by Cara Colter
“And don’t even think you’re renting canoes this year! Last summer it increased traffic in this area to an unreasonable level, and you don’t have any parking. The street above your place was clogged. And I had riffraff paddling by my beach.”
“There’s no law against renting canoes,” Lucy said, but without much force.
This was the same Lucy who had just pushed him into the water? Why wasn’t she telling old Claudia to take a hike?
“I had one couple stop and set up a picnic on my front lawn!” Claudia snapped.
“Horrors,” Lucy said dryly. He found himself rooting for her. Come on, Lucy, you can do better than that.
“I am not spending another summer explaining to people it’s a private beach,” Claudia said.
Shrilly, too, he was willing to bet.
“It isn’t,” Lucy said calmly. “You only own to the high-water mark, which in your case is about three feet from your gazebo. Those people have a perfect right to picnic there if they want to.”
Mac felt a little unwilling pride in her. That was information he’d given her all those years ago when he’d thumbed his nose at all those people trying to claim they owned the beaches.
“I hope you don’t tell them that,” Claudia said.
“I have it printed on the brochure I give out at rental time,” she said, but then backtracked. “Of course I don’t. But can’t we share the lake with others?”
The perfectly coiffed Claudia looked as if she was going to have apoplexy at the idea of sharing the lake. Mac was pretty sure Claudia was one of the girls who used to sit on that deck painting her toenails while the “riffraff” slaved in the yard.
“Well, you won’t be giving out any brochures this year, no, you won’t! You’ll need a permit to run your little business. And you’re not getting one. And you know what else? You can forget the yacht club for your fund-raiser.”
“I’ve already paid my deposit,” Lucy said, clearly rattled.
“I’ll see that it’s returned to you.”
“But I have a hundred confirmed guests coming. The gala is only two weeks away!” There was a pleading note in her voice.
“This is what you’ll be up against if you even try rezoning. This is a residential neighborhood. It always has been and it always will be.”
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”
“We finally no longer have to put up with the endless parade of young thugs next door to this house, and you do this?”
He’d heard enough. He stepped across the floor.
“Lucy, everything okay here?”
Lucy turned and looked at him. He could see her eyes were shiny, and he hoped he was the only person in the room who knew that meant she was close to tears.
He thought she might be angry that he had barged into her house, but instead he saw relief on her delicate features as he approached her. Despite the brave front, he could tell that for some reason she felt as if she was in over her head. Maybe because this attack was coming from someone who used to be her friend?
“You remember Claudia,” she said.
He would have much rather Lucy told Claudia to get the hell out of her house instead of politely making introductions.
Claudia was staring at him meanly. Oh, boy, did he ever remember that look! The first time he’d taken Lucy out publicly, for an ice cream cone on Main Street, they had run into her, and she’d had that same look on her skinny, malicious face.
“I know you,” she said tapping a hard, bloodred-lacquered fingernail against a lip that matched.
He waited for her to recognize him, for the mean look to deepen.
Instead, when recognition dawned in her eyes, her whole countenance changed. She smiled and rushed at him, blinked and put her claw on his arm, dug her talon in, just a little bit.
“Why, Macintyre Hudson.” She beamed up at him. “Aren’t you the small-town boy who has done well for himself?”
He told himself he should find this moment exceedingly satisfactory, especially since it had happened in front of Lucy. Instead, he felt a sensation of discomfort—which Lucy quickly dispelled.
Because behind Claudia, Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Then she caught his eye and pantomimed gagging.
He didn’t want to be charmed by Lucy, but he couldn’t help but smile. Claudia actually thought it was for her. He didn’t let the impression last. He slid out from under her fingertips.
“I seem to remember being one of the young thugs from next door. And the riffraff who had the nerve to paddle by your dock. I might even have had the audacity to eat my lunch on your beach now and again.”
She hee-hawed with enthusiasm. “Oh, Mac, such a sense of humor! I’ve always adored you. My kids—I have two boys now—won’t wear anything but Wild Side. If it doesn’t have that little orangey kayak symbol on it, they won’t put it on.”
He tried not to show how appalled he was that his brand was the choice of the elite little monkeys who lived around the lake.
“What brings you home?” Claudia purred.
Over Claudia’s bony shoulder, he saw Lucy now had her hands around her own neck, the internationally recognized symbol for choking. He tried to control the twitching of his lips.
“Lucy’s having a party to honor my mother. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Considering that it had given him grave satisfaction to snub Lucy by giving the event a miss, this news came as a shock to him.
“Oh. That. I wasn’t expecting you would come for that. There’s been a teensy problem with location. Anyway, it’s not as if she’s your real mother.”
Unaware how insensitive that remark was, Claudia forged ahead, her red lips stretched over teeth he found very large.
“I’m afraid the committee has voted to revoke our rental to Lucy. And we don’t meet again until next month, and that’s too late. But you know, the elementary-school gym is probably available. I’d be happy to check for you.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t be mad at me. It’s really Lucy’s fault. Norman Avalon is president of the yacht club this year. Do you remember him?”
An unpleasant memory of a boy throwing a partially filled Slurpee cup on him while he was shoveling three tons of mud out of a ditch came to mind.
“They live right over there. If Lucy paints the place purple, his wife, Ellen—you remember Ellen, she used to be a Polson—will have to look at it all day. She’s ticked. Royally. And that was before the rezoning application. Macintyre, it is just sooo nice seeing you.”
He didn’t respond, tried not to look at Lucy, who had her eyes crossed and her tongue hanging out, her hands still around her own throat.
“Congrats on your company’s success. I know Billy would love to see you if you have time. We generally have pre-dinner cocktails at the club on Friday.”
Behind Claudia, Lucy dropped silently to her knees, and was swaying back and forth, holding her throat.
“The club?” As if there was only one in town, which there was.
“You know, the yacht club.”
“Oh, the one Lucy isn’t renting anymore. To honor my mother.”
“Oh.” With effort, since her expression lines had been removed with Botox, Claudia formed her face into contrite lines and lowered her voice sympathetically. “If you wanted to drop by on Friday and talk to Billy about it, he might be able to use his influence for you.”
Lucy keeled over behind her, her mouth moving in soundless gasping, like a beached fish.
“Billy who?”
“Billy. Billy Johnson. Do you remember him?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, noncommittal. He seemed to remember smashing his fist into the face of the lovely Billy after he had made a guess about his heritage.
>
Claudia held up a hand with an enormous set of rings on it. “That’s me now, Mrs. Johnson. Don’t forget—cocktails. We dress, by the way.”
“As opposed to what?”
“Oh, Mac, you card, you. Toodle-loo, folks.”
She turned and saw Lucy lying on the ground, feigning death.
She stepped delicately over her inert body, and hissed, “Oh, for God’s sake, Lucy, grow up. This man’s the head of a multimillion-dollar company.”
And she was gone, leaving a cloying cloud of perfume in her wake.
For a moment Lucy actually looked as if she’d allowed Claudia’s closing barb to land. Her eyes looked shiny again. But then, to his great relief, she giggled.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lucy,” he said sternly, “grow up.”
She giggled more loudly. He felt his defenses falling like a fortress made out of children’s building blocks. He gave in to the temptation to play a little.
“Hey, I’m the head of a multimillion-dollar company. A little respect.”
And then she started to laugh, and he gave in to the temptation a little more, and he did, too. It felt amazingly good to laugh with Lucy.
“You are good,” he sputtered at her. “I got it loud and clear. Charades. Three words. She’s killing me.”
He went over, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She collapsed against him, laughing, and for the second time that day he felt the sweetness of her curves in his arms.
“Mac,” she cooed, between gasps of laughter. “I’ve always adored you.”
“The last time you looked at me like that, I got pushed in the lake.”
She howled.
“What was that whole horrid episode with Claudia about?” he finally said, putting her away from him, wiping his eyes.
The humor died in her eyes. “Apparently if you even think of painting your house purple, you’re off the approved list for renting the yacht club.”
He had a sense that wasn’t the whole story between the two women, but he played along.
“Boo-hoo,” he said, and they were both laughing again.
“I haven’t laughed like that for a long time.”
She hadn’t? Why? Suddenly, protecting himself did not seem quite as important as it had twenty minutes ago when he had come across her lawn to give her her money back.
“It’s really no laughing matter,” Lucy said, sobering abruptly. “Now I’ve gone and ticked her off—”
“Royally,” he inserted, but she didn’t laugh again.
“And I’ve got a caterer coming from Glen Oak, but they have to have a kitchen that’s been food-safe certified. The school won’t do.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll fix it.”
“We?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him, but if he wasn’t mistaken she was trying valiantly not to look relieved.
“I told Claudia I came back for the party.”
“But you didn’t.”
“When I saw Mama’s place falling down, I realized I might be here a little longer than I first anticipated.”
“Her place is in pretty bad repair,” Lucy said. “I was shocked by it when I first came home. I’ve done my best.”
“Thanks for that. I appreciate it. But don’t quit your day job.”
“She would love it if you were here for a while. Being at the gala would be a bonus. For her, I mean.”
Mama would love it. But staying longer than he’d anticipated was suddenly for something more than getting Mama’s house back in order. When he’d seen that barracuda taking a run at Lucy, he’d felt protective.
He didn’t want to feel protective of Lucy. He wanted to hand her her money and go. He wanted to savor the fact she was on the outs with her snobbish friends.
But he was astonished to find that not only was he not gloating over Lucy’s fall from grace, he felt as if he couldn’t be one more bad thing in her day. Mama Freda would be proud: despite his natural inclination to be a cad, he seemed to be leaning toward being a better man.
Lucy seemed to realize she was in her housecoat and inappropriately close to him. She backed off, and looked suddenly uncomfortable.
“Claudia is right. I’m embarrassed. What made me behave like that? You, I suppose. You’ve always brought out the worst in me.”
“Look, let’s get some things straight. Claudia is never right, and I never brought out the worst in you.”
“You didn’t? Lying to my parents? Sneaking out? You talked me into smoking a cigar once. I drank my first beer with you. I—” Her face clouded, and for a moment he thought she was going to mention the most forbidden thing of all, but she said, “I became the kind of girl no one wanted sitting in the front pew of the church.”
“That would say a whole lot more about the church than the kind of girl you were. I remember you laughing. Coming alive like Sleeping Beauty kissed by a prince. Not that I’m claiming to be any kind of prince—”
“That’s good.”
“I remember you being like a prisoner who had been set free, like someone who had been bound up by all these rules and regulations learning to live by your own guidelines. And learning to be spontaneous. I think it was the very best of you.”
“There’s a scary thought,” she said, running a hand through her short, rumpled hair, not looking at him.
“I think the seeds of the woman who would paint her house purple were planted right then.”
“You like the color?” she asked hopefully. “You saw my sample when you came in, didn’t you?”
He hated it that she asked, as if she needed someone’s approval to do what she wanted. “It only matters if you like the color.”
“I wish that were true,” she said ruefully.
“I remember when you used to be friends with Mrs. Billy-Goat Johnson,” he said.
“I know. But I think the statute of limitations has run out on that one, so I won’t accept responsibility for it anymore.” She tried to sound careless, but didn’t quite pull it off.
Suddenly it didn’t seem funny. Lucy had changed. Deeply. And that change had not been accepted by the people around her. He suspected it went a whole lot deeper than her painting her house purple.
Well, so what? People did change. He had changed, too. Though probably not as deeply. He tended to think he was much the same as he had always been, a self-centered adrenaline junkie, driven by some deep need to prove himself that no amount of success ever quite took away. In other words, when Lucy had called him a jerk she hadn’t been too far off the mark.
The only difference was that now he was a jerk with money.
She had helped Mama when he had not, and for that, if nothing else, he was indebted to her.
But now Lucy seemed somehow embattled, as if she desperately needed someone on her side.
Not me, he told himself sternly. He wasn’t staying here. He owed Lucy nothing. He was getting a few of the more urgent things Mama needed done cleared up. Okay, it wouldn’t hurt to stay a few more days for Lucy’s party. That would make Mama happy. It wasn’t about protecting Lucy from that barracuda. Or maybe it was. A little bit. But tangling his life with hers?
It occurred to him that he may have lied to himself about his reasons for never coming back to Lindstrom Beach. He had told himself it was because it was the town that had scorned him. The traditional place full of Brady Bunch families, where he’d been the kid with no real family and a dark, secret history.
He’d played on that and developed a protective persona: adrenaline junkie, renegade, James Dean of the high-school set. It had brought a surprising fan base from some of the kids, though not their parents.
Not the snooty doctor’s daughter, either. Not at first.
But now, standing here looking at Lucy, it occurred to him none of that was
the reason he had avoided returning to this place.
Had he always known, at some level, that coming home again would require him to be a better man?
But would that mean looking out for the girl who had rejected him?
“May I use your phone?” he asked. “My cell got wrecked in the lake.”
Her expression asked if he had to, she suddenly seemed eager to divest herself of him. But she looked around and handed him a cordless. Now that he had decided to be a better man, he was going to follow through before he changed his mind.
He could look at it as putting Claudia in her place as much as helping Lucy.
“Casey?” he said to his assistant. “Yeah, away for a few days...My hometown...You didn’t know I had a hometown?...Hatched under a rock? Thanks, buddy.” He waggled his eyebrows at Lucy, but she was pretending not to listen.
“Look, I need twenty thousand dollars of clothing products, sizes kid to teen, delivered to the food bank, boy’s and girl’s club and social services office of Lindstrom Beach, British Columbia. Make sure some of it gets to every agency that helps kids within a fifty-mile radius of that town...Yeah, giveaways.
“Of course you’ve never heard of Lindstrom Beach. When that’s done—if you can have the whole area blanketed by tomorrow—take out a couple of ads on the local TV and radio stations thanking the Lindstrom Beach Yacht Club for donating their facilities for the Mother’s Day Gala.
“Thanks, buddy. Don’t know when I’ll be back and don’t bother with the cell. I made the mistake of not bringing the Wild Side waterproof case. Oh, throw some of those in with the other donations. I’ll pick up another cell phone in the next few days.”
Lucy was no longer pretending not to listen. She was staring at him as he found the button and turned off her phone. He handed it back to her. If he was not mistaken, she was struggling not to look impressed.
“Just admit it,” he said. “That was great. Two birds with one stone.”
“Everybody does not call you Mr. Hudson,” she said, pleased. “Two birds?”
“Yeah. Claudia’s stuck-up kids just became a whole lot less exclusive, and unless I miss my guess, you are in at the yacht club.”