by Susan Wiggs
“Just what we need,” Aurora said, returning to the kitchen. “More flowers.”
“Sounds like it’s for a good cause.”
Yeah, she thought. Getting Zane Parker to talk to me.
“You look pretty happy about it,” her dad observed. “Didn’t know you cared about fire restoration.”
She was blushing so much, she was afraid the roots of her hair were turning red. “Maybe I do,” she said.
“Right,” he said with a teasing grin. “How about giving me a hand with these groceries? I’ll do something with these bulbs.”
Aurora saw the instant he found the beer can. He glanced at the bookcase and his face changed. “What the hell is this doing here?”
She took refuge in defensive anger. “I have no idea. You probably left it there yourself. I bet it’s been there for ages.”
“It’s still cold from the refrigerator,” he snapped. “So was it you, or your friend who drank it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He turned the can upside down and beer dripped out. “See these numbers? They’re all the same on the bottom of the cans in a six-pack. Wonder what I’d find if I compared them to the six-pack in the fridge.”
Crap. Who knew about the series numbers on the bottom?
He reached for the phone. “Do you know the Parkers’ number by heart or should I call information?”
Oh, God, thought Aurora. I’m done for now. She had one tiny chance with Zane, and her dad was about to ruin it. “I drank the beer myself,” she blurted out, hoping he wouldn’t try to smell it on her breath. “I just wanted to see...what it was like.”
“You’re grounded without a chance for parole,” he said as he carefully set down the phone. “You can see what that’s like, too.”
Twenty-Seven
When Sarah first moved back to Glenmuir, she had still felt like the misfit she’d been in high school. Self-conscious about being the spurned wife, she’d fallen into her old habit of keeping to herself. She tended to order supplies off the Internet, a virtual woman living a virtual life.
Getting pregnant was a huge wake-up call. This place was going to be her child’s hometown. She didn’t want her kid to grow up with a social misfit for a mother. She was going to do what she had neglected to do as an unhappy teenager and later as Jack’s wife. She was going to quit being a loner and create a wider network of family and friends.
Breaking old habits wasn’t easy, and now there was a new wrinkle. Being divorced was not so rare. However, being divorced and pregnant edged toward pitiful. She imagined the news fanning across the town like a Santa Ana wind.
Get over yourself, she thought in Lulu’s voice. People have better things to do than gossip about you.
She started to have her doubts when she went into the paint and art supply store and everyone within earshot fell silent. Telling herself to quit feeling so paranoid, she approached the clerk behind the counter.
“Judy?” she said, recognizing the young woman. “It’s me, Sarah Moon.”
“Sarah! I’d heard you were back in town.” Judy deWitt had worked here ever since they were both in high school. In addition to being one of the strangest girls in high school, Judy had been one of the most gifted, creating fantastical sculptures out of wire and driftwood, embellishing the works with seaglass, shells and found objects.
Like Sarah, she’d been artistic and quiet. Unlike Sarah, she’d always been utterly comfortable in her own skin. She was Judy the Goth, with so much hardware on her person and face that she set off the metal detectors at the school’s entryway. Deep down, Sarah had envied Judy, because Judy loved who she was—unique, out-there and talented. She never seemed haunted by shame that her family didn’t have money, and she’d never been the victim of a crush on a boy out of her reach.
Judy had lost several of her facial piercings, although she still sported an extremely distracting stud in the middle of her chin. Other than that, she had hardly changed at all.
“It’s good to see you,” Sarah said.
“You, too. We should get together sometime,” Judy said.
“I’d like that.” Sarah felt stiff and awkward, out of practice.
“Can I help you find something?” Judy asked.
“I’ll have a look around.” This wasn’t so bad, she thought. Maybe she and Judy would reacquaint themselves. Maybe, like a latter-day Gran and Aunt May, they would hang out together, do art and talk. Sarah wished she’d stayed in closer touch with the people she used to know.
“Sarah Moon,” someone else said. “I heard you were back.”
Even without turning, Sarah could identify her by voice. It was the same voice she remembered from high school, chirpily leading cheers at pep rallies. “Hello, Vivian. How have you been?” Sarah arranged her mouth into a smile.
Vivian Pierce smiled back. If possible, she was even more gorgeous than she had been in high school. Same blond waterfall of hair pulled back in a ponytail. Same sparkling smile. Same flawless sense of fashion—with one subtle difference. A fabulous diamond wedding set flashed on her left ring finger. Sarah dutifully declared how good it was to see Vivian again, how great she looked. Then she asked a question Vivian had clearly been waiting for. “What have you been up to?”
“I’m so excited,” she confided, gesturing at her cartload of cleaning supplies and brushes. “We just bought a house.”
“Congratulations,” Sarah said.
“It’s a sweet place over in Point Reyes Station,” she said. “Needs a lot of TLC, though.”
“I don’t suppose it needs a free puppy,” Sarah suggested, gesturing at Franny, on her leash out on the sidewalk. “My dog’s got a litter at home.” She figured Vivian would reject the notion out of hand.
Instead, Vivian surprised her by handing her a card. “Call me when they’re ready to be adopted.”
“I’ll put a flyer in the window for you,” Judy suggested, “if you want.”
They were both so...nice. Sarah hadn’t expected that.
Vivian showed Judy some color sample cards. “I’ve made a decision. I’m going with celery for the walls and cadmium red for the trim.”
Judy took the sample over to the paint mixer. “I was afraid you’d go for pink and white.”
“You were not.”
Sarah covered her surprise at their easy camaraderie. Judy and Viv had been miles apart in high school. The prom queen versus the Goth. Now they acted like best friends, especially when Judy promised to visit Vivian that evening and help her paint. What do you know? Sarah thought.
As she picked out supplies, she surreptitiously studied the women. Not only was Vivian more beautiful than ever, she looked prosperous in cashmere and designer jeans, cowboy boots and a flawless haircut.
“Remember to follow directions,” Judy told Vivian as she boxed up the painting supplies. “This ingredient in particular is volatile. Keep the area ventilated, and don’t use it near an open flame.”
Vivian winked at her. “Maybe if I start a fire, Will Bonner will come rescue me.”
At the sound of Will’s name, Sarah came to attention.
“I thought you were a happily married woman,” Judy said, mildly scolding.
“A happily married woman with an active imagination,” Vivian said. “Face it, half the women in this town would set themselves on fire if they thought it would get Will’s attention.”
“And the other half?”
“They’d set their husbands on fire.”
Sarah wondered about Vivian’s husband and pictured a distinguished lawyer who worked in the city. Did they know what “happily married” was? Really know, or were they fooling themselves? In a perfect world, Will himself would be married to Vivian. They had even been prom king and queen together in high
school, a perfect match. There had been some drama senior year, she recalled. Will’s longtime girlfriend dumped him right before prom, and he and his friends went on a road trip south of the border.
Sarah added some archival markers to her basket.
“Viv, I’ll help you take this stuff to your car,” Judy offered.
“That’s all right. I brought my hubby along for that.”
Sarah was galvanized. She couldn’t wait to see the hubby. She lingered over the Monolith Woodless pencils, stalling for time.
“He had to stop at the hardware store. He’ll be right over.” While they waited, Vivian and Judy chatted like old friends. Sarah felt an unexpected touch of yearning. Loneliness hit her like a slap in the face. Just to have someone to talk to, or to go to lunch with, or to discuss paint colors with...suddenly that seemed as important as food and air.
The bell over the door sounded and in walked yet another familiar person.
“Mr. Chopin!” Sarah burst out. “It’s Sarah Moon. Remember me?”
Viktor Chopin offered her a dazzling smile. He had been her art teacher and mentor all through junior high and high school. He’d been the one teacher who had considered her a gifted student, giving her a feeling of worth. With his bold Eastern European good looks and the hint of an exotic accent flavoring his words, he had caused high school hearts to flutter. If anything, the passage of time had made him more dashing than ever.
“I certainly do, Miss Moon,” he said, smiling as he picked up on her formality. “Are you home for a visit or are you back with us for good?”
His eyes were depthless pools of chocolate. A girl could drown in them and not gain a pound.
“I am...here to stay,” she said.
“Still the artist, I see.” He indicated her shopping basket, which had inexplicably sprouted a Durer grid, something she hadn’t used since Drawing 101.
“I am so very glad to hear that,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Chopin.”
He treated her to another cordial smile, then went to the paint counter.
“We’re all set, handsome.” Vivian raised up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Five gallons of Judy’s finest.”
Sarah watched with her jaw unhinged as her favorite teacher carted Vivian’s paint outside. Mr. C. had married the prom queen.
“You look surprised,” Judy said as she rang up Sarah’s purchases.
“I shouldn’t gawk,” said Sarah, chagrined.
Judy smiled. “Funny how some things turn out, eh?”
As Sarah loaded her things into the car, she spotted Franny trotting along the driveway that separated the shop from the storage shed. The dog was still an escape artist and had managed to slip her collar. “Franny,” she said, “dammit, get back here.” Nose to the ground, the dog scurried to the rear of the shop, Sarah in hot pursuit and growing more frustrated by the moment.
“Don’t take it personally.”
Sarah turned to see Judy leaning against the back door of the art supply shop, smoking a cigarette.
“What, the fact that my own dog keeps running away from me?” Sarah asked.
Franny circled back. Sarah resisted the urge to chase her down and put the collar and leash back on her. That would only turn into a contest she had no hope of winning. Instead she made a big show of ignoring the dog.
“So how have you been?” she asked Judy, keeping one eye on Franny.
“All right.” Judy expelled a plume of smoke.
“And Mr. Madsen?” Sarah asked, referring to the owner of the store.
Judy hesitated. “He died four years ago. I bought the store from his estate. I figured I’d better take over the place, or I’d go broke buying my supplies here.”
Judy the Goth, a business owner. Sarah took a moment to process this. “I plan to be one of your regulars,” she said.
Judy motioned Sarah through a set of tall doors into the warehouse of corrugated tin. Most of the space was taken up by supplies stacked on pallets, but one corner housed a metal sculpture studio. There were burners of all sizes and blowtorches at the ready, stacks of cut metal and jars of soldering material.
Sarah recognized the peculiar airy quality of the abstract sculptures. The beaten metal shapes seemed weightless, as though they were feathers in flight. “You did the installation at Waterfront Park,” she said.
“That’s right.” Judy showed her a work-in-progress, commissioned by a winery in Hopland. She noticed Sarah studying her hands. “Burn marks,” she said, holding them out in front of her. “Occupational hazard.”
They walked outside together. Judy tossed her cigarette butt into a sand-filled bucket. “I’d better get back to minding my business.”
Sarah nodded. “See you around.” Then she paused. “Hey, would you like to meet for coffee sometime?”
“Sure, I guess. Vivian and I usually meet at the White Horse Café around nine in the morning on weekdays. Just to talk, you know?”
Sarah didn’t know, yet the prospect had enormous appeal to her. “Thanks. I’d like that,” she said.
Twenty-Eight
Sarah’s earliest memories were bathed in the sea-scented atmosphere of the oyster farm. As a child, it had been her whole world. She used to stand at the water’s edge with arms outstretched, embracing the very air around her. But as a teenager, she grew to view it as a trap and yearned for escape. Now she felt a sense of balance here. She liked taking Franny for walks along the shell-paved road leading out to the long, narrow buildings towering on stilts over the spartina grass that fringed Moon Bay. Every single oyster the company sold began life as a spat the size of a pinhead. On one of their frequent walks, she pointed these things out to Will, who, despite being a lifelong resident of Glenmuir, was unfamiliar with the workings of an oyster farm.
“When I was little,” she told him, “I thought everyone’s daddy took off each night at dark when the tide went out. As I got older, I learned it wasn’t just unusual but downright bizarre.”
“Maybe that’s why you turned out so twisted.”
She slugged his arm, and then they ambled along in companionable silence. She and Will were not dating. That would be insanity and they both knew it. They called each other, though. They went for long walks on the beach at sunset. They had dinner together and sometimes there were candles involved. But they were definitely not dating.
“Did you miss him?” Will asked. “When he was out working?”
“No.” She understood completely why he was asking. “He was supporting our family, and I knew he’d be back.”
“I hope Aurora feels that way about me. With my crazy work schedule, I’m either all there or all gone.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Sarah suggested.
“She’s barely speaking to me. She’s still mad at me for grounding her.” He blew out a weary sigh. “She asked Birdie about suing me for false arrest.”
“I wasn’t much older than Aurora when I sneaked out and drank beer with the oyster workers. Got caught, of course. Punished, too. But you’re doing more than punishing her. You’re putting out a candle with a hose on full force. Why is that?”
“Drinking and lying are hot buttons for me.”
“Why is that?”
He didn’t respond, and Sarah knew she was treading a fine line between nosiness and caring. “Your daughter means a lot to me, Will. I want to understand.”
“She looks just like her mother,” he finally admitted. “When she starts acting like her, it scares the crap out of me.”
They watched Franny sniffing furiously around the weathered dock that jutted out over the tidal flats. Sarah tried to picture Marisol, as beautiful as Aurora. What sort of woman ruined her marriage with drinking and lying?
“That’s the thing about being a parent,” Will sai
d. “There are as many ways to screw up as there are minutes in a day.”
“Attitude, Bonner. She’s a great kid. Why not think about all the ways it’s great between the two of you?”
“That’s sort of hard to do when she’s giving me the silent treatment.” He hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans. “I used to understand everything about her. At least, I thought I did. Somehow she turned from a perfectly good kid into a...I don’t know. A troubled teen.”
“She wants to talk,” Sarah assured him. “Believe me, I know how a troubled teen thinks.”
“Yeah? Were you one of those?”
“Duh.” She couldn’t believe he even had to ask.
“And is Aurora troubled?”
“The fact that you’re asking means she could be headed in that direction.” There was no sense in pulling punches with him. “So listen, I don’t know the first thing about being a parent, especially to a thirteen-year-old. But the way I see it, she’s taken her punishment. Now it’s time for forgiveness.”
“For your information, I’m about to take her off restriction, and I forgave her long ago.”
“Does she know that?”
“I assume so.”
Sarah thought about her own father. Had there been a moment in her childhood when he could have reached out, taken away her doubts and insecurities? “Don’t assume. Tell her she’s forgiven.”
“She’s still pissed at me.”
“You’re still pissed at her,” Sarah said in a flash of understanding.
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Just a wild guess. What’s really going on, Will?”
He braced his arm on the weathered dock railing and stared down at the water. “She lied, okay? She said she drank that beer, and I know damn well it was some other kid. Like you said, every kid sneaks a beer now and then. I’m angry because she lied to me.”
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record,” Sarah said, “does she know that?”