Beach Colors Page 19

  The light was on at his mother’s house. He tapped on the door and waited. The security chain rattled, the lock clicked, and his mother opened the door.

  “You’re up early,” he said, and gave her a kiss. The smell of baking suffused the kitchen. “More pies?”

  “Muffins. I had some berries left over and I didn’t want them going to waste. They’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Thanks, but I have to get going. I just stopped to say hi because I saw the light.” She was already pouring him a cup of coffee.

  “Really, Ma, I can’t stay.” He took the coffee. “What time are you coming?”

  “Connor and I are going over a little before nine.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to take him? There will be a lot of excitement and noise. He might wander off.”

  She opened the oven door and took out a baking pan. “I have the first two-hour shift at the bakery table. Everyone will keep an eye on him. We can’t cosset him forever. He’ll be safe. There are some kid activities planned that he might enjoy.”

  She put two muffins in a paper bag. “Eat these before they get cold.”

  “I’ll try to come by on my break. If I get one. Maybe I can take him around the fair.”

  “He’d like that. It’s time he started doing things. Even if it isn’t comfortable at first. He’ll get used to it. And maybe he’ll learn to like it.”

  “How did I get such a smart mother?” He surprised her, and himself, by taking her into a hug and holding her there. “Do you need help getting things into the car?”

  “No, you go on. Connor can help. And don’t worry.”

  He felt better as he got into the cruiser. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the porch light created a nimbus around his mother’s small frame as she stood in the doorway.

  St. Adelaide, he thought as he drove away.

  Margaux stretched over the worktable and put the last hand-painted touches to the fabric she’d been working on for days. It was a silk chiffon of palest yellow and painted in free-form swirls, slashes, and sprays of aqua, ultramarine, rose, and coral. It had taken a lot of trial and effort before she got the tones perfect as well as colorfast. And it had turned out just as she’d imagined it.

  The “Toreador Song” rang out from the foyer and a voice called out, “Mags, are you here?”

  “Grace?” Margaux dropped her brush onto a rag and went out to the front room. Grace stood in the doorway, wearing khaki cargo shorts and button shirt.

  “We’re here to steal you away to go to the flea market,” Grace said.

  “Is it Saturday already?”

  “Yes. So chop-chop.”

  “Okay. I could use a break. Give me two minutes.”

  Bri pushed Grace to the side and stepped into the studio. She was dressed in jeans and a white tailored shirt and looked like she’d just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad. She didn’t speak but gazed at the designs that hung across the opposite wall.

  “What do you think?” Margaux asked, mentally crossing her fingers.

  “Holy Versace. This ain’t your mother’s beachwear.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Good? They’re incredible.”

  Margaux felt immense relief. She knew Bri would never flatter her. “But will they sell?”

  “Shit yes.” Bri stepped over to the sketch of an A-line dress, cut on the bias and gored at the hem to fan out to a frothy hemline just below the knee. The tiny shoulder straps were finished with a row of deep folds that tumbled down the back. A range of color from light aqua to midnight blue combined in a swirl of muted colors that seemed to flow from one to the other.

  “I get it. It’s the sea at dusk. And those drapery things that arc around the front and back”—Bri broke into a commentator’s voice—“reminiscent of the tide rolling in.” She settled back into her own voice. “And that little touch of what is it? Maroon? Brown?”

  “Sienna,” said Margaux.

  “Yeah, I don’t see it myself when I look at the water, but it works; like it anchors the whole picture somehow. But what about the fabric? You can’t tell me you found this pattern in a warehouse.”

  Margaux smiled. “Come this way.” She went to the placket door at the back wall and slid it open to the dining room. They stepped into a hanging forest of silks, shantungs, tulle, and muslin whose blues, golds, and greens shimmered and billowed in the breeze from the windows she’d opened to speed up the drying process on her newest “Sunset” fabric.

  “Wow,” said Grace.

  “Amazing,” said Bri, wandering through the billowing fabric. “It’s like a seraglio in here.”

  Margaux looked around. Her Sunset fabric lay draped over a row of dining chairs while the fabric paint dried. The last two yards were spread across the worktable and thumbtacked in place to keep it from shifting under the brush.

  “You have been busy,” Grace said. “How long did this take?”

  “Seems like forever.”

  “How much longer before you have enough to make something?”

  Margaux considered the folds of material. As soon as the Sunset fabric dried, it would be ready to cut. Normally she’d do muslin mock-ups and then the real thing, but there was no time. There was also no extra fabric if they made mistakes. “Soon.”

  “Getting cold feet?”

  “Just a bit. I still have a hell of a lot of work to do, so let’s get going before I change my mind.”

  “And before it gets any more crowded. You want to lock these windows before we go?” Grace asked.

  “No, I’ll come back later. It’s pretty safe around here and I want to dry that last batch of chiffon.”

  They went outside.

  “We’d better walk. We barely made it down Main Street on our way here and we probably got the last parking place in town.” Bri pointed across the street where a big yellow truck on monster wheels was parked next to Margaux’s blue sports coupe.

  “That’s yours?” Margaux asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, bought it secondhand. I know the tires look like overkill but on a rainy day on the north forty, they come in handy.”

  “You have a north forty?”

  “More like a north ten and a half. But enough for me.”

  “Who would have ever thought.”

  “Hey, I have plans for that house. You have to come see it. We’ll order takeout. My kitchen isn’t quite finished yet. The place is a mess, but it’s got great potential.”

  They walked down Main Street where a line of cars inched toward the elementary school. Heat radiated from car hoods, exhaust fumes wavered in the air.

  “I always forget what a big deal this is,” Grace said, fanning fumes from her face.

  “They have this every year,” Bri said. “Do you think they’ll ever run out of stuff to sell?”

  “They could subsist for several years on junk from our attic alone,” Margaux said. “Mom and I cleaned a bunch of stuff out for it this year. It didn’t even make a dent.”

  “Oh boy.” Bri rubbed her hands together. “Just so you know, I’m looking for kitchen stuff. Antique or close to antique linens that are in good enough condition to be rejuvenated.” She hesitated. “And play stuff. For the girls. On the outside chance I get them before they’re forty.”

  “How’s that coming?”

  “Slow as sludge in the Yangtze. The paperwork is ridiculous. Just when I think I’m done, it seems to start all over again.”

  “Why China?” Margaux asked as they waited for a minivan to pass so they could cross the street to the school.

  “I couldn’t get two children in the States. Especially not with my history. China was my best bet. It’ll be worth it when they finally get here.”

  They turned onto Pine Street where more cars were waiting to park. The field behind the s
chool was a sea of tents and wooden stands. Trucks and cars were parked side by side, merchandise piled in their open trunks and spread on the grass in front of them. Here and there a trail of smoke cut through the air where souvlaki, hamburgers, clam rolls, and hot dogs were being sold. The sun beat down and people were already lined up at the lemonade and soda stands.

  They stopped at the gym entrance.

  “Inside or outside first?” asked Bri.

  “Inside,” said Margaux. “I should say hi to Mom. And I know she’d like to see the two of you.”

  “We see her all the time.”

  Margaux stopped.

  “Duh, we live in the same town,” Grace said.

  “And Jude is in my reading group,” Brianna said.

  “Oh,” Margaux said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

  “Well, I still need to say hello. Want to meet up later?”

  “We’ll just mosey ahead of you and you can catch up,” Bri said. “Most of the good linens will be inside. If we get separated, meet at the Skilling’s Ice Cream cart in an hour.”

  “Okay, keep your eyes open for garment racks, sewing forms, stuff that I might need.”

  Margaux stopped at the Beach Auxiliary table, surprised when she saw who was manning the table with her mother. A man about five-eleven, in good shape, a suntanned face with crinkles around the eyes, receding hairline, and white silky hair. Even though she hadn’t seen him in years, Margaux recognized Roger Kyle.

  He was selling a pair of ice tongs to a lady wearing a Mexican sombrero.

  Roger and Margaux exchanged hellos.

  “He’s phenomenal,” Jude said fondly. “He’s sold more stuff than I have and I know most of these people.”

  Dottie waved from the coffee machine. Margaux’s stomach rumbled.

  “I’ve got to catch up with Bri and Grace, but I have to peruse the bakery table before I go.”

  She was deciding between a lemon bar and a pecan swirl when Connor’s head appeared over the edge of the table.

  “Well, hello there. What are you up to?”

  He thrust a pad of paper at her. She took it from him. It was a picture with a big yellow circle and a strip of yellow at the bottom of the page. “The beach,” she guessed. “It’s very beautiful.”

  He said something. She leaned across the table to hear him better.

  “It’s not finished yet.”

  “Well, I know it’s going to be wonderful. You’ll have to show it to me when you’re done. Okay?”

  He nodded and smiled up at her. He was so sweet she wanted to take him home with her. Bad way to think, Margaux told herself.

  She bought a blueberry muffin from Mrs. Prescott. “Has Connor gone on the Moonwalk yet? There are some fun things to do in the children’s area.”

  “Nick said he’d come take him when he gets his lunch break.”

  They both looked around at the crowd, understanding clear between them. If he gets a lunch break.

  Margaux lowered her voice. “Why don’t I check back before I leave, and if he hasn’t come, I’ll take Connor . . .” She remembered that she was supposed to be staying away. “Or I could watch the table while you take him.”

  Mrs. Prescott beamed. “You are so sweet. But I’m sure Nick will come for him.”

  “Okay. See you later, Connor.”

  Connor grinned and waved goodbye, then disappeared from view.

  When Margaux caught up to Bri and Grace, Bri had already filled one of her tote bags with tablecloths and doilies.

  “This stuff is great,” she said. “Oh, look over there, blue glass.”

  They followed her to the next booth where she bought several apothecary bottles. Grace shrugged at Margaux and they moved on. By the time they made their way outside, they were all carrying loaded tote bags, most of the items bought by Brianna.

  They stopped by the Beach Auxiliary table where with a laugh and a shake of her head, Jude allowed them to store their purchases while they continued shopping.

  “I hope you didn’t buy any of the things we just donated, Margaux.”

  “Not me, most of this is Bri’s nonsense. I’m looking for more practical things for the shop—the workshop.”

  “Ah.” Jude put the tote bags beneath the table.

  They bought fresh-squeezed lemonade and drank it sitting at a picnic table under the shade of a large tent. Then they hit the rows of vendors outside.

  They wandered down the fairway while the day grew hotter and the crowds got bigger. By the end of another hour, Margaux was tired and hungry, but she’d scored two dress racks from the Baptist Ladies’ Auxiliary.

  She wondered if Nick had gotten a chance to take Connor to the children’s area. She could see it across the way; there was face painting, spin art, a fishing booth, and an inflated Moonwalk where swarms of children jumped up and down squealing with delight.

  She was about to suggest they pick up their purchases from Jude and find a nice air-conditioned place for a late lunch when Bri said, “Omigod. Look at those hats.”

  She picked her way across the trampled grass to a square booth with hundreds of old-fashioned hats for sale. Grace rolled her eyes and followed. Margaux took one last look at the kiddie area, that familiar pang of longing cutting deep inside her. She should ask Bri about the adoption process.

  She didn’t have to be married to have a child. Once she got her finances back in order, she could adopt. Of course, she’d have to work double time to be able to afford a child in the city and that wouldn’t be fair to the child. The same old argument. One that Louis had often used whenever she suggested it was time to start a family. But if she lived here . . .

  She felt someone tug at her jeans.

  She looked down to find Connor looking up at her. He had an American flag painted on his cheek, there was a red ring of cherry snow cone around his mouth. He was holding a piece of drawing paper in a sticky hand.

  “Hey, where did you come from?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. She followed his gaze to a booth but she didn’t see Nick or Mrs. Prescott.

  He nudged her with his piece of paper.

  She took it from him while she perused the area for one of the Prescotts. She looked down at the paper. It was his picture of the seashore. He’d added a strip of blue sea. Three stick people stood on the beach, two big ones with a little one between them, holding hands.

  Margaux swallowed her reaction. “Is that you and Uncle Nick and Grandma?”

  Slowly he shook his head.

  “Connor!”

  She’d know that voice anywhere. Connor pressed close to her side. She instinctively placed her hand on his hair.

  Nick strode toward them looking like thunder. He shot Margaux a searing glance before he dropped to one knee. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t run off like this.”

  Even Margaux cowered under his anger. Connor began to tremble.

  Nick immediately calmed down. More quietly, he said, “I didn’t mean to yell, but you scared me. You need to stay with someone you know, not wander off. Understand?”

  Margaux felt Connor’s slow nod beneath her hand, then his head turned up at her.

  “He wanted to show me his picture.”

  Nick stood up.

  “Don’t be mad. He knows me, he must have thought it was all right.”

  “I’m not mad.” His jaw was set so tightly she thought it might shatter.

  She lifted her chin. The man was going about this the wrong way. Don’t get involved, she warned herself. Not your problem. But she couldn’t ignore the small boy trembling beside her.

  Nick’s mouth tightened even more. He took a controlled breath. “You’re right. I probably didn’t make it clear.”

  Bri and Grace walked up at that moment and came to stand by Margaux, a united front. />
  “Come on, Connor. Let’s go back to Nana.”

  When Connor didn’t move, Nick scooped the boy up and carried him away. Connor looked back over Nick’s shoulder, his eyes round and sad.

  Margaux realized she was still holding his picture with its yellow beach and happy family.

  “Wasn’t that Nick Prescott? What was that all about?” asked Grace.

  “Connor wandered away from him. He was upset.”

  “Huh,” Bri said. She was wearing a wide-brimmed lavender hat with butterflies dancing at the end of narrow satin ribbons.

  “Now there’s a fashion statement,” Margaux said, but Bri wasn’t listening. She was staring after Nick and Connor.

  “Well, well, well,” she said. “I think we just met Margaux’s merman.”

  Sixteen

  So is it true?” asked Grace, sipping her Mojito at the Sea Dog Pub. “Is Nick Prescott your merman?”

  “No. Yes.” Margaux twirled her glass of Pinot Grigio around on the table. “I was out drawing on the jetty when he came out of the woods and went for a swim.”

  “Commando?” asked Bri.

  “He was wearing shorts.”

  “Too bad. Then what happened?”

  “He swam around. I was in a fanciful mood, so I drew that picture. He got out and left.”

  “A golden opportunity missed.”

  “I don’t know.” Grace paused to take a sip of her Mojito. “He’s downright scary. No wonder that poor kid was shaking in his boots.”

  “That poor kid,” said Bri, “is Ben Prescott’s son.” She sighed. “It’s a damn shame. Life is weird, you know? Some die, some live. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Grace.

  They all ruminated on that for a moment, then Bri broke the silence. “But to get back to the police chief. I always thought he had the potential to look good if you just got rid of the uniform, dressed him up, and took him to a good stylist. Too spit-and-polish to be fun. But him all sleek out of the water and covering you with that burning gaze he was laying on you at the flea market. Now that’s an image a girl could get her teeth into.”

  “Then go for it,” Margaux said.