The Shore (32 page)

Finn caught Claire's hand and led the way to the food. Having made sure that Barrel wouldn't starve, he heaped a second plate and offered some to Claire.

“Thanks,” said Claire, taking a slice of California roll.

“I never say no to free food,” Finn explained.

Claire pushed away the thought that this was why he had come to the party.

He cleaned the plate as thoroughly as Barrel and set it down.
He surveyed the room. “Let's dance,” he said, adding, “Barrel, stay” as he caught her hand again to lead her into the fray.

She danced until she saw Jodi across the room, deep in conversation with Max, and half-danced over to introduce Finn to most of the rest of the house.

“One big happy family,” Max observed. “Drink?”

“Beer,” said Finn. “I'll get it. Anyone else?” He took orders, told Barrel, who'd somehow appeared at his side, to “Stay,” and made his way back to the bar.

Barrel sat down and looked at them expectantly.

“Good dog,” said Jodi, bending to scratch Barrel between the shoulders. He showed his approval by flattening his ears and lolling out his tongue.

“You like dogs, I hope?” Claire asked Max.

“Sure,” said Max. “And I can tell Barrel is a nice one. It'll be a better house with a dog in it.”

Jodi had squatted down to go nose-to-nose with Barrel. Claire didn't need to ask her if she liked dogs.

“I grew up with bad dogs,” Max went on. “Or, really, spoiled. Their idea of a good time was to chew the legs off furniture.” He grinned. “Of course, I've been there myself.”

Claire laughed, and told him about the Labs.

“Raised by Labs, huh? How are you at fetch?”

“Depends on what you throw,” said Claire.

Max looked at her then, and laughed. “You're a surprise,” he said.

Taking the drink that Finn had scored for her, Claire took a sip, trying to look demure, yet surprising. Whatever that meant.

“Oh, yo,” said Finn suddenly. “It's Curly Dave. And Jean and Lenore. I haven't seen them in, like, forever. C'mon, Barrel. Let's say hi.” He was off across the room with Barrel in tow.

Jodi stood, and beamed. “I like that dog,” she said.

“Down girl, I think he's taken,” Max said.

Jodi froze, her smile slipping, and Max, his own drink halfway to his lips, stopped. He and Jodi stared at each other.

Or had Claire imagined it? It was only for a second, and then Jodi said, “As soon as I have my own place, I'm getting a dog.” She took a deep breath and added, “Dogs are faithful and love you always.”

“Most of them,” observed Max. He paused for a beat, and said, “But Claire grew up with Labs that were yours for the right T-bone.”

Another pause, and Jodi laughed and Max gave a lopsided grin, and Claire said, “Oh, they were much cheaper than that,” and then Jodi waved at someone and the three-way was absorbed into the party again.

But Claire didn't forget it.

And she wondered if it all seemed as obvious to anyone else as it seemed to her.

Finn didn't kiss her goodnight. He had also given Max and Dean a ride home, leaving Poppy and Jodi and half a dozen
artistes
deep in wine and local art scene conversation amid the litter of the party. Dean, it seemed, was not an artist after all.

Claire had not yet found out exactly what he was.

She'd turned from watching Finn and Barrel go up the stairs to the second floor to find Dean watching her. He'd smiled and winked and given her an almost fatherly pat on the shoulder—if her father had been the type. “Patience,” he murmured, and let his fingers trail off her shoulder and down her arm as he headed off to his room.

Okay, not the fatherly type of pat after all.

That had left Max—Max, restless, pulling a beer from the fridge. “I'm going to walk on the beach for a little while,” he said. “Want to come?”

“Sure,” Claire. She thought a moment and said, “Linley'll be home soon. Want to wait for her?”

“No,” said Max, still peering into the refrigerator. “Beer? Drink?”

“A bottle of water,” Claire said. “Anything that's in there.”

Beyond the light on the deck, at the bottom of the sand, the night was soft and dark. Far down the beach Claire spotted the blaze of a dying bonfire.

They strolled in silence wrapped in the sound of the surf and the sounds of parties still coming from the bars and houses up beyond the dunes.

“You surf?” Claire asked, after a while.

“Sort of. It's never been my thing.”

“So I guess it wasn't surfing that brought you and Linley together.”

“Me and Linley,” he said thoughtfully. “No, not surfing.”

“Hot sex, then,” Claire suggested, and stopped in horror. She hadn't had that much to drink. Had she?

Max laughed. “Well, you do know Linley,” he said. “But it wasn't just that. It was that, plus . . . oh, I don't know, many things. Many fine things.”

Much more carefully, Claire said, “She told me a little about it, but not too much. And I'm being nosy. I'm sorry.”

“No. No big deal. It is, after all, history.”

“Not so much, I think,” Claire said.

“Maybe not,” he said, and lapsed into silence.

Guys,
thought Claire. Getting them to talk was like pulling teeth. Not that she'd ever pulled teeth, exactly, but then, she'd never really gotten guys to talk to her either.

But then it really wasn't any of her business.

After another long, wind-and-water-filled silence, Max said, “Linley and I have some unfinished business. And I've got some decisions to make. About my life. And what I'm deciding is not going to make anybody happy. My father and mother—well, they have barely spoken in years, I don't think they have even seen each other since they split up . . . but if I do what I think I'm going to do, it'll be the one thing they agree on.”

“Mmm,” said Claire. Now that Max was talking, he wasn't making much sense.

“I was over in India.” He stopped. He looked out at the ocean. “This is such a cliché.”

“India,” Claire prompted.

“I met this rinpoche. This teacher. Studied with him.”

“Oh,” said Claire.

She waited. But Max had apparently used all of his words for the moment.

Still, she got the distinct impression that he wasn't looking to get back together with Linley. This was not going to make Linley happy.

Claire shuffled through the sand, her thoughts running ahead. She lost track of time and hardly noticed that they'd returned to the steps leading up to the deck and the house.

Max put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “You're a peaceful girl, Claire,” he said.

“Yes, well, that's always been my problem,” she said.

He gave a snort. “Not a problem,” he said and, releasing her, gave her a little push up the stairs ahead of him.

Linley was sitting on the sofa, her feet on the table, a joint in her hand. “Welcome back,” she said. “Did you have a good time?”

The glitter in her eyes warned Claire that any answer would be wrong—especially saying “No dope in the house.”

“Hey, Linley,” she said.

“How was the party? Or do I need to ask?” She took a deep drag and held it.

Claire reached over, took the joint, and inhaled. She never smoked—and almost choked, but managed to hold it in.
Saved from answering,
she thought.

Exhaling along with Linley, Claire said, “Gotta go to work in the morning. See you in a few.”

“Stay,” said Linley. “What difference does it make?”

Claire didn't answer. She'd decided on being a coward and living to see another day. She retreated toward the stairs.

“Claire!” said Linley.

“I've gotta get some sleep too,” said Max.

“Why? You don't have to go to work,” said Linley.

“Don't I?” His voice sounded teasing and affectionate.

“Max,” Linley said, the brittle note gone. She sounded different from anything Linley had ever heard. “Max, don't go.”

Claire almost ran to her room, and closed the door firmly behind her.

Eight

Sitting and looking out at the ocean, Linley tried not to cry. She never cried. Crying was for people who didn't get what they wanted, and she always got what she wanted.

She was a very determined person.

You might as well be. You could lose everything in an instant. And die in the next instant. So you might as well get what you wanted as soon as you wanted it, or you might not get it at all. . . .

Damn him,
she thought. Why had he come back? Why couldn't he just stay far, far away, in Rangoon or Bhutan or wherever he'd been?

Who needed Max on this side of the planet? Who needed Max in her world?

Her world. Her perfect summer.

It was not going as she'd planned.

She dug her fingers into the arm of the chair and thought
cigarettes
. On that thought she was up and down the hall and in
her uncle's study. He was an ex-smoker who still smoked cigarettes now and then.

“Never give anything up completely,” he said, “or you'll never be able to give it up at all.”

Amazing, her uncle. Since he'd quit smoking when she was ten, she'd seen him have maybe three or four cigarettes, usually at family parties.

She found them in the freezer in the bar refrigerator behind the desk in his study and took the whole pack. All natural cigarettes. She smiled grimly. It figured. Did that mean you'd get organic lung cancer?

She was just coming out of the study when she heard Jodi and Poppy come in.

She stopped and slid back into the shadows, leaving the door almost closed. She didn't want the company. Not now.

Especially not Poppy's company. Poppy saw too much. And not like Dean. Dean was some kind of scam artist, Linley thought. She'd picked that up pretty much instantly. She'd voted him in just to twitch Claire. It was fun to do that, like watching her squirm over the whole paying-no-rent secret.

But Poppy was solid. Smart. And she really looked at people, really listened to them. It made Linley . . . nervous.

And, of course, Jodi thought Poppy was some kind of art goddess. Jodi began entirely too many sentences these days with the words, “Poppy says . . .”

“Well,” said Jodi, her voice bright with a little too much of everything. “That was fun.”

“It was,” agreed Poppy. “Very successful party.”

“Successful and fun are not the same,” said Jodi.

“True,” said Poppy. She was walking around the room, turning off lights, until the only one left was over the bar.

Jodi yawned hugely. “It's funny,” she said. “I missed it like crazy, partying with Linley all this past year. We've been best friends forever.” She paused, as if thinking that over. “But Linley went to school in Boston, and I had to stay here.”

“Did it change things much?”

The clink of ice in a glass. Linley remained rooted in the shadows. Eavesdropping.

“Yes. No. I don't know. Anyway, I wish she would have come to the party tonight, but she didn't. Maybe because of Max . . .”

“Or me,” said Poppy.

“You?” said Jodi, sounding surprised.

“Linley doesn't really like me, you know.”

“Sure she does,” said Jodi. “She can be sort of brusque, but she's great.”

“I'm not arguing that.”

Linley peered out and saw Poppy settling herself on one of the bar chairs, vivid in the half-light. The long purple dress she wore should have warred with the burning auburn of her hair, but it didn't. Glints of gold flashed from her earlobes and wrists, and she had gold sandals on her feet.

Showstopping, Linley conceded grudgingly. And of course Poppy had figured out that Linley didn't like her. Damn her, too.

Jodi was pacing around the room like a caged animal.

Poppy went on: “Linley is great. She can be great and still not like me.” Amusement deepened her voice. “Liking me is not a requirement for greatness.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Jodi. “Anyway, it was the best party. Thanks, Poppy.” Jodi turned to face the vivid figure at the bar.

Poppy finished her drink and stood up. She crossed the room to where Jodi stood by the stairs, her own short hair a halo of white gold. “Don't thank me,” she said. “You belonged. That's all there is to it.” With that, Poppy put one hand on each shoulder and leaned forward and kissed Jodi lightly on the lips, a feather touch of a kiss, once and then again.

Then she walked past her and went gracefully, unhurriedly, up the stairs. At the top she looked down at the still figure, standing now with one hand clutching the stair railing as if for support, and said, “Don't stay up too late, Jodi. Don't forget you have work tomorrow.”

“I . . . know,” whispered Jodi.

After Poppy's door had closed, Jodi stayed frozen for a long moment. Then she shook her head a little, like someone breaking the surface of a wave and flinging the water from their eyes. She went up the stairs behind Poppy in a quick rush, and Linley, listening intently, heard Jodi's door close.

Linley went back into the study to her uncle's big leather chair by the window, tapped out a cigarette, and lit it. She took a long, practiced drag and exhaled theatrically. She smoked for a long time, staring out at the night until the thin edge of dawn began to separate sea from sky.

She hated surprises. Surprises implied lack of control.

And she'd just been caught by surprise. No, Max's return had been the first surprise. That, now this.

Maybe that was why Max's exit had stuck with her. Another surprise.

In her way, she'd probably loved him. But Linley knew love didn't last.

The important thing was to be the one who said good-bye. Leave just a little before it was time to go. Leave behind the hint of unfinished business.