Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  The night air was balmy and not too humid, so they’d taken snacks and wine out to the porch to watch the sunset. And talk.

  “It was kind of a hectic day. This chèvre is delicious.”

  “So tell us about it.”

  “It was for more than I’d meant to ask for, but Roger thought we should have some pad.”

  “Smart man,” Bri said.

  “And I found the perfect venue for a runway show.”

  “Where?”

  “The Cove Inn. There’s a patio that is just the right size and can be dressed very nicely.”

  “The Cove Inn? Perfect. Why didn’t I think of that?” Bri said, cutting off a slab of Gruyère and balancing it on a cracker.

  “I wouldn’t have thought of it either, except—” Margaux stopped, not sure that she was ready to share about her date with Nick. It seemed a little like kissing and telling. But boy, what kisses.

  Bri stopped with the cracker halfway to her mouth. “Margaux?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m sensing a story here. How did you think of the inn?”

  “I went to dinner there.”

  “With Jude?”

  “Well, actually . . . I went to dinner with Nick Prescott.”

  “The merman? Holy cow. Tell us everything.” Bri leaned forward; Grace scooted over closer to Bri and they gave Margaux their full attention.

  Margaux slipped from her perch on the porch rail and pulled up a wicker chair to face them. “He invited me to dinner. I think Linda put him up to it. But I went. And I had a nice time.”

  “Nice?” Bri sighed. “He was a dud.”

  “Not at all,” Margaux said. “Are you going to eat that cracker or just point it at me?”

  Bri put the cracker down.

  “You like him,” said Grace.

  Margaux hesitated. “Yeah, I do. Most of the time. But he’s really intense. Not very relaxing to be around.”

  “Hell, you can relax at the old folks’ home,” Bri said. “Did he, did you . . .”

  “Bri, really. It’s none of our business,” Grace said, but she looked hopeful.

  Margaux took a sip of her champagne, twirled the stem in her fingers. “After dinner we walked by the water and when we were coming back I saw the patio.”

  “And then?”

  “And I was so excited I threw my arms around his neck.” Margaux rushed through the last words and looked at the floor.

  “And then?”

  “I realized what I had done. It was a shade awkward. I thanked him for dinner and he drove me home.”

  Grace blew out air. “Come on. If you’re going to tell us, get on with it. I’d hate to have to use my cross-examination technique on you.”

  “He kissed me good night—twice.”

  “And?”

  Margaux smiled. “It was pretty damn good.”

  Bri collapsed back on the settee. “I take it that means he left after that.”

  “Yeah. Though I think he would have stayed if I had encouraged him.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Margaux pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t get involved with anyone now. For starters, I’m not exactly divorced yet.”

  “A technicality,” said Bri.

  “I’m trying to restart my life, my career, I can’t take time to . . . you know.”

  “Have sex? Have an affair? Fall in love? What are we talking about here?”

  “I don’t know,” said Margaux. “I just don’t know, but whatever it is—was—it felt pretty damn good.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “It’s out of the question.”

  “I don’t see why,” Grace said.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No it isn’t,” said Bri. “That’s just an excuse. Go for it.” She huffed out a breath. “But the merman aside for the minute, you have a shitload of work to do if you want to get something built and shown in the next month or so.”

  “I know it. Keep your fingers crossed that I can pull it off.”

  “Hey. How can you fail with me and Grace by your side. Selkies forever, remember?”

  Sunday was sunny and warm. Adelaide and Connor arrived at the beach house around one. Nick wasn’t with them, and Margaux felt a shaft of disappointment mixed with relief.

  She told herself it was because if he came, she wouldn’t have to take full responsibility for entertaining Connor. She wasn’t ready to admit that she’d hoped he’d come for her own enjoyment.

  “He had to go in to help Finley. One of the other officers called in sick. I’m not sure he would have come anyway. Though you were very nice to include him in the invitation,” Adelaide added hastily. “He just doesn’t come to the beach much.”

  Margaux remembered him swimming in the cove and had to stifle a reminiscent shiver.

  Connor was wearing X-Men swim trunks and a large T-shirt. A man’s baseball cap with the Crescent Cove Stingrays logo on the front was shoved down to his eyes.

  Margaux thought it must have belonged to his father.

  They all went out to the porch, where Jude had set glasses and lemonade.

  Connor dropped his backpack on the floor. Adelaide walked out to the edge of the porch and stopped, looking out at the beach.

  Everybody looked where she was looking. The lifeguard tower.

  The breath stuck in Margaux’s lungs. She’d seen that same look on Nick’s face when they’d climbed the jetty and he’d looked down—on the old lifeguard tower. How could she have been so insensitive to have Mrs. Prescott spend the day with the memory of her dead son looming in the background.

  She glanced at Jude, whose expression was stricken.

  Adelaide pulled Connor close to her and leaned over, pointing to the lifeguard stand. “You see that white tower on the beach?”

  Connor nodded.

  “Your daddy used to sit up there. It’s a lifeguard station and it was his job to keep people safe.”

  Connor looked out at the tower, his eyes round, his mouth slightly open as he exhaled a long breath. “My daddy?” he whispered.

  Adelaide nodded. Margaux doubted that she could answer, because Margaux could barely swallow the lump in her own throat. Adelaide straightened up. “Now you and Margaux go have fun.”

  “Let’s go,” Margaux said. “I’ve got pails and string all ready for us by the back door. But first we need sunscreen.”

  When they were lathered up, Margaux handed Connor a pail, took one for herself, and the two of them set off across the beach toward the jetty.

  Connor stopped to watch some children building a sand castle, but when Margaux asked if he’d like to play, he shook his head and began walking again.

  He held Margaux’s hand up the rocks. The tide was out, but the jetty was still wet and slippery. She searched the crevices until she found a promising pool, then set down her pail and lifted out a baggie of fish parts.

  When she opened the baggie, Connor wrinkled his nose and made a face.

  “I’ll have you know that this gunk is a delicacy to a crab.” She mashed a piece onto the end of one string and handed it to Connor. “Now slowly lower the end into the pool. Try not to move so the crab won’t know we’re up here.”

  Connor leaned over the pool and lowered the string into the water. Then he froze.

  “You don’t have to be that still.”

  He looked at her, confused, and Margaux didn’t offer any more advice. She leaned over the pool with him until she saw movement in the water. “Look,” she whispered.

  A crab sidled up to the bait and latched on. “Pull the string straight up.”

  Connor pulled the string up. The crab hung on almost to the end, then dropped back into the pool and darted out of sight.

  Connor frowned.


  “That’s what they call paying your dues.”

  Connor’s frown deepened.

  “Never mind. It’s hard to catch crabs. Let’s try another pool.” They climbed along the jetty. Margaux picked another pool and they squatted over it, patiently waiting for a nibble.

  “It’s coming,” Connor whispered.

  “Okay, now wait . . . wait.” The crab bit. “Pull it up gently.”

  The crab hung on, and Margaux slid the pail underneath it just before it let go of the string.

  “Ta-da,” she crowed.

  Connor grinned, his new tooth just beginning to show, and he held up his string for Margaux to bait again.

  As their crab collection grew, Margaux’s back began to ache and she was worried about Connor getting a sunburn.

  She pointed out some of the other creatures left in the pool by the tides. One even had a little minnow swimming in the shadows of the rock.

  “They’re called tide pools,” Margaux explained. “The tide brings them in, and when it goes out again, it traps them in these pools of water.”

  Connor peered into the pool, leaning over so far that Margaux grabbed the back of his shirt.

  “Are they going to die?”

  Taken aback, it took a moment for Margaux to answer. “No. The tide comes in and washes them out to sea again.” Usually.

  “I want to put them back.”

  She leaned closer. “What did you say, sweetie?”

  “I want to put the crabs back. I don’t want them to die.”

  “Don’t you want to show your gran and Uncle Nick?”

  He shook his head. “I want to put them back. There.” He pointed across the far side of the jetty to the cove where they had skipped rocks.

  “I don’t think we should go there. These rocks are very slippery and your gran would be sad if you skinned your knee or elbow.”

  He didn’t argue, just kept looking down into the cove. Then he turned to her, so close that their foreheads almost touched. “That’s where the Grotto is.”

  “Yes, it is. What a smart boy you are to recognize the cove.”

  “Can we go there?”

  “Not today. But sometime maybe, from Jake’s house. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s go see how the sand castle is doing.” Margaux helped him down the rocks and onto the sand. The kids were gone so Margaux and Connor poked around the sand castle, Margaux pointing out turrets and the moat and the windows made from seashells.

  When they got back to the house, Roger had started the ice cream maker, and Jude and Mrs. Prescott were sitting on the front porch.

  At Margaux’s insistence, Connor showed them his catch. “Now can we put them back?”

  “Of course,” Margaux said. “Shall I take a picture of them first?”

  He nodded.

  She went into the house for her cell and took a picture of Connor holding the bucket, and then a couple of close-ups of the crabs. “Want to see?”

  He nodded again and grinned when he saw his picture on the screen.

  “Can we put them back now?”

  “Yes, I’ll just go out and dump them in the waves.”

  “Will they drown?”

  “No, they’re crabs. They live in the ocean.”

  “Okay.”

  Margaux trekked out to the water’s edge, Connor tagging along, carefully overseeing the bucket. She walked out into the water and lowered the pail, and let the surf rinse it clean and carry the crabs away. Then she held up the empty pail.

  “Goodbye, crabs,” she called.

  “Goodbye, crabs,” Connor called after her.

  Margaux stopped, the pail suspended in the air. She could hear him; he was standing on the shore with the shore noises around him, and she could hear him. This was the second time he’d spoken out loud. That had to be a good sign. She had to force herself to stay calm. She was thrilled, but she didn’t want to call attention to it and risk driving him back into silence. “Let’s see if Roger has finished making the ice cream.”

  She took his hand and they ran back to the house, Margaux’s feelings soaring at Connor’s small breakthrough.

  They celebrated the crabs’ release with softly frozen ice cream. Mrs. Prescott and Connor got ready to leave.

  “What do you say?”

  “I had a nice time,” he whispered.

  “Connor, honey, she can’t hear you.”

  Connor looked like he might cry.

  Margaux knelt down. She wouldn’t force him to speak.

  “I had a nice time.” He threw his arms around Margaux’s neck. He whispered something in her ear. It sounded like, “I love you.”

  Her heart constricted; she gave him a quick hug and stood up. “I’m very glad you could come.”

  “It was so kind of you,” Mrs. Prescott said.

  “My pleasure. See you tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Prescott nodded and trundled Connor out the door.

  Margaux sank into a kitchen chair, still shaken by what she thought she’d heard.

  “Tired?” asked Jude.

  Margaux groaned. “Kids are exhausting.”

  “Yes, they are,” Jude said. “No matter how old they are.”

  We caught crabs with a string,” Connor said.

  “You what?” Nick asked as he came over to where Connor sat at the kitchen table.

  “We caught crabs with a string.”

  Nick was tired and frustrated; it had been a long day and he wished for once he could hear Connor without having to hunch over like an old man. At least Connor was more animated than Nick had ever seen him. That was something.

  He pulled a chair over, sat down next to his nephew, and leaned close to him.

  “Crabs, huh?”

  “Margaux took pictures with her phone and she’s going to send them to Nana.”

  “Cool. What happened to the crabs?”

  “We put them back in the ocean.”

  “Live to be caught another day.”

  Connor frowned at him.

  “So you had a good time?”

  Connor nodded. “We climbed on the big rocks. I wanted to go to the Grotto, but Margaux said we had to ask you.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Can we go, Uncle Nick? I want to make a wish.”

  “What?”

  “I want to make a wish,” Connor said on a big expulsion of air.

  “Bud, the Grotto can’t make wishes come true. It’s just a rock. It’s dangerous. And I don’t want you going there. Understand?”

  “It does, too. Margaux said.”

  “Well, Margaux was mistaken.”

  “She said.”

  This time Nick could barely hear him. And the disappointment in Connor’s small face cut right to his heart. But he couldn’t have the kid running off to the woods every time his back was turned. God only knew what could happen to him.

  His mother put a penny on the table before Connor. “Why don’t you make a wish in the birdbath out back?”

  Connor looked skeptical but he took the penny and slid off his chair.

  “Hurry back, dinner’s almost ready.”

  She turned on Nick.

  Nick raked his fingers through his hair. “I know. I know. You don’t have to tell me. But he can’t go around thinking that his wishes are going to come true. Especially not if he thinks he has to go to that . . . I already found him there once. I thought he had just wandered off into the woods.”

  He braced his elbows on the kitchen table and felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. “Let him have his dreams, Nick.”

  “I don’t want to take them away. I just want to keep him safe.”

  “I know you do. But a boy needs to dream.”

  Delicate fingers
stroked his hair.

  “I need a haircut,” he said, grasping at the mundane.

  “I like it longer. You have your father’s hair.”

  And Ben’s. “I have to go.”

  “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nicky, I wasn’t chastising you.”

  “I know, I’m just tired.”

  “Nicky.”

  “Later, Ma.”

  He practically stumbled out the door. A boy needs to dream.

  Margaux had finally seen Jude and Roger off and she’d just sat down with a much-needed glass of Pinot Noir when there was a knock at the back door.

  She pushed out of the cabbage rose chair and went to the kitchen. She could see a large form behind the screen door. She recognized him immediately and her stomach did a little shake, rattle, and roll.

  “Come on in. Are you on duty or can I offer you a glass of wine?”

  “Neither.”

  She stiffened. So not a social call. “Then what can I do for you?”

  “You can stop filling Connor’s head with ideas that his wishes will come true.”

  “What are you talking about? We went crabbing. Your mother was here the whole time. We ate ice cream. C’est tout.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s French for that’s all.”

  “Don’t condescend to me. I have a degree. I can even understand a modicum of French.”

  He glowered at her, the intensity of his eyes making her take a step back.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. You came all the way over here to read my beads over being nice to your nephew and then top it off with the undeserved accusation that I think you’re stupid.”

  He’d started to pace but he stopped. Margaux swore she could hear him grinding his teeth. He was a man so close to the edge that she should be afraid of him. But she wasn’t. Because all that anger was coming from a man who was hurting.

  She’d done the same thing herself when she’d first found out about Louis. “I’m sorry. Could we please just start again?”

  Nick took a deep breath and Margaux half expected his next words to come out in a whisper like Connor’s. “Look, the kid has had a rough time. Just don’t tell him his wishes can come true.”