Riptide (7 page)

She leaned over, pressing her hands to her knees until the dizzy spell passed.

There was a whoop of triumph from the kitchen. “Eggs, we got eggs,” Dan called. “And chives and Fontina cheese and Veuve Clicquot.”

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R
ain pelted the windows from every direction. The morning sky was the color of bruised fruit. They’d spent a sleepless night on the too-small double bed in the guest room. Dan had hesitated in the hallway at the top of the stairs after the supper of scrambled eggs that he had eaten and Christina had picked at. She left her champagne untouched, dumping it in the toilet finally when the smell got to her. Small victory, she knew, in a long war.

Dan had made no comment when Christina led the way to the guest room on the landside of the house, but she could tell by the way he tossed around trying to get comfortable that it wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

The look on his face hadn’t improved with lack of sleep. She wondered if he always woke up with dark circles under his eyes. “Hey.” He flashed a quick smile and rolled away, reaching for the glass he’d left by the side of the bed. He took a swig, swished it around hard before swallowing, and took another before handing the glass to her.

“Hey.” Christina forced herself to sit up and take a sip. As her lips closed over the rim of the glass, vapors rose from the liquid and stung her nostrils.

Wrinkling her nose, Christina lowered the glass and frowned. “Is this water?”

She knew the answer even before Danny smiled. “Go ahead. You need to relax, you know that?”

Christina set the glass down like it might explode, her nerve endings on fire. “No, I don’t.”

Dan was all movement now, stretching and yawning and keeping enough distance between them so they did not touch. “Happy Thursday.” He winked.

Happy Thursday? Christina’s world had come crashing down around her. Right now all she had was Dan. And an overwhelming urge to drain the glass of vodka on the nightstand. How could she tell him that, when their entire relationship was based on partying? Without vodka, she didn’t know how they would fit together. But right now, Daniel Cunningham was all she had. “Right back atcha,” she replied, aiming for a breezy tone.

“You okay?” Dan already had one foot on the floor, ready to bolt.

“Um, yeah,” Christina began. Hope rose inside her. Maybe he was going to say now they could start their life together, like all those times they talked about it. Maybe he’d help her get through this, starting now. Maybe he’d tell her he loved her.

“Good,” he said, not giving her a chance to tell him how scared she was, how much she needed him now. Dan cleared his throat, careful not to meet her eyes.

His next words caught her off guard.

“We need to hang back.”

Something inside her shrank down into a tight little knot, making it hard to breathe. “What?” Christina’s voice sounded small.

Dan shrugged. “Take five. Hang back. Lay low.” He kept his gaze focused on the windows and the gray sky outside, flexing his arms, swinging them back and forth across his chest.

“You know what I’m saying,” he said, when she made no reply.

Pure panic gripped her. Dan was all she had right now. And he was pulling away. All Christina could think of was that if she clung too tight now, she might lose him forever. “Yeah,” she said finally, blinking back tears.

Feeling her entire world hung by a thread. It was an old feeling, one that traced its roots all the way back to when her father left, then her mother, then finally Nana died.

Praying Dan Cunningham wasn’t about to tell her it was over between them.

“Good. Way to play it, baby.”

She wanted to ask a million questions. Did he see a future for them together? Had he been seeing other women while she was in rehab? Did he love her? But Christina was afraid of what those answers might be.

More than anything, she was afraid of losing Dan Cunningham. So she uttered a silent prayer that he would spend more time with her after the funeral, that maybe he would love her.

He glanced at her. “We’re good?”

She nodded. “We’re good.”

It was what he wanted to hear because relief washed over his face.

He gave her a brisk peck on the lips and slid off the bed.

She remembered a time on the chaise lounge out back when he was due back at work. His farewell kisses
turned hotter than the midday sun while his fingers wiggled their way up inside her bikini bottom and he made her come with his thumb in a fit of giggles, knowing full well the landscapers would be back from lunch any minute.

He headed for the bathroom now. “I think a shower is in order.” He turned on the water and used the toilet with the door wide open.

They had never spent a night together.

“Looks like another hot one,” he called. “No sun, but muggy as hell.”

The shower curtain rings jingled, and Christina wondered if she had enough time to grab her robe from the hook inside the door before he finished. She decided not to risk it.

She checked messages from the bedside phone instead. The ringer was off in here, but she’d heard it ring downstairs late into the night and start up again early this morning. She had lain still, keeping to her side of the bed so as not to disturb the large shadowy mound opposite that was Dan Cunningham.

There
were condolence calls and people wanting to know about the arrangements. Another call from her sister-in-law in Southampton advising Christina that her parents and Tyler were in the Air France premium-class lounge at Charles de Gaulle Airport waiting to board their flight to JFK.

Dan emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Yup, gonna be another steamy one. They say a tropical depression is moving in, whatever the fuck that is.”

Christina did not move. Tropical depression sounded about right for this day.

Dan strode to the windows and snapped the blinds open.

The light stung her eyes.

“Not lookin’ good.” Danny flicked his damp towel on the bed.

Christina squinted one eye open to see if he meant her but he was staring out the window. She wished she had the nerve to reach for him, pull him back under the covers with her so they could hide from this day together, maybe lose themselves in sex since that was the only thing they shared. “It’ll be a tough day for painting,” she said, testing the waters.

He grunted. “I can work inside.” He stepped into his boxers and jeans before leaning over with his hands on his knees the way an adult would in order to speak to a child. “Hey. I’m going downstairs to make us some coffee, while you…” He straightened up, letting his words hang there.

“Okay.” Christina said quickly. She looked bad, and she knew it. The sides of her neck were beginning to lose heat as her pulse quickened. She was learning to spot the signs of a panic attack, and this one would be bad. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Dan,” she whispered.

But he was busy working his head into his T-shirt. “You drink coffee in the morning, don’t you?”

“Mmmmm.” At the moment, she would just as soon pour battery acid down her throat.

“Comin’ right up.” He headed for the door. “I saved plenty of hot water for your shower,” he called.

Christina allowed her eyes to flutter open, calculating how many movements would be required to cross the room and step into the shower. Because she felt like dying.

Dan passed the top of the stairs and continued on to the entrance to the master bedroom suite, where she heard him pause.

Taking it all in.

He gave a low whistle. “Nice.”

She heard him head for the stairs. “Comfy-looking bed, too,” he called.

The master bedroom had a platform custom-built to hold a California king.

She heard rummaging in the kitchen.

The bedside clock showed a few minutes after eight, which meant she didn’t have much time before Señora Rosa and Marisol showed up.

They had strict orders never to disturb her. There were plenty of days when Christina rose late to find freshly laundered sheets and towels piled outside the guest-room door. But she couldn’t risk them finding one of the subcontractors cooking breakfast, today of all days.

If she got up now, she could shower in peace and hopefully get the hell out before they arrived.

In the end, she had just enough time to get dressed.

The smell of coffee and frying bacon drifted up through the house, reminding Christina that she was still not hungry, when a car door slammed.

Moments later came a familiar voice in the living room.

Followed by a very few words, low and rumbling, from Dan.

Then silence.

“Shit.” Christina met her own gaze in the mirror. Her skin was drawn, her eyes round with panic she’d seen once before. They’d left a wedding reception at Shinnecock Hills late one night. Jason rounded a curve too
fast in the fog that was a fact of life on the seashore. In the dead center of the road was the biggest deer she’d ever seen.

An eight-point buck, Jason said later. He’d had no time to hit the brakes.

Christina braced herself for impact.

In the next instant the buck disappeared with a leap into the bayberry bushes and poverty grass that pressed against the sides of the road.

Saving them.

Christina had never forgotten the look of doom in that animal’s eyes.

Her name rang out once, twice, from downstairs, in a tone of voice that promised the third time would sound even worse.

A glance out the front windows confirmed Christina’s suspicion. A screaming yellow Land Rover was parked on the drive, a safari vehicle ready for the hunt.

Jason’s sister had arrived.

Holy shit.

“Christi-
nuh
!” her sister-in-law screeched, twisting around the final syllable like a dentist’s drill.

Christina winced. “I’m coming.”

Pamela Cardiff Lofting waited at the bottom of the stairs, one sandal-clad foot planted on the lowest step, reedy arms folded tight across her tiny chest. Her eyes, dark brown like Jason’s and set close together, flashed.

Christina knew that look. She probably could have gotten down without using the banister, but figured there was no harm playing every card she had. She leaned on the wood, lowering herself one step at a
time.

Pamela did not look impressed. She didn’t budge. “I let myself in.”

They had spent a small fortune upgrading the security system, so things like this couldn’t happen. “Um, how?” Christina frowned.

“I’ve always had a key. Jason gave me a copy of the new one when you changed the locks.”

This was news to Christina. She made a mental note to get the locksmith out here. And choose a new three-digit code for the keypad at the gate, something they had never bothered to do in all the years they’d owned the house.

“What happened to the gate?” Pamela was not wearing any makeup. It was obvious she’d been crying.

Christina shrugged. “It just, I have to, ah, get that taken care of.” She caught the look on Pamela’s face. She knew that look. “I wasn’t…” She started to tell Pamela she had quit drinking, once and for all, then stopped. Pamela wouldn’t believe her. But that didn’t matter anymore. The house, the yard, and even the gate belonged to Christina. For almost twenty years, she’d had to put up with stories about the Cardiff family history, the Cardiff family values, the Cardiff family wealth, until she was practically ready to throw up. And nobody had rammed it down her throat more than Jason’s little sister, Pamela. Going all the way back to the stink she raised over the bridesmaids’ dresses for Christina’s wedding. And now it was over.

This realization lifted Christina’s spirits.

Pamela scowled. Gooseflesh stood out on her suntanned arms, still crossed tight around her chest, as she kneaded the fabric of her Lily Pulitzer shift using her
wiry little fingers.

Pamela had done her best to break up Jason and Christina from day one. Christina searched for something to say besides, “Get out.” “Want coffee?”

Dan entered, carrying a tray loaded with mugs, padding across the room in his bare feet.

Pamela’s face puckered in toward center, and her entire body quaked, moving from side to side.

Every instinct Christina had told her to duck and run.

Dan’s hair was still gleaming wet from his shower. He set the tray down. Besides coffee, it contained paper towels he’d torn from the spool on the counter.

He’d no doubt chosen them in favor of the supply of Irish linens Señora Rosa kept, freshly ironed, in the glass-front cabinet above the coffeemaker.

“Ladies.” Dan straightened up, giving an uneasy glance in Christina’s direction.

Jason would have known what to do. Noticing that at a time like this was as petty as frowning at the permanent ring of yellow plaster around Dan’s fingernails, which was exactly what Pamela Cardiff Lofting was doing at that very moment.

Pamela stared at Dan like he was something that had washed ashore and got stuck in the sand at high tide. She took a few steps back without bothering to uncross her arms, as her frown creased even deeper. She enunciated each syllable with care, as though she had no hope of being understood. “And, you, are?”

Dan leapt toward her, extending his right hand. “We saw each other. Before. In the kitchen, when you walked in. Daniel Cunningham.”

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Pamela turned to
Christina. “Who, is, he?”

The dentist drill tone had returned.

Dan’s lips curved up ever so slightly. “A friend.”

Pamela stared.

“He did some work here a while back,” Christina added quickly.

Pamela wasn’t buying it. Her little eyes were about to pop right out of her head.

“Dan was in charge of the part of the renovation project involving plasterwork,” Christina blurted. “He oversaw all the refinishing of all the walls.” Anything to avoid using the term house painter.

Pamela continued to avoid shaking Dan’s hand, so he tucked it into the top pocket of his jeans. “You seen all that stucco work along the walls out by the pool and the cabana? I did that. That’s me.”

It came out sounding like a pitch for new business.

“Oh?” Pamela Cardiff Lofting’s delicate jaw came a tiny bit unhinged. She glanced from Dan to Christina, where she let her gaze rest.

There was no warmth in that gaze. Caving under nearly two decades of Cardiff disapproval, Christina forgot for a moment that the scales had just tipped forever in her favor. “He did really good work and became a friend of mine.”