her heart was pounding, and her insides were throbbing. Jack was whispering in her ear, but she could barely hear the words. She gripped his back, holding on with everything she had. Their eyes met, and the truth was right there. They each had reasons for not wanting to say it out loud, but on a moonlit night when an offshore wind was blowing and the tide was flooding in, all bets were off.

  “I've fallen in love with you,” she whispered in a voice much too low for him to hear.

  “I've fallen in love with you, too,” he whispered back.

  She felt him in the wind and the tide, and she knew she would feel him in every swim she ever took, and she felt him right then, inside her, his arms around her, holding her, just holding her.

  Somewhere during their lovemaking, the moon set. They were alone in the dark, on a raft anchored fifty yards out from the beach. Waves beat against the rocks and raft, mysterious music singing from the deep. Stevie thought of Henry calling her Luocious, the siren with the dangerous song, and her eyes filled with tears again. She remembered him saying, “It's your boat that always gets wrecked.”

  Jack looked into her face, but it was too dark to see the tears. She held him inside her for as long as she could. She thought of all the mistakes she had made in love, all during her life, and she knew that this wasn't one of them.

  They fell asleep in each other's arms. When they woke up, the sky was turning light in the east—the sun was getting ready to rise. Stevie watched Jack's face—long dark lashes on his lean cheeks, eyes flickering beneath the lids, alive with dreams. Would he dream of her after he left?

  She kissed his lips, to wake him up.

  “The sun's coming up,” she said.

  He stared moodily east, as if he wished he could send the sun back below the horizon. Or maybe he was thinking of Scotland.

  “You'd better get home to Nell,” she said.

  “I know.”

  They pulled on their suits and stood, hugging. Jack held her hand, looking at her as he got ready to dive in. She shook her head.

  “You go,” she said. “I'm staying here.”

  “It's windy—the waves are kicking up. Please, Stevie?”

  “No,” she said. “I need a little time . . . I'll be fine.”

  He held her hands for a long time. She watched the expressions cross his face, the worry lines in his forehead. If only they had met sooner, or later, or differently; if only they hadn't so much history. The waves splashed in, and Stevie thought, If only, if only . . .

  “I don't want to leave you,” he said.

  “Please,” she said. She had a lump in her throat, and this time she wouldn't have darkness to hide her tears.

  “Stevie?”

  “Please . . .” she said again. He nodded. He kissed her once, then dove into the water. She watched him swim the whole way back to shore, getting farther and farther away. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she watched him climb out of the water and pick up his shirt. He turned and raised his hand briefly in a final wave and then turned and walked away, back to his sleeping daughter, to their future on another rocky coast an ocean away.

  Stevie just sat down on the raft and watched him go.

  Chapter 22

  NELL COULDN'T BELIEVE THAT THIS WAS really happening. The bags were packed, her father was sweeping the kitchen floor, the soda cans and water bottles were stacked by the door, ready to be thrown into the recycling bin, and the real estate lady was standing there saying “Oh, I hope you come back next year.”

  “I'll let you know,” her father said, holding the broom.

  “Well, you've paid through till the end of the month,” the real estate lady said. She was tan and pretty, with curly brown hair and a pink flowered dress. “I'm sorry I can't refund your money, because I don't have other renters coming in this summer.”

  “That's okay,” her father replied. He kept sweeping. He gave the strongest hints possible, but the real estate lady wasn't picking up on them.

  “Was there something wrong with the cottage? Were you unhappy at Hubbard's Point?”

  “We loved it here,” Nell said, standing in the corner in her yellow sundress, the most dressed up she'd been in weeks, since coming here, with her arms folded tight across her chest.

  “Then—?”

  “A change in plans,” her father said. Then, as if he'd heard how clipped and rude he sounded, he leaned on his broom and said, “It's business.”

  “It's crummy!” Nell chimed in.

  “Nell . . .”

  “It's so unfair! I want to stay. You go to Scotland, and I'll stay here. We paid for it, Dad.”

  Her father threw a watered-down smile toward the real estate lady, who was looking half horrified, half starved for the gory details of the father-daughter showdown. “I don't think Mrs. Crosby would think that's such a great idea.”

  “No, dear, it's probably not,” she said. “Besides, don't you want to go to Scotland with your daddy?”

  “About as much as I want to have my eyes pecked out by seagulls,” Nell said under her breath.

  “Scotland's lovely!” the lady said, in a way that Nell knew was designed to please her father. “All that heather, and the lochs and castles . . . and great bargains on plaid and tweed. And scotch . . .” she laughed, “for your father . . .”

  “Dad,” Nell said, ignoring dumb Mrs. Crosby and her flirty ways. “We have a castle right here. I'm not going. I'm staying with Stevie.”

  “Nell . . .”

  “She'll let me! She'd love it! I could help her with her painting. I could tell her what kids like to read. She told me that I inspired her a lot for the story she was writing about the hummingbirds . . . we could do tons more things.”

  “We're not going to bother Stevie about this.”

  “Stevie Moore?” Mrs. Crosby asked, cocking her eyebrow in a funny way.

  “She's our friend,” Nell said.

  Mrs. Crosby seemed momentarily speechless. Nell's father just kept sweeping. And Nell knew she had to use this moment to escape, or she'd start to cry.

  “I'm going out to say my goodbyes, Dad.”

  “We're leaving at two. I want us to be on the road at two sharp. You got that, Nell?”

  She just scrunched up her nose and nodded her head—he was her dad, but even if she had to do what he said, she didn't have to like it. Then she raced outside. She kicked her shoes off in the yard, savoring the feeling of hot tar under her bare feet.

  The salt wind blew through her brown hair and stung her green eyes. As if in honor of her dark mood, the day was overcast, threatening rain. A storm was whipping up at sea, driving big waves into the beach. She stopped on the boardwalk, flung her arms out to the sides, and leaned into the easterly wind.

  It held her up. Blowing so hard, no matter how steeply she leaned forward, it pushed her back. She swallowed the wind, tasting the sea. She looked up and down the beach, trying to memorize every inch. Gone were the bright umbrellas and beach blankets. A few diehards were huddled in beach chairs, trying to read as their book pages fluttered wi
ldly. Some kids bodysurfed the waves—Nell recognized Billy McCabe and his friends, as well as Eliza and Annie. She scoured the group for Peggy—then realized that she was waiting for Nell at home.

  Nell left the beach, heading for the marsh path. Just twenty yards from the beach, the wind dropped. It was protected here, quiet and warmer. Her bare feet squished through the marsh mud. The tide was up, the creek overflowing its banks. She peered into the murky water, saw blue crabs clinging to the spartina. Their claws flashed azure blue in the dim sunlight, as they danced and moved in the flowing water.

  When she came to the plank bridge, she thought of her father. He built bridges for his living. He was taking her to Scotland, so he could build some over there. The whole world would be filled with her father's bridges, but if he didn't use them himself—to cross them and get to the people who loved him—then what use were they?

  Nell balanced on the silvered wood, step by step, thinking of the people she wanted to see on the other side: Peggy, Stevie, her aunt. Her father would probably build a span across the Atlantic Ocean, if he could, to get away from everyone.

  Running now, Nell got to Peggy's house and knocked on the door. Peggy's mother and Tara were waiting inside, both looking sad. Peggy was sitting on a stool at the counter, and she couldn't even turn her head to greet her friend. The women hugged Nell in a sort of huddle; she wished she could hide there and stay.

  “We're going to miss you so much,” Peggy's mother said.

  “I wish we could kidnap you and keep you here with us,” Tara said. “But my fiancé would probably get in trouble with his bosses at the FBI.”

  “I wouldn't press charges,” Nell said hopefully.

  The women laughed, kissed the top of her head. Then she turned to Peggy, whose eyes were red. Nell stared at her, and felt a huge weight in her stomach. Neither one of them could talk. Nell gestured to the door, and Peggy shrugged and followed. A quick glance at the kitchen clock told Nell it was one-fifteen. Forty-five minutes till doom-hour.

  The girls climbed on the blue bicycle, with Peggy in front. She set off along the marsh road, then down the dead end behind the seawall. Blustery wind whipped their hair into their eyes and mouth, but Nell didn't care. It was warm and strong, a tropical system heading up from the Georgia barrier islands she loved so well; she swore she could smell mangroves, Spanish moss, wild ponies.