The Shore (35 page)

Finn had settled down next to Poppy and was deep in conversation, making a familiar surfing motion with his hand. Claire heard Jodi's laugh from the shadows and thought it wasn't a happy sound. When Linley joined in, it did not improve the cheer factor.

She wanted to go over to Finn and lean into him and have him smile down at her and put his arm around her. And if she did do that, he probably would—leaving one hand free to make that now familiar surfing motion as he talked intently to Poppy and Pat.

But, perversely, she didn't want anyone to notice if she did. She concentrated on making her burger just right.

Was he her boyfriend now? Were they dating? All very gray area questions. A list of rules would be nice, Claire thought.

The feeling of wanting to cry came back more strongly. She wished she had someone she could talk to, but who?
I'll eat something,
Claire thought.
I'll feel better then.

Come to think of it, she'd rushed out of the Stacked without the end-of-shift meal Joseph fed everyone.

No wonder she felt strange. That, and, oh yes, sex on the beach.

But after two bites of burger, she wasn't hungry anymore. Just thirsty. Very, very thirsty.

She looked up from the rim of her glass and met Dean's eyes. Quickly, she bent and gave Barrel the rest of her meal. When she straightened up, Dean said, “You know, you shouldn't just give it away.”

Claire gulped. “Shouldn't give it away why? Unless I give it to you?”

He looked taken aback for a nanosecond. Good. She pushed on. “Who are you, anyway, Dean? What kind of power trip are you on?”

“Knowledge,” he said. “As in ‘knowledge is power.'”

“Politician or blackmailer or both?” she shot back.

He grinned. “You know almost as much—although not quite—as I do about what's going on at our dear little home sweet summer home. So much has happened in such a short time! What has it been, four weeks, more or less? And if I was a blackmailer, what could I get for being quiet that I couldn't get, anyway?”

Her head was spinning. She looked down to find her glass was empty once again.

She looked over at Finn. Help, she wanted to say.

Then she thought,
If I hadn't just had sex with him, would I want his help?

No. Or at least, I wouldn't expect it.

Jodi flitted by. “New batch coming up. I'm thinking peach.”

Poppy held out her glass as Jodi passed, but Jodi kept going.

“Guess she's all excited about the new thing in her life,” Dean said, raising his voice slightly, looking across at Poppy.

Poppy gave him a level look and stood up. Finn turned all his attention to Pat.

“Me, too. I'll have 'nother drink,” said Claire.

Dean rapped her wrist with the grill spatula.

“Hey, watch it!” Claire said.

“Friends don't let friends . . . ,” he remarked. “Slurp tonight, urp tomorrow, to put it crudely. It's not your style.”

“My style.
My
style. What do you know about my style? What does anybody know about my style?” Claire said. Her nose felt numb. She reached up to check it out and almost jabbed herself in the eye.

“Too late,” remarked Dean to no one in particular. He flipped the last burger onto a plate, covered it with another plate, and shut the grill lid. “The dining room is now closed.”

Claire wasn't sure afterward, but she thought she heard him add as she charged into the house for another drink, “And the show is about to begin.”

Eleven

She woke up slumped sideways in the dark, with her face against something soft. She was thirsty and didn't feel so good. Possibly she was dying.

She squinted. Her room? She was pretty sure it was. Had she slid out of bed, or just not made it up into it?

She closed her eyes again. It didn't help. Even in the dark she could tell that someone was either rolling her over and over or somehow doing the same thing to the room.

Claire. Good. She could remember her name. She didn't feel so sick. And also who was president of the United States. She made a face in the dark and suddenly felt sicker.

I will drink two glasses of water and take two aspirins,
she thought, with a dim recollection of what Linley did when she feared hangover retribution.

Step one: Stand up. This took some effort, and Claire felt quite pleased when she succeeded. Maintaining an upright position, however, was much harder. Best to walk only by
holding on to the wall . . . yes, that worked. She was doing excellently. Hah.

Claire groped her way into the hall, lit by light from the floor below. What the hell time was it? She could still hear the party going on somewhere. Feeling petulant and left out, she tottered to the top of the landing. A wave of sound from the hot tub area rolled up the stairs.

She made her way back to the bathroom and fumbled in. Putting together water and aspirin took great concentration and required several refills of one of the little paper cups from the cup dispenser.

Claire smiled at the cup dispenser affectionately. She'd added that. Executive decision of the house manager, and see how it had paid off? She was very smart.

She drank several more little paper cups of water.

In the hall she swayed to a stop. Finn. Ah, yes. She was experienced now, and handling it very well. She would not, for example, go knock on the door of his room. She was dignified. Let him come to her. Hah.

Maybe he was down in the hot tub.

Claire heard a shriek and decided to risk the stairs. She edged down, clutching the rail, and found herself in a room full of empty bottles and glasses. Someone she thought was Maryann, wearing an old Rolling Stones T, was passed out in a chair. Someone else was passed out on the sofa. Closer inspection revealed that the sofa surfer was Dean.

Odd. She didn't remember him drinking. She tiptoed past and peered out at the hot tub. Linley and Nicholas-Ned-Nathan were in the hot tub, having a water fight. They dashed sheets of water at each other and shouted and shrieked. Clearly, they had completely abandoned the concept of clothes.

Claire blinked. Then accidentally kicked over a beer bottle that clattered around on the tile floor. Then she said the first thing that came to mind. “Linley! All those stories you told me were true!”

The two of them turned. Linley burst out laughing. “Claire! Come on in. The water is fine!”

“It sure is,” Nicholas-Ned-Nathan said.

Claire gave her head one quick shake and spun to stagger back into the house. She amost crashed into the bar as she headed back toward the stairs. She paused, gripping the counter's edge.

Dean hadn't moved at all. Claire was seized by a sudden suspicion that he wasn't even asleep. She reeled over and pressed her hands into the sofa back and stared down at him.

“Wake up,” she said.

He didn't answer. She thought of pouring water on him. It would have been an interesting experiment. But if he really was asleep, it would also be rude.

She, Claire, was not a rude person.

Politely, she turned away. She began to make her way back up the stairs.

A door opened. Poppy stepped out into the hall wrapped in a gold silk robe, backlit by the light in her room.

At the same moment, Jodi came out of her room, pulling a towel around her. It was Jodi's own towel, Claire noted. It had the letter J stitched on it.

“Claire?” she said.

“I am,” Claire agreed politely.

“You okay?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Claire said. “And you? Did you have a nice bath?” How nice and clearly she seemed to be speaking. She hardly sounded drunk at all, though she was sure she was.

“Bath?” Jodi looked down at the towel, then said, “Oh. Well. I was in the hot tub and decided I needed to come upstairs for . . . for a minute.”

“You're going back down?”

“Sure,” said Jodi. “You should come too.”

“No!” Claire said. Then, because she didn't want to be rude, she added, “Nothing personal, Jodi.” She moved quickly toward her door. Or at least attempted to move quickly. The attempt made her insides swoop, and she thought,
If I don't lie down, I'm going to puke.

“What about you, Poppy?” she heard Jodi say. “Hot tub?”

Claire opened her door and shut it firmly and reeled to her bed, fearing she would never sleep again.

She went out like a light.

Outside, the shrieks from the hot tub ceased abruptly.

• • •

Jodi stood in the hall staring defiantly at Poppy. Her pill-bottle courage wavered, and in spite of herself, her hands found the towel edges and tightened the towel. Poppy held her own gold robe loosely together with one hand. A long bare leg showed through the slit. Jodi could see the familiar outline of Poppy's nipples beneath the silk. She knew that outline by heart, she realized, and raised her eyes with difficulty to meet Poppy's.

Poppy was regarding her steadily.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Jodi said, “Why don't you come join us?” She motioned toward the stairs and then grabbed the towel as it slipped.

With deliberate grace, Poppy walked toward Jodi. Jodi took a step back, then stopped and raised her chin.

Poppy stopped very, very close to Jodi. “I have a better idea,” she said softly. “Why don't you come join me?”

Linley watched him dress in the early morning light. She was looking her tousled best, she knew, but she didn't feel much like capitalizing on it. She didn't feel much like talking, either. She was glad he was going.

“Too bad your friend bailed on us. We could have had even more fun.” He smiled.

She returned the smile. “That's Jodi for you. One big old chicken.” She yawned. “Still, it wasn't
too
bad.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not at all, ma'am.”

She rolled over and pulled up the covers. “It was fun. Thanks.”

He hesitated, and then said, “It was. See you?”

“See you,” she agreed. Maybe she would.

When he'd left, she rolled back over and stared out the window at one side of the room. It was open, and she could hear the waves and smell the clean smell of the ocean pushing through the room.

She yawned again and snuggled under the sheet. She'd had some fine nights in this house that last summer. She'd awakened more than once in Max's arms, she remembered sleepily. Those had been the best mornings—maybe the best mornings of her life, even knowing that they couldn't last.

Maybe that had made them sweeter still.

Not in this room, of course. In the room she'd given Claire. Falling back into sleep, Linley thought dreamily and a little sadly,
I hope my old room brings Claire luck.

Something was tickling her nose. Claire opened her eyes and gasped. She instinctively yanked at the covers. “Finn! What are you doing in my room?” Then she winced at how loud her voice sounded.

“Sorry. I knocked, but no answer,” he said, and smiled, his brown eyes sympathetic. “Rough night for you. Thought you might like some coffee.” Claire saw then that Finn was holding a tray—an actual tray with a mug of coffee and the sugar bowl
and a milk carton on it. He set it on the table beside her bed and said, “I even remembered a spoon and a napkin.”

She sat up, amazed that she was still alive. “Thank you,” she said as he handed her the cup.

“Careful. It's hot,” he warned. “Milk? And sugar?”

She watched in a daze as he doctored her coffee. “Thank you,” she said again, and blurted out, “No one's ever done this for me before.”

“Rude and unlucky dudes,” Finn pronounced. “Aren't they, Barrel?” And she realized that, of course, Barrel was there, too.

As Claire drank her coffee, Finn leaned across the foot of the bed as if he belonged. Barrel jumped up, too. Without thinking, Claire reached out and smoothed back a strand of Finn's sunstreaked hair. Then she yanked her hand back, blushing.

But Finn caught her hand and patted it, almost the way he patted Barrel.

Claire felt shy and self-conscious and hung over and confused. But she liked it, too. If felt cozy, if not entirely comfortable. Barrel inched up the bed and put his nose on her hip.

“Did I . . . was I bad last night?” she asked at last.

“I think you just drank too much on an empty stomach. Happens.” He released her hand and leaned over to give her a quick kiss. “When you finish your coffee, gear up and we'll go look for a break. Best hangover cure I know.”

Full-body immersion in cold water—she wasn't sure she was
ready for it. She couldn't tell Finn that, of course. “I have to work,” she said instead.

“Me, too. It's way early enough. Surf first, work later, be happy.” He patted her on the shoulder and loped out of the room. Barrel scrambled off the bed to follow.

She stared after him, hands still cradling the cup.
Well,
she thought.
Domestic bliss.

Jodi woke suddenly and completely from the best and worst night of her life. She turned her head and saw the long spray of red hair fanned out on the pillow next to her.

What had she done? Couldn't she do anything right? She had probably ruined another good friendship forever. . . .

No, wait, she hadn't ruined her friendship with Linley. Because Linley didn't know what she had done . . . what a miserable, sneaky, disloyal friend she'd been. No way Linley could know.

And Linley wasn't going to know about this, either.

Sliding hastily and silently out of bed, Jodi groped for something to put on. Then she remembered she'd been wearing only her towel, the one with the big red J on it.

She groaned inwardly, grabbed the towel, and wrapped it into place. As she opened the door, she thought she heard Poppy move in the bed behind her. Without looking back, Jodi darted into the hall.

“Jodi, hi! You're up early, too.” Claire smiled at Jodi—beamed, actually. “Good. May I borrow your shorty?”