Summer by the Sea

by Susan Wiggs

  Rosa realized that they were already starting to relate to one another in silence, in the way of lovers, with their own nonverbal signals. They spoke without words, read each other’s moods. Whether she admitted it aloud or not, they were acting like a couple. A very intimate couple.

  A cell phone rang and Alex groaned. “Ignore it.”

  “It might be my father,” she said, sitting up and grabbing her handbag.

  Alex reached for the bedside table. “Or mine,” he said and scowled into the display. “Hello, Dad.”

  Rosa tugged the sheet up under her armpits. Nothing like a call from a parent to dampen the mood.

  “I understand,” Alex said. His face was completely neutral. “Maybe another time, Dad.”

  Jerk, thought Rosa, wishing Alex’s father could see the disappointment in his son’s eyes.

  “I haven’t heard from Maddie, either,” he said into the phone. “Last week, there was an email from Taipei. I’m sure she’ll check in with you when they get to a place that has cell phone service.... Yes, all right. Bye.” He set down the phone and immediately slipped his arms around Rosa. “Sorry about that. Change of dinner plans tonight.”

  “Your sister’s in Taipei?”

  “Was. I think she might be in Mongolia now. She decided to show her kids the Far East. Her way of dealing with the tragedy,” he explained, “in true Montgomery style. My father would probably do the same, except that the firm seems to be a more satisfactory distraction.”

  “I wish the two of you were closer,” Rosa said.

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “There’s such a...I don’t quite know how to put it. A richness in being close, such a sense of security. That’s how it’s been for me, anyway.”

  “You’re lucky, then. It’s different between my father and me. I don’t know how to explain our relationship, but ‘sense of security’ doesn’t really fit the situation.”

  “It should.”

  “He always considered me a disappointment. When I was little, I was too sick for him to bother with, and when I got older, I distanced myself from him on purpose.”

  “Yet you went to work for his firm.” She studied his eyes, troubled and hurting, and knew there was more to this relationship than mutual disregard. “You should fix things with him, Alex. I mean it. It’s important. Things aren’t as bad as you think. Have you ever asked him what he thinks of you, your relationship?”

  He laughed. “It would never occur to either of us to talk about our relationship.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “It’s just not something we would ever do.”

  “Well, I bet what he truly thinks would surprise you.”

  “Then why is it such a secret?”

  “Maybe because he doesn’t really know how to show his feelings for you.”

  “It’s never been hard for him to show disapproval. That’s a feeling.”

  “I bet he thinks the world of you and just doesn’t know how to express it.”

  He smiled and kissed her temple. “You’re always ready to believe the best in people.”

  “You should, too, when it comes to your own father. You believed something terrible about your mother and it turned out not to be true.” She studied his face but couldn’t tell if he believed it or not. The distant clock chimed, and after the ninth ring, Rosa sat straight up, clutching the sheets against her chest. “Damn it!”

  “What?” Alex propped himself on his elbows.

  “I have to go.” She jumped up and started getting dressed. “I scheduled a meeting fifteen minutes from now.”

  “Aw, come on. Skip it.”

  “Can’t. We’re doing the final menu for Linda’s wedding. Her mother-in-law-to-be made a special trip just for this.”

  “God, what I wouldn’t give to steal you away,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Far, far away.”

  Rosa reveled in his embrace. She wondered if he knew she’d follow him anywhere. If he asked her to move to New York, to London, to Hong Kong or Taipei or Mongolia, she would do it. She would walk away from everything she knew and everything she loved, because she loved Alex more.

  Frightened and exhilarated by the thought, she grabbed her purse and rummaged for a hairbrush, managing to dump her wallet, PDA, cell phone and sunglasses in the process. “Damn it,” she said again.

  “Hang on,” Alex said with resignation. “I’ll help you.” He pulled on his shorts and took the brush from her hand. “The world won’t come to an end just because you’re late to a meeting.” With slow, rhythmic strokes, he brushed her hair for her.

  She shut her eyes and dropped her head back, reveling in the searing intimacy of his touch. “That feels good.”

  “This whole morning has felt good.”

  “Remember the time you cut off my hair?”

  He finished brushing, then bent and kissed her neck. “I remember everything.”

  She wanted to linger, but she broke away and began stuffing things back into her purse. “I really have to go.”

  The sound of a car door slamming came from below. She frowned. “Are you expecting someone?”

  He looked a bit sick. Maybe an asthma attack was coming on. “Actually...”

  “You need to sit down,” she said. “I’ll go tell whoever it is you’re not feeling well.” She hurried down the stairs.

  He followed, yanking on his T-shirt and saying, “I’m okay, Rosa, but there’s something—”

  The front door opened and a tall, slender woman walked in carrying a large cardboard box. “Alex,” she yelled, “Alex, I need some help with—oh.” She set down the box with a thud.

  It was Portia van Deusen, Alex’s ex-fiancée. She recognized her from photographs—imposing and self-confident, with patrician features and designer clothes.

  Portia’s cool gray-eyed glare locked on Rosa as Alex made hasty introductions. “Portia is dropping off some things of mine,” he explained.

  “He left them in my apartment,” Portia said. “We were engaged.”

  “I know,” Rosa managed to admit. She had never suffered such a hideously awkward moment.

  “We’re not anymore,” Alex pointed out.

  “The rest of the stuff is in the back of the Land Rover,” Portia said.

  Grumbling, he headed outside.

  “I was just on my way out,” said Rosa. “I’ve got a meeting at work.” This was too weird. She went to the door, eager to get out of there.

  “Did he tell you why?” Portia asked suddenly.

  Rosa froze with her hand on the doorknob. “Pardon me?”

  “Why we broke up. Did he tell you?”

  “Actually he’s never mentioned you at all.” Rosa felt evil as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Portia didn’t deserve that.

  She flipped back her silky hair. “He’d probably lie anyway. The truth is, he dumped me when I was pregnant with his child, and I miscarried.”

  Rosa nearly lost her frittata. “Oh, God...I’m terribly sorry.” She looked across the driveway at Alex, who was pulling cardboard boxes out of the Land Rover. Dear Lord, was he capable of that? “I don’t know what else to say. Please, excuse me,” she said to Portia, and all but ran to her car.

  Alex put aside the box he was carrying. “Rosa, I’m sorry. I knew she was coming, but I didn’t think she’d get here so early.” He studied her face. “Damn it. What did she say to you?”

  Rosa couldn’t even find the words. “I’m late, Alex.”

  He held open her car door. “I’ll call you later.”

  “I really need to go.” She bit her lip, trying to think of what else to say, but there was no time to sort things out. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. If she sorted things out with him, she might have to deal with the tr
uth—that she was falling in love with him, all over again.

  She turned the key in the ignition and took off.

  thirty-seven

  Alex watched the love of his life take off, the top down on her red sports car, a white scarf covering her dark hair. She was the love of his life, and if there had ever been any doubt about that, there was not now. He knew with perfect clarity that they were meant to be together.

  He wished she’d stuck around so he could explain about Portia. He vowed not to let the sun go down on this issue.

  Swearing under his breath, he picked up a cardboard box of odds and ends—a basketball, some paperback novels, old CDs. “You should have thrown this stuff away,” he said to Portia, setting the box on the porch. “You didn’t have to go to this trouble.”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  He spread his arms wide and echoed something Rosa had once said to him. “Look your fill.” He retrieved the last box from her Land Rover. “Thanks for bringing my stuff. Now, I’ve got work to do.”

  “The least you could do is offer me a cup of coffee.”

  “No, the least I could do is tell you I’m busy and so long.”

  Her eyes glittered with tears. “I miss you, Alex. Can’t we just talk about getting back together?”

  He felt a twinge in his chest. She was a piece of work, but he didn’t enjoy hurting her. “No. We can’t. Drive carefully.”

  She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “You won’t be happy with that woman,” she snapped. “Yes, Hollis told me all about her.”

  Great, he thought. Portia was like a bad fairy come to put a curse on his new connection with Rosa.

  “She’s not for you, Alex, and you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.”

  Like I found out about you? He didn’t let himself say it aloud. He wasn’t blameless in their fiasco of a relationship. He’d drifted into it thoughtlessly and hadn’t bothered to figure out whether or not they were right for each other. His mother had been ecstatic, of course; she adored the van Deusens and couldn’t wait for the nuptials. Neither, it seemed, could Portia. Alex had escaped by the skin of his teeth.

  She stalked to her car and peeled out, spraying up gravel and crushed shells in her wake.

  Alex went inside and shut the door, feeling a distinct twitchiness in his lungs. He took another puff on his inhaler and ran a hot shower. His docs put no store in the effects of warm steam, but it made him feel better.

  As he was drying off, his cell phone chirped. Except that it wasn’t his phone; the sound came from somewhere else. He followed it to the bed and found Rosa’s phone in the tangle of bedclothes. The incoming call was from Costello, Sean. Alex frowned. The guy she’d dated, now the sheriff of South County. He didn’t answer. It was none of his business, but it pointed up the fact that in so many ways, he and Rosa were still strangers.

  At least, he thought, pulling on a golf shirt and clean shorts, he had an excuse to pay her a visit. He needed to see Rosa, to explain about Portia, to tell her it was going to be all right. They were going to be all right.

  He would make sure of it, he thought as he sent a text message to her father. We need to talk. Coming right over. Alex M.

  He loaded his pockets, then grabbed his inhaler, hesitated and stuck that in his pocket, too. Eager as he was to get to her, he had a stop to make on the way. Things wouldn’t be right with her until he dealt with her father, one on one. Pete and Rosa were a package deal, and Alex intended to find a way to be all right with that.

  Outside, the contractor’s crew was just arriving. Repair and restoration on the carriage house seemed to be going well. He greeted the foreman, who was drinking Pegasus Coffee from a paper cup. “Good news, Mr. M,” said the foreman. “We’re going to finish on schedule. Just a few more weeks and we’re done.”

  “That’s great,” said Alex. He got in his truck and headed inland, toward Pete’s house. He felt like an awkward kid, vying for his girlfriend’s dad’s approval. But it had to happen, or he and Rosa didn’t stand a chance.

  * * *

  When he turned the corner onto Prospect Street, Alex sensed something was amiss. He couldn’t place it immediately. Then he looked up and his blood froze. There was black smoke streaming from a second-story window of Pete’s house.

  Even before his truck screeched to a stop by the curb he was thumbing 9-1-1 into his phone. There was an older lady standing on the sidewalk in front of the house.

  “I called the fire department already,” she said. “They’re on their way.”

  Alex repeated the call and was told the ETA was three minutes. And sure enough, in the distance, he heard sirens. “Is he at home?” he asked the neighbor. “Is anyone in there?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want...I was afraid—”

  He took the front steps two at a time, tried the door and found it unlocked. Smoke alarms shrilled and blinked uselessly into the dense gray air. A wave of heat and acrid smoke hit him.

  “Pete!” he yelled. “Pete!” Pete couldn’t hear him, of course, but the dog could; a distant barking sounded from somewhere upstairs.

  Blinded, gagging on smoke, he checked the downstairs rooms and then made his way upstairs. The middle room, the one that had been Rosa’s, was ablaze, blasting him with light and heat. Pete knelt in the hallway, beating the roaring flames with a towel. His face was red in the firelight, his eyes terrified.

  “Jesus, Pete!” Alex grabbed the old man’s sleeve. “I’ve got you,” he yelled, holding on. “Where’s Joey? Is he home? Joey,” he repeated.

  “At work,” Pete yelled.

  Alex gave him a tug. “Let’s go.”

  “Jake,” Pete protested, pulling back. “Still in there.”

  Oh, Jesus, thought Alex, hearing ominous pops and hisses as the fire gathered momentum. “Get out,” he said. He grabbed Pete’s face between his hands and added, “I’ll get the dog.”

  “No—”

  “Go!” Out of patience, Alex half shoved him down the stairs. He thought he heard the sound of sirens drawing close. Hurry up, he thought. Hurry the hell up.

  The terrified dog had scampered to a corner of the burning room and was barking at the flames. His eyes streaming and his lungs convulsing, Alex plunged after him. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Come to Papa.” He grabbed the dog and held it like a football, whirling toward the exit. Flames surrounded the doorway now, and the hallway outside was a river of fire.

  Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a breath. He staggered toward the window. Through the curtain of flames, he saw Rosa’s photographs, books, a shell collection on a shelf. The source of the fire was a ceiling fixture, now a flaming hole.

  He couldn’t open the window one-handed, and he refused to set down the squirming dog, so he stepped back and put his foot through the glass. Maybe the noise would alert the firefighters.

  The infusion of fresh air fed the fire, and it roared like a dragon behind him. He kicked most of the glass from the frame. Just a few feet below the window was the porch roof. He ducked out the window and stood in the light, the graveled roof seeming to undulate beneath him, swaying as he fought for breath. Something trickled down his back; he’d probably cut himself getting out.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw a ladder touching the eaves. A firefighter in full bunker gear appeared, his face masked, his hands gloved. Jake growled in fear.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you,” Alex gasped, moving toward the ladder. He was dizzy and wheezing. He felt himself sway and stumble on the slanted roof.

  “Easy, fella,” the firefighter said. “We’ll get you down.”

  “Take the dog,” Alex said, handing it to him. “I don’t feel so good.”

  As soon as the dog was nestled securely in the firefighter’s arms, Alex felt an invi
sible wave slam into him.

  His eyes rolled up in his head, his bones collapsed and he felt himself falling.

  thirty-eight

  Somewhere in town, sirens and truck horns sounded, but Rosa barely noticed. All through the meeting, she had felt Linda’s stare taking her apart, piece by piece. Vince seemed equally curious, but when she glared across the table at him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, all innocence. It was disconcerting to say the least, and she tried to ignore them during the meeting.

  They were seated around a table in the bar, and the beautiful nautilus shell was directly in her line of vision. Morning sunlight caused its delicate inner whorls to glow as though lit from within, and the sight of it made her think of Alex and the way they had been together this morning...until Portia showed up.

  Portia, she thought. Portia Schmortia.

  Rosa could barely sit still. She was relieved at the conclusion when everyone seemed thrilled with the menu for the reception: tinker mackerel alla Santa Nicola, penne pasta with tomato, arugula and mozzarella, arancini, pizette, egg pasta with lobster and asparagus, Guinea hen stuffed with vegetables and a towering Italian cream cake. As the gathering broke up and people wandered toward the coffee, Rosa walked Mrs. Aspoll and Mrs. Lipschitz to the door.

  “You don’t know how much fun this is for me,” Rosa told them, “being a part of Linda’s wedding. It’s just like we planned when we were kids.”

  Mrs. Lipschitz beamed at her. “I remember the two of you in my nightgowns, parading up and down the stairs with flowers from your father’s garden. I hope you know Linda has instructions to toss the bouquet directly at you.”

  Rosa gave a nervous laugh. “Honestly, if I got engaged every time I caught a bouquet, I’d be J-Lo. It doesn’t work on me.”

  “It will at Linda’s wedding, and it’s about time. I’m so happy for you, dear.” Mrs. Lipschitz gave her a hug and left the restaurant.

  Rosa was seriously ticked off as she went in search of Linda and found her with Vince, leaning in close as Linda spoke rapidly.