The Beach House (7 page)

Andie said, “A Grandmère Babette clone.”

Char added, “Lavender sachets everywhere.”

Molly said, “And the bedrooms! A different theme for each. Ocean, desert, Oriental, and country. How many contemporary homes are this much fun?”

Jo chuckled with them. “Okay, okay. It’s…quaint. It’s just so
not
Southern California.”

Molly said, “Like the beach and the ocean don’t make up for that. And the hordes of people. I bet this community never sleeps.”

“Probably not. I hope you can all shut out the late-night noise and get some rest.”

“What kind of noise?” Andie’s brow furrowed. She wrapped her arms around a decorative pillow as though it were teddy bear.

“There’s the nonstop noise of the ocean, which can be soothing. But there’s also partying college kid noise.” Jo grimaced. “And sirens.”

Molly laughed. “Now that is so Southern California. What exactly is the crime rate here, anyway?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Josephine! Stop it!”

Andie’s look of concern remained, and she clutched the pillow more tightly to her stomach. “Is it safe here?”

At that moment Molly put her finger on something that, up to that point, had only been a disconnected observance. She had noticed Andie backing away from the ocean and shrinking before the neighbor as well as pedestrians on the boardwalk. Already she had twice swept the unavoidable sand trail from the patio and inside the front door. The Andrea Michelle Kendrick she remembered…

“Andie, your spunk is missing.”

Andie glanced at Jo on the couch beside her and turned to Molly. Her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something, but she quickly closed them, her face unreadable.

Molly felt that she had overstepped a line.
Oh, Lord
. “Of course, we’ve all changed. I like to think I’m not quite as mouthy. Obviously I was mistaken. I didn’t mean to put you down. At forty we can’t be quite as spunky, what with all the responsibilities of career and motherhood and wife-dom.”

“Wife-dom?” Jo asked.

“New word. For three of us, anyway. Obviously not for you. You’re not married. Not yet. But being single has its own bag of responsibilities—Oh, nuts! I apologize to both of you. And to you, Char, in case I said anything to offend…” She let her voice trail away, concerned that the old judgmental self had reared its ugly head and hurt Andie’s feelings.

“Sugar.” Char patted her arm. “Like you said, we have all changed. And I’m sure it’s for the better. We all look better, I know that.”

Jo smiled. “You want to hear my ‘I’m Single, Happy, and Fulfilled’ lecture now or later?”

Molly replied, “Uh, whenever.”

“The title sums it up. I won’t bore you with details. And you don’t need to apologize. Candid observations always were our stock in trade. They kept us honest and close to each other. We’ve been away from them for a while, so maybe we’re out of practice.”

“Well!” The word exploded from Andie. She stood, her face as red as her hair, and thrust the pillow behind her onto the couch. “I have a candid observation or two! I don’t look better, Char! I’m fat!” Her voice rose octaves higher than normal, which put it into the range of shrill. “Paul hates me! My sons won’t even notice I’m gone! And I don’t think I want to go home again!” She burst into tears, hurried around the couch, and fled from the room.

Molly exchanged surprised looks with Char and Jo. “Maybe her spunk isn’t quite gone.”

As one they rose and went after Andie.

Face mashed against the pillow, engulfed with uncontrollable sobs, Andie heard a familiar inner voice calmly assess a laundry dilemma her tears were creating.
The mascara should come out of the crocheted lace edging if you soak it immediately in a mild solution of bleach and detergent
.

But what if there was no bleach in the house? Not everyone stocked bleach these days. Spot remover might not be—

A new wave of tears gushed. A sob wracked her chest and bubbled in her throat. It drowned the voice of reason that never failed to keep her on task.

Gentle hands caressed her back. They were Char’s, so much like those of Andie’s own petite grandmother. She didn’t know whether to give in to the comfort or to flinch. The essence of Grandmère Babette had been playing hide-and-seek since she arrived in San Diego. It was there in the cottage and in the conversations with her friends.

The sobs lessened. She rolled onto her side and saw three blurred faces hovering. “I am so sorry,” she hiccupped.

“Now, sugar, why is that?” Char, sitting beside her on the bed, shifted her weight. “This is what friends are for, to let our hair down together and fall apart if need be.”

Molly handed her a tissue. “I think we’ve cried as a group for most of our lives.”

Jo said, “Definitely. As a matter of fact, I think I stopped crying about twelve years ago.”

For a long moment, Andie stared at her, as did Char and Molly.

Char broke the silence. “Oh, Jo, honey, that can’t be true.”

“Well, yes, Char, it can. Which might explain why I wanted us all together again. I felt a need to reconnect with…” She shrugged. “Something in myself? I’m not sure. All I know is I was down to two choices: call you or buy a bottle of vodka.”

A tear slid sideways down Andie’s temple. She remembered the times they had all cried together at college because of Jo’s drinking.

Jo cocked her head. “Andie, it’s okay. I called you and you came. Now what can we do for you?”

She basked in the loving concern emanating from all of them. At least Jo had not repeated Andie’s earlier confession of fear. She could save some face in front of Char and Molly.

But…wasn’t saving face a fear of exposing her true self? Wasn’t that what she wanted to avoid? Besides, Molly knew. Her observation that she’d lost her spunk was on target.

Andie pushed herself to a sitting position. “I want my spunk back.”

Molly smiled. “I’d say you just took the first step. What would your spunk say is the next one?”

The answer came without a conscious thought. “To admit my fears. What I said out there, it’s true. I am overweight. Fat. And you can agree, Char. It won’t hurt my feelings. I eat for comfort. It helps me not think how afraid I am of everything. Like of losing Paul, or of the boys growing up. Jadon’s off to college next year already. And I’m afraid of being here.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know where to start. Would you pray, Molly?”

“Of course. Dear Father—”

Char cleared her throat, a faintly disapproving sound. “Hon, I don’t think she meant right this very moment.”

Andie said, “I didn’t.” She caught Molly’s gentle expression and smiled. “But why not?”

Molly said, “I don’t mind praying here and now. If you’re not comfortable, Char, you could just excuse us.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable? Go ahead.” She folded her hands and bowed her head.

Molly closed her eyes and started again. “Dear Father, thank You for this reunion…”

Andie felt the words fall about her like a soft mist, unobtrusive, cleansing. Molly’s tone addressed an intimate, all-powerful friend.

“Jesus said to bring all our requests to You. I ask that You would remove Andie’s fears, unearth their roots, and expose them for what they are. Plant faith in their place and give her the courage to say more often, ‘Why not?’”

Andie looked up to see Molly smiling at her.

She gave Andie a thumbs-up. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

And to think Molly had scared her in the past.

Grateful that the others did not tuck her into bed with the admonition she’d feel better in the morning, Andie washed her face and rejoined them in front of the fire. She had been awake for nearly twenty-one hours, but the emotional outburst seemed to have energized her.

Char poured her another cup of tea. “We were just discussing a schedule.”

Thank goodness they weren’t discussing how soon they should put her on a plane back to Madison.

“You know,” Char went on, “this place is an absolute gold mine for shopping. We’re within easy driving distance of Tijuana and Rodeo Drive. Can you believe that? The trick will be in choosing just one. A week isn’t long enough!”

Jo said, “We thought we’d all add a suggestion to the list. What do you want to do while you’re here, Andie?”

“Oh, whatever.” She noticed Molly’s tender expression and took courage. “Let me rephrase that. I mean ‘whatever’ in a positive sense. As in I’d like to do everything.”

Molly smiled. “As in ‘why not?’”

“Exactly.” She turned to Char. “We have to celebrate your birthday on Friday. That should be your day to be pampered.”

Jo said, “I agree. I’ll even drive us to Mexico or L.A. just so you don’t have the kind of fortieth I had.”

Molly and Char mirrored Andie’s questioning glance.

Jo blew out a short breath. “I attended a sixteen-year-old girl’s funeral, went through boxes of memorabilia, and thought long and hard about the vodka.” She looked at Andie. “What did you do?”

“We went out for dinner with friends.” She bit her lip. “That’s not exactly true. We went out three days before my birthday with Paul’s associates and their wives for something or other and he mentioned my fortieth was coming up, so they toasted me. On my birthday my mother called. And that was it. Paul remembered the day after. We had pizza with the boys.”

Char clicked her tongue. “Molly, hon, please tell us a happier tale about your day.”

“Well, Scott remembered. He and the kids served me breakfast in bed. Halfway through, one of the church members called needing to see him and the kids left for school. I cleaned a major mess in the kitchen. Then I found Scott at the church and told him I was done pretending life was A-OK. Needless to say, I ruined his day as well as my own. So.” She held her palms up. “Friday is your day, Char. All I can say is beware. Turning forty can be hazardous to your health.”

“As I live and breathe,” Char purred into the cell phone, “it’s true! We were all scrunched together in this teensy-weensy bedroom and Molly prayed like God Himself would bother to squeeze in there between us in order to hear about how Andie feels out of sorts.”

A chuckle filled the earpiece. It was an Andy Williams sort of chuckle. Easy listening. As if the old singer had just crooned his rendition of “Moon River” and, after the last note faded away, enjoyed a little laugh in utter disbelief that millions of people adored the sappy tune.

The chuckle did not belong to anyone famous, only to Todd Brooks, friend, neighbor, and most nonsappy person on the face of the earth. He was a better confidant than her girlfriend Kendra because, unlike her, he was a night owl and therefore available at two
AM
central time.

“Charlaine,” he said, “I had no idea your week in Southern California would be spent in a humble cottage with a group of Jesus freaks.”

“Nor did I!” She laughed and leaned against the seawall just beyond a circle of yellow light cast by one of the lamps dotting the boardwalk. The beach rental sat within shouting distance. Despite the hour, occasional walkers strolled past, night owls like herself, enticed outside by mild weather and the soothing cadence of the waves. She felt perfectly safe, part of a community.

“Actually,” she went on, “only Molly would fall under the Holy Roller category. Which makes sense, considering she’s a pastor’s wife, nonliturgical and even nondenominational, I believe. Jo may be drinking. She’s asleep already. And Andie—poor Andie! No wonder she feels out of sorts. Married to that hunk Paul Sinclair and looking exactly the way her mother always did: chunky and ten years older than her age.”

“Maybe Paul the hunk is now Paul the chunk.”

“No way. He would never let himself go.”

Todd chuckled again. “Charlaine Wilcox.”

The sound of his soft voice pronouncing her name like that always tickled her ears and sent a flutter into her throat and down into her stomach. She imagined the flicker in his chocolate brown eyes as they reflected the computer monitor light. His glasses would dangle from his fingers. His jawline would be shadowy, in need of a shave.

He said, “How can you be so sure?”