Seaside Sunsets (3 page)

“Wanna bet who’s gonna bang the new chick? Tony or Jamie?” Jenna’s voice trailed behind him.

Jamie slowed to hear the answer.

A crack of hand on skin told him that Amy had shut Jenna up with a friendly swat.

JESSICA OPENED HER eyes at the sound of her cell phone ringing. She was lying poolside, having a nice little fantasy about sinfully sexy and ever-so-helpful Jamie Reed. Her phone rang again, and she reluctantly shoved the thoughts of him away and dug through the bag for her phone.

Her father’s picture flashed on the screen, and she smiled.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, honey. How is the Cape?” Ralph Ayers was in his mid-fifties. Jessica was blessed with his dimples, blue eyes, and light brown hair—though his was now graying at the temples. Unfortunately, she was also blessed with her father’s passive personality, which she was working this summer to change so she didn’t end up railroaded by her mother her whole life.

She remembered how she’d thrown her phone over the deck.
Maybe I’m working a little too hard on that.
 

“It’s beautiful. I’ve been lying out by the pool all day.” When Jessica was young, their family vacations were more like cultural lessons overseas with only a day or two spent on a beach, and always with her cello in tow. Her mother insisted she keep up her practicing. Jessica could still remember begging to stay on the beach rather than tour museums and countrysides. But her mother insisted that the more well rounded she was, the better she’d be accepted as a cellist.

Unfortunately, life as a cellist, with no social life to speak of, left her feeling like a culturally adept square.

“Not the beach? I’m surprised,” her father said. “I was sure you’d be camped out on the sand all summer long.”

“I will be.”
But today I followed Jamie off my deck
. “Tomorrow maybe. How are you, Dad?”

“I’m well. Just worried about you. Your mother’s been on the phone night and day with her symphony friends. She’s concerned that you’re jeopardizing your seat with the orchestra and any chance you have with the Chamber Players. I’m not so sure she’s wrong. Are you sure this is what you want to do? After all that hard work at Juilliard?”

The Boston Symphony Chamber Players was one of the world’s most distinguished chamber music ensembles sponsored by a major orchestra. It was made up of principal players of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, including first-chair string and wind players. It would be a miracle for Jessica to be invited to join such a prestigious group. Everyone in the industry knew how unique it was for a twenty-seven-year-old to hold a seat in the BSO in the first place. Although her manager had agreed to the hiatus after weeks of discussion and they’d found a suitable replacement, she knew just how cutthroat the industry could be. There was a chance she’d lose her place—and any chance she might ever have at the Chamber Players—and that realization made her feel sick and free at the same time.

“Yes, I’m sure.”
I think
. “We’ve talked about this. Dad, I feel twenty years older than I am most of the time. I live in orchestra land, and that doesn’t really lend itself well to experiencing life outside of the orchestra. And I’ve never done anything else. I just want to be normal for a little while. Live a regular life. Daddy, I’m twenty-seven. I love Mom, but I don’t want to live my life like she does.” Her mother played the cello in several smaller orchestras but had never made the cut for the larger ones. Eventually she gave up trying and put all of her energies into Jessica’s success.

“I want to
experience
life a little, and besides, I have a summer project I’m working on. Something fun.”

“Okay, sweetie. As long as you’re happy. I trust your instincts, and you know we’re here if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Want to say hello to your mom? She’s just upstairs.”

Jessica shifted the phone away from her mouth and sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to her mother, but, like her father, she tended to avoid confrontation. At least until that morning, when she’d forgotten and barreled headfirst into creating it with Jamie.

“Sure.” She listened as he took the phone upstairs and said something to her mother.

“Hi, Jessica. How are you?”

“Fine, Mom. And you?” She forced a smile, but even she could hear the tension that had taken residence in her voice.

“How’s your vacation? Are you practicing? You don’t want to let that slip, not after all your hard work.” Cecilia Ayers had always micromanaged her daughter’s life, and Jessica was working on taking control of that, too. She didn’t give Jessica a chance to respond. “I spoke to your—”

“Mom, please. I’m on vacation, remember? Aside from stressing out over my career, how are things with you?” She closed her eyes, envisioning her mother’s thin lips pursed together, her eyes shifting upward as she blinked away her irritation in that proper, pull-herself-together-without-embarrassment way she had.

“I’m well, thank you,” her mother finally managed.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Being the people pleaser that she was, she added, “Don’t worry. I’ll practice. I just need a few days away from it. You know I’ll miss it and have to play.”

“Okay. Well, good.”

Jessica knew her mother only pushed her to help her be the best damn cellist she could possibly be, and as thankful as she was for that, Jessica always felt a pang of longing for all of the normal mother-daughter things she’d missed out on over the years.

She sat up on the lounge chair as an older woman wearing a big floppy hat came through the pool gate. “Mom, I’ve got to go, but it was good talking to you.”

“Okay, honey. Enjoy yourself. Not too much, of course.”

She ended the call and stuffed her phone back into her bag, unsure what enjoying herself too much even meant. Her life in Boston consisted of practicing, playing concerts, and an occasional evening out with her musician friends—whose idea of a wild night was spontaneously playing “Rum and Tequila” by the Tom Fun Orchestra.

The pool looked too inviting to pass up, and as she passed the older woman, she said hello.

“Good afternoon.” The woman’s gray hair was cut in a pixie style similar to Judi Dench’s hairdo. She had a kind, familiar smile, although Jessica couldn’t place where she’d seen her before.

She felt the woman’s eyes on her as she walked into the pool and sank beneath the water. When she broke the surface, she saw three more women, wearing sundresses, coming through the gate, carrying colorful plastic wineglasses and towels. They were holding on to one another and laughing like best friends. They looked like they knew how to have a good time.

A skinny blonde looked over and waved.

“Hi,” Jessica said as the blonde walked past.

The brunette couldn’t have been five feet tall. She flashed a friendly smile as she peered around the skinny blonde’s back.

“Hi. I’m Jenna.”

“Hi. I’m Jessica. I’m renting up there.” She pointed to the apartment she was renting in the second floor of the only large house in the community.

“We know,” the skinny blonde said. “I’m Amy, and this is Bella.” She pointed to the tall blonde who was laying a towel out on a lounge chair by Jessica’s.

Bella waved over her head without turning around.

Jessica got out of the pool, feeling the eyes of all three girls on her.

“Darn it. I forgot my thong,” Bella said.

“Bella,” Amy hissed. “Well, I remembered mine.” She pulled her sundress over her head, and sure enough, she was wearing a pink thong bikini. She turned and wiggled her butt at Bella.

“I cannot believe you wore that. Who are you, and what have you done with my Amy?” Bella waved to the older woman. “Hi, Vera. Did you wear your thong?”

“Bella Abbascia, why, you know I
always
wear my thong.” Vera winked at Jessica, then returned her attention to the novel she was reading.

Jenna took off her sundress. She could have stopped traffic in her red bikini. She had the largest breasts Jessica had ever seen on such a petite woman, trapped beneath the tiniest bathing suit top. Jessica was sure the wrong move would send the top flying across the pool as if launched by a slingshot.

“I wore my thong. Looks like you’re the odd one out,” Jenna said to Bella.

“Has anyone seen Theresa?” Amy whispered.

Jessica spread her towel on the lounge chair and stretched out on her stomach. “Do you mean Theresa Ottoline? The woman I rent from?”

“Yeah,” Jenna answered.

Jessica pointed at the woman walking through the pool gate. She felt something on her butt and was surprised to see Vera covering it with a towel.

“Stay as you are,” Vera said with a serious tone.

What the heck?

Jessica waved to Theresa. Theresa lifted her chin in response. She’d been curt since Jessica arrived, but at least she usually smiled. Now she walked at a fast pace with her jaw clenched and her shoulders riding just below her ears. Her high-waisted khaki shorts hung nearly to her knees, and her polo shirt was primly buttoned. She had short layered hair, which, in combination with her outfit, looked a bit mannish.

Theresa crossed her arms and stared at Bella, tapping her foot on the concrete deck.

“Hi, Theresa. Here for a swim?” Bella set a pair of big round sunglasses on her nose and leaned back in her chair.

“I think I might.” Theresa wiggled out of her shorts, exposing far too much of her bare, white, cellulite-covered ass, the tiny triangle of a thong peeking out at the top of her butt crack.

Jessica had no idea what was going on, but she covered her mouth to keep from laughing at the look on Bella’s face.

Jenna and Amy clung to each other’s arms with one hand and stifled their laughter with the other. Bella pressed her lips together, barely suppressing a laugh.

“How about it, Vera?” Theresa yelled across the pool deck. “You up for a Thong Thursday swim?”

Jessica looked up at Vera with wide eyes.

“Oh, I think I’ll spare you the imagery. Thank you, though,” Vera said.

Jessica chanced a peek at Theresa, whose eyes were still pinned on Bella.

“Actually, I think I’ll go run a few errands. You girls enjoy the afternoon.” Theresa pulled up her shorts and stomped out of the gate.

Amy and Jenna ran to Bella’s side, whispering and laughing. Jessica looked at Vera, who motioned her over to the table where she was sitting. She handed Vera the towel she’d covered her butt with and sat across from her.

“Hi, I’m Jessica. Thank you for covering my butt. I think.” She drew her brows together, still confused by what had just happened.

“Bella’s a prankster, and Theresa is the property manager. As you probably guessed, thongs aren’t allowed at the pool.”

“Oh.” Jessica chewed on her lower lip. “Gosh, I hope I’m not going to get in trouble. I had no idea, and the sign…”

“Bella made the sign. Every year, Bella plays tricks on Theresa. She’s been doing it since she was a kid, and every year Theresa ignores her. But this year, it looks like Bella’s getting a little payback.”

Jessica scrutinized the three girls, still laughing and carrying on about Theresa’s thong. She was a little envious of their fun.

Vera reached across the table and patted Jessica’s hand. “Don’t take it personally, hon. This wasn’t about you. You should be proud of that body of yours.”

Jessica felt herself blush. “Thank you. They look like they’re a fun group.”

“They are fun. Some of the nicest women you could ever meet. How long are you here for?”

“For the summer.” She turned back toward Vera. “I’m here through the beginning of August, I think.”

“You think? Where are you from, dear?”

“I’m from Boston. I’ve rented the apartment in the big house for the summer, so I’ll probably stay if nothing comes up at work. Where are you from?”

“I’m from Boston as well, and I’m also here for the summer. I come every summer.” Vera smiled.

Jessica glanced at the girls again.

“Why don’t you go join them?” Vera nodded toward the others.

“Oh goodness, no. I couldn’t do that. It’s been a long time since I’ve had friends like that. I really have to be going anyway.”

“Do you have a date?” Vera lifted her thin, gray brows.

“A date?” Jessica laughed. “It’s been even longer since I’ve had a date than since I’ve had friends like that. No, no date.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come by Wellfleet Harbor tonight and listen to our little concert. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, I think so. That’s where the WHAT Theater is?” The Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater was a small theater located beside the harbor.

“That’s right. Just down the road, across from the beach are tennis courts, and beside that there will be a tent set up where I’ll be playing in a string quartet. I’d love it if you would stop by and listen. There won’t be many people there. There never are.”

A string quartet?
She debated making up plans to escape going, for fear of the music spurring her on to pick up her cello, but in a split second the excitement of seeing Vera play stole any chance she had at conjuring up an excuse. “I would love to go. Thank you. What instrument do you play?”

“The violin. I used to play with symphonies all over the world.”   

Jessica’s pulse quickened. She could hardly believe that she’d found someone she had something in common with in the little community. She wanted to tell Vera that she played the cello, but she didn’t want to talk about her career, or worse, be asked to play something. The minute she picked up her cello, she’d remember the beauty of it against her, the vibration of the music, and her much-needed hiatus would be kaput. She was purposely not picking up her cello for a few days to separate herself from her love for it. She needed that space in order to make clearheaded decisions about whether this hiatus was temporary, or the beginning of a new direction altogether.

JESSICA SAT WITH her feet buried in the sand and a dozen red roses in her lap, which she’d bought to give to Vera. She looked out at the harbor while she waited for the quartet to begin playing, having arrived early with the hopes of enjoying the view of the bay and pulling her thoughts together before the concert. The air was crisp, and it carried the salty, fishy scent of the bay. She wrapped her cardigan around herself and drew her knees up to her chest. She’d come to the Cape once as a teenager with a friend. It had been the one and only time she’d lied to her father about where she was going, and she’d felt so guilty that she’d come clean a few days later. He’d grounded her for a week, but his vibrant blue eyes had betrayed his words.
I’m disappointed in you,
he’d said, but it felt like his eyes conveyed that he was proud of her for breaking the rules. She was used to disappointing her mother. It seemed every missed note was a disappointment. But her father had never been critical of her playing, or of her. And when he’d said he was disappointed, it had crushed her. The combination of his stern words and that look had confused her for years, until her first year at Juilliard, when her mother had been disappointed in one of her performances, and her father, standing beside her mother, had said,
Next time you’ll do better,
but his eyes clearly relayed the message,
I’m so damn proud of you.
At that moment she’d understood how very alike she and her father were—both willing to kowtow to her mother—and how very different they were from her mother.