“I love it,” I whispered into the air.
I took my camera from the shelf and checked the battery. It wasn’t my thirty-five millimeter from high school, but close enough. Getting used to it was like going on a first date. This new camera was growing on me, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
The beach called silently for my company like a long lost friend.
I rummaged through the hallway closet looking for my sea-grass fedora. I did a little jump and knocked it down from the top shelf, then kicked the three scarves that fell with it to the back of the closet. And off I went.
Too anxious to capture the daylight and pressured by the ticking clock not to forget my daily radiation appointment time of three o’clock, I grabbed my keys. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone to the beach. Beckett and I had practically raised Bradley there and somehow its mystique faded away with time. Mom always warned me about the sun’s power on a redhead, but I loved the heat that warmed me to the core. Freckles never bothered me as much as they did her. Sunscreen was one of those things I loathed, but couldn’t live without. I used to lather Bradley up while remembering not being coated at all as a kid in the midday sun. Mom would sit under a tree with her beach hat and cover-up on, and I’d be in the midst of hot sand and scalding sun. Something about the sun made me feel alive. Even with the doctor’s warning, I yearned for that familiar feeling. A few minutes in the sun could only do me good. It was the only thing bigger than me that I didn’t feel the need to challenge.
I grabbed my Nikon off the passenger’s seat then set out for some great shots. I pictured myself working diligently with paints to hand color these photos at my new desk in my new space with a grin.
Moms and children dotted the shore. Laughter and cries echoed in the sweltering breeze. I pushed my hat down over my brow, made sure my linen tunic covered my chest, then checked the position of the sun. Tiny granules of sand burned the sides of my feet as I trudged to the shore where the water licked the sand. I faced the wind like so many times before. My camera rested against my chest as I removed my sandals. The cool water rushed over my feet that I had buried in the sand then quickly scurried back to its home. My lips curled as I was reminded of something much bigger. The corner of my mouth touched the clouds when forgotten beach memories brushed up against my mind.
I carefully placed my sandals near the waterline on the shore and waited for the rolling wave to break and froth before me. A helpless hermit crab flailed on its back to recover. I bent down and used my sandal to flip it over. I expected to see a quick getaway, but the creature bathed with the sun on its back, just like I used to. I zoomed in and clicked.
The line of the horizon was still and perfect. The pier of fishermen anchored the floating world. Screeching gulls swooped over their lines threatening thievery. The air tickled my neck like my father’s fingers did when I was a child. Chills ran up my spine.
“I do remember, Dad, I do,” I muttered, picking up my flip-flops.
I strolled along the beach. A child shouted my name. I peered over the rim of my sunglasses, and smiled. Chloe came bounding toward me. I wrinkled my nose as she splashed along the shore leaving polka dots of lake water on my shirt.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Chloe shaded her eyes and gazed up at me through narrow slits.
“Taking some pictures.”
“For what?” she asked, picking up a white rock. “Oh, this one’s pretty.” She bent down and washed it off in the water. “It’s pretty windy out here, but I like it. Don’t you?”
I soaked in the scenery. “I do.” I focused on her stubby nose and quizzical stare as she caressed the wet stone. I clicked my Nikon several times. The sound of the shutter was lost in the rustling breeze around us.
“Take my picture.”
“I already did.” I snapped another one as Chloe squinted and wrinkled her nose in my direction.
“That’s not fair, I wasn’t looking.” She put her hands on her hips and posed like a top model would. “Let me stand this way.” She flipped her hair back. “Tell me to say cheese,” she ordered.
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “Say ‘cheese,’” I directed, as I lifted the viewfinder to my eye.
“Cheese,” she chimed. “Now take another one, a silly one like my dad does.”
“Why not? Get ready,” I warned.
Chloe fell onto her back. “No, you get ready. Watch this, a sand angel.” She swished her arms and legs.
I snapped three frames as she carved out her mark on the world then I lowered the camera as John approached in my viewfinder.
“Hey, Maggie,” John said, squinting into the sun.
Chloe jumped to her feet then rushed into the lake. “Gotta wash this off. Never know what’s been crawling around in the sand,” she said with a shiver.
“Hi, no office today?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Chloe, who was dunking her head and splashing in the cool lake water.
“Nope, it’s a day with Chloe. I figured I’d give Nanny Nora a break. I don’t want her to quit.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Chloe bounded out of the water and stood between us. “Wait, let me do this over here.” She jumped to the side and shook like a retriever after an unwanted bath.
I kept an eye on John through my sunglasses as he marveled in his daughter’s goofy antics. His scruffy grin tugged at my heart. I wondered what her mother looked like because she sure was the spitting image of him, without the whiskers. I averted his soft stare when he turned back in my direction.
“Let’s leave Maggie alone,” he said to Chloe.
“See you back at the house she called.”
I waved as they left, and the horseshoe tattoo on John’s left shoulder caught my attention.
Chloe’s words drifted in my direction. “She looks so sad, Dad.”
John patted her shoulder.
Chloe glanced up into her dad’s face as she kept the pace. “Even when she smiles. I just don’t get it,” Chloe said.
John took a gander back at me as I studied his profile. I smiled and waved, pretending not to hear their conversation.
Chapter 12
I slid my favorite black T-shirt over my head. Boring, but safe. Checking twice in the mirror, I made sure no one could see the red rectangular patch of skin on my chest that glowed from radiation and not in a good way. I tied my hair back and pinched my cheeks. Paul was on his way over with my desk for the library. I’d spent most of the night printing black-and-white photos thinking about my new workspace with new furniture, without Beckett’s imprint. I marveled at the convenience of having a computer and printer capable of producing quality images without going to a darkroom or a convenience store. The photos were sprayed with my “magic mixture in a can,” that’s what Bradley use to call it, to make my colors stick to the glossy paper.
I trotted downstairs and opened the front door as Paul approached the porch. A truck drove in behind his white Toyota Camry. Excited about the arrival, I opened the creaky screen door. His fitted white button down hugged his lean torso while his black jeans and loafers polished his look.
“Hi,” I greeted him.
He ran his fingers through his blond bangs and swept to the side then took off his Ray Bans and hooked them on the front of his shirt. “Hi, it’s here. If you don’t like it, I have another taker.”
“I’m sure it will work fine,” I stated, crossing my arms.
“Come take a look before we unload.” Paul gestured for me to follow him outside.
Something on the porch swing caught my eye. I stepped closer to see. Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus, a chapter book for young readers with a sassy main character. I knew her well. Not only was Junie B. a popular character, but a popular attitude amongst second graders and new neighbors.
“Looks a little young for you,” Paul said.
I grinned. “A favorite in my classroom. Kind of reminds me of someone I know. Proba
bly the same someone who left it here.” I put the book on the stoop with hopes Chloe would come get it. When Bradley moved out, I didn’t miss picking up after him. I glanced over the edge of the porch to flush out young spies.
Paul’s long stride was brisk and effortless. I guessed he was a runner. Me, too, but I hadn’t been jogging in years. I chose professional growth over personal endeavors such as fitness-probably not the best choice. I grimaced. Beside the truck were two men. I felt my face droop as I shaded my eyes, hoping I was wrong. Beckett’s proud grin welcomed me. “Do you like it?” He gestured to the desk.
“I love it, but—” I stopped. “Did you pick it out?” I couldn’t take the desk if Beckett orchestrated the deal.
“He’s only here to help carry it in the house.” Paul reassured me with a grin. “This is Randy,” he said, introducing the gentleman in jeans and a Janis Joplin T-shirt. “He’s our delivery guy.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Paul suck in a breath of air as I focused my attention on my ex-husband. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” I noticed Beckett’s eyes dim. I smiled at Paul as Beckett excused himself.
“I’ll show Randy where it’s going.” Paul gestured to Randy to follow him back inside the house.
Beckett stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Maggie—”
“Look, something has to be mine. It can’t have any more memories with you attached.” His expression pained me. I sighed and lowered my voice. “I know you just want to help, but there has to be a break, a clean break. I have to do something on my own and now you are helping to redecorate? Did we not have this discussion before?” My voice squeaked.
Beckett shifted his weight.
“What?” I grunted.
“I’m just trying to help. I know what you like. I’m good at picking things out. I called to see how it was going and Paul said he was short a guy, and I just wanted you to have what you wanted.”
“What I wanted was not get divorced, but that didn’t happen.” I turned away. “One, two, three, four, five, six, times ten.” I faced Beckett. The deep creases in his forehead caught my attention, something new. I diverted my gaze knowing I probably gave him the wrinkles.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s not that difficult of a concept,” I snapped at Beckett. I rubbed my temples, careful not to touch my healing gash. “When the kids are worked up at school, I tell them to count to sixty before they speak.”
“So you get to use higher level math skills since you are older than your students?” The corner of his mouth lifted and a smirk emerged.
“Yes,” I hissed, not amused by Beckett’s comment. “Look, I know you are finding your way, too, but I need to do this house thing on my own. Please. Did you pick out the desk?” I asked, really wanting to keep the sleek piece of furniture. I crossed my arms then crossed my fingers hoping he would say, no.
“I didn’t. Delivering the desk was just an excuse to come over to see you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why? Why is it so damn important for you to find an excuse to hang on by a thread?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
I leaned on the truck. “I guess not. Why don’t you enlighten me, Mr. Professor?”
“His name is Bradley,” Beckett said.
I inspected the crack in the sidewalk. Bradley. Beckett was Bradley’s father and I couldn’t change that. Why did this have to be so difficult? Giving Beckett up was hard enough and now he wants to stay for our son. I felt like a schmuck. I looked up and moved closer to him. “Seeing you”—I sucked in a deep breath—“i-is just too damn hard,” I stammered. “Besides, Bradley is in Boston.”
He reached out to me. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
Tears blurred my vision. “Me too, Beckett, me, too.” I wiped at the corners of my eyes. “You can help them bring in the desk, but then I am on my own.” I headed toward the house, up the stairs to the porch, and inside. Clearing my throat, I peered into the naked library where Paul was fingering the books on the shelf. “You three can bring the desk in.”
“Are you sure?” Paul asked.
I leaned against the doorjamb brushing away any annoyance with him and his assumption that bringing my ex-husband along to help would be fine. A heads-up would have been appreciated.
“Yes.” I searched for the dent in my finger, the one made by the wedding band Beckett gave me years ago, but it had long disappeared.
“I apologize. I thought it would be okay. I should have cleared it with you before I told Beckett it was okay to join us.” His words trickled sincerely from his lips.
I lowered my gaze. “It’s fine. I guess I need to learn how to react better.” The words came out with the rise and fall of my chest. “Apology accepted, and yes, next time if Beckett gets any brilliant ideas, please let me know.” A thin smile crossed my lips. “You’re just trying to do your job. I know how it feels to be caught in the middle.”
Paul rolled up his sleeves. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I wondered how his forearms had gotten so tan. “I’m an only child. I was in the middle plenty. Let’s just get this thing in here. Did you find a drafting table yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Good, because I have some photos I want to get started on.” I rearranged the books on the shelf and wiped the line of dust away with my finger.
“Top priority. Can’t wait to see them.”
“Really?” I asked, wondering how he would be curious about something I did. “Coloring photos is just a hobby.”
“I bet you’re good at it.” Paul smiled.
Sifting through my cluttered thoughts, I smiled back.
Paul held my stare then opened the front door for me. As I stepped onto the front porch, Beckett and Randy worked to unload my desk from the truck. My gaze drifted back to Paul. I shifted my weight, reminding myself that the trio of men meant well. I realized then that I was on an island all of my own, and I was okay with that.
Chapter 13
Checking the time, I peered over the top of my reading glasses at the mantle clock on the bookshelf holding up Bradley’s childhood favorites and Beckett’s journal. I continued to color the photograph of Chloe at the beach. I blew away loose strands of hair that hung in my eyes when the doorbell rang again. I stood back to analyze the colors.
“Coming,” I yelled as I scurried to the front door. When I peeked through the window, no one was there. I returned to my desk. Just as I chose another colored pencil, the doorbell rang again. The pencil rolled off my desk as I set it down. “Damn it,” I whispered, picking it up.
Being on summer vacation allowed for two indulgences; one, freedom of speech; two, free rein to use the bathroom whenever I wished.
I reluctantly went back to the front door. Soft whimpers caught my attention. Slowly I turned the knob, hoping that Chloe wasn’t on the other side with some ghastly injury. There, in a crate, sat a wrinkly bulldog with floppy jowls and the hint of an under bite.
I pushed open the screen door trying to locate the culprit. My mother was nowhere in sight. I shuffled to the edge of the porch and kept an eye on the panting dog with the spiked leather collar. “Where did you come from?” I asked, bending down to get a better view of the pup waggling his tongue in my direction. The envelope on top of the cage wasn’t sealed.
I read the card out loud. “‘I answer to the name Bones. I am about two years old. Thank you for adopting me.’” Bones cocked his head to the side as his ears perked up while he listened. “Shit,” I moaned.
Bones wagged his tail then snorted with excitement.
“What’s all the bad language for?” Chloe said from somewhere in front of me.
I jumped. “Geez, you scared me.” I looked over the railing and tucked away in the bushes sat my scrappy young neighbor. “Seriously?” Her squinting eyes made me wonder if she was supposed to be wearing glasses.
“Seriously,” she said. “I like it down here. It’s like a f
ort.”
I watched her flip through the pages of her book. “You can’t possibly read that fast,” I said.
The dog plopped down then rested its head on its front paws.
“Exactly.” I mimicked the dog’s exasperated sigh.
“I can if I don’t read all the words. Half of them I don’t even know,” Chloe declared. “It makes me get to the next book quicker.”
I went back and peered over the side of the porch at her. Leaning on my elbows, I closed my eyes then lifted my chin to the sun.
“In fact, I don’t know most of the words, but I like the pictures. My teacher read my class this book. That Junie B. sure is funny.” Chloe shook her head and laughed. “You should read this one.”
“I have,” I replied. “Junie B. is not a very good houseguest in that episode.” Chloe and Junie B. lived on parallel planes.
“Hey.” Chloe’s pointer finger shot up into the air. “We should have a sleepover, just like Junie B.”
“Be careful,” I mumbled as she rustled her way out of the bushes. Ogling over the pup in the cage, I had to admit the dog’s twitching black nose and brownish-black patch on his right eye were kind of cute.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let the bushes scratch me.”
“It’s not you I am worried about. You’re pretty tough.” I fingered my stitches. They’d be removed in two days.
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Chloe hopped up the stairs to the porch one-by-one, teetering as she went.
“I know. You don’t want me to crush the plants again.”
I put the card down on the swing.
“Wow,” Chloe shrieked. “That’s a cool dog. Where did you get him?”
I lifted one eyebrow. “You didn’t see who delivered this guy, did you?”
Chloe dug in her pocket of her jean jacket. She showed me three one-dollar bills. “Nope.”
“Great, an accomplice,” I said.
“You are so lucky! I’ll take him if you don’t want him.” She crouched beside the cage. Bones licked her fingers as she tried to pet him through the metal frame.
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