Winter at the Beach

by Sheila Roberts

  “But tomorrow’s Christmas. I want to give Mommy a shell for Christmas,” Miranda insisted.

  “You can give her mine,” offered James, sliding his across the table. It was a splattered mess of a shell painted in the Seahawks’ colors of blue and green and had a sloppy number twelve on it. Thanks to clever marketing, James, like every Seahawks fan, was a twelfth man.

  Miranda, who’d been meticulous with hers and painting it pink, looked at it scornfully. “I want to paint one myself.”

  “We will tomorrow,” Celeste promised. “Meanwhile, we’ll let our rocks dry, and while they’re drying we can make Christmas cards.” She glanced up at Jenna. “You think Sabrina will mind if we use her colored pencils?”

  “Of course not,” Jenna said. “I’ll get them and some paper.”

  She went to the office, where she walked in on Greg, Chris Brown and Darrell Wilson, deep in conversation. “How badly do you want to keep her?” Darrell was asking.

  At the sight of Jenna, Greg’s cheeks turned russet.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just need to grab some paper from my printer.” She got the paper, then hurried off. Hopefully, the men were having better luck getting through to Greg than the women had with his wife.

  She returned and helped Celeste put the kids to work drawing. Taylor had vanished, and Kat went upstairs to rest. Lisa and Karen settled in to play cards in the living room, and Sarah and Aunt Edie continued to work side by side on Christmas Eve dinner. Everyone seemed happy and convivial.

  “It’s almost like one big family,” Jenna said to her mother when Mel called to check in.

  “Sounds like you’re all doing okay.”

  “Pretty much. People have had a chance to do some shopping, and the men got clams for us. We’re having clam chowder for dinner. Celeste’s had the kids painting shells and rocks to give their parents for Christmas. I just wish you and Sabrina were here.”

  “I can bring her down as soon as the road’s passable. I’m off until the day after New Year’s. The road’s bound to be open by then.”

  “I hope that happens soon,” Jenna said fervently.

  “I’m sure it will. Meanwhile, think of the adventure you’re having.”

  “I’ve had enough adventure,” Jenna said. She wanted a long, hot shower, wanted to be able to run the washer and dryer. “I don’t know how those pioneer women managed.”

  “They had vision,” Mel said.

  “Well, I can tell you now, I’d never have been on one of those wagon trains heading west. I’d have been the one waving goodbye, saying, ‘Write when you find work.’”

  “I don’t know. I think you’re tougher than you realize,” her mother said.

  Toughness was overrated.

  * * *

  After the group shrink session in the kitchen, Taylor had decided she needed some alone time—not easy to get in a house full of women—so she’d bundled into her coat and gone for a walk, going down the main road toward town.

  Stores were still open, and she’d popped into a couple, but not being able to buy anything reminded her of the mess they were in and made her cranky. She passed a restaurant where a large mechanical Santa greeted her, one of his elves on duty in the lifeguard chair on the miniature sandy beach landscaped outside the entrance. That ratcheted her level of crankiness even higher because it made her think of Miranda’s gifts from Santa waiting at home. Gifts she couldn’t afford and had charged. Those charges had been the final straw for her Visa card, and she’d reached her limit. She thought about what she’d said to Greg the night before. There was a limit to how much bitterness you could spill into a relationship, too, and she suspected she’d gone over that. What a crappy Christmas.

  But the new year wasn’t looking any better.

  The light was fading, so she turned around and walked back to the house. By the time she arrived, the sky was as black as her mood and the air was arctic. The faint glow of candles showed in the window, making the house seem cozy and inviting. She hurried inside, thinking how good it would feel to stand in front of the woodstove.

  But everyone would be looking at her, judging her. Never mind the stove. She’d go to her room.

  Or not. “You’re back just in time,” Mrs. Patterson called to her from where she stood by the stove. She was wearing oven mitts and lifting a big pot from the stove top. “We’re about to dish up the chowder.”

  Well, she was hungry. No one seemed to be staring at her. They were all too busy following their hostess out to the dining room.

  Miranda ran up and took her hand. “Come on, Mommy.”

  Greg fell in behind them, saying nothing to her. She could hardly blame him. She kept silent, too. What was left to say?

  Everyone sat around the little dining room table and in the living room, eating chowder and soda crackers. The men and kids accepted compliments on their clam-digging prowess and Mrs. Patterson happily accepted compliments on her cooking.

  After they’d finished the chowder along with some no-bake chocolate cookies, Celeste took charge, teaching them silly parlor games. “Picture-taking spoon” was a favorite; she’d pretend to use a spoon to take a picture of someone, while her sister, acting as able assistant, would leave the room. Whenever Jenna returned she always managed to know whose picture Celeste had snapped.

  “How did you do that?” Christopher asked.

  “Magic,” Celeste replied, and they played until most of the adults and Christopher had figured out the secret.

  After that, Karen recited The Night Before Christmas and her sister performed an off-key rendition of “Santa, Baby,” which had most everyone laughing. Taylor managed to smile politely.

  Finally, it was time to put the children to bed. Taylor tucked her daughter into her sleeping bag, told her she loved her and kissed her good-night. “Go right to sleep,” she said.

  “So Santa can come,” Miranda added.

  Oh, boy. Why, oh, why were they stranded here?

  “Santa’s going to find us, isn’t he, Aunt Taylor?” James asked.

  “If not, he’ll leave something for you back at your house,” Taylor reassured him.

  “No, he’s going to find us here,” Miranda said. “Miss Celeste sent our letters by Reindeer Express so they’d get to him in time.”

  “Well, then, as long as the reindeer don’t get lost you’ll be fine,” Taylor said, giving Santa an out.

  Miranda giggled. “The reindeer live with Santa, Mommy. They can’t get lost.”

  No, it was only grown-ups who lost their way. Taylor gave her daughter one more kiss and left the room.

  Greg had come to say good-night to Miranda. Neither of them spoke as Taylor brushed past him.

  The living room was turning into Santa Central. Jenna Jones brought out some goodies she’d picked up for the kids, along with three stockings to hold the treats.

  “That was really kind of you,” Sarah said to her.

  “Yes, thank you,” Taylor added. These people were doing everything they could to make the situation tolerable for their stranded customers. Even though she wasn’t happy about where she was, she could at least be grateful for their kindness.

  “I know it’s not going to be the same as if you were home and with the rest of your families,” Jenna said, “but it’ll be something.”

  “And the kids will have letters from Santa waiting for them,” said Celeste, holding up three envelopes.

  Mrs. Patterson had wrapping paper squirreled away, and they wrapped what Sarah had gotten for the kids and arranged them under the tree.

  “I hope it’ll be enough,” Taylor said, looking at the small collection.

  “It will be more than many children ever get,” Mrs. Patterson said, and, once again, Taylor felt small.

  She decided it was time for bed and ducked out, leaving the others to enjoy themse
lves. Which, of course, they would, because after this they’d go back to their happy, steady lives while she and Greg returned to their financial mess.

  Except not everyone’s life was perfect. Kat Wilson would still be fighting off cancer, and Jenna Jones would be dealing with her ex.

  At the rate she was going, Taylor, too, would soon be dealing with an ex.

  That thought didn’t make for pleasant dreams. In one she found herself trying to get to the bank, but she was in quicksand and the harder she tried to run, the deeper she sank.

  She woke to gray predawn light with a whimper. Christmas morning. Yeah, Merry Christmas.

  It wasn’t long before the kids were up and then the adults with them. Even Kat dragged herself down to the living room, although she looked exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. Mrs. Patterson made oatmeal while the kids opened their presents. The letter from Santa, explaining that these presents were special beach ones and he had more goodies waiting for them at home, was enough to pacify all three.

  The boys proudly presented their rocks and shells to their parents, who showed the proper enthusiasm. Miranda’s lower lip was sticking out when she held out the rock she’d painted. “My shell broke.”

  “That’s okay, baby,” Taylor said. “Your rock is very pretty.”

  “But you like shells,” Miranda reminded her.

  “Yes, I do, but I like rocks, too.”

  Miranda frowned but didn’t say any more.

  Jenna and Celeste and their aunt opted not to open their presents until the rest of their family could come down, but it turned out Chris had bought candles for them. “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Mrs. Patterson said. It was evident she was pleased nonetheless.

  “We’ve gone through enough of yours,” he said, shrugging off her thanks.

  He and Greg had obviously gone to the same store to shop for their wives, as they’d both purchased fancy soaps for them. Taylor was surprised Greg had even bothered to give her anything.

  “Love it!” Sarah exclaimed and kissed her husband.

  Taylor couldn’t get beyond murmuring an embarrassed thank-you to Greg. Where had he found the money? Chris had most likely lent it to him. Ugh.

  She’d grudgingly bought him something, which was back home under the tree, and she was embarrassed to be the only person not handing over a present. She was even more embarrassed when her sister presented her with the earrings she’d seen when they were out shopping, as well as the candle with the shells embedded in it.

  “I didn’t get you anything,” she protested, her face sizzling. She hadn’t given anyone anything—except a hard time.

  “We’re not keeping score,” Sarah said. She hugged Taylor and whispered, “Anyway, I thought you could use some cheering up.”

  As if a candle and earrings could manufacture enough cheer to lift the dark cloud hanging over her. Still, it was a sweet thought.

  “Merry Christmas, babe,” Darrell said to Kat, handing over a small wrapped box.

  “Oh, Darrell, my gift for you is at home.”

  “You’re the only gift I need. Open it.”

  She did and found a necklace with a sterling silver disk-shaped pendant with an ocean wave etched on it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “So are you,” he said.

  Taylor watched with jealous eyes. It was as if there were only the two of them in the room. How long was it since she and Greg had been like that?

  Mrs. Patterson heated apple juice on the woodstove for the kids, and the adults drank instant coffee. The children spent the morning playing with their toys, then after a lunch of raisins and peanut butter sandwiches, they were ready for a change. Miranda, still mourning her ruined shell, wanted to beachcomb, but it was raining, so Taylor nixed that.

  “It’s pretty nasty out there,” Sarah agreed.

  To keep restlessness at bay, Celeste organized another coin hunt and as the children scampered around the house, the adults visited. Everyone was having a good time. Except Taylor.

  And Greg. She could feel his gaze on her but avoided looking in his direction. If she looked at him, she’d cry. This year all she was getting for Christmas was a crumbling marriage and a headache. And what about Miranda? What were they giving her if they split?

  She should stick it out. The three of them could live with her parents. Mom would love that. Then, once Taylor’s real estate career took off, they could start over. And drag the ball and chain that was Greg’s business everywhere they went, came the bitter thought.

  She escaped to the bedroom and hoped he wouldn’t follow her. And she really hoped the ever-cheerful Kat would stay downstairs on the couch.

  Even with the heat rising and bedroom doors left open, the room was freezing. Taylor shut the door, knowing that would make it even colder. She didn’t care. All she wanted was a little privacy. She burrowed under the blankets on her blow-up mattress and, exhausted from her poor night’s sleep, actually dozed.

  The room was dark when she woke. Good. That meant most of this miserable Christmas Day was over. Maybe the next day the road would be clear, and they could leave. She was sick of wearing the same clothes over and over and having to wash her underwear in the sink.

  As if that was any big deal compared to what was really going on? Being at home would give her a chance to put on clean clothes, but it wouldn’t help her clean up her life.

  She brushed her hair, then went downstairs to check on Miranda. Once upon a happier time, Christmas Day meant presents and playing with her daughter and watching a Christmas movie on TV... Going over to her parents’ for Christmas dinner.

  She found the men all squeezed around a card table, playing poker. Karen had a quilt square she was embroidering, and she and Lisa and Kat were visiting with Mrs. Patterson. Roger, her parrot, was muttering in his cage. Jenna and Celeste were in the kitchen, foraging for munchies, the boys hovering. But where was Miranda?

  Taylor walked back into the living room. Maybe she’d been sitting by the tree or in a corner. But no, she wasn’t there.

  “Greg, where’s Miranda?” she asked her husband.

  He looked up, puzzled. “I thought she was with you.”

  “No.”

  “She’s not in the kitchen?”

  “No.” There was no need to panic. She had to be somewhere.

  “She’s probably upstairs,” said Chris.

  Yes, that was it. She was upstairs. Maybe in the bathroom.

  Taylor hurried up the stairs. The bathroom door was wide-open, a trio of flicker candles on the counter. There was nothing in the room but the shadows they cast. She hurried down the hall, checking the bedrooms, calling her daughter’s name. No response.

  Greg was upstairs now. “Did you find her?” He sounded as panicked as she felt.

  “She’s got to be here somewhere,” he said, and made the exact same rounds she’d just made. “Okay, she has to be downstairs.”

  “She’s not,” Taylor said. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. Oh, God.

  “Did you find her?” Chris asked when they came back.

  Taylor shook her head. She could feel tears stinging her eyes.

  “She’s got to be here,” Sarah said. She left the couch and went to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with Jenna and her sister and aunt behind her. The expression on her face must have mirrored Taylor’s.

  Taylor rushed to the closet where Miranda’s coat was hanging.

  The hanger was on the floor and the coat was gone. Oh, dear God. No.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Her coat’s gone!” Taylor cried. “Didn’t anybody see her leave?” How could a little girl manage to get her coat and leave a house filled with people—and nobody saw?

  “Stay calm,” said Chris.

  Was he insane? “It’s pitch-dark out!”

  The men w
ere already grabbing coats. “We’ll find her,” Greg said. “She’s probably right out in back.”

  Yes, that was it. Maybe she was on the porch. Taylor pulled on her coat and rushed through the kitchen and out the back door. No Miranda. She called her daughter’s name, but only a cold night wind answered her.

  More people had come out now, all wearing coats and ready to search for Miranda. Seth Waters took charge, holding up his lantern so everyone could see him. “Let’s split into groups. We can cover more ground that way.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Chris said. “Sarah, call 911 and wait here.”

  Sarah nodded and pulled out her cell.

  “I’ll come with you, Seth,” said Darrell.

  “Me, too,” said Celeste.

  “We’ll go toward the pier,” Seth told them, starting down the stairs. “Pete, you take the road.”

  “Karen and I will go with him,” Lisa offered as Pete took the second lantern.

  Jenna Jones had two flashlights. She handed one to Greg, saying, “We’ll take the other direction down the beach.”

  Taylor fell in behind her and Greg, stumbling her way down the stairs. He caught her arm and shone the flashlight so she could see. Her tears made the steps look blurry, as though she was underwater. All she could think of was the posters she’d seen on grocery store bulletin boards. Have you seen this child? A cute little girl with blond curls and brown eyes would be a molester’s dream. Her throat caught on a sob.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Greg said.

  “I should’ve been watching her. I should never have gone upstairs,” Taylor said. Her throat was so tight with tears she could barely speak. Like Kat had said, there was nothing worse than losing a child. What if Miranda was gone for good? What if they never found her, never learned what happened to her?

  “No, I should have kept an eye on her,” Greg said miserably.

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” Jenna told them. “The house was full of people. We all assumed somebody was watching her.”

  “She’s always with the boys,” Greg said. “It’s not like her to go off by herself.”