Barefoot in the Sand

by Holly Chamberlin

  Arden smiled. “They look like kind people. I think I would have liked them.”

  “They were kind.” Laura turned a page. “This is me on my first birthday. I really was a chubbums, wasn’t I?”

  Arden laughed. “Skinny babies make me nervous. Rob showed me a few photos of him as a toddler. You look so much like he did!”

  “That’s nice to know,” Laura said feelingly. She continued to lead them through the mandatory first-day-of-school photos, from kindergarten through ninth grade. “After that I’m afraid I declared I was too mature for another first-day-of-school picture. Teens can be so selfish. I’m sure my refusal to have my picture taken hurt my mother, but she said nothing.”

  They continued on through high school and college graduation, with a stop along the way for senior prom—”What a hideous dress!” Laura commented, to which Arden said, “No, no, you looked very nice”—and for a backpacking trip around Europe with friends.

  “And here’s the day I was awarded my master’s degree,” Laura said softly. “I hadn’t planned on attending the ceremony, but my mother insisted. It meant a lot to her to be there. Dad was too weak by then to attend.”

  “I wish I could have been there myself.” Arden shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was a foolish thing to say.”

  “Not foolish.” Laura turned a page to a formal portrait of a bride and groom. “The big event. My wedding. I spent so much time working with the florist and the photographer and selecting readings and music. I wanted everything to be perfect, to really describe me.” Laura laughed ruefully. “Jared wasn’t interested in the planning. I’d hoped he would be, that he’d want to add his tastes to the day, too, but he insisted that I should do whatever I wanted and he’d do his part by showing up on time. Not a fantastic sign of the state of our relationship, if I’d had the brain to see it.”

  “You were a beautiful bride,” Arden said warmly. “What happened later on doesn’t take that away.”

  “Thanks. My parents were both gone by then, so there was no first dance with Dad. My mother had died not long after him. Once Dad passed, she seemed to wither. She had been so in love with him.”

  “Well, your father was very handsome. Not that looks count in the end, not like character and kindness.”

  “Looks shouldn’t count as much as they do in the beginning,” Laura said dryly. “I know if Jared had been a below-average-looking guy I might not have fallen as hard as I did. Ridiculous. In retrospect, I see that my money was the real draw for him. It certainly wasn’t my looks. Oh, well, lesson learned.”

  “Forget about Jared. Tell me more about your father.”

  Laura closed the album and considered for a moment how to describe Marty Huntington. “In a way,” she said finally, “he was what I would call a classic man of the old school. Strong, silent, hardworking, devoted to his family.” Laura smiled. “He was genuinely in love with my mother, and she with him. We were well-off thanks to Dad’s being CEO of a big engineering firm. When he retired, he continued to consult and that was pretty lucrative. I adored him as a little girl and came to really admire and respect him as I got older. Not every daughter can say that about a father. I was lucky.”

  Arden took Laura’s hand. “I’m so very glad you were cared for so kindly.”

  “I was. You know, my father had a chronic heart condition. It’s what killed him in the end, but while he lived, he tried never to let it get in the way of being there for us.” Laura smiled fondly. “He taught me how to ride a bike and how to swim. He was my date for the father-daughter dance in seventh grade, and when I was bullied in tenth grade by a girl in my class, he taught me how to rise above the situation.”

  “You loved him.”

  “I did. It’s interesting. I never knew why my parents didn’t have a child of their own, or why they waited so long to adopt. My mother was forty-seven and my dad fifty-three when they brought me home. Neither ever offered that sort of personal information, and for some reason, I never asked.” Laura shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t really matter now.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t. Are there any more photos in this album?”

  Laura shook her head. “No. I didn’t want to include anything from the years of my marriage.” Suddenly Laura had an idea. “I understand if this sounds . . . I mean, if you’d rather not, but maybe we could take a selfie of us together?”

  A radiant smile broke out on Arden’s face. “That would be lovely! But you’ll have to be the photographer. I’ve never taken a selfie. I’m not sure I know how!”

  Laura laughed and fairly leaped off the couch. “I’ll go and get my phone. And I’m going to teach you how to turn the camera on yourself. After all, it’s about time you come into focus.”

  Chapter 35

  Gordon opened the front door of his home wearing his uniform of cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. “Hi,” he said brightly. “I didn’t expect you. Come in.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Arden said. “I should have called first. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

  “Not at all. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go out to the yard.”

  Gordon’s house was bare of knickknacks and decorated instead with mounds of books (mostly nonfiction), several computers (and all the wires and gadgets that went with them), a large-screen television (Gordon was a fan of soccer), a vintage pinball machine (he had sold all but this one of his collection before coming to Eliot’s Corner), and furniture that defined the word mismatched. The decor might fairly be described as Random Convenience. For example, Gordon had wanted a couch, so he had bought one, with absolutely no thought as to size or style. It was far too large for the living room and upholstered in a pink-and-green cabbage-rose pattern that clashed badly with the round glass-and-chrome coffee table he had bought at a yard sale thirty years before. Deborah had tried to give Gordon a few tips on home decorating, but the lesson hadn’t been a success.

  “I’ve been procrastinating all morning,” Gordon admitted. “I should have been in my workshop but . . .”

  A large shed in one corner of the yard was where Gordon created his wood carvings and scrap-metal sculptures. The lawn—which hadn’t been mowed in a while—was home to various works in progress, some of which were draped with cloths while others remained exposed to the elements.

  Gordon and Arden sat across from each other at an old-fashioned picnic table that Gordon had painted bright purple.

  Arden folded her hands in her lap, then placed them on the table before her. She was nervous. Gordon’s friendship meant an awful lot to her, more, she suspected, than she was able or willing to acknowledge. It was vitally important that he understand she had never meant any harm with her lies.

  “I need to tell you something. I want to tell you.”

  A look of concern came to Gordon’s face. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, in fact, things are pretty wonderful. It’s just that . . .” Arden took a deep breath. “I lied about who I am. Something’s happened that makes that lie meaningless and unnecessary now.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the owner of the car that’s been parked outside Juniper End for the past few days? The one with Connecticut plates?” Gordon smiled. “People talk.”

  “Yes.” Without further hesitation Arden told Gordon what she had told Deborah. Telling was no easier or less exhausting the second time around, and when she had finished, she felt the need for a long nap.

  Gordon whistled. “Now that’s something I never expected to hear when I woke up this morning. Arden, I’m thrilled for you. I—I have so much to say, but maybe I’d better let you do the talking now. You said that things were pretty wonderful. There must be some level of stress, as well.”

  A surge of relief and gratitude swept through Arden. She should never have doubted Gordon’s capacity for understanding. “There is. When I opened the door the other day and was suddenly face-to-face with my daughter, I felt sheer panic. I almost passed out. Was she there to pu
nish me? To demand answers that I couldn’t give? But now I don’t believe that Laura has any hurtful intent toward me. Still, I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing—and what could possibly be the right thing?—and make her angry, and the new and fragile relationship will shatter.”

  “But there’s more present in your heart than fear.”

  Arden nodded. “There is. There’s happiness. And I’m so grateful to Laura’s adoptive mother for giving her the clue that led Laura to me.”

  “That was very generous of Mrs. Huntington. She sounds like a good woman. Now, when do I get to meet your daughter?”

  “We’d like you and Deborah to join us for dinner tomorrow. I told Deborah about Laura just yesterday. And I’m only sharing the entire story with the two of you. The people in Eliot’s Corner will come to know that Laura is my daughter, but the past will stay in the past.”

  Gordon smiled. “Got it. So, does Laura look a lot like you?”

  “Not much that I can see. I think she resembles her father pretty strongly. It’s a bit unsettling, but I guess I’ll get used to—”

  “To seeing a ghost?” Gordon suggested gently. “You said Rob went missing. You assume he’s dead?”

  “I believe he’s been dead since August of 1984. So, yes. In a way, I’ll have to get used to seeing a ghost.”

  “You loved him very much.” It was a statement, not a question, and spoken gently.

  Arden nodded and felt tears pricking at her eyes. “I did. He was my first real friend as well as my first love. In a way, I’ve never gotten over him. It’s the way he just disappeared. If he had dumped me for another girl, if he had been killed in a car accident and decently buried, it would have been easier, I think, to let him go. But the not knowing was cruel. It is cruel.”

  Gordon reached across the table and took Arden’s hand in his own. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” He released her hand, then nodded for her to go on.

  “As bad as it’s been for me, imagine what his family has gone through. Rob was the only son. His sisters and parents adored him. Laura told me that about ten years after Rob disappeared they had him officially declared dead, and maybe that brought some closure, but I doubt it. And at least one of Rob’s sisters suspected that there was a baby. I’m sure she’s always held me responsible for her brother’s disappearance. If Rob had never gotten involved with me . . .”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you assume his disappearance has anything to do with you?”

  Arden felt her lips tighten. She couldn’t admit to her friends that she believed her father was responsible for Rob’s disappearance. At least, not before sharing that doubt with Laura. “Nothing. I was just being dramatic.”

  Gordon didn’t press her. “You’ve been honest with me,” he said after a moment, “so I’ll be honest with you. It’s always been clear to me that you were keeping something back. Not only from me, but from Deborah, and from the rest of Eliot’s Corner. Of course,” he added hastily, “that was your right.”

  “Deborah also said that she knew there was something I was withholding. And yet you both trusted me as a friend, knowing I wasn’t exactly who I said I was. I don’t really understand.”

  Gordon smiled. “Who is ever entirely who they appear to be? Who is only one person for her entire life? There are as many Gordons as there are people who claim to know me. And if I were to describe myself, I’d probably paint a picture my friends would hardly recognize! For one, I’d call myself a great artist, but I doubt anyone else would.”

  Arden laughed. “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

  “Which doesn’t mean I’m not much happier now that you’ve shared the truth with me. I’d like to think it brings us closer.”

  Arden felt a flutter in the region of her heart. Maybe it was foolish to continue denying her romantic feelings for Gordon, the increasingly strong desire for intimate connection. She suspected—maybe she even knew—that Gordon was in love with her and had been for some time so . . . But no. Arden suppressed the flutter. She would never allow herself the joys of another romance. Not after what had been done to Rob.

  “I’m glad,” she said, aware that her voice wasn’t entirely steady, “that you aren’t upset with me for lying all these years.”

  “You weren’t lying. Not in my opinion. So, are your parents still alive?”

  “Laura tells me they’re still living in the house in which I grew up. It’s odd to think of them having stayed on for all these years. But maybe they felt they had no place else to go. Or maybe they just love the house itself. It is pretty impressive, and that sort of thing appealed to them. Social status. Wowing the neighbors.”

  “Maybe they thought you’d come back one day. Maybe they were waiting for you in a place you could easily find them. Home. Or is that being too romantic?”

  Arden laughed. “Way too romantic! At least in terms of my father. My mother . . .” Arden paused and thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s possible my mother hoped I’d come home. She was always emotionally fragile, at least in my memory. My running off without a word of farewell or explanation might have hurt her badly. I guess I knew that at the time, but I truly felt I had no choice. It’s possible that over the years my mother came to accept my absence as normal; she was always good at pretending. Or maybe she has been waiting for me to knock on the door the way Laura knocked on my door.”

  “You could find out the answers to those questions,” Gordon said gently. “If you wanted to.”

  Arden smiled. “Some questions are better left unanswered.”

  “I agree. But I don’t claim to know which ones.”

  Chapter 36

  “Moses smell the roses!” Brent cried. “Your daughter? I didn’t know you had kids.”

  “I don’t.” Arden smiled. “Just this one.”

  Brent shook his head. “It just goes to show, don’t assume anything. Good to meet you, Laura.”

  “And you as well,” Laura assured him. The two shook hands. “Arden tells me she wouldn’t be able to run this place without you.”

  “That’s a lie! I’m sure she’d do just fine without me, but I’m in no hurry to leave.”

  The bell over the door of the shop tinkled, and Brent glanced over his shoulder to where a chubby middle-aged man was standing. When he turned back to Laura and Arden, he rolled his eyes. “It’s Steve Baker,” he whispered to Laura. “He’s nice enough, but he can’t get it through his head that I haven’t read every single book we sell. He asks endless questions about a particular title even when I’ve told him all I’ve done is read the cover copy.”

  Brent went off to greet Steve Baker and, hopefully, to satisfy his endless curiosity.

  “It’s true,” Arden said quietly. “Steve’s one of Eliot’s Corner’s characters. Totally harmless but, at times, frustrating. Still, he’s one of the shop’s greatest supporters and I can’t complain about that.”

  “I guess not. You know, this is really wonderful, my mother owning a bookshop.”

  Arden smiled. “Friends and family discount, you mean?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about a discount. I was thinking about how it demonstrates our similarities, like I said the other day. We’re both avid readers, and writers. Well, I assume that you write, too, maybe keep a journal or write poetry?”

  “Honestly, I haven’t written in years. I kept a journal until the time I got pregnant. I took it with me when I was sent away, but suddenly I wasn’t able to put my thoughts and feelings on paper. Since then, the only things I’ve written, aside from grocery lists, are synopses of books and discussion questions used by the book club.”

  “I’m sorry. I did it again, brought up something upsetting. There’s a minefield under our feet and we just have to step as carefully as we can.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of another customer. The tall, slim woman looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was cut close to her head in a style that flattered her face and brought attention to her large blue eyes
. She was dressed in a flowing linen top and matching pants, giving her a wraithlike appearance. She came—or rather, Laura thought, flowed—toward them with her hand extended.

  “Hello, Arden,” she said in a low and breathy voice, “how are you? I had to come in as I’m absolutely dying for a new mystery. I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” The woman turned to Laura with an openly inquisitive smile.

  Arden introduced the woman as Lydia Austen, a devoted member of the Arden Forest Book Club. “And this”—Arden gestured to Laura—“is Laura Huntington, my daughter.”

  It didn’t take a genius to realize that Lydia Austen knew very well that the woman standing beside Arden Bell was her child. Word was probably all around Eliot’s Corner by now.

  “Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lydia extended her hand to Laura, the compelling blue eyes boring into her as if hoping to unearth every clue as to Laura’s character. “I hope you enjoy your stay in our charming little town. Will you be here for long? Are you staying with your mother?”

  Laura was dying to glance at Arden but felt it might result in a chuckle, and that would be rude. “Eliot’s Corner is lovely,” Laura said dutifully. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, and, yes, I’m staying at Juniper End.”

  The brief and to-the-point answers seemed to satisfy the woman, and with a nod she went off in the direction of the mysteries—a large area and arguably the most popular of the shop—but was gone mere moments later, with a wave but no purchase.

  “It seems,” Laura said, “that in spite of ‘absolutely dying’ for a new mystery, Lydia Austen stopped by just to see the new attraction in town.”

  Arden smiled. “She means well. I don’t blame people for wanting to meet you. It’s a small town. In a way, it’s one big family, complete with bossy great-aunts and ne’er-do-well brothers-in-law and overbearing mothers. They consider you a member of our family.”

  Whether she wanted to be or not, Laura thought. It was too early to tell.