Beach House Reunion

by Mary Alice Monroe

  But the peace was short-lived. Hearing footfalls in the gravel, Linnea looked up and was surprised to see John Peterson approaching, holding two Styrofoam cups. His shorts and shirt were both wrinkled, as if he’d just fallen out of bed and slipped them on.

  “Good morning!” she exclaimed with a short laugh. She felt a bit odd seeing him out of a swimsuit.

  “Morning,” he said. “I went for some coffee and brought you some.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already had two cups.”

  “But this is a latte. From Paname.”

  “Oh, in that case, thank you.” She reached out to take the cup. “Come sit,” she said. “We’re coloring.”

  “Can’t. I have to work. Just wanted to bring you coffee.” He caught her gaze and his smile deepened. “Thought it was neighborly.” He lifted his hand in farewell, then turned and headed down the steps.

  She smiled, thinking it could be a very nice thing having John Peterson as a neighbor. She hurried back to Hope.

  “Oh, Hope,” she moaned as she saw Hope drawing blue marker all over herself.

  She ran to grab the marker from her grip. Hope immediately began to fuss. Linnea scooped her up and carried her directly to the kitchen sink. “Thank goodness this stuff washes off,” she said, turning on the water. Cara wouldn’t be happy to see blue tattoos on her baby. Hope became fascinated with the water coming from the spigot and forgot all about the marker. Linnea finished washing off the blue ink, and just as she was drying the baby, the doorbell rang. She smiled, wondering what John’s excuse was this time.

  She carried Hope with her as she hurried to the door.

  “Yeeeees,” she sang out in an exaggerated drawl. Her mouth snapped shut when she saw it wasn’t John Peterson standing on the porch, but Darby Middleton. Carrying an enormous bouquet of stunning white roses.

  “Darby? What are you doing here?” she said, blinking into the morning sun.

  His blond hair captured the sunlight, and his eyes were so large and blue, she felt mesmerized. He was well aware of this effect and used it to his advantage. He smiled, revealing beautiful teeth.

  “I’ve tried texting you but you ignored me. So I had to come to see you.” He reached out to hand her the roses. When she didn’t move to accept them, he continued, his face contrite, “White roses imply pureness of heart.” He looked at his feet. “You know, I searched online and found stuff about the language of flowers. I wanted to find out what flowers would say I’m sorry. I discovered purple hyacinths mean Please forgive me. I looked everywhere—and I mean everywhere—but I couldn’t find a single hyacinth. Done in April.” He shrugged. “The florist told me white roses were the next best thing to tell you how very sorry I am.” He extended the flowers again.

  She didn’t take them.

  “Please, Linnea. I was a complete idiot. I was drunk.” When she frowned, he lifted his palms and hurried to add, “Not that that’s an excuse. But it wasn’t the real me. Linnea, you know me. You know I respect you. I’m so sorry, and I’m asking you for the chance to make it up to you. Lin, we’ve known each other for so long. Please. I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

  Linnea looked at him, beyond his imploring blue eyes. In so many ways he was still the little boy she’d had a crush on in grade school. The boy who’d placed her first kiss on her willing lips in the coat closet at cotillion. Her steady boyfriend throughout high school. He was the first man she’d made love with. They had real history. There was a time when she’d been madly in love with Darby, even thought she would marry him. At the very least, she didn’t want to lose their friendship either.

  Linnea reached out and accepted the gorgeous white roses. She brought them close to her face. “They smell lovely.”

  “That’s one for my side.”

  She released a slow smile and carefully brought the flowers close to Hope’s nose. “What do you think, baby? Do they smell good? Should I forgive him?” She leaned lower and showed Hope how to sniff. Hope tried to mimic her, blowing air out of her nose. Linnea laughed.

  She tilted her head, then with a slight smile stepped aside. “Do you want to come in?”

  Darby walked past her, arms tight at his sides. She was sorry to see him feeling awkward around her. It wasn’t right for people who’d been best friends since childhood. He followed her through the foyer and the living room, which was currently covered with toys. Darby lived in one of the great historic houses of Charleston. And, like so many Charleston families, the Middletons had a quaint, fairly rustic beach house on Sullivan’s Island. His beach house had been built in the same era as this one. Darby would notice that the floor was antique heart pine, the mantel was original, what artists were collected.

  Linnea set Hope down among her toys, then headed toward the kitchen to find a vase for the roses. “You were a rat, you know,” she said over her shoulder.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know how many times he’d have to apologize before she really forgave him.

  “How did you know where I was?” she asked, adding water to the vase.

  “Your mother told me.”

  Of course, Linnea thought. Her mother would’ve been only too happy to tell Darby Middleton where to find her daughter. Linnea was surprised she hadn’t sent out an all-points bulletin. Made him a map with little hearts pointing the way.

  “Uh-huh,” was all she said.

  “In her defense, I showed up at your house and begged her to tell me. She was hesitant until I told her I needed to beg for forgiveness.”

  Linnea knew he could be quite persuasive. She placed the roses in the vase. “And so you have. Apology accepted.”

  Darby, instantly more relaxed, leaned against the marble counter in the galley kitchen and crossed his arms against his chest. “I haven’t been here in years. Not since high school. Nothing’s changed.”

  “That’s part of its charm. The sunroom is new,” Linnea said, setting the flowers on the table in the living room. Darby followed her. “Cara freshened up the house with paint, new fabric. But other than that . . .”

  “So, you’re babysitting now?”

  “Actually, I’m a nanny.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  She didn’t like his tone. “Did you know Princess Diana was a nanny?”

  “Sounds like a romance novel. The Princess Nanny.”

  “She wasn’t a princess when she was a nanny, silly,” she said. “She was eighteen and a part-time nanny for five dollars an hour.”

  He snorted. “That much?”

  “And you?” she asked. “What are you up to this summer?”

  “I’m interning at my father’s law office.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, remembering their earlier conversation. His father was a U.S. senator and a senior partner in his family’s influential Charleston law firm. “You start law school in the fall.” She thought of her brother spending the summer working in their father’s business. “Do you want to be a lawyer?” she asked him. “Or do you feel you have to be a lawyer?”

  Darby smiled, understanding the question all too well. “In college, I felt squeezed into the decision. My father can be very insistent.”

  “Yes, I can imagine the orations at dinner.”

  “And my mother. She likes living in Washington, DC. But now . . . yeah,” he said with heart. “I want to go to law school. I want to go into politics. There’s a lot I feel I need to do. This country is going to hell in a handbasket.”

  Linnea looked at Darby, tall and handsome, even elegant. He’d do very well for himself. His future was glittering with possibilities. It was no wonder her mother wanted her linked with this rising star. Linnea wondered about his politics. If they were like his father’s, he’d be conservative.

  “You’ll only get my vote if you defend the environment,” she said. “Your father, bless his heart, hasn’t voted on the right side of the aisle there.” She shook her head when he opened his mouth to defend the senator. “Darby, we’re the
ones who will be living in the mess climate change is creating. And our children. We need strong men like you in politics. Someone who will stand up and protect our environment. I’m just saying I hope that’s you.”

  “I’m not a senator yet,” Darby said, dodging the subject. He drew closer. “I didn’t come here to talk politics. Let’s save that for dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes. I’d like to take you to dinner. How about tonight? Let’s go to the Boathouse.”

  Linnea gazed at Darby, and despite his good looks and stunning future, she felt nothing, no spark or interest, just bored. He’d always been narcissistic. She’d just been too infatuated with him to see it. He’d tell her where they were going, and she’d follow along. She couldn’t remember him ever asking what she wanted to do. When she went to USC, he’d stopped calling. It had hurt her deeply. Out of sight, out of mind. And here he was again, knocking on her door, telling her where she was going. Except, Linnea didn’t want to go where he was going. She was mapping out her own direction. She might not be sure where she would end up, but she was sure it wasn’t with him.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I have plans.”

  He frowned. “With who?”

  She smiled and looked at Hope. “My cousin.”

  He made a face. “Tomorrow night, then?”

  Linnea reached out to touch a delicate rose petal. It was truly beautiful. But the bloom would wilt in a few days’ time.

  “Darby,” she said, dropping her hand and looking into those impossibly beautiful blue eyes. “I appreciate that you came here to apologize. It speaks volumes about you. And our friendship. But I want to keep you as a friend.” She emphasized the word. His expression shifted, so she knew he understood her meaning. “I don’t want to start dating you. We’re not the same people anymore. You have your future planned.” She smiled. “I’m winging it. And I like it that way.”

  “But, Linnea, we’re so good together.”

  “No, Darby. You liked that I was willing to do what you wanted me to do, and that our mothers think we’re perfect for each other—we have the right pedigree and our children would be beautiful.”

  “Come on, that’s not fair.”

  She knew it wasn’t fair, just as she knew it was true.

  He took her hands. “Lin, say yes. Give us another chance.”

  She slipped her hands away. “I’m sorry, Darby. I’m saying no.”

  She waited to see how he’d react, her muscles tightening.

  He laughed shortly, like he’d just caught the joke a beat late. “Got it,” he said, and pursed his lips. He tilted his head, studying her. “We could’ve been something special.”

  “You’ll always be my first love,” she told him.

  His face softened, and in that smile she caught a glimpse of the young boy she’d been best friends with for so long.

  Hope began fussing on the floor, tossing her toys.

  “Well,” he said by way of finality. “It looks like you’ve got your hands full. I’ll get going.”

  “Okay, but I’ll see you around.”

  Linnea picked up Hope and walked Darby to his sleek navy car. He climbed into the front seat and started the engine. It purred into action.

  “Bye, Lin-Lin.”

  Linnea smiled, touched that he’d used his old nickname for her. As she waved, and watched the car drive off, she heard water sprinkling behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw John standing in front of Flo’s roses, watering them with a green garden hose. He lifted his hand in a silent, neighborly hello.

  She strolled over to the iron fence and prickly pink rosebush divider.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he said over the fence. His tone was flat.

  “You’re watering the flowers.” Linnea knew Flo doted on her roses and took great pleasure in watering them and checking for black spots or insects.

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s Flo?”

  “At the doctor’s. Mom drove her to an appointment. She asked me to water the flowers for her and . . .” He lifted the hose up for her to see.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “Not really. It’s called indentured servitude. I’m called upon to change lightbulbs and furnace filters, clean the garage, take out the trash. . . .” He motioned to the bins at the end of the driveway with the hose, accidentally spraying Linnea with water. She squealed and jumped back.

  “Sorry!”

  She wiped drips of water from Hope’s face, as she scowled and whined.

  “Really,” John said, horrified. “I’m sorry, sweet baby. Is she okay?”

  “It was just a few drops. We’re fine. My shoes, on the other hand . . .” She looked down at her vintage white patent-leather loafers. They were wet.

  “Again, sorry. But you know you should wear sandals at the beach.”

  “Now you’re telling me what shoes to wear?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again.

  It seemed to Linnea that a lot of people were telling her sorry today.

  “Boyfriend?” he asked.

  So he did see Darby, she thought. “No. Yes. Well . . .” She tried to explain: “He’s an old boyfriend, and now he’s just a friend.”

  “You’re going out with him?”

  She appreciated his tone of jealousy. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  John stared at the flowers. Then with a decisive movement he turned off the spray nozzle.

  “What are you doing tomorrow at seven?” he asked.

  “Surfing?”

  “Not this time. Seven at night. For dinner.”

  LINNEA SIPPED HER second vodka martini, a little dirty, extra olives, and luxuriated in the feeling of being a young woman out in the evening, sitting across a candlelit table from a handsome man, instead of being a nanny, niece, and daughter.

  They’d walked the short distance to the Boathouse restaurant on Breach Inlet. The outdoor bar was jam-packed, but inside they were lucky to get a small table by the window overlooking Hamlin Creek. The Boathouse was comfortably decorated in shiplap and parts of old wooden boats. Across the small table lit by a votive candle, John was talking about surfing the mighty Jaws waves in Maui. She liked the sound of his voice, low and melodic with a faint southern inflection. He had the deeply tanned skin, casual style—an open checked shirt over a T-shirt—and that indefinable something else that marked him as a lowcountry man. His auburn hair was sun-starched from his morning ride on the waves. What attracted her most was his laid-back air of confidence, which spoke loudly: This is my turf.

  They’d ordered Clammer Dave oysters, crab fritters, and local shrimp in the shells. John stuck with India pale ale, she with martinis.

  “You know, for all the time we’ve spent together, there’s still a lot I don’t know about John Peterson,” she said.

  John tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “What do you want to know?”

  She shrugged lightly, feeling her silk blouse slide against her shoulders. “Where were you born?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “Really?” she said, surprised. “I thought you were born in Charleston.”

  He shook his head. “My parents were born here. They met as kids and were high school sweethearts, dated through college and married right after. My dad works for Coca-Cola, so we moved to Atlanta and that’s where I was born. But my mother’s family kept their beach cottage on Isle of Palms and she brought us here every summer.” He looked at his glass. “I’ve spent summers here my whole life. After their divorce, my mother sold her family cottage and bought Flo’s house and moved here permanently. I was already in California so . . .” He spread his palms.

  “It’s sad that high school sweethearts who hung on all those years could ever fall out of love and give it up so late in the game.”

  “It was my dad’s fault. He traveled a lot and cheated on my mother. What an ass.”

  She heard the twinge of anger still smoldering. “You
never know. It takes two to tango.”

  John shook his head. “I always thought they should’ve tried harder to work things out, but what do I know? My mom, though, she’s true-blue. You don’t cheat on a good woman.”

  She pulled an olive off the cocktail stick with her teeth, thinking John had just risen several notches with that comment. She chewed the briny olive, sipped the cool martini, then licked her lips, aware he was watching her.

  “So,” she continued, putting down her glass. “What took this southern boy to California?”

  A wry smile creased his tanned face. “I went for school and stayed for work,” he replied simply. “Since I’m into computers, it was a no-brainer. California is where it’s happening.”

  “Then what brought you back here this summer?”

  He leaned back and his fingers tapped the table. “That’s more difficult to explain.”

  “Try me.”

  He laughed and rested his elbows on the table. “Well, the startup I was working on failed, which happens. I’m pretty confident I’ll find something, but while I was looking I thought why not come home for a while, visit my mom, see friends. So I did.”

  “I know Emmi is over the moon you’re here.”

  His face softened at the mention of his mother, and she could tell how much he loved her. “She’d love it if I moved here permanently.”

  “My parents live in fear I’ll leave.”

  Their eyes met, and they smiled in mutual understanding.

  She said, “But you’re moving back to California?”

  He nodded. “Eventually.”

  “Any luck on the job market?”

  He smiled ruefully. “Well, yes and no. My plans have changed.” When she didn’t speak, he continued, “I came back months ago, back in early spring. There’ve been some interesting developments.”

  “Oh, I thought you’d only just arrived in June.”