Winter at the Beach

by Sheila Roberts

  “You didn’t need to do that,” said Taylor, torn between resentment and gratitude.

  “Her tennis shoes will probably be wet from beachcombing, and she’s going to want to go clamming,” Sarah said. “You don’t want her to miss out.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” Taylor didn’t want her daughter to miss out on anything. What was she going to miss out on if their finances kept spiraling downward? Only the other day she’d been asking if she could have ballet lessons.

  “I hate this,” Taylor said, jaw clenched. “I hate that we don’t have any money and that you’re paying for everything. I hate being where we are.” Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Taylor cut her off. “And don’t say Chris will help us with a budget.”

  “Tay, everyone needs help once in a while.”

  “Then how about a loan?” That was what they needed.

  “Would that turn you into a better money manager?”

  “It would turn me into a happier person,” Taylor muttered. Except did she really want a loan from her sister and brother-in-law? She didn’t even want rubber boots. “You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “A loan wouldn’t change the real problem.”

  “Which is?” As if Sarah didn’t know.

  “Greg. He’s thrown us all in quicksand. His business is a disaster but he won’t give up on it. We’re going to wind up bankrupt. Even if I sell my car like you keep telling me to do and we eat nothing but rice and beans, how’s that going to help if he keeps hanging on to a business that’s going nowhere?”

  “I don’t know, Tay,” Sarah admitted. “I’m really sorry.”

  “We’re going to lose our house,” Taylor fretted. “We’re going to wind up losing everything.” Tears erupted, and she scrambled in her coat pocket for a tissue.

  “Hey,” her sister said, laying a hand on her arm. “No one’s going to let you end up on the street. You know that.”

  More kindness from her big sister after she’d been such a brat—it made her cry all the harder.

  “I think we’d better go see if that candy store is open,” Sarah said and started the car.

  “You going to replace the candy James took?”

  “James is going to replace the candy James took...out of his allowance. But that’s not the main reason. I think you need chocolate.”

  No, she needed money. But she wouldn’t turn down chocolate.

  They found the candy shop open and decked out for the holidays, a tree standing in the corner with multicolored lights, tinsel garlands and ornaments shaped like lollipops and peppermint twists. A wreath of peppermint discs hung on one wall and a sign claiming Santa Shops Here on another.

  “This is darling,” Sarah said as they walked in. “I’m casting my vote for them as the business best-dressed for the holidays.”

  The woman behind the counter greeted them warmly.

  “I’m glad you’re open,” Sarah told her.

  “Oh, yes. We can’t let a little thing like a storm shut us down. In tough times people need candy.”

  “We sure do,” Sarah said. She bought some licorice and saltwater taffy for the kids, some truffles for Karen and chocolate-dipped Oreo cookies for her and Taylor.

  “You’re going to turn us into blimps,” Taylor protested, but she took the treat anyway. And ate every bite on the way back to the house.

  Before they went in, she laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “I really am sorry. For everything.”

  “I know,” Sarah said, and hugged her. “You’ll get through this.”

  Taylor wasn’t so sure, but she nodded agreement.

  Once inside, Sarah went upstairs to hide the kids’ candy. Taylor dawdled over hanging up her coat, embarrassed to face people after her earlier snotty behavior.

  “Did you girls have fun?” called Mrs. Patterson. She and Kat Wilson were cozy on the couch. It was an invitation to join them. Both women smiled at Taylor as she walked into the living room.

  “It was good to get out,” she said. And make up. “I guess I needed it,” she added. “I’m sorry I made things uncomfortable for everyone earlier.”

  “We all have our moments,” Kat said.

  Taylor couldn’t picture Kat Wilson ever having a moment, but she thanked her. “Are the kids back?”

  “They’re out in the kitchen getting ready to start a special project,” said Mrs. Patterson.

  Taylor nodded and went to the kitchen.

  The kids had been busy, and Miranda was excited to show Mommy the clamshells they’d found when they’d gone beachcombing. “We’re going to do something special with them,” she said, pointing to the collection drying on a towel on the counter. “It’s a secret.” She held up a lovely, delicate-looking one. “This is mine.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Oh, to be a little girl again with no worries, taking pleasure in simple things like pretty shells found on the beach.

  Celeste was at the sink, rinsing off some rocks. She smiled over her shoulder at Taylor. “Her shoes got a little damp. They’re drying out by the woodstove. I hope you don’t mind. Your husband said it would be okay,” she added.

  Was she trying to shift the blame or appease the monster? Probably some of both. Taylor hadn’t exactly shown herself in a good light since they’d arrived.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Thanks for doing that.”

  Chris and Greg came in the back door. “We’re about ready to dig clams,” Chris announced. “Did Sarah get the boots?” he asked Taylor.

  She nodded.

  “Tell her to send the boys on out then,” he said and disappeared.

  “Can I dig clams?” Miranda asked Greg, and he looked questioningly at Taylor.

  Her daughter would probably never get ballet lessons, but here at least was one small treat she wouldn’t have to miss. Thank you, Sarah.

  “Yes, you can,” Taylor told her. “Go find Aunt Sarah. She bought you some boots. Good thing,” she added, “because Mommy couldn’t afford to.” She looked pointedly at Greg, and he gave up on the uneasy smile he’d been wearing and went out, slamming the door behind him.

  Taylor sighed. That had been a waste of breath. Everything she’d been saying was wasted breath. Her complaints and jabs only made Greg dig in deeper.

  As she went back to the living room, she was almost trampled by the boys, anxious to get outside. Miranda was hurrying into her boots, crying, “Wait for me.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t get left behind,” said Sarah, and handed Miranda her coat.

  Then Miranda, too, joined the clam stampede.

  Karen and Lisa returned from their shopping expedition, happy to settle in the living room. “Out in the cold, digging in the mud. Doesn’t sound like fun to me,” Karen said.

  “I swear, you’ve lost your sense of adventure,” Lisa said to her.

  “My sister thinks I’m turning into a pet rock,” Karen told the other women in the room.

  Lisa’s cheeks turned rosy. “Well.” She stopped at that.

  Karen shrugged. “So I’m not as active as I used to be? I’m happy.”

  “You’d be happier if you’d get out more,” Lisa said. “And healthier.”

  “I just had a checkup. I’m fine,” Karen replied in a tone of voice that ended the discussion.

  What was it about sisters that they tried so hard to run each other’s lives?

  “Anyway,” Karen continued, “being without electricity is enough real-life adventure for me. Anything more dangerous I prefer to watch on TV or read in a book.”

  “You can’t go wrong with a book,” Kat said, and held up the one she’d been reading. “I’m loving this story.”

  “Is that the new Brenda Novak book?” Karen asked. “I’ve ordered it.”

  “It’s good,” said Kat.

  “I’ll bet it’s even better with
chocolate,” Sarah put in, and produced her offering.

  “You shouldn’t have,” Karen said, but she was smiling as she took the little box of truffles.

  “Oh, I didn’t. My son will be paying me back for these out of his allowance.”

  “Very wise,” Kat approved.

  Yes, that was Sarah, the picture of wisdom. Bossy wisdom. Interfering wisdom.

  No one’s going to let you end up on the street. You know that. Her sister’s words returned to wrap around her troubled spirit like a warm blanket. Maybe interfering wasn’t always so bad. Maybe, as with those football players running interference, having someone who cared jumping into your life to save you from getting pummeled to death wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Karen was just sharing her goodies when Darrell Wilson returned with a surprise for Kat. He bent to kiss her on the cheek and then put a gift bag in her lap. “I know you wanted some seashells. Happy anniversary, babe.”

  “Oh, Darrell. I wish you hadn’t,” she moaned. “I didn’t do anything for you.”

  He sank to the floor by her feet. “You’ve been a little busy getting well,” he said. “Anyway, you’ve given me all I could ever want. You’ve loved me, believed in me, and have always been there for me.”

  Every woman in the room heaved a sigh. “That was like a line right out of a movie,” Lisa said.

  “I don’t remember the last time my husband said something like that to me,” Karen said wistfully.

  Neither did Taylor. If only she could find a bottle on the beach with a genie in it who could fix her marriage.

  “Open your gift,” Darrell urged.

  Kat removed the tissue paper and took out a little net bag filled with exotic shells. “Oh, they’re so pretty!”

  “I don’t think they’re all from here,” he said.

  “I don’t care. I love them.” She reached back inside the bag and withdrew a candy box with a clear top that showed off the chocolate clamshells inside.

  “Since you don’t feel up to going clamming,” he said.

  She bent down and threw her arms around him. “You’re the best husband ever.”

  Yes, he is, thought Taylor. Lucky Kat. If only Greg cared as much about her as Darrell cared about his wife. What was it going to take? Would she have to get some life-threatening disease?

  “And now,” Darrell said, “I think I’m going to go supervise the clam digging.”

  “You’ve got a great guy there,” Karen said as he left.

  “Yes, I do,” Kat said with a smile.

  Too bad we can’t clone him, Taylor thought.

  * * *

  Darrell had heard Karen Owens’s comment. Boy, did he have them fooled. They hadn’t had to live with him dumping his dirty socks and underwear on the floor or failing to step in and discipline the kids, leaving it to Kat to always be the bad guy. Those women hadn’t been there when he bought that car they couldn’t afford. It had been a miserable three years paying the damned thing off. But Kat had hung in there with him, and now he was hanging in there with her. That was how it worked when you were married.

  The rest of the Driftwood Inn gang wasn’t far down the beach. Out on the tideflats, Seth Waters and Pete Long, the motel’s two handymen, were showing the boys how to use a clam gun, while Greg Marsh and his brother-in-law were attacking the mollusks with shovels.

  “How’s it going?” he called.

  “We’ll be having clam chowder tomorrow,” Pete called back.

  Darrell strolled up to the bucket and saw they already had a couple in there. “Cool.”

  Pete pointed to his sneakers. “You need boots.”

  “Should’ve thought to pack some,” Darrell said with a shrug. “But then I hadn’t planned on having to scrounge for food. Thought I’d be taking my wife to a fancy restaurant or two.”

  “There’s no such thing down here,” Pete scoffed.

  “Looks like she’s having fun anyway,” observed Chris.

  “Yeah, I think she is.”

  “Sorry she’s sick,” Chris added.

  Darrell shrugged again. “We’ll get through it.”

  “She doesn’t look like a complainer,” said Pete. “Most women can be a real pain in the butt.”

  “So can a lot of guys,” Darrell pointed out. “I guess we all have our moments. But you hang in there and get past ’em.” Okay, was he getting a little preachy? Probably, but somehow, he felt he needed to say that. Particularly because of Greg Marsh and his wife, who didn’t strike Darrell as being in a good place.

  The philosophizing ended, and the men turned their attention back to the all-important manly-man task of clamming. Darkness dropped like a curtain, and Seth lit the lanterns they’d brought, and the search continued. Other people were on the beach now, too, and dots of light were scattered about the shore or danced along as people walked the beach, looking for the small holes in the sand that indicated good digging. Laughter and conversation floated on the air as people visited.

  “Seems to be a popular sport,” Darrell remarked.

  “A lot of people out here, just like us, figuring they could be running out of food,” said Pete. “Who knows when they’ll get the road cleared and get the power back on? Better not start singin’ ‘I’ll be Home for Christmas.’”

  Kat had been looking forward to having Christmas with the kids. Darrell didn’t know how he was going to break this news to her.

  Seth Waters had been saying something. Darrell jerked himself back into the moment. “What?”

  “Want to give it a try?” Seth repeated.

  “Sure,” Darrell said, and took the clam gun. Okay, this was serious fun. He brought up a clam and was hooked.

  “There’s another one for the bucket” Chris said as his oldest son proudly held one up. “We’re gonna have some good eating. Right, gang?”

  “Right!” exclaimed both his sons.

  “I like clams!” cried little Miranda, jumping up and down.

  “You’ve never had a clam,” her older cousin informed her.

  “But I like them,” she said.

  “You’ve got a cute daughter,” Darrell said to Greg after they’d finished and were walking back.

  “Yeah, I do,” Greg agreed, watching fondly as his little girl chased after the two boys.

  “And a lovely wife. You’re a lucky man.”

  The smile disappeared faster than a fleeing razor clam. Darrell could feel a wall going up. Hardly surprising. Guys didn’t like to talk about their problems, especially with people they barely knew.

  “Yep, nothing better than a nice family,” Darrell said, then veered away from the subject. “So, I never did hear. What do you do for a living?”

  This didn’t appear to be a welcome topic, either. Greg frowned. “I’m starting my own business. Some real innovative stuff that’s going to make the internet search engines we’re using now look like dinosaurs.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re currently in the development stage. I just need a few more investors.”

  Uh-oh. Was that a pitch? When it came to investing, Darrell wasn’t a risk tasker, and he said as much. “Sounds pretty cool, though.”

  “My wife doesn’t think so.”

  Ah, there it was, the bone of contention. That would explain the discontent surrounding those two. “Well, that can be hard,” Darrell said.

  “I’m gonna make it work.”

  Darrell caught the stubborn set of the jaw. “I hope you can.” He wondered how high a price the guy would have to pay to do that.

  Back at the house he had his own situation to deal with. Under cover of a myriad of excited conversations about the great clam expedition, he joined Kat on the couch and broke the news that they probably wouldn’t be back home for Christmas, then braced for her disappointment.

  Instead, he go
t a comforting hand on his arm. “I figured as much. I already called the kids.”

  “Were they disappointed?” He thought of the presents they had waiting under the tree—a digital camera for Jewel and a Keurig coffee maker for the newlyweds.

  “A little,” Kat said, “but they’re going to get together and party no matter what. Luke and Marina want to have us all over on New Year’s Day, and we’ll open presents then.”

  So, everything was working out. “That’s a relief.”

  She kissed him. “I’m having a really good anniversary. In fact, I know it’s going to sound silly, but this is one of the best anniversaries ever.” His perplexity must have shown because she said, “We’ve survived a giant storm and are making new friends. I got shells and chocolate and have been waited on hand and foot. And I’ve had so much hot buttered rum I feel like a pirate. Fancy dinners are nice, but you tend to forget them. This is one getaway we’ll never forget. It’s a bit of an adventure, and I think I needed some fun, a little adventure.”

  “Fun, huh?”

  “You’re having fun, aren’t you?” she asked.

  It wasn’t exactly sex on the beach, and now they weren’t even in the same bed. But he’d gotten a kick out of digging clams, and he’d loved seeing Kat’s delight over the shells.

  So, yeah. “I am,” he said.

  “Well, then, happy anniversary,” she murmured and kissed him again, her fingers threading through his hair.

  Funny. Sometimes things didn’t go at all the way you planned. Sometimes they went even better.

  * * *

  The clam digging had been a success, and there was a promise of clam chowder for Christmas Eve. Meanwhile, the men had a bonfire going, and several of the other displaced guests and their temporary hosts had arrived to roast marshmallows and party.

  Seth Waters, one of the men who appeared to work around the place, had brought a guitar and played it for everyone, and Jenna Jones and her sister taught the kids some silly campfire songs. The grizzled, old guy named Pete told a ghost story Taylor was sure would give Miranda nightmares, and Mrs. Patterson, the actual owner of the Driftwood Inn, reminisced about Christmases past.