Lancelot's Lady (57 page)

"
You
'
re so funny,
"
he said, unfolding himself from the driver
'
s seat.

I clambered out, impatient to get inside and explore. Reaching for his hand, I tugged on it and pulled him toward the house while my mother followed behind.

At the door, we turned back and caught sight of her pale face.

"
Are you okay?
"
my father asked.

"
I
'
m just a bit carsick,
"
she said with a wry smile.
"
You two go in first, let me get some fresh air. I
'
ll be in shortly.
"

"
If you
'
re—
"

She laughed.
"
Go inside, Jack. I
'
m okay.
"

With a shrug, my father unlocked the door and gave it a gentle nudge. Then he turned to me, his mouth widening into the biggest smile I had ever seen.

"
Welcome to your new home, Sarah,
"
he said.

I let go of his hand and eagerly stepped inside, a thrill of excitement racing through me.
"
I want to see my roo—
"

I froze, dead in my tracks.

ttwwoo

It was the dazzling light that hit us first.

Large picture windows wrapped the entire front of the house and faced the ocean. The flaming sunset outside made the interior glow like the embers of a fire.

"
Wow,
"
I murmured.

My eyes swept across the open main floor. There was a living room to my left. It was decorated in bronze and copper tones, and two beige plaid couches framed a chocolate-brown area rug. To my right, a dining room table and four chairs claimed the area in front of one of the windows.

I ran to it, almost knocking over a potted plant. I looked out the window and stared, mesmerized, as the setting sun sparkled on the bay.

"
I can hear the ocean, Dad.
"

The door behind us opened and my mother joined us, her face instantly lighting up.
"
It
'
s beautiful, Jack.
"

"
It
'
s private too,
"
my father said.
"
The nearest neighbor is about a fifteen-minute walk down the beach.
"
He teasingly ruffled my hair.
"
Hey, do you want to check out the rest of the house?
"

"
Do I ever,
"
I said, my eyes wide with anticipation.

He led me to a large closet by the back door.
"
This is the closet.
"
His voice was serious, as if he were a realtor showing me a potential property.

I laughed.
"
No kidding, Dad.
"

I took off my jacket and hung it in the empty space. That was my first claim on my new home.

"
Over here is the living room,
"
my father said with a sweep of one hand.

I pointed to a large black monstrosity.
"
What is
that
thing?
"

My mother stifled a gasp.
"
A wood-burning stove. How charming. I love it, Jack.
"
She spun on her heel slowly and surveyed the room.
"
You were right about this house. It
'
s perfect for us.
"

I agreed. The house was far better than I had expected.

I walked closer to the stove.

Over it, a cedar shelf was mounted to the peach-colored wall. On it was a peculiar collection of oddities—an eagle
'
s feather, a fisherman
'
s glass ball wrapped with twine, a skull from a small animal and a crab shell.

I looked up and gasped.
"
Mom! That
'
s your painting.
"

The large watercolor that hung above the shelf was the one my mother had painted while she was pregnant with me. It was of a mountain waterfall and was her very favorite. Mine too.

"
I sent it on ahead so it would be here when we arrived,
"
my father explained.
"
I asked the caretaker to hang it. He also made sure we have lots of firewood. And he turned the electricity back on too.
"

"
Let
'
s check out the kitchen,
"
my mother said, rubbing her hands gleefully.

A spacious country kitchen with a wooden island was tucked around the corner, barely visible. The walls were painted the palest sage green and along the ceiling edge ran a soft leafy border. A small round table and two chairs sat in one corner.

My mother busied herself by checking out the fully stocked cupboards and making a pot of tea while I continued my exploration of the lower level of the house. Between the kitchen and dining room area, a wrought iron staircase led to the upper floor. Behind the stairs, a sliding glass door opened onto a cedar deck.

"
Can I go out there?
"
I asked my father.

He smiled.
"
Of course. It
'
s your house now.
"

We stepped outside and the humid night air enveloped us.

"
Hey,
"
I shouted.
"
A swinging chair.
"

The deck held a padded swing, big enough for three people. There was also a barbecue and a picnic table with two benches. A protective wooden rail ran around the entire deck, with an opening for the stairs that led to the ground below.

I leaned over the rail.

A well-trodden rocky path led from the bottom of the stairs, through the grass and down to the beach. From the deck, I saw waves crashing on the fiery shore. Better yet, I heard them. I breathed in the salty air, thrilled with my new home.

Then I turned and darted inside, urging my father to follow.

"
Come on, Dad,
"
I yelled.
"
I want to see my room.
"

He smiled and remained where he was.
"
You two go ahead.
"

Grabbing my mother
'
s hand, I raced up the spiral staircase to the upper floor. Under my pounding feet, the stairs groaned with a dull
clang
. I turned down the hall and entered the first room on the right.

The room was tiny—like a baby
'
s nursery. But there was no crib. There wasn
'
t even a bed. The walls were painted off-white, but looked like they had definitely seen better days. Small tables, old toys and cardboard boxes littered the floor. A rocking chair sat motionless near a large window and an antique bookshelf took up one wall. Dusty encyclopedias and ancient books inhabited the shelves.

I drew a heart in the dust.

"
This room needs a good cleaning,
"
my mother muttered.

I yanked back my hand and eyed her suspiciously. I was positive that she had plans for me—plans that included a dust rag in one hand and lemon furniture polish in the other.

"
This
'
ll be my studio,
"
she said, eying the room.

I barged past her out into the hall.
"
I want to see
my
room.
"

The next room I entered boasted a large brass bed with down-filled pillows and a flowered quilt. Along the side walls stood two white colonial dressers, one with a large oval mirror. The other wall had a cedar bench seat built into a bay window that faced the ocean.

I fell in love with that room immediately.

I turned, fingers crossed behind my back.
"
Is this
your
room?
"

I fervently hoped it was not.

My mother looked around the room and pointed to the boxes stacked to one side. On the bottom box, the letter
S
had been scribbled in red marker.

"
Looks like it
'
s yours, Honey-Bunny.
"

I rolled my eyes at her.

My parents had been calling me that ridiculous nickname since I was a baby, but I didn
'
t have the heart to ask them to stop.

Looking around my new room, I was elated. It was twice the size of the one back home, the bed was huge and I could see the ocean from my window.

"
I love it, Mom,
"
I said stifling a yawn.

After I took a peek at my parents
'
room and the large upstairs bathroom, I followed my mother down to the kitchen where I devoured a piece of toast with peanut butter and maple syrup. All through my snack, I wrestled with exhaustion, afraid that I would miss something wonderful. My mother noticed and sent me to bed early.

That was the first time I didn
'
t argue.

In my beautiful ocean room, I sat in the window seat and cranked open the side panel. I heard waves lapping softly against the shore. In the distance, a water bird cried out, searching for his home.

I didn
'
t know it then, but I had found mine.

Everything in the new house was perfect. But I missed Amber-Lynn. I had promised her that I would call and write to her every week. After all, best friends were hard to find. We
'
d been inseparable since we were two years old. Her parents and mine had often played cards together while the two of us stayed up past midnight watching movies until we fell asleep.

Now I was hundreds of miles away from my friend, but I pledged my undying devotion to her. My only consolation was that in three years I
'
d be returning to Wyoming, to my ranch and to Amber-Lynn.

Three years.

To a child my age, three years was a lifetime.

As the moon dipped lower behind the trees, I climbed into my new bed and sniffed the spring-fresh sheets.

Then I sank into a dreamless sleep.

"
Can I go outside?
"
I asked my father the next morning.

We were eating breakfast while my mother slept in.

"
Sure. Let
'
s go for a walk.
"

I followed him onto the deck, down the stairs and across the rocky trail to the beach. The sun gleamed off his blond hair, highlighting a few gray ones. At forty-one, my father was the most handsome man I knew. And I loved him more than I loved anyone in the world. He was my idol. He always made my mother and I laugh. He
'
d pretend he understood the creatures of the sea and he
'
d tell us what they thought of his fellow professors. Apparently, some of the whales didn
'
t have too many nice things to say about them.

I studied my father as he leaned forward and picked up a rock. He examined it with what my mother and I called his
scientific mind
. Then he skipped it across the water.

When I tried to mimic him, my rock sank with a
thud
.

"
Like this,
"
he said.

He showed me how to select a flat stone and fling it toward the water
'
s surface like a Frisbee.

"
You have to throw it hard, but keep it flat.
"

I practiced skipping stones until my arm ached.

"
Last one,
"
I said, frustrated.

I flung a smaller stone and to my amazement, it skipped.

One…two…three times.

"
You did it!
"
my father cheered.

We followed the beach a few yards from our house. The shoreline of multi-colored rocks disappeared and a sandy beach curved toward the water.