The Shore (40 page)

The first time Claire had seen Linley after that fight, passing Linley on her way out to work, Claire had thought Linley looked as if she wanted to speak.

But Claire had felt her face go stiff with anger and hurt feelings and, raising her chin, she had sailed by.

Since then, they'd circled each other with chilly politeness.

Claire was surprised she didn't miss Linley's company more. But her increasing involvement with Finn had made it easy to avoid Linley. And in the general mill of the ongoing house party, Claire had been careful to include Linley in offers to get drinks or plates of food or even general invites to surf the beach or bars. She'd also consulted her about the end-of-summer party plans, to be met with Linley's freezing, “Whatever.”

“I know,” said Claire. “I can't believe the summer is so close to over. I mean, it feels as if it just started.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jodi. “But we'll end it with a party that will go down in time.”

“California time,” Claire said wryly. She paused, then said, “You haven't been around much either. With two jobs and all.”

“I know.” Jodi sighed.

“Poor Jodi. All work and no summer romance,” said Claire.

Jodi sighed again without answering. They drifted peacefully. Then suddenly she said, “Have you ever known any, like, gay people?”

Claire thought of all her years in boarding school and grinned. “Hey, I come from some of the finest L-word incubators on the East Coast.” She didn't add that some of her best friends were lesbians, because it wasn't true. Until Linley, she hadn't really had a best friend.

“Have you ever, you know, thought about it? I mean, how someone knows that they're, whatever?”

“No,” said Claire slowly. She hesitated, then said, “I thought about sex a lot. Because it seemed like everybody was doing it—except me.”

She felt Jodi's gaze, but she didn't look up. She surfed her hand through the water. And added, “Until this summer. When I met Finn.”

“Whoa,” Jodi breathed. “Get out. He's your
first
? Does he know it?”

“I don't think he does. We were on the beach and we were
both sort of stoned and, uh, it went pretty well,” Claire said.
Could I sound any more stupid?
she thought.

“You're lucky,” said Jodi. “My first time with a guy was at some dumb party. It was at this McMansion that had its own putting green. We did some . . . putting.” Jodi grinned slyly. “I walked away thinking,
Good grief. Is that all there is? People are insane.
”

“People
are
insane,” Claire felt compelled to point out. “And it wasn't perfect the first time, but we're practicing. And I think Finn's pretty good. No, very good.”

“Definitely not the putting green,” said Jodi. “Get it in, get it out. Even a bad wave usually gives a better ride.”

Thinking of Finn and some of the things he did with her and the way it made her feel, Claire grinned and said, “Definitely not true with Finn.”

“And not true . . .” But Jodi didn't finish because a perfect set came and kept them busy until it was time to book.

They were walking back across the beach to the car when Jodi said, “It's been putting green quality for me ever since then, until this summer.”

It took Claire a moment to figure out what Jodi was talking about. Hoisting the board into place on the roof of the car and strapping it down, Claire said, “Oh!” Then, “Oh, I thought you hadn't had time for . . . for anything . . . this summer?”

“Well, uh, not exactly.” Jodi made elaborate work out of
adjusting her board and checking the roof rack straps. “There's this, uh, girl, you know.”

Again, Claire was slow.

“Girl,” she said stupidly.

“Yeah,” said Jodi. She cinched the last strap and turned to face Claire. “Poppy.”

“Poppy.”

“And me,” explained Jodi.

“Poppy and you . . . oh!” Claire went from slow to totally uncool in a nanosecond. “You and
Poppy
?”

Jodi's chin came up. “Yes. You got a problem with that?”

“No!” said Claire, which was true. She just couldn't believe how slow she was to catch on. “I just can't believe . . . I mean . . . when? Am I the last to know?”

She figured the answer had to be yes. But to her complete amazement, Jodi said, “No. The first. Besides me and Poppy, I mean. Although I'm pretty sure Dean got it all Googled by now.”

“Whoa. Wow. Good grief,” said Claire.

A short silence fell. Jodi stared at Claire almost defiantly. Claire stared at Jodi, really looked at her. For once, Jodi wasn't dancing in place. She returned Claire's gaze seriously. “You,” she said, “have hidden depths, Jodi.”

Jodi looked surprised, then pleased. “You think?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So . . . what happened?” Claire said.

Jodi leaned over, fished in the backseat, and came up with some coolers. She handed one to Claire, opened the other for herself, and jumped up on the hood of the car. Claire slid up beside her.

“You know, one of the nice things about surfing is that wherever you go to do it, the view is fabulous,” Claire said.

“True,” said Jodi.

“So,” Claire said, because she wanted to know and because she thought Jodi wanted her to ask, “tell me.”

“Well,” said Jodi. “I'd been vibing Poppy for a while, pretty much ever since I saw her in art studio at school.” And she went on to tell Claire all about it.

So she wouldn't have been human if she hadn't felt a little smug about Jodi's true confession. Jodi had told her, Claire, instead of Linley.

Why?

Claire thought about this as she drank her coffee a few mornings later. The house was warm and sunny and quiet. Unless the party went on all night before, Claire often had the mornings to herself.

Until Max appeared, which was another thing that happened as often as not—except that Max usually arrived by way of the beach, in a uniform of ragged cutoffs and faded-to-no-color shirt.

He got coffee and returned to settle wordlessly by her on one
of the chairs on the deck. He never spoke unless she spoke first. It was a peaceful way to begin the day.

This morning, she felt like talking. She said, to her own surprise, “Linley's still angry with me.”

“I know,” said Max, not surprised at all. He was so calm, calm in a different way from Finn.

“I don't get it,” she said. “I thought she was my friend.” How little kid on the playground was that? She wanted to grab the words back.

But Max didn't seem to notice. He said simply, “She is.”

So Claire said, keeping it just as simple, “Why?” And wondered if Max had always been like this and if so, how he and Linley had ever gotten together.

Max didn't answer right away. He seemed to be considering the question. He said at last, “Linley's had some hard times. Bad times.”

In spite of herself, Claire gave a little snort of disbelief. “As Linley herself would tell you, she always gets what she wants.”

“She always gets what she says she wants,” Max corrected. “Big difference.”

“How difficult could her life have been. No worries about money, no worries about looks, no worries about smarts. In short, no worries,” Claire said.

“She's not the way she seems. I can't tell you any more than that, because it's not mine to tell. But I can tell you she's angry with me, and she can't go there, not yet.”

Claire said again, “Why?”

He sighed this time, ran his hand through his salt-curled hair. “For so many reasons. Because I'm not who she wants me to be. Because I never was, or will be.”

“Vague,” said Claire.

He smiled at that. “I know. I'm still sorting it out in my own head. But I know this: I shouldn't have run away the way I did. And I did run, you know. I loved Linley and I ran away from that.”

Claire didn't say anything this time.

After a long silence, he added, quietly, “And now I'm back. But not the way Linley wants me to be.”

The silence lengthened again.

And then the world joined them. Or rather, Linley did. “How cozy,” she said, coming out onto the deck. “Lose Finn, Claire?”

Claire saw a fleeting expression of what looked like tiredness cross Max's face. Linley was like a child, Claire thought. An unhappy child. Me. Now. Tantrum.

No tantrums for me, thought Claire. “Finn had an early lesson,” Claire said, as pleasantly as she could, and went into the house for more coffee.

She found Dean lounging at the counter, his eyes on the scene on the deck.

Why am I not surprised?
thought Claire. Dean was like an eternally circling shark that never moved in for the kill.

“You remind me of that shark we saw,” Claire said.

Dean switched his attention to her. “So we're talking about that shark again?” he said, unperturbed.

“That's not a compliment,” Claire said.

Dean's gaze went back to the deck. Linley was leaning toward Max, smiling. Max was smiling back.

Tantrum averted, Claire thought.

Dean said, “Now me, I would have said Linley was the shark in our little tidal pool.”

“Really,” said Claire.

Dean waited, but Claire didn't go on. She didn't want to talk about Linley to Dean.

“Ah,” said Dean after a minute. He smiled. “So many secrets. So little time.”

Before she could ask Dean what he meant—or even think about if she wanted to know—feet pounded on the stairs. Jodi darted to the coffee, poured out two cups and doctored them, and turned to hand one to Poppy as she made a more leisurely entrance to the kitchen. Settling on the stool, Poppy took a long drink, said, “Perfect,” and then to Jodi, “Thanks.”

Then Poppy smiled at Claire and said, “Good morning Claire,” and Claire knew by the way she said it that Poppy knew Claire knew.

“Hey,” she said.

“About this party,” Jodi said.

“Ah,” said Dean. “I thought we'd get to the party soon.”

“It's important,” insisted Jodi.

“It'll be a good party,” Poppy said unexpectedly. “With Claire in charge.”

“Thanks,” said Claire, pleased. She added, “And now that the last month's rent is all in, I'm collecting for said party.”

“What do you want money now for, rent girl?” It was Linley. She couldn't have looked more beautiful in the morning light. Her gaze followed Max as he went for more coffee. Then Linley glanced at Poppy and Jodi, a thoughtful, considering look. She didn't acknowledge Dean at all. She returned her attention to Claire.

“Money. For the party,” said Jodi.

“I don't understand why you're making such a big deal of this,” Linley said. “I mean, dial up the drinks and party favors and you're there.”

“Would you rather handle it? You can, if you want,” Claire said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Oh, no,” said Linley. “It'll keep you busy and a busy Claire is a happy Claire, right?”

“True,” said Claire agreeably, because it was.

“I've got my share right here,” said Dean suddenly, and for once, Claire had the feeling that he was trying to put out a fire rather than stoke it. “Cash, right?”

“Me too,” said Jodi.

“Get to work, rent girl,” Linley said, and laughed.

Claire whirled. “Right,” she said. “And when will you pay
your share, Linley? It shouldn't be too hard, especially since you didn't pay any rent all summer!”

“What?” said Jodi.

“Big secret,” said Claire. “Linley decided she could use the extra cash.”

Poppy said, “Well, it is her uncle's house.”

“You thought you'd need the extra cash?” Jodi said, staring at Linley.

“It's my house!” Linley cried.

“You know how strapped I am, you know how badly I need to get away from my . . . from home, and you decide to make a little extra cash on my back?” Jodi's voice went up.

“Claire didn't pay rent either,” said Linley.

“We're not talking about Claire. We're talking about you and me,” Jodi said.

“It's not that much money,” Linley said.

“Big mistake,” Dean said under his breath. At the same moment, Max said, softly, “Linley . . .”

Jodi went pale. “Not that much money,” she repeated.

Poppy reached out and patted Jodi's arm.

Linley narrowed her eyes.

Jodi let out a long breath. She shook her head as if to clear it. “You're too much, Linley, you know that? But Poppy's right—it is your house.”

No one spoke. Then Linley laughed. “I'm so glad you see it my way. But to be fair, I'll donate the extra money to the party fund.”

“Now you're talking,” said Max.

“Good,” said Claire briskly. She stood up. She wanted out of there. “Well, I have to go. See ya.”

“Later,” agreed Linley, and Claire wondered: Was that a promise, or a threat?

Seventeen

Claire opened her eyes to find warm brown eyes staring into hers. “Barrel,” she said softly, and Barrel's mouth opened in a panting dog grin. She rolled over to look at the clock. It was very early.

Quietly she slipped out of bed and headed downstairs to let Barrel out for his morning loop around the house. She made coffee, working the formerly fearsome cappuccino maker almost automatically. She let Barrel back in, gave him a biscuit, and poured up and doctored two mugs of coffee.

They went back up the stairs, Barrel leading the way and looking over his shoulder as if to make sure she could manage the stairs on her own. She smiled. “Good boy,” she whispered.

Barrel. Two more days and she'd be gone and she'd miss Barrel.

Finn slept like a child, on his back with his arms spread. Asleep, with his sunstreaked brown hair spread across the pillow, he didn't look much older than a child.