After lunch with Virginia she’d felt so invincible that she drove to Blair, tracked down Sandy Cates in the respiratory office, and asked him out to dinner for Friday night. She walked in and blurted out the invitation before she had a chance to change her mind. He looked surprised, his round eyes even rounder, and smiled widely.
“I thought you were married or living with someone,” he said.
“No, I’m completely unattached. So, what do you think?” She wasn’t sounding like herself at all. Too quick and bold. And she felt out of place here at Blair in her drawstring pants and T-shirt, sunglasses dangling from her breast pocket.
“Sure, why not?” he answered, his eyes running over her body, scaring her a little.
The purest pleasure of the day would be telling Cole about it. She pulled into the Chapel House driveway, parking next to the already full three-car garage, and ticked off on her fingers the things she’d tell him about: Lunch with his mother. How good her legs felt. The case of nerves she was getting over the thought of a potentially intimate relationship with a man other than Bill.
Why was it she could say anything at all to Cole, that she emerged unscathed from every disclosure? She told herself that she no longer wanted him sexually, even though his steady gaze still made her shudder and he appeared regularly in her dreams. But sex with him now would feel almost incestuous.
The door to his room was closed. She could see the pink light of the sunset shining in the crack between the door and the floor. She pictured the view from his balcony, the sun dropping over the rooftops and sinking into the bay.
She knocked quietly on his door, then walked in without waiting for his answer. She knew in an instant that she’d made a mistake. Cole and Estelle sat in his four-poster bed, propped up by pillows and covered only by a sheet.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” She clapped her hand to her mouth and turned to leave.
“Wait a second, not so fast!” Cole laughed. “Say hello to Estelle. Estelle, this is Kit Sheridan. She’s the one I told you about who’s doing the PR for the program.”
Kit reached her hand across Cole, looking apologetically at Estelle. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she said. “Though not like this.”
It seemed as though minutes passed before Estelle drew her hand out from under the sheet and reached up, barely touching her fingers to Kit’s.
“Hello,” she said, her voice flat. She turned her eyes away from Kit to look out the window.
Maybe she’d walked in on a fight. “I’ve got to go,” she said to Cole, her eyes begging him for release. She reached for the doorknob.
“What did you want to tell me?” he asked.
“Just that it was great to run in Watchung, and that your mom is terrific.”
Estelle looked at her at the mention of Virginia, and Kit avoided her eyes. Let her wonder what I’m doing with her lover’s mother, she thought uncharitably. But she decided to keep the rest of her news for later, when Cole was alone.
“I’ve got to go now.” She forced herself to look at Estelle and suddenly felt sorry for her. There was sadness in those big, dark blue eyes. It was unmistakable. “I’m glad you’re here, Estelle,” she said. “Cole’s really been missing you.”
Cole had told her that when Estelle walked down the street all eyes turned to follow her. Kit guessed that he was more than a little biased. But when Estelle walked into the kitchen an hour after their awkward meeting in Cole’s room, she knew he hadn’t exaggerated. It would have been impossible not to stare.
Her cream-colored satin robe hugged her body, her nipples dimpling the fabric that stretched over full round breasts. Her face was perfect in its symmetry—square jawline under high cheekbones, enormous eyes, straight nose. Her heavy auburn hair hung in soft waves to her shoulders.
Janni was slicing bread. She looked up. “Hi, Estelle,” she said, as if she had last seen her minutes earlier rather than ten months ago.
Kit thought Estelle looked a little lost, a regal presence in a common kitchen, though this kitchen could hardly be described as common, with its beamed ceiling and huge fireplace. It didn’t fit Estelle, though. Estelle would need something sleekly modern and uncluttered with sentiment. No wonder she couldn’t tolerate the thought of living in this house.
Kit walked across the room to where Estelle was standing. “I’m very sorry that I walked in on you and Cole,” she said.
Estelle didn’t look at her. Her gaze wandered around the room until it settled on the wide sliding glass doors at the rear of the kitchen and the beach heather outside. “It’s all right,” she said.
“Really, it was thoughtless of me and I . . .”
“I said it’s all right. You don’t need to make a big deal out of it.” She was looking at her squarely now, the look of a woman who could devour people whole, and Kit felt a sudden lump in her throat.
Jay walked into the kitchen just in time to rescue her. He moved between them and put his arms around Estelle. His hands slid over the satin of her robe as he kissed her cheek. “Welcome home,” he said.
She nearly smiled at him, her hands on his shoulders. “Thanks,” she said.
Kit watched Janni turn away from them, back to the counter and the bread.
“Move in,” Jay said. “Nothing would make Cole happier.”
She shook her head, her hair shimmering in the kitchen light. It was redder than Kit had imagined. Estelle pulled away from Jay and took a couple of plums out of the fruit bowl before heading toward the door.
“There’s no privacy here, Jay.” She looked directly at Kit when she said the word and turned to leave the room.
Cole and Estelle didn’t come out of Cole’s room all evening, not even for dinner, and Janni froze the leftovers, muttering under her breath. The others were quiet at the dining room table, and Kit guessed that they felt it, too, the impenetrable wall that had suddenly been erected between them and Cole.
7.
In the dim light of the Szechuan restaurant, Sandy looked more delicate than she remembered. He was reed-thin in his loose brown shirt and baggy pants. Deep shadows filled the hollows of his cheeks, and his brown eyes reminded her of a fawn’s. But his cockiness belied any delicacy.
“I could tell you were a runner the second I laid eyes on you.” He picked up a shrimp expertly with his chopsticks.
“You could?”
He nodded. “You have that hard-as-a-rock look to you.”
She wondered how he could tell. She thought her body was well camouflaged under the conservatively tailored clothes she wore to work, as well as under the flowered skirt and yellow cardigan she had on tonight.
“It’s nice,” he continued. “I like a long, lean, tight body on a woman.” He dragged each word out and finished with a long pull on his tea.
She didn’t know why her heart was racing. There was something unbearably intense about him that attracted and frightened her at the same time. “You’re rather thin yourself,” she said. “Do you run?”
He laughed. “If you knew me a little better, you’d know what an idiotic question that is. No, I’m just a natural ectomorph. But I know a lot about running. I know that you should be in training by now if you plan to do Somerville in October.”
“I am in training.” She described her running schedule to him, and he nodded his approval. “I thought I’d try running on the dunes at Island Beach once a week, too,” she said.
“That’s a great idea. It’s very pretty out there, practically my favorite place in the world. You can see horseshoe crabs screwing on the beach if you’re lucky.”
“Well, I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Seriously, you can. My point being that Island Beach is so unspoiled the horseshoe crabs feel secure enough to do it right on the beach.”
She smiled. “Oh.”
“And the shells are abundant. They haven’t been raked over by the masses.”
That did sound appealing. “I look for shells every morning on the b
each,” she said.
“You must have quite a collection.”
She shook her head. “I throw them back.”
He set his chopsticks on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Every day the ocean presents you with its treasures and you throw them back?”
She wasn’t sure if she should feel defensive or guilty. “I didn’t realize it was a major offense,” she said.
“Next time we go out I want you to bring me a couple of shells that you find, okay? You need a lesson in sea lore.” He poured himself another cup of tea. “Shall we go back to my place after dessert?” he asked.
She was caught off guard. What did that mean? If she said yes, what was she agreeing to? He was looking at her with those innocent doe-eyes and she laughed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been out with someone, Sandy . . . I’m not certain what you mean when you ask me to your place.”
“Oh.” He looked incredulous. “How old did you say you are?”
“Thirty . . .”
“I’m teasing you.” He covered her hand with his. “You sound about fifteen right now. Are you saying you don’t want to make love tonight?”
“Yes, definitely, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t even know you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t give me that self-righteous stuff. You came on to me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“So I figured that when we were done with dinner, we could go to my apartment, smoke some weed, and”—he shrugged— “enjoy each other. I thought that was what you were after.”
Oh God. She would never ask another man out. She took a deep breath. “I can’t jump into bed with you, just like that.”
“Why not? I’ve been tested. I’m clean, and I’m careful who I sleep with. I figure you’re a pretty safe bet.”
“I still can’t. I’m worried about . . . disease, yes, but also I’ve had one lover for eight years, and I need some time to get used to the idea of having another.”
He grinned at her. “Okay, we can take our time,” he said. “But you should know right upfront that I don’t want marriage or anything like that.”
“That’s the last thing I want!”
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to see one woman exclusively. I wouldn’t want either of us to start thinking we own each other.”
When she was certain he had finished laying his ground rules, she reached across the table to shake his hand, surprising him. “It’s a deal,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to the Chapel House? My friends are there. Maybe we could play a game.”
“A game!” He laughed. “Golly. I wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”
8.
The house was different with Estelle there, and she was there much of the time. It seemed to Kit that she took up more than her share of space. Every room she entered shrank in size.
That Cole loved her was enormously clear. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he touched her every chance he got, stroking her arm in the upstairs hallway, kissing her in the kitchen. They went out nearly every night, to the band shell or driving great distances to find movies they hadn’t seen, and when they returned they cut themselves off from the others by conversing in French.
Estelle was two people in one body. When Cole was around she seemed content, and while Kit would never have called her friendly, she was at least approachable.
When he wasn’t around, she was sour and moody, and Kit dreaded every encounter with her. Those first few days she tried every possible conversation starter, but she could rarely catch Estelle’s eye, much less engage her in any exchange.
It was even worse to be in a room with Cole and Estelle together. Kit felt small—at five-seven a new feeling for her—and insignificant. She imagined that she looked like Estelle’s prepubescent daughter.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so intimidated by someone. This was what a woman could be: brilliant and beautiful. With every miserable encounter she scrutinized her feelings of jealousy and resentment, certain that they were to blame.
She missed Cole. She wanted time with him, time to talk the way they had before. There was so little of him left for her with Estelle there. In the mornings she walked the last mile on the beach alone, trying to keep her mind out of Cole’s bedroom where he and Estelle would be waking up together.
She was still working with him on the Fetal Surgery Program. An hour here, an hour there, but it was work and little more. She lived for those moments when he would squeeze her shoulder or rest his hand on her back as she left his office. Her need for his attention, for his touch, frightened her. Dependence on anyone was the last thing she wanted, and dependence on Cole struck her as disastrous. Yet it was a feeling she had little control over.
She had no fear at all of needing Sandy too much. There was little about him that she could imagine wanting for very long, although she did find herself enjoying his company. She had to attend so carefully to propriety during her workday that it was refreshing to be with someone loose and unorthodox in the evening. Since that first night, he had never pressured her, never mentioned sex. When they finally did make love, on the night of their fourth date, she was more than ready.
The house had been breathless that night. The heat of the day continued into the darkness, and her sheets were damp before they’d begun. Sandy was a generous lover, patient and appreciative. She needed that. She worried that she’d forgotten how to make love, that she was out of practice. But that was not actually the case—she’d been making love to Cole for over a month now, if only in her mind.
She was still awake long after Sandy fell asleep, and sometime after midnight she heard the screams. She wasn’t certain at first if they’d come from the beach or the house, but then she remembered she’d heard those screams once before.
She looked over at Sandy. His eyes were shut, his breathing regular. She lay still until she heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Then she got up and pulled on her robe. By the time she reached Maris’s door Cole was there, sitting on her double bed and holding her close to him. Her screams had turned into a choking moaning sound, and she was clawing at Cole’s back, her nails leaving tiny red welts on his skin.
Estelle was just inside the door, leaning against the wall with her arms folded against her green negligee. She looked coolly detached. Except for tiny droplets on the bridge of her nose she gave no sign of being hot.
Kit stood frozen in the doorway, not certain if she should join Cole at Maris’s bedside or not. Seeing Maris so out of control was a shock.
“Was it the fire again, Mar?” Cole asked quietly as she began to pull away from him. Her cotton nightgown stuck to her skin in damp patches across her breasts.
She nodded.
Estelle said something in French, but Cole didn’t respond.
“I’m okay.” Maris looked up. Her skin glistened in the moonlight, and she was rubbing a long pink discoloration on the inside of her left arm. “It’s so hot. When it’s hot like this, I . . .”
“Why don’t you sleep on the porch tonight?” Cole suggested.
She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I’m sorry I woke all of you.” She looked at the three of them and then down at her bed, still rubbing the scar on her arm.
Estelle spoke again, and this time Cole turned quickly to face her. He snapped at her, also in French, and Estelle laughed in a way that gave Kit gooseflesh.
Cole stood up and turned back to Maris. “You want me to get the fan?”
Maris shook her head.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Good night, then,” he said.
At the door he took Kit’s arm. “Can you stay with her a while?” His hair was damp against his forehead; his body gave off heat.
She nodded and Cole walked down the hall to his room, Estelle following close behind.
Maris lay back against the damp pillow. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. “You don’t have
to stay, Kit. You’ve got Sandy with you. Cole thinks I can’t handle it, but I’m okay.”
“I’d like to stay. And Sandy’s sound asleep.” The heat was even worse in this room, and Kit sat on the very edge of the bed, trying not to crowd Maris.
“I hate this,” Maris said. “I feel like such a fool when it happens. The dreams take me over. It’s as if I’m there, going through it all again, and I start screaming before I realize that it’s only a dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Kit asked hesitantly. She wasn’t certain that she wanted to hear.
Maris looked at her. “I can’t talk about it. Cole knows the most because he used to try to make me talk. He thought it would help. But I can’t stand to remember the whole thing. I’ve never understood why I was the one to survive. Why I was left with nothing more than this little reminder.” She held up the arm with the scar. “It’s been sixteen years. That’s a long time to be haunted by something.”
Kit nodded.
“When I first moved in here I woke them up nearly every night. Estelle accused me of faking the nightmares to get Cole into my bedroom.” She chuckled and Kit envied her sense of superiority over Estelle. “He always gets here first since his room’s just down the hall and he sleeps light as a feather.” Her voice was getting sluggish.
“I don’t think Estelle’s my biggest fan,” said Kit. She wanted Maris’s opinion on the subject of Estelle, but Maris didn’t seem to hear her.
“Thanks for staying. Kit,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”
Maris shut her eyes, but Kit remained on the edge of the bed. Her head felt heavy from the heat. She looked around the moonlit room. The walls were covered with African art—drawings and masks that would be enough to give anyone nightmares. One of Maris’s drafting tables was in front of the window facing the ocean. The other faced the house next door. Maris had told her she used the ocean view for creating, the house next door for detail.
Secrets at the Beach House Page 6