Van nodded. She guessed Gigi hadn’t thought to help. She wished Suze had never mentioned that Gigi let everyone take care of her, because it made her überaware of it now. If there was ever a time Gigi needed to be taken care of, it was now when she was reeling from the death of her husband, but to Van’s mind it was also the time she should take charge of her life. Maybe it was just too early. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.
They went out the front door where Dorie was hosing off three aluminum beach chairs. A huge umbrella was propped against the steps.
“Dorie, are you coming with us?” Van asked.
“Thanks, but I have to get over to the Crab. Have the crew, what’s left of it, coming to do some cleanup before the weekend.”
“You should have told me,” Van said. “I’ll be glad to help. I’m kind of good that way.”
Dorie grinned at her. “I may take you up on it, but go and enjoy yourself this morning. There will be time to work later. You girls have fun.”
Gigi put a straw hat with a huge floppy brim on her head.
“Where did you find that?” Van asked. Van thought it was more likely to attract a few strange looks than hide Gigi from prying eyes.
“In the closet. Dorie said I could wear it.”
Van didn’t dare look at Suze.
“I packed up the cooler,” Gigi said. “Dorie said to help ourselves. So I did. I picked things I thought we would all like. And I brought our beach passes.” She sighed. “Since hardly anybody’s gotten a chance to use them this summer.”
For some reason, Gigi’s benign personality was really rubbing Van the wrong way. She wanted to shake the girl and say, Your husband just died, your children need you, go get a job, move out of your parents’ house. Make a home for you and your kids. Or maybe dealing with kids all day, she’d begun to treat other people like children, too.
Of course, Van had no right to make judgments one way or the other. She wouldn’t know what to do with a kid if the stork dropped one in her lap. Which she guessed would be the only way she’d be getting one.
The thought put a momentary pall over her spirits. But today was about Gigi; maybe for once her cousin actually needed some pampering herself.
“I’ve got beach towels. Also compliments of Dorie.” Suze hiked a stuffed beach bag over her shoulder and picked up one of the beach chairs that Dorie had propped against the steps. She handed it to Gigi, gave one to Van and took one for herself. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got work to do.”
Van grabbed the giant beach umbrella and they set off on foot for the beach.
Gigi led the way down the sidewalk until the spray from a lawn sprinkler forced them into the street. After that, they walked three abreast down the middle of the street.
A few cars were parked along the side, but it was Monday and it was nearing the end of the season. Already the streets were less congested.
They stopped at Ocean Avenue while they waited for several cars to pass. Suze said, “Look at us with cooler and umbrellas and bags. We look like three shoobies on a day trip.”
Gig swiveled her big hat around. “You two are—these days. Come on.”
They crossed the street and headed up the boardwalk. Below them the beach was covered in a legion of colorful umbrellas. But not nearly as many as there would have been only a week before. That was fine with Van. She got enough of crowds taking the subway every day.
Gigi walked right past the stairs that led down to the beach.
“Not there,” Gigi said. “I thought we’d go to Whisper Beach. Like we used to do.”
Suze traded a look with Van. “What’s wrong with down here?” she asked.
Gigi looked at Van. “Oh, does it make you sad?”
“It doesn’t bother me in the least,” Van said. “I was just thinking that if Uncle Nate wants you to keep a low profile—” Van had to stop to compose herself. It would be impossible with Gigi wearing those sunglasses and floppy hat. She could hear Suze’s adenoidal breathing behind her. She was trying not to laugh.
“It’s more likely people you know will be at Whisper Beach than out there.”
“It’s a weekday; there won’t be anybody there.”
“I’d really like to stay on the big beach,” Suze said. “I’m, uh, on the lookout for some cute guys.”
Van had to stop herself from doing a double take. But she knew what Suze was doing, and she gave her friend a grateful smile. Going to Whisper Beach by herself at night had been one thing, but sitting for hours and reminiscing about the past would drive her right back to Manhattan, where she was beginning to realize she really belonged.
Suze started down the steps to the beach, walked a few yards across the white sand, and stopped. “How about here?”
“Okay by me,” Van said.
“Fine,” Gigi said.
Suze dropped the bag with the beach towels onto the sand. Wrestled with her beach chair and finally adjusted it to nestle in the sand. Van snapped her beach chair open, put it down next to Suze, and positioned it facing the sun; then she realized Gigi was still standing, holding her chair and looking at them.
“What? Open your chair and sit down.”
“Oh, okay.” Gigi opened her chair and slowly put it down next to Van’s.
Van wondered if maybe she was on tranquilizers or some other medication. She seemed so lethargic.
There were a few minutes of readjusting chairs to catch the best rays, taking off cover-ups, and lathering on sunscreen before they were all sitting, legs stretched out on the sand, heads back, eyes closed, worshipping the sun.
“This is great,” Gigi said, sounding not at all like a grieving widow. But not sounding content, either.
“Hmmm,” Van said.
“Hmmm,” Suze agreed.
“Do you think it’s wrong of me to be sitting on the beach when Clay was just buried?”
“Nuh,” Suze said.
“Nuh,” Van agreed.
“It’s not like I’ve gone out shopping or throwing a party. But I never get to do anything for myself. Is that selfish? The kids are always wanting me, and Mother needs help with the house. She’s babysitting today.”
“That’s nice of her,” Suze said.
“Hmmm,” said Van.
“But usually I don’t get any time off . . . ever. Is it so bad to want just a little time to yourself?”
Van sat up. “Gigi, you wanted to come to the beach. We’re here. But it’s stupid to stay if you’re not going to enjoy it.”
“I am enjoying it.” Gigi turned her head and lifted her sunglasses to look at the other two. “But is it wrong?”
“No,” growled Suze.
Van just sat back and closed her eyes.
“I was just wondering.” Gigi lowered her glasses and stretched out again.
Van and Suze turned their faces toward each other. They didn’t have to take off their sunglasses to know what the other was thinking.
A few minutes went by, with the sun beating down and the waves rolling onto the shore. Van felt a sheen of sweat break out on her midriff, trickle down her neck. She was getting antsy. She looked over at Suze. She’d brought out a big book and was reading. It was impossible to tell if Gigi was awake or asleep behind her big glasses.
Van should have brought a book or something. She could be spending time on accounts, except, she reminded herself, she was on vacation. Lying in the sun was boring. She thought longingly of Dorie’s air-conditioning. Her laptop . . .
This is for Gigi, she reminded herself.
She pulled a beach towel out of the bag and spread it on the sand. Lay down on her stomach.
Stayed there for as long as she could. Moved back to her chair.
She pressed a finger to her thigh; the sunscreen was working. She’d never get a tan at this rate.
Suze turned her head toward Van. “Would you hold still? You’re supposed to be relaxing. It’s a vacation, remember?”
“I could sit here all day,” Gigi said with a s
igh.
Van would be having more fun helping Dorie at the Blue Crab. She had a few suggestions that would improve efficiency, and what better time to institute them than when they were cleaning up, throwing out, and planning for the coming weekend?
“I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“Looking for sea glass?” Gigi asked, looking out from half-lowered glasses.
“What?”
“Sea glass.”
“Why would I look for sea glass?” Why was the mention of sea glass ringing a distant recognition?
Gigi sat up; the glasses came all the way off. “Gee, Van. How could you forget? Suze, you remember, don’t you?”
“Remember what?”
“That Van always used to collect sea glass and draw those tiny little scenes on them. Remember? You used to sell them in the hotel gift shop and at the Blue Crab and some other places. You can’t have forgotten.”
But Van had. Now she remembered. Out early in the morning after a storm or a high wind, filling a burlap bag with flat pieces of smooth glass that had washed to shore. Cleaning them in the backyard tap, rubbing them to a polish, and then—
“Oh right,” Suze said. “I do remember. You did these miniature paintings on the surface. You were really good.”
“You all made fun of me.”
“Did not.”
“We didn’t,” Gigi agreed. “They were beautiful.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Suze said, “Maybe just a little, but I still have one in my keepsake box.” She straightened up. “All literary people have keepsake boxes . . . and spinsters in Victorian novels,” she added.
“Ah,” Van said. “Good thing to know.”
“Do you still paint them?” Gigi asked.
Van grimaced. “Kinda hard to find sea glass on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.”
“You can find anything in Manhattan,” Suze countered.
“Right. I’ll be back in a bit.” Van slipped on her beach cover-up and snagged her sandals and carried them toward the water. She wouldn’t have sea glass if Tiffany’s was giving it away. She had forgotten all about her secondary-income scheme. She’d spent the winters collecting the glass and hoarding it in a box in her closet, taking it out on weekends and school vacations and whenever she had spare time between school and work and dealing with her family.
She’d made a decent profit on the painted sea glass since the sea glass was free and she’d found some brushes in an old case once when her mother made her clean out the basement as punishment for staying out all night. She’d been fourteen at the time. Amazing she hadn’t gotten into trouble sooner than she had.
As Van walked along the shoreline heading north toward the pier and the Blue Crab, she found herself searching the sand for a glimmer of color. But when she realized what she was doing, she jerked her gaze away from the sand and stared out to sea.
It had been a lucrative business, once she got the hang of condensing scenes into an inch- or two-inch-long surface. She was good at it, too. In demand. Sometimes so in demand that she had a hard time keeping herself in glass or finding the time to give to the intricate designs.
Then one day it came to an end, like all good things her father touched. She was in her room with her work spread out before her. A row of finished pieces was drying on the open windowsill. More painted ones were spread across the table. She was spraying them with a fixative that the guy at the art supply store had shown her.
She heard the front door slam and knew it was her father home early from work or wherever he went during the day. She hurriedly closed the spray can, rolled it under the bed, opened the window, and tried to fan the fumes away.
It was futile. Her door banged open. Her father stood swaying in the doorway. “What’s that smell?”
He roared the question, his face so full of rage that she was afraid he was going to kill her. She backed up until she was against the window, part of her wondering if she could get out and away before he caught her. But he stopped at the table, leaned over it, and nearly fell. He grabbed the edge to steady himself, then with a howl, he toppled the table. The glass pieces bounced to the floor; Van hurled herself through the open window and ran, the rage of that ungodly sound echoing after her.
Van didn’t come home for two days. That was the first time she’d shown up at Dorie’s door. It wasn’t to be the last. When she finally went home a few days later, the glass was gone, the brushes, the paint, the finished paintings, all of it gone. The only thing he’d missed was the aerosol can of fixative that rolled under the bed. Van threw that away herself.
She never collected another piece of sea glass or painted anything again.
Van hiccuped as the memory of her father’s wounded cry echoed in her mind. Strange. She’d forgotten the sea glass, but she would never forget the sound he made as he lunged for that table and those little pieces of glass.
She reached the pier and turned toward the street, climbed the steps to the boardwalk, where she rinsed off her feet and put her sandals on. Then, looking down the beach and seeing Gigi and Suze still stretched out on the sand, she turned right and walked across the pier to the Blue Crab.
She knew the front door would be locked since the restaurant wouldn’t be open until the following weekend. She went around to the far side to the delivery door.
The kitchen faced Whisper Beach, and when Van looked down, she realized Gigi had been right; it was completely deserted. A couple of fishermen stood on the opposite side of the river, but that was all.
They could make it a public beach, but they couldn’t make people come to it. It was like an invisible line had been marked in the sand. No trespassing.
IT WAS GOING to be a scorcher, Joe thought as he held the hose on Bill Cassidy’s Starcraft. Bill had hardly been down to use the damn thing all summer, but he paid Joe to clean it once a week whether it needed it or not.
So here he was barefoot and shirtless, showing the young poacher, whose name turned out to be Owen, the tricks of scrubbing a boat. Joe hadn’t expected to see the kid again, but he’d been sitting on the steps, ready to work, when Joe got up that morning.
He was a pretty good worker, except for the habit of turning the hose in the direction he was facing instead of keeping it aimed at what he was cleaning. Consequently, Joe was soaked from trying to give the boy instructions. He’d finally given up and sprayed him back. A short hose fight was waged before Joe reminded him he was on the clock.
But he had to laugh. It was the most fun he’d had since he’d offered to help Grandy out during his hospital stay. He and Grandy were friends, and Grandy was going through treatments for some serious cancer. Joe had Renzo to look after the vines, but Grandy had no one, so Joe had been living at the marina for the last month and a half until Grandy could come home.
This way, Joe could help out a friend, make a little extra money, and try to figure out what to do about his personal life now that he had a new business in the making.
So far he hadn’t gotten far with the latter. At least not until Van Moran came back to town. And that had sort of worked out too. He went weeks without coming into Whisper Beach, and yet here he was when Van returned to town.
Crazy that someone you haven’t seen in years could give you that same whoosh of breath that left you feeling wrung out and, at the same time, hyped like crazy.
She, on the other hand, had been totally cool. How are you? Good to see you. Hell, he thought he deserved a little better than that, even if they had sort of broken up before she left.
He’d finally convinced himself that her leaving had nothing to do with him, but that had made him feel even worse, because if she couldn’t come to him for help, what kind of relationship did they have anyway? So mostly he just stopped thinking about her. And that had been working out okay for him. He’d thought.
Until Saturday. He really wanted to talk to her. Just talk. Like old acquaintances. This would probably be his only chance. She was way out of his league now;
she wouldn’t be back anytime soon. She might already be gone.
“Hey, Owen, think you can finish up rinsing her off without me?”
Owen nodded.
“After that you can go on home, but Owen . . .”
Owen turned and sprayed him with the hose.
“Sorry.”
Joe shook his head. “Do not go out clamming again, okay? That policeman is out for blood. In fact, I would tell the others to be very careful, maybe move upriver for a while. Capisce?”
Owen nodded.
“I mean it. Don’t make me a liar. You work here until further notice.”
Owen saluted. Joe didn’t really know what to make of the boy; he didn’t say much, even less when Joe had asked him about his family.
Joe went inside, jumped in and out of the shower, and threw on jeans and a clean T-shirt. Then he rummaged around for a decently clean pair of running shoes and shoved his bare feet in before he turned over the Closed sign and headed for his truck. He paused only long enough to tell Owen he’d locked up and he’d see him in the morning, then drove toward the beach.
The same car was still parked in Dorie’s driveway. It might be Van’s. He pulled onto the lawn next to it and ran up the porch steps to ring the bell.
Waited. No answer.
Dorie would be at the Crab doing her regular postweekend cleaning. If Van was gone, at least Dorie could tell him where she was.
Yeah, joker, and what are you going to do, drive after her? And then what?
And then he was going to ask her why the hell she’d left without bothering to explain to her family and friends why, or at least to let them know she was okay. That was his story, and he was not going to look more closely than that at his motive for finding her.
He thought he deserved at least that. She was evidently talking to Suze, and Dorie and Gigi, probably others, why not him? Yeah, he at least deserved something more than Fine, how are you?
He ran back to the truck, drove to the Crab. There wasn’t one damn parking place. A car pulled out of a space going the other way. He checked his rearview then made a U-turn into the space. Yanked his keys out of the ignition and headed for the restaurant.
He went straight around to the kitchen.
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