Beach Rental (7 page)

He walked up the front steps and unlocked the door. He tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair and went into the kitchen for a drink. The housekeeper, Esther, had gotten the mail and left it on the counter.

Esther had also prepared lunch and left it in the fridge. She had some interesting ideas about what constituted a meal, but it was always tasty. Today he had chicken salad on whole wheat with bean sprouts.

He put the plate on the table and was struck by the empty seats. Just him. Always. Unless he entertained.

Ben saw the same.

Ben got comfort from his church family and faith, but when he came home, the chair on the other side of the table was empty. Luke had found comfort in church once upon a time. He looked through Ben’s eyes and could almost see Juli sitting across from him at the table. It was an appealing vision. Not because it was Juli, of course, but for the companionship.

She was probably accustomed to using her looks to get her places. She looked young, but not soft. Wary.

Perhaps it was the quality of wariness that brought out the protector in Ben. He had a strong need to fix people.

Maia had encouraged Ben. Maia believed everything Ben did or said was wonderful. That was Maia.

Adela was different. The instant Ben told her he was planning to marry—
who?
A girl who’d been working a party—
when had they met?
Five days before—
and the marriage was going to take place when?
In three days—no wonder Adela had freaked. Even Ben stopped taking her calls.

He half-suspected Ben had arranged a hasty marriage to forestall Adela. For every good-natured bone in Ben’s body, Adela was, well, the opposite. She wasn’t mean, but her temper drove her way beyond good judgment.

Luke rinsed his plate and fork under the kitchen faucet and left them in the sink for Esther.

In the end, what it came down to was his duty to his cousin and friend. Even to Adela. It would be best for all concerned if he, Luke, confronted Juli privately and let her know he was watching.

Chapter Eight

When renters used their side of the front porch it was easy to hear them through the tall wooden divider. Today, all was quiet.

Juli had her sketchbook, pencils, sharpener and eraser laid out like surgical instruments on the white plastic patio table. While these instruments weren’t as sharp, they were scary. She reminded herself it wasn’t about success or failure.

This wasn’t a commitment.

She started with the medium pencil and played around sketching shapes and shading them. Juli was bent over the sketchbook in her lap and didn’t hear the renter coming up the crossover until she was at the house. Juli looked up. The woman stopped, first tugging at the hem of her knit tank top, then brushing sand from her arms.

“Hi, there. Name’s Emily. Husband’s James. I’m sure you’ve seen him coming and going.”

“Nice to meet you, Emily. I’m Juli. My husband’s name is Ben.” She laid the sketchbook on the table and stood up.

Emily leaned against the railing. “Just you and your hubby? No kids?”

“Just us.” She remembered Ben’s warning not to let on they weren’t renters.

“I hope my crew aren’t bothering you.”

“Not at all. We hardly hear anyone.”

She laughed. “Lucky you. I could use some quiet. Are you an artist? What a great place to come and capture nature. I won’t bother you. Creative people need their space, I know.”

Children’s voices rose, distantly from inside the house, perhaps in teasing or in anger. Hard to tell.

Emily said, “Better go. See you around.”

“Bye,” she waved.

Juli watched Emily vanish from view as she entered her side of the porch.

She’d maintained the image of being a renter without actually having to lie. The renter had taken her for a creative type.

She had to laugh. Two weeks ago this woman, or someone like her, could have been checking out at Juli’s register, griping about the price of food, the lack of brands she wanted, the poor quality of the help, whatever. If Juli said the wrong thing, the woman might have complained to the store manager—all because she was in a mood, or mad at her husband or kids, and gotten Juli written up.

Here she saw Juli as a fellow vacationer who could afford one of these houses on the oceanfront for a week, and one stupid sketch pad and pencil made her a creative type who must have her
space
respected.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden steps coming up from the parking area below the house. That stairway led up to the crossover where it met the front porch. She leaned over the railing to see who was visiting and her good mood evaporated.

She and Luke were going to clash. She could feel it in her bones.

“Ben here?” He joined her on the porch.

Not even a hello? She bristled. “He’s at his doctor’s appointment.”

“By himself?” After a long stare, Luke turned toward the beach and put his hands on the porch railing. His three-quarter profile was classic with a strong forehead and chin, and high cheekbones. Handsome. In a hard way.

The innate artist in her admired his bone structure and polished appearance. The worker in her scorned his long-fingered, uncalloused hands. His gray dress slacks and shiny shoes looked out of place in this world of sand and sea oats.

She asked, “What’s your problem?”

He shrugged as if shaking off something unwelcome.

“Don’t pretend. Spit it out.”

“I wasn’t going to pretend. I don’t mind speaking the truth. Can you say the same?”

“What does that mean?”

He faced her, his demeanor proclaiming cool as he leaned back against the railing and let his hands hang from his pockets. He even slouched elegantly, but he couldn’t hide the tension that started in his clenched jaws and seemed to run the length of his body.

He glanced past her to the sketchbook. She flipped the book over to a blank page.

“My concern is Ben. He met you two weeks ago and here you are. I don’t know how you managed it, but I won’t let you take advantage of him. He’s vulnerable.”

“He’s a grown man and can make his own decisions.”

“A grown man who found out barely a month ago he’s terminally ill.”

Ben hadn’t actually told her when he’d found out. Had he married her on the rebound? Instead of a bad love affair, he was rebounding from dreadful news? Yes.

“I can tell you I have no ulterior motives and this is a business arrangement—of Ben’s design, not mine—but you won’t believe me. It’s me you have a problem with.” She waited, but he didn’t speak. “I’m not one of you. I’m a waitress. A cashier. A night-stocker. I never even graduated high school. But guess what? Ben likes me and wants to spend his last months with me.”

“You think it’s about pedigree? Well, I’ve got news for you. We aren’t blue bloods either. But we’re also not thieves.”

Heat rushed up her chest, her neck, and flooded her face. “You need to explain that.” She clenched her fists.

“Do I?” He pushed away from the railing and moved closer. “Maybe I should explain to the police instead. Items were taken from the coatroom. I saw you with your friend going through the jackets and coats.”

She remembered Frankie being in the coatroom when she was about to leave. Other than that she had no idea what he was talking about. Had the act of getting her backpack looked suspicious to him? What an arrogant jerk.

“I don’t owe you explanations. This arrangement is between Ben and me. When Ben is gone, you’ll never see me again. In fact, you don’t have to see me now. You can turn around and go. Leave me alone.”

“Remember what I said. I won’t let you hurt Ben—not without consequences.”

Luke left. She went to the divider and squinted through a crack in the boards. No one there to overhear, thank goodness.

Did Frankie steal something from the country club? He’d looked uncomfortable when she entered the coatroom. Not just uncomfortable, sneaky. She didn’t know if he’d stolen anything, but wouldn't be surprised if he had.

Ben came home. He smiled, but his eyes were sad.

“You look tired,” Juli said.

“I am. I’m going up to take a nap.”

“What did the doctor say?” Did she want to know? No, but she should ask.

He hung his keys on the wooden hanger by the door. “No change. He’s happy with how I’m doing, considering. He says you’re good medicine for me.”

She responded with a polite laugh. Her presence wasn’t some fast-acting miracle cure. Ben was hearing what he wanted to hear.

Should she mention Luke? It might seem odd to Ben if she didn’t and Luke did. “Luke dropped by while you were gone. He didn’t stay.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She’d told him so that was done. “I think I’ll run some errands while you’re resting?”

“Have fun.”

Two weeks since she’d been proposed to, and a week married, Juli borrowed the car and drove back to Morehead City. She didn’t trust this deal with Ben. Whether too good to be true, or too weird to work, she didn’t trust the arrangement to go as well as he thought it would.

In fact, given Luke’s animosity and knowing the sentiment was likely shared by the rest of the family, Juli decided the marriage and a prenup might truly be the best way to ensure the contract terms would be honored—as Ben had suggested.

Regardless, when Ben was gone she’d need her own place again. Her apartment wasn’t fancy, but it was affordable. It was locked up tight, too, all of the locks, including the ones she’d added to the door on the ground floor out of her own pocket.

The stairs were steep, narrow and dark, but she liked the second floor because it was harder to break into. Not impossible, just less convenient. She had nothing worth stealing, but her stuff still meant something to her. She’d only taken a few things to Ben’s house, mostly clothing and personal items, half-expecting to bounce right back here instead of actually saying ‘I do’ with Ben.

“Hey, Jules.”

Frankie had crept up quietly. It annoyed her. All the locks in the world didn’t work if you were careless about using them.

“Hey, yourself.”

Frankie lived on the first floor, front left unit.

“Where’ve you been?”

“With a friend. A sick friend. I’ll be away for a while longer.”

“Sam was rabid over how you left. I tried to smooth it over, but it didn’t work. Maybe give him a little time.” Frankie fidgeted, hands in pockets, hands on hips, leaning into the door frame, shifting his feet….

“I don’t plan to work for Sammy again.”

“I went by Singer’s looking for you.”

She grabbed her backpack from the corner and set it on the counter. “What did they say?”

“That you’d quit.”

“I asked to take leave. They refused.”

“Asked for leave so you could take care of a sick friend? Must be a really good friend.” He leaned against the counter and toyed with one of the backpack straps.

Juli shrugged and dropped a bag of clothing next to the backpack.

Frankie moved in closer. “Seems kind of out of nowhere. You never mentioned a good friend like that. Must be one with money, huh?”

She wanted to say, ‘not your business,’ but knew it would only feed his curiosity, so she deflected with, “Did you steal anything during the Hammond’s party?”

Frankie slapped the countertop. “Nice. Very nice. Why would you say that?”

“Just something I heard.” She grabbed a paper bag from under the sink and popped it open. She threw in a sweat jacket and an old pair of sneakers. Morning jogs on the beach sounded like the height of luxury.

“From the police?”

“What?”

“You all but accused me of stealing.”

“Oh. Well, you said you didn’t.” She grabbed the milk from the fridge. It was out of date so she poured it down the sink drain.

“Who asked? The police?”

“No.”

“Who, then?”

“No one special. Someone mentioned something got stolen and I remembered how you acted when I came into the coatroom. If you didn’t, you didn’t. Forget it.” She set the bag by the front door.

“I’ll help you carry your stuff down.” He reached for the backpack.

“No, thanks, I’m not leaving yet. I’d like to be alone. I have some things to take care of.”

He cracked his knuckles. “Sure. No problem. I’ll carry a load down on my way out.”

“No, thanks. I can handle it.”

Frankie was dissatisfied and pouted. “What? Now, I’m a thief? I’m not good enough to touch your bags?” He nudged his shoe against one of the bags on the floor.

“Not what I said, Frankie.” She wasn’t going to miss him. On the other hand he would likely still be living here when she returned. No need to make enemies. “I appreciate the offer, Frankie, but no thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”

****

Ben was holding a piece of paper when she entered the room. In a low, serious voice, he asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Guilt flared. What was it? Frankie? Keeping her apartment?

Her stomach twisted. Was their deal over already? “What do you mean?”

Ben waved the GED pamphlet. “Is this yours?”

The flush sweeping her body felt like it could’ve rivaled the apocalyptic sunset.

“It is yours, isn’t it?” He laid the pamphlet on the counter next to the books she’d purchased. He rushed to her and touched her arms. “You aren’t going to faint are you? Do you need to sit down? I was teasing. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She breathed deeply. “It's embarrassing.”

He pulled her down onto the sofa. “Why are you embarrassed? I don’t know how it happened that you didn’t get a high school diploma, but I can help.”

“No.”

“I want to help you. Do you need to take classes? How does it work?”

“I can take classes or study on my own and then I take a test.”

“The pamphlet says you can study online.”

“I haven’t really used computers. I don’t have one and I’m not….”

“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand, excited. “This way.”

Like an eager kid, he led her to his study and insisted she sit at his desk.

“Watch,” he said.

That was the first of the lessons. It became part of their routine.

Ben enjoyed giving—giving to people in general, but especially giving to her.

Briefly, she was annoyed. Juli didn’t want to be anyone’s project, but then she realized it wasn’t about her wants. This was what Ben needed to do for Ben. Good deeds. Something to leave behind.

If he needed a beneficiary of his good works or someone to be his project, then she could receive it gracefully. The benefit to her was unmistakable and satisfying to him.

****

During their first two weeks of marriage they became more comfortable with each other. She marveled Ben had picked them as a good match so quickly and she hoped it would last. She wasn’t drawn to him physically, but neither was she repelled. They touched and held hands. One hand over another, helping to guide a mouse, could feel intimate, and it did—friend intimate. A close friend.