Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  “That’s like me renting a chair in a salon somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  “Not the worst place to be. Why don’t you just get started and decide later?”

  “And that’s the next problem. Where do I find a place with water and a heat supply. Vats for dyeing, a place to dry the fabric. Hell, I’d need a whole damn workshop, which I no longer have.”

  “Sounds to me like what you need is a kitchen. I just happen to have one of those in back.”

  “Where would you bake your cookies? I’ve been living on them in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Hell, I got a kitchen upstairs. It’s tiny and I’d have to work off all those calories going up and down the stairs all day.” She shrieked. “Oh God, I might get skinny again.”

  Margaux laughed outright.

  “I got a shitload of work tomorrow. Saturday’s always my big day. But I’m done by five. You go to Hartford or New Haven or wherever you can get some swatches of fabric and some dye and we’ll give it a whirl.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Margaux stood up. “I’ll run some tests and take it from there.”

  But as she walked across the hall to her studio, she began to have second thoughts. She went in to consult with Linda about dyeing processes and came out with a list of supplies long enough to fill an entire page of her sketchbook. And she wasn’t at all sure she was doing the right thing. She needed a second opinion. She picked up her phone.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Hi,” Grace said.

  “Are you guys still on for tonight?”

  “You change your mind?”

  “Yeah, I need a second opinion or maybe an intervention.”

  “Great. I’ve got nachos and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Second floor. 2B.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  She grabbed her bag and walked to Grace’s apartment complex, a brick building built in the late 1800s. Her front window overlooked the street. The space was well lived in, comfortable with legal briefs piled on every surface.

  “I bring a lot of work home,” Grace explained as she carried a tottering pile of papers into the bedroom.

  Bri was sitting on an overstuffed plaid couch, her long legs tucked beneath her, and sipping a glass of white wine.

  “No watermelon?” Margaux asked.

  “Grace said it was an intervention. I wanted to be a good influence.” She smiled and Margaux saw a glimpse of the radiant face that had appeared on the cover of every major fashion magazine.

  Grace returned, poured Margaux a glass of wine, and sat down on the couch next to Bri.

  “Is this the interrogation seat?” Margaux asked, only half kidding and gesturing to the club chair Grace had just cleared of papers.

  “Yep. You sounded serious. So sit down and spill.”

  Margaux sat and took a sip of the crisp wine. “Okay, here goes. I have this idea. A plan actually, but I’m not sure if I’m barking at the moon. I’ve been getting these images based on the ocean, sand, salt grasses.” She held up a preemptory hand. “I don’t know if I’m crazy or . . . crazy. Everywhere I look I see color.”

  “So what’s wrong with that?” Bri asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I see these things and it just gets translated into fabric and then into designs. But it seems like a major commitment. And it’s way out of my comfort zone.”

  “No more black.” Bri gave her an understanding look. She knew about starting over, and in a place and way that was completely new.

  Margaux shook her head. “I’m not seeing black at all.”

  “So what are you asking?”

  Margaux shrugged. “I’m not sure. Am I moving too fast? Would I be smarter just to eat crow and beg for a job somewhere? Go back to what I know? Am I crazy to think of starting out on my own again?

  “I already clawed my way to the top once. Can I do it again? Do I even want to? Do I still have what it takes? It’s one thing to have an epiphany while contemplating nature.” Margaux slumped back in the chair. “It’s another to actually put it to use.”

  “Well, hell,” Bri said. “I should have brought watermelon.”

  “You’re not being helpful,” Grace told her. She turned to Margaux. “What do you want to do?”

  Margaux groaned. “That’s just it. I don’t know.”

  “You always knew what you wanted to do.”

  “I know, but that was before . . .” She wound down, took a breath. “I want to design. That I’m clear on. But where and how? I mean you have to be in one of the fashion centers, New York, Paris, Milan, to be successful. And that was never a question in my mind.”

  “Until now?” Grace asked.

  “Leading the witness,” Bri said.

  “Until now. It’s a huge gamble. The first time around, I rose through the ranks and had plenty of capital to invest in a new line. Now I don’t have the money for a decent start-up. Hell, I barely have enough money for lunch. And I’ve got a list of items to buy that’s going to clean me out even with my wholesaler’s card. I’d have to take out a business loan if I can even get one.”

  “Well, hell, I’ve—”

  “No,” Margaux said, interrupting what she knew was about to be an offer to loan her money. “I’ll deal with the loan, but it all just seems so overwhelming. Can I really fight my way back?

  “Just being at the shore for these few weeks has made me a different person. I don’t think I’m as tough, as cutthroat as I used to be. Even with everything that’s happened, with my life in shambles, with the future a big gaping hole, I feel, well, a certain kind of peace.”

  “Maybe that’s your answer.”

  “But will it last or turn into boredom?”

  “For some things you just have to wait and see,” Bri said, intoning the wisdom of the ages.

  “Why can’t you start on a small scale and see how it goes?” Grace asked.

  “Ever the voice of reason,” Bri joked. “But for once I’m in agreement.”

  “You mean start out in Crescent Cove?”

  Bri shrugged. “You were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?”

  “When I’m least expecting it, I think, Stay here. The space at Le Coif is perfect for a small-scale workshop.”

  “And you’d have a hell of a smaller overhead than you would in New York.”

  “And might slip into obscurity.”

  “Bullshit. Build it and they will come, or whatever.” Bri waved her wineglass in the air, noticed it was empty, and refilled it, topping off Margaux’s and Grace’s and returning the bottle to the table. “Hell, get a website.”

  “I have a website. Just as advertisement.” Which hadn’t been updated in months. “But no house is going to buy product off a website.”

  “No, but customers might.”

  “You mean sell direct to the consumer? Like a catalogue?” Margaux asked, horrified.

  Bri gave her a look. “Or sell from the floor.”

  “Open a retail space in Crescent Cove?”

  “That would be great,” Grace said enthusiastically. “You could sell online and in person, the best of both worlds.”

  “You’re moving too fast for me. We went from construction to retail in one huge leap.”

  “Why not?” Grace asked.

  “Yeah, why not?” Bri echoed.

  Margaux frowned while she sorted the suggestion out in her mind. “You mean open a dress shop?”

  “Boutique,” Bri corrected. She dropped into her Marlene Dietrich voice. “Something terribly exclusive and expensive.”

  “Are you serious? Hand-selling to customers instead of presenting in the fall and spring shows in Paris and New York?”

  “You’d miss all the stress of the city,” said Grace.


  Bri sighed. “Waking up to the sea, instead of the subway?”

  “Breathing in fresh air instead of the bum on the corner,” Grace added.

  “Dining at the Clam Shack instead of Tao?” Bri asked with a pointed look.

  “Hey, I love the Clam Shack,” said Grace.

  “So do I. It was a metaphor.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, English 101.”

  Bri grinned. “But does Margaux love the Clam Shack?” She glanced at Margaux and a lifetime of hope, regret, and compassion spoke in her eyes.

  “Of course she does,” said Grace. “And it would be good to have you home.”

  Home. It was a seductive idea, but was this where she really wanted to be? Had she come home? Or had she left it behind when she fled the city. While she was sitting with Grace and Bri, she thought this might be it, but as she walked back to the workshop that night, fear bubbled up inside her. She had to be careful not to let their enthusiasm sway her. She had to listen to herself and only herself. That way she would never be taken in again, never be hurt and betrayed. Would never fail again. But there was a list in her carryall that said she was about to plunge into the unknown—again.

  Saturday morning, Nick picked up Connor and drove over to work a few hours for Jake McGuire. He settled Connor on a blanket beneath the tree in Jake’s backyard and dumped out the contents of his backpack. Jake brought out a box of wood scraps for him to play with.

  “Stay here. Jake and I’ll be right over there where the sawhorses are. Okay?”

  Connor nodded and began building a tower with the wood scraps. Nick could never tell if Connor was listening or just nodding because he thought he was supposed to.

  “Stay right there,” he repeated, then went back to where Jake was waiting. “Sorry, but my mother had another of those flea market meetings and it just didn’t seem right to make the kid stay inside all day.”

  “He’s fine and Dad will teach him to play horseshoes later. Though it looks like he can entertain himself.” Jake tossed a scraper to Nick.

  “He can. I just wish he had some friends.”

  “Does he know any other kids?”

  “Not really, my mother takes him to a couple of neighbors but he doesn’t really like going.”

  “He probably just needs to find some kids he likes. It’ll be easier when school is out. You should take him down to the beach. There will be plenty of kids to play with there.”

  “He can’t swim. He’d have to have an adult with him every second. And you know what my schedule will be like in summer.”

  They went to work restoring hundred-year-old baseboards that Jake had salvaged from a house being torn down in Guilford. The sun beat down, the day grew hotter. The sound of scraping was the only noise around.

  Nick kept one eye on Connor, who seemed content to sit in one place hour after hour.

  “It isn’t normal, is it?” Nick said.

  “No,” Jake agreed. “But it doesn’t mean it’s something irreversible. What did Dr. McKinnon say?”

  “The usual. At least he said we could wait before deciding about school.”

  They finished two more baseboards before Jake declared a lunch break. Nick went to the truck for the cooler his mother had filled with sandwiches and cookies, carrot sticks and apples, and several cans of soda.

  He looked over to the tree to call Connor.

  He saw the wood scraps, but there was no Connor.

  “Damn, where is he?” Nick raked his fingers through hair that needed cutting. “Do you see Connor?”

  Jake looked around the yard. “I just saw him a few minutes ago. Maybe he went in the house to the bathroom.” He went inside to check but reappeared a minute later shaking his head. “He must be around here. He couldn’t have gotten too far.”

  “Connor,” Nick called. “Connor, where are you?”

  They checked in the workshop, went into the backyard.

  “Connor!” Nick called, beginning to feel truly alarmed. “He’s started doing this. Wandering off. I found him several blocks away during that last storm. Margaux Sullivan found him one afternoon close to Main Street. But that’s the farthest he’s ever been. Where the hell—” He stopped. “The cove.”

  “What?”

  “Margaux and I took him down to the cove when we were here dropping off lumber a while back. What if he’s gone back there?”

  “Whoa. Margaux Sullivan?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Nick took off at a run, Jake at his heels.

  Nick crashed through the bushes, following the path down to the shore. He slid on a patch of leaves as he came to the curve of the path, but he kept his feet and barely slowed down. He called Connor’s name, knowing that even if the boy answered, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.

  He sent up a silent prayer to a God he’d almost forgotten. “If he’s okay, I’ll send him to the Eldon School. Do whatever it takes to get him talking out loud again.” He tripped on a root and went down on one knee and hand. He pushed himself up and kept going until he burst out into the sunlight, hoping, praying that Connor would be there skipping stones.

  But there was no Connor. He looked out across the water, shaded his eyes from the sun, looking for any sign, even though he knew if Connor was out there he wouldn’t be found. The sea looked calm and inviting, and it could swallow a man or a small boy without warning.

  Jake skidded to a stop beside him, breathing hard. “He probably didn’t get this far. He wouldn’t come through the woods by himself.”

  Nick ignored him, but splashed through the water to the jetty, which he climbed, looking in the crevices of boulders for Connor’s mangled body. He reached the top, peered down at Little Crescent Beach. There were a few people out, it was the beginning of summer weather. But no Connor.

  The panic increasing, he scrambled back down the jetty to Jake.

  “How could I have let this happen?”

  Jake clapped him on the back. “Let’s get back to the house. He’ll probably be waiting for us there. If not, we’ll call Finley and have him cruise for him.”

  Nick glanced back at the cove.

  “He’s not out there. He couldn’t have made it this far. He’s a little kid, the path here isn’t easy to follow, much less navigate.”

  Nick wanted to believe that. He knew it was unlikely that Connor had found his way to the cove so quickly. But shit like that happened all the time. You turn your back and your kid is . . .

  “Let’s go,” he croaked. They started back, more slowly this time, looking out into the woods for a bit of color, any little movement.

  Nick listened to every rustle, every crackle, hoping to hear a whisper, “I’m here,” but the only answer he got was the squeal of a seagull high overhead.

  He told himself to stay calm. Connor would probably be waiting for them back at Jake’s. It would be just like him to have wandered off and come back. That’s what he did.

  And then he saw him, standing in the crook of the path. Arms by his side, erect like a child waiting.

  “Connor!” The name exploded out of Nick on a rush of relief and he bounded forward. Connor drew back and Nick immediately stopped, moved more slowly. “Hey, buddy, you scared me. I couldn’t find you.”

  Connor’s eyes filled with tears.

  Good God, he didn’t know how to deal with this child. He knelt down. “Where were you?” he said as quietly and as calmly as he could.

  Connor looked over his shoulder. Nick followed his gaze to a tree growing diagonally out of the ground, its roots wrapped around an outcropping of rock.

  Margaux’s secret hideout.

  Nick remembered Connor’s awe when she told him about the Grotto and how she and her friends met there in secret. Of course he’d be curious. Any kid would be. He supposed that was a good sign. That was normal in a boy. But it ha
d scared Nick to death.

  “Well, buddy, you can’t go there anymore, okay?”

  Connor looked at him with those big brown eyes. Finally he nodded.

  “Because it’s dangerous. Understand?”

  Connor looked back at the ledge of rock.

  Of course he didn’t understand. It was an adventure. A special place. What kid wouldn’t want to explore there.

  Nick stood up and let out a deep breath.

  “Who needs some lemonade?” Jake asked.

  “I think we all do,” Nick said. He took Connor’s hand and they all walked back up the path to Jake’s house, Connor docile beside him while Nick told Jake about Margaux’s secret hiding place.

  They went inside, settled Connor down with Jake’s dad for a game of checkers and lemonade and sandwiches.

  Nick and Jake took a couple of beers out to the picnic table in the backyard.

  “So,” Jake said, “Margaux Sullivan showed you her secret hiding place?”

  Nick groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “No. I want to hear all about it. Sounds intriguing.”

  “Don’t get excited. Margaux’s renting a room across the hall from Linda’s as a studio.”

  “Ah.”

  “I didn’t know it at the time. Anyway, Connor was with me, and true to form he wandered into her studio. Made a big splash with her.”

  “Oh man, not the old get-to-the-girl-through-the-kid routine.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t even like me much. She really likes Connor. Of course Linda couldn’t leave it alone and said we should take her with us to Deke’s for dinner. Connor wanted her, so I said yes. She didn’t know how to get out of it gracefully, so she agreed.

  “We came down here to drop off the lumber. She noticed the path. We all walked down to the cove and she showed Connor her childhood hideout. End of story.”

  “You forgot the part about where you had dinner at Deke and Peg’s.”

  “We ate clam rolls, Connor had fish fingers, and we drove her back to Le Coif. End of story.”

  “Margaux Sullivan.” Jake laughed. “Who would’ve thought it. After all this time. Won’t be long before the old guys down at the marina will be laying bets on the two of you.” He dodged from an imaginary blow.