The Beach House

by Georgia Bockoven

“How long are they staying?”

  “Until Friday. They’re going to help me close the house.”

  He pulled up and looked at her, a stunned expression on his face. “You’re leaving Friday? Why so soon? Labor Day’s a week and a half away.”

  The strength of his reaction startled her. She slipped her hand from his and tucked it in her back pocket. “I have to get ready for school. I’m taking some refresher courses for my teaching credential.”

  “You’re going to be a teacher? I thought being a minister’s wife was a full-time job.”

  There it was. She either told him the truth and spent the little time they had left together talking about her problems or she danced around it and gave herself a few more days of freedom. “I thought it was time I branched out a little,” she said simply.

  “Did you know Julia was thinking about selling the house?” It was a long shot, but perhaps if Katherine knew, she would change her mind and stay a little longer. He’d thought they would have more time. He’d counted on it. He wasn’t ready to have her walk out of his life. He sure as hell wasn’t ready to face the possibility of never seeing her again.

  “I didn’t, but I’m not surprised.”

  “What will you do—about coming here in August, I mean.”

  She started walking again. “Most likely, I won’t do anything. It was hard justifying renting a three-bedroom house when I knew I would be the only one using it this year. I can’t see ever doing it again.”

  “What if I told you that I was thinking about buying the house from Julia?”

  “Why? You already have a—”

  “As an investment. August would be yours for as long as you wanted it. At the same price, of course.”

  “That’s crazy, Peter. You could get twice, maybe even three times as much as we’re paying.”

  If he wasn’t careful, he was going to trip himself up and she’d know the real reason he was buying the house. She’d never come back then. Hell, she’d probably run home and pack her bags that night. “It’s worth it to me to know the place would be taken care of.”

  They’d come to his front door. “You have no idea how much I wish I could say yes.”

  “At least tell me you’ll think about it.” He opened the door for her.

  She looked at him and smiled. “That’s easy. It’s probably all I’ll think about while I’m lugging books around campus this winter.”

  Peter followed her inside. “Can I get you something to drink? A soda? Iced tea?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t stay long.”

  A sudden, uncharacteristic nervousness made him hesitate showing her the picture. It had been years since he’d looked to anyone for approval of his work. He painted to satisfy himself. But this was different. He desperately wanted Katherine to like what he’d done.

  “It’s in here,” he said, indicating his studio. When she started that way, it was everything he could do not to stop her. Gaining a semblance of control, he took a deep breath and followed.

  She spotted the painting from the doorway. Instead of going in, she stayed where she was and stared, not saying anything. Finally, as if drawn forward by an invisible hand, she moved closer, stopping in the middle of the room directly in front of the portrait.

  “This is how you see me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  There could be no answer but the truth. “Yes.”

  “But you’ve made me so beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful.”

  She shook her head. “Not like this.”

  He wasn’t looking at the painting but at her when he asked, “Do you like it?”

  “It scares me,” she said, her confusion reflected in her voice. “But I don’t know why.” She moved closer still. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “I painted what I saw.”

  Finally she looked at him. “How can you see what no one else does?”

  “What are you really asking me?”

  “I look so lonely. . . .” She turned to the picture. “What am I looking at out that window, Peter? Why do I want it so much?”

  Not until that moment did he realize that he’d imagined her looking at him. “You tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  He would have given everything he owned to know what to say to her. Gut instinct told him there were words she needed to hear, but that they were in a language he didn’t know. “What do you want me to do with the painting?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s on paper,” he said. “Easily destroyed.”

  “Oh, no. You can’t.” She put her hand on his arm. “Promise me you won’t.”

  He was stunned to see tears in her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you, Katherine.”

  “It isn’t you, it’s me.” A tear spilled onto her cheek. She immediately wiped it away with her hand. “I have to go now.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  He couldn’t let her go. “There must be something.”

  “It’s my problem. I’ll work it out.”

  “Let me help.”

  She touched the side of his face. “I love the painting.” Forcing a smile, she added, “When you sell it, I hope you make lots and lots of money.”

  “I’m not selling it. The picture isn’t mine, Katherine. It’s yours.”

  “You can’t . . . I couldn’t . . .” She looked at the painting, at him, and then back at the painting again. After an agonizingly long time she said, “Keep it for me.” Their eyes met. “Would you?”

  It was a connection he hadn’t expected. A gift. A promise. A golden cage where he would reside the rest of his life. “For as long as you like,” he told her.

  The rest of the week Paul and his friends kept Katherine too busy to think, including her in whatever plans they made for the day, even insisting she go to the boardwalk with them, where, against her better judgment, she let them talk her into going on the roller coaster. She ate cotton candy, a candied apple, and a questionable-looking hot dog she was still burping six hours later.

  Friday arrived with a thick roll of fog sitting offshore, a breeze to keep the heat from being oppressive, and a sky so blue that it begged to be filled with brightly colored kites. Because it seemed a crime not to take advantage of their last day of vacation, Katherine insisted the boys go swimming while she packed. After lunch they stripped the beds, cleaned the bathrooms, and loaded the car.

  Paul made an endearingly sincere offer to ride back with her, but she convinced him that she was looking forward to the quiet of making the trip alone. The boys took off at four, hoping to get home in time for a party that night. She stood in the driveway and watched them leave, then went inside to finish cleaning.

  As she worked her way through the remaining rooms, caught up in the mindless process of dusting, polishing, and vacuuming, her thoughts wandered in a dozen directions. Inevitably, no matter how circuitous the route, she wound up thinking about Peter. For days she’d looked for him whenever she was outside, but hadn’t seen him since he’d shown her the painting. It was almost as if he were purposely avoiding her.

  A glorious sunset chastised her for being inside when she looked out the window after finishing the kitchen floor, the job she’d left for last. She made one final inspection, then went outside, a reward for all her hard work. As she walked around the house, she checked to see if Peter’s car was in the driveway. Finally he was home.

  Smelling like pine cleaner and bleach, her hair in a careless knot on top of her head, her makeup a fleeting memory, she headed for his house, afraid to take the chance he might leave again if she took the time to clean herself up.

  He answered her knock so quickly, it was almost as if he’d been standing on the other side of the door waiting for her.

  “Hi,” she said, suddenly, acutely, aware how disheveled she looked.

  “I thought you were gone already,” he said.

  “The boys left around four.”<
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  “Would you like to come in?”

  She glanced down at herself. “I didn’t come to visit.”

  He waited and then asked, “Why did you come, then?”

  How could she have rehearsed what she wanted to tell him the whole time she was cleaning and have forgotten it now? “About the painting . . . I love it, Peter. It’s important that you know that.”

  “But you still don’t want it.”

  She had a hundred reasons, but only one that mattered. He’d exposed something she didn’t want anyone who knew her to see. “Maybe someday,” she said. “But not now.”

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  She nodded and took a step backward. “I should go now. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”

  He didn’t say anything, just watched her leave.

  The walk back to the house seemed impossibly long. She went inside to check the locks on the doors and windows, then stood on the deck to watch the last bit of sun disappear. Reason told her it was time to leave, but sentiment made it almost impossible. She’d already lost so much, it was hard to see this, too, end.

  Finally it was the cold that got her to move. Resisting the temptation to make one last walk through the house, she crossed the living room and went out the front door.

  She drove by Peter’s house slowly, hoping he would be outside or standing at a window and that she could wave a final good-bye. He wasn’t either place. Having anticipated that she would feel loss, she wasn’t surprised when it came. What she hadn’t expected was that it would be so powerful or be accompanied by a haunting sense that she’d left something undone.

  Ten minutes later she was on the highway when she glanced up and saw the sign for the last exit to Santa Cruz. Another half mile and she would be headed inland on 17, the ocean a memory.

  More on reflex than conscious thought, she left the highway and turned around, not sure why, only that she couldn’t leave until she’d seen Peter one last time.

  He didn’t answer her knock. She tried again and waited. Still no answer.

  Then, almost as if he’d left her a note, it came to her where he was. She headed for the beach, stopping at the top of the stairs to look for him. A three-quarter moon reflected off the water, drawing her eye to a solitary figure on the shore.

  Peter looked up and saw someone walking across the soft sand in his direction. He stopped and stared and mentally dismissed the idea that it was Katherine. He continued to refuse to let himself believe she’d come back until she was standing so close that he had only to reach out to touch her.

  Katherine looked intently into his eyes. “Tell me about the painting. I want to hear it in your words.”

  Peter’s heart did a roll and then slammed against his ribs. “What is it you want to know?”

  The words didn’t come easily. She started and then stopped, then started again. “What was I looking at so longingly?”

  “Me. . . .” The declaration was like opening a door to his prison. He was free of the secret that had kept him there all these years. Now there was no going back, no possibility of resuming their old friendship, no more dreaming of what could never be.

  “How long have you felt this way?”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I think it was from the first day I saw you.”

  “I didn’t know. I never even suspected.” She frowned. “But I must have. At least on some level. If you hadn’t been here, Peter, I think I would have stopped wanting to come a long time ago.”

  He’d never felt more alive or more on the outside. The confession didn’t unlock any doors or open any windows that would let him into her life. It was nothing more than a confession. It gave him no rights, it solved no problems. “Funny how things turn out, huh? Now you’re probably thinking it’s a good thing that you’re not coming back.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, and then, “Brandon and I are separated. We’re getting a divorce.”

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m seeing a lawyer as soon as I get home.”

  “Is this what you came back to tell me?” he asked carefully.

  “Yes.”

  “Why now?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe I was afraid I’d lose you as a friend if I told you before.”

  So much rested on the answer, he hesitated asking the question. “And now?”

  She swayed toward him. “I know you’ll always be my friend.” She added softly, “No matter what happens.”

  He put his hands on the sides of her face and slowly brought her to him. Their lips touched in a tentative kiss. The second kiss was more confident. Their tongues met, their breath mingled. Then came a sigh, and then a deep-throated groan, as Peter put his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, turning in a slow circle.

  When he put her down again, Katherine broke the kiss and looked at him. “This is happening so fast. I need time to think, Peter.”

  He’d had years of practice letting her go, it shouldn’t be hard to do it again. But that was before. “I understand,” he said with great effort.

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “Please wait for me.”

  He held her close, oblivious of the sounds of the ocean echoing off the cliffs, the waves lapping at their feet, the cold wind swirling around them. “If it takes forever, I will be here,” he said softly.

  PART FIVE

  September

  Chapter 1

  Josi uncurled from her sleeping position on top of Eric’s manuscript, rolled over, and stretched her full length, knocking a pencil holder to the floor. Eric leaned forward in his chair, picked up the oft-dropped pencils, and put them back on the desk. He absently scratched Josi’s chin and noted the loud, rumbling purr of response, his sole sense of satisfaction at something well done that morning.

  Certainly the chapter wasn’t going as well. But then none of them had since he’d returned from New York. It seemed there was nothing like a couple of million dollars’ advance to instill a crippling case of writer’s block. Before the book sold he’d been writing for himself. If a sentence or paragraph or chapter pleased him, that was all that counted. Now he found himself trying to please an entire publishing house by second-guessing what they had liked in the first half of the book.

  Eric leaned back in his chair as Josi shifted position again, her tail taking possession of the letter he’d received that morning from Charlie Stephens. Charlie had written to thank Eric for putting him in touch with Chris, whom he’d talked into helping out at the South Los Angeles Athletic Center coaching a freestyle wrestling team. Chris came whenever he had time off from his preproduction responsibilities for the movie. Almost as an aside, Charlie had ended by mentioning casually that he and Chris’s mother also happened to be seeing a lot of each other and that there would be an update in his next letter.

  As always when Eric allowed his thoughts to drift from the book, they found their way to Julia. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since the day he’d stopped by to pick up Josi, a little over a month ago. He’d had her number half-dialed a dozen times but always changed his mind at the last minute. When he’d told her the next move was hers, he’d had no idea she would take so long. The wait was damn near killing him.

  At least he’d heard about her from Peter and knew she was doing okay. She’d gone through with her plans to sell the beach house to him, and from what Eric had seen since, it appeared Peter still intended to use it as a rental, at least temporarily. That past week the woman who’d been there in August had come back for several days. Eric had run into her and Peter on the beach a couple of times, but they’d been so focused on each other that they’d walked right by without noticing him.

  Planting his feet on the floor and rolling his chair back, Eric got up and went to the kitchen to pour his fifth cup of coffee that morning. Unsurprisingly, it tasted the way it smelled, burned and bitter. He poured it down the sink. Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator, he walked around for several minutes, rolling his s
houlders and stretching his back before sitting at the computer again.

  A half hour later he was still staring at the blinking cursor at the top of an empty page, his hands planted on the arms of his chair, when Josi opened one eye and swiveled an ear toward the front door. She stayed that way for several seconds before she opened the other eye and raised her head.

  Eric listened but, as usual, heard nothing.

  When she rose to a sitting position, he pushed back his chair and stood. He’d stopped questioning Josi’s psychic connection to the FedEx truck weeks ago.

  Which was why it took his mind a full five seconds to register that it wasn’t someone from FedEx standing on his front porch, but Julia. She was wearing a full-skirted, navy-blue-and-yellow dress that had narrow straps over the shoulders and buttons down the front. Her hair was loose and a bit wild, as if she’d been driving with the window rolled down and had been in too big a hurry to bother with repairs.

  This was not the Julia Huntington he’d come to know, but he found the changes exciting—and promising.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I imagined a lot of greetings on the trip down, but that wasn’t one of them.”

  “Let me try again.” He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, making every effort to hide how seeing her again made him feel. “You look—” His gaze swept her. There was no getting around it. “There’s only one word, incredible.”

  “Thank you. I feel pretty incredible, too.” When she smiled, her eyes hinted at more surprises to come.

  “Am I to assume you came all this way just to see me?”

  “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”

  Finally he returned the smile. “The only problem I have is, what took you so long?”

  “I had some things I had to do first. If you’ll ask me in, I’ll tell you about them.”

  He moved out of the doorway.

  “Is she your muse?” Julia asked, spotting Josi and going over to give her an affectionate scratch.

  “If she is, it’s time I traded her in for one that works.” He couldn’t believe Julia was actually there. Nothing had prepared him. It had been a perfectly ordinary morning; the sun hadn’t shone any brighter, the ocean had been its usual blue.