“They just want to do more tests.”
Nick stopped with the fork halfway to this mouth. “No.” He pushed the forkful of beef into his mouth, chewed slowly, hoping he would be able to swallow it.
“He’ll be a year behind the other children as it is. There’s a nice school out on the highway. Deke and Peg O’Halloran’s daughter goes there.”
“Cecilia is mentally challenged. Connor is not. He’s—”
“Traumatized.”
“Quiet. He’s just quiet. The summer will be a perfect time for him to get to know other kids. We sent him to school too soon after . . .” He couldn’t even say it. “After he came here.” Nick had made a lot of mistakes in his life but he wasn’t going to rob Connor of a normal childhood in a normal school. “I’ll set up some playdates, maybe we can send him to day camp. I’ll take him to the park, down to the beach—”
She reached across the table and laid her hand on his. A little bird hand, a feather’s touch. He felt a stab of panic, that there would be a time in the future when she would be gone, and he would be left to take care of Connor by himself.
“Nicky, you’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine, Ma. Just a little tired.”
“You stop here every night,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “Spend weekends with Connor.” She turned his hand over. “And I know you’re working for Jake McGuire, though I don’t know when you find the time.”
He gently pulled his hand away and picked up the paper napkin next to his plate. “I like working with my hands. It’s relaxing.”
“And what about your schoolwork?”
Nick thought of the history book lying on the passenger seat of his police car. “It’s an Internet course. There’s no time limit.” It didn’t matter. He had already written the Denver college where he taught to say he wouldn’t be back in the fall.
“I’ll take him to the kiddie shrink, but Connor needs to go to school with normal kids.” His appetite was gone, but he forced down the rest of his dinner. His mother would be hurt if he didn’t. He carried his plate to the sink; she took it out of his hands.
“I’ll do this. You go on home and get some sleep.”
Gratefully, he dried his hands. “Thanks. And thanks for dinner.”
She walked him to the door and they stood for a moment looking out. The street was dark, there was barely a moon, and the stars were sprinkled like confetti through the sky.
“What would make a mother leave her child?”
“She was . . . overwhelmed . . . perhaps.”
“Selfish.”
“She may come back.”
“She may, but she sure as hell won’t take Connor away from us.”
“Nicky.”
“Sorry, Ma, but I won’t give him back, not after how she left him.”
His mother placed a hand on his sleeve. “You know best, Nicky.”
They stood for a while longer, just looking into the night. Nick sighed. “Margaux Sullivan is back.”
“Is she? Jude will be so pleased. We were talking about her just the other day.”
“You talked to Jude Sullivan?” How much could they have in common? They might be close to the same age, but his mother was working-class. The years had worn her down. Jude was sophisticated, still young-looking and vital.
“Of course. We’re on the flea market committee together.”
“I’d forgotten.”
“How did she look?”
“Margaux?” He swallowed. “Fine . . . I guess. She looked . . . okay.”
She smiled. “You’re tired. Go home.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, then patted the place as if sealing the kiss there.
“Tell Connor I’ll see him at supper tomorrow, then Sunday we can play some ball maybe.”
He cut across the front yard and began the three-block walk to the marina and his apartment over the Cut ’n Curl—Le Coif, he corrected himself. Even though Linda, the new owner, had changed the name and put up a cutesy sign, it would always be the Cut ’n Curl to Nick.
He always left his police car in his mother’s driveway. It made him feel better about leaving them alone. Not that there was much crime in a town the size of theirs, but you never knew. He enjoyed starting and ending each day with a walk. It was surprising how little exercise he got as a policeman. And if there was an emergency, his truck was parked at the marina.
Once the summer was over, things would be better. The antiques dealers and art galleries that had sprung up around town drew hordes of shoppers on the weekends. But for the other five days of the week, they would enjoy their sleepy little beach town, forgotten until the next summer rolled around.
Then he’d catch up on all the things he would have to let slide during the tourist season. Connor would settle in; get used to living with his grandmother; he’d go to school, make some friends. And maybe by next summer Nick would have a new teaching job closer to Crescent Cove, and he could afford a house large enough for the three of them. But first he had to get through the next three months.
The beauty parlor was dark, but he could see light coming from Linda Goldstein’s apartment on the second floor. Fortunately, his attic apartment had its own entrance, even if he had to climb a deeply pitched outside staircase to get there.
He hung his uniform neatly in the closet and went to bed—but not to sleep. His mind became a treadmill, his thoughts exploring the same territory over and over and never finding a solution. How to support his mother. How to make Connor whole again. How to finish his master’s while working fourteen-hour days. How he would ever be able to pay for a private school if Connor had to be sent there. How to make up for the things he’d done and hadn’t done. His mind roiled and his body tensed until he thought he’d never fall asleep.
When at last sleep came, he was thinking about the reappearance of Margaux Sullivan.
Margaux awoke to darkness, wondered where the hell she was, remembered. She was at the beach house, asleep on the couch. And she remembered why she was here. Panic surged up. She forced it down. She’d deal with it tomorrow. Tomorrow when she was stronger. Tomorrow in the sunlight.
She rolled off the couch and padded upstairs to her old bedroom. She climbed into bed, pulled the quilt up, and fell asleep in her clothes.
When she awoke again it was light. A square of blue filled the window and sunlight cast warmth across her face. She was home, in her own room.
She pushed the quilt away and sat up, perched on the side of the bed, her hands pressed between her knees. Home, because her life was in shambles. Her hard-earned career down the toilet. Her marriage a farce. Because of Louis.
She didn’t want to think about him, but every morning since he’d left, she’d awakened with his image in her mind. She didn’t love him. Not anymore. Hadn’t for a while. Now she hated him.
And hate tied you to a person as surely as love. She had to cut him loose, excise him out of her feelings if she was ever going to be able to start again.
Just the thought of starting over made her want to climb back in bed, pull the covers over her head, and sleep forever. But that wasn’t an option. She had to sever herself from the past and move forward. And she had to start now.
She forced herself to her feet, rummaged through her suitcase, and found a pair of black yoga pants and knit top. Everything in her suitcase was black. But hell, black had made her famous. Her spring designs had knocked them on their designer-clad asses; the next show would have guaranteed her a place with the movers and shakers.
A mewl of pain escaped from deep inside her and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stop it. Not now. Not ever. This was the first day of the rest of her life. Clichéd, but true. She had to get it right this time.
She tossed her slept-in clothes toward the closet and put on a new set of black. She went downstairs and was mystified to see that
it was almost nine o’clock. She had slept ten hours.
She barely had time to wash her face before she heard Jude’s distinctive beep-beep in the driveway. She quickly pushed her fingers through her hair and ran outside to meet her.
They drove along Shore Road to Main Street where the old Esso station had been converted into an Exxon self-service island. The white clapboard library, where she had spent hours studying drawing books and the latest fashion magazines, had a fresh coat of paint.
In those days, she didn’t know about cutting edges and predicting trends, industry spying, and advertising spots. She just loved to draw. Wedding gowns, seascapes, miniskirts, pieces of driftwood. It had been a long time since she had drawn for the sheer fun of it.
Now there were deadlines, budgets, competition. Knocking out one design after another. Changing them when the costs ran too high or the silhouette looked too derivative. Always staying one step ahead of everyone else.
She’d come a long way from Modern Bride and Seventeen. Maybe she had gone too far.
As they drove through town, Jude pointed out the new stores that had opened. The whole town had a trendier look Margaux hadn’t noticed on that hateful drive yesterday with the new chief of police riding her bumper.
Jude pulled into a parking space in front of a store that had been Thelma’s Foundations, but was now a coffee bar called In Your Cups.
“What happened to Thelma’s?”
“Went out of business.”
“And the old hardware store?”
“After they built the Home Depot on Route 1, Mr. Oglethorpe said it wasn’t worth the trouble of staying open. His son, Roy, moved the store to the end of the block near the boardwalk. It’s smaller, but he carries basic hardware, beach stuff, and arts and crafts.”
Margaux sighed. “It’s all so different.”
“The important things are the same.”
Margaux wasn’t sure how she felt about all this newness. At least the diner appeared to be unchanged.
It had started life as an old railroad car with a row of booths along one side, a counter along the other, with a concrete-block kitchen added onto the back. They’d built an addition when Margaux was a teenager. She could remember sitting in a booth with her best friends, Grace and Brianna, eating French fries with gravy, as they yelled to each other over the noise of construction.
Margaux lagged behind as Jude opened the door. The whole town had been so supportive of her, proud of her accomplishments. How could she ever tell them she’d let them down. Especially Dottie, who was Jude’s best friend and Margaux’s godmother.
Jude nudged her inside.
Dottie was standing behind the counter dressed in her usual pink uniform, talking to a man wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She was still as skinny as ever and had on the same color of lipstick she’d used ever since Margaux could remember.
But her hair was different. For years she had worn it in a high French twist that could be recognized “a block away on a moonless night.” Her new style, a brighter shade of strawberry blonde, was cut short and curled around her face. It made her look ten years younger.
Dottie saw them, threw both hands in the air and squealed “Magsy!” loud enough to be heard to the town line. “It’s about time you came to see us.” She flew out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around Margaux, shaking her back and forth like a puppy tugging at a stick.
“Let me look at you.” She pushed Margaux back and grinned. “You look good. Hey, Nick. Look who’s here.”
The man at the counter stood up and slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses as he turned to face them.
Margaux stepped back, right into Jude, as she registered the glasses, then the rest of the man. Even without the uniform, there was no mistaking him. Close-cut dark brown hair that might curl if ever allowed to grow longer than a regulation cut. No idea about the eyes. But she’d recognize that jawline anywhere, made even sharper by the close shave. He was tall and broad enough to intimidate even a hard-edged New Yorker.
Jude gently eased Margaux off her foot. “Morning, Nick.”
His mouth twitched.
Margaux couldn’t call it a smile, but it sent a shiver of something—apprehension?—down her spine.
“Morning, Jude.”
“Do you remember my daughter, Margaux? She was a few years behind you in school.”
The chief nodded stiffly in Margaux’s direction. “Ms. Sullivan.”
Despite the sunglasses, she knew he was giving her the once-over. Not in the way men usually did, but rather as if she might be packing a weapon.
He dropped a handful of change on the counter. “Thanks for the coffee, Dottie. Ladies.” He dipped his head again and strode toward the door. He seemed to block out the sun as he passed.
“What’s up with him?” asked Jude.
“I don’t know, guess he had to get to work. Come on. I saved you a table.” Dottie grabbed two menus from beside the cash register and led them to a booth by the front window.
Margaux slid into the near side in time to see the chief get into a white Ford pickup and drive away. If he was going to work, why wasn’t he wearing a uniform?
“Do you two know each other?” Dottie asked.
“Huh? Not exactly. He gave me a ticket on my way into town yesterday.”
“Why that scoundrel. Did you tell him you were a Sullivan?”
Margaux shook her head. “I didn’t have time. He steamrolled right over me. But he knew I was a Sullivan. It’s still on my driver’s license. And I wasn’t even speeding except that I had come into town and didn’t know it. I didn’t see the sign.”
“That’s ’cause the Morrison boys ran into it with their four-by-four. Tore it clean out of the ground. They haven’t replaced it. I bet if you go to court, you can have it overturned.”
“I don’t think so,” said Margaux. She had no intention of throwing herself in the chief’s path any more than necessary. He was way too intense for her comfort level.
“Herb’s wanted to retire for years, but could never find a replacement,” Dottie said. “When Nick came back last winter, he saw a perfect opportunity and turned in his badge. The council appointed Nick interim until they find a new chief. I don’t think he really enjoys the job.”
“He seemed to be enjoying it yesterday.” The truck was headed toward Shore Road. Margaux just hoped she didn’t keep running into him each time she left the house.
Dottie smiled at her. “He doesn’t have time for much fun. It probably did him good to see a gorgeous young woman speeding by. Now, what are you having for breakfast? We’ve got Belgian waffle with fresh strawberries.”
Margaux put down the menu she hadn’t opened. “That’s fine.”
“What about you, Jude? The same?”
“Don’t tempt me. I had a clam roll last night. I’ll have a poached egg on a slice of rye toast.”
“At Deke’s? He must have been thrilled.”
“Takeout. Margaux was tired.”
Dottie nodded. “We’ll get you up and running in no time. Be right back.” She went off toward the kitchen, barking out their order.
“You’re dieting?” asked Margaux. “You’ve never dieted in your life.”
“That’s because I never needed to. It’s almost summer and your mother wants to look good in her swimsuit.”
She looked great to Margaux. She frowned as an unwelcome thought entered her mind. Was Jude trying to impress someone in particular? She dismissed the thought. There could never be anyone for Jude but her father; she was sure of it.
Dottie returned with three mugs of coffee and scooted in with Jude. “Breakfast is on its way. So, Magsy, is this a weekend visit or are you planning to stay for a while?”
“Uh . . .” Margaux glanced at Jude and wondered what she had told Dottie.
A waitres
s placed plates on the table, several of which they hadn’t ordered: a platter of bacon, scrambled eggs, and a bowl of whipped cream.
“Dottie. I’ll have to go on a diet myself if you feed me like this.”
“Darling, you could use a few pounds. I don’t know what all this allure of thin is about. I’ve been skinny all my life, and I got more razzing than I care to remember. Guess I was just born a couple of decades too early.”
“Tom doesn’t seem to mind,” said Jude.
“How are Tom and Quinn?” asked Margaux.
Dottie threw her hands in the air. “Tom retired last year and he’s driving me crazy. Yesterday I found him up on a ladder measuring the back of the house. Says he wants to put in a Florida room. A Florida room in Connecticut. Go figure. Quinn is managing to graduate from high school, don’t ask me how, and barring any unforeseen disasters, he’ll hire on with the fishing fleet in the fall.”
Dottie drained the last of her coffee. “I gotta help with the breakfast crowd. You plan on staying a good long time. We’ll feed you and pamper the daylights out of you.” She leaned over and brushed a quick kiss across Margaux’s cheek.
“You’re gonna be fine.” She waved back over her head and pushed through the double swinging door of the kitchen without slowing down.
On their way back to the beach house, Margaux asked Jude to stop by Oglethorpe’s Hardware. While Jude and Roy chatted about the upcoming flea market, Margaux quickly chose a box of pastels, some watercolors, a sketchbook, and some drawing pencils.
Roy insisted on throwing in a plastic paint palette and several good-quality paintbrushes free of charge. “We’ve got our share of famous people buying up property about here these days, but you’re the first one we ever produced ourselves. And we appreciate it.”
Margaux thanked him and accepted the brown paper bag of supplies he’d carried to the door for them. She couldn’t tell him how really thankful she was. Her cash was reaching red alert, her credit barely breathing.
Jude drove Margaux back to the beach house but didn’t come in. “I have to go to New Haven. I’ll be gone late, so you’ll have to have dinner on your own. I’d cancel but it’s really late notice.”
Beach Colors Page 3