Beach Girls (32 page)

“A man who was running as fast as he could from where he most needed to be. And who's making his way back.”

Stevie put her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard. He held her tight, so their hearts were right up against each other. In the mysterious chemistry of love, much of these transformations had happened from a great distance. Her fear had disappeared. His fear was draining away.

Love changes things, she thought. Nell had come to visit her, and two whole families were transformed. For so long, Stevie had looked to birds—the smallest of creatures—for lessons worth learning, worth painting, worth passing on. Why shouldn't a child, the newest beach girl, turn out to be the wisest of all?

“Should we go back to the inn?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Henry's staying with Doreen. I have my room to myself . . .”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“We can't have all night,” he said, his mouth hot against her neck. “Nell will be waiting up for you.”

“I can handle that,” she whispered, feeling the shiver go down her spine again. They walked along, looking out at the sea. When they got to the tunnel again, it didn't seem as dark as it was before. Stevie thought of how much easier it all was, once you knew that you really
were
coming back out into the light. It was easier to have faith when someone was holding her hand in the darkness, and she knew that he wasn't going to let go.

And neither was she.

WHEN THEY GOT
back to the inn, it was nearly midnight. From outside, Jack could see that all the upstairs windows were dark; maybe Nell had fallen asleep after all. Only the porch and lobby lights were still lit. He and Stevie slipped inside, and went quietly upstairs, laughing when the stairs creaked beneath their feet.

Stevie went into her room, to check on Nell. Jack waited, leaning against his door, all the way at the other end of the hall. He watched her, coming toward him smiling. Shadows played on her face, softening her fine cheekbones, the sharp cut of her hair.

“She's asleep,” Stevie whispered. “They both are.”

“Good,” Jack said, opening his door. “Then they won't notice you're gone.”

He put his arms around her, just holding her for a few moments. They rocked back and forth together, and he thought about how he had flown all the way from Scotland, just for this chance. White moonlight slanted through the windows, illuminating the room. He pulled back, to see Stevie's face.

He smoothed her bangs back so that he could look into her eyes. They were violet, mysterious, but glowing with a warmth that cracked his heart. The feeling scared him. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but his heart had been under attack these last few years. He had screwed up so badly, he'd driven his wife into the arms of their priest. How could Jack have loved her so badly? How could he have made such mistakes?

“It's okay,” she whispered to him.

“How do you know?” he whispered back.

“I can just tell. Can't you feel it?”

“I feel it so much—that's what worries me.”

She laughed. He kissed her. She was so small—her head only came up to the middle of his chest. He always expected her to feel fragile, but she didn't. She felt strong and sexy, full of tensile strength. He kissed her mouth, wanting all of her.

They went to the bed and eased each other down. He unbuttoned her shirt, kissing her collarbones, feeling the pulse between them, and touching her side, rubbing his hand down her ribs, seeing her nipples harden and darken, and then lowering his mouth to them.

She moaned, and he was crazy with desire. He wanted her body—he'd wanted that ever since he'd seen her on that first morning, diving into the waves when she'd thought she was alone. Perhaps it had been that—her aloneness—that had touched him most, had drawn him to her, made him know that he had to find out, had to know her better, had to see whether she had the answers he needed.

She reached down, unbuttoned his jeans, laughed a little with embarrassment because she couldn't do it with one hand. He helped her, his eyes open—hers, too—thinking how much he wanted this, how wild his desire for her was. Not just for her body, which was beautiful and so sexy it made him dizzy, but for every other bit, for the hidden parts, for whatever it was in her that made him know that she'd been alone, too—in spite of other marriages, other men, in spite of Emma, in spite of their whole histories and dramas and tragedies—that they were somehow here together, alone together, starting from scratch.

Her hand was small, hot where she touched him. She pushed his boxers down his hips, made him harder than he'd ever been. He reached down, the heel of his hand curving up on her hip bones as he slid her black panties down her legs. The last time they had made love was on a raft. They'd been too shipwrecked to figure out how to swim to shore together. But here they were now, on dry land.

She was wet. He entered her, her thighs hot around him. His heart was pumping hard, like water rushing through a channel. She gripped his back, lifting her head from the pillow to kiss his lips. She held on so tight, he'd never felt this close, this physically one, never that he could remember, but he was past thinking, he was just joined with her now, steel on steel, they weren't going anywhere, they were right here, right here . . .

She held on so tight, he felt her chest rise into his, her back arching, spine curved like a bow, pushing her upward, right into him. They came together, crashing into something new. Moonlight spinning, reflecting off the sea down below, her violet eyes luminous under thick black lashes.

“I don't want to let this go,” he said, smoothing her bangs off her damp forehead.

“Do you think we could, even if we tried?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“This feels bigger than we are. We both tried as hard as we could to push it away and make it not happen.”

“Like your sign,” he said. “Please Go Away.”

“You had one of those, too,” she said. “It was bigger than mine. It was a billboard—in neon. I could see it flashing, all the way from Scotland.”

“I've made a mess of things in my life.”

“So have I,” she said.

“I've read all your books,” he said. “Night after night, to Nell. They're wonderful. But you know, they upset me. Every last one of them. Because even the goddamn birds are smarter than I am about their lives.”

“Me, too,” she said. “My characters always know so much more than I do. Even the avian ones. Which tells me . . . since I actually wrote them . . . I must know more than I think.”

“That makes sense. I must, too. Considering I'm here right now—instead of three thousand miles away.”

“As Aunt Aida would say, we've got a lot of Louis Vuitton between us,” Stevie said.

Jack shook his head, not getting it.

“Baggage,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “That we do have.”

“I guess what really counts,” she said, touching his face, “is that we also have something else.”

“What?” he asked, really wanting and needing to know.

“Well, each other,” she said. “And Nell.”

And since that was just so true, there didn't seem to be anything else, for the moment, to say. So they didn't talk at all.

Chapter 29

THE WEDDING WAS AT ST. MARY'S, ON
Spring Street. The imposing second-period Gothic church spire rose above the seaside town. A vine of red trumpet flowers grew up beside the front door, as if announcing tidings of hope and joy.

John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Bouvier had married in the church on September 12, 1953. Doreen Donnelly had been baptized there, had made her first communion and confirmation there, and her parents had had their funerals there.

Henry could barely hold himself together.

“I'm going to lose it, Lulu,” he said to Stevie, standing outside on the steps. She and Nell had walked up from the inn to be with Henry while Aida helped Doreen get dressed. “You know how much it means to her to get married here? She's only been waiting for it her whole life. Doreen and Jackie Kennedy, married at the same church. I'm going to take one look at her standing up there with her veil and flowers, and I'm going to turn into a total blubbering fool.”

Nell giggled.

“What's so funny, young lady?” he asked.

“Just that you look a certain way in your white uniform, and it seems funny to think of you blubbering.”

“You do make a really dashing bridegroom, Commander,” Stevie said. She felt incredibly light and happy—standing with Nell, knowing Jack was down at the inn talking to Madeleine, ready to come meet her. They had stayed together almost all the night before, till the sun had started coming up. They'd made love again, and then Stevie had sneaked into her room, to pretend to fall asleep on the sofa.

“What are all those ribbons on your chest?” Nell asked.

“Oh, just a few mementos of life in the Navy,” he said.

“He's a highly decorated naval officer,” Stevie said, putting her arm around Nell. “He's sailed all around the world, fighting battles.”

“That's an ironic way to put it,” Henry grumbled, raising one eyebrow at Stevie. “You should talk.”

“What's that one?” Nell asked, standing on her tiptoes to point.

Stevie didn't know, so she waited for Henry to say. He seemed to blush—something she was not accustomed to seeing him do. After a few seconds, he said, “It's the Purple Heart,” he said.

“What's it for?” Nell asked.

“It's for people wounded in combat,” he said.

Stevie stared at him with shock. She had been feeling so ebullient, excited about the wedding, that the words hit her hard.

“What do you mean?” Stevie asked.

“It was off Bahrain, in the last war. I got hit with shrapnel.”

“You got shot?” Stevie asked. “Why didn't I know?”

“I didn't tell Aida, because I didn't want to upset her. It was hard enough for her, knowing I was over there. Besides, it wasn't that serious.”

“Since when is getting hit with shrapnel not serious?”

“When buddies of mine got killed at the same time.”

Stevie was quiet, thinking. She glanced down at Nell, not wanting her to be upset by the conversation. But to her surprise, Nell's gaze was riveted on Henry's face. She stepped forward, getting very close to him.

“Your friends died?”

“They did,” he said.

“And you just got hurt, so you thought it didn't really matter?” she asked.

He nodded.

“That's like my mother and my aunt,” Nell said. “My aunt just didn't know how to be . . . after my mother died. And we didn't know how to be, either—my father and I. Everyone hurt, but we didn't think we should complain about it . . . or even say anything. Because my mother . . .”

“Because compared to your mother dying, it didn't feel like very much,” Henry said.

Nell nodded. Stevie watched them, two of the people she loved most in the world—the seasoned naval officer and the nine-year-old girl, standing on the church steps.

“But it is,” Stevie said. “Missing people we love is as bad as it gets.”

Just then, Stevie saw Henry undoing a pin on the front of his uniform; she realized that he was unfastening the small bar representing the Purple Heart. Bending down, he pinned it on Nell's dress.

“You're giving it to me? Why?” Nell asked.

“Because you earned it. You're a brave sailor, Nell Kilvert.”

“Thank you,” she said, touching the bar.

“I wish I had another one to give you,” Henry said, raising one eyebrow at Stevie.

“Me?” she asked.

He nodded. “All those shipwrecks over the years, Luocious. You deserve a Purple Heart for surviving them all.”

She laughed and blinked away sudden tears, looking up at the church steeple. He was right, in so many ways. Her heart had hurt so badly, she had closed herself off from the world. She had barricaded herself in her beloved cottage, painting and writing love stories about birds. But then the Kilverts had come along.

“The truth is,” Henry said. “I don't think you need one. Your heart is in fine shape.”

“I know,” she said, standing beside Nell. “I think you're right.”

“One thing: watch carefully today. I know you've had a few walks down the aisle, but today Doreen and I are going to show you how it's done right. Good things come to those who wait.”

“Are you talking about you or me?”

“Both of us, kid,” Henry said. “You've got to admit, we've had one hell of a rocky ride. It's about time we found some calm water in a safe harbor.”

Jack and Madeleine had let everyone else leave the inn in their cars.

The church was just about twenty minutes away, past Bellevue Avenue and down Memorial Boulevard. They set off quickly, not wanting to be late. The day was brilliant, clear and fine. Jack remembered other September days when he'd walked his sister places—to school, to Goodwin Park, to the tennis courts. The memory of all those years got clearer with every step.

“What do you think it means . . .” he began, just as she said, “How did you come to fly here . . .”

They laughed, and then Madeleine said, “You go first.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “What do you think it means, that you were right there, sitting with Stevie, just when Nell and I arrived?”

“I have my theories,” she said. “But tell me what you think.”

He shook his head. “I don't know. I knew I needed to see you both. Henry's wedding was my excuse for flying over now, this weekend—Nell wasn't going to let us not come. We got to the inn, and Aida told us that Stevie was having dinner right on the beach, down below the Cliff Walk. She pointed out the restaurant, and I headed down.”

“And we were right there.”

Jack nodded. “There you both were.”

“When I saw your face, all I could think of was, ‘He hates me—he's going to turn around and leave.'” Her voice broke.

“Oh, I don't hate you, Maddie . . . the opposite . . .”

“It's seemed that way,” she said. “And for so much of the last year, I've hated myself.”

“Why would you feel that way?”

“You're my big brother, Jack. For you to turn against me the way you did, I knew I'd done something terrible. For you not to forgive me means that what happened was unforgivable.”

“Couldn't it mean that I was a fool and made a huge mistake?”

“You're my big brother,” she repeated, the words so simple and innocent that they pierced Jack straight through.

“I kept thinking over and over—I shouldn't have taken Emma on that trip, I shouldn't have told Jack what she said, no one had to know. . . . I wasn't sure whether you'd stopped speaking to me because Emma told me what she did—or because she died.”

“I didn't know myself,” Jack said. The uphill climb got a little steeper. Madeleine seemed winded. She'd always been a tender, emotional girl; her heart was huge. And she'd always adored her big brother. He felt that now, and slowed his pace.

“I only wanted to help,” Madeleine said. “And look what I did—”

“You did help, Maddie,” he said. “You knew Emma was unhappy, and you wanted to be there for her, give her a chance to talk.”

“I took her to the beach,” Madeleine said. “Because that's where she was always happiest. I thought, if we could sit on the sand, go for long swims, walk with our feet in salt water . . . I thought that the sea would wash her pain away, and she could get back to how much she loved you.”

“That should have been my job,” he said.

“You're not excusing her,” Madeleine said.

“I don't know,” Jack said. “It seems like I might be.”

“You can't,” Madeleine said. “Because you're forgetting—Nell.”

As they got close to the hill's crest, traffic flowed by in both directions. A cool breeze swept up from the harbor. The sidewalk was dappled with shadows from graceful trees overhead. Jack glanced over at Maddie, saw that her breath was coming even faster. He felt her love—for him, for Emma, but especially for Nell. He wished he could take all that had happened back right now, in this instant.

“I'm not forgetting Nell,” he said.

“Emma was going to leave . . .”

“You know something?” Jack asked. “She wouldn't have.”

Madeleine's eyes widened.

“She might have told you that. She'd gotten swept away with something. But Emma could never have left Nell—not for good. I know that, Maddie. You do, too.”

“I thought you had left me for good,” Maddie said. A stiff, warm breeze was blowing, rustling the leaves overhead. It was still officially summer, but fall was just around the corner. Jack could hardly hear her voice over the traffic and the wind, so he took a step closer to her and clasped her hand.

“I could never have done that,” he said. “You're my sister.”

They walked in silence, over the top of the hill. Jack thought of all the walks they'd taken together. There'd been the time she'd gotten her first “C” on a test at school. And the time she'd tripped on the playground, in front of her whole class. The day she'd lost her kitten. The morning of their mother's funeral, going into the church.

“I'm just so glad you're back,” she said. “However it happened.
Was it . . .”

He waited for her to finish the sentence.

“Was it Stevie?” she asked.

“Stevie made it happen faster,” he said. “But it was coming all on its own.”

“Stevie really loves Nell,” Madeleine said. “And I think . . .”

Jack waited, his heart kicking over for some unknown reason. “What?” he asked.

“She loves you, too.”

“That sounds right,” he said. “Considering it's mutual.”

“So what are you doing in Scotland?” she asked.

“Trying to figure out how quickly I can come back.”

“Back?”

He nodded. “I've given my notice at IR. Structural can't rehire me—there's a no-compete clause in the contract I signed. So I'll have some free time, and I thought I'd oversee Aida's castle project.”

“Wow, Jack,” Madeleine said. “Stevie said her aunt is already eternally grateful to you.”

“There's one big problem,” Jack said. “Construction is expensive. Even if I donate my services, she'll still have to figure out a way for the foundation to pay all its bills.”

Madeleine's gaze sparked, and a smile sprang to her face.

“I know a really good fund-raiser,” Jack said. “She's a whiz at development.”

“I'm on hiatus from the university,” she said.

“So, you're available?”

“Depends on who's asking. For my brother, definitely.”

“Then I'm asking.”

“Then, definitely!”

The steeple of St. Mary's came into sight. It was dark and graceful against Newport's blue, blue sky. Jack stared at it pointing up to heaven. He thought of the steeple as an arrow, showing him the way to go. Upward, toward his dreams. He saw it as a message from Emma—telling him that she was looking down over Nell, that she'd be there whenever their daughter needed her. Jack knew it, as clearly as if she'd whispered in his ear.

STANDING ON the sidewalk outside St. Mary's, Stevie and Nell had kept Henry calm. The scent of flowers wafted from the trumpet vine and planters of late-season petunias—aromatherapy for the nervous groom. When the time came, he'd gone inside to stand by the altar and await his bride. Then the cars bearing Doreen, her matron of honor, and her bridesmaid arrived. Aunt Aida pulled up moments later.

The time had come. Organ music, Bach, wafted through the church doors. Where were Jack and Madeleine? Stevie knew that Nell was getting very nervous. She paced the sidewalk, craning her neck in the direction of the inn. Stevie tried to engage her, discussing the story so far of
The Day the Sea Turned Black
. But Nell couldn't concentrate.

Stevie knew that the child was thinking that perhaps Jack and Maddie had had a fight, or exchanged harsh words, or unleashed all their anger at each other. Nell looked paler by the minute. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and her bottom lip was raw from chewing it.

“Everything's okay, Nell,” Stevie said gently.

“But how do you know?” she asked.

“I just know it is,” Stevie said. “They're ready to do this.”

“But what makes you so sure?” Nell asked with such vehemence that it stopped Stevie short and made her think. She wanted to be very sure before she answered.

Stevie thought about her own life. She had been a hermit, with only Tilly and her work for company. She had poured all her love and passion and delight and adoration of life into the birds she painted, the stories she told. That sign had been by her steps, in her front yard for so long, that vines had entwined around its base. Finches had perched on top. It had been as much a part of her home as her front door, as Tilly's bed, as her easel.