A Beach Wish Page 6

  Well, she hadn’t come this far to give up. She’d seen where giving up led her. She wouldn’t let it happen to her mother’s memory. As hard as it would be, she knew she couldn’t go back now. Her eyes filled. She blinked desperately; she’d made enough of a fool of herself already.

  “You can do that on cue?”

  She shook her head.

  “Dammit, stop it.”

  She nodded and hurried blindly down the drive.

  A booming voice yelled, “David, go after her.”

  His name was David. Zoe broke into a run.

  She heard an expletive, then feet pounding behind her. “Wait a minute.”

  She didn’t stop.

  He caught up and jogged alongside her.

  “I’m leaving,” she said.

  “Henry wants to talk to you.”

  Henry? Of Henry and Floret. Was he going to threaten her, too? She didn’t slow down but risked a glance over her shoulder. Saw the figure standing on the porch.

  Oh, holy hell. Literally. It was a man. Tall, really tall, with long white hair. Long flowing robe. Her apparition in the fog. And by his side, Dulcie, the beady-eyed goat.

  “Thanks anyway, sorry to have bothered you,” Zoe mumbled, and fled down the drive to the street.

  David crossed his arms and watched her. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered under his breath. Just what they needed, some oversensitive nitwit full of neuroses standing in the middle of the woods like a nutcase. Weird. Just weird. And why on earth did Henry want to see her? Why not say that to begin with? He could have invited her in to tea, rather than trying to scare her away.

  He turned and walked back to the house, where Henry stood on the porch like Noah waiting for the animals. The only animals left at Wind Chime were a few chickens, a couple of stray dogs, a handful of feral cats, and Dulcinea, who was giving him the evil eye. As far as David was concerned, she could go to the petting zoo anytime. And the sooner the better.

  He walked up the steps.

  “She wouldn’t stay?”

  “I never got that far. I think I scared her.”

  “Perhaps.” Henry stepped aside to let him pass. It was all very solemn, whatever was going on. David didn’t have a clue; he usually didn’t with Henry and Floret, but they were good people, with kind hearts and generous spirits, and he was thankful for them.

  The two of them went inside, leaving Dulcie standing guard over the porch. Floret was on the back veranda, setting out drinks and cookies. Midmorning elevenses in the British tradition, though as far as he knew Floret had never been farther than North Carolina in her life. But Floret was like that, picking up things she read and incorporating them into her life. Not to put on airs, but to have a good time.

  He smiled and took his place at the table.

  “Tea or lemonade?” Floret asked, as if nothing had sent her and Henry into a tailspin just a few minutes ago, and sent him running to stop the interloper from getting close to the ravaged piece of sand they were suddenly out of the blue calling Wind Chime Beach. It had always been the Old Beach as long as he could remember.

  “Lemonade, thanks.” David reached for a cookie. “These are safe right?”

  Floret smiled seraphically. “Of course. It’s elevenses.”

  Of course, David thought. Her marijuana-laced baking only came out when the day’s work was done and she and Henry took one of their flights of fancy or wherever they went together.

  David sometimes envied them their specialness. His parents had had it; he’d never found it. He was afraid Eli thought he had found it in Mel Gordon, but David could see only rough waters ahead for those two. Much too young and unshaped by the world. People might have been able to live blissfully that way once, but not in these times, when you needed every tool you could get to survive.

  Henry stood with his back to them, his hands clasped behind him, staring out to the sea. David sat back and munched his cookie while he tried to find some of the inner calm that the sound of the waves was bringing to Henry.

  A few minutes ago both Henry and Floret had coursed with inner energy, reactive energy. Which was odd. They got lots of visitors; they came and went, sometimes pitching a tent in the yard or moving in to the house; sometimes they moved in and stayed. Henry and Floret were never surprised, always welcoming, never questioned why.

  So what was it about this young woman that had thrown them off-kilter?

  It hadn’t lasted long; they seemed perfectly fine now. Or was that resignation? The energy emanating from them was definitely different than usual.

  She’d seemed like a flake to him. Picking up trash like some ecology nut. Then stopping to listen to the chimes. Well, that was understandable. They always stopped him, too. A lot of people wouldn’t really notice. Wouldn’t be moved by them. Understand the fragility of—

  Anyway, he would have picked up the trash if he’d known it was down there. No one ever went there anymore.

  Floret finished pouring tea for herself and Henry and sat down.

  Henry turned from his ruminations and joined them. “She’s afraid of us,” he said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

  Henry often began that way. David was used to it. In fact, he’d never known Henry to be any other way, and he’d known him for over thirty years, since David was four and he and his brother, Andy, and their parents had come to live at Wind Chime. Henry, the physicist turned dropout, and his lovely botanist hippie partner for life, Floret, and the other members of the commune had made them welcome and kept them safe.

  “You sent me to stop her.”

  Floret put down her cup and folded her hands. “Don’t be silly. She can’t be stopped. She couldn’t then and she won’t now.”

  David shook his head. “Floret, give us poor Earthlings some context.”

  She pursed her lips at him. But she was trying to suppress a smile.

  “Oh, I’m very much here now. But I was confused then. I looked up and for a moment, time fell away. It really did. I confess it was a little frightening to go all at once like that instead of gradually slipping from one state to another. If it hadn’t been for Dulcie I might have said something I shouldn’t, I was that shocked to see her.”

  “A goat saved you from a cosmic faux pas?” David said patiently.

  “Why, yes. I saw her—the girl—and naturally I thought—at first. Impossible, of course. I don’t know what came over me. And then Dulcie let out a warning bray and butted me and everything was normal again.”

  “She’s not Jenny.” Henry sat down and reached for a cookie.

  “Who’s Jenny?” David asked.

  “Well, I know that. Her name is Zoe.” Floret frowned. “But . . .”

  “No buts,” Henry said, sounding uncharacteristically harsh.

  David leaned forward. “Who’s Jenny? What’s this all about?”

  “It’s a long story, many decades old.”

  David settled back to hear what saga Henry was about to unfold. He was disappointed.

  “More recently, about six months ago, to be precise,” Henry continued. “We received a letter from an old friend.

  “It was accompanied by a package. The letter asked us to give it to the person who came looking for Wind Chime Beach and to welcome her.”

  “And to keep her safe,” Floret added.

  “Safe?” David repeated. “Is she in some kind of trouble? Is this going to be dangerous?”

  “No, it was just a benediction we all said sometimes, back in the day, to nurture each other and keep our spirits safe.”

  Well, thank God for that, David thought. Then something niggled deep in his memory.

  “Ah, you remember,” Henry said, and smiled.

  He did remember. They’ll keep you safe.

  “At first we didn’t know what to make of it,” Floret added. “A lot of people could be asking about it, the beach. It was a very special place in its day. Many found love there.” She smiled at Henry.

  He nodded. “An
d sometimes more than they bargained for.”

  The two of them got those faraway looks they often got when thinking about life, and David waited patiently for the moment to pass and for them to come back.

  “But this friend was very dear to our hearts,” Henry said.

  “Very dear,” Floret echoed. “And of course we would welcome her, whenever she came,” she said, rousing herself. “But I wasn’t expecting, I had no idea. She looks just like Jenny.”

  “Obviously her daughter,” Henry said.

  “Who exactly is Jenny?” David asked.

  The sound of the front screen door banging shut and a backpack being dumped on the floor stopped the conversation.

  “We’re out here, Eli,” Floret called.

  Footsteps thudded across the wooden floor and David’s nephew exploded onto the veranda. That was the only way to describe the energy of an eighteen-year-old. He lived a life of high energy tempered only slightly by having spent the past eight years living with Henry and Floret at Wind Chime.

  He snatched a cookie and stood looking at the adults while he munched.

  “What’s up? You all look a little mind-blown.”

  “Well, we are rather,” Floret explained.

  “Have anything to do with the girl who was running down the drive like her life depended on it?”

  David bit back a smile. She talked tough, but it was all façade. He was glad he’d scared her away. Whatever or whoever she was, she was bound to cause trouble if Henry’s and Floret’s reactions were anything to judge by.

  “Did Dulcie try to bite her? She really needs to get some manners.”

  “No,” Floret said. “David . . .”

  “Uncle David bit her?”

  “No, of course not,” Floret said, in all seriousness.

  “You scared her away.” Eli shook his head and took another cookie. “What did ya do? Ask her on a date?”

  “Very funny. I just escorted her off the property.”

  Suddenly serious, Eli pulled up a wicker chair and sat down. “You don’t think she’s a spy, do you?”

  “No,” Henry said. “She’s . . .” He seemed stuck for a word. “A Pandora, I’m afraid.”

  “Pandora, like ‘open the box and free the evil of the world’ Pandora?”

  Floret patted Eli’s hand. “Not evil, just discomfort and maybe some unhappiness, but in the end, it will be . . .”

  They all sat up, but she trailed off.

  “But first,” Henry said, “we must decide how to proceed.”

  Eli looked at David, gave him his they’re-at-it-again eye roll. “You three’ll figure it out. I gotta get cleaned up.”

  “Going out?” David asked.

  “Ye-es. Do you mind?”

  David shook his head. “With Mel?”

  “You might as well get used to it. We’re soul mates. Thanks for the cookies.” He leaned over and kissed Floret’s cheek, then trotted out of the room.

  They were all silent as they listened to him bound up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Not to worry,” Floret said. “It will all work out. It always does.”

  David started to say, He’s only eighteen, but they’d heard it all before. “So is there something you want me to do to help with this Wind Chime Beach situation? Those stairs are beyond repair. I could tear them down, but I don’t think she’ll be back. I was pretty firm about what happens to trespassers.”

  “She’ll be back,” Henry said. “We’ve been expecting her.”

  Eve stood in the shade of the oak tree outside her grandmother’s white frame house. Looking at it, you’d never know that it contained not only her grandmother’s home, but the inner workings of her small but consolidated real estate empire. Hannah Gordon owned a third of the buildings in town and at eighty-eight showed no signs of backing off.

  She was respected by the locals, not always liked, but she’d been the only mother Eve had ever known. Granna and Floret. They’d both been mothers to her until “the fight” that ended their deep friendship and began the struggle for the Wind Chime property.

  Eve knew she had to go inside. The old woman would be home. She did most of her work from there these days. Arthritis was slowing her down. Surgery had renewed her eyesight, but she despised having to wear her state-of-the-art hearing aids in public. It was a sign of weakness, and Hannah Gordon did not show weakness.

  Eve’s insides were churning like a teenager being sent to the principal’s office. But it had to be done. She had to know.

  She couldn’t go to Floret. Eve was never totally sure about the state of Floret’s mind, and she didn’t want to expose her to Hannah’s wrath if Hannah found out they had been discussing the past.

  And Eve didn’t dare ask her father. The few times she’d tried to ask him about her mother, he retreated inside himself to the dark place that so often controlled his life—and hers. He’d obviously recognized something in Zoe Bascombe that reminded him of Eve’s mother. Eve had learned early on not to ask. She wouldn’t press him now.

  But there was no mistaking it. Zoe Bascombe’s mother was Jenny Campbell. And that made her Eve’s half sister. It had to be that. All the doppelgangers in the world couldn’t be more alike than the teenage photos of Mel and Zoe. Eve had printed out both photos, and they were in her shoulder bag. Evidence. Let Hannah try to deny the resemblance.

  Her grandmother had always said Eve took after her father, but Eve knew there was part of her mother inside her. She knew it because sometimes she felt different from her family, not worse or better, just different. She held on to those feelings, cherishing them, savoring the knowledge, secretly, something only for her. Then life would take over, and she would forget for a while that a part of her was living in the world somewhere else.

  She took a fortifying breath, then strode up the driveway, across the grass, and up the steps to the rectangular porch cut into the side of the front façade. She slowed to peer in the living room window. No one was there. Hannah was probably at her computer in the dining room, which she’d converted into a home office.

  Eve knocked on the door, opened it, and stuck her head inside. “Granna? You here?”

  There was no answer, but she could hear sounds coming from the office.

  Eve went in and closed the door behind her. No going back now. She walked through the living room, where a breeze lifted the organza curtains of the open windows—no central air for Hannah Gordon. Across the old oriental area rug, past the dark Victorian furniture, and through the archway into the office and into a total contrast of white state-of-the-art electronics—computers, fax machines, and printers. Her grandmother sat behind her desk, almost hidden by the screen of her desktop.

  “Granna. Granna!” Eve repeated.

  Hannah looked up, a vague expression on her face.

  “Turn on your hearing aids.”

  Hannah scowled at her, but turned them on. “What brings you here at this time of day?” Her voice was surprisingly light, only slightly raspy with age. She’d let her hair go white and kept it short, because she was convinced it made her look younger. Eve never understood that logic, but there was a lot about her grandmother she didn’t understand and was pretty sure she never would.

  Eve came around the desk until she was standing at Hannah’s shoulder, pulled out the two photos, and set them down side by side on the desk in front of her grandmother.

  Hannah pushed them with her index fingers until they were perfectly aligned. “What’s this?”

  “You tell me.”

  Her grandmother pursed her lips; she didn’t like games and obviously thought this was one. “It’s pictures of Mel. I remember this blouse—she was ten or twelve, right? I don’t remember this.” She pointed to the photo of Zoe Bascombe. “Her hair is darker. It must have been one of those spray-on deals because she would never do something like that to her lovely hair.”

  Eve swallowed. Her mouth was so dry she was afraid to speak. She licked her lips, but it did abso
lutely no good. Her grandmother was watching her, a slight frown on her face, and Eve thought, She has such great skin for a woman her age.

  “Eve?”

  Eve pointed to the photo nearest to her. “This is Mel.” She pointed to the next. “This is Zoe Bascombe at sixteen.”

  Her grandmother stilled, barely noticeable, but Eve had spent a lifetime trying to read between the lines of her family. And that infinitesimal moment of reaction telegraphed all she needed to know. “Who is she, Hannah?”

  “Hannah now, is it? I don’t know who it is—why should I? Just some girl who looks a little like Mel. Where did you come up with this?”

  “On an internet search.”

  Her grandmother sighed, a mixture of resignation and disgust. They’d been here before. Eve looking for pictures of her mother, asking questions and getting nothing except, “Best forgotten. You don’t want to upset your father, do you?”

  Eve didn’t. Life was dark and frightening when her father had one of his “spells,” and she’d always backed off, finally trained herself not to ask, not to wonder. But this was a total slap in the face. It couldn’t be coincidence.

  “Well?” prompted Hannah, with a slight impatience. “I’m in the middle of something, here.”

  Eve pulled herself together. “It’s from a Google search I did on one of my guests. Something I don’t normally do, but Dad had such a strange reaction to her that it made me curious. And lo and behold . . . Want to know who her mother is?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s a woman named Jenny Bascombe, née Campbell.”

  “Two very common names. Must be thousands of them.”

  “But not with a daughter the spitting image of Mel.”

  Hannah pushed the photos onto the floor. “What are you doing? You’re just going to upset everyone.”

  “I’m already upset. So is Dad.”

  “You didn’t tell him this crock of bull, did you?”

  “I didn’t have to.”

  “Let it drop. This girl is no more related to you than Sam Hill.”

  Eve crossed her arms over her chest, put them down again. “I don’t believe you. I’m forty-eight years old and you’ve never told me the truth about my mother. I want to know. Now.”