Breakwater Bay (5 page)

He looked up, saw her, and smiled.

It caught her off guard, that smile, as it always did. Mercurial and ephemeral. And totally unpredictable.

He tilted his head in question, then put down his pen and motioned her in.

The grasses grew high around the glass room and she had to trample a path to the door.

“I wanted to say good-bye before I go back to town,” she said and stepped up to the flagstone room.

The smile was gone; a frown, just as ephemeral, passed over his face. “You’re coming back next weekend?”

Meri walked in and stood looking out to the dunes and the expanse of ocean and the black rocks of the breakwater.

She knew he wasn’t just asking about her plans for the weekend. “Of course, if I can get away. But work is ramping up. I didn’t tell you, but I’ve worked down to the base level of that wacky ceiling and I think there’s gilt.”

“Exciting.”

“Yeah. A little unnerving. Even if it’s real gold, it’s probably damaged beyond repair. Though it probably isn’t really gilt. I mean, what idiot would paint over gold?”

Alden raised an ironic eyebrow.

“I know, stupid question. It’s really amazing that the house has been left unrestored for so long. Maybe because it isn’t fish or fowl. Not late enough to be Gilded Age, but not old enough to be Revolutionary. It’s amazing though, and it has some beautiful features. Certainly enough features not to be left as a condemned boardinghouse. Now if Doug can just convince the local historical societies and their patrons to support the rest of the renovation. I’m hoping the gilt work will be the carrot.”

She blew out air. “Fingers crossed.” She stared out at a family of plovers that raced across the dunes. “Thanks for putting up with me last night.”

“My pleasure.”

She turned and made a face. “Really?”

“Well . . .”

“I know I was a hysterical mess. It was just such a shock. No one ever hinted that I wasn’t a real Calder.”

“Let’s not start that again.”

“I’m not. Just thank you. What are you working on today? Can I see?”

“Sure, it’s mainly sketches at this point.”

Meri leaned over the table, studying the creatures that frolicked across the drawing paper. She looked closer and saw that what she’d first thought were cuddly children’s book elves were something darker and more sinister.

“What’s it for?”

“If you can believe it, it’s for the autobiography of an underground, grunge rock singer I’d never heard of before taking the commission. And wish I’d never heard or read about since. Seriously fucked up.”

She laughed. “If those little guys are testaments to his life, I don’t doubt it.”

“Pretty nasty stuff. That’s why I’m out here today. In the sunshine.”

“It would give me nightmares.”

“It would give anybody nightmares.”

“Even you?”

“Absolutely me. This might be the first project I’ve turned in weeks ahead of deadline, just to get it out of my house.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Why do you think?”

“Child support?”

“More or less. Plus Nora will be going to college year after next.”

“Doesn’t her stepfather make huge amounts of money?”

“He’s not touching my daughter’s or son’s education.”

“Ooo-kay.”

“Sorry. It’s these malevolent creatures. They’re in my head today.”

“Well, I’ll leave you with them. Call if you need me to send a priest to exorcize them.”

“Funny.”

“Oh,” she said. “I loved my birthday present. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When I asked if the picture was Ondine, why did you say, God no?”

He shrugged. “Sordid story. Bad outcome.”

“I think you should do a nice children’s book next.”

“I am. A picture book version of the
Odyssey
.”

Meri made a face.

“The bowdlerized version.”

A
n hour later Meri was on her way back to Newport. Gran hadn’t mentioned the box, which made Meri think it was probably nothing. That was the trouble with secrets. Once you learned one, you expected everything to be related.

She put it out of her mind; she had more urgent things to think about, like what if anything would she tell Peter tonight about her less than conventional birth. She spent the drive home arguing with herself about what and how much to say.

He did have a right to know. Some people might freak, but she didn’t really see Peter doing that. Would he be disappointed? Maybe. More likely he would be worried that she had no history of family illnesses or disease, which would be a problem if she or any of their children got sick.

She supposed she’d have to find out who her mother really was, though she was loath to go there. Would Gran and her father and half brothers feel rejected if she hied off in search of her “real” family? But they weren’t real. Alden was right; this was her family, and she was grateful and she loved them. And that should be enough.

But was it?

A car was just leaving a permit-only parking space when she turned onto her street. Meri pulled into it, then just sat in the car, feeling stuck between two worlds, until she realized she was shivering from the cold. She had a world, and she was sticking to it. She grabbed her packages and went upstairs.

Her tiny apartment overlooked the street and could be noisy, especially in the summer. But it also got lots of light. Today it was dark except for one ray of sunlight that slashed diagonally across the polished wood floor. The living area was narrow, just large enough for a coffee table to sit between couch and chair on one wall and an entertainment unit on the other. She dropped her packages on the round dining table, threw herself on the couch, and reached for the remote.

An hour of
This Old House
later she got up.

Meri showered and changed into heels and a little black dress, then changed her mind. She wanted to be frivolous tonight. She went back to her closet and brought out platforms and a red lacy Diane von Furstenberg that Carlyn and she had found at a consignment shop.

Fashion didn’t have to be expensive—couldn’t be expensive on their salaries—and they spent a lot of fun hours scouring shops for gently worn gems. What would Carlyn say when she found out about Meri’s past? Probably think it was a great adventure. Carlyn would never be horrified at anything she did. Would she?

And really, did it matter these days who your birth mother was? Everybody was adopting.
But you weren’t really adopted, were you?

That was what worried her. What was her legal status? She wished she had brought the letter with her, but when she’d returned to the cottage last night, the letter and the box were gone. Gran was looking tired and worried, and Meri didn’t have the heart to dredge it up again.

So she’d left her grandmother with a smile and a hug and thanked her profusely for the party and the presents and didn’t mention the letter or the box or anything that closely resembled a question about her birth.

There would be time enough for that.

She’d just changed her hair for the third time, opting for a messy ponytail instead of loose and below the shoulders, or pulled back in nacre combs, when the doorbell rang.

She hurried to get it.

Peter Foley leaned against the door frame. Just seeing him made her smile. Good-natured, good-looking, career focused, fun loving—Peter pretty much filled her list of what made the perfect guy.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey.”

He stepped over the threshold and lifted her into a kiss. She fell into it gratefully. It was so comfortable, so where she wanted to be. For a moment she forgot the rest of the weekend and only looked forward to the night.

The kiss went on for a while and she was considering forgetting dinner altogether and knew he was thinking the same thing.

He broke apart first. “Come on, I had to sell my soul for these reservations.” He grinned, a boyish look that made her feel all tingly. “Sustenance before fun.”

“I’ll get my coat and purse.”

The restaurant was crowded, but Peter had managed to get a table next to the rustic brick wall, which gave a little more privacy and cut down on the noise. He always managed those little things. In restaurants, they never sat in view of the kitchen or the restrooms. When someone gave Peter tickets to a Sox game, they were always box seats. He’d only been with Malcolm, Trade and Garrett for six years, but he was the one they sent to benefits and fund-raisers. She’d met him at a Historical Preservation Group benefit two years before.

Meri looked across the table at him, brown hair burnished red in the candlelight, his smile slightly crooked, and she felt a rush of emotion, a mixture of love and uneasiness.

And she knew she couldn’t tell him tonight. That wasn’t so bad of her. She had the whole summer. She wouldn’t take that long, that wouldn’t be fair. But surely he didn’t need to know tonight.

Would it make a difference to him? That’s what worried her the most. People were adopted all the time—there was no stigma to it—and it wasn’t like she was the heiress to a great fortune or an impressive pedigree, just a family of farmers from across the bay.

But what if her mother was someone who could be an embarrassment or, worse, a scandal? Peter was ambitious, but surely her origins wouldn’t hold him back, surely he wouldn’t hold that against her. Would he?

Maybe the right thing would be to tell him tonight and get it over with. Take the chance that he’d say, “No biggie,” and then she could stop worrying about it. But she didn’t want to take the chance, not now when her emotions were still so raw. She’d wait.

“I have some news,” he said.

She looked up. His expression was hard to read. Excitement? Nervousness?

Was he going to propose after all? In a restaurant?

Meri’s heart blipped. She’d been expecting it, sort of, but they had talked about the possibility of law school and all that it would entail. Had he decided not to wait? And tonight of all nights. She couldn’t say yes without explaining her new circumstances. But could she sit there over chocolate ganache cake and explain what had happened, when she wasn’t sure of all the facts herself?

She swallowed.

He reached for her hand. “Maybe this isn’t the right place, but . . .”

Panic rushed up her chest and clenched around her throat.

“I hope you’ll be okay with this. I was talking to my uncle in L.A., and his firm has an opening for a paid internship. He offered it to me.”

An internship, not an engagement
. She was embarrassed by the relief that washed over her. She wouldn’t have to explain tonight. “That’s wonderful,” she said.

“It will give me a chance to get some hands-on legal experience before I start school.”

She nodded.

He squeezed her hand; now excitement had overtaken his nervousness. “I accepted.”

“That’s really great. I loved both my internships.”

“The only thing is . . . it starts next month. I gave my two-week notice today.”

A utensil clinked against a plate; a laugh, too loud, rose above the other conversations. Every noise seemed amplified, so that she could barely hear Peter say, “I know. It’s all happening really fast. But I felt like I couldn’t wait.”

He was still holding her hand. She considered pulling away. Decided against it.

“I know we thought we’d have the summer to decide what to do, but I can’t really turn this down.”

“No, of course not.”

“But it means I’ll be gone for the summer. Which really sucks . . . for us. You could go with me, but the pay isn’t that great. It’s an internship.”

She stopped him. “I know. I understand. It’s a great opportunity.”

“I can’t support both of us if I’m interning, but you could get work. I don’t want you to think I want to leave you.”

“I don’t. And that’s sweet. But Peter . . .” She withdrew her hand and patted his. “I have my work here. It’s only for a few months. Don’t feel bad. I understand.”

The waiter hovered by the table ready to snatch their half-empty plates. “Are you finished?”

Meri wondered that herself. “Yes, thank you,” she said and leaned back for him to clear.

He removed their plates and returned with the check. Peter stopped to pull out his credit card, and the two of them looked anywhere but at each other until the waiter returned.

They walked out into the night. The night was clear, but colder and Peter’s arm around her helped ward off the chill. She’d miss that. She’d miss him.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I’ll miss you, but I’m sure.”

“We can still see each other. I’ll be back, and you can come visit.”

She smiled. “Of course we can. It’s all good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Things will work out.”

They stopped by Peter’s car. “So do you want to stay at your place or mine?”

“You know, Peter, I’m really tired. I had a long week and a long night last night. I think I better just get a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re sure? We could get engaged before I leave, I just thought that—”

“There’s no rush. It’s only three months, and we’ll both be busy. Right now careers have to come first.” And it would give her time to figure out who she really was. “It’ll work out.”

Peter sighed. “I guess.” He pulled her close. Kissed her, a long kiss, one she fell into wishing, hoping—no, expecting—this to be the one stable thing in her life.

“Sure you don’t want to come to my place?” he murmured.

She moved away, tapped his chest. “I’d love to but it’s late and we both have work in the morning.”

He let her go. “Get in. I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, but by the time you make the loop of one-way streets, I’ll be home and in bed. It’s just a couple of blocks; I think I’ll walk.”

He frowned, concerned and disappointed, a little hurt, and she felt a rush of affection for this kind, sweet man.

“You’re pissed.”

“I am not.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “But I am exhausted. Go to L.A. and become a fabulous lawyer. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He hesitated. “We could—”

She gave him a playful push. “Go.”