Moon Shell Beach

by Nancy Thayer

  “I know what you mean,” Clare agreed. “Although I bought a Crock-Pot last summer, and that’s been helpful. I just fill it up and turn it on in the morning and dinner’s ready whenever I get home at night.”

  “Good idea. Does your dad do the grocery shopping?”

  Clare snorted. “I wish. No, he’s not reliable. Even when I give him a list, he forgets to take it, or forgets to get all the items.”

  “Does Jesse shop?”

  “Not usually. He’s living in the garage apartment at his parents’ house, so some nights he eats dinner over there. But I don’t mind shopping. I like to look over the food, especially the produce. I love this time of year, with fresh asparagus and new potatoes and fresh strawberries. You should come over sometime when I’ve been out to Moors End Farm. I make the best strawberry shortcake.”

  Adam bent, picked up a piece of driftwood, and threw it into the ocean. His two dogs went scrambling, head over heels, into the surf. Lucky captured the stick and brought it back to Adam, wriggling with pride. Adam threw the stick again.

  Clare moved up the beach and sat down with her back to a sand dune. Thank heavens for the animals, Clare thought. They were great buffers, providing time for her face to cool down—she was sure it was crimson. What had she just done? Invited Adam over to her house for dinner? Oh, that would be a congenial group, her father, her, Adam, and Jesse. Not that Jesse disliked Adam; he liked Adam just fine, although Adam was two years older and had always seemed a decade older than Jesse, if not from a different species. Or Adam could come over some night when Jesse played poker or ate at his parents’. Now there was a bright idea. It made Clare tingle all over with embarrassment and a warm, delicious feeling she didn’t dare investigate or even name.

  Ralph rushed up to her, tongue hanging out, tail wagging, spraying sand on Clare’s legs as she settled on the sand to watch the other two animals brave the ocean.

  “Good girl,” Clare told Ralph, petting her.

  Adam threw the stick one more time, then walked up to the dune and joined Clare. His dogs began a fierce game of tug-of-war with the stick, stealing it from each other, accidentally bopping each other on the head with it, or tripping themselves.

  “What a pair of clowns,” Adam said.

  “Ralph’s afraid of the water,” Clare told him. “She’s fascinated by it, but too scared to go in.”

  “Smart dog. The undertow here is pretty bad.” Adam squinted as he stared out to sea. “Look at it. Shining and calm. Makes you forget how dangerous it is.”

  “I know. Every summer someone gets swept up and thrown down by the undertow—broken leg or arm. Remember the summer David Sutton broke his neck?”

  “And now we’ve lost Tris,” Adam murmured.

  “Well, we don’t know for certain about Tris…”

  “It’s been three weeks. Bobbie wants to hold a memorial service. Tris wouldn’t be gone so long without letting someone know he was still alive. He wouldn’t do that to his daughter.” Adam’s voice broke. He looked away, blinking back tears.

  Clare protested, “But Tris is an ace sailor.”

  “And the sea is full of peril.” Adam crushed his cup in his hand. Abruptly, he rose, stalking over the sand to stand just at the water’s edge. Clare could tell he needed this moment alone.

  Shouts sounded from down the shore. She turned and saw four teenage boys racing toward the waves, carrying surfboards. Adam watched them, too, for a while, then came back to stand by Clare.

  “I haven’t surfed for years,” Clare remarked.

  “I haven’t, either.” Adam kept his gaze on the boys. After a moment, casually, he said, “I’ve seen Jesse surfing.”

  “Oh, yes. He windsurfs, too.”

  “Without a life jacket.”

  “I know, I know. I’m always nagging him about it. He’s hopeless. But he loves the water.”

  “And being Jesse, he’ll probably be just fine. He’s kind of like the guy in the wrecked car who’s so drunk he doesn’t break a bone.”

  Clare laughed. “Yeah, that’s Jesse, all right.” She quickly added, “Jesse’s not a drunk, Adam.”

  “I know that, Clare. He’s just one of those guys who’s naturally stoned on life. I envy him. I wish I could be just a little more relaxed.”

  “I think you’re perfect just the way you are, Adam,” Clare assured him, then immediately got flustered at her words and the heat with which she’d spoken.

  Adam smiled when he said, “That’s because you don’t know me very well, Clare.” He looked down, meeting her eyes.

  For a long moment, they held their gaze, their connection.

  “Adam…”

  “Time I headed to work.” He held out his hand. Clare took it, and he pulled her to her feet. Excited, Ralph bumped into her legs, and Adam kept hold of her hand as she steadied herself. Then he dropped her hand.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Clare said. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  “See you then.” Adam tossed the words over his shoulder as he ran down the beach, his dogs at heel.

  Clare watched him go, bringing the hand he had held to her mouth. She smelled salt, and the sea, and sunshine.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Lexi and Clare were at Fifty-Six Union, leaning toward each other over a crisp white tablecloth. A spring storm slashed the windows with rain and blew cold wet gusts through the door when anyone entered or left. Inside was all warmth, delicious smells, murmurs of conversation.

  “So Jesse’s done your work?” Clare asked.

  Lexi made a face. “Most of it. But I’m not ready to open yet, even if Jesse has finished with the cubicles. I’ve got a lot of inventory to unpack and some hasn’t even arrived yet. As long as I’m open by the Fourth of July, I’ll be happy.”

  “Yeah, the island doesn’t really start hopping until then.” Clare lowered her voice and leaned over her plate. “Lexi, I want to ask you something. You’ve seen Jesse a few times now. Tell me, what do you think about him?”

  Lexi took a sip of wine. “Jesse?”

  “I mean, how do you think he feels?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you think he’s happy? Do you think he’s content? He seems so restless these days. I think maybe he regrets asking me to marry him.”

  Lexi chose her words carefully. “I know he wants to travel, Clare. He did talk about that. When he saw my pictures of the different beaches, he said he’d like to go there, to Bali, and Rio.”

  “He’s traveled!” Clare retorted, defensively. “He’s been to Jamaica and Costa Rica and Tortola.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you angry, Clare.”

  “I’m not angry at you.” But Clare put her fork down and leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, thinking. “Maybe I’m angry at Jesse. Maybe I’m really angry at myself. Lexi, aren’t you just dying to have children? Why didn’t you have children?”

  A half-smile twisted Lexi’s mouth. “So you want a baby?”

  “You have no idea.” Clare sipped her wine. “Or maybe you do.”

  “Yes…” How much should she tell Clare? Just thinking about it made her melancholy, and tonight was meant to be fun.

  Clare persisted. “You and Ed didn’t want children?”

  Lexi ran her fingertip around the rim of her wineglass. “Oh, yes. I wanted children. But Ed already had children, so he was sort of through with that phase of his life.” She forced a smile. “He turned out to be such a Prince of Darkness, I guess I’m glad we didn’t have children together.”

  Clare nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Lexi, I’m not sure Jesse has what it takes to be a father. At least not for a few more decades.”

  Lexi grinned. “He is a boy.”

  “He is. Peter Pan.” Clare hesitated, then let it all spill out. “Lex, I’ve run into Adam several times, walking on the beach with Ralphie, and he’s so nice, he’s so stable and kind and so grown up.”

  “Yeah, Clare, but you don’t w
ant to be with someone just because they’re stable.”

  “I know, I know. I’m not saying this right. Maybe I’m not even thinking this right just yet, and please don’t say anything about it to Adam, promise?”

  Lexi nodded. “Of course.”

  “I…I think I’m kind of attracted to Adam, Lex. Sometimes I even think I’m kind of in love with him.”

  “But you’re engaged to Jesse.”

  “I know!”

  The waitress appeared and whisked away their salad plates and set their entrees in front of them.

  “Um, smells divine.” Clare leaned over her spicy shrimp-studded fried rice and inhaled. The moment the waitress left, she made hair-pulling motions. “I’m going nuts, Lex! Sometimes I think my love for Jesse has become five percent affection and ninety-five percent pure stubbornness. Sometimes I wonder whether I’m going to make him marry me just because I want to prove to him and to myself and to the town that I’ve won. Do you see what I mean?”

  Lexi nodded. “I do.”

  “But when I’m with Adam—” Clare broke off, considering her words. “I really like being with Adam.” She grinned wickedly. “Plus, he’s really hot.”

  Lexi narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare break his heart.”

  “No, it’s not like that, Lexi. I mean I wouldn’t just sleep with him and still be with Jesse.” She waved her hands. “Oh, I don’t know! I’m just confused. Don’t pay any attention to me. Tell me about you, Lexi. Have you met anyone you want to date?”

  Lexi shook her head. “All I’ve been doing is working, day and night. It’s like Noah’s ark is about to land. I remember how it was with my parents’ shop in the good days. One moment life is organized and the next there are hundreds of wild animals thundering around and it’s all you can do to keep them fed and stabled.”

  Clare laughed. “You’re so funny, Lex.” She reached across the table and took her friend’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Dawn was breaking as Clare biked down to Swain’s Wharf. She wore mittens, a wool cap, and a vest because these spring mornings and evenings were still cold. During the day, especially working like a maniac in her shop, she was warm enough in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. Her assistant, Marlene, wasn’t coming in until nine, when they would open the shop together, but there was still so much work waiting to be done, Clare had hardly slept for thinking about it. She assured herself that with older, plumper, cheerful Marlene bustling around, they’d get it all done.

  Her bike bounced when she hit the Belgian blocks of Commercial Street. She braked to a halt, crossed the narrow lane to Sweet Hart’s, wheeled her bike around to the back, and locked it up. Just a few feet away, the water of the harbor sparkled as the sun and wind stirred it. Boats bobbed along the town pier, small motorboats, fishing boats, pleasure boats. Mallards paddled near the curve of beach and herring gulls dropped sand crabs on the wooden boards of the pier, then dove down to tease out their breakfast from the cracked shells.

  As she unlocked the back door of her shop, she saw that the lights were on next door. So Lexi was here early, too, but of course, all Lexi had to do was to walk downstairs from her little apartment. She hoped Lexi would be ready to open tomorrow. When she asked Jesse how the work for Lexi was going, he’d been abrupt, said he’d gotten a good start but had to go back. Brown paper still covered the shop windows and no sign hung above the front door.

  She was so curious about the kinds of things Lexi was selling. Impulsively, she rapped on the shop’s back door.

  A moment later, Lexi opened the door just wide enough to peer out. She wore black leggings and a long white shirt covered with paint splotches. Her hair was messily clipped back and she had circles under her eyes.

  “Clare!” Lexi wandered outside, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I’ve worked all night long, can you believe it?”

  “Are you going to be able to open today?”

  “No, not until tomorrow, but that’s okay, most people don’t start arriving until Friday, right? I’ve got a few more finishing touches.” She looked shyly at Clare. “Want to see it?”

  “I’m dying to see it!”

  Lexi hugged herself and did a little jog in place. “Oh, I’m so nervous, so excited! Come around to the front door. I want you to see it the way a customer would.” Lexi went back into the shop and Clare went around to the front.

  Lexi held the door wide. “Ta-da!”

  Clare walked inside. Her jaw dropped. “Wow.”

  It was a dreamy summer paradise. Painted over all the walls were dreamy scenes of azure and turquoise water, golden sand, pale blue sky. Wind chimes and seashells dangled from the ceiling, gently spinning in the breeze from the open door. Racks of clothing along the two longer walls held garments in myriad shades of blue, and in the middle of the shop were curved display cases glittering with jewelry like a pirate’s trove. A tall wicker shelf held pashminas, silk scarves, clever purses, sparkling belts, and hair accessories. Scattered over the walls were gold-framed photos of beaches, the sand of each beach a slightly different shade of gold or white. A lone woman stood on the beach, draped in loose, dreamy turquoise or indigo silk.

  Clare clasped her hands to her chest. “Lexi! How fabulous! So magical!”

  “I’m so glad you feel that way! I want it to feel magic. And look!”

  Lexi reached behind the counter at the front and brought out her shop’s sign, a quarter board carved in an elongated spiral. Against a cream background, gold letters read: Moon Shell Beach. “It’s heavy. I’ve got to have Jesse hang it for me.”

  Clare said, “Moon Shell Beach?”

  “Yes! Don’t you love it? Everything here is totally Moon Shell Beach. All the garments—the sarongs, beach cover-ups, little tops, long skirts, everything. Not only are they beachy colors, but look what I’ve done!” Lexi held up a turquoise skirt with a gauze lavender overlay hemmed with tinkling beaded silver shells. “Every single item from this shop has a sterling silver moon shell on it somewhere.” She picked up a lace cami from the wicker shelf. Tied to the left strap by a thin silk ribbon was a tiny silver shell.

  Numbly, Clare fingered the white price tag on the camisole. “One hundred fifty dollars?” she squeaked.

  Lexi carefully folded the camisole and returned it to its place. “Yeah, everything here is special, Clare. Made from the finest fabrics, with lots of hand-sewing. And of course the silver shells.”

  Clare pulled out a caftan hanging from a rack. It was a swirl of blues, embroidered lavishly with silver threads, the neckline adorned with a rainbow of beads, stones, and shells. The price tag said a thousand dollars. “You’re kidding.”

  “Clare, most of the women who come here for the summer can pay this kind of money. And for everyone else, I have so many little things—that beach bag is only fifty dollars. And look, for thirty dollars, you can buy these little blue silk boxes with a sterling silver shell on top. I mean, that’s not much to pay for a memento to take home, or to give to friends.”

  Clare looked at the box. It could hold a roll of stamps. Running her fingertips over a Moroccan-inspired beaded skirt, she said, “I can’t believe you named your shop Moon Shell Beach.” She glared at Lexi. “What a crappy thing to do.”

  Lexi looked as if she’d just been slapped. “You don’t like it?”

  “Lexi, it was the name of our private beach. Our childhood secret place. It was our name, yours and mine, our private name.” She shook her head angrily. “I can’t believe you just claimed it for yourself alone. Or perhaps I should believe it, that’s the kind of thing you do now.”

  “But Clare, don’t you see? I meant it as a kind of…homage—” Lexi pronounced it the French way, omage, “to our friendship. To our perfect sunny summers, and freedom, and laughter!”

  Clare wanted to tell Lexi just where she could shove her homage. “Really, Lexi, how can you not get this? I feel so violated. You’ve taken something precious and private and used it as
a kind of gimmick! And for what? To make money! It’s just so, so smarmy of you!”

  Lexi’s eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, Clare, I never meant that. I thought you’d be pleased. Honestly, I thought you’d be so pleased.”

  Clare glared. “Pleased that you would capitalize on a private childhood memory.”

  “Well, it’s my memory, too!” Lexi protested.

  “Right. Well, Lexi, it’s all yours now. Good luck with it.”

  Clare whirled around and stormed out the front door. With shaking hands, she unlocked the front door of her own shop, her little shop that shared a wall with fucking Moon Shell Beach, her little shop where the average transaction was thirty dollars. Lexi could make more in her shop selling one overpriced caftan than Clare could make in a day’s work. But it wasn’t the money that burned Clare, it was the concept. It was the selfish appropriation of one of her most dearly prized memories; it was like stealing an entire phase of her childhood.

  Stomping up the stairs to her kitchen, Clare fought back tears. Automatically she began preparations for work, washing her hands, setting out sugar. Glancing at the recipe she’d perfected, she tried to focus on her work, but she was shaking, and she couldn’t concentrate.

  Moon Shell Beach.

  She stopped, staring into space, thinking. What a clever concept, really. That shop was an entire world. Just entering it was like a mini-vacation from reality. Why had she responded so childishly? Okay, she admitted to herself, perhaps she was shocked at the sheer scope of Lexi’s creativity. Certainly she’d been surprised at the ambience of the shop. But was she jealous? No, not jealous. Perhaps a bit intimidated. The clothing was so expensive, way past her budget. But it wasn’t just the money. She really did feel violated by Lexi appropriating their secret name. And yet a memory could not be owned.

  Irritated with her thoughts, Clare picked up her cell phone and punched in Penny’s number. When her friend answered, Clare said, “Hey, I’m just calling to chat. How’s Mikey?”