The Beach House (15 page)

She got into her trusty old Volvo and took one last look in the rearview mirror as she drove away, sad at what she was leaving, excited at what lay ahead.

PART THREE

July

Chapter 1

Sixty-five years they'd been married and Joe still thought that in the eighty-eight years he'd been alive, Maggie remained the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. At times, like this morning, it was as if he were looking at her from a place outside himself, seeing her the way she had been on their wedding day—golden haired, a lone dimple high on her creamy left cheek, her dark brown eyes alive with love for him.

Back then she'd believed him the most handsome, intelligent, caring man on earth. The wonder of it was that she still did.

Now Maggie's hair was a soft white and her dimple a reward that came with a smile. Only her eyes were the same—challenging, beckoning, playful, and mysterious in turn. And, lately, edged with pain.

“Do we have everything?” she asked, calling to him from the back door of the bungalow they'd bought five years after they were married.

Joe closed the trunk lid. “We have everything that was on the list.”

“The plastic tarp?”

“In the box with the food.”

“The letter?”

“In your suitcase.”

“Josi's toys?”

“In my suitcase.”

“Well, I guess that's it.” She put her hand against the door frame and stood very still.

“Another dizzy spell?” Joe asked.

“Just a small one.”

It took every ounce of willpower to stay where he was. He'd learned that nothing would hurry her recovery from the dizziness, but that creating a fuss could, and often did, make things worse. She wanted him to go on as if the moment were but a slight inconvenience. “Did you check the front door?”

She nodded.

“Turn off the air-conditioning?”

Again she nodded.

“Then I guess we're ready.”

She brought her hand down tentatively, waited several seconds to check her balance, and stepped onto the landing. “My purse is on the table. Would you mind getting it for me?”

Joe came around the car and held out his hand. He was both pleased and disheartened that she took his help without protest and that she let him help her into the car.

“This getting old stuff is for the birds,” she said. “I don't like it one bit.”

It was a familiar refrain, first uttered the day Maggie turned sixty-five and a teenager had innocently asked her what someone like her was doing at a Grateful Dead concert. Until then Maggie had somehow managed to remain blissfully unaware of the barrier her age created in young people's minds.

Joe bent and gave her a quick kiss, as much for the physical contact as to assure her that she would always be young in his eyes. “I'll be right back.”

When he returned, he had Josi tucked under one arm and Maggie's purse under the other. He closed her door, checked to make sure the lock had caught, and got in his side of the car. Josi dug her claws into the back of the cloth seat to have one last good stretch before settling down between them, her head resting on Maggie's leg.

Automatically Maggie's hand went to the cat's head to scratch her ears as Joe slipped the key into the ignition. The purr of the big Chrysler and the twenty-one-pound Maine coon cat began at the same moment and continued the hour and a half it took them to drive from San Jose to the beach house.

“Will you look at that,” Maggie said as they turned the final corner and at last spotted the house. “With all Julia's been through she still found the time to plant flowers. That's a really good sign. Wouldn't you agree, Joe?”

The garden provided a palette of color, a vivid contrast to the gray, overcast day. A love of flowers was the first thing Maggie and Julia had discovered they had in common. That initial bond led to dozens of later discoveries and eventually to a friendship that belied the fifty-five-year age disparity. Maggie had mourned Ken's loss, but her grief had been boundless for the lost young woman who'd grown blind to a future without her beloved husband.

“I thought she was beginning to sound more like herself when I talked to her last month,” Joe said. “Coming here without Ken must have been hard on her, though.”

Maggie reached past the cat to put her hand on Joe's leg. “But she did it.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Now the next time will be easier. This place is too special to lose because of memories. I told Julia she had to mix some new times in with the old, that if she stayed away now, she'd never be able to come back. That's the last thing Ken would have wanted.”

Joe patted her hand. “From the looks of it, I'd say she listened to you.”

“I know what I'm talking about, Joe.”

He pulled into the driveway, stopped the car, brought her hand up to his lips, and pressed a kiss to knuckles swollen from arthritis. “In all our time together, have I ever doubted you?”

She smiled. “I think if I put my mind to it, I might be able to come up with one or two times.”

“If it was more than two years ago, it doesn't count.”

Now she laughed. “
In all our time together?
”

Impatient to move around now that the car had stopped, Josi stood and arched her back before stepping gingerly onto Maggie's lap to look outside. Maggie flinched. Joe reacted instantly, reaching for the cat and lifting her.

“She's all right,” Maggie said.

“I meant to trim her nails before we left.” It was easier for Joe to blame the pain on Josi's nails than Maggie's cancer. “They're like daggers.”

“Did you bring the clippers?”

Their conversation settled into the ordinary as they moved from the car into the house. Once inside, Joe insisted Maggie relax on the deck while he unloaded the trunk and put things away. Uncharacteristically, she didn't argue but let him seat her in one of the redwood chairs. Before going back inside, he propped her feet up on the chair's matching stool and tucked a blanket around her legs to protect her from the cool afternoon breeze. When she was settled to his satisfaction, he handed her the note he'd found on the kitchen table.

“I assume it's from Margaret or Beverly,” he said.

Maggie unfolded the parchment-colored paper and read the short missive. “Margaret says both families had to leave early for various reasons and that she has left us a refrigerator and cupboard full of food.” Maggie read on in silence. “The postscript is certainly intriguing.”

“Oh?” Joe prompted.

“She says she may have some exciting news for us in our Christmas card, that she and Chris have experienced some intriguing changes in their lives.”

“I wonder what it could be.”

“Whatever it is, I hope it works out for them. I can almost feel her enthusiasm coming through the paper.”

“Would you like me to bring you something to read while you're sitting out here?”

She shook her head. “I think I'll just watch the ocean for a while and listen to the waves.”

“I'll be right inside if you need me.”

She smiled. “I always need you.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he left.

From where Maggie sat she couldn't see the beach, only the trees that surrounded the house and the ocean itself. She would have preferred sitting farther out on the deck where she could feel the breeze on her face and see the waves, but she could give Joe so little these days that yielding to his nurturing without complaint had become her habit.

Unlike Joe, who'd always preferred quiet over crowds, she loved the noise and energy of summer and liked to be a part of the activity. Smiles came easier to people who'd come on vacation determined to leave their troubles behind, if only for a week or two. Here, where everyone was a stranger, it was okay to greet each other, it was even okay to stop and talk to someone you didn't know. Best of all for Maggie, it was even okay to say hi to the children.

She understood the reasoning that drove this generation of parents to instill fear in their children, why they trained even their toddlers to run away from an unknown, smiling face, but she had never stopped feeling the loss. Without children of her own, Maggie had been an aunt and then eventually a grandmother to the children in their neighborhood. Joe had been their uncle, and then grandfather. The back door to their house was always open. Cookies were baked to be shared, and Sunday comics were meant to be read aloud. Joe's tools and nuts and bolts container had been gathered by him with broken bikes and wagons in mind.

The decorating of the Chapman Christmas tree had been a special occasion every year. Always as tall as the ceiling, the Douglas fir held more handmade ornaments than store bought. None of the neighborhood children were satisfied until they found their own creation proudly displayed.

Two generations of children had grown up in the neighborhood before things began to change. Eventually the small houses surrounding them became home to families whose lives were too busy or incomes too small to maintain yards or keep up routine maintenance. The children disappeared into day care and then school. Those who were home alone in the afternoons stayed inside to watch television, hiding from strangers, even those right next door, who might do them harm.

Almost as if Maggie's thoughts had conjured a genie who'd granted her a wish, a little girl appeared on the old abandoned path to the beach that ran in front of the deck. She looked to be five or six years old, had golden hair caught up in twin ponytails, a round face, and enormous questioning brown eyes.

She put both hands on the railing that ran around the deck and swung down to peer through the slats at Maggie. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Maggie said back.

“I'm Susie. Who are you?”

“Maggie.”

“Do you live here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you have any kids I could play with?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Susie shrugged, as if it really hadn't mattered. “My mom and dad don't live together anymore. They're divorced.”

It was said with an ease that tugged at Maggie's heart. “Are you here with your mom?”

“My dad.” She pulled herself back up and propped her chin on the railing. “He used to be a doctor, but now he's making a book.”

Julia had mentioned there was a doctor staying in Andrew's house, but she hadn't said anything about his daughter being with him. “Where is your dad now?”

“With Jason.”

“Jason?”

“My brother.”

“And where is Jason?”

She pointed behind her. “They're making a sand car.”

“
Susie
—,” a man's voice called, the panic not yet full-blown.

She turned toward the sound. “I'm over here.”

Seconds later a tall man with wind-tousled gray hair and the beginnings of a mustache rounded the house. He was carrying a mesh beach bag filled with plastic shovels, molds, and buckets. “How many times have I told you not to wander off by yourself, young lady? Jason and I have been looking all over for you.” His relieved expression didn't match his stern voice.

“I told you I had to go to the bathroom.”

“But you didn't say you were leaving.”

He dropped the bag, scooped her up, and flung her over his shoulder. As he bent to pick up the bag again, he glanced toward the house and noticed Maggie. “I'm sorry—I didn't see you sitting there.”

Susie began to squirm, and he put her back down again. “You must be Maggie. I'm Eric Lawson—” He waited a second to see if his name would register before adding, “The guy staying in Andrew's house. Julia said she'd tell you I was handy if you needed anything.” A boy appeared. He was half a head taller than Susie and had light brown hair cut short on the sides and long on top. When he saw Maggie, he moved to stand close to Eric.

Maggie tugged on the blanket Joe had wrapped around her legs, but he'd done his usual thorough job and she couldn't readily free herself.

“Don't get up,” Eric said. “We can't stay.”

Susie tilted her head back to look up at him. “How come?”

“Because I have to start dinner,” he said.

“What are you making?” she asked.

“Spaghetti.”

“Not again,” she moaned. “We had that last night.”

Maggie chuckled. “Warmed-up spaghetti isn't my favorite, either. Joe and I were thinking about having a pizza delivered,” she said to Eric. “Would you and the children like to join us?” They'd been thinking no such thing, but the chance for company was too tempting not to offer a small bribe.

“I don't know,” Eric said.

“
Please
,” Susie wailed.

Eric looked down at the boy beside him. “What do you think, Jason?”

His only answer was to lift his narrow shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

“Your place or ours?” Eric asked.

“Here would be fine.” Whether it was a mile or right next door, the actual distance didn't matter; one seemed as daunting as the other. The trip down had taken its toll on her energy reserve.