Clair (Beach Brides Book 4)

by Grace Greene

  Clair stacked the plates and utensils in the sink and began rinsing them. Through the kitchen window, she caught sight of the azaleas again. Their bright color eclipsed those poor orphaned rose bushes. As her parents had loved their azaleas and roses, they’d loved their unexpected daughter much more, the baby who’d arrived after they thought their nest was comfortably empty. They had adored this child who was bright and beautiful—whose laughter and tears and words had been shut off like a faucet with their loss. Clair spoke aloud, raising her voice to be sure her sister heard her.

  “Let’s walk on the beach, Darcy. It’s a beautiful day.”

  Darcy’s chair scraped the floor. Clair turned. Her sister was already gone.

  Clair always laid out Darcy’s clothing the night before. Sometimes Darcy took the initiative, but more often, she didn’t dress for the day on her own unless Clair insisted or provided incentive. A walk on the beach was incentive. Darcy donned her shorts and t-shirt within minutes and her favorite bucket, bright red, was already out on the bed, ready to go. Clair brushed her sister’s hair and insisted she brush her teeth, then went to change into her own shorts. She tucked a light sweat jacket into her backpack in case it was breezy down by the ocean and added a beach towel. She fit in a couple of water bottles, too. Seemed like they did this nearly every day now.

  Their home was situated two rows back. It was a three-block walk from the ocean—one block west, then two blocks south because the island of Bogue Banks lay east-west instead of north-south like the usual east coast beaches. They could walk or drive to the beach access lot. The lot only had a handful of parking spaces and you couldn’t count on parking there in the summer season, but this time of year wasn’t a problem. If they drove, and didn’t get too sandy and wind-blown, they could stop at the grocery store on the main road before returning home.

  In the car, Darcy’s tight grip on the bucket handle betrayed her eagerness to go to the beach. Her expression was impassive, as usual, yet Clair imagined she saw expectation in her sister’s posture.

  Reality was cruel. Their mom had gone swimming and gotten into trouble. Dad left Darcy on the beach and swam out to help. They both drowned. People coming to enjoy the beach that afternoon found Darcy sitting on the sand surrounded by the toys and towels and stuff her parents had brought with them in the morning. She was quietly crying. All they could get out of her was that mama had called for help and daddy had swum out to her.

  Their bodies weren’t recovered for several days.

  A reasonable person might assume the memory of the tragedy would cause Darcy to despise the ocean and avoid the beach, but this was the place she most wanted to be. Clair knew that in Darcy’s head, the ocean and the loss weren’t connected. Most likely, at the beach her sister felt closer to the happy times spent here with their parents. Clair wondered if her sister fully understood what had happened that day, or whether she had simply rejected the reality of it altogether?

  Clair parked the car in the small lot. They walked along the sandy path between the shrubby growth and the wind barriers. Darcy carried her red bucket. Clair carried everything else. It was routine. It disturbed her. Was she here to assist with and care for her sister? Or to disappear into this half-life along with her?

  Trauma. Stress. Whether it was physical or emotional, everybody had some experience with it and everyone handled it differently. Clair just wanted to collapse on the beach blanket and not think about anything except how to move on.

  It was too early in the season for swimming and Darcy couldn’t be trusted in the deeper water even if she was interested in wading, which she never was. Mostly she liked to play in the wet sand, digging a little or drawing in it. She rarely bothered with the shells and bits of sea glass that washed up with the tide, and never finished building anything recognizable. Simply, she seemed content to be near the ocean.

  Clair settled on the blanket nearby.

  If she had been here to witness the tragedy, she didn’t think she could have forgiven the ocean for what it had stolen from them. When she was told the bad news, she’d clung to Sean in her grief. She remembered how he’d comforted her, and it tore her heart a little more. She pushed the memory away preferring to watch her sister playing in the sand, the sunlight glinting off her hair, absorbed in her quiet world.

  Clair was curious about her sister’s world, but no invitation to enter had ever been extended.

  To honor memories and to honor life, one had to live well in the present. Live well and to the best of one’s ability. Otherwise, what was all the past hurt and turmoil about? Why bother to be a survivor? She believed that, but it was still hard. She needed to focus on other things. New possibilities. She had to find a way to put the hurt caused by the loss of her parents back then, and that dealt by Sean last year, behind her.

  It was a beautiful day at this nearly empty beach. She retrieved her phone from the backpack intending to check her texts and emails. The picture on her phone screen showed a beach, but not this one. Instead, the bright sun, white sand and turquoise waters belonged to the beach at Enchanted Island.

  The Caribbean trip had been nearly ten months ago, a year ago come June. Her online group, the Romantic Hearts Book Club, had planned it. They were all romantics who’d been hurt by love—not a great thing to have in common—but they also shared a love of books. Sean and she were in Virginia, working hard, and she hadn’t been eager to go on the Caribbean trip. The timing was bad. Sean encouraged her to get away.

  They’d been in his office reviewing his schedule when she noticed the big meeting with Tom Woodhurst, a potential investor, had been moved up on his calendar. Sean was promoting a new piece of equipment; a gadget was how she thought of it. The gadget was supposed to fit in a car’s engine and make it work more efficiently and economically, in addition to improving emissions performance. Sean had spent a ton of money acquiring the patent, but was having difficulty getting it into production. They’d had a few expensive hiccups in the process.

  Clair didn’t understand how the gadget worked its magic, but that was okay because Sean did, and she absolutely believed in Sean. She knew how important this upcoming meeting was. She just didn’t know the timing had changed. Sean hadn’t mentioned it.

  “What about the investor, Sean? Don’t you need my help when Mr. Woodhurst is here? To wine and dine him, and all that good stuff? Maybe field some of the business questions?”

  He wrapped his arms around her. He assured her, “I’ve got it handled. No worries. He likes me, you know.” Sean laughed, then became more subdued. “Seriously, Woodhurst trusts me.” He kissed her cheek. “Besides, you work too hard. It’ll do you good to get away and you don’t want to let your friends down.”

  “I hear it’s a beautiful island.”

  “Island. Caribbean.” He danced her around the room as if hearing a calypso rhythm. “Hard not to be beautiful. Just like you.” He stopped and kissed her.

  She leaned her cheek against his shirt. “I wish you could go, too. Seriously, I’ll reschedule and go with you instead of the girls. They’ll understand when I tell them about our engagement.”

  “Now that’s an idea, but why not go twice? You go now. Scout out the area and we’ll go back on our honeymoon.”

  It was such a fabulous idea. She could enjoy her friends, plus it would be almost like Sean was joining in on the trip. She would call and send him pictures and take notes about what they could do there while on their honeymoon. She was imagining the possibilities when his phone rang.

  She looked across the desk at the phone screen. “It says Dee. Who’s Dee?”

  “Who?” He released her to grab for the phone. “Deidre. She’s Woodhurst’s assistant. His daughter, actually. Probably confirming the meeting.” Sean answered the call as he walked out of the room.

  He was absentminded when on calls and often seemed to forget she was there. His voice faded as he reached the end of the hallway and the empty breakroom, then he turned, saw her watching him, a
nd waved before turning his back again.

  Clair had waited. If Deidre was only confirming the appointment, it should’ve been a quick call. It wasn’t. It worried her. They’d reached a critical point in the business and Clair knew Sean was anxious though he tried to hide it. They needed fresh funding, so this meeting was critical. Despite Sean’s encouragement, she almost canceled her trip. Finally, he was done with his call and rejoined her.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Definitely. It’s all good. Woodhurst wanted some product details for his technical people. It’s all on track.”

  Reassured by Sean’s upbeat attitude, she kept to her plans. A few days later she was in the Caribbean and grateful that Sean was such a thoughtful and understanding fiancé.

  She was eager to share her good news with her friends, wanting to shout to anyone who’d listen that she was in love and had everything good to look forward to, but once she was at Enchanted Island and they were all face to face, it seemed wrong. Like bragging. Each one had had their share of hurt and she didn’t want to make it worse by proclaiming that her lonely heart days were over. She decided to wait until after the trip. When they were all back home, flush with delightful memories, she would post about her engagement in their group online.

  Clair’s book club friends were so much fun. On the trip, they shared a lot of laughter and a few tears, too. And the pact. Now that was really silly, but sometimes silly was the best thing of all. Who had suggested the message-in-a-bottle idea? She didn’t recall, but each had found a bottle that meant something to them, or not, but it was up to the girl. Clair had kept her own counsel except for a brief chat with Lisa. Everyone had written their names and email addresses on slips of paper, though some had written much more. They inserted the messages into the bottles and tossed them into the Caribbean.

  Clair had felt a little guilty. It was like littering, wasn’t it? Was that how sea glass came to be in the ocean and eventually wash up on beaches? She laughed, but not happily. Were there so many hurting hearts? Broken hearts with foolish hopes that they created enough sea glass for beachcombers to collect, and for crafters to create jewelry and mosaics?

  Her own, secret joy hadn’t lasted long after her return to Virginia and had never been shared with the group. Ironically, a month after she got home, Sean had left a message of his own, though not in a bottle. He offered no explanation, only a brief apology scribbled on a scrap of paper that ended with a request not to try to find him.

  She avoided the online group. She couldn’t bear to see that others were finding happiness. She wished them all love, but she didn’t want to hear about it. Not yet. Maybe someday.

  Physically and mentally back on the beach at Emerald Isle, Clair watched her sister take her bucket to the edge of the water. She held it there to catch the tip of a wavelet and then she ran back to her sand creation and poured water into a small ditch surrounding it. A moat, maybe?

  “It’s time, sweetie. Fill in the holes and rinse your bucket.”

  As usual, her sister didn’t answer, but she did as she was asked. That was proof of something, whatever that was.

  Clair shook the beach towel and stowed their items into the pack. They walked back along the path to the car. Next stop would be the grocery store. Darcy’s shorts were damp. They were both a little sandy and wind-blown, but not too badly. Luckily, this was the beach. A little wind, sea and sand were perfectly acceptable accessories for daytime wear.

  ****

  Clair paused at the front door. Her arms were full of grocery bags. She managed to unlock and open the door, and Darcy chose that moment to refuse to move. She made that expression—one of her rare expressive looks—with a vertical line between her eyebrows, and her lips pursed together while she stared at the floor. It meant she wasn’t going to be persuaded. She’d been so cooperative at the store that Clair had stayed longer than usual and over-shopped—meaning she purchased more than she could carry at one time, yet keep a hand free for her sister. These bags were getting heavy. Darcy didn’t carry bags. Only her red bucket.

  “Fine, then. You can stay on the porch.” Clair nodded toward the porch swing and waited while Darcy sat. “Stay on the porch,” she repeated, loudly enunciating each word. It was a screened porch so there was a sense of security and boundaries. “Sit there and watch the last bag. Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

  Except for simple, daily routines in the house, her sister rarely initiated any action on her own, so there was little risk in leaving her on the enclosed porch for the minute or two Clair needed to take the bags inside.

  She nearly dropped the grocery bags, but made it to the kitchen in time. She set them on the counter and groaned in relief, shaking her arms and rubbing the muscles. One more bag to go. The trip to the beach this morning had brought back too many memories. It had thrown her off her game.

  She pushed away from the counter and headed back to the front door. As she stepped outside she saw the porch swing was empty. No Darcy. No bucket even. The last grocery bag was half-off the chair, torn, and its contents were scattered across the painted wood floor.

  Clair’s heart skipped a beat thinking of those ocean waves only a few blocks away. She jumped a box of cereal and several cans of green beans as she pushed past the screen door. It slammed behind her as she ran down the steps into the yard.

  She didn’t have far to go.

  Darcy was standing in the road with a man. Clair did a quick assessment of the man and the situation. His car was stopped but not really parked. She guessed he’d braked abruptly and left the car aslant. The man, his dark hair cut close on the sides and longer on top, was dressed casually in khakis and a lightweight tan jacket. He was kneeling and speaking to her little sister. His posture seemed kind, not threatening. Darcy, still holding her bucket, stood relaxed in front of the man and Clair saw his expression change from serious to puzzled. He looked up, saw Clair approaching, and stood. She noticed he was holding a folded sheet of paper. He glanced at it and slid it into his pocket. Directions, maybe? Was he lost?

  Her heart pounded. The guilt over losing track of her sister, however briefly, made her head buzz. She had to keep calm, both for herself and the situation, to ease this stranger’s concern, and to not upset Darcy. There was always a fear that someone might complain to the authorities about the strange little girl who didn’t go to school, didn’t play with the other children, and who, by the way, was an orphan. She and Mallory were careful to make sure of the legalities like the guardianship, but Clair never quite trusted that some governmental agency wouldn’t intervene and decide Darcy wasn’t progressing as she should, especially since Mallory had halted the meds and the therapy sessions. The authorities might decide that Darcy needed more professional care than her sisters could provide.

  Clair rested her hands lightly on Darcy’s shoulders. She spoke courteously, forcing a smile onto her face. “Is everything okay?”

  The man said, “Yes. She walked into the road. She seemed…unaware of the danger.” He gestured toward the car. “I saw her and stopped in time.”

  “Thank goodness. I appreciate your help. Thank you.” She grasped Darcy’s arm to pull her away. She resisted. Clair took her hand instead and tried to cover the awkwardness with an explanation.

  “She probably wants you to know she’s sorry for alarming you.” She touched her sister’s chin and lifted her face so she could meet her blue eyes. “Darcy? We need to let the nice man get on with his day.” Clair shifted her gaze back to him. “Again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  She liked his eyes. In them, she saw kindness. She liked the set of his jaw and his slight smile. She saw strength in his face, not to mention in his broad shoulders. Her assessment of him sent a brief rush of reassurance through her and warmed her. She hadn’t perceived any positive qualities in men in quite a while. She chose to see this as a sign of her own recovery and she probably smiled more broadly because so did he. It was the perfect moment for a
smooth, graceful withdrawal.

  Darcy’s shoes had somehow become glued to the ground. She refused to respond to Clair’s gentle tugs. Clair was stuck, too. Darcy was almost ten, not a toddler she could pick up and jounce on her hip.

  The man saw Clair’s difficulty. “Is she okay?”

  Okay had a world of meanings.

  Clair paused, then said, “We had a tragedy a while back and she’s taking time to recover. Otherwise, yes, she’s fine.”

  The man stared at the child’s sandal-clad feet before refocusing on Clair. He said, “Maybe she’ll go if I walk with you?”

  Such a strange suggestion. An unexpected offer. It surprised her, but she considered it. Any idea that might get them off the street and away from the prying eyes of neighbors had merit.

  “We could try.”

  He touched Darcy’s arm, smiled at her, received no apparent response, and yet she moved alongside him as he walked to the porch.

  When they reached the steps, he stopped and seemed uncertain. His arms moved, his hands unsure where to settle, and then the awkwardness was gone. He offered Darcy his arm and they ascended the porch steps together. She moved like a princess, her fingers resting lightly on his jacket sleeve.

  Clair stared, amazed. Where had she learned that? Darcy had missed the princess phase that most little girls went through…or had she? At any rate, once on the porch, he made no mention of the groceries on the floor, but simply knelt to pick them up. Clair did the same. Darcy perched herself on the swing, seemingly content to watch them. She’d released her bucket and it was now on the swing seat beside her.

  “This behavior is unusual. Normally, she’s very agreeable. She wouldn’t wander into the road either…usually. Perhaps the falling groceries disturbed her? I was carrying the bags in and…. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ramble on.” She stood and clasped her hands together.

  “Not a problem. Really. I’m glad it all worked out.” He nodded at Darcy and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”