Sand Castles (36 page)

"Oh. Huh. I have to admit, that's a little disappointing," she said, taking a sip from her tea. "I was hoping we'd have at least enough to buy a place on the beach. A little cottage would be cheap, wouldn't it? People are always so happy on a beach. It wouldn't have to be big. Just a tiny, tiny shack would do. Will he give
all
of the money to Wendy, then?"

He.
"I don't know," Zack said haplessly.

Unaware that he had spoken, she continued her rambling drift into her own special world. "I suppose I won't blame Jimmy if he does give everything to her; he'll want to ease her heartache, somehow. After all, it's not Wendy's fault. She got caught in a tragic situation, just like me."

"Zee, honey—"

She frowned at the interruption, and he immediately shut
up.

"No, I know what you're going to say. You think I'm disappointed because Aunt Louise didn't really leave me any money. But honestly, I'm not. I can get a job in
Newport
. I'm sure they have a quilting shop there. Don't you think?"

It was clear to him now that she was going over past events, picking bits and pieces from them that mattered to her, and shaping them into a new reality. Watching it happen was daunting.

"I'm sure they have a quilting shop in
Newport
," he said, stalling for time.

She clutched her mug so tightly that the tips of her nails turned white. "It's really important that Jimmy and I live on a beach, Zack," she said. "I saw how happy they all were on the beach. I saw it with my own two eyes!"

Now Zack was afraid, and definitely over his head. What was the way to handle this? What would her shrink have done?

"You're right," he said with self-imposed calm. "It's easy to be happy by the shore. That's where you plan to live, then?"

"Jimmy and
I.
Yes. I've thought about it a lot, and I've decided that it's the only place we can be really happy. It will be just like that house where he's living now. I'll plant lots of roses for us, just like at that house. And we'll have lots of little—"

Her voice broke. She moved her head a little to the right, and he lost her behind the wildflowers. Was she crying, maybe coming out of her fantasy and to her senses? He moved the vase over to the edge and looked at her intently.

She was looking right at him, and she didn't see him. God in heaven, she didn't see him.

"I guess you've talked this all over with Jimmy?" he asked, dreading the answer, whatever it was going to be.

Instead, she gasped and said, "I've just thought of something—we'll need money for his therapy!"

"Therapy—?"

"For the amnesia. Jim's amnesia. It can't be cheap. I'm sure the treatment will be long-term. Unless—oh, of course. How dumb," she said, sighing with relief. "He's not like me; he's bound to have medical that's really good."

She patted her heart with quick, soft strokes and smiled sheepishly. "I nearly had a heart attack just now."

A heart attack wasn't the threat to her that heartbreak was, Zack knew. He realized that he couldn't leave her in such a precarious mental state, so he said, "Hey, what's the story with your front deck? I just about put my foot through one of the stairs. Can't your landlady find anyone to put down new treads for you?"

Zina looked confused at the almost violent change of subject, but she answered cogently enough, "I think she got some quotes, but either they were too high, or they were okay but the guys never came."

"Oh, man," he said, sounding concerned. "The shape those stairs are in, sooner or later she's gonna get sued. Tell you what. I have the day free. If she pays for the lumber, I'll do the labor gratis. I don't want to come over next time and see you hobbling around on crutches."

"Oh," she said, considering the detour her life had just taken. "You'd do that for Margie?"

"You bet."

She blinked her deep blue eyes in confusion. For a moment she looked poised between two worlds: Margie's and Jimmy's. And then she said, almost with regret, "I'm sure she would love that."

****

Margie was thrilled. For his efforts, Zack was rewarded with a stupendous lunch and the sight of Zina of old, talking and laughing and sharing the meal with them.

His sister was slated to go to work in the afternoon, which was good; she needed to stay occupied. Somehow Zack was going to have to fill more of her spare time, keep her more grounded in reality. He was also going to have to see a therapist for some guidance about the best way to deal with another drift from reality, if and when it came.

But in the meantime, Wendy. Where was she? After calling his crew on Scott's cell phone and instructing them for the day, he'd left messages with Wendy on all three phones that he
would
be late coming
to the job
. She hadn't called back. From any of them.

He ended up arriving at the construction site late in the afternoon, only to find that the boys had hit an impasse and had left early. Perfect. At that rate, he was going to have to push out his estimate for completion to the following spring.

Feeling harried, he redi
d the bizarre placement of two-
by-fours that were to receive the twin medicine cabinets (wondering, now, why Wendy even needed two) and then drove out to the house on the beach in
Barrington
. He was her builder; he was entitled to do that. He wasn't entitled to throw her down on the nearest bed—yet—but the right to consult with her about the house was a given.

Her Taurus was there, but no other car. Zack gave the bed idea more serious consideration as he rang the bell twice, but he had no idea what he was going to say to Wendy when she came to the door.

She didn't;
Tyler
did. "Oh, hi, Zack," he said, munching an apple. "Mom's in the kitchen making supper." He gave two pokes of his finger down the hall. "Mom! Zack's here!" he yelled, and then he ran up the stairs yelling even more loudly, "Josh, you'd better not be taking an extra turn!"

Zack felt as if he'd parachuted into June and Ward Cleaver's house. He smelled melted cheese and heard the local news on a television in the kitchen into which he was
marching with far more trepidation than he wanted to feel.

Dammit! She wasn't married, after all, and the bum who'd convinced her that she was belonged in jail. Simple logic, keenly felt; but when Zack saw her coming through the kitchen door with a bowl of something green that she'd gathered from outside, he couldn't croak out anything more brilliant than, "Wendy."

If he was expecting her to drop the bowl and make a run for his arms, he was sadly mistaken.

"Why
are you here?" she said. It sounded almost like scolding.

Good damn question. She looked angry and embarrassed and distressed, although for the life of him, he couldn't tell which emotion prevailed. He voted for pissed.

He said, "I'm here because—I don't know why I'm here." He threw up his hands and said, "Because you're here!"

"Shh!" she said, glancing nervously down the hall. "No. You can't be here for me. You can be here for the house. That's all. That was a mistake, last night," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Last night was—"

"Something," he said bluntly. "Why didn't you return my calls?"

She placed the wooden bowl very carefully on the granite counter. Zack had no idea why care was required, other than to prevent her from meeting his gaze.

Finally she murmured, "There was nothing to say."

"I can buy that," he said, his jaw working. "Actions speak louder than words. Look at me. Tell me that nothing happened."

She wouldn't. She stayed fixated on the hall. "We can't talk here. I'm trying to create a reassuring—"

She let out a quick sigh and did look at him, then, and he saw something new in her face: fear. Of him? Now it was his turn to take a deep breath.

"Let's go outside," she said.
"Ty
won't hear us there. Something's happened. Something more, I mean."

He followed her across the patio and past the wild roses that had impressed Zina so vividly. The
two
stood on the be
ach, out of earshot, which was f
ine, but in full view of everyone, which wasn't so fine.

Wendy pointed to a small sailboat hauled up on the sand and said, "We'll go look at it. I can always say that I wanted to get a quote from you for repairing the rudder; it has a split in it that the kids made when they dragged it over the beach."

Feeling like a spy in a low-budget thriller, Zack walked over to the boat and stared down at it with her. "What's happened?" he asked her without looking up. "Why are you being such a nut?"

"Jim packed his bags and left last night."

Zack's head shot up. "Jesus, why didn't you tell me?"

"Lo
ok
at the boat, look at the boat," she said in a hiss. She crouched down and pointed to the rudder, wiggling it back and forth as she continued.

"When I got home last night, there was another car here. I went in through the side and went straight to bed—in one of the guest rooms," she added to Zack's profound satisfaction.

"Just after midnight," she went on, "I heard shouting outside; someone was threatening Jim. Whoever it was sped off after a neighbor stuck his head out a window and told them to cool it. Jim ran inside and started packing. Ten minutes later, he was gone, too."

Jim: gone. Zack didn't know whether to clap or cry. The mess had just gotten messier. "Was it about money?"

"That's what Jim said. But also that it was more complicated than that—naturally. He said he'd work it out with the guy, but on his own terms."

"Did the thug sound like the same one who's been leaving the messages?"

She surprised him by shrugging off the connection. "I don't know. You heard one of the messages—that weird, singsong voice. But the man I heard last night, he sounded brutal. He sounded as if he could turn it on and off like a switch."

Not what Zack wanted to hear. He dropped down into a crouch next to her. "Well, you can't stay here," he said bluntly.

"Of course I can," she said. "Where would I go? To the half-wrecked house on Sheldon, which the guy probably knows about anyway? And what would I say to
Tyler
?'

"
Tell him anything; tell him you have to evacuate this house because of toxic mold. I don't care what you tell—"

"But I do. I can't just dump all this on him. I won't do it. I have to restore some sense of normalcy before I break the news to him about his father."

Zack didn't get that approach at all. "How are you explaining Jim's absence?"

"I told Ty the truth," she said, looking as if she'd done anything but. "That Jim was on a business trip."

"Look, I know I don't have kids; but if
Tyler
were my kid—"

"But he isn't," she said with quiet finality. Here they were, crouching in the sand, and she was drawing a line in it: in matters of children, her word ruled.

Maybe to reassure Zack that she'd thought everything out, she added, "This house has an excellent burglar alarm system, whereas
Sheldon Street
has none yet. And I can have Dave stay over if I want to. And most important of all," she said with steel in her voice, "Jim is gone."

"But the thug doesn't know that," Zack said, trying to prick the bubble of her confidence.

Bingo. She said quietly, "I've thought of that."

She stood up, and so did he. With no bravado this time, she said, "Jim is Ty's father; he would never leave him exposed to anyone he thought was a threat. But
... okay. I won't take any chances. Ty is going off to the Vineyard tomorrow with his new friend Josh, who lives a couple of blocks away, and several other boys for Josh's birthday outing.
Tyler
's really looking forward to it."

She sat on the gunnel of the sailing dinghy, frowning as she worked her way through Plan B. "All the boys have been invited to sleep over at Josh's tonight and tomorrow. In fact, Josh is here right now, while his mother gets things ready. I hadn't planned on letting Ty do the sleepovers, because he's just spent all that time at his grandparents'. I miss him," she said with a sad little shrug.

She looked up at Zack and said, "But I will let him sleep there tonight, and when they get back from the sail tomorrow, I'll tell him about Jim. Realistically, I'll tell him the next morning."

She bowed her head and drew a doodle in the sand with her finger. To Zack, it looked like a
J.
Or maybe half of a heart.

He said, "What about you, tonight? What will you do?"

She finished the doodle, a heart. "I feel perfectly safe."

"I'll stay."

Erasing the heart with the flat of her hand, she said, "Bad idea. For a hundred different reasons, Zack. Number one is that my son will be sleeping nearby."

"Wendy—"