Stargazey Point (14 page)

Abbie stopped at the edge of the water. Thank God for that. He’d been afraid that she might keep running until the waves swallowed her. He shuddered. “She’s not going to do anything rash, is she?”

“Rash ain’t always a bad thing. Look at you, boy.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not as crazy as Abbie Sinclair.”

“She ain’t crazy; she got a sickness.”

Beau had reached her, and they stood side by side looking out to sea. Then Abbie turned toward him. Beau put his arm around her; she fell into him and Cab was stabbed by a shard of jealousy.

Ervina chuckled and mumbled under her breath.

“You better not be putting any spells on them, Ervina. I mean it. Beau is almost eighty years old.”

Ervina cackled. “But you ain’t.”

“And don’t put any damn spell on me.”

“Now, boy, you know you don’t believe in no spells.”

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t you worry none.”

“I’m not worried. Not about you, anyway. But what about her?” He lifted his chin toward the beach where Beau and Abbie stood almost as one in the light of the moon. “Just what kind of sickness does she have?”

“The angry sickness. An’ it’s gonna eat her up if she don’t drive it out first.”

A
bbie didn’t know how Beau appeared out of the darkness; she didn’t even know how she got to the edge of the sand, so close to the water that it lapped at her sandals. But he was there, large and calm, and she collapsed against him just like she’d known him all her life. Just like he was the grandfather she’d never known. Like a wise man come to save her.

And Abbie broke. Months of holding in hurt, fear, and anger poured out against Beau’s plaid shirt. She didn’t even try to stop or pull herself together. She let it go, and even when she’d wrung out the last drop of heartbreak and reentered the here and now, she didn’t feel embarrassed, or foolish, or anything, but exhaustion.

She looked up at the wrinkled face, saw neither shock nor pity nor disgust. Just a quiet acceptance.

They walked back to the house without speaking. During her breakdown, Beau hadn’t uttered one word of comfort. Now he asked for no explanation. And Abbie felt no need to explain. She didn’t feel much of anything. Just the weightlessness of a burden lifted.

They parted at the kitchen door. Abbie went inside, and Beau wandered off into the night. She tiptoed up the stairs and fell into bed and a deep sleep.

She knew exactly when the dream began. Knew and couldn’t stop it. She might even be awake and this might be the point at which the nightly dream followed her into reality.

Her chest tightened as if it were being pressed by a stone or a ton of mud. She couldn’t breathe. She was so tired.
Please
.
No more
. But still it came.

The rumble of earth. The screams. She stares helplessly as the hillside collapses. The boy tumbles down the hill, his mouth, his nose filling, drowning in mud. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out but a silent scream. And she’s being borne down with the rest. She looks back at Werner and sees him watching, helpless to stop her. He picks up a video camera. She struggles to her knees. Werner aims the camera. She stands, turns, and lifts her arm. There is a gun in her hand. She sees his eyes widen; he drops the camera and she pulls the trigger. I love you, she says as he falls to the ground.

Someone screams. Abbie sits up. She’s alone in bed. It’s dark. She doesn’t move; her dreams come in two parts, and she waits for the second act to begin. The bedroom door creaks open. Marnie is standing in the light of the hallway.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Abbie says. “I’m fine.”
And then she realizes she’s really awake.

“Oh, God, Marnie. I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?” She gripped the comforter. “It was just—Sometimes I have this—these dreams. Did I waken everyone?”

Marnie shook her head. “I wasn’t asleep. That’s the only reason I heard you. Would you like some hot chocolate? A brandy?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just go back to bed. It’s nothing, really.”

Marnie nodded. “Then see you in the morning.”

“In the morning. Good night.”

E
rvina woke with a start. She didn’t move, just counted her breaths, playin’ possum. The angry was out.

She listened for Jerome sleeping in the other room. He was mumbling in his sleep. He felt it, too.

Hush up, boy. You don’t want that angry findin’ a settlin’ place.

Silence from the other room. Ervina smiled to herself. It was gone. No landin’ place here. It would go back to the big house. Try to get back in. She slid her feet to the floor and into her shoes.

“Jerome, get up. Fetch us up some juniper and ash wood. I need me a good, strong fire.”

Chapter 9

D
id you find out what she was so freaked out about?” Cab asked, reaching for the bag of sausage biscuits Beau had brought from the Tackle Shack.

Beau sat down on the carousel platform next to him and handed him a cardboard cup of sweet coffee.

“Don’t know for sure. She just stood there sobbing like there was no tomorrow. Enough to make a grown man cry. ’Course I didn’t ’cause it wouldn’t do any good both of us blubbering out there on the beach.”

“She didn’t say anything? ’Cause if it was something I did, I’ll apologize, but for the life of me she was fine. I turned on all the carousel lights and she acted like she thought it was great, then I took her back to show her Midnight Lady. And she freaked, ran out, I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t do anything.”

“Son, I know you didn’t. And anybody who knows you knows you didn’t, so don’t worry about it.”

Cab bit into the flaky biscuit; the sausage was juicy with a tang of hot pepper to it. He savored it for a second then chased it with a swallow of the sweet coffee.

“Did she ever tell you?”

Beau rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the plastic top of the coffee cup that he held in both hands. “At first she just cried. Every once and a while she’d say something. Mostly gibberish about horses, and Bethanne, and somebody named Werner.”

“Bethanne? What does she have to do with anything?”

“Beats me.” Beau pushed the last bite of sausage biscuit in his mouth and brushed off his lap. “And then she said how she had to leave.”

“She’s leaving?”

“That’s what she says. I think it’s a mistake, myself.”

So did Cabot, though he didn’t quite like his own reaction to the news. She’d done nothing but cause headaches since she’d arrived. Had it only been four days ago? It seemed much longer. And he felt like he’d known her for much longer. Some parts of her anyway. There was obviously a vast part of her that he didn’t have a clue about. And that he should probably steer clear of.

“Less hassle for you and Millie and Marnie, not having a stranger underfoot. Has to have put a strain on you all.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cab. Millie’s showed more interest in life in the last few days than she has in I don’t know when. And Marnie? The girl could be her daughter, well, granddaughter. That’s something most folks don’t know about Marnie. She wasn’t always so standoffish. She has a real soft spot for orphans. And I think Miss Abbie is an orphan of sorts.”

“No family?”

“Oh, yeah; I think a big one, too.”

“Why didn’t she go there for vacation?”

Beau grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “You and I both know about families. She might feel the same about hers.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family.” Except they had pretty much disowned him since his announcement that he was going to run Ned’s carousel for a living.

“There’s nothing much wrong with mine,” Beau said. “But they aren’t real restful, if you know what I mean.”

Cab knew exactly what he meant.

“I’m thinking you might help encourage her to stay.”

“Me? No thanks.” Cab wadded his sandwich wrapping into a tight hard ball and shoved it back in the paper bag.

“Up to you.”

“Why would I even want her to stay? She freaked out over a carousel and because I didn’t see an old man walking on the side of the road. I wasn’t anywhere near him but—She just went crazy. She’s bound to be more trouble than she’s worth.”

Plus he had come to like her over the course of their sightseeing. It was bad enough witnessing her breakdown last night; he didn’t want to see her go through that again.

“Like I said, it’s up to you. I think she can do some good here.”

“How?”

“Don’t know. I just feel it.”

“Dammit, Beau. You’re beginning to sound like Ervina.”

“A wise woman, that Ervina.”

“Oh hell, I don’t have time to worry about some demented friend of
your
family. She doesn’t even like me. Now I got work to do.” Cab tossed the trash into an oil drum near the exit doors and climbed over the barrier to the generator and began wrestling the housing into the open space.

“Uh-huh.”

Cab stopped and looked over the top of the wooden panel.

Beau was grinning. “Would you like some help with that?”

A
bbie found Marnie in the garden the next morning. It was after nine. She’d spent most of the night sitting in one of the balcony rocking chairs with Moses draped over her lap.

Marnie looked up as Abbie lifted the latch and stepped inside.

Abbie gave her a half smile and walked closer, a sudden stab of affection for this older woman throwing her off guard. She swallowed. “I think I have to leave.”

“Mmm, leave as in the house for a walk or as in a taxi to the airport?”

“The latter.” Abbie had trouble getting out the words. She’d thought for a minute Stargazey Point could be the place where she could let go of the past and start building a future. But it wasn’t. She’d done nothing but screw things up since she arrived. Beau had said to give it some time. But she didn’t see how time would do anything but make it worse.

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I really appreciate all you’ve done, opening your house to me, your hospitality, your . . .” Abbie shrugged; her throat felt tight and swollen.

Marnie pushed herself to her feet and walked down the row of beans to the bench that ran along the brick wall. She sat down, patted the place next to her. An invitation. A summons. Abbie walked forward and sat down.

“Now tell me about it.”

It was hard getting out the first words. Last night, standing with Beau on the beach, the words had gushed out. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. Wild words, incoherent she was sure. Beau just listened. It was ridiculous. On the beach, in the dark, bawling into the shirt of an octogenarian gentleman she’d know for less than three days.

She felt like a fool. She was a fool. To think she could outrun her demons, that she could hide, that she could put her life back together, that she could find a place to call home, that she could do anything without carrying the ball and chain of her past around with her forever.

How did people do it? Why did they want to? “Did Beau tell you what happened last night?”

“Beau? If you haven’t noticed, Beau keeps his own counsel. Plus he was gone when I got up this morning. He and Cab are working on something.”

Abbie groaned.

“
Did
something happen? Millie was worried when you went straight upstairs last night that Cab had made improper advances.” She snorted. “That Millie, you have to love her.”

Distracted, Abbie said, “She didn’t, really?”

“Like I said.”

“Well, of course he didn’t. At first he thought I was a real estate developer. Of all the dumb things.”

“Well, don’t take it personally. We have them buzzing around our heads all the time, especially lately, now that the beach is beginning to renew itself. A few of the people around here have been burned pretty badly by some less than honest speculators.”

“Cab showed me Silas’s barbecue place.”

“Silas was just one of several. Damn fool.” Marnie laughed. “Though people in glass houses . . .”

“You haven’t sold Crispin House, have you?”

“Not yet, and don’t you dare say a word, but I don’t see how we can keep hold of it.”

“What will you do?”

“Don’t know. I’d buy a smaller house nearby, except that we won’t be able to afford it. Once Crispin House is sold, the prices will shoot up, and the others won’t be able to survive.”

“Cab’s carousel?”

“He told you about the carousel? He’s usually a little circumspect about what he’s doing. People tend to make fun of him.”

“He didn’t tell me. He showed me.”

Marnie’s eyes widened. “Did he, now.”

“He showed me, and I freaked out and ran away.”

Marnie frowned.

Before she could ask what happened, Abbie said, “What will he do if he has to sell the carousel?”

Marnie nodded. “I don’t know. He may have enough money to move it somewhere else. Not much solace in that when he gave up a successful career and a wedding on the horizon for this.”

“Would you still sell if you didn’t have to?” Abbie paused. “I’m sorry, but I was looking for you yesterday and I overheard you and Millie talking about the taxes.”