The Beach at Painter's Cove

by Shelley Noble

  “Why would she do such a thing? Do you think something happened to Dan? I—” Now she let go, but only to cover her mouth with her hand. “What did Leo say?”

  “She was sleeping. It’s late. She can tell us tomorrow.” Except Issy wouldn’t be here. But how could she not be here? Who was going to deal with this mess? It was abundantly clear that Aunt Fae was in no condition to care for anyone, maybe not even herself.

  “They’ll let us see her, won’t they?”

  “I’m sure they will.” Issy walked arm in arm with Fae down the central hall to the kitchen, where the kids were already sitting at the table eating peanut butter sandwiches and slices of cantaloupe.

  Chloe set a basket of homemade bread on the table. “I tried to interest them in gazpacho and quiche but they couldn’t wait. The quiche will be ready in a minute. Have a seat. You, too, Fae.”

  There were three places neatly set at the opposite end of the table. There was so much Issy had to do, but she made for the wooden kitchen chair like it was a feather bed.

  Issy’s cell phone buzzed. All heads turned toward her as she fished it out of her bag. A text from Paolo. She shook her head. Not Vivienne.

  Truck just left. Taking 6am shuttle. U OK?

  “Sorry, I have to make a call.” Issy got up from the table and pressed her speed dial for Paolo.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Ciao, bella. How goes it?”

  She walked into the hall before answering. “My grandmother will recover. My sister left her three children here, and I have to make arrangements for someone to watch them until she gets back. I can do that tomorrow, but even so, I don’t think I’ll make the six o’clock.”

  “Cara, we’re fine. The D.C. team can install this exhibit in their sleep. And the Cluny team will have to, since none of us has seen more than four hours in the last two weeks. So no hurries, no worries.”

  “I’ll try for the eight o’clock; if I can get my aunt to care for the children, I can call for permanent care once I’m in D.C.” She lowered her voice. “It’s just a little dicey, the cop in charge suggested social services. I can’t let them do that. I’ve been calling my sister all night but she doesn’t answer.”

  “Do you think something has happened to her?”

  “Not at this point, but it is unlike her just to dump her kids and take off. She’s like supermother. A-team. Starring role.”

  Paolo chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Now I know why you so rarely speak of her.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t like her very much.”

  “No love lost between us, that’s for sure. A topic for another time.”

  “And several drinks,” he added.

  One drink tonight would put her under the table.

  “I’ll come straight to the museum from the airport. I’ll give you a heads-up as soon as I know which shuttle.”

  “Issy, what I was going to say before we got sidetracked by your charismatic family is that Dell came down. I told him we could do the unload via Skype with you. Actually they don’t even need us to unload but I kept that to myself. Don’t want him thinking we’re expendable. You take tomorrow, even Saturday, to arrange things there.”

  “I—” She started to protest, but she knew he was right. She’d be distracted the whole time. But she also knew that there was a handful of people begging for a job at the museum. Deirdre, for one, wanted Issy’s. The pay was lousy but the perks . . . All that great art.

  “Issy, Are you still awake?”

  “Yes, just thinking.”

  “So stop it. Deirdre and I have got this. You take care of your family.”

  Issy’s heart squeezed a little. “If you’re sure.”

  “Cara, you’re talking to me.”

  And to Paolo, family was everything.

  “Thanks.”

  “And try to get some sleep.”

  “I will. Call me, anytime.”

  “Good night, Is.”

  “Night.”

  She ended the call as Chloe came down the hall, urging the three children toward the stairs and bed.

  “I’ll take care of these guys,” Chloe said. “You go eat something.”

  “Thanks. And I just got a reprieve. I don’t have to be in D.C. until day after tomorrow.”

  “Great; that will give us time to come up with a plan.”

  When Issy returned to the kitchen Ben was attempting to convince Fae to go home to bed. “Everything is fine. We’ll go visit her in the morning. Issy needs her rest.”

  On cue Issy stepped into the room and yawned. She didn’t mean to, but she was exhausted, and trying to get sense out of her great-aunt tonight was more than she could manage.

  She went to Fae and gave her a hug. “It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see.”

  “Come along. I’ll walk you home.” Ben extended his elbow.

  “That’s not necessary. I know the way.”

  “But you don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?”

  Fae sighed. “I know what you’re doing. But very well.”

  When they were gone, Issy sat down to attempt a few bites of quiche. It was delicious, though a bit lukewarm by now.

  Chloe came back in. “The two little ones are out cold. The teenager disappeared into her room and shut the door. I’ll take that as she’s fine.”

  She sat down next to Issy. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re here. I’m glad, though I just wish it hadn’t been because Leo is in the hospital. The question is, are you going to stay?”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t mean to leave without a word the last time I was here. It’s such a Whitaker thing to do. But things were such a mess. No one even told me Wes had died. I probably couldn’t have made it back to the States in time for the funeral, but they didn’t even try to find me. And for some reason, I just haven’t made it back too often since then.”

  “Don’t be so hard on them. Leo was distraught. Fae was . . . well, you know. George and Dan were at it. And Vivienne—”

  “Vivienne saw her chance to queer me with the whole family.”

  Chloe shrugged. “At least this will give you a chance to square things with Leo.”

  “I can’t stay. I have work that won’t wait.”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  “Thanks. So tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “Well, I’m an administrative assistant at the local grammar school.”

  “What about culinary school?”

  “I went for a year, but it was expensive and somehow it took all the love of cooking out of me. Just don’t have what it takes, I guess.”

  “So you and Ben live together?” Issy asked, half curious and half just making conversation. It seemed so odd that they should reconnect so fortuitously at the moment Issy really needed some friends.

  “No. Ben lives on the edge of town, close to his stinky old marshes. I just bought a bungalow downtown and I’m staying with him while I have the floors refinished. It’s zoned for business and has an apartment above. I’ve been thinking about opening a tea shop.”

  She began clearing the table.

  “You’d be great at it.” Issy pushed her chair back to help.

  They carried the dishes to the sink. Chloe turned on the spigot; the pipes creaked and banged; the water exploded out then ran in a slow trickle.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Issy said.

  “It was supposed to be fixed,” Chloe said over her shoulder. “A total overhaul of the plumbing.”

  Issy leaned on the counter next to Chloe. “Doesn’t look like they got very far.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Scott Rostand was contracted to do the job. I don’t know what happened. He’s working on the Cove Theater renovation. Guess it was a bigger, better-paying job. Though you wouldn’t think it to hear them beg for money. Still, it’s not like Scott not to finish a job.”

  “Doesn’t even look like he started this one,” Issy
said.

  The kitchen door opened and Ben walked back in. “Chloe, Issy’s dead on her feet and you have her washing dishes?”

  “I’m just kibitzing. And talking plumbing. Did you get Fae home okay?”

  “As close as she’d let me. I waited, after she disappeared into the woods, for screeches, screams, or oofs. But nothing. I don’t know why she’s so secretive about where she lives. It’s that yellow cottage on the cliff, right?”

  Issy nodded. “It’s just her way.”

  “I promised we’d take her to the hospital tomorrow.”

  “We?”

  “We’re not going to strand you here with those crazy kids.” He took the drying cloth from her hand. “That’s it for you. Off to bed. We’ll finish here and lock up.” He frowned. “You’re okay staying here by yourself? Do you want us to stay?”

  “No, you’ve both already done too much. We’ll be fine.”

  “Then we’ll pick you up in the morning, but not too early. Sleep in. We have the whole day to get things squared away.”

  “Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know—”

  “Enough. Get upstairs right now. Before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you up.”

  “I’m a little heavier than I was in grammar school.”

  “What? You don’t think I can still throw you over my shoulder?”

  Issy threw up her hands. “I’m going.”

  “Issy,” Chloe said. “One thing. How did you recognize Ben at the hospital? He’s not the scrawny geek he used to be.”

  Issy looked from Chloe to her brother and laughed. “I didn’t recognize him. I recognized his cowlick.”

  Ben groaned and slapped his hand to his hair.

  Issy grinned. “How many times did you show up at school looking just like tonight? I would have known that bedhead anywhere.”

  Chapter 4

  It wasn’t until the next morning, lying in her old four-poster bed, that Issy realized how dusty everything was. She’d been so exhausted last night, and so glad to see her old bedroom unoccupied by nieces or nephew, she’d dropped her clothes on the floor and climbed between the sheets without noticing the layer of dust that covered the nearby surfaces.

  Except for the dust nothing had changed. She could be sleeping here five years ago, ten, or even twenty. She’d grown more selective in her surroundings since moving away. More selective and more minimalist.

  She stretched and nearly knocked over a tall thin vase with a dead rose sticking out of the narrow top. She set it upright, trying to remember if the rose was left over from her last visit. Decided she didn’t like the symbolism of that and reached for her phone and sat up.

  Nine twenty-two. She’d not only missed the early shuttle but the next several. Then she remembered she wasn’t taking the shuttle today.

  The sun slanted through the window, but the air felt heavy and thick, and she slid off the bed to wrestle the window open. A creak and a scrape and the sea air rushed in. Below her, the lawn, neglected now, rolled down to a beckoning beach. Beyond it, the sound danced blue as it met the sky.

  Tempting, but she had a lot to do today.

  Starting with an almost hot shower, delivered by clanking pipes. She towel-dried her hair and dressed in the black jeans she’d planned to wear for the installation—she hadn’t packed beach clothes.

  She tossed her work sneakers into the closet and exchanged them for a pair of black straw flats. Pulled out a deconstructed linen jacket from her suitcase, snapped it a couple of times, decided she’d go for shabby chic. Hopefully she would look acceptable for a meeting with her grandmother.

  A basic application of makeup, a quick look in the mirror to make sure she looked neat and unfazed by all the surprises, and she carried her laptop downstairs to check in with Paolo.

  The aroma of bacon and coffee wafted up the staircase and she was tempted to go straight to the kitchen. But the voices coming from there told her several people were up and she needed to get work out of the way.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she turned right into the front parlor, but lingered just inside the archway. The parlor was one of those rooms that was always in shadow on one side because of the porch, and sunny on the other because of a large bay window, creating a play of light and dark—chiaroscuro—as they met in the middle.

  Issy remembered stepping over grown men sitting or lying on the carpet, their arms outstretched as they passed their hands in and out of the bits of light.

  It was a wonderful game that they gladly invited Issy to play.

  Happy times, for her at least. But today the room was just dark, the air holding that lifeless sense when space is shut away. Even the familiar pieces lacked their vitality. The curved Queen Anne couch whose velvet cushions and horsehair stuffing scratched her legs in the summer. The portrait of great-great-grandfather Manus Whitaker looking down at her from above the mantel. The Tiffany lamp on the butterfly end table or the coffeepot that Russel Wright had created for one Fourth of July as a joke, but in his hands had turned into a work of art—except it wasn’t there on the sofa table.

  She looked around but apparently it was gone, broken or put somewhere else. It was sad in a way. Everything in the room had meant something at one time. But things changed, people left, objects were broken or forgotten. A shame to let it all go, but Leo certainly didn’t need all these rooms. And Leo and Fae were both getting too old to manage on their own.

  But the thought of her grandmother and aunt not at the Muses was too awful. They belonged here. Vivienne would just have to hire a service to help out Mrs. Norcroft, who was obviously getting too old to take care of the house alone.

  Issy backed out of the room, leaving the memories where they belonged. She went across the foyer into the library. Here, too, it was dark, and she quickly opened the bank of heavy mulberry drapes, unleashing a curtain of dust motes as the sunlight began to pour in.

  Issy sneezed and looked around. Two walls of built-in bookcases flanked the marble fireplace, both filled to overflowing.

  Eclectic furniture, some antique, some created by artist friends of the family, vied for whatever floor space wasn’t taken up by Wes’s big kneehole desk. Paintings hung helter-skelter on the remaining walls, more glass lamps, Bakelite bowls, and modern sculpture rubbed elbows, sometimes literally, on the neglected surfaces.

  She’d thought she would use the library as an office but it was just too cluttered. And the aroma of coffee wafting down the hallway was too enticing. Issy checked her e-mail on her phone, texted Paolo just to touch base, and went to join the others.

  Chloe was at the stove turning over pancakes. Ben sat at one end of the table drinking coffee from a large crockery mug. A white laptop sat on the table before him. Amanda and Griffin sat along the same side, Griffin eating a strip of bacon, gradually working it into his mouth without using his hands, while Amanda gesticulated and informed her listeners of all the other gross things he knew how to do. Stephanie was MIA.

  “Did you call Mama?” Mandy asked.

  “Not since last night.”

  “And she’s not going to try again until she has some breakfast,” Chloe said.

  Issy shoved her cell phone into her pocket, grabbed a cup off the table, and poured herself coffee. She took a sip and peered over Chloe’s shoulder at the pancakes. “You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it. Thanks.”

  Chloe put a plate at an empty place and shooed Issy toward the chair.

  Issy was about to say she never ate breakfast, when she took a look at the pancakes. “Are those blueberries?”

  “Yep, fresh from Jensen’s farm market this morning.”

  “Who got them fresh from New Jersey yesterday,” added her brother.

  “I didn’t hear you complaining when you ate the first stack,” Chloe said.

  “I was just being polite. It’s still a bit early for the local ones,” he explained.

  He smiled at Chloe in the same old way as he had years ago, when Issy had long
ed to have a family like theirs, a mother who stayed home, a father who went to work, and who were as close and caring as Issy and Vivienne’s mother, Jillian, had been unavailable.

  Issy had a loving if unorthodox home; two grandparents and a great-aunt and a fascinating array of artists and musicians and sometimes actors—mostly stage actors.

  Wes and Leo never cared for the cinema; Issy thought her mother must have destroyed any love they’d had for the medium when she dumped her two children on the doorstep and fled back to her glamorous, unencumbered life.

  “What if she’s never coming back?” Amanda wailed, breaking into Issy’s reverie.

  Griffin sniffed. “I want Mommy,”

  Issy frowned at her niece. “Amanda, cut it out. She’s coming back and you’re upsetting your brother.”

  “I want Mommy.” Griffin moaned.

  Chloe turned to Ben. “Take him out of here before he gets any louder.”

  “Me?” he said, but he stood. “Hey, Griff, you want to go down to the creek? I think I saw a Rana kauffeldi last week.”

  Griffin’s moaning trickled down to a whimper. “What’s that?”

  “A leopard frog.”

  Griffin’s eyes widened. “No way.”

  Ben nodded. “Way.”

  Griffin slid off his chair and went to stand by the door. He must have dressed himself in the plaid shorts and SpongeBob T-shirt several sizes too small for him and faded, obviously a longtime favorite.

  “I want to see the leopard frog, too.” Amanda snagged a piece of bacon off the platter and followed them.

  “Is she still wearing her pajamas?”

  “Their fashion-conscious mother would be having a fit,” Chloe said as Ben and the two children went out the door.

  “Then she should be here to dress them,” Issy snapped.

  “Guess you’re not feeling forgiving this morning.”

  “Toward her? She just better have a good reason for this. She’s dragged me from work—don’t you have to work today?”

  “Took a personal day.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”