The Beach House (5 page)

“He’s dreamy.” Char was at Jo’s elbow. “And from Scotland. Did you hear that? I wonder how he got here. Is he too old for you?”

Ignoring the temptation to deliver her “I’m single and happy” speech, Jo pushed on the door. It opened directly into a combination kitchen-living room, a wide-open area that ran across the front width of the house. The four of them stepped inside.

Molly laughed. “It’s wonderful, Jo. It really is!”

Andie hurried across the room. “It feels familiar somehow. I’m guessing the bathroom is somewhere back this way…” She disappeared down a hall.

Char twirled around. “It is absolutely lovely.”

Jo didn’t respond. The last vestiges of her high hopes now crashed to the floor. A worn hardwood floor at that, sparsely covered with braided throw rugs. No gleaming ceramic tile bounced her hopes back up. No wall-to-wall carpet cushioned their fall. No vaulted ceiling held them aloft. They rammed into walls painted yellow.
Sunflower
yellow.

Char continued her analysis. “And it’s utterly charming.”

Molly said, “It’s eclectic.”

Well, that word summed it up. No rhyme or reason whatsoever tied the decor together.
Things
were everywhere. Doilies and knickknacks obliterated the tops of end tables, coffee table, fireplace mantel, and kitchen counters. They vied for space on several bookcases overflowing with volumes.

Chairs and couches of every color, pattern, and fabric filled the area to the left of the front door. Immediately on the right was a rustic dining table in front of a picture window. On the side wall were pine cabinets, white appliances, and a window over the sink affording a direct line of sight into the neighbor’s window not six feet away. Probably Julian’s kitchen sink window.

A hallway opened at the center of the far wall. Andie emerged from it now, grinning. “The bathroom smells like lavender, and the tub has claw feet.”

Molly hooted. “Yes! That’s it!”

Char laughed. “Exactly!
That’s
why it feels so familiar!”

Jo felt as though she missed an inside joke.

Andie must have sensed her puzzlement. “Jo, it’s Grandmère Babette’s place all over again.”

Grandmère Babette. Andie’s French grandmother. The little woman about whom they could write a book:
Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned from Grandmère Babette
.

She sank onto a nearby floral print ottoman. Perhaps the rumpled sock of a beach house was the ideal spot after all.

Jo stood in the doorway of Andie’s bedroom and watched her unpack. With her moving between the suitcase on the bed and a tall wardrobe that covered half the left wall, there wasn’t space enough for both of them to be inside the room at the same time.

“Andie, let me take this one.”

“If you like it that much, I’ll share it with you.” She hung up a blouse and smiled. “I checked underneath the daybed. There is a trundle. We could pull it out at nighttime for you to sleep on.”

“That would leave about two square feet to turn around in.” The only other piece of furniture was a ladderback chair painted red. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I am. This room is perfect for me.” She slid open a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. “It’s all the space I need. And I love the country theme.”

“There’s not even a closet in here!”

“But there’s this nice armoire. Did you smell the cedar?” She pointed at the drawer and shut it. “I have that little window with cute lace curtains. And a reading lamp over the bed. What more could I want? I bet the room was originally a pantry.”

“Mmm. A storage room of some sort, anyway.” It was located off the kitchen, just past a bathroom and exterior side door. “I can’t imagine two people using it.”

“Two kids would do fine, Jo.” She sat on the bed. “I like it.”

“Really?”

“Really. It makes me feel…safe.” She shrugged. “Listen, I know it’s your nature, but you’ve got to stop feeling responsible for our comfort, Doctor.”

“You came all this way—”

“Because you asked us to, but also because we wanted to. We didn’t have to say yes. We could have insisted you come to Chicago or Madison or Port Dunmore. I for one wanted to get away. I’ve never been away by myself. Can you imagine that?”

Jo smiled and leaned against the doorjamb. “No, I can’t.”

“I suppose not. You’ve been independent your whole life. Not that I regret my life. I love being home with the boys even now while they’re in high school. I’m able to volunteer for the school district and practice reflexology part-time as well.”

“Do you still work in a chiropractor’s office?”

She nodded. “What I really want to do is have clients come to my house.” Her face grew animated. “We have this breezeway, just a little screened-in room between the garage and kitchen, that is not useful for anything except to sit in during the summertime when it’s not too hot. It would be ideal. We could make it an all-season room with big windows. I wouldn’t be in the anybody’s way.” She turned to her suitcase and lifted out a pair of slacks. “Paul’s considering it.”

Jo caught a subtle shift in Andie’s tone, a nuance she couldn’t pinpoint. “How’s the real estate business?”

“It’s great. He’s awfully good at it, even when the economy is down.” She carried the slacks to the wardrobe. “I don’t have to work for the money. He can’t understand why I would want the headache of people traipsing in and out of the house. And he cannot begin to comprehend why I want to rub their bare feet.”

Jo chuckled. “That’s an easy one. Because relieving people’s pain is your nature too.”

She smiled. “It’s not always a pretty job, is it? And kneading bare feet doesn’t even begin to compare to what you do delivering babies and performing surgery.”

“But the results are the same. We help people. That’s what counts. Getting back to your idea about a home office. The headache would be yours, right? And Paul doesn’t have to touch a single bare foot.”

“Well.” Andie slid a drawer shut, closed the wardrobe doors, and turned. “That’s the conclusion I reached on my birthday.” She smiled. “Don’t you think there’s something special about turning forty? I feel like I swung around a corner.”

Jo thought about the image for a moment. It didn’t work. Instead of turning a corner, she felt as though she’d backed into one.

In the kitchen Char helped Jo unpack grocery bags while Andie found cupboard space for coffee, tea, bread, peanut butter, jam, crackers, and cookies.

Molly, pen and pad in hand, compiled a grocery list. “Jo, you’ve brought enough food to last us for days. I move the marketing can wait until tomorrow. Let’s go outside.”

Char said, “I second that motion!”

Andie said, “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be best to get all organized first?”

Jo heard the hesitation in Andie’s voice. Though she had always been prone to being cautious, the sound of fear was a recent development. Well, recent as in some time during the past twelve years.

Molly shook her head. “Boo, hiss. Andie, the sun will be setting soon. Into the ocean you’ve never seen before! Or dipped your toes into! Come on. Let’s do it!”

“Just my toes?”

“Just your big toe, if you want.” Molly was halfway through the front door. “Okay with you, Miss Hostess?”

Jo nodded. As far as she was concerned, they could eat every meal in restaurants and skip the grocery store altogether.

“Great.” Molly shut the screen door. “I found some beach chairs in a shed out back. I’ll go get them.”

Within five minutes they each had a lightweight chair under an arm and were trooping through the gate onto the boardwalk, all barefoot save for Andie.

As usual, the scent of thick salt air energized Jo. The day’s myriad of worrisome details fell like grains of sand shaken from a blanket. She set her sights on the ocean and pointed her feet directly at it. The straightest route from front door to water’s edge appeared to be about a sixty-yard stretch. Not bad for one ugly beach house.

“Ahh!” Andie squealed as a roller skater swished past her.

“Heads up.” Molly caught her arm and prevented her from losing her balance. “It’s like a highway out here. Look at that! Yellow dividing lines? What is this?”

The walkway was broad enough to accommodate five or six people abreast. Jo pointed to the painted lanes and explained. “Northbound, southbound. Walkers here, runners and bicyclers there.”

“It needs a stinking traffic light,” Molly mumbled.

“Your Northwest snobbery is showing,” Jo teased.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They crossed to the seawall that ran as far as the eye could see in either direction. Jo could easily step over it, but her legs were much longer than Char’s and Andie’s. She sat atop it. “Just swing your legs up and over.”

Andie winced. “I don’t know.”

“There are steps down that way. Not far.”

“Okay.” She headed south, sidling close to the seawall as far as she could get from other pedestrians.

Jo exchanged a glance with Molly. As if by silent agreement, they did not call attention to Andie’s timidity by taking her route. Instead they followed Char, who had already flung her short legs over the wall and was walking through the sand.

The beach was a flat cushy expanse of dull beige. They trudged to where it was a dark gray and hard packed.

Jo planted her chair between clumps of gold-brown seaweed some feet from the water’s edge and sat in the low-slung seat. “Have fun, girls.”

Molly rolled up her pant legs. “You’re not coming in?”

“Nope. I love just sitting here like this.”

“Chicken.”

Andie caught up. Jo almost felt sorry for her. She had no chance of escape, what with Molly on one side and Char on the other, tugging at her arms. They relieved her of her beach chair, insisted she slip off her sandals, and pulled her toward the water.

Molly said, “Just a big toe, Andie. You can do it.”

“But, Jo—”

“Forget Jo. She lives here. She doesn’t know any better. This is a major deal for someone who has never seen the ocean.”

Char added, “It’s exhilarating, Andie. And look. The waves aren’t high at all. Roll up your cuffs.”

Jo smiled as the three of them inched toward the gently lapping wave’s end. They dipped their toes into undoubtedly ice-cold water and giggled like youngsters. As another wave rolled in, they scurried backward.

Molly called out, “Zambruski, you are a chicken. The water is bathtub warm!”

“What would you know from warm? You live in Oregon!”

The sun waned now, its warmth fading as the orange ball slid toward the horizon. In the distance surfers sat on their boards, catching no rides on the calm steely gray.

Jo heard Andie’s giggle again. It was more a nervous sound than one of delight. Earlier she had worn a little girl’s expression of wonderment. Since leaving the confines of her room, though, the look had disintegrated into one of controlled panic.

While Char and Molly ventured out into midcalf depth, Andie moved sideways like a crab, back toward Jo. She plopped down into one of the chairs. The ocean breeze hadn’t mussed one red hair out of place, an incongruous cap to her facial expression.

Jo said, “Are you all right?”

“It’s just so…
overwhelming
.”

“I remember feeling that when I first came to California. It doesn’t quite compare to Lake Michigan, does it?”

“Hardly. But I’m not just talking about the ocean. The ocean is downright
frightening
. I’m talking about the whole thing. I mean, did you see—well, I’m sure you see this stuff all the time. First of all there was that unbelievable traffic from the airport, bumper to bumper at eighty miles an hour. Then people over there are whizzing along the boardwalk. You could get killed by someone on
roller skates
. Did you notice the poor homeless guy muttering to himself? And the boys loitering and drinking beer right out in public in front of everybody? In broad daylight! The half-dressed girls. All the tattoos and the pierced…pierced
everything
. Then there’s that odd bird neighbor, Julian. He’s back there now at the wall, watching us.”

Whoa. Hadn’t Jo just been thinking Andie never expressed a negative thought? She didn’t turn to look at the neighbor. “He’s probably waiting for the sunset.”