Kit looked down at her again. She was sleeping now, her breathing slow and regular. The stud she usually wore was missing. There was just a tiny black dot on her nostril where it belonged. Her face looked as if it had been sculpted in fragile, spice-colored porcelain. Maybe the power behind Maris’s strong facade was in the tiny gold orb.
She leaned forward and kissed Maris’s forehead in the same spot Cole’s lips had touched and walked back to her own room.
A few days later, she was halfway through her seventh mile under a sky the color of creamsicles when she spotted Cole. A blue T-shirt, white shorts. He was stretching up to the sky, and he was alone, waiting for her. It had been a long time since he’d joined her on the beach. Estelle must have spent the night at her condominium.
She slowed her pace as he walked toward her, and without a word he put his arm around her shoulders. She slipped hers around his waist. It was as simple as if they’d done it a hundred mornings before. They walked in silence for a few minutes, more slowly than Kit ever would have alone.
Cole stopped suddenly. “Isn’t that a piece of smoothed glass?” He was pointing with his foot at a blue disc buried among the shells.
“I don’t want to let go of you to pick it up,” she said.
He tightened his hand on her shoulder, and they walked on, leaving the glass behind.
“Monday’s the big day,” he said.
She knew he was talking about turning the proposal in to the Devlin Foundation. The press release was all set to go, too. She’d worked and reworked it so many times that she could recite it by heart.
“I played up the ethics committee in the final draft,” she said. “It’s the one area that all the centers are handling differently so we can make our way look best.”
“I never thought the ethics committee would be an asset.”
“It is, but you’re actually the biggest asset we’ve got,” she said. “You’re attractive and charismatic and—”
He made a face. “I’d prefer this whole thing to fly on the merits of the program rather than my looks or personality.”
“That’s the perfect attitude.” She laughed. “So humble. They’ll love you.”
He let out a long sigh but when he spoke again his voice was playful. “So tell me,” he said, “how are things with Sandy?”
She was walking in the tire tracks of a Jeep. “Well, he’s one hundred and eighty degrees from Bill and that’s what I like best.”
“He’s damn good at charades, I’ll say that much for him.”
They’d played charades with the others after their date at the Szechuan restaurant, and Sandy had turned out to be something of a ham.
“He knows everything there is to know about the beach,” she said.
“Uh-huh. And how is he in bed?”
She smiled. Coming from Cole, the question didn’t surprise her. She thought back to the night she’d spent with Sandy and tried to think of an appropriate adjective. “Attentive,” she said.
“Attentive? That doesn’t sound like fireworks.”
“It was nice.”
“Sitting on the porch in a rocking chair is nice, too.”
“Cole.” She laughed. “It felt . . . friendly. You know, kind, gentle, satisfying sex.” And safe. She knew part of the reason she enjoyed Sandy was that he would ask nothing more of her. No commitment.
“Sounds kind of staid. Wasn’t he at all inventive?”
“What do you want, every graphic detail?”
“Yeah.” He looked sheepish.
She shook her head. “You are very, very nosy.”
“I want to be certain you were well taken care of.”
He frowned when she told him Sandy would still be seeing other women.
“It’s what I want, Cole. Someone I can enjoy for the moment who won’t end up suffocating me like Bill did. I don’t want a man to be all that important to me.”
The Chapel House came into view above the twisted line of the storm fence, and she wished they had farther to walk.
“How are things with Estelle?” she asked.
“Good.” His eyes lit up. “I’m glad she’s back.” He went on to tell her more—their plans for the next few weeks, a couple of conversations they’d had, how good it was to wake up with her next to him.
She wished she hadn’t asked. Imagining the two of them together was painful enough; hearing the reality of it only made it worse.
“She doesn’t like me,” she said.
“I know she gives people that impression, but that’s just her way. She’s been grumpy since she got back because I’m still living in the house and she had her heart set on us living together.” He stopped and turned to face her. “Don’t give up on her, Kit. Please? She doesn’t know how to react to a woman treating her as a friend. She’s never had it, not even as a kid. Please keep trying.”
She thought of her last encounter with Estelle. They’d been in the Chapel House library, one of Kit’s favorite rooms in the house. One wall was made up of windows that overlooked the beach and the water; the other three walls were covered with bookshelves, the wood dark and smooth. She liked the insulated feeling of being surrounded by books, floor to ceiling.
She was reading in one of the black leather chairs, her feet on the ottoman; Estelle was hunting for a book in one of the bookshelves, the one filled with Cole’s medical collection. She seemed to be in a good mood. It gave Kit courage.
“Would you like to meet for lunch tomorrow, Estelle?” she’d asked.
Estelle turned around. “Why?” She sounded as though she couldn’t imagine a more inane suggestion.
Kit’s throat went dry. “I know I got off on the wrong foot with you,” she said. ‘I’d wanted us to be friends. Maybe we could start fresh.”
Estelle folded her arms and leaned against the books, her eyes never leaving Kit’s. “I have no interest whatever in becoming your friend, Kit, so don’t break your neck trying to invent ways of making that happen.”
Kit was more hurt than angry. “Why do you dislike me so much?”
“I don’t dislike you. I simply have no interest in you. You’re not interesting to me in any way. So give up, okay?”
She turned to go but stopped at the door to face Kit again. “How the hell did you get into the Chapel House anyway? You don’t belong here. You sashayed into this house as though you owned it. Janni’s a bleeding heart—she takes in all the strays. But Jay’s not. Do you really think he wants you here? Have you ever stopped to think about it, Kit?”
She never told Cole how Estelle belittled her. It was the one thing she kept from him. She was afraid her complaining would sound too much like envy.
“Some of the effort needs to come from her, too,” she said to him now.
“I know.” He reached down and scattered the shells with his fingers to pick up a smooth gray periwinkle. He handed it to her, and they turned toward the house.
“It’s like a magnet,” he said, putting his arm around her again.
“What is?”
“The house. I don’t know how I ever thought I could leave.”
“I know what you mean. When I’m running away from the house it takes twice the effort as when I’m running toward it.”
“Honest?” He grinned at her.
“Honest.”
He laughed and pulled her closer to him. “I really love you,” he said.
She was quiet, afraid he’d regret speaking impulsively. She glanced at him. He was smiling to himself, and they walked across the beach heather in silence.
9.
“Thanks for agreeing to spend the weekend here,” Estelle said, laying her legs across his thighs.
They were sitting on the balcony of her condominium in their bathing suits, passing a bowl of boiled shrimp between them. The afternoon sun was hot and boats crammed the inlet below.
He didn’t dislike these condominiums so much now that he didn’t have to live in one. They were very modern, full of angles, and pain
ted the gray of weathered wood, different from the warm silver-hued gray of the Chapel House. They were located where the ocean met the inlet, and it was that feeling of being surrounded by water that made the condo tolerable for him. In all other ways it was too small, too sterile, too new and unseasoned.
Estelle’s face was calm and beginning to turn pink under her straw hat. He didn’t dare tell her that he was on call for the Emergency Room this weekend. He was hoping any obstetric crises could wait until Monday.
“It’s good to have you all to myself for a change,” he said, wrapping his hand around her ankle. He could handle the condo for one weekend.
She passed him the bowl of shrimp, and he took a handful.
“The Chapel House feels cramped these days, don’t you think?” Estelle peered at him from under the brim of her hat.
“Cramped?” He laughed. “Hardly.”
She looked down at her hands. “Aren’t you tired of it yet, Cole?”
“No.” He tensed, hoping they weren’t headed for another fight.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t be. You thrive on being around people who need you.”
He shrugged. “Is that so terrible?”
“You know,” she said, “I think part of our problem is that you don’t realize that I need you. You treat me as if I’m incapable of feeling hurt or scared. You comfort everyone else, but you’ve never comforted me. Never.”
He frowned. That couldn’t be true. He searched his mind for examples. The time she’d found the dead woman in the stairwell at Blair? Hadn’t he comforted her then? No, not really. She hadn’t seemed that upset. Years ago, after the abortion? She’d gotten through that far more easily than he had. It was true that he never thought of her as needing him in that way.
“I think it’s your strength that’s always attracted me to you,” he said.
“But I do have needs.” Her voice was one he’d never heard before.
“What do you mean?”
She pulled her legs from his lap and leaned toward him. “I need you so much that sometimes it scares me. When I was alone in Paris I felt, I don’t know, desperate. I’m afraid of losing you.” Her eyes were so wide that he could see the reflection of a sailboat in them.
“What do you mean, you felt desperate?” The word alarmed him.
“I’ve always been afraid that one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be out of my life. Also”—she hesitated, looked at him almost shyly—“lately, sometimes, I feel . . . well, out of control. It’s frightening.”
“I’ve never given you reason to worry about losing me.”
“I know, I know. But, are you listening to me, Cole? I feel . . .” She hunted for a word. Her hands were fists at the sides of her head. “I feel trapped by my own head.”
“Estelle.” He leaned forward to take her hand. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before? How can I help unless I know?”
She leaned back suddenly, pulling her hand out of his. “It’s really nothing. I don’t know why I brought it up. Forget it.” Her eyes had cooled.
“Forget it? You just told me you feel desperate and frightened and trapped and now you want me to forget it?”
“Yes.”
She’d let him inside her for a fleeting instant, and he hadn’t recognized her at all.
“I’m worried about you.”
She laughed and crossed her legs. Her look was almost mocking.
If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, he would have pursued it. He would have questioned her until he’d uncovered the truth. But this was Estelle, and he knew better than to try. Once she closed a subject there could be no reaching her.
10.
Janni asked him to wake Kit for dinner, and he climbed the stairs, thinking about how good the week had been and how much of it he owed to Kit. The first wave of local reaction to the proposed Fetal Surgery Program had been overwhelmingly positive, and she was keeping the topic alive in the papers and on the news.
Estelle had spent the week in New York and he’d been able to walk with Kit on a few mornings. He envied her the sense of ownership she had over the beach. It was obvious that her endurance was up. She was running farther, yet she was still full of energy by the time he joined her for the mile back to the house.
And she was seeing Sandy nearly every other night. But maybe it was catching up to her if she needed a nap in the middle of the day.
He knocked on her door. There was no response. He opened the door slowly and started to call her name but stopped himself when he saw her.
She was lying on her stomach, her face turned away from him. She was covered only by a sheet that clung to her from her heels to the middle of her back. Her shoulders were bare. He forgot about dinner. The only thought he had was of running his hand slowly up her leg.
What would it be like to make love to her? It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, but it was the first time he could see the possibility taking shape in front of him. He could move into the room, shut the door behind him, turn the key in the lock just in case anyone . . . Then what? He’d wake her slowly by kissing those incredible lips, touching her all over. She’d be too aroused to want to stop him when she finally realized what was happening.
Damn, what was he thinking?
He stepped into the room without closing the door and walked past the open closet with its double row of running shoes. He sat on the edge of her bed.
“Time to get up for dinner, Kit,” he said quietly.
She started, and he held the edge of the sheet so she wouldn’t lose it when she rolled over. She smiled sleepily at him. She looked pretty. She wore no makeup, but her eyes always had that smoky look to them. Right now they were watching him from above the creamy pale skin of her cheeks. There was little comparison between her face and Estelle’s, which sparkled with color from the first moment of the day. Yet the feeling welling up inside his chest as he looked at her was familiar.
“You’re going to have to start getting some sleep at night,” he said. “Tell Sandy he’ll have to see more of his other women.”
“Not a chance.” She grinned.
He smoothed the hair away from her damp cheek and let his finger trace her lower lip. It was as soft to his touch as he’d imagined. She didn’t move. Didn’t even look surprised. What would she do if he kissed her?
“I was watching you sleep from the doorway,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I was thinking about . . . what it would be like . . . I wanted to make love to you.”
She shut her eyes. Fine blue veins in the lids. “I wish you hadn’t told me that,” she said. She looked up at him. “That’s something we can never do.”
“Have you wanted to?” He’d often wondered if whatever she’d felt for him that first night under the stars was still alive.
“Of course,” she said. “But it would be fatal to our friendship, and it wouldn’t do your relationship with Estelle any good.”
It excited him to hear that she’d thought about it. His own brain was burning up. “We’d just have to keep it in the proper perspective,” he said.
Proper perspective? What the hell was he talking about?
Her eyes were unsmiling. She sat up against the dark wood of her headboard, holding the sheet tightly in front of her. “No, Cole, never. I couldn’t compare to Estelle. I don’t come the instant I’m entered.”
He winced. He never should have told her that. He’d started confiding in her lately. He knew now that he’d taken it way too far.
“I can’t whisper sweet nothings in French in your ear,” she continued. “Remember that the next time you think you want to make love to me.”
“Those things aren’t important.” He was confused. He ran his hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried to talk a woman into sex. He could feel blotchy color creeping up his neck, and he wished he could erase the last five minutes from his life.
He stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re
right, of course. Not that you don’t compare to Estelle, but that it would be a mistake. I’m sorry. Kit, I wasn’t thinking.”
She nodded slowly, and he turned and left the room.
Sunday morning was clear and golden, and Janni decided they should eat brunch on the beach. Cole was relieved when Kit agreed to join them. Since Friday night she’d held herself apart from him, skipping meals and staying out late, he was certain, just to avoid him. Even now her attention was riveted on the ocean.
She looked very young, he thought, sitting cross-legged on the beach blanket, faded jeans hugging her thighs. He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look in his direction. She was concentrating on her scrambled eggs, pushing them from one side of her plate to the other with her fork. He could kick himself for his lack of restraint. When would he ever learn to think before he spoke? Certainly she was right; if talking about it forced this kind of distance between them, what would happen if they ever did make love? What would be the point, anyway? He was with Estelle. And even if he weren’t, Kit had made it clear time and time again that she didn’t want a permanent relationship with a man. It would be hard for him to think of her on any other terms.
She was the first to head for the house after brunch, but he called her back.
“Can we talk, please?” he asked.
She looked at him, then at the house, then back at him again. “Okay,” she said finally, and she turned away from him to sit down on the sand once more.
11.
She woke with rumbling bowels. She walked around her bedroom between bouts in the bathroom, cursing her nerves and fighting tears at the growing certainty that she’d be unable to run that morning.
It was seven o’clock. How would she be ready to face the Jersey Shore Women’s Association at nine? And it was so hot. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door. The long, well-defined muscles of her thighs comforted her. Her face was so pale, though. She hated to see it first thing in the morning. And her hair. It was impossibly frizzed from the ocean air. She ran her fingers through the stubborn curls.
Secrets at the Beach House Page 7