“First of September.”
“Where are you going?”
“Cabrillo—it’s a community college. I’m going to get the basics out of the way and then, hopefully, transfer to either UC Santa Cruz or UC Los Angeles. I want to major in marine biology, and they have a couple of the best programs in the country. What about you?”
“Penn State.”
“Because?”
“They have a great equestrian program.”
“Something tells me that’s not the only reason.”
One of the things he liked best about Grace was her lack of guile, but it was also one of the things that drove him nuts. “My dad went there.”
“And?”
“What do you mean?”
“You need a major. Something you’re interested in. At least that’s what’s been pounded into me for the last four years.”
“Economics.”
“One of my best friends is an economics major, and you’re about as much like him as a frog is like an alligator.” She picked up their plates and took them to the sink. “What’s the real reason?”
“My dad and my grandfather both graduated with economics degrees.” Christopher wondered if it sounded as lame to her as it did to him.
“And you’re following in their footsteps. Have you ever thought to ask them if they’re happy economists or if there’s something else they’d rather be doing?”
“That would be pretty hard to do. They’re both dead.”
Surprising them both, she glared at him. “That was just mean,” she said. “You let me go there knowing I would make an ass out of myself by asking.”
Christopher hadn’t told a lot of people about his father and grandfather, but there were some he’d purposely wanted to embarrass as punishment for their blatant, insistent curiosity. He’d never had anyone have the nerve to react to his rudeness the way Grace had.
“You’re right. It was mean. I’m sorry.”
She put the plates in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry too. I know what it’s like being where you are and how sometimes you just want to scream at everyone to leave you alone. What is it with people who think it’s okay to poke and prod for every private detail of someone else’s life?”
“I’m going to take a chance here, but how do you know what it’s like? Is your dad dead too?”
She shrugged. “To know something like that I’d have to know who my dad was.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“If you consider death an abandonment, then to have been purposely abandoned by someone who’s still alive would be like a train that runs on the same track, don’t you think?”
Christopher frowned. “I’m confused.”
“Andrew and Cheryl adopted me. I was taken away from my biological mother when one of the neighbors turned her in for leaving me alone while she went on the road with her boyfriend.”
“How long were you by yourself?”
“When I was little, it would be for a day, but then as I got older, it turned into weekends. By the time I was seven, it could be an entire week. The last time was twelve days. That’s when the neighbor stepped in.”
“How old were you then?”
“I was eight when they took me away. The first time she left me—that I remember—was the day of my fourth birthday. Breakfast was a Hostess cupcake with four candles. She made a big deal out of leaving to get my present. When it was bedtime and she still hadn’t come back, I figured it must be a really special present. I waited outside her bedroom door for her to get up the next morning to surprise me, but she’d forgotten. She was sorry and said she’d make it up to me, but she never did.
“After a while, I started picking up the clues when she was about to take off. Most of the time she’d buy one of those enormous jars of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, a half gallon of milk, and a big box of cereal. No matter how long she was going to be gone, she’d leave a twenty-dollar bill stuck to the refrigerator with magnets. As I got older she got more creative and sometimes there’d be four five-dollar bills perfectly lined up so that Lincoln was facing the same direction. One day, for Valentine’s Day, she left twenty one-dollar bills arranged in a heart shape.
“I think she was relieved when Child Welfare took me. She knew she never should have had me, and to her credit, she never had another child. At least none that I know of.”
“Was she into drugs?” Christopher asked.
Grace shook her head. “I never saw her high. She was just one of those people who wasn’t meant to be tied down. They write romantic songs about men who are wanderers. Women they crucify.”
“She should have given you up for adoption when you were born.”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that too. But if she had, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Andrew and Cheryl wouldn’t be my parents, Rebecca and Bobby wouldn’t be my sister and brother. And I wouldn’t have the friends I have.” She shot him a quick smile. “And I wouldn’t have met you.”
“I’m no prize,” he said.
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s a long, boring story. I’ll save it for another time. Right now, there’s some waves that we need to catch—dude.” He raised his hand for a high-five.
“Awesome,” she said, hitting his hand with enough force to make a slapping sound. “Next lesson—what are ankle-snappers?”
“Small waves.”
“Bumps?”
“Small waves that you can still surf.” Christopher grabbed his keys and wallet and the towel he’d left on the back of the chair.
“Mahalo?”
“It means ‘thank you.’ “ Christopher stopped at the front door and turned to Grace, looking into her eyes. “Mahalo, Grace.”
“What for?”
“Everything.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t done—”
He came forward and gave her a kiss, quick, but in no way misdirected.
Grace leaned back and stared at him. “What was that for?”
“Because I felt like it. Actually, I’ve felt like it since I saw you unloading your surfboard from the back of your dad’s van.”
Seconds passed before she came up on her toes and kissed him back. Her kiss was longer and executed with the assurance that it was welcome. “Mahalo to you too, Christopher.”
“What for?”
“Listening. But most of all, not judging. I know my mother wasn’t perfect, but in her own way she loved me. It took a long time for me to realize that sometimes that’s all we get. And it’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. She deserved so much more. His mother and grandmother hadn’t deserved what happened to them either, nor had he. Nor had the kid he’d seen in a wheelchair at the beach the day he’d gone bike riding who’d been staring at the water with a longing Christopher couldn’t begin to fathom.
“Give me a minute,” he said and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. When he came back, he’d changed into jeans and boots and had his saddle over his arm.
“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re going riding.”
“Why?”
“Because I like the way you look on a horse.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “No—I really want to know why.”
“If you’re going to be working at the stable, I think you should know as much as you can about horses. And I want to be the one who teaches you.”
“Okay, but this isn’t part of the original deal. I pay my own way from now on.”
“Then forget it.” He shifted the saddle higher on his arm.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”
“Me? It’s you who’s being stubborn.”
“Give me one good reason you should pay my way.”
“Because it’s how I was raised.”
“Maybe when you take someone out on a date, but this isn’t a date.”
“Since when?”
The question stopped her cold. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it agai
n. Finally she found the words she wanted. “Okay. But only if you let me buy lunch.”
“How is lunch not part of the date?”
“Don’t push it,” she warned.
“Carpos?”
“Nope—Pizza My Heart.” She thought a minute. “You do like pizza, don’t you?”
“I consider it one of the basic food groups. But I should probably warn you, I’m partial to New York pizza.”
“Yeah, and you thought you knew what a real milk shake tasted like before I took you to Carpos.”
He glanced at his watch. “We better get going. I have the horses reserved for one-thirty.”
“When did you do that?” she asked, blushing with pleasure.
“When I was getting dressed.”
“Awesome. Thanks.”
He grinned. “No problem.”
She opened the door and headed for her house to change clothes. “I’ll meet you at the truck.”
Christopher watched her go, a warning echoing in his mind that his involvement with her could easily turn into a huge mistake, one that he would regret for years to come. She wasn’t like any of the girls he’d met at summer camp. Believing for an entire month that he’d met the love of his life, he’d swear he would keep in touch and then promptly forget all about the girl as soon as the car door opened at home and his best friend showed up to go riding.
He didn’t know how he knew it, but Grace was different. She was the kind of girl you didn’t forget, the kind his advanced-English teacher said famous writers immortalized in novels. It was a crummy time to have her come into his life. Why couldn’t they have met a couple of years from now?
The thought that they could manage something long-distance flashed through his mind, but was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. Things like that didn’t even work out in movies.
Chapter 9
Kyle stopped to offer Alison a drink of water. They were on the outbound side of the loop to Pfeiffer Falls in Big Sur. It was the second hike they’d taken in the area in as many days. The redwood forest was everything Alison had dreamed it would be, with lush vegetation creating a thick bed of ground cover, streams running clear and cold, and waterfalls that made you want to put your hand out to feel their power. Best of all was sharing the experience with Kyle. He was the perfect tour guide, his eclectic interests covering everything from the history of the elephant seal in California to the best places to see wildflowers in the spring.
Being with him brought back memories of what it felt like to be with a man she liked. At one point she was stunned to realize she was actually flirting with him. It made her feel so good that she didn’t stop, even knowing the insanity of starting something she couldn’t finish.
She took a drink and handed the water bottle back to Kyle. Pointing to an innocent-looking plant, she asked, “Is that poison oak?”
He nodded. “And that.” He pointed to another cluster of leaves.
Alison gave the plants a wide berth. “How much farther to the falls?” she asked, spotting a sign with an arrow pointing straight ahead at the same time. Below the sign was a small metal plate warning to be on the lookout for mountain lions. She’d been watching for two days, but hadn’t seen any. Still, even knowing the danger, she couldn’t help wishing they’d at least catch a glimpse. Safely. She liked to think of herself as brave but not stupid. And she liked knowing Kyle felt the same way. He introduced her to bear spray, giving her a canister to carry and teaching her how to use it.
“Tired?” Kyle asked.
“Excited,” she said. “The pictures at the information kiosk were amazing.”
The day before, they’d spotted a couple of California condors riding the thermals near the entrance to the park. Even at a distance, their ten-foot wingspan made the birds look like soaring dragons. She’d watched them so long she’d gotten a crick in her neck.
Kyle kept insisting that he hadn’t had as much fun in years. He loved showing her places no one else he knew wanted to see. She told him it was a little like all the New Yorkers who’d never been to the top of the Empire State Building or visited Ellis Island. It had seemed only natural that she would offer to show him her part of the country—should he ever find himself in New York.
Expecting a polite excuse for not taking her up on her offer, she was surprised when he asked, “Would fall be a good time to visit?”
The sun was headed for the offshore cloud bank that would be tomorrow’s morning fog when they were on Highway 1 headed north again. A mile or so after crossing Bixby Creek Bridge, Alison’s phone chirped, letting her know that she was back in service and that she had a message.
“Sorry,” she told Kyle. “I need to check this.”
“I understand.”
She looked at her missed calls and saw that the first two were from Linda—undoubtedly filled to bursting with gossip after last night’s charity ball. The third was from Nora and the fourth from Christopher. She listened to Nora’s first and was relieved there wasn’t any crisis—Nora just wanted to let Alison know that they were leaving Italy and headed for France. Next, she picked up the one from Christopher.
“Hey, Grams—I need to talk to you about all this running around you’ve been doing. Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me? Feeding me? Washing my clothes? Making my bed? What’s up with you taking off like you’re on vacation or something?
“Just kidding. I’m glad you’re having fun. You are having fun, aren’t you?
“I know we’re supposed to have dinner together tonight, but I was wondering if it would be okay if we made it tomorrow night instead. I forgot that Grace invited me to a party at her friend’s house and I said okay. Can you believe it? When was the last time I had a weekend I wasn’t competing or traveling when I was able to go to a party?
“Call me.”
Alison smiled as she used her shirttail to wipe fingerprints off her phone. “It appears I’ve been stood up. Christopher has a date tonight.”
“Great,” Kyle said. Realizing it might not be the best response, he added, “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“I’m thrilled,” she said. “He’s actually acting like a kid instead of a seventeen-year-old going on forty.”
“So does that mean if I were to ask you to go out to dinner you’d consider it? Carmel has some of the best restaurants on the West Coast.”
She looked down at her hiking boots and jeans. They were a good hour and a half away from Santa Cruz. By the time she picked up her car at Kyle’s house in Carmel and drove all the way home to get cleaned up, and then all the way back again, it would be midnight and even the European-style restaurants would be closing. “I can’t go like this.”
“You’re perfect for the place I have in mind.”
And she was.
Kyle’s house was perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the ocean. It was one of the few Carmel houses on the ocean side of Scenic Road that had direct water access. The view was as open as structurally possible, which made the house appear larger and a part of the landscape. Alison had fallen in love with the rugged, volatile coastline that marked this area of California.
Inside, the house was decorated in tans, grays, and soft greens. The furniture was simple but classic, and beautifully finished to a soft shine. Alison had felt a welcoming warmth the minute she crossed the threshold, something that rarely happened in the overly decorated homes of her friends.
“Ready?” Kyle asked, joining her at the window.
“How did you do this?” she asked.
“What?”
“Create this feeling of peace.”
He stood closer, their arms touching, their images reflected in the glass as if they’d stood that way a hundred times before. “It was important for the girls to feel a sense of home without seeing their mother everywhere they looked. I didn’t want this house to be a shrine, but a place where they could and would remember her without being overwhelmed by those memories.”
“And the fur
niture?”
“If it’s wood, I made it, including the fireplace mantel. The girls picked out everything else.”
“I noticed you don’t have any pictures of Jenny.”
“They’re in the hallway and bedrooms.”
Alison thought about her house and how every room had pictures of Dennis and Peter displayed on walls, tables, and bookshelves. With the exception of a couple of upholstered pieces, the furniture hadn’t been replaced in twenty years. Without conscious thought, she’d created a shrine.
She forced a smile. “So you’re a woodworker.”
“Passed down from my father, who owned a cabinet shop for over forty years. When he retired, he and my mother moved to Africa, going wherever they were needed in over a dozen refugee camps. She’s a nurse and works in the clinics. Dad spends his time building classrooms and teaching carpentry.”
“And they’re still there?” She did some quick calculating and realized they had to be in their eighties.
“They come home once a year, at Christmas. I arrange meetings with as many businesspeople, church leaders, and friends as I can so my mother can solicit funds to keep the clinics going. It’s never enough, but people give what they can, and she’s wonderful about keeping in touch so everyone knows exactly how their money is being spent.”
“You and the girls must miss them.”
“My mother finds a way to hook up to the Internet two or three times a month. She’s convinced Skype was invented with her in mind.” He leaned in close and nudged her playfully with his elbow. “Enough about me. Let’s get out of here and see what’s washed up on the beach while we were eating dinner.”
She looked outside at the full moon sitting low on the horizon and at the shimmering path it created across the water. “Finders keepers?”
“If it bites, it’s yours.”
She laughed. “I can hardly wait.”
They followed a path along the rocky crest. For the moment, there was no wind, only the sounds of birds gathering for the night and waves clearing the remnants of the day’s footprints. At the end of another hundred yards, the path led them to a wider beach, as deserted as the first.
“The end to a perfect day,” Alison said.
Return to the Beach House Page 8