by Jane Peart
“With Mark and Ginny? That will be fun. What a nice man and what a precious child. Would you like to take along something to drink, some snacks?”
“Good idea.” Coryn kissed her mother’s cheek. Coryn felt happy, Clare seemed so well, her old self, it was a glorious day and she was looking forward to spending it with Mark and Ginny. She helped pack a bag with snacks and small cans of juice.
“You and Mark will want coffee,” her mother said, pouring steaming coffee into a thermos jug. Mark and Ginny arrived a few minutes later.
With an eye patch, and wearing a red knit cap with its dangling yarn pompom, Ginny looked like a rakish little elf.
They parked the station wagon on the bluff overlooking the beach and walked down the dunes to the beach. The salt-tinged wind was sharp. The sun and fine weather had brought others out, as well. One couple had two frisky little dogs who were yipping and running into the surf. As Ginny stood watching them, the woman handed her a small stick and told her to throw it to see if one of the dogs would fetch it. Ginny was into the game in a flash. The little dogs loved it, and they continued as long as Ginny would toss it.
Coryn and Mark followed, laughing and cheering Ginny on as the two small dogs played tirelessly. Coryn vividly remembered bringing Ranger out here. He would race, wheel, leap barking into the waves, chase the seagulls then come back. She’d toss a stick over and over. He’d run down the beach after it, head held high, come prancing back triumphantly to drop it at her feet.
“This is so fun!” exclaimed Ginny, running back to them, catching both their hands and swinging them. “Isn’t it, Daddy?”
“You bet. Great fun.”
Mark’s laughing eyes met Coryn’s over Ginny’s head. Coryn felt a surge of happiness. The sense of freedom to be happy that she had somehow lost.
One of the little dogs came scampering up to Ginny with the stick in his mouth, circling and crouching, as if saying, “Come play some more!” Ginny dropped both their hands and was off again in another round of tossing and fetching.
As Ginny ran in front of them down the beach, Mark caught Coryn’s hand in his. Her heart gave a small flip as his fingers closed around her hand, their palms touching. She glanced at him. He was looking at her. Her breath became shallow.
He stopped, turned her into his arms in a hug, then kissed her.
When the kiss ended, Coryn stepped back and they smiled at each other. Her arms slowly slid from his shoulders and moved down to clasp his, still holding her around the waist. For a few seconds they looked into each other’s eyes. Then they started walking down the beach again together.
The morning sped by. Ginny made friends with two little girls, sisters, whose parents had brought them. She shared the graham crackers from the bag Coryn’s mother had fixed, and the three of them had a great time building a sand fort. Mark and Coryn sat nearby on a weathered log watching them and talking. They seemed to have lots to say to each other, never running out of topics.
The sun moved high in the sky. Their watches told them it was past noon. They called to Ginny and climbed back up the dunes, clambered up on the stone jetty. The wind at their backs, they walked toward the Seascape, an old lighthouse converted into a restaurant.
The place was warm and crowded, filled with the sound of voices and laughter, the clatter of dishes. Fishermen sat up along the counter, swapping stories of weather and tall tales about the size and quantity of their day’s catch. Savory smells emanated from the kitchen area, the swinging door constantly opening and closing. Waitresses brought out loaded trays, busily serving orders while flirting with and making snappy replies to the teasing patrons, most of whom seemed to be as comfortable here as in their own homes.
Mark and Coryn found a table with an ocean view. The surf was rough and high, dashing against the rocks.
A waitress with flaming henna hair and dangling earrings made of shells brought them each a glass of water, then poured two mugs of fresh coffee and placed them before Mark and Coryn, asking cheerfully, “What’ll it be, folks?”
Coryn and Mark ordered chowder, a famous specialty of Seascape. Ginny chose fish and chips.
“Today was fun, wasn’t it?” Ginny asked, lifting her glass of water carefully and taking a sip.
“It sure was,” Coryn agreed.
“The dogs were really fun,” Ginny said. “I liked throwing the sticks for them and saying fetch like their owner told me to.”
She put down her glass and looked directly at Coryn. “Did you have a pet when you were a little girl, Coryn?”
“Uh-oh, here we go,” Mark said in a resigned voice.
“Did you?” Ginny persisted.
“Yes, a dog, Ranger. I still have him. He’s getting pretty old now. He has arthritis.”
“How old?”
“For a dog, very old.”
“Did you take care of him yourself?”
“Well, sometimes I forgot, then…” Coryn started to say my mother did it for me. She darted a quick look at Mark but he was buttering his French bread and didn’t meet her gaze. He was leaving her this round.
“I wouldn’t forget,” Ginny said. “Not if I had a little kitten.”
The waitress returned with bowls of creamy clam chowder. As she set down Ginny’s platter of fish sticks and French fries, she asked playfully, “Think you can manage all that, young lady?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ginny said politely.
What a really lovely child she was, Coryn thought with a rush of tenderness as she watched her eat. Ginny’s fingers, the little one curved daintily, dipped each of the fries into the small cup of catsup at the edge of her plate, taking small bites, then wiping her mouth with her napkin. Someone had taught her manners, all right. It amused Coryn that once they had been served, Ginny picked up the subject of pets again as if there had been no interruption.
“A kitty wouldn’t be all that much trouble, would it, Coryn?” She glanced at Mark. “I promise, Daddy, I’d do everything myself. You wouldn’t have to remind me.”
“Even the litter box?” Mark asked.
Ginny had just taken a bite of French fry so only nodded. When she finished chewing, she said to Coryn, “I already have a name for one. Sunny. Isn’t that a nice name for an orange kitty?”
Mark moaned. “I give up! Subtlety, thy name is not woman!” He laughed.
“Ready for dessert, folks?” Their waitress was back. “Homemade apple pie with cinnamon sauce or á la mode?” she asked, giving her pencil a little twirl.
Coryn looked doubtful. “I’m pretty full but…maybe, could we share one, Ginny?”
The little girl grinned. “Yes, please.”
“Ice cream or sauce?”
“What shall it be, Ginny?” asked Coryn.
“You choose.”
“Ice cream.”
“I would have choosed that, too.” Ginny grinned happily.
They drove home singing several rollicking renditions of the sea chanty “Blow the Man Down.” They sung it over and over until Mark pleaded a change of tune. With lots of laughter and a couple of false starts, Ginny and Coryn sang some songs Ginny had learned at Brownies that Coryn remembered from her own Girl Scout days. Coryn felt a warm happiness spread all through her. It seemed as if the three of them had always been together. As though they were meant to be.
As they passed the Rockport city-limit sign, Mark asked, “Mind if I make a quick stop at the grocery store. It’s Mrs. Aguilar’s day off. My night to be chef.”
Coryn pretended disbelief. She looked at Mark with mock astonishment. “Is cooking one of your hidden talents?”
“Daddy’s a good cook,” piped up Ginny. “Yummy hamburgers and French fries…mmm.” She rolled her one visible eye.
“Obviously you have a fan,” Coryn said to Mark.
“My cheering section. I think she likes the dessert on these nights best. Sara Lee to the rescue.” He grinned.
“’Scuse me, Coryn,” Ginny said, leaning over the back seat. “I
have to ask Daddy something and I need to whisper.”
“Is that really necessary, honey? Whispering is rude, remember?”
“I know but…”
“It’s okay with me, Ginny. I won’t listen,” Coryn said.
In a stage whisper that was hard not to overhear, Ginny asked Mark, “Can Coryn have supper with us?”
“I don’t know whether she’d like to…but sure, of course,” Mark told Ginny. To Coryn, he said, “Would you? Willing to take a chance?” He looked at her questioningly.
“Please, Coryn.” Ginny tilted her head to one side. “We don’t get to have company very often.”
“Well, then, I’ll be your company. Thank you very much.”
“Goody!” Ginny clapped her hands.
“Drop me off at my house first. I’ll get rid of some of the sand and stuff. I’ll drive over later. What time?”
“About six. If that’s not too early. Ginny has school tomorrow and I have to be at the paper at seven-thirty, so we have early evenings.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be there.”
As Coryn got out of the car, Ginny giggled and called after her the old joke Mark had taught her on the way home. “See you later, alligator!”
“In a while, crocodile!” Coryn called back, laughing.
Chapter Thirteen
Arriving at the Emerys’ house, she rang the doorbell, then heard voices and running footsteps. The door opened and Ginny stood, shyly smiling.
Mark was not far behind.
“Hi, come in. We’re getting things lined up. Mrs. Aguilar left us all sorts of instructions.”
“She always does on Daddy’s night in the kitchen!” chirped Ginny, then clapped her hand to her mouth, “Whoops, sorry!”
“Rumors.” Mark grinned. “Here, let me take your jacket.”
Coryn had changed into a plum colored tunic sweater and matching pants. She had tied her hair back with a velvet ribbon and wore silver and turquoise earrings. Mark’s gaze moved over her appreciatively.
The first time Coryn had been here, the day she had come bringing Ginny’s eye patch covers, Mrs. Aguilar had taken her right to the back of the house. Later, they had sat in the kitchen. She had not really seen the rest of the house.
From the center hall, Coryn saw two rooms. One was the living room, the other, from the glimpse she got through half-open glass doors, had probably originally been the dining room. It looked as though it had been turned into an office with a desk, computer and bookcases. It probably served as his study when Mark worked at home, she realized.
“Come in. I got a fire going, should take the chill off,” Mark said. “Would you like something to drink? Soda, coffee? I’ve some apple cider simmering.”
“That sounds good.”
Mark rubbed his hands together. He seemed a little nervous. Ginny had told her that they didn’t have company often. Did that include Mark entertaining ladies?
“Fine. Make yourself comfortable. Ginny, you want to help me?”
Ginny trotted off to the back of the house alongside him.
Coryn walked over to the fireplace, held out her hands to its glowing warmth, turned back, studied Mark’s home.
On one side of the fireplace was a worn leather armchair and reading lamp. In front was a sofa, beside it a smaller armchair with matching, rather faded chintz covers. On both sides of the hearth were built-in bookcases crammed with books. There were lots of children’s books on the lower shelves, easily accessible for Ginny.
Mark’s domain was in sharp contrast to Jason’s condo. Coryn remembered the first time she saw Jason’s apartment. The address was a good one with an expensive view. The huge living room had glass doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the pool. Modern prints hung on the stark white walls. Furniture consisted of a contoured white sofa and a blackleather Eames chair. In front of the couch was a coffee table with a free-form glass top on which were neatly piled copies of GQ and Fortune. There was a gleaming black entertainment center with a twentyfour-inch television and CD cabinet. An exercise machine stood in one corner.
In Jason’s black-and-white tile kitchen, the size of a boat galley, there was a chrome microwave and an automatic coffeemaker. It had struck her at the time that although he had lived there two years, the place looked like a high-priced motel room. As though Jason was just passing through, on the way to somewhere, on the way up. As it turned out, on the way out, out of her life.
The rattle of cups and spoons on a tray signaled Ginny’s return. Holding the tray with both hands, Ginny approached with careful steps. Mark followed with a steaming server of apple cider.
Ginny put the tray down on the low coffee table, then stepped back, looked at Mark.
“That smells delicious,” Coryn said.
“There are cinnamon sticks in each mug,” Ginny told her, pointing. “You stir them and they kind of melt into the cider. It tastes yummy.”
After they finished the cider, Ginny asked, “Would you like to see my room, Coryn?”
Over Ginny’s head Coryn met Mark’s gaze. He gave an imperceptible nod and smiled.
“While you ladies take an inspection tour, I’ll get the charcoal started.”
Ginny was small and wiry. She had lost her baby fat and would soon be all arms and skinny legs. Her hair was short, cut with bangs. If it had a tendency to curl, Coryn couldn’t tell. Perhaps this style had been decided upon because it was quick and easy, needed no dexterity for French braiding or some other kind of hairstyle a little girl might like.
“Mrs. Aguilar made the curtains,” Ginny said, skipping over to the high windows. “They match the dust ruffle on my bed, see?”
Coryn admired them, then Ginny pointed out her small old-fashioned school desk. “We found it in a junk shop. Well, not really junk, sort of an antique shop.” She put her head to one side and grinned impishly. “Daddy hates them but Mrs. Aguilar says, ‘You just never know what you might find there.’ And we found this.”
There was a low bookshelf with books and games and a floor lamp beside a small rocking chair. Then Coryn saw the dollhouse. It was empty. No furniture, no little doll occupants.
“Is this new? Something you’re working on?” she asked.
Ginny shook her head. “It’s a kit. My gramma sent it for Daddy to put together. We were going to finish it—but we sort of…” She gave a little shrug. “A dollhouse family needs a daddy and a mommy.” It wasn’t said sadly, just matter-of-factly. But the little girl’s words made Coryn wince.
She thought of the elaborate dollhouse she had received the Christmas she was ten. Now she realized what a project it must have been for her parents. Especially her mother. The hours that had gone into the furnishing, the wallpaper, tiny curtains, coverlets for the beds. She also remembered the wonderful small china family that had come to live there, with a lace-capped grandmother and tweed-coated grandpa, even a small framed sampler cross-stitched “Home Sweet Home” that hung in the parlor.
Every little girl should have a dollhouse family. Coryn would have to ask Mark if she could give hers to Ginny.
“I guess we better go back. Daddy’ll be wondering what’s keeping us,” Ginny said.
The evening passed with incredible speed and it was Ginny’s bedtime before anyone realized. With one minor protest met with Mark’s firm, “School tomorrow, honey, I’ll be up in a few minutes, to hear your prayers and tuck you in.”
Ginny made a reluctant start then asked, “You’ll come again, won’t you, Coryn?”
“Thank you, Ginny, I’d love to.”
“We want her to, don’t we, Daddy?” Ginny glanced at Mark.
“Sure thing,” Mark answered. Ginny lingered a moment longer until Mark said with a grin, “Quit stalling, young lady.”
“I’m not, Daddy, I just—” she hesitated. “Is it okay if I give Coryn a hug?”
“Of course you can!” Coryn said feeling a rush of pleasure, and holding out her arms. Ginny ran across the room and into them. Her bod
y felt small and warm and incredibly dear against Coryn as she held her for a minute.
Ginny wiggled loose then said, “’Night, Coryn.”
“’Night, honey,” Coryn replied, her voice suddenly husky.
“Now, scoot,” Mark said and with a mischievous grin Ginny skipped out of the room calling over her shoulder, “I’ll call you when I’m ready, Daddy.”
The two adults looked at each other and laughed softly. “She’s a darling, Mark. You’ve done a great job bringing her up.”
A shadow passed over his face before he answered.
“I’ve tried It’s a big job. Mrs. Aguilar has been a tremendous help. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
Ginny’s piping little voice called, “I’m ready, Daddy.”
“Okay, hon. Coming.” Mark unfolded himself from the deep chair. “Will you excuse me, Coryn? This may take a while. I don’t like rushing bedtime. It’s important to make a child feel safe, secure at nighttime.”
“Of course,” Coryn answered, thinking what a good father Mark was, patient, sensitive, understanding. She could see how hard he tried to make up for the loss of Ginny’s mother.
After Mark left, Coryn got up. She wanted a closer look at some of the photographs she’d seen along the top bookshelf. There were lots of them. Pictures that could be captioned Happy Family.
Coryn picked up one of a gamine-faced young woman with wide dark eyes, a smiling mouth, short dark hair. Shari. There were pictures of her with Mark on a tennis court, each holding rackets, some photos of them sitting in beach chairs, palm trees in the background. Mexico? Hawaii? Honeymoon? Then Ginny began to appear in the shots, as a baby, a toddler. The photographs all seemed to stop when Ginny was about three.
On the lower shelf there was a picture of Shari against a snowy background, in ski togs, dark glasses pushed up on her head, smiling. Was that the weekend it had happened? The terrible accident Mark had told her about. Knowing the story, it broke Coryn’s heart to look at the pictures. Why did Mark keep them on display? Coryn decided he probably wanted to keep Shari fresh in Ginny’s memory, remind her that she had had a loving mother, that they had been a family.