The Beach House (7 page)

The rally lasted until the other team miscalculated an out-of-bounds ball. The guy with long hair rotated to server, holding his hand up for a high five from Chris as he moved into position. Chris figured him to be in his early twenties, younger than the others, but not by much. He wore faded swim trunks, a torn T-shirt, and small gold earrings in both ears.

“You in?” he said to Chris.

The score had been the same as the players on the teams, three to two, before Chris arrived and evened both. “What the hell—I've got nothing better to do.”

Both sides were good and fought hard for every point, screaming in outrage when they didn't agree with a call, but too caught up in the game to stop the action to argue. From the coarse language and rough teasing it was obvious they all knew each other and that they played together often.

When they rotated again, the guy with the long hair called out introductions, ending with himself. “Antonio Gallardo—but call me Tony.”

A flicker of recognition came and was gone again before it registered. “Chris Sadler.”

“You're up, Chris,” Tony said.

Chris hit a perfect serve, the ball landing dead center, where all three opponents believed one of the others would get it.

Tony let out a shout of triumph and pumped the air. “That was beautiful. Do it again.”

Unbelievably, Chris did. This time everyone howled.

It took almost forty-five minutes, but they won the game.

Their opponents cried foul, insisting Chris was a ringer Tony had flown in from Los Angeles. At first Chris thought they were kidding, then realized that underneath the good-natured protests the guys on the other team actually believed what they were saying, that in their minds it was exactly the kind of thing Tony would do.

When they changed sides, Chris took the opportunity to check Tony out more closely. He didn't give the impression he was someone who had the money to pull off a stunt that involved a cab ride, let alone an airline ticket.

During the next game Chris paid more attention to the interaction among the five men. It soon became clear from tone and reference that they not only worked together, but spent a lot of off hours in each other's company. Each of them paid Tony a peculiar deference, as if he were on a slightly higher level than the rest of them—the foreman on a construction crew, the corporal among privates.

Whatever their jobs, they were plainly temporary. A lot of the talk centered around missing girlfriends and homes they couldn't wait to get back to.

The second game was closer, with Chris's side winning by a single, disputed point. As they moved to change sides again, Chris asked for the time.

The tall African American on the opposite team dug in his pocket and pulled out a watch. “It's six twenty-five.”

“I gotta go,” Chris said.

Tony came over, the ball tucked under his arm. “Same time, same place, tomorrow?”

Chris picked up the T-shirt he'd taken off after the first game and pulled it over his head. “I'm not sure.”

The third member of Chris's team, a guy who looked like a refugee from the World Wrestling Entertainment RAW, spoke up. “Hey, man, you don't want us to have to play these three—”

“Leave the kid alone,” their blond opponent said. “If he's not sure, he's not sure.”

“Fuck off, Mason,” Tony said, laughing as he threw the ball at him. “You're just afraid you'll get your sorry ass beaten again.”

“I'll try,” Chris said. He'd enjoyed the game as much as they had and wouldn't mind playing again if and when he had the time. But Tracy came first.

Tony nodded and moved back into position. Chris took off running, headed toward the road that paralleled the highway and led to the beach house. He arrived in time to see a glimpse of Tracy's blond hair as her mother's rental car made the curve that would put them at the house ahead of him.

Now he either arrived on their heels, sucking air from the run, or found something to do to kill time until he could come in looking composed and surprised to find them there.

Chapter 2

Isn't that Margaret?” Tracy said as they drove by the gray shingled house next door to their rental.

“Yes,” Beverly said, turning to take a second look. “But I don't think that's Andrew. At least it doesn't look like him.”

Margaret spotted their car and waved. She said something to the man she'd been talking to, then came over to greet them. “You look wonderful,” she said to Beverly, giving her a hug when she got out of the car. “You, too, Tracy.”

Still standing with her arm around Beverly, Margaret smiled at the third person who emerged from the car. “And who's this?”

“This is Tracy's friend, Janice Carlson,” Beverly said. “Clyde couldn't make it this year, so she'll be spending the month with us instead.”

“Oh.” Margaret obviously tried but couldn't hide her surprise at the news. “It's nice to meet you, Janice,” she said graciously.

“It's nice to meet you, too,” Janice said.

Margaret turned back to Beverly. “Is Clyde all right?”

“He's fine—at least he was when he dropped us off at the airport.” She responded to Margaret's concerned expression by adding, “It's nothing like that. He's been working around the clock on some new project. You know how wrapped up Clyde can get in his work.” Beverly went to the back of the Buick. “Where's Chris?”

“He went for a run on the beach.”

“I was hoping he'd be here to help. You won't believe the luggage these girls brought.” She opened the trunk and stood aside for Margaret to see for herself.

Out of earshot, Tracy exchanged looks with Janice. “I told you,” she whispered.

“What's wrong with running on the beach?”

“He's always doing things like that. Most guys would be down at the boardwalk checking out the action, but not good old Chris.”

“How do you know he's not checking out the action around here?”

“Just wait,” Tracy said. “You'll see what I mean when you meet him.” She'd had her doubts about bringing Janice on the trip. They'd never been really close the way she and the rest of the cheerleaders were, but no one else she asked could get away for the entire month. In April when her mom had started making plans for the trip, Tracy had gone to her father and told him there was no way she was going to spend one more June stuck all the way out in California without a friend for company. He'd made all kinds of promises of things they could do together, even telling her he would teach her how to play golf, but she'd held out for taking someone with her instead.

She might not have been so stubborn if she'd known her father couldn't afford another airline ticket for himself. But she hadn't found out about that until she'd already asked Janice and she'd accepted the invitation.

Besides, her dad was always saying how he wished he had more time to work on the yard. Now he had a whole month to do whatever he wanted.

Beverly handed Tracy and Janice their suitcases. “This is so exciting,” Janice said. “I can't wait to get on the beach.”

“Is this your first time in California?” Margaret asked.

“It's practically my first time anywhere. We went to Disney World when I was ten, but we never left the grounds, so I only got to see the ocean from the plane.”

“I told you not to tell anyone about that. The people out here will think you're some kind of weirdo.” Tracy let out a long-suffering sigh. Janice was all right in a midwest kind of way, but she was a hick by California standards.

“That's not true,” Beverly said, fingering her overprocessed blond hair as if checking to make sure it was still there. “I think it's charming that Janice is excited about being here.”

Tracy looked at Janice. “
Charming
,” she said in a singsong voice. “See what I mean?”

Margaret grabbed a garment bag from the trunk. “As soon as we get this unloaded why don't we all go down to the beach? Dinner won't be ready for another hour.”

“You shouldn't have made dinner,” Beverly said. “We could have—”

“It's only pot roast, potatoes, and carrots.”

“I told Janice we could have Mexican,” Tracy said. “She's never had
real
Mexican food.” She might as well let everyone know how things were going to be this year right from the start. No way was she going to let the others push her into doing things she didn't want to do or make her go places she didn't want to go. This was her vacation, too. And for once she was going to spend it the way she wanted.

“Tomorrow,” Beverly said, giving Tracy a silencing look.

“Sorry,” Tracy said to Janice. “It looks like you'll just have to wait.” An idea struck. “But then I don't see why we couldn't go by ourselves.” Even though she was still pissed about the car her mother had rented—it was as big as a goddamned boat and was like having a sign that said “Old People on Board”—it was her only way out of there.

“That's okay,” Janice said quickly. “I don't mind. I told you I'm not all that crazy about Mexican food anyway.”

Instantly furious that even Janice had let her down, Tracy picked up her suitcases and headed for the house. She was going to have to talk to Janice—again. If they didn't stick together, she didn't have a prayer making her plan work. Worst of all, if Janice seemed the least bit willing, they'd be stuck taking Chris with them everywhere they went.

“I thought you said the house was a dump,” Janice said when they were inside. “It's beautiful.”

“Wait till you've been here a while.”

“Why don't you and Janice take the room where Dad and I usually stay,” Beverly said.

“Why?” Tracy liked her usual room. It was at the back of the house and stayed dark in the morning. It also had a window she could get in and out of at night without anyone knowing.

“So Chris doesn't have to sleep on the sofa again this year.”

“Where will you and Margaret sleep?”

“In your old room.” She looked at Margaret. “You don't mind sharing, do you?”

“It'll be just like old times, Beverly. You were the best roommate I ever had. And, yes, that includes Kevin.”

Tracy couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd never shared a bedroom with anyone in her life. “You expect me and Janice to sleep together in the same bed?”

“It's a king-size bed, Tracy,” Beverly said.

“I don't care. I won't do it.”

Janice broke in. “My sister and I sleep together all the time. We have—”

Tracy shut her down with a look. “If you don't think it's a big deal,” she said to Beverly, “then you and Margaret can take that room.”

“It doesn't matter to me which room we take,” Margaret said.

Beverly glared at her daughter as she asked Margaret, “Are you sure you don't mind?”

“Positive.”

Tracy smiled, satisfied that finally something was going her way. “Now that we have that settled, Janice and I are going to dump this stuff and head down to the beach. We'll be back in time for dinner.”

Janice sent a helpless look in Beverly's direction. “Is there anything you'd like us to do first?”

“There's nothing that won't wait,” Beverly told her.

“Why don't you come with us? We don't have to go right now. We can wait until you're ready.”

It was everything Tracy could do to keep from groaning out loud. She'd had no idea Janice was such a suck-up. “Mom never does anything until she gets unpacked. If we wait for her, it will be dark before you get to see the beach.”

“You go ahead,” Beverly said. “Margaret and I will be down later.”

Beverly and Margaret dropped the suitcases they were carrying and headed back out to the car for another load. Tracy and Janice were gone by the time they got back in the house.

“I'm sorry,” Beverly said. “Tracy has just been impossible lately. Nothing I do seems to satisfy her anymore.”

The only part Margaret would question was the “lately.” As far as she was concerned, Tracy had been a monster in the making from the day she screamed her way into the world. “Maybe it's just a case of teenage angst.”

“Clyde thought it might be the way she's been raised.”

Margaret had sense enough to let that one go without comment.

“You know—the constant moving around,” Beverly went on. “Three years is the longest we've ever lived in one house, and that was just after Tracy was born. The longest poor Tracy has ever gone to one school is two years. She's always the new kid, always having to prove herself. Something like that is bound to be upsetting.” Beverly laid Tracy's garment bag across the bed. “Don't you think?”

“I know it was hard on me.” Margaret's father had been in the air force, a master sergeant determined to see as much of the world as possible at the government's expense.

“How did you do it?”

“It wasn't as if I had any choice.” Margaret dug a little deeper in her memories, looking for something that would help Beverly. “I think it's probably why I'm still in Fresno today, letting Kevin rub my nose in his new, incredibly happy family life every time I see him. If I hadn't set down such deep roots when I finally could, I would have packed up and moved away after the divorce. Especially if I'd known how little time Kevin would spend with Chris.”

“I wonder if Tracy will be like that.” She unzipped the garment bag, took out the clothes, and laid them on the bed. “Have you been having trouble with Chris?” The note of hopefulness was pathetically obvious.

The only thing Margaret worried about with Chris was that he was too perfect. He never stayed out late, always called to let her know where he was, and helped out around the house without being asked. If she feared anything where he was concerned, it was that the divorce had cost Chris the freedom to be a kid and experience the rebellion that brought its own brand of wisdom as an adult. She wanted him to do at least a few of the things that were confessed years later when he had children of his own.

“Not yet,” Margaret admitted. “But I figure it's bound to happen any day now.” She took a duffel bag with Tracy's initials into the room with the twin beds.

“You know I always hoped Tracy and Chris would wind up together. Tracy doesn't know this, but the real reason Clyde gave up his ticket was that he was afraid if he didn't, she wouldn't come at all. With both of them getting ready to go off to college next year, this might be her and Chris's last chance to connect.”

“I wouldn't be too disappointed if that doesn't happen,” Margaret said carefully. “They only see each other one month out of twelve, and to people their ages, that's an eternity.”
Thank God
, Margaret added to herself. Even knowing how Chris felt about Tracy, she couldn't imagine a worse pairing.

Beverly systematically began going through Tracy's pockets before she put the clothes away, as if it were a long-established habit. “Clyde just thinks the world of Chris.”

The action surprised Margaret. It would never occur to her to search Chris's things at all, let alone under the guise of being helpful. Was Beverly looking for something specific or simply snooping? Neither possibility held much appeal.

“Chris likes Clyde, too,” Margaret said automatically. She turned at the sound of the front door opening.

“I'm back,” Chris said.

Margaret went to the door. “We're in here.”

The glow of anticipation dulled when Chris saw Tracy was not with them. He looked at his mother over Beverly's shoulder as Beverly gave him a hug. Margaret pointed to the beach. “Wow, look at all this stuff,” he said, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. “She must have cleaned out her closet.”

“Tracy brought a friend,” Margaret said.

He shot her a questioning look.

“Janice Carlson,” Beverly filled in. “She's on the cheerleading squad with Tracy.”

“Tracy's a cheerleader? When did this happen?”

Beverly's smile was somewhere between beaming and smug. “I'm sure I told your mother. She must have forgotten to pass the news on to you.”

No, she hadn't, but Margaret was wondering now if she wouldn't have been better off doing so, especially considering how Chris felt about the cheerleaders he knew at school. His favorite word for them was airheads, but there were other, less flattering, words, too. “Clyde couldn't come, so he let Janice use his ticket. This is her first time at the ocean.”

“Cool,” he said without much enthusiasm.

“Best of all,” Beverly said, “you get your own room. No more sleeping on the sofa.”

“I'll move my things after dinner,” Margaret told him.

“Where will you sleep?”

“With Beverly.”

“You don't have to do that, Mom. The sofa's fine with me.”

The contrast between Chris's and Tracy's reactions to the sleeping arrangements was too obvious to ignore. “Would you like to come home with me?” Beverly said. “Just long enough for some of your behavior to rub off on Tracy.”