The Shore (28 page)

“Why not?” Claire had asked. “It's no big deal, really, is it? After all, it's your uncle's house, so that makes it your house, technically.”

“No,” Linley had said firmly.

“What about Jodi? I mean, shouldn't she be in on the deal too . . .”

“No. Just you and me. Our secret. Okay?”

Mystified, Claire had given up. She still didn't get it. But she was willing to go along. Linley's house. Linley's rules—at least in rent.

“Today,” Linley went on, “we're just going to take it easy. Relax. Go to the beach. Have a few drinks. Score a little of . . . whatever. And, oh yeah, go to the beach.”

“Don't you want to rest?” asked Claire.

“Sure I do. On the beach. In the sun. Get rid of the library tan.” Linley stood up. “Okay, we need to stock up on some basics—and then let's hit the sand.”

“I'll drive,” said Jodi.

“A grocery list?” Claire said. “Don't we need a . . . ?”

But her two roommates were out the door.

Basics, Claire discovered—or maybe she should have known—meant wine, beer, liquor; it also included mixers, a strange collection of organic frozen dinners, a potato field of chips, more coffee, and cases of diet soda.

If it hadn't been for the diet soda and the organic factor, Claire would have sworn they were shopping for a fraternity.

She began to fling vegetables into the grocery cart, but Linley stopped her. “We can get that stuff at the farmers markets,” she said.

But she allowed Claire to add milk and even a few boxes of cereal. “For late night munchies,” Linley conceded, although Claire had been planning to use them for breakfast.

Jodi topped the cart with a large assortment of energy bars and three varieties of organic tea and headed for the checkout.

So much for grocery lists,
thought Claire.
Why am I surprised? I've been roommates with Linley for nine months.

As house manager, she was going to have her work cut out for her. But today clearly wasn't the day.

Claire was still considering the options—should she volunteer to shop? Cook? Suggest a common fund for basic items, of which she would be in charge?—on the way home when Jodi wrenched the wheel of the car, did a U-turn across a double yellow and in front of an oncoming vehicle of the suburban assault type, and canted the car into a marginally legal parking space.

“Gandhi on a surfboard, Jodi,” said Linley, almost shaken into emotion.

Claire knew her mouth was open, but she couldn't make sound come out. She was pretty sure she was trying to say something about surviving a cross-country flight only to die in an illegal U-turn. She'd noticed earlier that Jodi was a fast driver, but this . . .

Still moving fast, Jodi was all ready out of the car and headed for a tiny table outside a tiny coffee bar.

At the table a woman looked up from the bowl-size coffee cup she was cradling and smiled languidly.

“Jodi,” said the woman. She spoke in a low voice, but it carried clearly.

“Nice driving,” said the guy sitting next to her.

They were an eye-candy couple, especially on the guy side. He leaned back in the chair, studying them, blue eyed and blond and looking good. And looking as if he knew it.

“Poppy,” Jodi said, with a glance and a grin for the guy. “I'm glad I saw you. This is great, running into you like this. Linley, Claire, this is Poppy. She was the teaching assistant in my art workshop this past year. I was just thinking about you, Poppy.”

“Almost as good as being talked about,” said Poppy. Her own hair was dark red and, Claire thought, amazing. It hung loosely, blowing in the faint breeze, stunning against her pale moon-gold skin. Her eyes were cat-colored green, and her lips were vivid red to match the scarlet slip dress she wore and which, Claire thought, might be all she was wearing—unless you counted the worn leather slides that looked as if they'd been made from the braids of whips.

She wasn't even wearing jewelry, Claire realized. And it made her look incredibly . . . naked. In a good way.

Good grief,
thought Claire,
what am I, some kind of pervert?

Did guys see Poppy as naked?

I am a pervert,
thought Claire. A WASP virgin . . . pervert.

“Claire? Helloooo?” Jodi had turned, and Claire realized that everyone was looking at her. She hit rewind and said, “Oh! Right. Nice to meet you, Poppy, and, ah . . .”

“Dean,” he supplied. “The pleasure is all mine.”

At the word “pleasure,” Claire lowered her eyes. And made eye-crotch contact.

Package? Unit? Basket? What was the word Linley favored?

She looked up again and met Dean's eyes. “All mine,” he repeated, and Claire felt herself turn red, or possibly purple.

And then she heard the words “. . . roommate? And I thought of you.”

Poppy said, “Did you?”

“It's just for the summer, but it'll give you time to look around for something more permanent,” Jodi said. “Poppy and her roommate weren't such a great match,” she told Linley and Claire. “So Poppy's looking for a new apartment.”

“Let's just say she needs her space. And I need mine. Stat.” Poppy paused, then said thoughtfully, “A summer share. Why not? It could be entertaining.”

“What?” said Claire.
“What?”

“I told you we'd find roommates, no problemo,” said Jodi.

“Do all of you come with the house?” asked Dean.

“And in the house,” said Linley. She smiled sweetly.

Claire took a step back.
Jesus, Linley,
she thought.

“I could use a cheaper place to hang for the summer. Sublet my place, crash at yours, save a little money,” said Dean.

“Really?” said Jodi.

Claire opened her mouth to say, wait a minute, we don't even know this guy.

But Poppy said, “Dean is an old friend. I'll vouch for him. He'll pay what he owes on time.”

“And maybe with a little interest,” said Dean.

He looked not at Linley, or at Jodi, but at Claire.

“Uh, well,” Claire said.

“I'm into pay-as-you-go,” Linley said. “That's what keeps me interested.”

“You work at the college?” Claire asked Dean.

Dean shrugged. “Grad school,” he said.

Oblivious to everything, Jodi was writing on the back of a napkin. She shoved it across to Poppy. “Here's the address. Move in anytime.”

“With a deposit,” Claire finally managed to croak.

That got everyone's attention.

“A deposit? And after I promised to pay interest?” said Dean.

“Everyone has to pay a deposit,” said Claire. “To cover any unexpected bills or expenses.”

“Claire's the house manager,” said Linley. “She's very anal.”

“Anal,” said Dean.

“And we obey the house manager,” Linley added.

“Anything you want,” Dean said instantly.

Claire lifted her chin. “A deposit,” she said. “Equal to one month's rent. And the first month's rent. In cash. And
then
you can move in anytime.”

“Tomorrow,” said Dean.

And Claire wasn't sure if it sounded like a promise—or a threat.

Three

“Cute,” said Dean.

“Oh, behave,” Poppy said. They both watched the Subaru double-back on its original U-turn and rocket out of sight.

“Not your type?” Dean said.

Poppy didn't answer, and Dean smiled. He reached over and slid one finger along the inside of her wrist. She made a little sound, stood up. Stretched like a cat and began to walk away.

Still smiling, he slid money under a cup and followed.

“So you know Poppy from school?” Claire asked as she trailed Jodi and Linley back to the car.

“Yep. She's an excellent artist. I told you about her, Linley—remember?” Jodi said.

“I seem to remember you mentioning her once or twice,” Linley said. She didn't sound entirely pleased, Claire thought. Good.

“You just met Poppy, right, Linley?” Claire asked.

“Correct.”

“And Dean. Did anyone know Dean before?” Claire asked.

Jodi shrugged and threw open the car door. “I've probably seen him around.”

“Seen him around? Shouldn't we get references. Or something?”

“Poppy's a reference,” Jodi said impatiently.

“Linley . . . ,” Claire appealed to Linley. But it was useless.

“If Poppy says he's okay, and Jodi says Poppy is okay, it must mean Dean is okay. Math equation, right?”

“Right,” Jodi cut in. “I'm very good at math, you know.” She'd managed to extricate them from the parking lot without damage and they were headed . . . where?

“Where . . . ,” Claire began.

“Look,” said Jodi. “Trust me, okay? Poppy's great. They'll be great. And he's cute, right?”

“Cute isn't high on my list of roomie qualifications,” Claire said.

“Hey, we're all cute. Therefore, we should have cute roommates,” said Jodi. And floored it.

Claire fell back against the seat. After that, she got busy
not
watching where they were going. And, as far as she could tell, so was every driver in California, including Jodi.

And she'd thought drivers in Boston were bad.

So it really could happen. She could die a . . .

“Pretty boy,” said Linley. “Pretty girl.”

“You sound like a parrot. Or a parakeet. Some kind of pet
shop girl,” said Jodi. “Anyway, we've got two roommates. Only four at most to go. See how easy it is, Claire?” she added, glancing back at Claire, who had taken up the cower position on the backseat.

“Watch. The. Road,” Claire managed through clenched teeth.

Scenery of a non–New England style bathed in blinding sunlight raced by. Claire wondered why she had ever thought flying was dangerous. Large objects looming in a side window were much,
much
scarier to contemplate than the distant wrinkles of mountain ranges and water far below.

The car lurched, dipped, and spun. With a spray of dirt and gravel it bumped off the road and down a narrow track. Parts had to be falling off the Subaru, Claire thought, but a glance into the miasma of dust they'd left behind showed nothing but the dim outlines of ruts and flattened weeds.

They burst through a scraggle of trees to nothing but bright blue sky.
A cliff.
Claire opened her mouth to scream when Jodi jammed the car to a stop behind a pickup truck.

“We're here,” Linley said cheerfully, and jumped out. Rubber-fingered, Claire plucked at her seat belt and managed to Jell-O her way out of the backseat.

They were in a dirt bowl in a small, haphazard circle of beat-to-hell cars and trucks. At the edge of the bowl, a path twisted down to another bowl, this one of sand and water. Pulling surfboards and gear from the car, Jodi said, “Perfect.”

“W-was this where you surfed this morning?” Claire asked. Good. Her voice sounded normal. She was pretty sure.

“No. We went closer to the house. More newbies, smaller waves,” said Linley. “Sort of a universal-donor spot.”

“What place is this?”

“I dunno. Everyone calls it Farmer,” said Jodi. She jerked one thumb over her shoulder. “I think that used to be a farmer's field, y'know?”

“Let's go,” Linley said impatiently, and led the way down the trail.

The sky was blue. The sand was golden. Waves roared into the curve of land. Dunes, echoing the set of the waves, marched up toward the sky. Claire made a mound of sand, then flattened it with her palm. Out beyond the breaking waves, figures drifted up and down the swells. Two of those figures were Linley and Jodi.

“We could teach you,” Jodi had offered halfheartedly after they'd dropped towels, clothes, and a cooler on the sand.

“I'll just surf the beach here,” Claire had answered quickly. “I'll pretend this towel is a surfboard.”

“Ha,” said Linley, stalking past with her board under her arm. “You wait. You'll be begging for it before you know it.”

“You're the one who begs for it,” retorted Claire.

“Ooooh,” said Linley. But her attention was already fixed on the water. She was looking at it the way she sized up a guy for
sex. Only now her look didn't have the smug edge to it that said
I always get what I want.

Claire dragged a hard lemonade out of the cooler and settled back. “Go play in the water,” she said. She took a long drink and watched the two of them plunge into the water with the synchronicity of long association.

Drinking slowly, Claire tried to sort out her thoughts. She wasn't too happy with the whole roommate tip, but maybe Dean wasn't an ax murderer. Just a garden variety perv. That, she could handle. Hadn't she been dealing with boarding school teachers all her life?

Anyway, worrying about it wasn't going to change things. Besides, it was probably against the law to worry in California while on a beach.

Or in a car, especially one driven by Jodi.

With a smile, Claire leaned back. She took a long chug of lemonade. She wouldn't worry. Not on the beach. Not in the car. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun and chanted aloud to the rhythm of
Green Eggs and Ham
. “I will not do it in the car, I will not do it in the sand, I will not—” She had been going to finish “worry, Sam-I-am,” but someone said, “Do what?”

Claire jumped and spilled her drink across her bare stomach

“Aww!” she said in disgust. “Hell!”

“Do what?” the voice repeated patiently.

Dabbing at the sticky mess with the sandy corner of her
towel, turning her stomach into hard lemonade sandpaper, Claire said crossly, “What?”

“You said, ‘I will not do it in the car, I will not do it in the sand . . .' It seems to me you're eliminating a lot of good possibilities.”