Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon

by Vickie McKeehan

  “I already thought of that. Abby Bonner mentioned someone I could call. Hannah cleans houses. I signed her up to come first thing Monday.”

  “Hannah Summers? She hasn’t been in town long, but she’s good and reliable. She’ll have this place sparkling by nightfall.”

  While the dog sniffed everything, Quentin kept Buckley on his leash and one eye on the mutt, just in case there was any dashing out the door for a potty break.

  Intent on checking out every room, they began in the living area where someone had slapped velvety gold paint on the walls.

  “Not exactly my color choice,” Quentin grunted. “But it’ll have to do for now.”

  Sydney tried out one of the dark leather chairs that formed a seating area in front of the Spanish-tiled fireplace. She ran a hand over the matching sofa. “This is a lot of space for one guy.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  To their surprise the kitchen was even bigger. The tray ceiling had wooden beams as its focal point. It had a list of cool accessories, a walk-in pantry, a wine cooler, a commercial stovetop, and a farmhouse sink.

  “Tell me again what your uncle did for a living.”

  “He taught engineering at UC Davis.”

  “He must’ve saved his money.”

  “And put it all into this showplace,” Quentin supplied.

  Sydney went to the slider and stepped out into an amazing terrace that could only be described as an extension of the house. A pergola offered another cozy sitting area. Wood and stone pillars created a pavilion where stylish teak furniture sat in front of an outdoor fireplace.

  “I’ve never seen a patio so big or so grand.”

  “Douglas must’ve dropped a bundle when he built this. And Logan wants to turn it into a library.”

  “Good luck with that. It would take a massive amount of…creativity from the artist to make that happen. I suppose if anyone could do it a sculptor could. But Quentin, don’t you want to make this place yours?”

  “What makes you think I have the financial chops to buy it? Turning the cannery into a hospital will probably bankrupt me.”

  “Are things that dire?”

  “We’ll see if Nick comes through with the help he talked about before I start panicking.”

  “But he was very positive when you were at the bank.”

  “Talk is one thing. We’ll have to see if everyone ponies up the financial backing like Nick thinks they will.”

  They checked out the dining room where Zach and Troy had already replaced Douglas’s dated oak table with the more favored vintage spruce. The seven-foot piece of furniture dictated a style change to a more modern look.

  Sydney ran a hand over the woodgrain. “This is gorgeous. I’d recognize the work from Tradewinds any day. I can see why you wanted it in here where the sunlight drifts in from the west. And the matching chairs make it look like it belongs in here.”

  “Hey, I only had four pieces of furniture—this table, the gray couch which I had them stick in the den, a really nice refrigerator, and my bed. I can move in here and use most of what Doug had on hand without a problem. But I didn’t feel like parting with any of those pieces I considered special to me.”

  “Yes, Beckham told me you were quite partial to your refrigerator,” Sydney teased. “I have to see this big stainless steel sucker that’s captured your heart. I suppose you have to have something in here that makes this place feel like it belongs to you.”

  “But it doesn’t belong to me,” Quentin pointed out.

  “Maybe it should.”

  “What would I do with all this space?”

  “Same thing you planned to do with the cannery—make it a home.”

  Amused, Quentin sent her a little smile. “I guess it’s okay to admit that the energy between us scares me just a little.”

  “It isn’t just you. One day I’m all for it, the next I want to run the other way.”

  “The rocky start didn’t help.”

  “Exactly. You need to know that until I’m steadier about it, I won’t act on a whim.”

  “Add in the fact that we work together and it might create major problems. If it blows up in our faces, there’s nowhere to run for either one of us.”

  “Exactly. What if things sour? They could.”

  He ran a finger down the side of her face. “Or we could be looking at a fantastic run.”

  “I have to be careful. Just because you kiss really well is no reason to go crazy and lose my head.” Or my heart, she thought as the tour took them upstairs to the master bedroom.

  Sydney found her eyes drifting to the massive king-sized headboard made from African sapele. She marveled at the rich, dark reddish-brown wood. “The swirl pattern makes an architectural statement in itself.”

  “It is kind of artsy. Not my usual. But something about it just spoke to me. I knew I had to have it.”

  Sydney walked to the window and stared out at the little strip of private beach below. “Can you imagine waking up to that view every morning, watching the fog roll in?”

  He snatched her hand. “Come on, let’s go check it out for ourselves from ground level.”

  With the dog in tow, they found the backyard gently rolled to the edge of the cliff. But there was an overgrown trail that led down to the little slice of beach they’d seen from the bedroom.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been down here for a long time.”

  Quentin took her hand to help her through the jungle of vines. “Douglas was elderly, not able to get around much before he died. This place hasn’t seen a lot of TLC lately.”

  He followed the white sand around to where an inlet met up with the sea, where the waves slammed up against a series of rock formations. Beyond that, the ocean glittered like blue diamonds. It stretched out past the bay as far as the eye could see.

  “Look at that little island in the distance,” Quentin said, pointing northward. “What is that?”

  “Treasure Island,” Sydney answered. When he balked at the name, she went on, “Don’t look at me. That’s what Scott Phillips called it as a kid. The name just stuck.”

  He grabbed her hand right before the whoosh of tide came in and splashed across the beach with a roar. “My God, this place is perfect.”

  The pooch pranced around nervously as if he didn’t want to get wet. Instead, the mutt took off running, scaring the flock of seagulls who landed just out of reach on the rocks.

  “This would make a great place for a bonfire.” In the back of his mind he thought of something Beckham had told him. “Or for building sandcastles.”

  Sydney tilted her head to study Quentin. “Sandcastles? I’ve never built one. But I can see Beckham out here fishing. He’d enjoy this spot.” She searched Quentin’s face and found him deep in thought. “But this place isn’t yours, remember?”

  He flashed her a smile. “I’m beginning to see the possibilities.”

  As the wind picked up, she wrapped her sweater tighter around her body. “It’s odd that Douglas left you the cannery and not this house. Why do you suppose he did that?”

  Quentin brought her closer. “For the past hour or so, I’ve given that some thought. He obviously didn’t want me living here.”

  “Then why bring you here at all just to pawn off a rundown piece of property?”

  “Only Douglas knows the answer to that and he’s not talking. Let’s get out of here. It’s getting chilly.”

  That night with Quentin on duty, Charlotte was restless. After several attempts at getting comfortable failed, she wheezed out, “I’m tired of spending my days in this bed like a slug.”

  “What would you say to getting out of here on Wednesday? If you’re good, I might just spring you.”

  “Music to my ears. I’ve been out of it for a few days. How’s my boy doing?”

  “You’ve raised a great kid there, Mrs. Dowling.”

  “I told you that first night we spent together to call me Charlotte,” she said with a
wink.

  “Glad to see your sense of humor is intact.” He told her about Beckham getting beat up. “I kept him out of school. But now it looks like I overreacted a little. Tomorrow is his first day back. And I have to convince myself that he’ll be fine.”

  “You’re a good man. When the time comes, you’ll do what we talked about, right?”

  “I will. It’s in writing. How can I go back on my word when Kinsey will see to it I honor my contract?”

  “Is that all Beckham is to you?”

  “No. I didn’t mean it like that. Try to understand this is all new territory for me. I’m more than a little scared.”

  “If you lost your father and mother at Beckham’s age like you told me you did, then you’re the best man for the job.”

  “We want you to come to the house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  She started coughing. When she managed a breath, tears formed in her eyes. “My last, no doubt. I need to make it wonderful for Beckham. Please do that for him.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Don’t worry. We plan to go all out.”

  Nineteen

  A busy Monday morning kept Quentin tied to the office until noon. But at the first break he decided to pay a visit to the DeMarco house.

  On the walk there, he found himself thinking about Beckham. These days it happened a lot, whether the kid was in school didn’t seem to matter. And when he didn’t have Beckham or patients spinning through his brain, his mind ran to Sydney. He wanted to get her into bed. But at the same time he respected the fact that it might lead to a messy situation. They’d both been there before. Hospitals were notorious playgrounds for sexual romps that led nowhere and brief affairs that meant nothing.

  No one ever said doctors and nurses didn’t know a thing or two about workplace romances. They were usually experts at hooking up on the sly. That’s why he could appreciate her decision to take it slow. He didn’t like it, but he understood it.

  The DeMarcos’ house needed some new paint on the trim. But the yard was tidy and the little porch held a jack-o’-lantern left over from Halloween. As he stood there, the porch creaked under his weight.

  A young man no older than twenty answered his knock.

  “Hi. I’m Quentin Blackwood, the new doctor in town. I took over Doc Prescott’s practice last week.”

  “Oh. Okay. I hadn’t heard. If it’s about that bill from last year—”

  “No, nothing like that. Is it okay if I come in?”

  “I guess so.”

  Quentin stepped inside a small front room with hardwood floors and a beautiful ornate fireplace. “You’re Andy, right?”

  “Andy DeMarco. What’s this about?”

  “You may have met my nurse, Sydney Reed, when you came into the office the last time. I believe you had a broken arm. Anyway, Sydney has been generous enough to help me go through the database she created to try to get me familiar with all Doc’s patients, sort of a way to catch me up to speed on the people I’ll be treating here.” The excuse sounded lame and Quentin knew it.

  Andy scratched his smooth chin. “So you’re going door to door to drum up business? That’s a new one.”

  “Not exactly. I understand you have a sister named Faye.”

  At the mention of Faye, Andy’s demeanor changed. “Who sent you here?”

  “No one sent me.”

  “Not that social worker, Carla Vargas?”

  “Nope. I don’t even know who that is. Remember, I’m new here. No one sent me,” Quentin repeated. “Maybe I should start over because I’m making a mess out of this.”

  He quickly went into Beckham’s story about Faye, and how she’d shared her food on the bus. “You see, it meant a lot to Beckham, otherwise he wouldn’t have mentioned it. The story stuck with me because it was the first indication that he and his grandmother lived on a pretty tight budget. And now that his grandmother is sick, the outlook is even more grim. I’ll be honest. He’s also concerned about a social worker taking him away to live with a bunch of strangers. Me? I’m not letting that happen.”

  Andy’s face relaxed. “Good for you. I know what it’s like facing the prospect of losing my sibling to the system. I’m glad Faye gave this kid some food, especially when we don’t have all that much extra ourselves. Faye’s a good kid.”

  “I think they both are good kids. Why are things so tough around here?”

  “Because I haven’t been able to find steady work. I was working construction, helping Ryder’s crew, when they were renovating the school down the street. But that went south when I broke my arm. I couldn’t work for two months. That put me behind on bills. I’ve been struggling to keep up ever since.”

  “Your file said you were nineteen.”

  “I turned twenty last August. Look, I don’t want to say any more about my troubles because Carla Vargas has already tried twice to take Faye away from me, saying I’m not old enough to provide for her properly. I can’t afford to have it getting around that I’m having trouble putting food on the table.”

  “I don’t blame you. I promise not to tell a soul. What happened to your parents?”

  “I could tell you that it’s none of your business,” Andy stated.

  “You could, but since I’m here to help out, I don’t think you should do that.”

  Andy rubbed his sweaty palms on his worn jeans. “Okay. Fine. When I was seventeen my dad got a job in Vegas as a blackjack dealer. We were hurting for money then, too. After two months, he sent for my mom, said that she could also make some real money by coming up there and dealing cards. They didn’t want to take us out of school so they left us here. My job was to get Faye off to school and keep things afloat here while they made the money and sent a portion of it to us. On their day off, they’d come back to check on us. Back and forth, back and forth.”

  “And?”

  “It worked for about six months. But then one night they left out of here late, in a hurry to get back before their shifts started. I don’t know the exact details of what happened but the next thing I knew, there’s a police officer standing on the porch telling me they’d been killed in a car wreck.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. It must have devastated you both.”

  “It was like a natural disaster hit us. And it didn’t take long after the funeral for the social worker to pay me a visit. Right up front she started making threats about the county taking Faye away and putting her with another family if I couldn’t provide for her. I couldn’t let that happen. So I quit school to get a job. Remodeling the school came along just at the right time. Ryder hired me on as one of the helpers. So I saved a little money and went to see Kinsey Donnelly to see what she could do to keep Faye with me where she belongs.”

  “I take it Kinsey was successful.”

  “For now. I take work whenever I can get it. I try to send Faye to school clean and hope she stays out of trouble. That way, we fly underneath anyone’s radar.”

  “Have you tried asking Tradewinds if they could use anyone?”

  “Not in a while.”

  “I happen to know they’re about to get really busy. After I leave here, give Ryder or Zach a call. Tell them I said they’ll probably need you on the hospital job at the cannery. That way, they’ll know you really did talk to me.”

  “Okay. Thanks. So Faye isn’t in trouble?”

  “Not at all. Your sister might possibly be Beckham’s only friend. In fact, what are you two doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Probably eating peanut butter sandwiches.”

  Quentin smiled. “While those are my favorite, I think I can do better than that. Would you like to come to my house for dinner on Thursday?”

  At the clinic, Sydney felt relieved to know Beckham had gone through a full day at school without any altercations. She watched the boy gulp down a PB&J sandwich and a full glass of milk before announcing it was time to leave for work at the Christmas tree lot.

  “I want to hear every detail,” she called out. “What time do yo
u get off?”

  “Jeez, I’ll be back at six o’clock.”

  “Then it’ll be time to sit down and do homework.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea. How much homework do you have?”

  “I’ve done most of it already.”

  “You know Quentin’s grandmother’s due in at six-thirty.”

  “I know. I’ll be back by then.” When the dog followed him out the door, Beckham came back in holding Buckley by the collar. He rubbed the mutt behind the ears. “Nope. You gotta stay put. Be good and don’t chew anything while I’m gone. And don’t pee on Quentin’s stethoscope again like you did yesterday.”

  Sydney couldn’t help it. She fought the urge to follow him to make sure he’d be okay. It wasn’t every day a boy started his first job.

  But she wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him.

  Beckham ran all the way to The Plant Habitat to make sure he clocked in at four-thirty. Clocking in meant writing your time down on a sheet of paper with your name on it. Doing so made him feel older and more responsible and prouder than he ever had before.

  The smell from the evergreens didn’t come out of a spray can. Not here. Real fragrant pine and fir wafted on the air and put him in a good mood.

  After showing him how it was done, Caleb put Beckham to work building the tree stands. “You’ll get so you can build the cross in your sleep. Do enough today, and tomorrow you can start attaching them to the bottoms of the trees, like this. We cut the trunk off smooth at the base. Then attach the stand to make it sturdier. You can’t attach it on too tight because the customer usually takes home the tree and replaces it with a better stand, one that holds water. And if they don’t, we want it to be able to last until Christmas. There’s a fine line getting the stand on just right. We don’t want it falling over. Through the years we’ve found two by fours work best to keep the tree upright for longer.” Caleb went through the routine for Beckham’s benefit. “See, it’s fairly easy.”

  “I got it. I’m good at putting things together.”

  To prove it, he went to work. For the next two hours, he used a drill to connect the two pieces of wood. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, three times with the drill and the stand was done.