The Beach House (19 page)

“You don’t like money too much.”

“I do.”

Molly shook her head emphatically. “It was always a substitute for your parents, hon.”

“Alcohol was.”

“So was money. So
is
money.”

Jo wagged a finger. “I subscribe to Babette’s list: ‘A real woman knows her childhood may not have been perfect, but it’s
over
.’”

Molly thought of another, one she’d been pondering. “‘A real woman knows how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.’ Give me a chance?”

Jo set her jaw, its muscles visibly taut.

“What if you stopped leasing a plush office? What if you moved to an average-type neighborhood? What if you traded in your fancy car for something basic?” The answer seemed obvious to Molly, but it was for Jo to find and to name in her own way.

Through long moments Molly watched a myriad of expressions cross her friend’s face. Maybe she wasn’t ready to unearth it yet.

Jo flicked her eyes in Molly’s direction.“Is this your new version of ‘get out from under the pile’?”

“I’m only suggesting you ask yourself those questions. They seem to be the roadblocks to you doing what you really want.”

Tightening her hand into a fist, Jo squished her paper coffee cup.

Molly raised her brows. “I hope you’re not thinking about my neck?”

“Mary Catherine, yours has always been the voice I’d rather ignore.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t want to go there.”

“That’s okay,” Molly repeated. “Don’t.”

“I mean, it’s over. My childhood is over. Why isn’t it over?”

Inwardly Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “It can be, more or less, right here and now.”

“Last night I didn’t want a drink before I went to sleep. I can’t remember the last time…I was probably ten.” Jo stood abruptly, scraping her chair across the uneven wooden floorboards, and gathered empty breakfast plates. Three quick strides carried her to the trash bin, where she deposited them. She loped back and sat again. “If I downsize—give up my lucrative practice, my office, house, and car—I will be a failure in my parents’ eyes.”

“And in your eyes?”

She took a long deep breath and exhaled it. “I’ll be a free woman.” The corners of her mouth lifted slowly even as tears pooled in her eyes.

“Now it’s over, hon. Your childhood is over.”

Molly did not lollygag with an unresponsive Jimmy Mack. With a brief greeting she set his breakfast on the bench beside him and excused herself. She and Jo hurried back to the beach house. The day’s schedule was tight.

They found Andie in the kitchen, still in her swimsuit, a large beach towel draped over her shoulders, and her hair damp.“One sec.” She removed the carafe from the hissing coffeemaker and filled a large colorful mug.

Giggling, the three made their way down the hall. Outside Char’s bedroom, Andie brushed her knuckles over the closed door. When no reply came, they nodded to each other.

Jo mouthed, “One, two, three.”

Andie pushed open the door and set the mug atop a dresser. They tiptoed across the shadowy room, and, as one, pounced on a sleeping Char and shouted,“Happy birthday!”

Char shrieked and sprang to a sitting position, yanking off an eye mask.

“Surprise!” they yelled.

“In the name of all that is sane and holy, what are you doing?” She patted her chest. “Besides giving me a heart attack?”

Molly went to the window and twisted open the venetian blinds. “Rise and shine, birthday girl!”

Andie handed her the mug. “Fresh. In your favorite cup.”

“Thank you. I think.” Her tone whined. “Jo, you said we didn’t have to leave early!”

“Early for one is not necessarily the same as early for another. I think I mentioned nine o’clock?”

She glanced at the bedside clock radio. “It’s seven-thirty!”

“But we want you to shower first. Birthday treat! Full pressure, no running out of hot water.”

“You ladies are too good to me.”

Molly picked up the discarded eye mask, fingering the silky black fabric. “I didn’t think anyone really wore these things.”

Char snatched it out of her hand.“It’s my birthday. You cannot make fun of me. Jo, we did not do this to you yesterday!”

“That’s because I was the first one up. Enjoy your coffee. I have to make some phone calls.” She left the room.

Andie sat on the edge of the bed.“You don’t really mind we woke you up early, do you?”

Char plumped pillows and leaned back against them with a moan. “Ask me later.”

“We wanted to give you a special start. None of us had a special start on our real birthdays. Well, I guess Molly did, but it turned out not to be so special since she had to clean up the kitchen.”

Char leaned forward and grasped Andie’s forearm.“Andrea Sinclair, we’ve known each other since we were thirteen. You were my roommate for two years. What do you remember about our mornings?”

Her eyes grew large.“But you have kids now.”

“They’ve been making their own breakfast since they were
five
.”

Andie blinked. “You want a bagel?”

She glared in silence.

“I’ll go wash off my boogie board and call my mom.”

Molly followed her to the door. “I’ll call Scott.”

“Molly.”

She looked back and saw Char pointing to her cell phone on the nightstand.

“I’ll just wait until Andie or Jo are done with theirs. You’ll be getting birthday calls.”

“Take it,” she grumbled.“No one would believe I’m awake and civil at this hour.”

Civil
? Molly grinned as she unplugged the phone.

Molly busied herself in her back corner bedroom. It was a cozy size with braided rug, one window, and two single beds covered with patchwork quilts the color of desert pastels. Like the living room, Faith Fontaine’s personality was revealed in knickknacks on the dresser and Georgia O’Keefe prints on the wall. Molly enjoyed Faith’s expression of nature’s subtle beauties.

“Moll.” Jo spoke from the doorway.“Mind if I come in?”

“Nope.” She shut the closet door. “I was just organizing things, waiting for Scott to land before I call him. He should be dropping Eli off at school about now. It’s band day. He plays a trombone about the same height as he is.”

“Hmm.” She sat on a wooden chair that matched those at the dining table.“Have a seat.”

“You sound so formal. Oh!” Molly slid onto a bed. “Test results already? In less than twenty-four hours? You must know people in high places.”

Jo smiled. “Well, yeah, I do.”

“So where am I in this crazy cycle? Please, please tell me it won’t last much longer!”

“Well,” she said again and stopped, her mouth partially open. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her legs.

“Come on. When do we start the hormones? Just give a wild guess how long it will last. I won’t hold you to it.”

“Molly. Hon.”

She puzzled over Jo’s hesitancy.“You can’t possibly be like this with your patients, Doctor. Pretend that we haven’t been friends forever. Give it to me straight. I’m looking at ten years, right? I’m only in—what do you call it? The premenopausal stage.”

Jo straightened and pressed her hands against her knees. “I know how long it will last.”

Molly tilted her head forward, eager to hear.

“Nine months.”

“Not bad. From when?”

“From whenever the egg was fertilized.”

In spite of teasing about out-of-body experiences, up until that precise moment Molly would have denied such a thing could truly happen when one was healthy and in her right mind. Jo’s words, however, lifted a part of herself up and out. As if in a dream, she felt that other self walk smack-dab into the wall and have the wind knocked from her. While that one couldn’t breathe, the one sitting on the bed had blurred vision and a rushing noise in her ears.

“Molly?”

The two selves collided back into one and the room spun. “What does an egg have to do with menopause?”

“Nothing.” Jo was beside the bed, kneeling on the floor and grasping Molly’s hands. “I know this is a shock, hon. You’re pregnant.”

“It’s menopause! You said so yourself. I don’t feel pregnant! How do you know—Oh my gosh. Menstruation stopped being regular ages ago. I figured—Oh my gosh!”

“I ran the test. It’s routine. These things happen. You think you don’t need birth control because your body fools you. I know this is a shock. Breathe, Molly.”

“I can’t!” she gasped.

“You have to. Come on. Let it out.” She squeezed her hands. “Hey! You’re the best mommy on earth! God knows what He’s doing.”

“Uh-uh. He doesn’t.”

“He does. That’s what you’ll say as soon as you start breathing. There’s a brand-new life growing inside of you. It’s His miracle.”

Again her breath felt slammed back into her body and she wailed. “Jo! Hannah is six years old! I’m forty years old! Forty and a half! It’s too late to start over!”

Jo sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her. “It just takes a little time to get used to the idea.”

There wouldn’t be enough time in eternity to get used to the idea. Molly burst into tears.

Char turned off the hair dryer and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Happy birthday.” She cocked her head and grasped the collar of her hot pink terrycloth robe. “Well, so far forty looks the same as thirty-nine. Maybe even thirty-four. Not bad.”

There were three factors to thank for that. One: her mama’s genes for a Georgia peach complexion and a size two figure. Two: regular workouts at the gym. And three: the perfect hairdresser with a knack for keeping her blond hair very near its original shade without too many chemicals. He knew how to style it as well. The wind-tousled look had been his idea and suited her to a tee.

She opened a jar of moisturizer, SPF 25, and applied it, trying not to think of Cam’s nonreaction to her haircut, her toned body, her success as chair of the Women’s Club annual fund-raising gala last July, her—

She secured the jar lid with a quick twisting motion and surveyed her array of cosmetics. A hint of eye shadow would be appropriate for Rodeo Drive. The taupe color to enhance her almond brown eyes. Her outfit, too, should be understated. Probably the taupe slacks with a white silk blouse. She’d take along the new embroidered jacket in case they were gone late. Jo said Friday traffic might be extra heavy. Perhaps they would stay put in L.A. and have dinner before driving back.

Friday.

Todd was probably at the gym now. They sometimes rode together on Friday mornings, parting ways at the door as he went to the weight room, she to an exercise class made up of women who kicked and punched the air while savage music pulsated loudly.

Eye shadow brush poised midair, Char paused, her face close enough to the mirror to see the beige flecks in her irises.“Mama would never approve.”

But then, Mama was dead and gone, long gone. Twenty-seven years long gone. Char had known her for only thirteen years.

Still, Ellen Cummins Stowe née Wentworth’s impact permeated. Char knew she would not approve of the flirting with Todd Brooks. There was Southern belle charm that encouraged a general sense of well-being in a man, and then there was something else. Truth be told, they’d been into the something else for quite some time. As a matter of fact, she could identify the precise night it happened.