by Laura Moore
This only showed Max he didn’t need a bedroom. He could do stupid anywhere.
“Good morning, Hendrick,” Dakota called out as she entered Hendrick Daube’s saltbox house the next morning. “Yes, Arlo, I’ve missed you, too,” she said to the large, black Muppet-like dog that bounded toward her and then spun in a shaggy circle of happiness in front of her.
“Dakota, welcome! You’re in time for breakfast. I’m making scrambled eggs for Arlo and me.”
“Thanks, but none for me,” she said, carrying the newspaper and a few groceries she’d bought into the kitchen. “I stopped for a sandwich and a smoothie on my way back from Turtle Cove.”
“So, how were the waves? Good?” He took the newspaper from her and put it on the kitchen farm table where a place was set for one. His partner, Marcus, was away for the weekend.
“The sets were nice and clean. I had some decent rides.”
“Crowded?” he asked, stirring the scrambled eggs that were cooking in the frying pan.
“Not too bad. The guys were there. The regulars.” Opening the refrigerator, she put away a roast chicken and some salad. On the counter she placed an apple pie she’d baked. Hendrick could bring the leftovers back with him to the city on Tuesday.
The toaster dinged. Removing two thick slices of toast and buttering them, he arranged them on a plate. “And what do you have planned for the rest of your Sunday?”
“I’m invited to brunch at Gen and Alex’s.”
“Good.” He looked over at Dakota and nodded approvingly. “You need to relax with friends more.”
She smiled. “You’re the best, you know that, right?”
He scooped fluffy eggs onto his buttered toast and spooned a small amount into Arlo’s bowl. The dog’s tail beat madly. “Don’t tell Marcus. He firmly believes that title’s his.”
If Hendrick hadn’t been nearly forty years her senior and gay, she’d have fought tooth and nail to be his partner. In addition to being one of the kindest people in the world, he also had the distinction of having been her first client.
The day they met had been a frustrating one. She’d spent it cycling through the East Hampton neighborhoods near her middle school and Piper’s house, knocking on doors and handing out flyers listing the odd jobs she was willing to do—an ancient version of the form she now presented to potential clients. Most of the people who’d bothered to answer the door had smiled stiffly, glanced at the photocopied sheet, and sent her on her way.
Hendrick was different.
He’d actually come out of his house and invited her to sit on a wooden bench at the base of a gnarled tree that grew in his front yard. Taking the sheet, he read it carefully. Then he’d asked why she wanted a job. She explained that she wanted a surfboard. Her friends Lauren and Tom had lent her theirs this past summer, but that had meant depriving them of their rides. She’d done the math. If she got enough jobs this fall, she’d be able to afford her own next summer.
When she told him her name, Hendrick must have known who she was. Or, rather, who Piper was, because he didn’t ask Dakota about her father, only whether her mother couldn’t help with the purchase.
It had been several months since Piper had decided to share the story of Dakota’s conception, and Dakota still had trouble dealing with it.
“I’m getting the board myself. Otherwise it will become all about Piper.” She’d already come to recognize that the way to survive her mother was to carve out her own space and find her independence wherever she could.
“Your mom, have you always called her Piper?”
It was funny. When Hendrick asked the question, it didn’t make her feel weird, like when everyone else remarked on it. “Yeah.” The tree bark scratched, so she leaned forward. “She says parents are boring and that she and I—we’re different. More like sisters. Buddies.” She stared at the scuffed toe of her sneaker.
“Well, I understand why you’d want to buy the surfboard. It’s good to have something that’s your very own, that you earned. I don’t surf myself, but I love driving to Montauk and watching the surfers.”
“Some of them are awesome.”
“Indeed they are. As it so happens, I was just thinking that I could use a responsible plant-waterer when I’m in the city teaching and seeing patients.”
“So you’re a doctor?” He looked like one. He had kind eyes of a soft, faded blue. He sat with his arms folded across his chest as if he could sit there for hours. She liked that he didn’t seem in any hurry to end their conversation.
“Yes, I’m a psychiatrist. I have some autumn ferns that require frequent watering and some others that only need a drop or two once a week. I’ll show them all to you, of course, but you’ll have to remember their needs. Think you’re up to the demands of the job?”
She was kind of disappointed that he wasn’t a surgeon. A brain surgeon would have been super cool, but since it sounded as if he might give her a job, she decided that his being a psychiatrist was all right, if a little boring. “I can water your plants. And rake your lawn, too. This tree has a lot of leaves.” Some were already scattered on the grass.
He looked up, considering the canopy of remaining leaves. “It does. I like your initiative. You strike me as responsible, too. You’ll remember to lock up the house when you leave? And you’ll put away the rake in the shed?”
She nodded, trying to contain her excitement. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Well, then consider yourself hired.”
She hadn’t forgotten the thrill of winning that first job. It had also marked the beginning of one of her most important friendships. Hendrick had become a voice of sanity for her.
Piper’s reaction had been predictable. “You want to waste your time watering a shrink’s plants? Suit yourself. He’s queer, you know.”
She didn’t. When she finally figured out what her mother meant, what that meant, she decided that she was fine with working for someone who was queer—it was a lot better than having a mother who overshared.
Not even Mimi, try as she might, could poison the growing friendship.
“So I hear you’ve become pals with Hendrick Daube. Are you pouring your heart out to him, telling him all about poor little you and your terrible life? You should be grateful you’re alive.”
Because Hendrick had already begun offering her coping strategies in his gentle and offhand manner, she was able to recognize that the vile things Mimi spewed had little to do with her. She also learned not to engage; Mimi hated nothing more than to be ignored.
On the last weekend before school let out for the summer, Dakota had returned from giving Daisy, Arlo’s equally shaggy predecessor, her afternoon walk—the list of jobs she performed had grown steadily over the year—and found Hendrick standing beside his ancient Volvo station wagon. He’d waved them over.
Assuming he needed a hand with the groceries, her mouth had fallen open in an O of astonishment when she saw the shiny long board lying propped against the top of the backseat. The board was a thing of beauty, one half covered in wide navy blue and cream stripes, the other colored a robin’s egg blue. A thin yellow line bisected its length.
Speechless, she stared.
“This is for you,” he said. “So you’ll be able to start surfing as soon as the water is warm enough.”
“I—I—” She blinked, her eyes stinging, her throat closed too tight for words.
“No putting me off, Dakota. You’ve worked hard for me all fall, winter, and spring, never missing a day or coming up with an excuse to leave early. You’ve earned this.”
“I—” She swallowed and tried again. “I’ve been saving for it.”
“I know. But out of curiosity I went to the surf shop in Montauk. Even now that you’re walking Daisy, picking up my mail at the post office, and helping in the garden, it would have taken you too long to buy a board as nice as this one. The man at the surf shop said you’ll be able to use it for a long time. I want you to have this, Dakota.”
She remembered squeezing Daisy’s leash so hard the leather dug into her palm. Then slowly she reached out to stroke the rounded edges of the board with her free hand. Too choked with emotion, she hadn’t been able to thank him properly, had only nodded, her fingers skimming its cool, glossy surface.
Fifteen years later, and she still had the board. It hung in pride of place over her mantelpiece. While she might have fancier boards and fancier clients now, none meant as much to her as the one given to her by this infinitely kind and wise man.
She took the frying pan from him and began to scrub. “Having brunch with Gen and Alex will be fun,” she agreed. “And a huge improvement over the way my weekend started. Just so you know, I’m going to have to recalculate my NVUs with respect to Piper and Mimi, Hendrick.”
“Dare I hope this means that you’re getting better at tolerating their antics? Coffee?” he asked, lifting the coffeepot in inquiry.
“A half a cup, please.” She set the scrubbed pan in the dish drainer and followed Max over to the table. “I’m afraid I didn’t come close to my allotted NVUs. My blood pressure was soaring after ten minutes with the Hale sisters. I even fantasized about sprinkling arsenic in Mimi’s martini. And for the record, they once again failed the ‘share a brew or two’ test,” she said, referring to another of Hendrick’s handy guidelines to life, what he called the “two beers and a puppy” test.
In a nutshell, the test determined whether the family member, acquaintance, or co-worker would be a good candidate to enjoy a beer with, or could be depended upon to help with the important stuff in life, such as caring for a beloved puppy for a weekend. Some people might fall into the “share a couple of beers” category. Others might be trustworthy enough to puppy-sit. A few rare individuals ticked both boxes; they were the truly wonderful people in one’s life.
And then there were those who couldn’t be counted on for anything, not for good company or a helping hand. Dakota’s family were card-carrying members of the “undependables.”
She swallowed a sip of coffee. “But in Piper and Mimi’s defense, Friday afternoon was rough. Elliott sold Windhaven.”
“He sold it?”
“Yup. Mimi’s livid. Piper’s performing her own interpretation of mourning—which involves lounging on the sofa and inspecting her nail polish. She’ll rouse herself quickly enough, though, when she learns I’m going to be working for Windhaven’s new owner. Think I should take out a life insurance policy?”
“You’ll be working for the new owner? My, my, well done, Dakota.”
Her smile was so wide it ached. “Crazy, huh? But he kind of made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He’s having me redo the whole house, among other things. It’s my biggest account yet, Hendrick. I haven’t told Rae the good news—you know how superstitious I am—but she’s going to be promoted.”
“She’ll be overjoyed.”
“Yeah.” Dakota felt a flush of pleasure and pride.
Finished eating, Hendrick clapped his hands. “Bravo, Dakota.”
She stood and sketched a quick curtsy.
Hendrick stood, too, and carried his plate to the sink. “And what’s he like?” he asked, adding when she tried to take his plate, “No, Dakota. You were too quick with the pan. I insist on putting my own dishes away.”
“You know you’re going to spoil me for any other man.”
“Quite possibly, and stop avoiding answering my question about your newest client.”
Guilty as charged.
She’d spent much of yesterday thinking about Max. It didn’t make it any easier to talk about him. He’d swept into her world with enough force to change the landscape. And that was without factoring in his kiss. She couldn’t discuss that with Hendrick, either, not when her feelings were so muddled.
It would be simpler if she could just hold on to her anger at Max. But she was equally annoyed with herself for how much she’d enjoyed it. What Max Carr managed with little more than a graze of lips put all the other kisses she’d received to shame.
This was what came from having an anemic sex life. But during the summer months she was simply too busy to date, and when she did have a free night, she preferred to hang with her friends or catch some much-needed Z’s so she could hit the waves bright and early. Few of the guys she dated ranked anywhere near the breathtaking pleasure she derived from surfing at sunrise.
She was going to do her best to forget that Max’s kiss had left her just as breathless.
“Dakota,” Hendrick said.
“Right. Well, his name is Max Carr and he’s rich and successful—he’s in private equity. But there’s something—I haven’t figured out what it is—that might save him from being just another high-maintenance plutocrat.”
She told him about the questions she’d asked Max about upgrades to the house. “I don’t know whether I’ve become jaded due to some of my more spoiled clients, but I sounded as snobbish as Mimi. And Max called me on it. For all his wealth, he seems quite down-to-earth. He was basically camping out in the house.” It struck her as she said this that Max might not even have noticed the vast emptiness around him. She wondered why.
“It sounds as if you like him.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” And she was sure the impact of his kiss would soon fade.
“Well, I’m pleased you took the job.”
“You may change your tune when I come sobbing to you about Piper and Mimi once they’ve heard about my new employer. I’m hoping I can fly under their radar for a while. Luckily Elliott’s gone back to Bermuda, or he might have to acknowledge me long enough to rip me in two.”
He made a scoffing noise. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once come sobbing to me. And you can stand up to the likes of Elliott. You’re one of the strongest women I know.”
Maybe, maybe not. But at the moment her family and all their conniving ways concerned her less than how she’d fare when it came to dealing with Max Carr.
Alex and Gen’s house was nestled between Georgica Pond and the ocean, barely a third of a mile away from Windhaven as the gull flew. It, too, was a large house, another Hamptons “cottage.” Some cars were in the driveway when Dakota rolled up. She spotted her friend Lauren’s among them, which was lovely. With summer so hectic for both of them, they hadn’t seen enough of each other.
The front door was open, allowing the crisp air to waft into the house. Dakota pressed the doorbell, called out a hello, and peered through the screen door, grinning when she heard the hurried stomp of feet.
“Hi, Gracie.”
“They’re out in the back,” Gracie said by way of greeting. Pulling open the door, she took Dakota’s hand and tugged. “Come.”
Dakota glanced down at the small hand holding hers and marveled at how trusting and open this child was, how secure in her world. If Dakota had ever felt that way as a child, it had been only briefly, her sense of security disappearing when her mother abdicated her role as parent, preferring the one of eternal party girl.
Dakota let herself be tugged along. “So did you have another riding lesson yesterday?”
“Yeah. I got to ride Gingersnap. I rode him because Katie wasn’t there. She and Ali are at their grandparents’. Lauren said I did really well. She’s so nice.”
“I like her a lot, too. Do you know we became friends when we were just a little older than you?”
There was a vigorous nod at the level of Dakota’s hip. “Mommy told me. She’s already here.”
“Who, you mean Lauren?” Lauren’s schedule was still crazy. Hamptons horse people came out on weekends for lessons and to hack until it was time to trailer their mounts to Wellington, Florida, for the winter show season.
“Yeah. She’s having Becky teach the afternoon lessons.”
Gracie was a font of information. Dakota smiled and said, “That’s great.”
They’d just passed the living room, where a portrait of Grace Miller hung over the mantelpiece. Gen had painted it. Dakota paused to admir
e the canvas. “I really love your mom’s paintings.”
Another nod. “That was my daddy’s great-aunt. I’m named after her but I never met her. I don’t think I look like her.”
Dakota knew about searching for one’s identity in others’ faces. In her case it was a fruitless task.
“Well, Gracie, it would have been your great-great-uncle who was your blood relative.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
“I didn’t know Mrs. Miller too well, but she was really smart and she loved art.”
“I love art, too.” Gracie was silent for a second as she studied the portrait of a gray-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. “Mommy’s going to have a big show of her paintings in New York. In January. After Christmas.”
“I bet she’ll sell them all.”
“That’s what Daddy says.” With a final look at the portrait, Gracie hurried on, leading Dakota past the family photographs lining the wide hallway. “Ty and Steve are here with Connor. Lee couldn’t come. He’s at a sleepover. Lee and Connor ride at Lauren’s, too. But they’re in a more advanced group.”
It was a testament to Lauren’s coaching that Ty and Steve Sheppard had chosen her junior riding program for their sons. Steve Sheppard was a former Olympian who trained jumpers at his own private stable, Southwind, in Bridgehampton. His wife, Ty, helped run his show barn and competed on the amateur level. She’d also become one of the organizers for the Hampton Classic, the huge glitzy horse show that was held at the end of the summer. So, a horse-centric family.
It made Dakota happy and ridiculously proud that Lauren was doing so well after her husband Zach’s death. Her only worry was that she might be using her stable and its constant demands to avoid any serious relationships with men…and if Lauren could hear her thoughts, she’d shake her head and say this was a prime example of the pot calling the kettle black.
“Connor and Max are playing football,” Gracie said. “I don’t like football very much, and…”
Whatever else Gracie was going to share with Dakota was lost.