The Beach House

by Sally John

  “Oh, sugar. You all have apologized on more than one occasion over the years. And you are forgiven.” She tilted her head toward Todd. “You know how thirteen-year-old girls can behave.”

  He laughed.

  Char said, “His daughter is thirteen.”

  Molly perked up. “We were insufferable. Why would we be nice to this cute little thing who moved up from Georgia? Her accent drove me nuts.”

  Jo said, “And she was so not gangly. Petite was a dirty word in my vocabulary.”

  Char laughed. “The thing was, nobody befriended me. That all-girls parochial school was full of snobs and everyone already had their own clique.”

  The other three nodded in agreement.

  Todd asked, “What happened?”

  “Well.” Char took a breath. “Mama died. Andie felt bad for me. Her grandmother suggested they could be nice to me.”

  Andie smiled. “She read us the riot act.”

  Jo said, “In French, so it shouldn’t have mattered, but her gestures and frown and raised voice convinced us otherwise.”

  Andie added, “She lost her own mother when she was twelve. I think she would have forbidden us to visit her—which was our most favorite thing to do—if we didn’t attend the funeral and bring Char along the next time we went to Grandmère’s.”

  Char said, “They were so kind to come to the funeral. And after that they asked me to eat lunch with them in the school cafeteria. I think it was only a couple weeks later that I first went to Babette’s apartment. She lived downtown.”

  Todd said, “What was so special about going to see her? Why was it your favorite thing to do?”

  Char smiled. “The adventure of riding the train and acting like a grown-up. And being treated like one by her.”

  Molly said, “She fed us pastries and chocolates.”

  Andie said, “I felt at home there, unlike the house I lived in with my parents.”

  Jo held up her hands. “What can I say? It was the occasional sips of sherry.”

  Molly pointed a finger at her. “And you ruined that little treat by absconding with a bottle, didn’t you?”

  As they shared more memories, Todd faded from view. Eventually they talked about the List for Real Women, attempting to recite all its points.

  “A real woman has one friend who always makes her laugh.”

  “A good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.”

  “A youth she’s content to leave behind.”

  “Amen.”

  “A real woman knows how to have a good time at a party she’d never choose to attend.”

  “She has something perfect to wear if her employer or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour.”

  Char said, “Which reminds me, we have shopping to do! The date of my dreams may want to see me in an hour.”

  Char’s silly remark reminded Jo of Todd’s presence and the situation. It also reminded her of another list item: A real woman knew how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship.

  It was time to act like a real woman.

  Jo lingered with Char in the shade outside a maternity apparel shop. Andie and Molly had gone inside; Todd was down the block talking on his cell phone.

  “Char?”

  “Hmm?” She studied the display in the window as if fascinated by maternity fashions.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” She turned to face Jo and pushed her sunglasses atop her head. “This is really very nice here. Thank you. Warm though, huh?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about Beverly Hills and the Santa Ana. But I guess I can’t quite control those things.”

  “No, you can’t, Miss Hostess with the Mostess.”

  Jo smiled briefly. “Char, I know we’ve grown apart through the years. All four of us have.”

  She nodded. “It’s life, I guess. We followed different paths. Moved away. Etcetera, etcetera.”

  “Mm-hmm. But even after all this time without regularly communicating, I still care about you. We shared something unique that doesn’t go away.”

  “I agree. I feel the same way.”

  “Okay. So I love you and I’m going to say something out of that love.”

  “Here it comes. Lecture number three.” She dropped the sunglasses onto her nose again so they covered her eyes. She pressed her lips together in a straight line.

  Jo felt her own hackles rise but kept her voice even. “Look, your relationship with Todd is your business. I’m just asking you to take care of yourself. If you were drunk, I’d take the car keys from you. If you want to sleep with Todd, I can’t stop you. All I can do is point out that in both cases you’re playing with dynamite. Except for the possibility of AIDS—”

  “Jo! Honestly! You think he sleeps around?”

  “Do you know for a fact he doesn’t?”

  “He’s my best friend. I would know.”

  Jo forged ahead to complete her thought. “Except for the possibilities of AIDS or getting pregnant—”

  Char blew out a loud breath of disgust.

  “Except for those, the damage won’t be physical. But you will forever change the lives of your kids and not for the better.”

  “You’re an expert? The unmarried daughter of parents who are actually still married and working together?”

  Jo felt an urge to throw her arms around Char. She resisted.

  “Jo, I’m forty years old today. I’m running out of time to be happy.”

  She heard Char’s bravado but felt her pain. She stopped resisting and enveloped her in a hug. “Hey, I’m just being your friend, asking the hard stuff. It doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

  Char remained stiff as a board.

  Jo held on anyway. “Babette’s list. A real woman knows how to confront a friend without ruining the friendship. I won’t let go until you hug me back and tell me it’s not ruined.”

  Char gave her a quick hug. “It’s not ruined.”

  Jo stepped back. “Thanks.”

  “I guess you’re entitled to your opinion.”

  “And you yours. It’s good to explore other people’s points of view. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Promise you’ll take care of yourself?”

  “I’ll take care of myself.” She brushed bangs off her forehead. “Julian says the Santa Ana is hard on tempers.”

  Jo didn’t argue. The wind and heat and changes in air pressure had nothing to do with emotions running amuck. She suspected the Molly Effect had joined forces with something new: the Andie Effect. With two of them praying, it was hard to say what else the spiritual forces were capable of prompting.

  Telling a friend she was crazy and then hugging the anger right out of her was enough to turn Jo into a believer.

  Thirty-Seven

  Molly clutched Jo’s cell phone in her lap and bit her lip.

  Lord, I can’t do this alone.

  You’re not alone.

  I understand, but—

  Shh. No buts. I’m here.

  Lord, have mercy.

  She sighed. Of course the Lord was with her. Of course He would not leave her. Of course He was intimately acquainted with the baby, already saw every future day of his or her life. But still…

  She felt as though she were walking a tightrope across a black yawning chasm of despair, an entity eager to swallow her up. When her steps faltered, she turned back to prayer, imagining the Lord’s responses.

  Andie interrupted her thoughts. “Line still busy?”

  “Yes.” She hadn’t yet talked with Scott and was exhausted from carrying their news all by herself for nearly nine hours now.

  Lord, I can’t do this alone.

  Molly, Andie, and Jo sat on the patio outside the beach house, frazzled from a day of shopping, hot wind, and Char’s horrendously awkward situation. The birthday girl and Todd had just left. They had spoken of vague plans to sightsee and eat dinner and welcomed the other three to tag along. Tag along. Molly doub
ted she, Jo, and Andie would have accepted even a heartfelt invitation.

  Jo broke the silence with a loud sigh. “Do you think he’s gay?”

  An out of the blue remark, but Molly understood she referred to Todd. In unison she and Andie replied, “No.”

  Andie added, “He watches Char the way Paul watches certain women. Women he finds attractive.”

  Molly stared at her.

  Her eyebrows went up and down, like a facial shrug. “Char probably has more male friends than women friends. She probably still scares most females just by being herself. Cute and petite and charming.”

  Molly said, “Yeah, who wants to compete with that? Not to mention ‘sugah this and sugah that.’” She dropped the Southern accent. “We should have locked her up in her room.”

  Andie shifted in her seat. “Maybe that’s not the point.” She glanced at both of them and then turned to face the house. “This place keeps Grandmère at the forefront of my mind. She would say, ‘Char ees hurting.’” The guttural r’s were reminiscent of Babette’s voice. “‘She makes zee wrong choice. She pays zee piper; we don’t. We just love on her. N’est pas?’”

  “Ah oui, it is so.” Molly smiled.

  Jo crossed one leg over the other and swung it. “What is it about this beach house? You feel Babette, and I get this weird sense of—I don’t know what. Of safety. No, more than that. Of intense security.”

  Molly blinked. “You feel secure here?”

  She held up a hand. “I admit it. Atrocious as far as beach houses go, this place affects me positively. Probably the same way Babette’s apartment did.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  Molly twisted around in the chaise lounge and studied the reddish-orange cottage. Its two picture windows either side of the front door reflected people strolling along the boardwalk. The last rays of sunlight shone. There was a timeless solidity about it that comforted her. The tightrope walker felt muscles relax.

  She said, “I wonder if something lingers after a faithful person departs. You just know Faith Fontaine filled this place with prayer. Maybe angels still guard it.”

  Jo blew out a breath, a sound of astonishment. “Okay, make that angels, Babette, and a sense of security. This place offers it all. Now I ask, what else could we possibly want?”

  Andie said, “Maybe Chinese for dinner?”

  Molly laughed with her friends. Indeed, she was not alone—even if her husband did not yet know their world had been turned upside down.

  “Good evening, ladies.” Julian’s voice turned their attention from the house. He stood on the other side of the white picket fence.

  As usual, Molly felt drawn to him and smiled. Like Jo’s question regarding the beach house, she asked herself, What is it about the neighbor? He didn’t say much, but when he did talk his soft voice was like a soothing whisper. His dark eyes always twinkled behind his glasses and conveyed a distinct warmth.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Jo’s stiff response indicated that, unlike the house, he hadn’t yet grown on her.

  Andie, on the other hand, greeted him with a smile. “Julian, is there a Chinese restaurant nearby where we can get carryout?”

  “Chang’s, two blocks north on the main drag. No MSG.”

  She laughed. “You’re better than the yellow pages. Come on in and have a seat.”

  At Andie’s invitation, Jo straightened in her chair and crossed her arms as well as her legs. Molly wondered at her defensiveness.

  Julian stepped onto the patio and joined Andie at the table. “You missed the sunset.”

  Molly glanced at the ocean. The sun had disappeared already behind a bank of clouds on the horizon. “Aww, we did. There goes that tradition.”

  Andie giggled. “After three times straight. Oh, well. I guess there was just way too much on our minds. I’m glad I got in my boogie boarding before the day went bananas on us.”

  Jo rolled her eyes as if to say Don’t go there.

  Julian said, “The waves were great, weren’t they?”

  Molly thought he must have caught Jo’s expression and politely didn’t ask about the “bananas” comment. She tuned out their ensuing discussion of the morning’s wave situation and picked up the cell phone. She hadn’t figured out the redial shortcut, and so she punched in the string of numbers yet again. A moment later the busy signal buzzed in her ear. Her stomach tightened.

  Lord, I can’t do this alone.

  You’re not alone.

  “Still nothing?” Jo said.

  “No. I can’t understand it. A busy signal for hours? Scotty and the kids would not be on the phone or Internet this long.”

  Julian said, “Excuse me. Molly, you’re from Oregon, right? The southern coast?” The guy had quite a memory.

  “Yes.”

  “I just heard they’re getting pounded with storms and high winds. Phone lines are down, power is off.”

  “Really?” A sense of relief flooded her. “That’s great.”

  Three puzzled expressions faced her.

  She shrugged. “Hurricane-force winds are no big deal. I used to panic when we first moved there, but I’m used to it now. I’m sure my family is fine. I’m just glad to know why I can’t get through. Thanks, Julian.”

  “Sure. Always glad to be the bearer of bad news.” His smile barely curved the corners of his mouth.

  Jo said, “You watch the Weather Channel?” Sarcasm dripped from her innocent question.

  “It’s a favorite.”

  Andie stood. “I’m hungry. Julian, would you like to eat Chinese with us?”

  “Thank you, but I have plans. I’d be glad to show you the way to Chang’s.”

  “Great.” She turned to Molly and Jo, pointing at each in turn. “Anything with seafood. Lots of veggies and extra for whomever should wander by in need of a meal. Anything else?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Okay. Back soon. I have money.” She followed Julian around the corner of the house.

  As the sound of their footsteps and voices faded, Jo uncrossed her legs. “Remember what she said about Char and Todd?” she murmured.

  “Which part?”

  “The part about how she wished some guy would give her a fraction of the attention Todd’s giving Char.”

  The insinuation felt like a Ping-Pong ball ricocheting in Molly’s head. It wouldn’t settle in. “Andie and Julian?”

  “He convinced her to swim in the ocean. She sat here with a loony grin on her face like a moonstruck teenager while he talked about weather. Now they’re off to buy dinner together. He probably declined her invitation because we’re here.”

  “No, Jo.”

  “Maybe, Molly.”

  “No, not Andie.”

  “If you were married to Paul…?” She let the thought float where it would.

  Molly grimaced. She never had cared much for Paul Sinclair. An overly aggressive sales type, he’d latched onto the spunky redhead because—Molly had always assumed—she brought to the table every grace he lacked. Which was every grace under the sun. Andie made Paul more presentable and the guy was smart enough to figure that out.

  “Molly, you and I both know he never was trustworthy. For goodness’ sake, he made a pass at me the night of their rehearsal dinner.”

  “He did? You never told me that.”

  Jo closed her eyes. “We both had too much to drink.”

  She waited a full minute, debating with herself whether or not she wanted to hear any more. At last she said, “Jo?”

  “We didn’t. Ernie was picking me up.” She opened her eyes and looked at Molly. “Otherwise a few stolen kisses would not have been the end of the story. He’s a donkey’s behind and so am I.”

  All for one and one for all? Molly saw the pain on Jo’s face and bit back the smart remark. It wasn’t necessary. “She’ll forgive you.”

  “She shouldn’t.”

  “God shouldn’t forgive any of us. But Jesus came and He
does.”

  “Should we pray?”

  Molly’s throat tightened. Now Jo wanted to pray? Char was out on a date with Todd. Andie was on a semi-date with Julian. Jo was confessing to Molly as though she were a priest who wanted to hear such things. Molly herself was pregnant—the last thing on earth she wanted or expected or needed—and she couldn’t even tell Scott about it. Where had prayer gotten them so far? Seemed like into a heap of trouble. What was that verse about seeing the back of God? As if He were walking away. In disinterest? Or was it anger?

  Suddenly chilled despite the lingering heat, she stood. “I need a sweatshirt.” And then she went inside the beach house.

  Molly sat with Andie and Jo at the kitchen table. The house remained warm after the hot day, and so they did not build a fire in the fireplace. Molly missed the cheery snap and pop, the warm glow of flickering flames.

  They ate steamed rice and kung pao shrimp and moo goo gai pan with chopsticks straight from cartons. The meal was the quietest they had shared in four days. Maybe in their entire lives, not counting the times one or the other of their parents deigned to include the girls in a family gathering.

  Molly said, “I hope I don’t stifle my kids’ freedom of expression. Never, ever.”

  Jo and Andie turned puzzled faces toward her. Jo said, “How did you get to that?”

  “I was just thinking how quiet we are tonight. It reminded me of how we’d all go silent when we were at each other’s homes eating dinner with family. Except for your dad, Andie. He never stifled us. We let loose with him, didn’t we?”

  Her smile was wistful. “We did—if my mom wasn’t nearby. She stifled him as well as anyone within shouting distance.”

  “How is your mom?” Jo asked.

  “Unavailable.”

  The adjective fit all three of their mothers. Of course, it fit Char’s too, but they never used it in front of her.

  Andie went on. “She adores Florida and her fourth husband. How are your mothers?”

  Together Molly and Jo replied, “Unavailable.”

  Andie nodded. “Why is it they were unavailable and yet had the power to stifle us so?”

  Jo raised a shoulder. “Because we could never live up to their expectations. We grasped that fact by the time we were nine, and it choked us. Why bother revealing our loathsome little selves to their scrutiny? We were in survival mode.”