Return to the Beach House

by Georgia Bockoven

  “Okay.”

  “What did the elephant say to the naked man?”

  Bridget frowned.

  “It’s cute, but can you pick up peanuts with it?”

  What started as an indulgent smile morphed into roaring, choking laughter. Bridget covered her mouth to try to stifle the sound. Carrie grabbed the dishtowel and did the same.

  A minute later Angie rushed into the room, followed closely by Danielle. “What the hell?” Danielle said.

  “Sorry.” Bridget grabbed the dishtowel from Carrie and wiped her eyes, then started laughing again, holding her sides and rocking forward.

  Danielle looked at Angie. “What do you suppose is in those coffee cups?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t find it listed on a pregnant woman’s diet.”

  Chapter 8

  Carrie took a shower while Danielle, for the first time ever, accompanied Angie on her morning run. Instead of blow-drying her hair, Carrie twisted it into a knot and pinned it into a bun at the back of her head. One of these days, probably when she was closer to fifty and she’d found a way to live with the fact that it really wasn’t possible to look thirty forever, she was going to abandon her long hair and go with something short, sleek, and easy that she could blow-dry and be done with.

  She hung her towel on the rack, wiped down the granite counter, opened the door, and actually took a step backward as she ran into a wall of cooking odors from the kitchen.

  Carrie usually skipped breakfast. When she didn’t, it was an indulgence to have a container of low-calorie fruit yogurt. Add a banana and she was on a journey into hog heaven.

  But that didn’t mean her senses had forgotten the smoky smell of bacon or the citrus bite of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Then there was the gentle aroma of fresh-brewed coffee weaving itself into the mix. Trailing, but not too far behind, came something sweet she couldn’t identify. Cinnamon maybe?

  What was Bridget thinking, cooking a meal like that when she’d told them it was everything she could do to keep Cream of Wheat down in the morning?

  Carrie tossed her robe on the bed and headed for the kitchen. She heard Bridget before she saw her, singing so far off-key that it was impossible to tell what song she was accompanying on her iPod.

  As soon as Bridget saw Carrie she smiled and tugged the earbuds from her ears.

  “What were you singing?” Carrie asked.

  “ ‘Help Me’—it’s an Allison Krause song.”

  “When did you become a country music fan?”

  “My friend Melinda made up a playlist for me when I was going through chemo and sneaked a couple of country artists into the mix. I fell in love with the ballads. The singers aren’t bad either.”

  “You’re always surprising me. First it was the Chinese art world, and now it’s country music and”—Carrie pointed to the griddle on the stove and the bowl of pancake batter beside it—“a lumberjack breakfast.”

  Bridget looked around the kitchen. “Too much?”

  This was one parade Carrie was not going to rain on. “Not for me. I can’t remember the last time I had bacon and pancakes.”

  “And scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast.”

  “You may have stepped over the line with the cinnamon toast. Especially with the pancakes.” Carrie folded her arms across her chest, her body language louder than the words that followed. “I’m going to pass.”

  “I used to draw that line in the sand too,” Bridget said, returning the toast to the stove. “Then one day when I was sitting in my chemo chair, watching the poison drip into my arm, I thought of all the women on the Titanic who had refused dessert.”

  Carrie’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Oh, my, God—you’re playing the cancer card.”

  Bridget grinned. “Damn. Was I really that obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seriously,” Bridget said. “What is it with you and food?” She held up her hand to stop Carrie from saying anything until she’d finished. “I know it’s none of my business, but it seems you’ve got some kind of food issue going on, and I’m worried about you. I’m no expert, but it seems to me that you’re going overboard on counting calories.”

  “It’s the world I live in,” Carrie said, oddly relieved to be able to talk about it. “Being overweight is the one unforgivable sin. I don’t think there’s one woman in the entire company who wears a size 8. Certainly not one who makes more than minimum wage.”

  “This is openly acknowledged?”

  “Lord, no. We’d be buried in lawsuits.”

  “And you like working there?”

  “I used to. I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Danielle burst through the front door before Bridget could comment.

  “Where are the car keys?” she yelled.

  “In my purse,” Bridget answered, her heart in her throat as she responded to the panic in Danielle’s voice. “I’ll get them for you.”

  “What’s wrong?” Carrie followed Bridget into the living room. “Where’s Angie?”

  “I left her at the park. She’s having stomach cramps.”

  Bridget looked up from digging through her oversized purse. “Oh no”—she grabbed her sweater and scarf—“did you call 911?”

  “I was going to, but Angie threw a fit. She insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

  Carrie held her hand out for the keys. “I’ll drive.”

  “Grab the binder the girl next door made for us,” Danielle told Carrie. “It has a list of hospitals with maps and instructions on how to get to them.”

  Two hours later, having convinced the nurse in charge that they were Angie’s sisters, Danielle, Bridget, and Carrie were crowded into an ultrasound room, with Angie lying on an examining table waiting for a doctor.

  “How are the cramps?” Danielle asked.

  “Better,” Angie said.

  “Do you want one of us to call Darren?”

  “Don’t you dare. His entire family would be here on the next plane out of Anchorage.” Angie shifted position, trying to get comfortable, finally sitting up with her legs over the side. “I’ll call him when I know something.”

  There was a discreet knock on the door seconds before it opened, and a woman wearing a white smock came into the room. She was followed by another woman wearing a smock covered in teddy bears and rainbows. “I’m Dr. Spurlock,” the woman in the white smock said, holding out her hand to Angie. “And this is the best ultrasound tech in the hospital, Mary Boehm.”

  The doctor glanced at the three women pressed into the corner. “I take it these are your sisters?” she said with an indulgent smile. “I can see the strong family resemblance.”

  After quick introductions, Mary helped Angie lie back against the pillows, then draped a sheet over her lap. The doctor peppered Angie with questions, everything from her history with previous pregnancies (none) to her diet (all healthy, organic food with no caffeine or unprescribed over-the-counter medicines).

  Danielle was beginning to relax now that she saw that Angie was being taken care of. Then she looked at Bridget and saw how pale she looked. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides.

  How could they not have realized what it would mean for Bridget to be back in a hospital? Danielle moved closer. “Are you okay?” she whispered into Bridget’s ear.

  “No—but this isn’t about me.”

  Danielle took her hand and, as discreetly as possible, unfolded Bridget’s fingers and pressed the palm between her own two hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Bridget leaned her head against Danielle’s shoulder.

  Without saying a word or even glancing in her direction, Carrie reached for Bridget’s other hand.

  Seconds later, the room was filled with rumbling, rhythmic sounds coming too close together to distinguish individually.

  “What’s that?” Angie said, panicked.

  “Give me a second,”
the doctor said, before she broke into a huge grin.

  “What?” Angie prodded.

  “By any chance do twins run in your family?”

  Angie took the question seriously, thinking before answering. “The baby’s father has—” Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I’m having twins?”

  “It’s too early to see the babies with any clarity—that will take another couple of weeks. But there’re two distinct shapes in there, and I’m hearing two distinct heartbeats.”

  “And what about the cramping?”

  The doctor chuckled. “It’s something you should pay attention to, of course. But my best guess is that you’ve gone a little overboard in the healthy eating department. Try cutting back a little on the high-fiber foods and I have a feeling the cramping will go away.”

  It took a second for the information to sink in and for Angie to burst out laughing. “Please tell me I’m not the first person you’ve treated for gas pains.”

  The doctor patted her arm. “And you won’t be the last.”

  “And the jogging?” Angie added.

  “For now just listen to your body. Later on your size will slow you down.”

  “And flying?”

  “It’s up to your own obstetrician of course, but with twins I wouldn’t push it past twenty weeks, and only in a plane that’s pressurized.”

  Angie’s panic returned. “Even this early in the pregnancy?”

  “Are you worried about getting home?”

  “I’m worried about keeping my home. I’m a small-plane pilot. I can’t afford to take off that much time.”

  “How important is this pregnancy to you?”

  Angie didn’t answer for what seemed like a long time. When she did, there were tears at the corners of her eyes. “It’s everything.”

  “Then you have some tough decisions ahead of you.”

  Mary put away the ultrasound equipment and gave Angie a towel to wipe off the gel. The doctor reached into her pocket and handed Angie a business card. “Give me a call if you have more questions. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  When the doctor and Mary were gone, Angie sat up and gave her friends a deer-in-the-headlights look. “The thought of having one baby scared the hell out of me. What am I going to do with two?”

  “Buy in quantity?” Carrie suggested.

  “Oh, that’s helpful,” Danielle said.

  Bridget crossed the room and took Angie in her arms. “You adjust,” she said gently.

  “I’m so sorry, Bridget,” Angie said. “I had no idea what it was really like for you when you lost your baby. I didn’t know you could be this attached this early in a pregnancy. I hate thinking of you all alone in Hong Kong when you lost your little girl. And then your son when you were in Texas.”

  “Miles was with me,” Bridget said. “And Danielle.”

  Carrie gathered Angie’s clothes and brought them to her. “Like she said—it’s hard picturing you alone in Hong Kong.”

  Carrie put Angie’s shoes on the floor so she could step into them. “Do you suppose we should start working on a secret handshake to cement our promise to always be there for each other?”

  “I’ll do it,” Bridget said, unlike the others, taking her comment seriously. “I’m good at that kind of thing.”

  They groaned and then laughed and had another group hug. Maybe secret handshakes weren’t such a bad thing after all.

  Chapter 9

  They did what they could to rescue Bridget’s breakfast when they got back to the beach house. The cinnamon toast was soggy and beyond saving, so Carrie made more and actually ate a piece—without butter—acknowledging that some things were worth the calories.

  Adding the grounds for a second pot of coffee while Carrie and Angie cleared the table and Danielle loaded the dishwasher, Bridget asked, “What should we do today?”

  “It doesn’t have to be today, but I’d like to do some shopping before I have to leave,” Angie said.

  “And I’d like to see San Francisco,” Carrie added. “Maybe we can combine a trip.”

  “Danielle?” Bridget prompted.

  “San Francisco would be good, but today I’d just like to kick back and spend some time on the beach. Isn’t that why we picked this place?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Angie said. “I’ve got a lot to think about and a lot of planning to do.”

  “Did you call Darren?” Bridget asked.

  “Not yet. He’s getting ready to fly a group of photographers to Brooks Falls, and I don’t want to distract him.”

  “How do you think he’ll take it?” Bridget asked, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee and adding a splash of cream.

  “He’ll be ecstatic. He comes from a family where they just add a place at the table when another kid comes along.”

  “And his mother? She’s got to know better.”

  “She’s the kind of woman who sees a bump in the road as a new challenge. Nothing fazes her. But then she lives on an island where she’s dealt with everything from bears destroying the winter food supply to a storm sinking the family’s fishing boat. She’s faced down a brown bear determined to have her favorite dog for lunch and a moose convinced that same dog was the love of his life.”

  Angie smiled and shrugged. “But she’s so much more than the Alaska version of Wonder Woman—she loves to shop more than anyone I’ve ever known, including you, Carrie. She’s going to be thrilled to finally be a grandmother, but she’s also going to see this as an open-ended opportunity to fly to Anchorage to buy baby things every chance she gets.”

  Bridget poured a second glass of orange juice. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Both. She’s a lot of fun to be around and tries really hard not to push me and Darren about getting married, but I have a feeling that’s one battle she’s going to abandon when she finds out I’m carrying twins. She’s going to want her son to do right by his woman. The sooner the better.”

  “And the age thing doesn’t bother her?” Carrie asked.

  “Not in the least. But you have to understand the mind-set of Alaskans. We have the highest male-to-female ratio of any state. They even have a standing joke about it up there—‘Alaska is where the odds are good, but the goods are odd.’

  “I think most of all she’s thrilled that Darren found someone who isn’t going to try to talk him into following her back to the Lower Forty-Eight.”

  “Why would you?” Bridget asked. “You love it up there.”

  “Loving the country has nothing to do with what some people go through every winter. No one knows it’s going to happen to them until they experience what it’s like to have the sun come up at ten-thirty and set at three-thirty. Luckily, I’m not one of the sunlamp people. I do fine whether it’s six or eighteen hours of sunlight.”

  “Miles is one of those people who need lots of sunlight,” Bridget said. “He loved living in Dubai.”

  No one said anything.

  “Come on—I lived with the guy almost twenty years. He’s bound to creep into the conversation now and then.”

  Danielle rinsed her coffee cup and put it on the counter for later. “Since we’re already talking about Miles, the other day I was wondering whether you ever told him what really happened to his car?”

  “I started to once. But then I looked up the criminal codes in Virginia, and there’s no statute of limitations on theft. If he ever found out we were responsible, he wouldn’t hesitate to come after us.”

  “Even after all this time?” Danielle asked.

  “If he were on his deathbed, it wouldn’t stop him.” Bridget yanked off her scarf to scratch her head.

  “Why don’t you just throw the damn thing away?” Danielle said.

  Angie reached out to run her hand over the soft matting. “I think you look cute this way—like a brand-new baby. And with your beautiful eyes, there’s no way anyone—”

  Danielle groaned. “Please tell me you’re
not going to be one of those mothers who makes her bald daughter wear stretchy pink bows around her head.”

  “Daughters, with an s,” Angie reminded her.

  “Or sons, with an s,” Danielle added.

  “Or could be one of each,” Carrie said. “Which seems like the perfect solution—no sibling rivalry.”

  “Oh yeah?” Bridget folded her scarf and tucked it under her leg. “Miles and his sister still argue over which one of them their mother cared about the most. It’s pathetic.”

  “Which, as I remember, is why losing the car was such a big deal to him.” Carrie hiked herself up to sit on the cool granite counter, crossing her legs at the ankles.

  “Remind me,” Angie said. “I forgot about the sister part.”

  “The car belonged to Miles’s uncle, and when he died, Miles’s mother gave it to him. His sister threw a fit, even though she always said she hated Corvettes. Once he found out how pissed she was, he drove it to every family function he knew she’d be at, even the big get-together his family had in North Dakota every other year. He always arrived late to make sure she was already there, then he’d honk the horn all the way up the street to announce his arrival. Until—”

  “We stole it,” Angie finished.

  “We didn’t exactly steal it,” Carrie said. “We were just borrowing it for a while.”

  Bridget inwardly smiled at the back-and-forth as Carrie, Danielle, and Angie manipulated the truth, creating different versions of the same story as they had for almost twenty years, trying to explain away a simple prank that could have landed them in jail.

  It had started on a spectacular fall day with Angie overhearing Miles talking to a girl in his econ class, making plans to meet her later that night for dinner. Since Bridget and Miles had been unofficially engaged for over a year, there was no way to interpret what she’d heard as anything but what it was—Miles was screwing around.

  Angie showed up at the restaurant early, which gave her time to park so that she had a direct view of the front door. The girl and Miles arrived at the same time and were instantly all over each other, his tongue down her throat, his hand on her butt to pull her tight against him.