Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  “That’s fine. I brought some food from the city—and there’s always the Cove Market. It’s still there, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Stay busy and don’t mope. Things are going to work out fine.”

  “I know,” said Margaux with as much conviction as she could muster. “And I have plenty to do.” She held up her bag of supplies. She just hoped inspiration struck and made the expense worth it.

  “Good. And try to have a little fun. Skilling’s is open late tonight. They still make your favorite flavor.”

  “Good idea. I’ve missed their ice cream.”

  “And Grace Holcombe is practicing law in town. She asks about you all the time.”

  Margaux nodded. She knew Grace had returned to live in Crescent Cove; she’d been the only one of the three who had no aspirations to see the world and become famous. Over the years, Margaux had let the friendship slide, but she knew Grace wouldn’t hold it against her. She just wasn’t ready to face her old friend yet. “I’ll be fine.”

  “See you tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up for Mass at eight-forty.”

  Mass? Margaux hadn’t been to Mass in years. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “It’s the shore. Just don’t wear cutoffs.” Jude backed out of the driveway and sped off down the street. She beeped as she rounded the corner.

  “I don’t own any,” Margaux said into the quiet street.

  She went inside, suddenly aware of being alone. Really alone. And really at loose ends. It was Saturday. She was at the beach. But she hadn’t taken a Saturday off in years and didn’t know what to do.

  Her cell phone was sitting on the table, but she didn’t open it. No one had called her in days. She was already forgotten.

  Determined not to succumb to depression, or self-pity, she dumped her supplies on the table, took out the sketchpad, and two graphite pencils, and went out the front door to the porch. The porch was bare, the chairs and a love seat stored away for the winter. The waves looked inviting, but the water would be too cold for a swim, besides she didn’t have a suit.

  She walked down the wooden steps to the sand, testing each tread as if it were July when they would be hot enough to burn the bottoms of your feet. But of course they weren’t.

  She hadn’t been here in July in years. Not since the summer after Brianna moved away. She wondered where Bri was now. She’d had a successful career as a model but they’d lost touch over the years.

  She turned northward to where the sandy beach ended at the jetty. Its massive boulders rose above her head. She climbed to the crest and stopped to take in the view. The salt air was bracing. The sea stretched out to the horizon where it met the sky in a seamless wash of blue, and she had it all to herself . . . and her sketchbook.

  Below her on the north side of the jetty, a tiny pebbled beach was enclosed by woods that grew right down to the water. The underbrush grew so dense that you had to wade through the water to get to the beach and the little path that led to the outcropping of rock that had once been their secret hideout.

  Margaux wondered if a new generation of kids used it now. Or were secret places a thing of the past? She was half tempted to take a look, but it would be like trespassing without the others.

  Behind her and beyond Little Crescent Beach, she could just see the masts of the sailboats moored at the town’s marina. And the turret of the old Gothic house at the end of Crescent Point. Somewhere below it was the town beach and boardwalk, whose metallic organ music you could hear wafting from the carousel on quiet summer nights.

  She sat down on a flat boulder. The jetty had always been her favorite place to sketch or do nothing. To just lie back against the warm stone, surrounded by shades of blue and green and gold while ideas drifted in and out of her lazy mind and colors swirled into kaleidoscopes of magic light. Sometimes Bri and Grace would join her and they’d talk about their futures. Or spy on the townie boys who swam in the cove. Sometimes, she’d rush home to paint.

  She looked down on Little Crescent Beach and the Sullivan house nestled in the semicircle of houses, a little shabby but much loved. Margaux had never understood why Jude moved from the beach house to the condo. When she asked, Jude said that she was tired of tracking sand into the kitchen.

  Now, as she looked at the house, Margaux thought she knew why. Jude couldn’t stand to live there alone. Couldn’t bear the memories that came when you were least ready for them. Margaux had felt her own. Bad memories were hard enough, but it was torture to be haunted by the good.

  What would happen to the house now? If Danny had lived, it would have gone to his children. Now, it should go to her children. But she had no children.

  Would their house one day be sold to strangers, become a blank slate without memories? Would it be torn down and replaced with condos like the one Jude had moved to? What happened to memories of a place when the place was gone?

  All the wishes in the world wouldn’t bring back the slam of the screen door, or the creak of the porch steps. Or the smell of fish smoking on the grill. The beat of the pine tree on the windows when a storm blew in. The sound of Danny’s motorcycle; her father’s laughter. Where would those memories linger if not in the Sullivan house? Would they die in the same place as disappointed dreams?

  Not if she could help it. Margaux opened her sketchbook and began to draw.

  Three

  Nick hoisted the bundle of oak planks onto the shop table, pulled off his work gloves, and wiped sweat from his eyes. He’d changed into shorts and an old T-shirt after he left the diner but the workshop was stifling. “That’s the last batch,” he yelled over the whir of the table saw.

  Jake McGuire gave Nick a thumbs-up, killed the saw, and pulled off his protective goggles. He was a couple of inches shorter than Nick, wiry but strong. His hair was darker, almost black, and longer and he was constantly egging Nick to let his grow to a “human” length. They’d played basketball together in high school, and if Nick had a best friend it was Jake.

  Jake looked over the latest shipment of boards. “I really do appreciate the help, man. I know it’s your day off, but it’s my busy season.”

  “And mine is coming up. So use me while you can.”

  Jake clapped him on the back. “That’s good for today. It’s hot as hell, let’s go rustle up a couple of beers.”

  Nick followed him out of the converted garage that was McGuire’s Custom Woodworking and Design and across the lawn to the house Jake shared with his father, a Cape Cod similar to Nick’s except that with eight children and a score of grandchildren it was a jumble of additions. They snagged two bottles of beer out of the fridge and went out to the backyard where they stretched out in two rusty aluminum chaise lounges.

  “So how’s the job search going?” Jake asked.

  Nick snorted. “It isn’t.”

  “Are you even looking?”

  “Nope. I can’t get anything with as much salary and benefits as I have as the chief of police. Not until I finish my master’s anyway.”

  “I thought you were going to finish this spring so you could apply for the tenure position in Denver.”

  Nick shrugged. “Not going to happen this year. I’ve already withdrawn my name from the candidates’ list.”

  “Hell, Nick, I’m sorry.”

  Nick sat up. “It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t leave Ma to look after Connor. And I can’t just uproot them and move them somewhere else. She’s lived here most of her life. And Connor’s just getting used to a new place.”

  “Maybe you could find something around here.”

  “I already checked out local colleges. None of them can pay what I need.” Nick took a long drink of beer. “Hell, I don’t even know if this job is enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  Nick stared into the woods that surrounded the property.

  “Enough for what?”
Jake repeated.

  “Nothing.”

  “It must be something or you wouldn’t have clammed up. Bad habit of yours, Nick. Had it ever since we were kids.”

  Nick picked at the beer label. Jake could probably advise him on what to do, but he hated to have to admit even to Jake that he was out of ideas. “I might have to send Connor to the Eldon School. Or someplace like it but less expensive. He didn’t fit in when we tried to send him to kindergarten. The school psychologist is worried about him coping in a regular classroom.”

  “Diagnosis?”

  “Dammit. He’s shy. He doesn’t like loud noises. His father’s dead, his mother ran off. What do you call that?”

  “Hey, I’m not the enemy.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that school starts in less than four months, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s a good school. Deke and Peg’s little girl goes there. Ask them about it. And you can get state aid.” Jake held up a hand. “Don’t get all hot under the collar. It isn’t charity. It’s given to everybody.”

  “Public school doesn’t cost extra. He needs to be with kids that aren’t . . .” Nick searched for a word. “Handicapped.”

  “Listen, Nick, I know it’s hard to swallow, but the Eldon kids are great. I teach art there twice a week. And yeah, they’re a challenge, but it’s worth it. Lord, you’ve never seen kids get so enthusiastic and so covered in paint so fast. They’re kids. Not freaks.”

  “Jesus, Jake. I know that. I’m not a Neanderthal. But Connor isn’t handicapped, he’s just emotionally scarred. He needs a safe haven, normalcy, not to be around kids who will never be like other kids.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Nick glanced at his watch.

  “What? Got a hot date?”

  “Do you?”

  “Nah.” Jake sighed and braced his elbows on his knees. “We’re both sad cases, you know that?”

  “What happened to the girl that runs the Sun and Surf shop? The way she was chasing you all winter, I thought—”

  Jake gave him a look. “Nothing happened. She’s a sweet kid, but she’s just that. A kid. She’s twenty-two, I’m thirty-eight. Not for me. I’m waiting for my soul mate.”

  “Good luck with that one.” Nick said it lightly, but he empathized. He was waiting for his soul mate, too, and he was afraid she’d just driven into town.

  There was no chance in hell of that working out.

  “I’m thinking about trying to get the carousel up and running for next summer.”

  Nick looked at his friend, surprised. “I thought you’d given up on that.”

  Jake took a swig of beer. “Dad’s not doing so great. He misses the work, even though he wasn’t doing much business the years before we closed down. He’d like to see it running once again.”

  “Shit. I had no idea things were like that. He looked fine last time I saw him.”

  “He is fine. It’s just that his heart is slowly giving out. He doesn’t seem to get any pleasure out of life the way he did before Mom left. I was a late baby. There’s six years between me and my youngest sister. He was over forty when I was born, maybe it just took the starch out of him.”

  Over forty, Nick thought. Pretty soon Nick would be forty, too old to even think about having a family other than the one he had now. “Did you ever think we’d end up back in Crescent Cove?”

  “Yeah, actually, I did.” Jake gestured with his beer bottle. “Name a place more beautiful than this.”

  Nick couldn’t. He’d seen the world, thanks to the army. Some of it was incredible, some of it horrific, but he’d never found a place he’d liked more than here.

  “You know, the whole time I was in the army, I hardly ever thought about Crescent Cove. It was exciting to see new places. Meet new kinds of people. I was lucky, I saw very little action.” Luckier than his brother had been.

  He finished peeling the label off his bottle, trying not to think of Ben, dead. Trying not to remember him in happier times before all his trouble began. He crumpled the label in his fist.

  “Cut it out.”

  Nick glanced at Jake. “What?”

  “When you get that look, I know you’re thinking about Ben and blaming yourself. You should get over it. It wasn’t your fault. He was a hero. He gave his life for his country. It was his choice.”

  “No it wasn’t. I forced him to go.”

  “You did what you thought was best. Ben was on a collision course with disaster. You were gone those last couple of years and didn’t see how wild he’d become, but the rest of us did. You had two choices: enlist him or let them send him to jail.”

  “Maybe jail would have been better.”

  “You think he would have come out a better man? Think again.”

  “At least he would be alive.”

  “He re-upped when he could have come home. He said himself that the army had made a man out of him. Sending him may have been your decision, but staying was his. Respect that.”

  Nick’s throat was tight.

  “You were barely more than a kid yourself. Faced with some heavy choices. Why don’t you cut that kid a break?”

  Because that kid was as dead as Ben.

  “Ben was a soldier. He died with honors. You can be proud of him.”

  “You’re right. Thanks.” Nick forced a smile, though his heart was wrung dry. He’d never told Jake the real story behind Ben’s death. He hadn’t told anyone. Not even his mother.

  “So stop obsessing about the past. Start thinking about the future. And if opportunity knocks . . . I hear Margaux Sullivan is back in town.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I don’t even know the woman.”

  “You knew the girl.”

  “Only from a distance. She didn’t exactly hang out with the likes of you and me.”

  Jake shrugged. “Times change.”

  “Yeah, they do. I gave her a ticket on her way into town.”

  Jake barked out a laugh. “Damn, you are a glutton for punishment.”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “That, too. You want another beer?”

  “Thanks, but I told Ma I’d be by for dinner. And I thought I’d get in a quick swim down at the cove before I have to be there.”

  “Swimming, huh? Maybe do a little spying on a certain girl who just came home like we did in our misspent youth?”

  Nick gave him a sardonic smile. “Just swimming. Want to come?”

  “Hell no. It’s still May; it might feel like summer, but that’s because there’s a storm coming. Always gets hot and muggy right before it hits. The water will still freeze your balls. Ask me again mid-July.”

  “I’ll be too busy to swim in July.”

  “Then go for it.” Jake’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe it’ll get your . . . mind off a certain person who just blew into town. Or if that doesn’t work, go for it.”

  “In my dreams.” Nick snagged a towel out of the truck and cut across the lawn to the woods where a path led down to a secluded cove. He knew he’d have it to himself. Hardly anybody swam there, even when it was warm, even when he was a kid. Mainly just the local boys and most of them had moved away.

  When he reached the tiny pebbled beach, he sat down, unlaced his boots, and pulled them off. He dropped his watch into his shoes and tugged his T-shirt over his head.

  With the woods on one side of the shore and the rock jetty on the other, separating the cove from Little Crescent Beach, he was completely alone. He stepped into the water and sucked in his breath. Cold all right. Bracing. Just what he needed.

  Margaux had completed several pages of sketches when a two-masted sailboat appeared at the end of the Point, leaving the marina. She turned to a fresh page and captured it with fast deft str
okes of her drawing pencil.

  She scooted around on her butt in order to follow it out to sea, but a nearby movement caught her eye. A man stepped out of the woods and onto the pebbled beach, disturbing her concentration, not to mention her peace and solitude.

  She shrank back, not wanting to disturb or be disturbed, but she didn’t stop watching him. He sat down and took off his shoes. Then he pulled off his shirt and stood up.

  Margaux blushed at herself for her unabashed voyeurism and the curiosity that made her wonder if he was going to shed his shorts, too. Her mouth went dry as he stretched his arms wide as if he were exalting in being free from the bonds of clothes.

  He was amazing, not the lithe, gym-defined model of GQ, and not the sculpted freak of bodybuilding. But something so strong and masculine she couldn’t look away.

  He didn’t strip, but walked into the water until it was waist high, then dove into the waves, as graceful as a dolphin.

  A shiver ran up her spine and she was hit with a deep primal longing that shocked her, even as she recognized him. She shouldn’t be reacting this way to a man she didn’t even know and who she probably wouldn’t like if she did. She shouldn’t have that kind of feeling about anyone. She was still married, even if she was married to a lying, cheating, absconding . . . but she didn’t want to think about Louis.

  She wanted to watch the chief of police swim through the calm waters. His head popped up several yards farther from shore. He shook himself, at home in the water. And she wondered how he ever became a law officer. He belonged in the wild, free and—

  She brought herself up sharp. You are losing your mind. Yeah, she had every right to, but not over a man she’d hardly ever seen, much less talked to. How could she be thinking like this? She never had these kinds of thoughts when she was working. Not even about her husband.

  The realization hit her like a tidal wave. When had she stopped loving Louis? Long before he’d stolen her life. When had he stopped loving her? If he ever had. Because how could someone who loved a person, even if that love had faded, how could he have done that to her?