Winter at the Beach

by Sheila Roberts

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Did Santa come?” Miranda murmured as Greg transplanted her, sleeping bag and all, from the office to the couch in the living room.

  “Not yet, baby,” Taylor said, kneeling beside her. “Santa’s still getting ready to leave the North Pole.” What if they got stranded in this town and didn’t make it home in time for Christmas? The gifts from Santa were at the house, hidden in the garage. “Go back to sleep.”

  Miranda sighed and settled against her pillow. “Okay. I love you, Mommy. I love you, Daddy.”

  “We love you, too,” Taylor said, and kissed her cheek. Their finances were a mess and their marriage was sick, but Miranda was the one thing they’d gotten right.

  “’Night, baby girl,” Greg said. He, too, kissed her, then followed Taylor from the room, stepping over the cousins, whom Chris and Sarah had just settled on the floor.

  The woodstove cast a soft glow over the room. The Christmas tree sat in a corner in all its finery. It was a charming family picture, but Taylor was in no mood to appreciate it.

  “’Night, sweets,” Chris said to Sarah at the bottom of the stairs and kissed her.

  Taylor slipped past them, up the stairs, without a word to her husband.

  “You could at least have said good-night to him,” Sarah scolded as they reached the landing.

  “And pretend that everything’s great? What’s the point of faking it in front of you?”

  “How long are you going to make him pay for trying to start a business?”

  It wasn’t hard to see whose side Sarah was on. “A business he plunged into without even talking to me. Maybe you should ask him how long he’s going to make us pay?”

  “He told Chris things are about to turn around. Can’t you hang in there a little longer?”

  “He’s been saying that for months, and trust me, they’re not. We can’t keep living on dreams. You know, I thought you’d be on my side.”

  “I am on your side,” Sarah insisted. “I want you guys to get through this.”

  Taylor said nothing to that. She wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure what she wanted. She’d reached the point where she wondered if she even loved her husband anymore. Could you be so mad at someone that the heat of your anger fried all those tender feelings? She’d never thought so until recently.

  “He’s got us in quicksand. You know that.”

  “If you’d just let Chris help you with a budget,” Sarah began.

  Taylor whirled around. “We don’t need a budget. We need money. Is Mr. Knows Everything going to manufacture some for us?”

  “He could help you. Taylor, you’ve been spending money like you’ve got it. You guys need to get it together. You can’t keep racking up the credit card debt.”

  It was so easy for her sister to be judgmental. Taylor would like to see how well Sarah would do in her shoes.

  “How am I supposed to pay the bills?” she hissed. “If you want to lecture someone, why don’t you lecture Greg? He’s the one who needs it.”

  “So do you,” Sarah hissed back.

  Taylor could feel the sting of tears in her eyes. Again. It seemed that lately she was either fuming or crying. Her life had gone from perfect to an out-of-control roller-coaster ride, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that any moment the car wouldn’t make the turn and she’d go flying off into space.

  She marched into the bedroom, wishing she could slam the door. She couldn’t. Kat Wilson was in bed asleep.

  Now, there’s a woman with something to complain about, but she’s not complaining, is she? whispered her conscience.

  Well, good for her. Taylor was no Kat Wilson. And Greg was no Darrell Wilson. Darrell was willing to do anything for his wife. Greg wasn’t. If he was, he’d have pulled his dead business off life support by now.

  He kept saying he was doing this for all of them, but that was a lie. He was doing it for himself, wanting to become a big-shot businessman, a millionaire before he hit forty. When he’d first jumped off the financial cliff he’d claimed he wanted to give Taylor the lifestyle she deserved. But she’d been happy with the lifestyle they had.

  What made her unhappy was insecurity, and they now had that to the max. Where was it all going to end? There was the question that kept her awake nights.

  A waning crescent moon provided no light, and she had to fumble blindly to find her cami and pajama bottoms. The room was arctic. This was like being at camp. In Alaska. In January. She changed quickly and settled onto the air mattress on the floor, pulling the pile of quilts over her.

  She could hear Sarah rustling around, getting ready for bed, felt the mattress bounce when her sister got on it. She didn’t whisper good-night. Neither did Sarah.

  * * *

  There was still no power the following morning. Jenna got up and restarted a fire in the woodstove. The kids slept through it. She filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat. Thank God they weren’t on a well and could flush toilets and wash up, even if the water was cold. Although with this many people in the house, that might be interesting.

  The food they had would, hopefully, get them through the next twenty-four hours. She’d love to have used the milk left in the fridge but decided against it. The milk was probably fine, but there was no sense in taking chances.

  She was setting out plastic silverware and napkins when Aunt Edie came in. “My, I slept late,” said her aunt.

  Unlike Jenna, who was exhausted and felt like Atlas in drag, holding the entire world on her shoulders, Aunt Edie looked chipper and refreshed. She’d put on a red sweatshirt over her elastic-waist jeans and was wearing her Santa hat. Aunt Edie was in her element with houseguests to fuss over and feed.

  “Did you sleep all right?” Jenna asked.

  “Oh, yes. But I felt bad having a room to myself when all you girls are doubling up.”

  “We’re fine,” Jenna said, speaking for everyone else and hoping it was true.

  “Well, now,” Aunt Edie said. “I’ve got some canned milk and a lot of oatmeal. What if we have cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast? Do you think everyone will like that?”

  It sounded good to Jenna. “I’m sure everyone will love it.” She thought of the sour-faced Taylor Marsh. Almost everyone anyway.

  Slowly the house came awake, with the kids up first and getting fed. Jenna couldn’t tell whether it was Aunt Edie’s hot chocolate or the brown sugar in the oatmeal or simply the need to burn energy, but by eight thirty they were bouncing off the walls. Poor Jolly Roger was happy to stay safe inside his cage and keep begging for whiskey.

  Jenna was glad when Celeste came down and jumped in to entertain them, settling them on the living room floor and teaching them how to play Spoons, a dangerous game involving cards and diving for a limited number of spoons. When they’d played it as kids with Mom and Aunt Edie and Uncle Ralph, they’d all come away with scratches. But they’d loved it, and so did these kids. And when they tired of Spoons, Celeste found a penny to hide and sent them all over the house looking for it.

  Meanwhile, the other adults were up, and the men got busy bringing in more wood for the stove while the women congregated in the kitchen and speculated as to when the power might come back on.

  “It would be great if it came on today,” said Lisa, who was seated at the table with her sister and Kat Wilson. “Then we could at least get in some shopping.”

  Karen, who had taken another painkiller earlier—“One for the road”—stuck out her foot and rotated it. “I’m ready for that.”

  “I’ll go check to see if the stores are open,” Jenna told them. “I’m sure some of them have generators.”

  “Yeah, but isn’t everything computerized now?” wondered Karen. “I doubt they’ll be able to take our credit cards if their machines aren’t working.”

  “Some of our merchants stil
l have the tools to do that the old-fashioned way,” Jenna said. Didn’t they? They had to.

  “They can always take cash and write you a receipt,” said Aunt Edie. “Sometimes I think with all our new-fangled technology things haven’t really changed for the better. People are lost when they have to make do without it.”

  “I know how to make do,” said Karen. “We eat chocolate. In fact, I have some left.”

  “You can never go wrong with chocolate,” Sarah said with an approving nod, and even her sister smiled.

  “I’ll go get it,” Karen said.

  “Let me,” offered Lisa.

  “No, you stay put. I need to move,” Karen insisted and left the room, barely limping.

  Kat sighed. “I’d love to buy some fancy shells.”

  “You can get some for free on our beach,” Jenna told her, then wished she could cut out her tongue. Kat was thin enough to blow away in a breeze, let alone a strong wind. She probably didn’t have the energy for beachcombing.

  Her husband walked through at that moment, his arms laden with wood. “I’ll make sure you get some shells, babe.”

  “You have such a nice husband,” Taylor said to her.

  She said it so wistfully, Jenna couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Taylor’s husband had to be a major cause of her grumpiness. He seemed like a nice guy, too, but Jenna knew from experience that a man could present one face to the world and quite another to his wife.

  “I’ve been blessed,” Kat admitted. “We’ve been having some tough times lately. I don’t know how I’d be getting through them if I didn’t have Darrell.”

  Karen returned to the kitchen carrying an empty candy bag. “Okay, Miss Piggy,” she said to her sister, “you could’ve told me you ate the last few pieces.”

  “I didn’t eat your chocolate,” Lisa said. “You probably finished it off last night and forgot. Dementia’s settling in early,” she joked.

  Her sister wasn’t amused. “There were almost a dozen chocolate kisses left. Now there’s nothing but air, you sneaky little chocoholic.”

  “Well, I didn’t eat them,” Lisa insisted.

  Celeste came into the kitchen just then, giving clues to the little boy named James. “You’re getting warmer,” she coached as he moved in the direction of the canisters, her latest hiding spot.

  “There’s your culprit,” teased Jenna. “Celeste, have you been in Karen Owen’s chocolates?”

  “Chocolate? There was chocolate in our room and my radar missed it?”

  James stilled a moment, then frenetically renewed his search. His mother studied him, her brows dipping. “James, come here a minute.”

  He came, not looking her in the eye. Jenna knew what that meant. Probably every woman in the room knew what that meant.

  Sarah turned him to face her and studied his mouth. Sure enough, there was a dab of chocolate at one corner. “Did you find some chocolate when you were playing your hunt-the-penny game?”

  He bit his lip and studied his feet.

  “Did you?” his mother prompted.

  He nodded and his lower lip began to wobble.

  “James,” she chided, “that wasn’t yours to take. That’s stealing.”

  The little boy burst into tears. “It was on the bed.”

  “In someone’s room. You just took it and you didn’t ask permission.”

  “Better his tummy than my thighs,” Karen hurried to say.

  “You need to tell Mrs. Owens you’re sorry,” Sarah instructed her son.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.

  “It’s okay,” Karen said, looking uncomfortable.

  “It’s never okay to take what doesn’t belong to you,” Sarah said, her expression stern. Now James was really crying. “But we still love you,” she said, and pulled him to her for a hug.

  The hug didn’t help, and as soon as he was free the little boy ran from the room.

  “Guess we’re not the only ones who need to get it together,” Taylor murmured.

  Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Taylor shrugged. “Maybe that you’re not so perfect, either.”

  “Oh, that’s mature!”

  “I never claimed to be mature. Or to know it all,” Taylor shot back.

  They had a whopper of a storm brewing right there in the kitchen. “I think I’ll go on a scouting mission,” Jenna said, and slipped from the room. As she passed through the living room, she saw her sister on the couch with the unhappy little boy, while his brother and cousin sat on the floor, watching.

  “Santa won’t come now ’cause I was bad,” he sobbed.

  Ah, the Santa business.

  “Santa understands that we all do wrong things sometimes,” Celeste told him. “You said you were sorry, and I’m sure Santa heard that.” She looked over the boy’s head at Jenna and a silent message passed between them. How am I doing?... Great.

  Which was more than they could say for the boys’ mom as voices were beginning to rise in the kitchen.

  The kids had bigger concerns. “What if we don’t get home by Christmas?” James worried. “How will he find us?”

  Jenna was about to step in and assure the children that Santa would find them no matter what, when her sister said, “You know, that’s a good point. How about you write him some letters to tell him you might still be at the beach? You write them and I’ll mail them.”

  Brilliant, Celeste. It not only reassured their three worried little guests, it was also yet another activity to keep them busy.

  “But how will he get them?” asked Miranda.

  “I’ve got that covered. I’ll make sure he gets them. Okay?”

  The children all nodded eagerly, and Celeste went to get writing paper.

  That took care of the kids. Now, if they could find something to keep the adults happy... Jenna put on her coat and left in search of stores that might be open.

  * * *

  One by one, the other women in the kitchen had all slipped away as the sisters escalated their argument. “You can stop the snotty attitude anytime now,” Sarah finally snapped. “It’s really wearing thin.”

  “Well, so is your superior attitude,” Taylor snapped back. “You know, you don’t have to be in charge of my life. We’re not kids anymore.”

  Sarah cocked an eyebrow. “Then maybe you should stop acting like one.”

  Taylor could think of no reply to that, so she shot up from the table and marched out of the kitchen. Almost everyone had gathered in the living room now, and she could feel their gazes on her as she hurried through. Every man and woman there was judging her, she knew it.

  And maybe they should. Maybe she was behaving like a child. But darn, she was so sick of her sister acting like...a big sister. Sarah had always been bossy. She needed to outgrow that.

  And Taylor had always been...hmm. Okay, the baby of the family. Spoiled. Bratty. And now she was going upstairs to...what? Pout? Give herself a time-out?

  Her nephew wasn’t the only one who needed to say he was sorry. She did need to apologize to her sister. Maybe to all the women for making an uncomfortable scene in the kitchen.

  She plopped down on the window seat and looked out at the sky. It was still gray, but at least the wind had settled down. The storm had passed. Outside anyway.

  She was still stewing over her bad behavior when, a few minutes later, Kat Wilson slipped into the room. “I thought I’d rest for a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” Taylor lied. “I love my sister,” she blurted.

  “Of course, you do,” Kat said, settling on the bed. “But sisters fight sometimes. I have one myself. I know. Funny how, when you get a life-threatening disease, some of those little things you squabble over just don’t seem to matter.”

  It was said kin
dly, with a smile, yet it produced more guilt than any of Sarah’s lectures. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately,” Taylor said. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to what you must be going through,” she hurried to add.

  “We all go through hard things.”

  Taylor sighed. “I don’t know how you can smile.”

  “What’s the alternative? Waste time feeling sorry for myself and being angry?”

  Taylor had been doing plenty of that. It hadn’t felt like a waste of time. “You have such a great husband,” she said, and realized she was jealous.

  “He’s a wonderful guy. We’ve been married thirty years. We came down here for our anniversary. Have I mentioned that? Chemo brain.” She shook her head.

  “Some anniversary,” said Taylor.

  “I’m having fun. It’s kind of an adventure, really. Better than some of what we’ve been through.”

  “Like what? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “A lot of stuff many people go through. We lost a baby. Our first. That was hard. We had our share of financial struggles, too, but then everyone does at some time or other.”

  “How did you survive all that?” Taylor wanted to know.

  “By putting everything in perspective. What was having to do without a few things compared to losing a child?” Kat sighed and shut her eyes. “Even though it was awful, in the end it brought us closer. The best asset you ever have is each other.”

  Taylor sighed, too. Then she went to find her sister and apologize.

  But Greg. She still wasn’t sure if he was an asset or a liability.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jenna left the house, hoping she’d find stores open. That would go a long way toward making her guests happy. Most of them, at any rate.

  She ran into Seth in the parking lot. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “So far nobody’s murdered anyone, although I thought we might come close this morning. I’m off to see if any of the shops are open. That way people can get out.”