The Beach House (27 page)

Andie blinked at her. “I want to spend the entire day and night without any of you.” Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, that sounds too selfish. I’ll think of something else. There are the museums.”

Jo flashed Molly a “I was right” glance.

Molly said, “Andie, it’s okay if you want to spend the day without us.”

“It’s not that I don’t
want to
be with you. It’s what I
need
. I’ve been facing fears since I decided to make this trip. Now I want to face the granddaddy of them all: spend a day by myself, eat in a restaurant by myself, spend a night in a motel by myself. No friend, no Grandmère Babette reminders in a cozy beach house, no kids.” She hesitated ever so slightly. “No Paul.”

“By yourself,” Molly repeated and looked sideways at Jo.
Maybe you weren’t right
.

“Yes. It probably sounds silly to you two—”

“Andie!” They reprimanded in unison.

“All right, it’s not silly. But that kind of stuff terrifies me. Now I know what I need to do. Be alone with God in the midst of my fears and let Him create a safe place inside of me.”

Molly nodded in understanding, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Okay. Go for it, girl.”

Jo said, “Yes, by all means. What exactly will you do? You can use my house, if you’d like.”

“Well, I reserved one of those little motel cottages just down a ways, the ones on the pier.” She grinned and made her eyes wide. “Right
on
the pier. Do you believe it? The ocean whooshing twenty-five feet below a few planks supported by a few stilts. In earthquake country!”

“Wow,” Molly said.

“Great idea, huh? I can move in at ten tomorrow morning. Then I’ll just do whatever.” She giggled. “Julian said he’s very proud of me.”

She told the neighbor? Molly didn’t dare look at Jo.

Tears pooled in Andie’s eyes. She reached between the little cartons that covered the tabletop and extended a hand out to each of them. They placed hands in hers and she squeezed tightly.

“Jo, I never could have imagined doing this if you hadn’t gotten me here in the first place. And, Molly, never without your prayers. Thank you two. Thank you so much.”

Molly smiled. “You’re so welcome, hon.”

Jo thrust her arm in the air, hand fisted. “Yes! Spunky Andie rules!”

Glad for her friend’s courageous plans, Molly thought how the conversation had diverted her attention from other matters. Perhaps she could cope with life after all.

The peace was fleeting. At that moment her stomach rumbled and she knew the kung pao shrimp declared it would not be following the usual route through her system.

She ran to the bathroom.

Char warmed her hands on her coffee cup as she gazed through the wall of windows at the ocean. Exterior spotlights captured the whitecaps. There was no beach, giving the effect that the restaurant floated right atop the water.

With a smile she turned to Todd across the small table for two. He was attractive in a white open-collared shirt and tweed sport coat. The look did not disguise his athletic physique. Or was that simply her visual of him in workout attire?

She blinked away the image and focused on the elegant surroundings complete with candles, soft jazz, and white linen tablecloths.

“Todd, what a perfect setting! That dinner was magnificent!”

“Just like you.” His eyes reflected the candlelight.

“Oh, sugar.” She resorted again to prattle and defused the unsettling effect of his penetrating stare. The trick had worked all day and gave her some semblance of control. “You are too sweet to me. I can still hardly believe you are actually here. And that you found this restaurant. It’s exactly what I had in mind for an extra special celebration. I don’t know if Jo would have come through or not. I told you about the chicken pie place!”

“Well, I do have some idea of your tastes. Not to mention I know how to find an endless supply of restaurant possibilities on the Internet.” He smiled. “You look chilled.”

“I’m fine,” she fibbed and sipped warm coffee. The little sleeveless, backless black number had been the best buy of the afternoon but a poor choice for the evening. If they’d had time to continue shopping, she would have found a wrap to go with it.

“Here.” He removed his sport jacket, carried it around the table, and draped it over her shoulders. “Now, how about dessert?”

“Of course. But please, not one of—”

“Not one of those complimentary tokens with a birthday candle and waitstaff singing.”

She laughed. “You’ve been paying attention, my dear.”

“Yes, I have.” He grew somber and leaned forward. “Charlaine, you mean the world to me.” He reiterated words he had spoken on the phone earlier that week. “I’m not talking only about how you got me through the divorce. I’d like to be totally candid. All right?”

The prattle died in her throat. Perhaps it was his coat around her, the faint scent of his cologne, the feeling of being cared for. Whatever it was, she felt beat down. She was so tired of keeping up the pretense that she was not attracted to him, tired of feeling guilty for an emotion.

She said, “We haven’t been totally candid?”

He tilted his head, brows raised.

Of course they hadn’t been. Totally candid would mean no teasing, no nuances. She swallowed. “All right.”

“I don’t have to go to Phoenix tonight.”

Movement behind his shoulder diverted her attention, which in all total candidness probably wanted to be diverted. She shifted her eyes again to a table she had been watching through most of dinner. A man sat there with two teenagers, a boy and a girl. They hadn’t exchanged but three words. All of them appeared incredibly sad.

“Char, I—”

A server materialized with a carafe. He refilled their cups and left.

Todd cleared his throat. “As I was saying—Well, hold that thought. Here comes the waiter now.”

The friendly young man recited his inventory of dessert choices complete with descriptions and his own opinions.

He reminded her of Cole, an older version. Her outgoing son would make an excellent waiter and, in the right setting, earn great tips. Not that he would need to help pay for college, but the experience could be an education in itself. She would mention it to him.

The waiter left with their order.

“Char, you’re zoning out on me. Are you disturbed by what I said?”

“He reminds me of Cole. I was thinking…” She saw his stare and knew he wasn’t buying it. She repositioned herself in the seat. “You only said you don’t have to go to Phoenix tonight.”

“Yes. But I think you’re zoning out on me because you heard what I didn’t say.” He paused. “And you’re not quite sure about that.”

Goose bumps sprouted, but she didn’t reply.

“You and I connected the very first time we met four years and three months ago. Remember? Instant kismet. We get along like we’ve been lifelong friends. You are adorable. If you weren’t married, I would ask you to marry me. What I am proposing is… Well.” He reached across the table and caressed her hand. “I want to express this feeling we have between us in a fuller way. Will you spend the night with me?”

She blinked. There. He had said it. Out loud. Voiced her own desire.

He went on. “I promise to have you back to the beach house before your friends wake up. I understand if that’s bothering you. Their level of sophistication isn’t quite where yours is, but their feelings matter.”

“I’m married.” It was the objection that would not go away, an echo of her mama’s advice.

“Our becoming lovers won’t change that. Char, I want you so much.”

She glanced off to the side. The sad family she had observed walked past them now. There was a hole in their unit. They were incomplete without a wife and mother. Where was she?
You’ll forever change the lives of your kids and not for the better
. Jo’s voice joined her mother’s.

“Char, I am discreet. You know that. I would never jeopardize your family. I like your family. No one need ever know. I just don’t know how long I can go on without holding you. Without kissing you.”

His words went straight to an arid part of her, a place dried up through lack of such sentiment.

I’m married
, she argued with herself.

But Cam never says things like
—

Not since
—

Not since whenever
.

Still.

Still, he was her husband. She owed him—if only technically—one last chance.

Char slid her hand from under his and pushed back her chair. “Todd, excuse me. I need a few minutes.”

He smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She shrugged off his jacket, grabbed her little bead-covered black bag, and hastened toward a hallway she hoped led to the ladies’ lounge.

“Savannah!” Char hissed her daughter’s name into the cell phone.

“Hi, Mom. I’m on the other line. Emmy’s on hold—”

“Get your father on the phone this instant!” She paced the nicely appointed sitting area that was part of the ladies’ washroom.

“Huh?”

“This instant!”

“Are you okay?”

“No! Just get him!”

“Mom!” Borderline panic laced her tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Sugar.” Char took a quick breath. “I’m all right. I’m just upset and I need to talk to him.”

“He’s asleep.”

“I know that! Wake him up! Now! Please!”

“Okay, okay.”

Char flopped onto an overstuffed floral chintz chair and closed her eyes, ignoring the sporadic parade of women in and out of the powder room. The line went silent. She assumed Savannah put her on hold to tell her friend on the other line goodbye.

She had called the home phone, to no avail. Cole was gone on an overnight with his Scout troop. Cam would be asleep since it was after eleven in the Midwest. She wondered why she hadn’t dialed Savannah’s cell first.

The breeding of a gentlewoman unraveled right then and there on her fortieth birthday. No amount of tongue gliding along her teeth was going to disperse her anger. It had been accumulating far too long.

Her daughter’s voice was audible again. She was talking with Cam. There were muffled sounds.

“Char?” He came on now, his voice full of sleep.

Hot with near rage, she hadn’t prepared two coherent words. She let the emotion have its way. “It’s my birthday, Cam! You forgot my birthday!”

“I did?”

“Again! Like always!”

“I don’t always—”

“Yes, you do always! Unless I mention it to the kids and they tell you, you have no clue.”

“I know it’s at the end of September. I knew you wouldn’t be here this week for it, but we planned to celebrate when you come home—Savannah, hon.” His voice faded as he must have turned to their daughter. “It’s all right. It’s your mama’s birthday today…yeah. Today. And we forgot…Mm-hmm, that’s why she’s upset. You go on. I’ll bring your phone to you when we’re done.”

It’s your mama’s birthday
.

Cam was a northerner, but he had fallen in love with a Southern belle and her speech. Sometimes he unconsciously mimicked her accent. Often he used her phrases. And, like she with her mother, he had always referred to Char as “mama” to their children, even now, years after they had graduated to “mom” and “flaming fossil.”

He cleared his throat. “Savannah says happy birthday. I say happy birthday. I’m sorry. I am very sorry.”

“That’s not the point!”

A woman walked by as the words exploded from her. At her surprised expression, Char slipped off her heels and curled her legs beneath herself, turning a shoulder toward the door.

“Char, what is the point then?”

“The point is—” Hopelessness choked off the words. Where to begin? The point was seventeen years worth of dwindling affection. It wasn’t explainable via the telephone.

Her only choice was to cut to the chase. “I called because Todd is here.”

“Todd?” Complete bafflement filled his tone.

“Todd Brooks.”