The Beach House (5 page)

Chapter 5

The next two days Eric worked on his book while Julia worked off pent-up energy in a flurry of housecleaning, dusting, polishing, and scrubbing between visits from her neighbors. This particular type of physical activity, so different from her workouts at the gym, was something she did only at the beach house. At home every room sparkled, every piece of silver shone, and every flower knew its place because of the people Ken had hired to free her from mundane chores.

She had a degree in advertising with exactly nine months' experience at an ad agency. Ken had never asked her to give up her job, he'd simply offered to take her with him to meetings in London and Paris and Munich and left the decision whether to go or not up to her.

Their courtship had lasted three months, the engagement two. Ken was known for his uncanny, unerring ability to pick people who would be with him forever, whether it was his wife, his friends, or his employees. Even in death their loyalty survived. Not one friend had stopped talking about him, not one executive had left the company.

Since she'd stepped in to run things, the entire company, from board member to clerical assistant, had shown her the same loyalty they had shown Ken. It should have made her job easier, but it seemed nothing could do that. The more she learned about the business, the more she discovered she didn't know. Perhaps if she had just a little of Ken's drive and enthusiasm, she could pull it off. But no matter how hard she tried, going to work each day was just that. She continued because she felt she owed it to Ken to try.

She stood back to admire the change her efforts had made in the living room, to breathe in the traces of lemon oil, glass cleaner, and rug shampoo, and to take pleasure in knowing every book had been taken down and dusted. She could have called a service—her friends would think her crazy that she hadn't—but she wanted to be the one who removed these last traces of Ken's presence, no matter how small or inconsequential. As it was, the work had been cathartic, even satisfying in a way she hadn't expected.

A knock on the front door drew her attention. It was Eric. She smiled and stood aside to let him enter. “You're just in time to join me for a cup of coffee.”

He declined. “I'm on my way to the grocery store and thought I'd see if you needed anything.”

“Milk—a quart, nonfat.”

“Is that all?”

“You've probably been too busy to notice, but the neighbors have been plying me with food the last couple of days.”

“Several of them told me they'd regretted not being able to help when Ken died and wanted to do something when you came down again.”

“I don't understand. . . . I made a point of telling everyone at the funeral that they were welcome to stop by the house or the office to see me anytime they were in the area, but no one ever took me up on it.”

“You honestly expected someone from this neighborhood to show up on your doorstep in Atherton to see how you were doing?”

“Why not?”

Eric shook his head. “That's pretty rare air up there where you live, lady. You have to know how to breathe that stuff to feel comfortable in it.”

“I'm the same person there as I am here.”

“Are you?”

“What do you think I do, stop by someplace in San Jose to shed the Armani and put on sweats?”

“Hey, I'm not trying to pick a fight with you.”

“I'm not a snob.”

He grinned. “I never said you were.”

“Just because I have a little money—”

“Maybe a little to Bill Gates and the Catholic Church. To the rest of the world, it's a hell of a lot.”

“Why are you baiting me?”

“Because you need a friend who isn't afraid of you.”

He'd done it. She was at a loss for words.

“Now that we have that behind us,” he said, “is there anything you need besides milk?”

“No—I'll be leaving day after tomorrow.”

It was his turn to feel the ladder tip. “So soon?”

“The Sadlers and McCormicks will be here on Friday.”

“I thought they weren't due until June.”

His reaction was more than simple surprise. “I told them they could come a little early.”

“When did you do that?”

It seemed an odd question, but she answered anyway. “Weeks ago.” She decided she wanted to know what had prompted the query. “Why?”

“No reason,” he answered cryptically.

“Don't do that.”

“I was wondering whether your leaving early had something to do with me.”

She considered his statement. The obvious conclusion didn't make sense. “I don't understand what you mean.”

“Whether being around me made you uncomfortable.”

“Why would it? I thought we decided we were friends.”

He stared at her for agonizingly long seconds, his gaze locked on her. “Never mind,” he said softly. “It isn't important.”

This time she didn't ask him to explain. “If you'll wait just a minute, I'll get my purse.”

“What for?”

“To pay you for the milk.”

He brought his hand up. “I think I can handle it.”

She closed the door. Burdened with the feeling that something lay unfinished between them, she went to the window to watch him leave. The way he walked with long, sure strides and the way he moved to keep his shoulders from brushing the roses on the arbor suggested he'd been an athlete, probably a runner or swimmer, something nonviolent, a sport that required discipline and a solitary commitment. Eric didn't need people, he liked them, a difference she hadn't understood until she'd met Ken.

Would Eric's book provide clues to the man he was inside, hint at his dreams, or reveal the type of woman he admired? Julia considered the single women she knew and tried to imagine Eric with one of them. Perhaps Anne . . . No, Anne couldn't handle a man who sat still long enough to read a book, let alone write one. Judy refused to date a man whose portfolio wasn't as large as her own, and Eileen wanted someone so blinded by her beauty that he would never notice how much it cost to keep her that way.

From what she knew of Eric, he appreciated beauty but wasn't overly impressed by it, had enough money to support himself and his children while he pursued a dream, but not so much he could buy a house at the beach rather than stay at a friend's. From things he'd said she'd reached the conclusion he was someone who would as soon listen to the rain as attend opening night at the opera—definitely not Anne's idea of fun.

Not a sterling accounting of her friends, but an interesting analysis of Eric. She had a feeling he and Ken would have liked each other.

But then everyone had liked Ken.

 

When Eric delivered the milk later that afternoon, Julia asked him in for a drink, but he declined, telling her he'd already taken off too much time that day and needed to get back to work. She didn't see him at all the next day and had begun to wonder if he was avoiding her when he showed up at her front door early Friday morning and asked if she wanted to go for a walk on the beach.

“I'm glad you came over,” she told him as they descended the stairs to the beach. She stopped to zip her jacket when she reached the bottom. “I wanted to talk to you before I left, but didn't want to disturb your work.”

He made a disparaging sound. “There wasn't anything to disturb. When I turned on the computer this morning I wound up deleting everything I wrote yesterday.”

She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and looked up at him. “Does that happen a lot?”

“No—thank God. There are a lot of times I don't like what I've done, but I usually find something salvageable.” He moved toward the harder sand near the water's edge. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Ask away.”

“First I want you to know it's okay to refuse. I know it's an imposition, but—”

“That isn't necessary, Julia. Just tell me what it is you want.”

“Andrew kept a key to the house in case something happened that needed attention right away. I don't expect anything to go wrong, but it would be nice to know I could count on you if something did.”

“That's it?”

“It's a lot,” she insisted. “At least it is to me.”

“Consider it done.”

She saw a large wave building and moved to get out of its way. “I'll let the summer people know that you've got the extra key. They all have their own, but Margaret's been known to lock herself out occasionally.” She moved back to the packed sand as soon as the wave receded. “You'll like her—and her son, Chris. They're really nice people. I'm not as crazy about the McCormicks. Actually, it's their daughter I don't like. She's—” Julia stopped herself before she could say any more. “I'm sorry. I don't usually gossip this way. I don't know what got into me.”

Eric froze. His eyes narrowed as he studied something floating in the water. After several seconds, he took her arm and turned her toward the sea. “Look,” he said, and pointed.

“Where?”

He pulled her to him so that she was standing in his line of vision. “Right there. Do you see it?”

“No. . . .” But then she did. It was an otter, floating on his back and cracking a shell with a rock as he rode the swells. “Yes, I do,” she exclaimed. And then, her voice filled with wonder, “Oh, isn't he beautiful?”

She leaned her back into his chest, the contact as natural as if they'd stood that way a hundred times before. Eric put his arms around her waist and she laid her own on top of them. “What a nice going-away present,” she said.

Before he could reply, a wave broke and came racing toward them. He grabbed Julia's elbow and backpedaled as cold water licked at his running shoes. As soon as they were clear of the wave, he let her go. Through it all her gaze remained fixed on the sea.

“He's gone,” she announced. “You look that way”—she pointed to the left—“and I'll watch over here.”

They followed the otter's path for over half an hour, until he'd moved past the cove and out of their sight.

“Thank you for asking me to come with you this morning,” Julia said as they headed back. The beach had begun to fill with fishermen and couples out for an early morning stroll. Soon the sanderlings and gulls would move on to a stretch of sand less populated where they could hunt in peace for their breakfast.

“You're welcome,” he said simply.

“It seems as if I've been thanking you for one thing or another all week. It wouldn't begin to pay you back for all you've done, but how about letting me take you out to lunch before I leave? I know a really great place in Aptos.”

“Are you sure?”

She understood what he was asking: was she sure she wanted to take him someplace where she and Ken had gone. “I'm very sure,” she said. “Is twelve-thirty okay?”

“I'll be ready.”

After lunch they stopped by a hardware store to get a new hinge for Julia's garden gate. She insisted on installing it herself but allowed Eric to oversee the operation.

“Well done,” he told her when she'd finished and was picking up her tools.

The simple task had given her an incredible sense of accomplishment. “I think I might like this handyman stuff,” she said.

“Next time you're here, I'll show you how to fix that cupboard door that's sticking.”

There likely wouldn't be a next time, but she didn't want to remind him now. The moment was too good to spoil. “Now all I have left to do is pick a bouquet for Margaret and get on the road before the traffic starts.”

“Margaret?” he asked. Before she could answer, he remembered. “Ah, yes, the June renter. I take it the flowers are some sort of tradition?”

She picked up the clippers she'd brought out with her and started snipping pink cosmos. “It's just my way of saying welcome.” On impulse, she handed him the flowers she'd just picked. “And good-bye.”

He took them and held them upside-down at his side. “I'll put them next to my computer. Maybe they'll inspire me.”

“Consider the garden yours. Pick as many flowers as you want.” She moved on to the daisies. “The plants actually do better if they're thinned once in a while.”

Eric stayed with her as she gathered more flowers, periodically adding to the ones she'd already given him. Finally, both bouquets complete, she moved to go inside.

Eric caught her arm. “Take care of yourself, Julia.”

She looked into his eyes and saw that it wasn't a meaningless platitude, but said with genuine concern. “I will,” she assured him.

He kissed her then, their lips touching longer than if he'd intended it to be purely platonic, but less than a lover's. Somewhere in her mind, or maybe it was her body, she felt a stir of response and was bemused by it.

He let go of her arm and held up the flowers she'd given him. “I'm going to put these in water.”