by Sally John
Through a process of elimination, Molly figured out which button to push and broke the connection. Lifting her face to the sun’s warmth, she shut her eyes again.
Lord, I’m waffling. Still. A doubter like a heaving sea ruffled by the wind. Is he really okay without me at home?
The ludicrous question echoed in her head. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
Amazing how His peace could wind its way even around malfunctioning hormones running amok in a strange city.
Six
Jo groaned. “It’s hideous!”
“Nooo,” Char purred in disagreement. “On the contrary, it’s got character painted all over it.”
“It’s fire-orange,” Andie piped in, patting her reddish hair. “Everyone knows fire-orange indicates character.”
Molly laughed. “I vote with Char and Andie. It’s perfect.”
They stood at the edge of a flagstone patio. A short distance behind them the ocean whooshed peacefully, but their attention was glued to the monstrosity sitting before them: a so-called beach house.
Jo stared at her friends in disbelief. “Are we all looking at the same ramshackle house?”
They nodded, and Molly read the stenciled sign nailed above the door, “Thirty-four hundred Oceanfront Walk.”
“Ladies,” Jo said, “you will not hurt my feelings if you agree with me. It’s absolutely appalling.”
She had arranged to rent the place by telephone. Why, oh why, hadn’t she made the thirty-minute drive and visited it in person? Why had she entrusted the decision to a property manager she’d never met?
Maybe because she had been in the midst of an impossible work situation. Maybe because she had only asked the stranger for four things: She wanted the house located on the beach itself, midway between the pier and the roller coaster, within a certain price range, and with four bedrooms. Those were verifiable facts. The woman had thrown in the adjective “lovely” for free, an opinion Jo did not stop to question or truly even consider. Until now.
The place was a dreadful one-story weathered cottage with reddish-orange shingles and dirt brown trim, the likes of which she would not have guessed still existed in that particular neighborhood. With beachfront property at a premium, buildings were packed together like sardines as far as the eye could see in either direction. But this house was literally scrunched between two homes, each of which soared to three-story walls of glass and gleaming white stucco.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “It’s dreadful. It looks like a huge foot wearing a rumpled sock, and it’s so big it had to be shoehorned into place.”
Andie looped an arm through the one Jo had propped on her hip and grinned. “Hey, we’re together in San Diego for an entire week. Right out there is the Pacific Ocean, which I have never, ever seen in my life. The sun is shining. It’s almost October, yet I’m wearing short sleeves, and flowers are blooming in all these pots like it’s springtime. And last but not least, we are not cooking tonight. Good heavens, what more could we possibly want?”
Jo looked into her friend’s peacock blue eyes. They were laughing. But then, that was Andie. Compassionate, empathetic, not one to make waves. If she had a negative thought, no one would know it. Her vote didn’t count.
Neither did Molly’s. Though she spoke her mind, her lifelong opinion toward material items was that they were not important. She would have been pleased with a tent on the beach.
Char, on the other hand, could be finicky. After she cooed positive encouragement in a voice that carried images of white wicker, a large Georgia wraparound porch, and a tall glass of mint julep, then she would get to her point.
Jo said, “Char, what are you really thinking? We can try to get another place. There are resorts nearby.”
“Jo, hon.” She smiled. “You’ve gone to all this effort to get us together and find us a place. We don’t mind in the least that it wasn’t built in this century, do we, girls? Or even in our lifetime. Let’s take a peek inside. It’s got to be just as cozy as the exterior.” Her focus strayed over Jo’s shoulder. “Hello there.”
Jo turned. A man stood a few feet behind them, on the other side of a low white picket fence that separated the patio from the public sidewalk.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, crinkling his eyes behind rimless, rectangular-shaped glasses. “Hello. You must be this week’s tenants.” He spoke in a low, cultured tone. His accent sounded of British Isles origin. “Welcome to—” He paused and stretched his arm toward the reddish-orange monstrosity as if a drumroll should precede whatever it was he was going to say. “The Beach House.”
Jo heard capital letters in his emphasis of the three simple words and nearly laughed. Beach House, my eye.
Char immediately stepped over to him, hand extended. “Why, thank you. I’m Char, and these are my friends. This is Molly, Andie, and Jo.”
They moved within handshaking distance and he shook each hand in turn. “My name is Julian. Hello. Hello. Quite pleased to meet you.” His voice was Sean Connery-esque, deeply resonant yet hushed with a Scottish lilt. He tipped his head to his right, toward the boxy tiered structure easily worth a couple million. “I live next door.”
Jo had been drooling over the neighboring home, especially its glassed-in balcony perched atop the first floor. Behind it an immense wall of windows rose two stories high. Hawaii was probably visible from up there.
Char turned to look at his home and said, “Oh, my! You live here full-time in all this splendor?”
“Yes, I do have that privilege.” His full lips settled into a tiny smile.
Jo squinted against the sun shining behind him. He looked like a healthy specimen of an aging lifeguard, probably in his mid-fifties. His hair was dark brown, ultra thick and curly but neatly trimmed and brushed back off his high forehead. Tanned, barefoot, and dressed in cutoffs and a T-shirt, he carried the peculiar laid-back air of a Southern Californian who did not spend much time working.
Lifeguards didn’t buy million-dollar homes. Drug dealers did. Nor did lifeguards speak in cultured accents. Drug dealers probably did. Not that she knew any, at least of the illegal sort.
She said, “Your house is beautiful.”
“Thank you. I live in the lower portion.”
She turned her head and studied the house again. Windows covered much of the front side of the first floor, which extended out from the rest of the building, creating the balcony space above. French doors opened onto a narrow patio enclosed with a low stucco wall topped with plexiglass, protection against ocean breezes. Given the choice, she would have opted for the upper floors.
He went on. “I lease out the upstairs. It’s a separate apartment.”
Her neck nearly snapped. “Anyone there now?” And she thought Char forward! “We’re not too sure about this Beach House.”
He chuckled. “You’re going to hurt Faith’s feelings. Have you been inside yet?”
“No. Who’s Faith?”
“Faith Fontaine. The original owner. She was quite the lady, devoted to charity and the community. She passed away a few years ago. Her place defines character.”
“That’s like hearing your blind date has a good personality.”
“Jo, appearances aren’t that important to you, are they?”
Hearing her first name spoken in an almost intimate tone by a complete stranger bothered her. Somehow it made her feel chastised. She turned away.
She imagined her appearance told him she was a professional San Diegan. Well, what was wrong with that? Ninety-nine percent of her time was spent indoors, but her skin was lightly tanned, compliments of year-round unremitting sunshine. It gave her a healthy glow. The highlights in her hair, however, came from a hairdresser’s formula. She wore casual slacks and loafers, the labels of which were found only in boutiques because who had time to drive to a mall and shop? The delicate gold chain around her neck cost probably more than Molly spent on groceries in a month, but it was the only jewelry she wore. Her late-model
cream-colored SUV, parked in the carport behind the beach house, easily accommodated luggage for four—four women—and two grocery bags of nonperishables. One couldn’t get more practical than that.
She probably struck all of them as a prig.
She looked again at the house. It truly was an unattractive place. Like a pair of large inquisitive eyes on either side of the front door, two picture windows reflected the scene behind her. The panorama included the little picket fence, people on the boardwalk passing by, and lots of sky and ocean. Definitely no view of Hawaii.
But the patio was neat and tidy, full of outdoor furniture and well-maintained potted plants.
Molly nudged her toward the door. Andie whispered something about needing a bathroom. Char, still chatting with the neighbor, sounded on the verge of inviting him to dinner.
And no, appearances were not all that important to her. Not really.
Jo went to the door, punched in the lockbox combination—conveniently programmed to correspond with the day’s date—and yanked it open. The key fell into her hand and she inserted it into the door.
Char cheered. “Yay! We’re in! Well, toodle-oo, Julian. Catch you later.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
Jo threw a polite smile over her shoulder and turned the handle.
“He’s dreamy.” Char was at Jo’s elbow. “And from Scotland. Did you hear that? I wonder how he got here. Is he too old for you?”
Ignoring the temptation to deliver her “I’m single and happy” speech, Jo pushed on the door. It opened directly into a combination kitchen-living room, a wide-open area that ran across the front width of the house. The four of them stepped inside.
Molly laughed. “It’s wonderful, Jo. It really is!”
Andie hurried across the room. “It feels familiar somehow. I’m guessing the bathroom is somewhere back this way…” She disappeared down a hall.
Char twirled around. “It is absolutely lovely.”
Jo didn’t respond. The last vestiges of her high hopes now crashed to the floor. A worn hardwood floor at that, sparsely covered with braided throw rugs. No gleaming ceramic tile bounced her hopes back up. No wall-to-wall carpet cushioned their fall. No vaulted ceiling held them aloft. They rammed into walls painted yellow. Sunflower yellow.
Char continued her analysis. “And it’s utterly charming.”
Molly said, “It’s eclectic.”
Well, that word summed it up. No rhyme or reason whatsoever tied the decor together. Things were everywhere. Doilies and knickknacks obliterated the tops of end tables, coffee table, fireplace mantel, and kitchen counters. They vied for space on several bookcases overflowing with volumes.
Chairs and couches of every color, pattern, and fabric filled the area to the left of the front door. Immediately on the right was a rustic dining table in front of a picture window. On the side wall were pine cabinets, white appliances, and a window over the sink affording a direct line of sight into the neighbor’s window not six feet away. Probably Julian’s kitchen sink window.
A hallway opened at the center of the far wall. Andie emerged from it now, grinning. “The bathroom smells like lavender, and the tub has claw feet.”
Molly hooted. “Yes! That’s it!”
Char laughed. “Exactly! That’s why it feels so familiar!”
Jo felt as though she missed an inside joke.
Andie must have sensed her puzzlement. “Jo, it’s Grandmère Babette’s place all over again.”
Grandmère Babette. Andie’s French grandmother. The little woman about whom they could write a book: Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned from Grandmère Babette.
She sank onto a nearby floral print ottoman. Perhaps the rumpled sock of a beach house was the ideal spot after all.
Seven
Jo stood in the doorway of Andie’s bedroom and watched her unpack. With her moving between the suitcase on the bed and a tall wardrobe that covered half the left wall, there wasn’t space enough for both of them to be inside the room at the same time.
“Andie, let me take this one.”
“If you like it that much, I’ll share it with you.” She hung up a blouse and smiled. “I checked underneath the daybed. There is a trundle. We could pull it out at nighttime for you to sleep on.”
“That would leave about two square feet to turn around in.” The only other piece of furniture was a ladderback chair painted red. “I just want you to be comfortable.”
“I am. This room is perfect for me.” She slid open a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. “It’s all the space I need. And I love the country theme.”
“There’s not even a closet in here!”
“But there’s this nice armoire. Did you smell the cedar?” She pointed at the drawer and shut it. “I have that little window with cute lace curtains. And a reading lamp over the bed. What more could I want? I bet the room was originally a pantry.”
“Mmm. A storage room of some sort, anyway.” It was located off the kitchen, just past a bathroom and exterior side door. “I can’t imagine two people using it.”
“Two kids would do fine, Jo.” She sat on the bed. “I like it.”
“Really?”
“Really. It makes me feel…safe.” She shrugged. “Listen, I know it’s your nature, but you’ve got to stop feeling responsible for our comfort, Doctor.”
“You came all this way—”
“Because you asked us to, but also because we wanted to. We didn’t have to say yes. We could have insisted you come to Chicago or Madison or Port Dunmore. I for one wanted to get away. I’ve never been away by myself. Can you imagine that?”
Jo smiled and leaned against the doorjamb. “No, I can’t.”
“I suppose not. You’ve been independent your whole life. Not that I regret my life. I love being home with the boys even now while they’re in high school. I’m able to volunteer for the school district and practice reflexology part-time as well.”
“Do you still work in a chiropractor’s office?”
She nodded. “What I really want to do is have clients come to my house.” Her face grew animated. “We have this breezeway, just a little screened-in room between the garage and kitchen, that is not useful for anything except to sit in during the summertime when it’s not too hot. It would be ideal. We could make it an all-season room with big windows. I wouldn’t be in the anybody’s way.” She turned to her suitcase and lifted out a pair of slacks. “Paul’s considering it.”
Jo caught a subtle shift in Andie’s tone, a nuance she couldn’t pinpoint. “How’s the real estate business?”
“It’s great. He’s awfully good at it, even when the economy is down.” She carried the slacks to the wardrobe. “I don’t have to work for the money. He can’t understand why I would want the headache of people traipsing in and out of the house. And he cannot begin to comprehend why I want to rub their bare feet.”
Jo chuckled. “That’s an easy one. Because relieving people’s pain is your nature too.”
She smiled. “It’s not always a pretty job, is it? And kneading bare feet doesn’t even begin to compare to what you do delivering babies and performing surgery.”
“But the results are the same. We help people. That’s what counts. Getting back to your idea about a home office. The headache would be yours, right? And Paul doesn’t have to touch a single bare foot.”
“Well.” Andie slid a drawer shut, closed the wardrobe doors, and turned. “That’s the conclusion I reached on my birthday.” She smiled. “Don’t you think there’s something special about turning forty? I feel like I swung around a corner.”
Jo thought about the image for a moment. It didn’t work. Instead of turning a corner, she felt as though she’d backed into one.
In the kitchen Char helped Jo unpack grocery bags while Andie found cupboard space for coffee, tea, bread, peanut butter, jam, crackers, and cookies.
Molly, pen and pad in hand, compiled a grocery list. “Jo, you’ve brought enough foo
d to last us for days. I move the marketing can wait until tomorrow. Let’s go outside.”
Char said, “I second that motion!”
Andie said, “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be best to get all organized first?”
Jo heard the hesitation in Andie’s voice. Though she had always been prone to being cautious, the sound of fear was a recent development. Well, recent as in some time during the past twelve years.
Molly shook her head. “Boo, hiss. Andie, the sun will be setting soon. Into the ocean you’ve never seen before! Or dipped your toes into! Come on. Let’s do it!”
“Just my toes?”
“Just your big toe, if you want.” Molly was halfway through the front door. “Okay with you, Miss Hostess?”
Jo nodded. As far as she was concerned, they could eat every meal in restaurants and skip the grocery store altogether.
“Great.” Molly shut the screen door. “I found some beach chairs in a shed out back. I’ll go get them.”
Within five minutes they each had a lightweight chair under an arm and were trooping through the gate onto the boardwalk, all barefoot save for Andie.
As usual, the scent of thick salt air energized Jo. The day’s myriad of worrisome details fell like grains of sand shaken from a blanket. She set her sights on the ocean and pointed her feet directly at it. The straightest route from front door to water’s edge appeared to be about a sixty-yard stretch. Not bad for one ugly beach house.
“Ahh!” Andie squealed as a roller skater swished past her.
“Heads up.” Molly caught her arm and prevented her from losing her balance. “It’s like a highway out here. Look at that! Yellow dividing lines? What is this?”
The walkway was broad enough to accommodate five or six people abreast. Jo pointed to the painted lanes and explained. “Northbound, southbound. Walkers here, runners and bicyclers there.”