A Beach Wish Read online

  Sex. Her mother would kill her. It wasn’t her fault that her mother hadn’t taken precautions and had abandoned her.

  Well, Mel would never give up her baby. When she had one. Which she wasn’t going to do until she and Eli were settled and making money—somehow.

  She wanted to stay home with her babies. And Eli wanted to be a scientist. Maybe he could teach in the high school or something.

  She reached over and pulled the sleeping bag out from its storage sack. Spread it out. And stretched out on top. She heard someone step on the wooden steps. David wouldn’t do that. Everyone knew they weren’t safe. She held still. Heard nothing.

  Whoever it was must have changed his mind. Mel sighed and curled up on her side. Closed her eyes. She wished Eli was there.

  She counted the waves rolling onto the shore, listened for the moment when the wind set off the chimes.

  And was startled by a noise much closer. Maybe Eli had decided to take a break, after all. She started to sit up but before she could get upright, she was knocked back down. The sleeping bag was yanked out from under her.

  “No!” she cried, and grabbed it in both hands.

  “Ma-a-a-a!” Dulcie dropped the bag and butted Mel’s shoulder. It sent her rolling onto the ground.

  “Dulcie! You dumb goat. You scared me. You’re not supposed to be down here.”

  Dulcie just kept butting her, trying to roll her off the sleeping bag.

  Mel laughed. “Stop it, you’re tickling me. Go away. I’m not in the mood to play.”

  Ignoring her, Dulcie chomped down on the sleeping bag and tugged it toward the opening. Mel grabbed hold of it. “No, you don’t. You’ll wreck it. Let go. Let go, Dulcie.”

  Dulcie pulled. Mel pulled back. And they might have stayed that way in a hopeless tug-of-war if Floret’s voice hadn’t called out, “Dulcinea? Where have you gone a roamin’?”

  Dulcie lifted her head, dropped the sleeping bag, and backed out onto the sand.

  “What are you doing down there, sweet one? Looking for lost love?” A pause while Mel imagined Floret smiling down on Dulcie as if she were a fairy-tale unicorn and not just some dumb goat. Sometimes Floret could be a little nutty.

  Mel waited while Dulcie scampered behind the rocks and up to the path, making that stupid noise she always made to Floret. And Floret answering her, as if they were having a conversation.

  They weren’t. People couldn’t converse with animals. Well, maybe horse whisperers. And maybe Floret.

  Mel waited until she was sure they were gone, then stuffed the sleeping bag into its sack and crawled out. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d have to go home. She’d make a sandwich and go to her room before Noelle or her mom got back.

  She could sneak out later and meet Eli before he left. But what if he didn’t want to meet her? What if he decided not to come back at all?

  Chapter 11

  For the next two hours, Zoe told Eve about her mother. It was a slippery slope, trying to balance things that would give Eve a picture of their mother, without making her feel slighted or that Zoe was somehow bragging. She told her about the perennial border and her prizewinning roses, about her committee work and her charity organizations. The good things.

  She didn’t tell her about the times her mother seemed remote, less than sympathetic when her children complained about some real or imagined slight. Zoe needed to process that more for herself before she shared.

  She did tell Eve about finding the Sonny and Cher record and her mother’s reaction. They both laughed, then cried a little.

  “The poor woman” was all Eve said.

  They were both soggy with tears and exhausted with emotional excess when Zoe said, “Now what? You know about her life with me, but do you know what happened before that? Henry said he would tell me but I needed to show you the letter first.”

  “I’m not sure,” Eve said. “No one talks about it, not even Floret and Henry. Hannah, that’s my—our—grandmother, Dad’s mother. But we all call her Granna, you know, Grandma Hannah, Granna.”

  Zoe nodded, remembering the Cadillac and Mel’s reaction to it.

  “You’ll meet her. She’s sort of amazing. She can be tough, but she started out with nothing and ended up a millionaire from local real estate.

  “We used to live at Wind Chime until I was about thirteen. Hannah traveled a lot in those days, was busy building her empire, so Floret and Henry became my surrogate parents.”

  “So why did you leave?”

  “All I know is Hannah and Floret and Henry had a big fight. I remember it so vividly even today, because people didn’t have screaming fights in those days, not at Wind Chime, anyway.” She shrugged.

  “Didn’t you ask?”

  “Oh, sure, but Hannah said terrible things about my mother, so I just stopped. I asked Floret, but you may have noticed she’s rather fluid about which sphere she inhabits. She doesn’t like confrontation. So she merely removes herself from the situation.”

  “Lucky her,” Zoe said under her breath. “And Henry?”

  “I think there was probably some . . . You know, it was the free-love era. Word has it the three of them may have loved freely. Together.”

  Zoe smiled. “Cool.”

  “Yeah, but then it all exploded and they’ve been enemies ever since. Well, at least Hannah has been. Henry and Floret just keep on keepin’ on, I believe the phrase is. I think I need to process some of this before we ask Henry and Floret about the past. Can you wait until the morning?”

  Zoe nodded. “Right now I just need to eat. I know that sounds so pedestrian, but I ate early this morning. And we missed lunch. And I’m feeling a little shaky.”

  “Want some company? It’ll have to be the bar, since my cupboard is bare. It usually is. But it’s early enough there won’t be too many people there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They carried the tea things to the kitchen and went out the side door. “I wonder what happened to the letters,” Eve said, and locked the door.

  As they walked across the lobby, Zoe heard piano music coming from the bar. She stopped.

  “Don’t worry,” Eve said, taking her arm. “It’s too early for the band. Probably just one of the guests, and we’ll get rid of them if it bothers you.”

  Zoe shook her head, and cocked her head, listening. “It can’t be.”

  “What?” Eve said, and looked around the room.

  “That’s my song. I wrote that song. How is that even possible?” Zoe hurried across the tiled floor, Eve right behind her.

  The bar was dimly lit and the sun coming through the French doors turned the two people at the piano into silhouette.

  “Dilly!” The pianist swiveled his legs around the bench and made a beeline toward her.

  “Dilly?” Eve said beside her.

  “Chris?” Zoe said.

  “Hey, baby sister.” Chris wrapped her in a hug that lifted her off the ground. She loved the bigness of his hugs; he was only a few inches taller than she was and slight and wiry, but his hugs could encompass her whole world.

  He put her down. “Surprised to see me?”

  “Yes, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might need some moral support.”

  “What about your play? Don’t you have a matinee?”

  “Another story. But you’re in luck. I was noodling around at the piano waiting for you, and . . .” He lowered his voice. “Lee Gordon came in. Can you imagine? He toured with Night Chill, great group, a little before our time, but one of the classic rock bands. He came over and he liked what he heard. Hey, Lee,” he said louder. “Come meet my sister, the composer and lyricist.”

  He turned to the man who had been leaning on the baby grand but now stood facing the three others—but only for an instant.

  “You!” he spat, and strode past them out the door.

  “What the—” Chris looked from Eve to Zoe. “Sorry. I don’t know what set him off.”

&
nbsp; “We do,” Zoe said.

  “You do? Did you recognize him?”

  Zoe laughed. Not a happy laugh.

  “He’s my father,” Eve said.

  “Wow.”

  “Chris, meet your half sister, Eve.”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. He glanced toward the door then back to Zoe. “Say again? You mean Lee Gordon and our mother? They, uh . . .”

  Zoe tried to nod or shrug or something, but she seemed incapable of moving.

  “They did,” Eve said.

  “No shit. You’re like our half sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “So am I,” Zoe said.

  He beetled his eyebrows. “Okay, lost me. She’s my half sister and you’re . . .” He looked at Zoe, and she could tell he was already thinking ahead.

  “Promise you won’t freak out.”

  “I’m an actor. It’s what I do best. Hit me with it.”

  “Lee Gordon is my father, too.”

  Eve stepped back. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “No!” Zoe grabbed Eve’s arm. “Please?”

  “Wait,” said Chris. “You can’t leave now. How is that even possible? You gotta give me context, Dil.”

  “I will, but I have to eat.”

  Chris spun a full 360-degree pirouette, stopping at the bartender who was leaning on his elbows at the bar, watching them intently. “Hey, Mike!”

  “Have a seat,” the bartender called back. “That table near the window where it’s quiet. I’ll bring menus.”

  Zoe held on to Chris’s arm with both hands like she had as a kid anytime she felt insecure. And realized that she expected him to support her in this as in everything. God, she hoped she was right.

  Chris veered toward the piano and snagged his drink from the top.

  They sat down, Zoe to Chris’s right and Eve facing him. Chris took a sip and put his glass down. “Now, répétez, s’il vous plaît.”

  Zoe just sat there gripping the sides of the table.

  He looked to Eve, but she looked away.

  “Okay, let me prime the pump, then. Our mother, Jenny Bascombe, got it on with Lee Gordon at least twice and, if I’m not mistaken, several years apart.”

  Eve snorted a laugh.

  “Damn.” Chris leaned back in his chair then leaned forward again. “How long have you known this?”

  Zoe could hear the hurt in his voice, and she quickly blurted, “Just since this morning. I swear.”

  Chris turned on Eve. “Did you tell her?”

  “She told me.”

  “Okay, I’m having a hard time processing this.”

  “It’s true. I’m not your full sister,” Zoe said. “I feel like I am, but we’re only half. Not yours, not Errol’s, not Robert’s.”

  “Are you sure? Where did you get this?”

  Zoe fumbled in her bag. Realized the letter wasn’t there. Had she left it at the cottage? Eve reached into her own pocket, pulled it out, and smoothed it against the table before handing it to Chris. “I didn’t want to leave it in the cottage for anyone to find.”

  Chris reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a pair of reading glasses. All her brothers wore reading glasses. She didn’t.

  The “otherness” of her sent her into a nosedive. What if he hated her? What if they all did? Where would she go? Who would she be?

  He pulled the table lamp closer and began to read while Zoe and Eve watched. Zoe was afraid to look away even long enough to see Eve’s reaction. He seemed to be spending way too much time with the first page, but finally he turned to the second without looking up. When he reached the end, he carefully folded the letter up, placed it on the table, and covered it with his hand.

  He looked at the two women, blew out a long exhale. Pushed his hand through his hair. Sandy and wavy, not like hers.

  “So you’re both Gordons,” he said to Eve.

  “So it appears.”

  “You sure I’m not . . . ?” He let the rest of his thought trail off.

  “Not as far as I know. Though”—Eve broke into a smile—“you’d fit right in.”

  “Well, that’s something. I’m not sure what, but hey. Hey,” he said louder, “I have a half sister. And a bunch of other halves, too, I bet.”

  “Chris. I’m only your half sister, too,” Zoe said tentatively.

  “Nah, you’ll always be my one-and-a-half sister.”

  He always knew the right thing to say. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cling there forever, but she didn’t.

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Upset? No. But I am in need of another drink.”

  Another drink appeared on the table next to him, along with glasses of white wine for Eve and Zoe.

  “Man, you and I could take this on the road,” he told Mike. “You got great timing.”

  “He gets a little silly when he’s nervous,” Zoe explained.

  “I’m not nervous, I’m effing out-of-this-world gobsmacked, and probably after another drink or two, I’ll be happy as a clam. And walking like one, too.” He turned the full wattage of his charm-laced smile on all of them.

  “To our mother . . .” He raised his glass to Zoe and Eve. “I always suspected she had a secret life. Though I gotta admit, I never expected this.”

  “I don’t think Errol and Robert will be amused.”

  “No,” he said, immediately sober. “Not at all. But we’ll cross that bridge.”

  Mike cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, what shall we eat?” Chris said, opening his menu.

  When the bar began to fill up, Eve suggested they retire to someplace quieter. She still had a million questions to ask Zoe about her mother, but she could tell Zoe was feeling overwhelmed.

  She was glad Chris had shown up. He could be a big help in reassuring Zoe that she was still a Bascombe, still loved, still had a place with them. Something Eve had been given all her childhood with Floret, Hannah, Henry, and the others. But not with her mother.

  Now it was their turn to do the same for Zoe.

  Eve wasn’t sure about the other two brothers. From what little Chris and Zoe had said, they sounded like a couple of stuffed shirts, though stuffed shirts could be loyal, too, she supposed.

  They stopped at the desk to find Chris a room for the night. The inn was booked but they usually held a couple of rooms in case of last-minute favors. And if any situation called for a favor, it was this one.

  “It doesn’t have a view except of the garden, I’m afraid,” Eve said.

  “Not a problem,” Chris said, and took his key card.

  They retrieved his suitcase from behind the reception desk.

  “That’s an awfully big suitcase for an overnight,” Zoe said suspiciously.

  Chris shrugged and smiled, though not with the warmth and insouciance that Eve was already beginning to recognize.

  “Show closed.”

  “Oh, no,” Zoe said. “I’m so sorry. When?” She turned to Eve. “It was really good, too.”

  “Just one of those things,” Chris said. “Good reviews, decent box office, but the theater was booked with another show. The producers meant to move if the signs were right. I guess they weren’t right. C’est la vie.”

  “I’m so sorry. And they just closed down?”

  “Oh, hell, Dil. It’s been down for several weeks.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And have the brothers offer me a job at their respective firms? Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “So do you have to get back for auditions? Can you stay and see where Mom . . . ?” Zoe glanced at Eve. “We could hang out for a while and get to know . . . all this.”

  “Sure, Dil. No problem.”

  “Why do you call her Dil?” Eve asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Short for Dilly. Our mother always sang that song ‘Lavender’s Blue’ to her when she was little: before bed, in the bath, when she fell down. In other words, all the time. It drove us all crazy.”


  “And to get their revenge, they called me Silly Dilly.”

  “I didn’t,” Chris said, with mock outrage. “Well, I did, then I just changed to Dil. Not to worry, I call her Zoe most of the time, and always in public.” He frowned. “Not that that’s much better.”

  Zoe punched his arm. “I’ll have you know that Zoe means ‘life.’”

  “No kidding.”

  “My father, our father, used to sing it to me when he was home from tour,” Eve said.

  “Egad, zooks,” Chris said. “How weird is that? I mean in a good way.”

  “When he was gone I used to make Floret sing it to me.”

  “Who’s Floret?” Chris asked.

  “You’ll meet her tomorrow,” Zoe said. “If you can stay and want to go see Wind Chime Beach.”

  “So you found it. Of course I’ll stay.”

  “Maybe Timothy will come up and you can make it a long weekend.”

  “Tim’s in Chicago.”

  Eve thought she detected a sudden coolness in his voice. Roommate? Boyfriend? Husband?

  “Oh. When will he be back?”

  “Actually, he’s thinking about moving there. He’s in pretty deep with this development firm there. Big projects, big bucks.” Chris ended with a shrug.

  “Would you go, too?”

  “Somehow I don’t see myself at Steppenwolf.”

  Eve blinked. Of course. Not the novel or the band, but the theater company. From what she’d heard about the Chicago theater company, Chris wouldn’t fit in with them at all.

  Zoe seemed at a loss for words, so Eve stepped in.

  “The band will be coming in any minute, and if you’re not ready to confront Lee Gordon for a second time today, I suggest . . .”

  “Let’s go,” said Chris. “You too, Eve. You don’t mind me calling you Eve? You are my sister.”

  “Please do, but I should give you two some alone time. Why don’t we meet after breakfast tomorrow? Give us all a chance to assimilate the changes.”

  “Didn’t you ever try to find us?” Chris asked.

  “I didn’t even know about you. I don’t even remember my mother. She gave me up.” Eve’s voice cracked, surprising her. “When I was little I asked about my mother. Every time I mentioned her, they all got so crazy, I just stopped. Hannah was and still is so filled with hate. And Dad was, well, Hannah wouldn’t even let me mention her in his presence. Floret and Henry always danced around the answer—maybe they were afraid. I don’t know.