Firefly Beach (50 page)
Authors: Luanne Rice
“Have you taken the pictures yet?” Honor asked.
He shook his head—was that sorrow, or regret? He glanced around the headland, as if on guard against a threat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her skin crawling.
He hesitated. She saw him peer at the sky, then at the sea, at low black clouds gathering along the horizon. And he decided to lie; regarding the weather, it was true in its own way, but it obscured his real concern, so Honor wouldn’t have to worry too.
“I haven’t gotten any decent shots yet,” he said. “The days have been too sunny, which is great, and makes me so glad that you and the girls got to see Ireland in the sun. But I need some shadows and rain, to get the atmosphere the piece needs.”
His work was a two-part process: he built sculptures from materials gathered entirely from nature. Then he photographed them, and let nature take the work apart again. The wind, or the sea, or a river, or gravity would destroy what he had done, but the photographs would last forever. Very few people actually saw his installations—Honor and the girls, Bernie and Tom were among the people who did. But the world—art lovers, environmentalists, and dreamers—knew the photographs of John Sullivan.
“Looks like you’re getting your wish,” she said, pointing at the dark clouds scudding along the horizon.
“Maybe,” he said, hugging her. “Then we can go home.”
It had struck her, almost bitterly, how tender he sounded. John was never in a hurry to get home; he made a life of his work, and his family had to fit in around his trips and installations. But she also felt some hope—he
wanted
to come home this time. She wasn’t begging him. She believed he knew how close they were to losing their marriage.
He had called the girls over yesterday, let them pet some of the sheep, showed them the stone walls, famine walls built during the 1840s by his ancestors, starving to death and worked to the bone. He pointed at the maps he’d brought from Connecticut, showed them how the walls corresponded with the ones built by his great-grandfather across the water, on the grounds of Star of the Sea. He told them that the cross on the top of his sculpture lined up perfectly with the one on the top of the Academy’s chapel.
Agnes had wanted to walk on the walls, and Regis had wanted to climb the sculpture, all the way to the cross. Cece had clung to her mother, afraid the wind might blow her off the cliff—even though the sun had been shining, brightening the green, making the blue sea gleam down below, as the wind, barely a whisper that morning, began to pick up.
Honor had pulled Cece into a quiet hollow, sheltered from the stiff wind, and pulled her sketchpad from her jacket pocket. Sitting there, hearing John and the older girls talking and laughing, she had sketched John’s sculpture. An artist herself, she had once been passionately inspired by John’s work—and he by hers. But lately she had just felt daunted. Sketching his sculpture on what felt like the edge of the world, holding her youngest, she remembered some of the joy art had brought her. As John’s work had gained power, she had lost track of herself. Maybe she could turn that around….
Today Ireland’s gentle green was gone, washed away by sheets of cold rain. The fog was gray and constant. Instead of reinforcing her bleak mood, it made her feel happy to be safe and cozy with her family—all together again. An east wind had whipped into a full gale, howling off the sea, blowing white caps into spume, churning up the dark bay. Honor felt as if they were on a peninsula at the end of forever.
She felt John’s warm body against hers, wanted to follow him into bed; something about the coziness of their cottage juxtaposed to the dangerous cliff edge made her want him more than ever. But as she started to turn away from the window, she saw a flash of someone passing by.
“Did you see that?” she asked. “Someone on the path—right there.”
John glanced out the window. He frowned and pressed his head against the glass and tried to see through the rain—there were big, muddy footprints through the side yard, leading toward his sculpture, and another glimpse of a tall man hurrying along.
“Who is it?” She asked, watching John pulling on his jeans.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Then why are you getting dressed so fast?” she asked. “I thought—”
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
“In bed,” she said. “We just said…they’re tired from traveling…”
“Honor,” he said. “That guy I told you about. I met him down at the docks in Cobh. I went to do research there, to find out about the ships my family immigrated to America on. And I stopped into a bar, and got to talking to someone—he’s from Connemara, but came down here looking for work. I needed some help with the heavy lifting, and I hired him. Gregory White.”
“He helped you?”
“Yes, I paid him. But now he won’t leave me alone. He keeps coming back for more work, more money, and when I told him there wasn’t any more, he vandalized my sculpture. Tore off some of the branches, and threw them off the cliff. Knocked the cross off, so I had to climb up and put it back.”
“Why did he do that?”
John shook his head. “I don’t know. Greg’s messed up. Drinks a lot. I made the mistake of telling him about the gold ring, and now he’s convinced there’s pirate gold buried on the land. He’s nuts. We got into a fight, Honor. He was screwing with my work, and I told him I’d kill him if he did it again.”
“What makes you think that was him just now? Couldn’t it be someone else, just taking the coast path?” Honor asked, even as she started to shiver. Grabbing her robe, she suddenly felt cold, as if the wind were rattling through the window panes and into her bones. She felt her heart plummet. She and John had been doing so well since she and the girls arrived, and now this….
“On a day like this?” John asked. She saw the rage building in his muscles; his shoulders seemed to double in size when he got this mad. It was never at her, but she felt it all the same. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it. If he does something else to the installation, I swear to God. The whole bar heard me tell him what I’d do to him. I warned him!”
“John, stop it!”
“Call the garda, Honor. The police. The number’s by the phone. I’ve had it with this. Tell them to come to the Old Head. Ballincastle, right?”
“John, don’t go out in this,” she said, staring into the bleak, ferocious weather. Even as she spoke, he opened the door. The wind howled, blowing papers in a cyclone around the room. John’s eyes met Honor’s, but he didn’t even speak. He just left the house, slamming the door.
Discover Five Timeless Summer Favorites from
Luanne Rice
ON SALE IN PAPERBACK
JUNE 27, 2006
There’s a place in our hearts reserved for miracles….
Summer’s Child
On the first day of summer, Mara Jameson went out to water her garden—and was never seen again. Years after her disappearance, no one could forget the expectant mother whose glowing smile had captured the heart of everyone who’d known her: Maeve Jameson, still mourning the loss of a granddaughter she had struggled to protect…Patrick Murphy, a dogged police detective obsessed with a vanished woman…and Lily Malone, drawn to the rugged beauty of the Nova Scotia coast and its promise of a new life.
Here Lily hopes to raise her nine-year-old daughter, Rose, far from the pain and loss of the past. Here she will meet a gifted scientist, Liam Neill, whose life is on a similar trajectory from heartbreak to hope. And before the season is over, Lily will find the magic that exists in people we love the best…the everyday miracles that can make the extraordinary happen anywhere.
True friendships—like true love—
are made to last forever….
Beach Girls
Twenty-five years ago three friends grew from girls to women on the sandy shores of Hubbard’s Point, Connecticut, forging a bond they swore would last always. Then time and distance drew them apart—and one was lost forever. Now her nine-year-old daughter has returned to the Point with her widowed father, longing to find the “beach girls” of her mother’s stories….
Old friendships—and love—
make all things new again….
The Perfect Summer
Bay McCabe relishes life’s simple pleasures, her children, her home by the sea. She and her husband, Sean, have weathered rough spells and moved on. Now a perfect summer, filled with the scent of beach roses, lies before them…. until the day Sean leaves his young daughter stranded after school, and a phone call confirms that he is missing….
When it comes to love and family, the things you can’t
see are what matter most of al
Summer Light
May Taylor works as a wedding planner, passing on the timeless traditions of her grandmother and mother, and their belief in the magic in everyday life—especially the simple magic of true love and family. Yet May’s own faith in true love was shattered when she was abandoned by the father of her daughter, Kylie, a very special five-year-old who sees and hears things that others cannot…. Martin Cartier is a professional hockey player and sports legend. His father taught him to play to win—at all costs. Now Martin’s success veils a core of heartache, rage, and isolation. Yet Kylie glimpses the transcendent role Martin will play in May’s life and her own—unless his past tears their blossoming love apart….
Three sisters come face-to-face with the past and find in
each other the courage to go on….
Firefly Beach
Coolly sophisticated and steadfastly single, Caroline Renwick has always been the sister everyone could count on. As she and Clea and Skye gathered at Firefly Hill, their childhood home, Caroline thought that they had all put the past behind them. But as summer gets under way, a mysterious man arrives—a man who has the power to bring it all back….
FIREFLY BEACH
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam mass market edition / June 2001
Bantam mass market reissue / July 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by Luanne Rice
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN-13: 978-0-553-90274-7
eISBN-10: 0-553-90274-1
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