Beach Colors

by Shelley Noble

  “Come on in and let’s have a little chat.”

  He offered her a seat in one of the leather barrel chairs clustered around his desk. Margaux sat and placed her portfolio by the side of the chair. Sam then sat down on the other side of the desk.

  His smile was confident, made perfect by years of expensive dental work.

  Leverage, she thought. Clout. Stay calm. She smiled her own perfect smile.

  “Everyone is extremely excited about having you come on board.”

  Let him talk. Wait, though her heart was hammering in her chest so hard it hurt.

  “So let me see these designs the New Haven Register called ‘evocative.’ ”

  Margaux smiled. A little jab behind the compliment, but it said so much more. He wanted her, but he was going to try to hardball her. But how much? And what did he really think she was worth?

  Margaux opened her portfolio, handed him several of her sketches.

  Sam nodded, frowned, tilted his head, moved on to the next while Margaux thanked heaven she’d decided to change to black. It wouldn’t show the sweat that was trickling between her breasts.

  “Very nice, inventive, a certain je ne sais quoi,” said Sam Breed as he handed back her designs.

  What he wanted was her little black dress.

  Margaux managed to conceal her disappointment. But maybe he was right. She had worried from the beginning that her new line of designs was too craftsy, not couture.

  “We’ve got a place for you. Your own office, your own production schedule. We’ll even call it M Atelier by S and B.”

  The offer was good, better than good. She told him she’d have to think about it. It wouldn’t hurt him to sweat a little. And she needed to be sure she wasn’t making the wrong decision.

  “Great, it will give you time to work up some new designs for S and B. Something cutting-edge.”

  They made an appointment for the following Thursday.

  She walked back through the plush lobby, down the hallway lined with sparkling glass doors. It was all upscale and it could be hers. For a few black dresses.

  The interview had not gone as she’d hoped, though she was sure she could make it work if she played her cards right.

  She headed back to her borrowed apartment to work up some haute couture designs.

  She had to give her life here a fighting chance. It was hardly fair to compare the ocean breeze with a hot blast from a subway grate. They each had their own charm. Sort of. And anyway, she loved the city. Loved the energy. Loved the in-your-face attitude of its inhabitants. Did not love the smell of the bum who seemed to be following her. She stopped at the corner and waited for a chance to rush across the street.

  All she had to do was decide.

  She spent the afternoon designing at the kitchen table. When she got too hot to think, she stood in front of the open refrigerator door, then went back to work.

  After a handful of designs, she still couldn’t seem to capture the right feeling, a compelling edge, the wow factor.

  She was trying to force the process. She should probably call some friends and see if they wanted to go out to a bar or something. Start to reestablish her life. But the only friends she really wanted to see were in Crescent Cove.

  If Nick had been more understanding, supported her, she could call, talk to Connor, tell them she missed them and would be back soon. But that might be a lie. If she took the job Sam offered, she’d be too busy to go back to the shore for a long time.

  Maybe Nick had been right after all. It wouldn’t be fair to Connor, or Nick, if they tried to make a go of it on her terms. She flushed to think of her last recriminatory words to Nick. She’d said things she didn’t really mean, because she was so hurt and disappointed. Words they’d both remember for a long time.

  She decided to take herself out to dinner. She went to one of her favorite neighborhood bistros, but a table for one didn’t exactly improve her mood. It was hard to keep your mind on eating while all around you, lovers sat, heads nearly touching, talking about whatever lovers talked about, and she tried to remember what she and Nick talked about before that last terrible argument. And she wondered what Nick and Connor were doing. If Nick had been able to soothe him, or if he had crawled back into his silent world.

  And if he had, that would be her fault.

  Out on the street, she checked her phone again. No missed calls.

  She stopped in the deli and bought a pint of Häagen-Dazs sorbet, a comfort food with minimal additional calories. God, she hadn’t thought about calories since she’d left the city. Now she’d have to keep aware, keep ahead, stay sharp.

  By the time she climbed the stairs to her apartment, the sorbet was beginning to melt. She ate it out of the carton and looked over the designs she had made that afternoon. They weren’t whimsical or fanciful, they didn’t have a je ne sais quoi feel about them. They were black. And boring.

  She’d have to do better than this if she was going to hold her own in the industry.

  She kept thinking about Nick. She missed him, she wanted to hear his voice, ask about Connor. Tell them both . . . what? What could she possibly say after what she’d done to them?

  She replayed their last meeting. Nick saying, “Isn’t this enough to keep you?”

  How much money did she need? How much fame would make her happy?

  Sam’s offer was more money than she had ever hoped for. Certainly more than she’d been making before M Atelier was taken from her. Ten times more than she could possibly make in Crescent Cove. All she had to do was design a few black numbers. When she’d reestablished herself, she’d gradually begin to reintroduce color into the line.

  But what about the other things, the friendship, the camaraderie, the love of a boy and a man. Did she have to lose all that to follow her dream?

  She looked down at her sorbet. It had turned to soup. She tossed it in the sink. Paced the kitchen, shot her fingers through her hair, and was surprised when her hair settled back into place. She’d miss Linda, the mouth, the enthusiasm, hell, the help and the belief she showed to a stranger.

  What should she do?

  Say yes and be back in the game, or walk away from everything she’d ever dreamed of. She was excited, afraid, and still indecisive. And she missed Nick.

  She picked up the phone and pressed his number, not sure what she’d say. And not caring.

  Stay right there,” Nick told Connor, who was sitting on the tire swing in Jake’s backyard. He gave him a push. “I’ll be inside the garage for just a second.”

  Jake came out of the house and handed Nick a beer and led him into the extra room in back of the woodworking shop. “You sure you want to do this? I mean you’re welcome to stay here anytime, you know that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jake nodded. “Hard going home at night?”

  “Night. Day.” Nick stopped to drink some beer and looked around the small room.

  It had a bed and a tiny bathroom. It would do. And he needed a place to stay. He’d started dreading going to his apartment at Linda’s, even to change clothes.

  The boutique was still open, but only because Brianna had taken over running it, supposedly until Margaux came to her senses. But Nick knew better. Why would she want to come back here once she got back on the road to success?

  “Dad says you should use one of the extra bedrooms and not the room out in the workshop.” Jake grinned. “He only thinks that because this is where my mother used to send him when she was mad at him.” He laughed. “She was one tough lady. Had to be. Like Old Mother Hubbard, a kid in every spare space. It’s actually pretty comfortable for a bunkhouse. But you’re welcome to come inside.”

  “Thank him for me, but this is fine. It’s just until I can find another apartment.”

  “You got it,” Jake said, turning off the light and heading back to t
he yard. “But that’s not going to cure what ails you.”

  “If you start talking about time healing all wounds, I’ll crack this bottle over your head.”

  Jake sat down on the picnic bench. “Shit. I wasn’t gonna be so understanding. I don’t get why you didn’t fight harder to get her to stay. I’ve been around the two of you enough to know that you were pretty close. You’re in love with her, no way to get around that, and she loves you. Even someone as bad at relationships as me can see that. And even someone as bad at relationships as you should have done something.

  “Did you even ask her to stay?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of? Did it in any way sound like, ‘Margaux, I love you. Connor and I need you. Will you marry me?’ ”

  “Hell no.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe she thought you wouldn’t commit and she cut her losses when she had the chance.”

  “Shut the hell up. You can’t even get a date. You’re not exactly an expert in commitment.”

  “No, but that’s no reason you should make the same mistake.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake. She couldn’t stick it. Didn’t care enough. Christ, what more could I do? Hit her over the head and carry her to my cave?” Nick winced, thinking of the Grotto.

  “I was thinking maybe a phone call would do. Don’t be stupid and wait for her to call you. This is not the time for playing games.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Does that mean you called her?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Why not? How hard is it to say, ‘Hi, how’s it going?’ ”

  Nick barked out a laugh that hurt.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Has she called you?”

  Nick didn’t answer.

  “She did. Dammit. What happened? Please don’t tell me you blew it.”

  “I didn’t pick it up.”

  “What? Are you freaking crazy? Or do you just love the pain?”

  Nick had wanted to answer it, but he knew he would do something stupid like beg her to come back, then she’d feel sorry for him, and it would just be too humiliating when she turned him down.

  So he’d walked away from the phone, stood looking at it from the far side of the room while it continued to ring. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he hurried back and snatched it up, but the ringing stopped.

  “And you didn’t call her back.”

  “No.”

  Jake growled in frustration. Took a couple of steps away and turned back. “I guess you didn’t really love her after all.”

  “I did. I do. But my first responsibility is here. Connor hasn’t raised his voice above a whisper since the day she left, if he bothers to say anything at all, just wears that stupid scrap of material around his neck. I’ve enrolled him in the Eldon School. They have a pre-fall orientation program.”

  “She brought Connor out of his shell.”

  “And put him right back there when she left. Made it even worse. Look at him.”

  They both looked toward the swing. There was no Connor.

  “Goddammit.” Nick was off the table and running toward the swing. “Connor!”

  “I’ll look in the shop.” Jake ran inside and came out a minute later. “Not in there.”

  Nick scanned the yard until his eyes came to rest on the woods and the path that led to the cove. “Dammit. I know where he’s gone. I shouldn’t have brought him here. I didn’t think.”

  He took the path at a run. He was vibrating with fury by the time he came to a stop in front of the rock ledge. “Connor, are you in there?”

  Nothing. He squatted down and looked inside. Saw the white T-shirt Connor was wearing. “Come on out, buddy.”

  Connor didn’t move.

  “Connor, please come out. It’s time to go home.”

  Connor shook his head.

  Clinging to the ragged edge of his patience, Nick ducked under the ledge, grabbed the boy by the arm, and pulled him out. He didn’t resist, didn’t cry, didn’t make a sound.

  Nick backed out and put him on his feet.

  Jake bent over to look under the ledge. “What was he doing in there?”

  “I don’t know. He saw it one day when we were with . . . you know.”

  Connor didn’t resist when Nick took his hand and the three of them walked back to the street.

  As soon as they were in Jake’s yard, Nick knelt down. “I don’t want you to go there again. I want you to promise or I can’t bring you with me anymore.”

  Connor stood there. Quiet. Just standing.

  Nick raked his fingers through his hair, hair he was wearing much longer these days. He’d get a haircut first thing tomorrow.

  Jake gave Nick a look and knelt down. “What were you doing in there?”

  Connor turned his head toward Jake and whispered, “Making a wish.”

  “Making a wish?” Jake looked at Nick for clarification.

  “Margaux told him that it was where they used to make wishes or some nonsense like that.”

  “It’s not,” Connor said on an expulsion of breath. “My wish will come true. Margaux said.”

  “Well, Margaux was wrong. Get in the truck.”

  Connor glared at him but walked slowly toward the truck.

  “Nick,” Jake said. “Cool it. He’s just a kid.”

  “Cool it? Let him keep thinking his wish will come true? He’s wishing that Margaux will come back.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’ll bring my stuff over when I get off from work tomorrow.”

  “Sure. See you then. And Nick, try not to be so hard on the boy or yourself.”

  Nick raised a hand and got into the truck. He buckled Connor’s seat belt; Connor refused to look at him. “I’m sorry, champ. I miss her, too, but missing and wishing won’t bring her back.” He’d been right twenty years ago. He’d known it, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling for her all over again.

  Twenty-eight

  Margaux spent the next two days designing and fretting. She stopped only long enough to eat and call Bri. The first time she was with a customer—at Margaux— and didn’t have time to talk. When she called back, Margaux was in the shower. She left a message. “Hope you’re doing okay. Jude said we should keep the store open until further notice.”

  Store? Bri had called Margaux a store, not a boutique? She was still pissed.

  “So let Jude know, so we can decide what to tell the seamstresses and Linda will know what to do about the rent.”

  Margaux didn’t call her back. She called Jude.

  “Am I making the right decision? Sam’s offering good money, my own line, a chance to get back in the game.”

  “Only you can decide,” Jude said. “Go with your gut.”

  “My gut hurts. Everybody’s mad at me.”

  “They’re just disappointed that it didn’t work out. You have to do what’s best for you.”

  “Have you talked to Nick? He never even returned my call.”

  There was a pause. “No, actually I haven’t seen him.”

  “Why?”

  “He hasn’t been around.”

  “What about Connor?”

  “He’s been coming to work with Adelaide, but he’s going to a preschool term at the Eldon School, starting Monday.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “We all hope so.”

  “This is what I’ve always wanted,” Margaux blurted out, trying not to think of Connor alone at school.

  “I know, Mags. And it’s all right, whatever you decide.”

  She thought of Nick, punishing everyone because he was mad at her. He probably wouldn’t even let her see Connor if she went back. “I’m taking Sam’s offer.”

  Silence.

  “But if Bri doesn�
�t mind, she can keep Margaux open until everyone can find other jobs.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “And don’t worry, Mom. I’m good for the loan payments. I won’t let you down.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve never let me down.”

  Was it Margaux’s imagination that she heard the unspoken “until now” in her mother’s voice?

  “Well, stay in touch. Let us know how you make out.”

  Margaux’s throat tightened, her eyes stung, she’d burned her bridge, it was onward and hopefully back upward.

  “I will. Bye,” she said, and hung up before Jude could hear her cry.

  Nick climbed down the outside stairs of his apartment. He was still recovering from his conversation with Linda when he tried to pay her an extra month’s rent for the inconvenience of his leaving without notice.

  She refused to take the money. As he left, she began singing: “Money can’t buy you love.”

  He turned on her, pushed to the limit. “Maybe you should tell that to Margaux.”

  “Maybe you should tell her yourself. I’m calling the hippies to see if they want the apartment. I’m out of yak butter.” And she slammed the door in his face.

  He was just putting the last box of his possessions in the back of the truck, and thinking he’d made it out of his apartment without any more scenes, when Brianna came running out the front door. She was wearing one of those Driftwood pants and a flowing top and it made his throat tighten.

  Holding the rail, she took the steps two at a time, marched over to his truck, and planted her hands on her hips. “What are you doing? Is this the move to New York?”

  “What move? No. Don’t be stupid.”

  She sank into one hip and he knew he was in for it.

  “As long as we’re name-calling, you can own the ‘stupid’ and add the ‘stubborn’ and the ‘selfish’ to go with it.”

  Nick dropped the box and turned on her, ready to give her back insult for insult. He was fed up with everyone ragging on him for what Margaux did.

  Then she smiled. Slowly. Beautiful, distant, and accusing. How the hell did she manage all that at once?