Sanctuary (20 page)

“I can't be your twin, Mama,” Jo whispered now. “I can't be like you.”

Wasn't that why she'd never done anything more with her hair than scrape it back into an elastic band? Wasn't that why there was no tube of mascara in the bathroom? Was it stubbornness, Jo wondered, or was it fear, that kept her from spending more than five minutes a day on her appearance? From really looking at herself?

If she was going to keep herself sane, Jo thought, she was going to have to learn how to face what she saw in the mirror every day. And facing it, she realized, she would have to learn to accept it.

Taking a bracing breath, she left her room and walked down to Lexy's.

She found Lexy in the bathroom, choosing a lipstick from among the clutter of cosmetics on the counter.

“I'm sorry.” When Lexy said nothing, Jo took the last step forward. “Lexy, I am sorry. You were absolutely right. I was being bitchy, I was finding fault.”

Lexy stared down at the little gold tube, watched the slick red stick slide up and down. “Why?”

“I'm scared.”

“Of what?”

“Everything.” It was a relief to admit it, finally. “Everything scares me these days. Even a new haircut.” She managed to work up a smile. “Even a terrific new haircut.”

Lexy relented enough to smile back when their eyes met in the mirror. “It is pretty terrific. It would look better if you had some color, fixed up your eyes.”

Jo sighed, looked down at the personal department store of cosmetics. “Why not? Can I use some of this stuff?”

“Anything there would work. We're the same coloring.” Lexy turned back to the mirror, carefully painted her lips. “Jo ... are you scared of being alone?”

“No. I do alone really well.” Jo picked up blusher, sniffed at it. “That's about all that doesn't scare me.”

“Funny. That's about the only thing that does scare me.”

 

 

THE fire speared up, rose out of white sand and toward a black, diamond-studded sky. Like some Druid ritual fire, Nathan thought, as he sipped an icy beer and watched the flames. He could imagine robed figures dancing around it, offering sacrifices to some primitive and hungry god.

And where the hell had that come from? he wondered, and took another swig to wash the image away.

The night was cool, the fire hot, and the beach, so often deserted, was filled with people and sound and music. He just wasn't quite ready to be part of it. He watched the mating dances, the ebb and flow of male and female as basic as the tide.

And he thought of the photos Jo had shown him that morning, those frozen slices of lonely. Maybe it had taken that, he realized, to make him see how lonely he'd become.

“Hey, handsome.” Ginny plopped down on the sand beside him. “Whatcha doing over here all by yourself?”

“Searching for the meaning of life.”

She hooted cheerfully. “Well, that's easy. It's living it.” She offered him a hot dog, fresh out of the fire and burned to a crisp. “Eat up.”

Nathan took a bite, tasted charcoal and sand. “Yum.”

She laughed, squeezed his knee companionably. “Well, outdoor cooking's not my strong point. But I whip up a hell of a southern-style breakfast if you ever . . . find yourself in my neighborhood.”

As a come-on it was both obvious and easy. There was her acre of smile, slightly off center now from the tequila she'd been drinking. He couldn't help but smile back at her. “That's a very attractive offer.”

“Well, sugar, it's one every single woman on the island between sixteen and sixty would dearly love to make you. I just figure I'm getting to the head of the line.”

Not entirely sure how he was supposed to respond now, Nathan scratched his chin. “I'm really fond of breakfast, but—”

“Now don't you fret over it.” This time she squeezed his arm as if testing and approving the biceps. “You know what you've got to do, Nathan?”

“What's that?”

“You've got to dance.”

“I do?”

“You sure do.” She hopped up, shot down a hand. “With me. Come on, big guy. Let's kick up some sand.”

He put a hand in hers, found it so warm and alive it was easy to grin. “All right.”

“Ginny's got herself a Yankee,” Giff commented, watching Ginny pull Nathan toward the damp sand.

“Looks like.” Kirby licked marshmallow off her thumb. “She sure knows how to have a good time.”

“It isn't so hard.” With a beer dangling between his fingers, Giff scanned the beach. Some people were dancing or swaying, others were sprawled around the blazing fire, still others strolled off into the dark to be alone. Kids whooped and hollered, and the old sat in beach chairs exchanging gossip and watching the youth.

“Not everybody wants to have a good time.” Kirby glanced toward the dunes again but saw no one coming over them from the direction of Sanctuary.

“You know, you got your eye cocked for Brian, and I've got mine cocked for Lexy.” Giff threw a friendly arm around her shoulder. “Why don't we go dance? We'll keep our eyes cocked together.”

“That's a fine idea.”

Brian came over the dunes, Lexy on one side, Jo on the other. He paused at the top, took a long, slow survey. “And this, my children, all this, will one day be yours.”

“Oh, Bri.” Lexy elbowed him. “Don't be such a grump.” She spotted Giff immediately and felt little toothy nips of jealousy as she saw him slide Kirby into his arms for a slow dance. “I've got a hankering for some crab,” she said lightly and started down toward the beach.

“We could probably escape now,” Jo began. “Kate's still dragging Daddy down. We could head north, circle around, and be back home before she gets here.”

“She'd only make us pay for it later.” Resigned, he jammed his hands in his back pockets. “Why do you suppose we're so bad at social occasions, Jo Ellen?”

“Too much Hathaway,” she began.

“Not enough Pendleton,” he finished. “Guess Lexy got our share of that,” he added, nodding down to where their sister was already in the thick of things, surrounded by people. “Let's get it over with.”

They'd barely reached the beach before Ginny raced over and greeted them both with loud kisses. “What took y'all so long? I'm half lit already. Nate, let's get these people some beer so they can catch up.” She whirled away to do so, ran into someone, and giggled. “Well, hey, Morris, you wanna dance with me? Come on.”

Nathan blew out a breath. “I don't know where she gets the energy. She damn near wore me out. Want that beer?”

“I'll get it,” Brian told him and walked off.

“I like your hair.” Nathan lifted a finger to brush under Jo's bangs. “Very nice.”

“Lexy whacked at it, that's all.”

“You look lovely.” He skimmed his hand over her shoulder, down her arm until it captured her own hand. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No, I ... Don't start on me, Nathan.”

“Too late.” He moved in a little closer. “I already have.” Her scent was warm, lightly spicy, intriguing. “You're wearing perfume.”

“Lexy—”

“I like it.” He leaned in, stunning her by sniffing her hair, her neck. “A lot.”

She was having trouble drawing a full breath, and annoyed, she took a step back. “That's not why I wore it.”

“I like it anyway. You want to dance?”

“ No.”

“Good. Neither do I. Let's go sit by the fire and neck.”

It was so absurd, she nearly laughed. “Let's just go sit by the fire. If you try anything, I'll have my daddy go get his gun and dispatch you. And you being a Yankee, no one will turn a hair.”

He laughed and slipped an arm around her waist, ignoring what he'd come to realize was her instinctive jolt at being touched. “We'll just sit, then.”

He got her a beer, poked a stick through a hot dog for her, then settled down beside her. “I see you brought your camera.”

Automatically, she laid a hand on the scarred leather bag at her hip. “Habit. I'll wait a while before I take it out. Sometimes a camera puts people off—but after they've had enough beer, they don't mind so much.”

“I thought you didn't take portraits.”

“As a rule, I don't.” Conversation always made her feel pressured. She dipped into her pocket for a cigarette. “You don't have to prime inanimate objects with flattery or liquor to get a shot.”

“I've only had one beer.” He took the lighter from her, cupped a hand around it to shield it from the wind off the ocean, and lit her cigarette. His eyes met hers over the flame. “And you haven't exactly primed me with flattery. But you can take my picture anyway.”

She considered him through the smoke. Strong bones, strong eyes, strong mouth. “Maybe.” She took the lighter back and tucked it in her pocket. What would she see through the lens? she wondered. What would what she saw pull out of her? “Maybe I will.”

“How uncomfortable will it make you if I tell you I've been waiting here for you?”

Her gaze shifted to his again, then away. “Very. Very uncomfortable.”

“Then I won't mention it,” he said lightly, “or bring up the point that I watched you stand up there between the dunes, and I thought, There she is. What took her so long?”

Jo anchored the stick between her knees to free up a hand for her beer. And the hand was damp with nerves. “I wasn't that long. The fire hasn't been going more than an hour.”

“I don't mean just tonight. And I don't suppose I should mention how incredibly attracted I am to you.”

“I don't think—”

“So we'll talk about something else altogether.” He smiled at her, delighted with the baffled look in her eyes, the faint frown on that lovely, top-heavy mouth.

“Lots of faces to study around here. You could do another book just on that. The faces of Desire.” He shifted slightly so that their knees bumped.

Jo stared at him, amazed at the smoothness of his moves. Certainly that's what they were, just moves. Any man who could get a woman's heart tripping in her chest with no more than a few careless words and a grin must have a trunkful of moves.

“I haven't finished the book I'm contracted for, much less thought about another.”

“But you will eventually. You've got too much talent and ambition not to. But for now why don't you just satisfy my curiosity and tell me about some of these people?”

“Who are you curious about?”

“All of them. Any of them.”

Jo turned the dog just over the flames, watched the fat rise and bubble. “That's Mr. Brodie—the old man there with the white cap and the baby on his lap. That would be his great-grandchild, his fourth if I'm counting right. His parents were house servants at Sanctuary around the turn of the century. He was born on Desire, raised here.”

“And grew up in the house?”

“He'd have spent a lot of time in it, but his family was given a cottage of their own and some land for their long and loyal service. He fought in World War Two as a gunner and brought his wife back from Paris. Her name was Marie Louise, and she lived here with him till she died three years back. They had four children, ten grandchildren, and now four greats. He always carries peppermint drops in his pocket.” She turned her head. “Is that what you mean?”

“That's just what I mean.” He wondered if she knew how her voice had warmed as she slipped into the story. “Pick another.”

She sighed, finding it a little foolish. But at least it wasn't making her nervous. “There's Lida Verdon, cousin of mine on the Pendleton side. She's the tired, pregnant woman scolding the toddler. This'll be her third baby in four years, and her husband Wally's handsome as six devils and just no damn good. He's a truck driver, goes off on long runs. Makes a decent living, but Lida doesn't see much of it.”

A child ran by screaming with pleasure, chased by an indulgent daddy. Jo crushed her cigarette out in the sand, buried it. “When Wally's home,” she continued, “he's mostly drunk or working on it. She's kicked him out twice now, and taken him back twice. And she's got one baby on leading strings and another under her apron as proof of the reconciliations. We're the same age, Lida and I, born just a couple of months apart. I took the pictures at her wedding. She looks so pretty and so happy and young in them. Now, four years later, she's just about worn out. It's not all fairy tales on Desire,” she said quietly.

“No.” He slipped his arm around her. “It's not all fairy tales anywhere. Tell me about Ginny.”

“Ginny?” With a quick laugh, Jo scanned the beach. “You don't have to tell anything about Ginny. You just have to look at her. See the way she's making Brian laugh? He hardly ever laughs like that. She just brings it out of you.”

“You grew up with her.”

“Yeah, almost like sisters, though she's closest with Lexy. Ginny was always the first of us to try anything, especially if it was bad. But there was never any harm in it, or in her. It's just a matter of Ginny liking everything, and a lot of it. And—uh-oh. I bet she helped stir that up.”

He was too busy looking at Jo to notice. Everything about her had brightened, relaxed. “What?”

“See there?” Jo leaned back against his arm and gestured toward the edge of the water. “Lex and Giff are tangling. They've been blowing hot and cold on each other since they were in diapers. Ginny's mighty fond of both of them and probably did something to have them blowing hot tonight.”