Beach Girls (29 page)

“As long as we can take a walk on the sand together,” Stevie said.

“Yes,” Maddie said.

“And hear the waves . . .”

Even now, after all that had happened, she knew they could rely upon the beach to make things all right.

“When you put it that way,” Madeleine said, “who cares about food?”

“I know,” Stevie said softly. “The important thing is to see you. That's what matters.”

Chapter 27

EVEN IN SEPTEMBER, NEWPORT WAS a bustling town. Boats preparing to go south for the winter lined the docks or rocked on moorings, white hulls flashing in the sunlight. The harbor hotels were all booked with people wanting one more weekend, one last Saturday night dining out under the summer stars.

Aunt Aida had taken a block of rooms at Maplehurst Manor, an old Victorian house at the foot of Dresser Street. It had wide, graceful porches, many chimneys, and ten venerable Chinese maple trees shading the yard, in homage to the sea captain who had plied the China trade and built the house in the nineteenth century.

The blue clapboard inn stood at the beginning of Cliff Walk, the spectacular ten-mile path high above the sea that skirted Newport's cliffs and mansions. Easton's Beach curved out on the left, its silver sands glistening as long, white-topped waves rolled in from the ocean. Sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch, Stevie and Henry listened to the soothing sound of the waves, keeping each other company. According to Aida, Henry had been up most of the night before, throwing up.

“Are you feeling better?” Stevie asked, giving him an amused, but concerned, look.

“I am, Lulu. Thanks for asking. Don't know what got into me.”

“Could it have been a few too many bourbons?”

“Ha-ha—very funny. My bachelor party was that in name only—a bunch of long-married, retired sailors, half of them in AA. We went to the Officer's Club and tried to reminisce about the wild times we'd had in Phuket and Hong Kong, but wound up talking about grandchildren and the thrills of paying off mortgages. It was pathetic.”

“So what made you so sick?” Stevie asked.

Henry rocked in his rocking chair. He gazed out to sea with stern eyes and weathered cheeks. This was a man who had steered a frigate through battle, who had once dived into the shark-infested waters of the Persian Gulf to rescue a sailor who'd been knocked unconscious and fallen overboard. Stevie loved him as if he were her own brother.

“Don't tell anyone this, okay?” he asked.

“I promise.”

“I've sailed a lot of seas. You know that.”

“I do.”

“This is the part no one knows: whenever we'd leave port, steaming away from whatever dock we were at, through the harbor, past all the small craft . . . everything would be fine. I'd be right as rain.”

“Commander Von Lichen,” Stevie said.

“Damn straight. But as soon as we'd hit the sea buoys—”

“What are they?”

“Well, basically, the sea buoy lets you know you're leaving inland waters and saying hello to the open ocean. It's where the sea starts getting rough, where the ship starts rocking and rolling.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, we'd hit the sea buoys—I'd get fucking horribly, apocalyptically seasick. That's just not supposed to happen, you know? I'm career Navy. I've got my sea legs. The ship's mine—and I'm downwind or in the head booting.”

“Well, it happens,” Stevie said, smiling.

“No, Lulu—it doesn't. Not to me. It's embarrassing. The seasickness didn't last or anything—it wasn't a cruise-long phenomenon. It would come on like a typhoon, I'd get it over with, and the feeling would pass. But even so, there's a ship code—the officers don't get seasick. I mean, I'm a commander. The crew takes orders from me. They see me meeting Ralph when the sailing gets rough, my authority goes down the drain. So I made sure no one saw. Over twenty years, not one person ever knew.”

“I guess that was the manly way, Henry,” Stevie said. “Being so brave and stoic. What would you have done if some poor deckhand had seen you?”

“I'd have had to kill him,” Henry said without smiling.

“And here I am, asking you about getting sick last night. Am I in danger of being offed?”

“Nah, Lulu. We're beyond secrets. Here we are, a couple of old hands—we've been through a lot together. So I know I can tell you—last night I felt as seasick as I've ever been, and I wasn't even on a ship. My knees went all rubber, my insides were flipping out. It was bad.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

“Huh?”

“You hit the sea buoys,” Stevie said, with the sure knowledge of a veteran. “The sea buoys of love. You're getting married tomorrow.”

“Blow me down,” Henry said. “You think that's it?”

“Hell, yes. Your body knows that everything is about to change. You're sailing into the high seas, my boy.”

“You've been through it,” he said. “Three times.”

Stevie cringed. She was about to say “Don't remind me,” but instead, she stopped to think. Yes, she had been through it three times. Sitting here on the porch with Henry, she felt his excitement, anticipation, and trepidation. Tonight was his wedding eve. Stevie closed her eyes, remembered how on each of her wedding eves, she had believed so completely, wholeheartedly, in what she'd been about to do, in the voyage she was about to embark upon. Had she been wrong—just because they hadn't worked out? Even now, she wasn't sure . . .

“What can you tell me about it?” Henry asked.

Stevie reached between their rocking chairs. She took his hand and squeezed it. “That your fear is real . . . and it's not unfounded.”

“Shit. Thanks, Lulu.”

She held his hand a little tighter. “It's there for a reason, Henry,” she said. “The reason you got seasick, I'll bet, was that your instincts were kicking in, your body telling you something. Before you became a big, decorated naval commander, you were a person, a man, a little boy. Deep inside, beneath the bravery, is a desire for self-preservation. . . . You probably felt the waves getting bigger, and part of you wanted to fight against the possibility of being swallowed up.”

“You're telling me marriage swallows you up?”

Stevie tilted her head, thinking back. The funny thing was, her memories of the past were being washed out by her feelings about Jack and Nell. “In a way, it does,” she said. “It consumes you with desire, concern, love. . . . As close as you start to feel to the person, you long for even more closeness. At least, I did. Suddenly you're thinking about someone else's wants and needs . . . and if you're not careful, you forget that you have your own.”

“What if it's the opposite?” Henry asked. “And I'm just a big selfish jerk who always wants to watch football and forgets our anniversary?”

“Doreen will take care to not let that happen,” Stevie said, smiling. “She's got your number.”

“I'm worried about last night. Getting sick like that. What if it means I'm not suited for marriage, and—like you said—my body knows it? Rejecting the whole thing, just like a body spitting out a transplant heart? One big physical revolt?”

“I think it's just like your first day at sea. Seasickness hits you once, and then it's all over. You panic a little, and then you remember that you're in the Navy, you've got your sea legs, you've ridden through hurricanes and come back to tell the story. That's all—one moment of fear, and then a great voyage.”

“I nearly lost her,” Henry said.

Stevie nodded. She looked into his eyes and saw regret, sorrow, relief.

“But you didn't lose her,” Stevie said. “When you think about it, you found her.”

“I want that for you, Lulu. I think you've finally found—”

Stevie put up her hand. It hurt too much to hear him say anything about Jack. She knew that Aunt Aida had sent Jack and Nell an invitation—along with sheaves of information about the castle project, the foundation incorporation, the construction report. Of course he had declined—Aida had reported this to Stevie with such somber disappointment, Stevie had wound up comforting
her
.

“This is your wedding,” Stevie said, patting Henry's arm. “Let's just focus on you, okay? I'm so happy for you.”

“I couldn't have gotten here without you,” he said.

“Well, that's nice to hear, but I think you could. Doreen would have seen to it. Now . . . I'd better get ready for dinner. I'm meeting my friend right down there—in an hour.” She stood and pointed down at the beach pavilion. People were already starting to gather on the terrace.

“Have fun,” Henry said. “Aida told me your friend is the sister of—”

“Yes, but mainly she's my friend. One of my best, oldest friends,” Stevie said hurriedly, to cut him off.

“That's love, too,” Henry said, and Stevie had to smile.

“You really
have
changed,” she said. “You're a renaissance commander.”

“You've changed, too,” he said. “No more Luocious.”

“I don't know about that,” Stevie said, facing east over the sea as she slipped her arm around his neck and kissed the top of his head. She was looking toward Scotland; amazing that it was a whole ocean away, and her boat was lying wrecked on Scottish rocks, on an island she'd never even visited.

On the shores where her heart had gone. Stevie hid her eyes, so Henry couldn't see them welling up.

“Press on regardless,” he said, holding her hand.

“Aye-aye, Commander.”

MADELEINE AND STEVIE
were given the best table at Lilly Jane's, at the edge of the terrace. Waves broke on the beach at their feet, and a light breeze misted their faces with salt spray. A waitress handed them menus with a page of cocktails with names like “White Shark Martini” and “Sex on Easton's Beach.”

“I hate to let Lilly Jane down,” Stevie said. “But I'm just going to have sparkling water.”

“So am I,” Madeleine said, registering the pleased surprise in Stevie's eyes. “I'm, um, not drinking.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was a little out of control when I visited you at Hubbard's Point. I've been a little out of control for a year.” The waitress brought them a big blue bottle of seltzer, and they toasted each other.

“This is wonderful,” Stevie said, smiling.

“It is,” Madeleine said. They perused the menu, and both ordered grilled tuna. A band played reggae in the bar. Maddie felt so relaxed, filled with a sense of well-being here at the beach with her old friend. They talked in a general way about the summer, carefully skirting around difficult topics. Stevie told about her painting and about her stepcousin's wedding; Madeleine talked about Chris and how he'd started taking piano lessons for the first time. They ate dinner, listening to the music and the waves. The sun began to set, splashing gold and violet on the sea. A pair of young women sat at the table beside them, and one ordered a Sex on the Beach. Madeleine felt a pang, remembering Emma.

“That last vacation we took,” she said, “Emma ordered one of those. She said to me, ‘Remember when ‘sex on the beach' was a way of life, not just a drink?'”

“That sounds like Emma,” Stevie said.

“She laughed, said that we'd all lost our virginities on the beach at Hubbard's Point the same summer—when we were seventeen.”

Stevie tilted her head. “But I was actually eighteen. And it happened with Kevin, my first husband, at college.”

“And I was twenty-one,” Madeleine said. “A good Catholic girl—I waited till I was at least engaged. Even though I never married him.”

“I wonder why Emma thought that . . .”

“Well, it was like that full-moon circle ceremony—she liked to think of us as bonded for life. Joined at the hip . . . if not in reality, then at least in a legend of the beach girls,” Madeleine said as the waitress came to clear their plates. They ordered coffee and a crème brûlée to share. The music got a little louder, and the breeze picked up.

“Isn't it funny that you, Emma, and I never discovered Newport as teenagers? It's not all that far away . . . but on the other hand, why would we ever want to leave Hubbard's Point?” Madeleine asked.

“That's what . . .” Stevie said, stopping herself short.

“Go ahead—what were you going to say?”

“Well, that's what Nell says. She sounds just like her aunt,” Stevie said.

“Are you in touch with her much?”

“I am, actually,” Stevie said, and then went on to describe her new book,
The Day the Sea Turned Black
, and how Nell was helping her by sending lots of information about the beaches on Scotland's Orkney Islands. Her forehead was wrinkled, as if she thought Madeleine might be upset that she was in contact with Nell.

“I'm so glad about that. Without her mother, she needs one of us,” Madeleine said.

“She needs you,” Stevie said quietly.

Madeleine nodded. “I think so, too.”

“Jack told me a little about what happened between you and him,” Stevie said. “After Emma died.”

Madeleine nodded. She breathed deeply, feeling the sea air cool on her skin. She sat tall, gazing into her friend's eyes.

“He thinks that the truth about Emma will ruin everything,” Madeleine said. “He wants to keep it sealed up and hidden. It's our family's Pandora's Box.”

Stevie brushed the hair out of her eyes, took a sip of coffee. Madeleine knew she was going to ask the question . . . and Madeleine felt almost ready for it.

“What
is
the truth?” Stevie asked.

“She was planning to leave.”

Stevie frowned, brushed hair from her eyes. “He told me that, but I don't quite get it—his need to run away and protect Nell. It's sad, but people do leave—marriages do break up.”

“This wasn't just the marriage. Emma was going to leave everything. Leave her whole life. Nell, too.”