by Susan Wiggs
Her parents traded cars, driving away with Joyce in tow. The news vans followed them while Sandra took the Grand Marquis and quietly and anonymously made her way back to Blue Moon Beach.
She wept as she drove home; her tears expressed neither grief nor joy, but simply a shattering relief. She felt empty, scoured clean.
It was late afternoon by the time she walked into the now-beautiful house. Isolated and lovely, it reminded her of a single perfect seashell left on a deserted beach.
The phone rang incessantly; instead of answering, she unplugged all the extensions. In the creaky silence of the old house, she could hear the rhythm of her own heart. Dropping her borrowed coat and hat on the window seat, she looked out the big picture window, unsure of what to do with herself next.
Her life had taken a left turn again. She was no longer a murderous wife, but the victim of a troubled man whose worst crime was loving too passionately and being afraid of who he really was. She supposed she would forgive him one day . . . not today, though. Today, she simply had to get used to the idea that the nightmare of the past year was finally over.
But she was still Sandy Babcock, who wrote controversial books and sometimes stammered when she spoke.
Her gaze fell on the fax machine. The thing had disgorged a long, unbroken banner of thermal paper that hung down the side of the desk. Idly, she scanned the first page.
Her book had won the Addie Award. Although the honor represented the highest level of achievement in her career, the news echoed hollowly through her. That’s what she was—hollow, with nothing inside that knew how to savor her blessings. She helped herself to a few M&M’s from the bowl on the desk. Perhaps she should call her folks, share the good news with them, but. . . Victor’s dramatic resurrection made everything else seem trivial. And the fact that it had been Mike who’d made him come forward—with cuts and bruises that implied a struggle—trumped everything else in the world.
The other pages of the fax were unrelated to the award. They were preceded by a scrawled message on Sparky’s letterhead. “I couldn’t get near you today. Join the living and get an answering machine. News! I found you a buyer. Coming out to meet with you at six P.M. You’re going to love this. Offer to follow. Suggest you accept, contingency and all.”
Sandra checked the clock. Almost six P.M. Damn. She didn’t want to see anyone, not now. She tugged on a jacket and hurried outside, crossing the yard and forging over the dunes. Loose sand poured into her good shoes, but she didn’t care. She also didn’t care that she was running away again—avoiding her problems rather than facing them.
On the beach, she stood at the water’s edge, feeling the breeze pass over her and listening to the hush of the waves. A sweep of clouds reflecting the color of sunset crowned the horizon. Everything was happening so fast, yet the unhurried rhythm of the changeless sea calmed her with its never-ceasing heartbeat.
Selling the house, moving away, had been her goal, yet achieving it was a bittersweet victory. What now? she wondered. Manhattan? Mendocino? Athens, Hong Kong, Copenhagen?
She wondered who would live here after she was gone. A happy couple just starting out, a young family seeking a storybook setting for their kids. A pair of cheerful retirees, perhaps, who would sit on the porch together each morning and watch the sun come up. Now that the offer had actually come in, she felt an overwhelming sadness. It was going to be so hard to let go after all the time she’d spent here, all the energy she’d put into restoring the dilapidated old house, all the arguing she’d done with Mike over light fixtures and door hinges, all the time they’d spent making love in the tall-ceilinged bedroom overlooking the endless sea. Without meaning to, she’d filled the place with memories, and now she didn’t want to let go.
Her chest hurt with the effort to contain her emotions. This was the plan, she told herself. But deep down, she knew what was wrong. She’d reached a point in her life where she could go anywhere—but the only place she wanted to be was here, right here in Paradise.
A light evening breeze, with the faintest hint of summer borne on it, sifted through the top layer of sand. Restless memories stirred inside her. She thought of Mary Margaret and Kevin and how they loved to come here even in winter, playing and shouting, running from the waves and throwing sticks for the dog. She remembered how she’d felt the first time Mike took her in his arms, even though it was for a dance lesson, and she thought of the day he built a fire on the beach for her and warmed her hands in his. Maybe then, she thought. Maybe that was the day she’d started to love him.
He had taken her empty, broken-down wreck and made it into a home. Blue Moon Beach was a part of her, perhaps the best part, but coming to love this place hadn’t been in her plan.
Falling in love with Mike hadn’t been in her plan, either. She’d let him into her house, into her life, and he’d found the way into her heart.
At the faint sound of an engine, she hunched her shoulders, hoping Sparky and the buyer wouldn’t see her out here. Maybe they would just go away. For the time being, she wanted the whole world to go away.
A sharp bark sounded above the dunes, startling her. Seconds later, Zeke bounded down the sandy slope, a whitish streak with tongue lolling. Her heart took a sudden leap. But everything inside her froze the moment she saw Mike. Lit from behind by the evening sun, he seemed to emerge from a nimbus of red and gold while she squinted and shaded her eyes.
The heat of tears filled her throat. She had missed him, everything about him—she missed looking across the room to find him watching her with a smile in his eyes, the way he whistled through his teeth as he worked, the smell of his pillow after he left the bed in the morning, the moments of intimacy so deep and true that she found a new person inside her. He had cracked through her wall of ice, and she would never be the same.
But she didn’t know what to say after all that had happened. She didn’t know how to begin again.
“Hello, Malloy.” Amazing. She’d said her problem word—hello—without hesitation. “Or should I say Detective Malloy?”
“Not a bad piece of work for a handyman.”
A faint tan—a Florida tan—made him look more rugged, a little exotic, somehow. She noticed that his left eye was swollen, ringed by a darkening bruise. “You’ve been busy.”
“I had to find something to do with myself after you fired me.” He shifted his hip to one side, hooked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans. For the first time, she realized he was nervous. “So did it work out okay?” he asked. “At the courthouse, I mean.”
“Everything works out okay for Victor, even a public confession. He actually had reporters in tears. He made all sorts of promises—he’ll give me a divorce immediately, sort out the mess of our finances, deal with the charges of insurance fraud, cover all the legal fees. When all is said and done, he’s still Victor, still good at taking charge.”
“No surprise there.”
“So . . . what are you doing here?” she made herself ask.
“I left something behind.”
“What?” she asked, speculating. Maybe he’d left some tool, a loose wire, his toothbrush in her bathroom, some small part of himself that he needed to go on.
He hesitated, took a deep breath. “My heart.”
She shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped back. “God, Malloy. You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me . . .” Make me want you more than I want the next breath of air. Blinking fast, she realized she was inches from falling apart. “We have a lot to discuss, but this isn’t a good time. Someone is coming.”
“I know.” He took a step toward her. The breeze plucked at his dark hair, and sunlight glinted in his smile. She kept staring at that black eye; it made her feel shaken by wonderment. No one had ever fought for her before.
“Sparky is bringing a buyer for the house.” Finally a tear escaped, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand, but another one quickly followed.
“I
know that, too.” With infinite delicacy, he touched his thumb to her cheek, catching the tear.
His caress nearly undid her. “How?”
“Sandy.” He held her shoulders, steadying her.
She wanted to sink against him, disappear into him, somehow, but apprehension held her rigid. “What?”
“The offer is from me.”
“What?”
“I’m offering to buy the house.”
“Malloy . . . Mike.”
“I know you planned on leaving Paradise, but everything’s different. People around here will forgive Victor— or not, that’s up to them. He did exonerate you, and there’s no reason for you to leave now.”
She listened to the waves running up on shore, the plaintive cry of a curlew high above. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “Is there a reason to stay?”
He held her hand, chilly fingers holding fast. When he smiled down at her, she held her breath. “Did Sparky explain the contract? There’s a contingency.”
“Which is?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly put it in the contract. It’s a marriage proposal.”
A sudden pounding in her ears drowned out the roar of the waves, the wind, everything. She couldn’t hear a sound except the echo of his words, filling her with wonder and magic. After a while, she found her voice. “Mike. Oh, God.”
“I love you, Sandy. The kids and I—we all love you. Stay here and marry me. Marry us. We’ll finish the house together. We’ll fight about paint and plaster and cabinet hardware . . . I ‘ve seen the look on your face when you walk through that house with me. It’s what you want, Sandy.”
“It won’t work. How can it, when Angela—”
“Don’t worry about her.” He spoke with a brusque decisiveness that startled her.
“She’s the mother of your children. She’ll always be a part of your life, Mike. A powerful part. And she doesn’t want me anywhere near the kids.”
“This is not about what she wants. After a while, she’ll get used to the idea—I’m not giving her a choice. She just wasn’t expecting me to find anyone else.” The wind blew a strand of hair across her cheek, and he brushed it away with his hand. “She never knew . . . I could love like this, and I think it scared her.”
His words struck Sandra like velvet blows. She wasn’t used to the sort of passion he ignited—fiery comets and unstoppable whirlwinds that left her tender and exhausted and filled with a dangerous, fragile bliss. Loving him consumed and frightened her, and she found herself bracing for loss even before she flung herself fully into the relationship.
“I’m afraid, too,” she blurted out in a burst of honesty. “What I feel for you is so . . . big, so out of control. I’d risk anything, Mike, commit any crime. It can’t be healthy. Loving this intensely is a destructive thing. It’s dark and frightening. Look what it did to Victor.”
“Lying to himself did that to Vic. You don’t have to do crazy things like he did. There are actually legalways to deal with true love.” He slid his hands down her arms, twined his fingers with hers in her pockets. “He never put you first, and I will. You were convenient for him. That’s not how it is with me. I love you and to be honest”—he grinned a little—”you don’t always make it convenient to do that. But that only makes me love you more. Every day.”
She remembered the Ferris wheel and how frightened she’d been—but she’d done it anyway. She thought about her parents and realized love was never meant to be perfect. “I’m still afraid,” she said.
“I know. Aw, honey, I know. We all are. People really do let the love of their life walk away because they’re scared to show how much they want or need. But you’re not like that anymore.”
She was struck, as she so often was, by his plain-spoken wisdom. She never expected a man like him to have such insights into the human heart, into her heart, but he did. Only a few moments ago, being with him had seemed impossible but it was really so simple.
He mistook her hesitation for doubt, and drew her closer. “You can’t turn away from life, and I can’t protect you from everything bad.” Pulling back, he offered a half smile. “I don’t need to, and you don’t want me to.”
He was so right. Life as it unfolded, day by day, was just too rich. She wanted it all—the gladness and pain and laughter and tears. And she wanted it with him.
“We’ll finish the house together,” he said. “Maybe we’ll make a baby or two—” He wiped her tears with a bandanna from his back pocket, and then he kissed her forehead, cheeks, mouth, all the while whispering, “Please. I love you. Please.”
That was it, then. The real deal. The scariest, most exhilarating ride of all.
“Say yes,” he whispered in her ear. “Whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
She discovered that happiness could hurt—it was a piercing joy, the sweetest sensation she’d ever felt, rushing through every part of her, rushing out to meet him. “You already have.”
Slipping his arms around her, he brought her close against him, sheltering her from the cold sea wind.
Acknowledgments
Thanks as always to the real Barb and Joyce; to Alicia, who is always so good at brainstorming; and to the Port Orchard gang: Anjali, Kate, Janine, Lois, Rose Marie, and PJ. My agent, Meg Ruley, and her associate, Annelise Robey, read and commented with insight and tact. Maggie Crawford was there at the beginning, and the superior editorial skills of Beth de Guzman guided the final revisions. Special thanks to Harry Helm for reading an early draft and adding his insights.
Thanks also to: Lisa Baumgartner for helping with local color, the resources of Newport’s Redwood Library, the Stuttering Foundation of America for providing insights and awareness, Officer Joseph Cabaza for answering endless queries about the sad business of death investigation, and the amazing artsy attorney, Sandra McDowd, for providing legal advice to fictional characters.
Reading Group Guide
Discussion Topics
1. The town of Paradise holds different meanings for Sandra Winslow and Mike Malloy. What are these meanings? What would you define as “paradise” for each of these characters? How would you describe your perfect paradise?
2. In the first scene of the book, we see Sandra making a list about a TV reporter and chopping firewood. What do these two things tell us about her character? What would you say are her strengths and her weaknesses? Do you think her decision to sell her house and leave town is courageous? Are there other options she could have considered?
3. The tragedy of Victor Winslow’s disappearance is officially ruled an accident, yet the locals persist in believing that Sandra murdered her husband. Why? Does the strength of their belief in Sandra’s guilt justify their actions toward her? How far would you go to right a wrong that you think has been committed?
4. Mike Malloy doesn’t know what to expect when he meets his high school buddy’s widow, Sandra. What is his first impression of her? How does this impression change over the course of the book? If Mike didn’t need work so badly, do you think he would have declined the job of restoring Sandra’s house?
5. At one point Mike describes Lenny and Gloria as having “what a marriage should be.” Why does Mike say this? What happened to him in his marriage? Many times in the story the idea of the “perfect marriage” arises. What is the perfect marriage? How does Sandra feel after hearing her parents may divorce? Do you think her mother has good enough reasons to leave her husband?
6. Sandra’s books are available by request only at the library due to questionable material in her books. What is the “questionable material”? Did it bother Mike’s daughter, Mary Margaret? Do you think the material warrants censorship? How do you feel about Sandra’s attitude about the censorship of her books?
7. Mike conducts a secret investigation into the night of Victor’s disappearance. Why? What role do his feelings for Sandra play? Do those feelings warrant his going behind her back? When is “I’m doing it for your own good” not an acc
eptable reason for taking a particular course of action?
8. Mike’s ex-wife, Angela, is still a part of Mike’s life. In what way do they remain connected? When Angela confronts Sandra, what does Sandra do? What explanation does Mike have for Angela’s behavior? If she is happy with her new marriage, why does she act this way?
9. When Victor reveals the truth about himself, his parents reject him. How would you react to such a revelation from your child or someone close to you? Do you think Victor’s parents’ standing in the community will be affected? His father tells him, “You should never have come back.” Is there ever a situation when not knowing the truth is better?
10. Characters in the book make sacrifices and changes in the name of love: Sandra hides Victor’s secret, Mike doesn’t attend his daughter’s confirmation, Sandra’s father learns Spanish. What are you willing to do for love?