The Red Gloves Collection (42 page)

“What was he like?”

Carol smiled. “He was the most handsome boy on the beach. Tan and blond, muscled from years of surfing.” Carol looked at the table, the past clearer still. “He saw Clara and me on our towels and came over. His hair was wet.” She touched her eyebrows. “Drops of salt water hung on his eyelashes and from the tip of his nose. He had a beat-up surfboard under one arm.” She uttered a single chuckle at the image in her memory. “He said he was giving surfing lessons if we wanted to learn.”

“That’s so cool.”

Carol smiled and found Hannah’s eyes again. “It was.”

A spark lit in Hannah’s eyes. She was engaged now, fully caught up in the story. Carol settled against the back of the booth and allowed the story to come in rich detail, the way it had felt all those years ago …

W
ith Mike standing on the hot sand a few feet from them, hand outstretched, Carol looked at Clara and shrugged. Then she took Mike’s hand, let him pull her to her feet, and ran after him toward the surf.

She’d never stepped foot in the Pacific Ocean, let alone been on a surfboard. But Mike was tall and confident, strong in a way that felt safe and dangerous all at the same time.

“So,” he looked over his shoulder at her as they hopped the surf and headed out to waist-deep water, “where you from?”

“D.C.”

He stopped, the surfboard still under his arm, and gave her a slight grin. “Washington, DC?”

“Right.” She felt uneasy, as if being from the East Coast meant she somehow didn’t measure up.

But he only studied her and said, “I’m Mike Conner.”

“I’m Carol. Carol Paul.”

“Hi, Carol.” He grinned again and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Then he said something that stuck with her for the next few years. “People from Washington, D.C, are too serious.”

“Oh, yeah?” She felt her eyes dance, felt them catch a splash of sunshine in the reflection off the water.

“Yeah.” He took a few more steps forward, his eyes still on hers. “Way too serious.”

“Okay.” With her free hand she made a quick skimming motion over the surf, spraying water at his face. “How’s that for serious?”

He laughed again, shaking the wetness off his face. “Not bad.” He dropped his surfboard in the water and high stepped it through the shallow water until he caught her. Then he gripped her waist, picked her up, and tossed her toward the deeper water.

“Mike!” She was breathless when she came up for air, not so much because of the cold water, but because Mike was standing a few feet away grinning, his chest heaving.

“More?”

“No!” She held her hands out, trying to keep him away. “I thought you were teaching me how to surf!”

He held his arms out and laughed again. “But then Miss Serious went and splashed me!” Mike turned and snagged his surfboard, which was drifting away. They were the only ones in that area of the water. “You want a lesson or not?”

C
arol blinked and took another sip of her coffee. “I felt free and happy and alive, Hannah.” She looked at her daughter. “It was the first time I could remember feeling that way.”

Hannah was quiet, waiting for the rest.

“We surfed together the rest of the day.” Carol stared at the empty seat beside Hannah. She could see Mike pressing the surfboard down below the water and climbing on top of it, hear him explaining it to her that first time …

Y
ou get on like this, then you paddle to where the waves are breaking.” He pointed to an area of the ocean a few dozen yards out. “The wave builds up and you paddle like crazy. When you feel the wave catch the board, you pull yourself up onto your feet.”

Carol must’ve looked lost, because Mike chuckled and shook his head. “Scratch that. First time just stay on your stomach and ride it in.”

He showed her a few times, and on the third time he slipped his feet beneath him and stood up, easily maneuvering the board through the wave. Before the surf evened out, he saluted her and fell off.

“Your turn.” He was dripping wet as he moved gracefully through the water, carrying the surfboard to her. She took the board and he looped his arm around her waist, holding the board steady while she climbed on. Her heart pounded within her; she was terrified that a shark would snatch her feet or that a big wave would pull her out to deep water, never to be seen or heard from again.

But Mike shouted at her from his place in the shallow surf, telling her when to turn around, when to paddle hard, and she caught the first wave that came her way. The speed gave her a rush she hadn’t expected. She flew on the board across the water, not stopping until the wave died and the board spilled her into the knee-deep tide.

She hooted and raised her fist, pumping it in the air. Out where he stood in the water, Mike did the same. And in that moment, she forgot completely about her parents’ politics or the expectations her mother had for her.

All that mattered was Mike Conner and the way he made her feel.

They spent the day in the water. Every now and then Clara would come close to the water, sometimes close enough to get her toes wet. “Carol,” she’d holler across the sound of the surf. “You’re gonna get sunburned.”

“I’m fine,” Carol would shout back.

And in that way she stayed out in the water with Mike until the afternoon sun was heading fast for the horizon. Mike walked with her back to the towel, looking at her the whole time. “How old are you?”

She was glad for the sunshine, glad he couldn’t see the heat in her cheeks from his nearness and the bold way he had with her. “Nineteen this fall,” she told him. “You?”

“Twenty-one.” He seemed to anticipate her next question. He spread his hand out and gestured to the sandy beach. “This is my office.”

“Your office?” She giggled.

“I’m a lifeguard.” The two of them still made their way up the sand toward where Clara was reading. He winked at her. “Today’s my day off.”

Carol didn’t let her surprise show. Every boy that age back home—the ones in her circle, anyway—were working on their bachelor’s degree, making plans to intern in someone’s office or for someone’s campaign. She couldn’t imagine spending every day on a beach.

Just before they reached Clara and the towels, Mike turned to her and took her hand. “Go out with me tonight. We’ll get some ice cream, maybe, and come back here, okay?” He gazed out to sea. “It’s beautiful at night.”

She’d been wondering if she would see him again. And in that moment, his words came back to her.
“People from Washington, D.C, are too serious.”
She swallowed her fears and nodded big. “Clara won’t mind.”

Clara didn’t, but her parents did. They asked Mike to come in when he stopped by to pick her up that night. After chatting with him for ten minutes they gave a nod in Carol’s direction. It was okay; she could go out with him.

That night, when their ice cream was gone, Mike took her to a pier not far from the beach where they’d played earlier that day. They walked to the end and leaned against the old wooden railing.

“See?” He faced her, his elbow looped casually over the rail. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was. Carol had never felt so free and alive and … and something else. She was trying to figure it out when he leaned in and kissed her.

School and political functions and vacations to the eastern seaboard had made up Carol’s entire life until that point. She had never been kissed, and the feel of it—sweet and full and brief—made her wonder if she could ever go back.

She paced herself after that, spending half her time with Clara, and half with Mike. He had a friend, and several times a week the four of them would double date.

Partway through summer, her mother confronted her about the situation.

“Clara’s mother tells me you’ve found a boy.”

“Yes.” Carol cringed. The way her mother said it,
boy
sounded like a contagious disease. “Yes.” She tried to salvage the situation. “His name is Mike. He’s very nice.”

“He’s a … surfer, is that it?”

“He protects people at the beach. It’s a very honorable job, Mother.”

“Carol, what would you know about honorable.” Her mother was disgusted, the pretense gone. “Lifeguards are drifters.”

“He’s not a drifter. He’s kind and funny and he makes me smile.”

“This conversation is over.” Her mother was hissing now, furious. “You won’t see the boy again, is that understood? You have college and half a dozen wonderful young men waiting for you here at home. People like us don’t date surfers, Carol.” She huffed for emphasis. “Am I understood?”

Carol had nothing to say to her. She hung up before her mother could finish. She had no intention of following orders this time. She couldn’t follow them if she wanted to. Because by then she’d fallen for Mike—fallen hard, the same way he had.

“Summer’s almost over,” he told her one night as they walked along the beach. He turned and searched her eyes. “Stay with me, Carol. Marry me. No one’s ever made me feel this way.”

Two thoughts hit Carol at the same instant: first, she would stay. How could she do anything else? But the other thought caught her off guard. She didn’t want to marry him. Marriage meant a wedding, the sort that involved a year of planning and a beautiful gown and a dinner party with hundreds of important people. Those were the only weddings she knew, and if she ever got married, that would be the type she would have.

But if she married Mike Conner, she might as well elope. Her parents wouldn’t come to the wedding. They’d hardly throw her a party.

“Well … ” He slipped his hands in his pocket and gave a shrug of his shoulders. He had never looked more irresistible. Then he pulled a ring from his pocket, a slender solitaire with a small diamond at the center. He held it out to her, his eyes damp. “Will you marry me, Carol?”

“Mike … yes!” A soft gasp came from her and she let him slip the ring on her finger. Her brain was shouting at her, telling her it could never work with her parents so set against it. But in that moment she wanted only to be in Mike’s arms, lost in his embrace, his kiss.

C
arol stopped talking and looked at her coffee. It was half full, too cold to drink. She looked at Hannah. “I never had time to think it through.” She gave a light shrug. “When Mike gave me the ring, I figured it didn’t matter. The world could fall apart and I’d be okay as long as I had him in my life.”

“So … you did marry him?”

“No.” Carol looked down at her fingers, at the ring on her left hand, the ring from Jack Roberts. She drew in a slow breath and met Hannah’s curious eyes once more. “I called my parents the next day to tell them the news. They said if that was my decision, they would wash their hands of me.”

Hannah took another swig from her drink. “I can picture Grandmother doing that.”

The remark cut at Carol. Wasn’t it the same thing she would’ve done if Hannah had called with a similar pronouncement? She leaned back, missing Mike for the first time in years. “I moved in with him.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Not very smart, but that’s what I did. I enrolled in a local college and every month or so I promised him we’d get married soon.” She anchored her elbows on the table and gave Hannah a sad smile. “Instead, I wound up pregnant with you.”

“What did … what did Mike think?”

“He was thrilled. He said it was the perfect reason to get married, now that we were going to be a family.”

“Did Grandmother and Grandfather know?”

“I called and told them.” Carol remembered their voices, the disappointment. “They told me they’d be waiting for me in Washington, DC, if I ever got smart and decided to come home.” She paused, the memories alive again. “Mike was a wonderful father.” She looked at Hannah. “Better at parenting than I was, I’m afraid.”

Hannah stirred the straw in her drink. “I remember him.” She squinted, and it looked like she was fighting tears. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.” Carol felt her heart skip a beat. Hannah remembered? No wonder the package had set her off, caused her to go on a frantic search for him. “What do you remember?”

Hannah looked up at nothing in particular. “I remember sitting and playing on the floor with him.” Her eyes met Carol’s. “I remember him playing the guitar.”

“Yes.” Carol’s throat was thick. “He was quite good.”

“So what happened?” Hannah’s voice was thick. Tears filled her eyes. “Why did you leave?”

Carol squirmed, but there was no comfortable way to say it. “I grew ambitious, dreaming about the sort of life I’d lived as a kid. The successful politicians, the savvy businessmen, the wealth and privilege, I began to crave it all. Mike wasn’t … He wasn’t enough after awhile.” Her heart wanted her to regret the decision, but she couldn’t. The truth was she’d leave him again if she had it to do over.

She clenched her teeth, not sure how to go on. But after a few seconds she summed up the ending. Mike had wanted to give Carol the life she hungered after, but he wasn’t able. He was a lifeguard—a happy, kind man who would never be invited to high-powered political parties, never provide a six-figure income for his family.

By the time Hannah was three, Mike became insistent that they get married. “This is no life for a little girl, Carol,” he would tell her. “We need to give her security, a real life. I don’t want her to think of me as her mother’s boyfriend.”

Carol refused, insisting that she couldn’t commit a lifetime to him unless he had some other direction for his future, something other than guarding Pismo Beach.

“That’s lousy, Mother.” Hannah’s voice was just short of condemning.

“I know it.” Carol deserved this, deserved the pain in her heart that came from talking about the past, from admitting her part in it all. “It was very lousy.”

Hannah played with her straw some more, her eyes never leaving Carol’s. “So what happened?”

“He enlisted with the Army. He wanted to fly planes, but he didn’t have a college degree. So he joined the Army. That way he could be a helicopter pilot. A warrant officer. Something he thought would carry the prestige and future I wanted.” Carol pressed her fingertips to her eyes, warding off the headache that was starting near her temples. “He absolutely enlisted. I’m sure of it.”