Forever Beach

by Shelley Noble

  By the time Ilona blew into the office around one, she’d pushed all memory of the funeral out of her mind; she’d buried whatever questions she might have posed in the wee morning hours about the nature of love. And she had built back up a slight disdain for her hardworking secretary.

  And Sarah? Coming in here, all comfy in her new life but wanting Nonie to bail her out again. After all these years.

  The first thing Ilona did when she reached her office was pull out the Rodrigues file. Then buzzed Inez.

  “Get CP&P on the line. I need the documentation on Leila Rodrigues.” She disconnected, picked up the first page from the file, and leaned back in her chair.

  Sarah might have gotten in the first hit, but Ilona would get the last.

  Chapter 19

  Sarah stayed at Wyatt’s until it was time to pick up Leila from school. There had been no calls, and no one came by for a visit. And Sarah thought they had Victor to thank for that.

  She didn’t wake Wyatt but left a note saying that she and Leila would be back with dinner around six. She left the note propped up against the prescription bottle and hoped she wasn’t overstepping.

  And thought what a stupid thing to worry about. They’d never had any boundaries. They’d never even discussed boundaries or anything else. Just took things as they came. And that had been enough.

  It was enough now, except that she suddenly worried about him not being in her life. That would be weird. And it would leave a big hole. Almost as big as the hole Leila would leave if she went back to Carmen.

  When Sarah told Leila Wyatt had been in an accident, Leila stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looked up at her, and asked, “Is he going to die?”

  “No!” Sarah said, taken off guard. She picked up the backpack. “He just got some owies.”

  “Can we take him some cookies?”

  “I think he would like that a lot.”

  They crossed the street and instead of heading back to the cottage, they turned left and walked the half block to Alonso’s Pastries. Tony Alonso, a third-generation baker and owner of the pastry shop, came out from the back to greet them.

  “Wyatt has a owie,” Leila told him.

  “I heard, and I bet you’ve come to get him some of his favorite cookies.”

  Leila nodded.

  Tony smiled at Sarah, his eyes twinkling. “And are these going to be from you and your mama, or just from you?”

  Leila’s brows snapped together, her bottom lip protruding. And Sarah realized what Tony had said, Mama. Not Mommee. How was he to know? Surely this balancing act would finish soon.

  “They’re from both of us, aren’t they, sunshine?”

  Leila nodded, but she was still frowning.

  Oblivious to the undercurrents, Tony reached into the back of the display case and brought out a small shell-shaped cookie dipped in chocolate and sprinkles, lifted his brows at Sarah, who nodded, then presented it to Leila.

  The clouds parted in an instant, and Sarah breathed again.

  Tony packed a box with an assortment of their favorites, then Leila chose a big cookie decorated to look like a smiley face covered with yellow icing with a white piping face.

  He put it into a separate box and tied it up with string and presented it to Leila. “You tell Wyatt that we all hope he’s feeling better soon.”

  Leila, whose mouth was full of cookie, nodded. She sprayed a cookie crumb “thank you” to him and they left.

  As soon as they got home, Sarah started on the chicken and dumplings she thought might tempt Wyatt to eat. Leila went to the cupboard and pulled out paper and crayons to make him a get well card.

  She drew a big red heart on the folded construction paper, and it almost broke Sarah’s. She was beginning to realize what people meant when they said the “tapestry of life.”

  It was scary and wonderful. And might get very, very sad. She smiled and sent a silent thank-you to Sam, who had somehow gotten her off the treadmill of hurt and into a productive loving life.

  She spelled out Wyatt while Leila made each letter, the name wobbling from one side of the page to the other and taking a nosedive at the very end. It was beautiful.

  “Wyatt is going to love it,” Sarah said.

  The kitchen soon was infused with the smell of cooking. Leila went to pick out some books she thought Wyatt might like her to read to him, and Sarah gave up all pretense of working that day.

  A little before six they climbed in the car, the chicken and dumplings balanced in a wicker picnic basket on the passenger-side floor, Leila in her car seat in back with her library bag filled with books.

  “We have to be very gentle with him, because he has a bunch of owies that hurt him.”

  Leila nodded solemnly. They let themselves in the back door. Sarah didn’t love taking that liberty, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.

  Wyatt was sitting up, one leg still stretched out along the couch, watching a baseball game with the sound on mute. Leila ran toward him, Wyatt braced himself, but she remembered at the last minute to slow down.

  She stopped to stand in front of him, then stuck the card at him.

  Sarah grabbed her phone and took a photo. It was just too cute to miss. Even if it didn’t go into the file. It would look great in the family album.

  Wyatt took the card and peered at it. Sarah could tell he was still loopy and was having to concentrate to show interest.

  “Thank you,” he said. “This is the best card I ever got.”

  Leila beamed and looked back at Sarah, who smiled, too. Just one big happy, smiling . . . not family but more than not family.

  “What smells so good?”

  “Chicken and dumplings.”

  “You cooked?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Wyatt half grinned at Leila. His face looked even more swollen than before. “We are two lucky people,” he told her.

  She nodded. “And cookies.”

  He lowered his leg to the floor, and Leila, her book bag slung over her shoulder, climbed up to sit beside him. She placed the book bag on her other side and frowned at his banged-up knee. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not so bad.”

  “That’s him being macho,” Sarah called from the kitchen. “So no roughhousing.”

  Leila patted his arm. “Do you want me to read you a story?”

  Wyatt leaned back. “I’d love it.”

  When Sarah brought out a plate for Wyatt, Leila was chattering on and on, making up the words she couldn’t sound out and inventing stories that might or might not fit the pictures. Wyatt looked dazed but patient.

  He didn’t eat much—painkillers did that to an appetite—so Sarah divided the leftovers into containers for him to eat later.

  Wyatt walked them to the door but took Sarah’s arm as she started to leave. “Vic said you stuck up for me at the Brew this morning.”

  “Anyone would have. I’ve just got a shorter fuse.”

  “We did the best we could. We were too late.”

  “You did good. No one could have done it better. Shit happens. Just ask me. I know.”

  He smiled at her, then pulled her close and managed to kiss her in spite of his bruises.

  SARAH SPENT TUESDAY running between the store, the school bus, and Wyatt’s.

  The local paper did an article on the bravery of the rescue team and warned about the danger of boating while intoxicated. The police and the harbor patrol came around to take a statement. Both complimented Wyatt and his team on the quick thinking that saved several people.

  But Sarah could tell that the men he couldn’t save preyed on his mind.

  That night, as he sat watching her clear the table, she called him on it. He denied it.

  “Hmmph,” she said. “And you call me complicated. Wy, you can’t save everybody.” And it struck her; that was just what he did do, always the first person who volunteered to help out: lifeguards, rescue squad . . . her and Leila.

  Leila definitely needed saving, but Sar
ah could take care of herself. She didn’t need saving. She just needed . . . What did she need? What did Wyatt?

  She’d felt right helping him out, cooking, and making sure he had everything he needed. And it was difficult not to look at the three of them and think happy family. If it ever went that way.

  Sarah thought about what Alice said, about men not wanting a package, but Wyatt didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. Then again, he was used to taking care of people. And he hadn’t mentioned anything long term. Ever. Except the one time, when he was loopy on painkillers. He’d stopped taking them after the first few days and he hadn’t mentioned it since, so maybe it wasn’t even what he meant. He probably didn’t even remember saying it.

  ON WEDNESDAY, LEILA came back from her weekly meeting with Carmen, loaded down with cheap toys and a letter.

  “Just a review hearing in a couple of weeks,” Danny told her. “Do you have time to go over some stuff while I’m here?”

  “Sure,” Sarah said and invited him into the kitchen.

  She pulled out the documentation notebook and opened it on the table while he rummaged through his messenger bag to find his notes.

  As interviews went it was fairly painless.

  Even when she asked him what he was hearing on the system grapevine, he didn’t seem concerned. “Carmen seems to be doing fine. And she’s definitely petitioning the court to reinstate her parental rights,” he added sympathetically, with a quick look out the door to the living room where Leila was sitting quietly by herself.

  At least Sarah might be able to get through with the questions and Danny out the door before Leila’s reaction from the disruption set in. Though maybe Danny should see the state these visits left her in. Of course, he might take them to be evidence that she should be returned to Carmen.

  “It’s just a review. It’s not really necessary for you to be there. It’s mainly just to document Carmen’s progress, and report on Leila’s comfort level and how she’s doing in foster care. And if she’s ready for unsupervised visits.”

  Unsupervised visits? Sarah felt things begin to slip from her hands. “I’ll be there. With my lawyer.”

  It was time to call Randy Phelps and get him up to speed. For a brief second she thought about calling Ilona Cartwright and begging her to take the case, but she dismissed it. Ilona was not Nonie. Ilona was the enemy.

  As soon as he was out the door, Leila came to the door, carrying her book bag. “Going to Wyatt’s.”

  “Not tonight, sunshine. He’s feeling better and doesn’t need—and can get around by himself. We’ll see him later this week.”

  She pushed Sarah to get her to move. “Going to Wy’s.”

  Sarah wouldn’t mind seeing him herself. “Okay, but just for a few minutes.”

  They got in the car and drove over, but as she turned the corner, Sarah saw a little blue sports car turn into his driveway. Caitlyn, the blond diver, got out and tripped up the walk to the door. Wyatt opened it and she went inside.

  Sarah’s heart slammed shut.

  “Wy’s house,” Leila said.

  “Sorry, sunshine. Wy has company.”

  The whining started before she even made it to the end of the block, the full-blown tantrum by the time she pulled the car into the back parking area of the cottage. Sarah managed to get a kicking, screaming Leila out of her car seat and held her tightly until they were in the house. Then, capturing her arms and legs, she sat down in the easy chair—Sam’s chair—and held her until she stopped fighting, and the sobs became hiccups and she fell asleep.

  Sarah put her down for a nap and hoped that she would sleep through the night. It had been a long day with school and the visit with Carmen and the thwarting of her dinner with Wyatt, which after two nights had become a part of their routine, it seemed—until Sarah had seen Caitlyn going into Wyatt’s house.

  There was no reason he shouldn’t see Caitlyn; they hadn’t made plans for tonight. Still it was as much a disappointment for Sarah as it was for Leila. She’d also felt like dinner with Wyatt had become a part of their lives. Which is what happened when you let your guard down. Well, she was an adult and she could accept that.

  Besides, she had plenty on her plate already without changing anything. She would call Randy Phelps first thing tomorrow. It was time he started working hard for the money. And tomorrow she and Leila would have their first Mommy and Me swim class at the Y.

  Something to look forward to.

  REESA WENT TO bed wondering how she could work so hard and be so dissatisfied. She woke up tired, as if she’d spent the night wrestling with her dissatisfaction. She stood at the kitchen sink drinking a glass of water, too dragged out to even care about coffee. She’d pick up a cup on the way to work. A bagel, too. A bagel with a gob of vegetable cream cheese.

  As if that would change anything.

  At least she’d been able to help reunify the Washington family yesterday afternoon. Five children, one of them disabled. Father working two jobs, the mother stretched to the limit, they had been evicted and sent to a shelter, where they refused to stay, and who could blame them. But that refusal had landed four of their children in foster homes and the one boy in a group facility.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Washington’s mother had a home down in Cape May County and was willing to take them in. Mr. Washington had gone down to apply for jobs, Mrs. Washington intended to work part-time, and her mother would watch the children. The grandmother’s church was going to help. They’d done it themselves. The only thing Reesa had done was call the grandmother and ask if she would take one or all of the kids.

  She was willing to take the whole family, but they hadn’t asked. They’d been too proud to admit they needed help. And almost lost their children because of it.

  Reesa should have felt pleased, and she was happy for the family, but it just seemed like too near a miss to her. They succeeded, not because the system worked, but because the family had a relative who was able to help. A community who reached out.

  Reesa had never taken her life for granted, not working with the people she worked with. But she had thought it was safe. Now she didn’t know. The kids were gone and building their own lives. Michael was a stranger and a stranger she didn’t like very much at the moment.

  She’d lost her temper last night. When she came in and found him sitting in that damn recliner, she wanted to slash the upholstery. And she just lost it.

  “Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to have our life. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You belong to a union, for God’s sake. They’ll get you a job. But you’re not going to sit around the house anymore. I’ve had it with you.”

  She left him staring after her, interest barely registering on his face.

  That night he slept in the recliner and she didn’t miss him one bit.

  Reesa grabbed her overstuffed briefcase. Only one of the clasps worked. An executive, even a minor one, in any business would buy a new briefcase. They even sold them at the big discount stores. She could afford one, so why did she continue to carry this one around?

  She didn’t even look into the den to see if Michael was awake. She was afraid that she might take up where she’d left off the night before. She went out to her car, threw her briefcase and purse onto the passenger seat and climbed in after them.

  She was halfway to the office when she pulled to the curb and fished in her bag for her cell.

  Mrs. Finch, her supervisor, was in the office and answered her phone. Reesa took it as a good sign.

  “It’s Reesa Davis.”

  “Good morning, Reesa. Heard things went well for one of your families yesterday.”

  “Yes.” One out of how many? “I called because I’m really not feeling”—up to the job? can’t possibly face it? have had it up to here?—“well this morning.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have anything scheduled?”

  “No. Nothing specific.”

  “Well, then take the time off.
And take care of yourself. We need you.”

  “Thank you.” Reesa hung up. They needed more than her.

  She sat there for a few minutes. She never called in sick. But today was different. Today was a mental health day. Maybe a permanent mental health day.

  Reesa drove to her favorite deli, ordered coffee and a bagel with extra vegetable cream cheese, and sat down and ate it. Then she drove to Eighth Street and Hands Around the World.

  AS SOON AS Sarah returned from seeing Leila to the bus, she called Randy Phelps to alert him to the hearing date, which he already knew but hadn’t planned on consulting her about. When pressed for information on why this was even happening, he told her that Carmen had convinced the court that she had been underrepresented by her appointed attorney, that he had not explained things thoroughly about termination of parental rights.

  “Which is a crock,” Randy said. “Sarah, I don’t think we need to worry overmuch. These things rarely go in favor of the bio parents.”

  “Unless there was some bit of the court order that wasn’t correct,” she countered.

  She could hear him sigh over the phone. And she wasn’t even a pro bono case. She expected more from him for her money, but she didn’t say so. Now was not the time to alienate her attorney.

  “There is nothing on our side that isn’t solidly in place.”

  “So what do you think will happen?”

  “I expect it to be thrown out.” He paused. “Unless Ms. Delgado has made particularly excellent progress with her rehab and the judge acknowledges the possible mistake in the earlier judgment.”

  “In other words, the adoption is not a sure thing.”

  “Not a sure thing, but both factors would have to be compelling for the court to reverse its decision.”

  “Will you be allowed to present evidence at the hearing?”