Summer's End (6 page)

“He’s right. Poor little rich girl. How about Carmel with me, tomorrow? I have to go down to meet with a client over the weekend. You could come along for the ride.”

“That’s silly, Kim, I’d be in your way.” But for a moment, she had liked the idea. She hadn’t been to Carmel in years, and it certainly wasn’t far away, just a two-hour drive from the city.

“Why would you be in my way? I’m not having an affair with this guy for chrissake, and I’d enjoy the company. By myself, it would be a drag.”

“Not for long.” She looked pointedly at her friend, and Kim laughed.

“Please, my reputation!” She smiled broadly at Deanna then tilted her head to one side, shaking the halo of soft blonde curls. “Seriously, will you come? I’d love it.”

“I’ll see.”

“No. You’ll come. Settled? Settled.”

“Kimberly. …” Deanna was starting to laugh.

“I’ll pick you up at five-thirty.” Kim grinned a victorious grin.

3

Kim honked twice as she pulled up in front of the house, and Deanna glanced through her bedroom window before picking up her bag and running down the stairs. She felt like a girl again, off on a weekend adventure with a friend. Even Kim’s car didn’t look like something a grown-up would drive. It was an ancient MG painted bright red. Deanna appeared in the doorway a moment later, wearing gray slacks and a gray turtleneck sweater, and carrying a large brown-leather bag.

“Right on time. How was your day?”

“Ghastly. Don’t ask.”

“All right. I won’t.” Instead, they spoke of everything else: Carmel, Deanna’s latest painting, Pilar and her friends.

Finally, they lapsed into comfortable silence. They were almost in Carmel when Kimberly glanced over at her friend and saw the wistful look in her eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“Is that all? Hell, they ought to be worth at least five or ten cents.” She tried to laugh away her own thoughts, but Kim wasn’t fooled.

“All right. I’ll give you a dime. But let me guess. Thinking about Marc?”

“Yes.” Deanna’s voice was quiet as she looked out at the sea.

“Do you really miss him that much?” Their relationship had always puzzled Kim. It had seemed to her at first like a marriage of convenience, yet she knew it was not. Deanna loved him. Maybe too much.

Deanna looked away. “Yes, I miss him that much. Does that seem silly to you?”

“No. Admirable maybe. Something like that.”

“Why? Admirable has nothing to do with it.”

Kim laughed and shook her head. “Sweetheart, eighteen years with one man looks more than admirable to me. It’s goddamn heroic.”

Deanna grinned at her friend. “Why heroic? I love him. He’s a beautiful, intelligent, witty, charming man.” And making love with him the night before his departure had renewed something in her heart.

“Yes. He is.” Kim kept her eyes on the road as she said it, but she found herself wondering if there was more. If there was a side of Marc Duras that no one knew, a warm side, a loving side, another dimension to the man of unlimited beauty and charm. A human side that laughed and cried and was real. That would make him a man worth loving, to Kim.

“It’s going to be a very long summer.” Deanna let out a small sigh. “Tell me about this client of yours. Someone new?”

“Yes. He insisted on having this meeting in Carmel. He lives in San Francisco, but has a house here. He was on his way up from L.A. and thought this would be a more pleasant place to discuss the account.”

“How civilized.”

“Yes. Very.” Kim smiled at Deanna.

It was almost eight o’clock when they pulled up in front of the hotel. Kimberly climbed out of the MG with a shake of her curls and a glance at Deanna, pulling herself out of the car with a groan.

“Think you’ll survive? I’ll admit, this isn’t the smoothest possible chariot for traveling.”

“I’ll live.” Deanna looked around at the familiar surroundings. In the early days of their marriage, she and Marc had often come down to Carmel on weekends. They had wandered in and out of the shops, had cozy, candlelit dinners, and walked for miles on the beach. There was a bittersweet feeling to being here again, this time without him.

The hotel was tiny and quaint, with a French provincial facade and gaily painted window boxes filled with bright flowers. Inside, there were low wooden beams, a large fireplace framed by copper pots, and Wedgwood-blue wallpaper with a tiny white design. It was the kind of hotel Marc would have enjoyed; it looked very French.

Kimberly signed the register at the front desk then handed the pen to Deanna. “I asked for adjoining rooms. O.K. with you?” Deanna nodded, relieved. She liked having a room to herself and hadn’t really wanted to share one with Kim.

“That sounds fine.” She filled in her name and address on the card, then they followed the porter to their rooms.

Five minutes later Deanna heard a knock at the door.

“Want a Coke, Deanna? I just got two out of the machine down the hall.” Kim sprawled her long generous frame across Deanna’s bed and held out an icy-cold can.

Deanna took a long sip and then let herself into a chair with a smile and a sigh. “It feels so good to be here. I’m glad I came.”

“So am I. It would have been boring without you. Maybe we can even find time for the shops tomorrow when I’m through with business. Or would you rather go back to the city tomorrow afternoon? Do you have plans?”

“Absolutely none. And this is heaven. I may never go back. The house is like a tomb without Marc and Pilar.”

Kimberly thought it equally tomblike with them, but she didn’t say anything to her friend. She knew that Deanna loved the house and that the security of her family meant a great deal. She had met Deanna at art school, shortly after the death of Deanna’s father had left her penniless and alone. She had seen her struggle to make it on the little money she earned at her job. She had been there too when Marc began to court Deanna, and she had seen Deanna come to rely on him more and more, until she felt helpless without him. She had watched Marc sweep her friend under his wing, tenderly, irresistibly, and with the determination of a man who refused to lose. And she had seen Deanna nestle there for almost two decades, safe, protected, hidden, and insistent that she was happy. Perhaps she was. But Kim was never sure.

“Any place special you want to go for dinner?” Kim drained the last of her Coke as she asked.

“The beach.” Deanna looked longingly through the window at the sea.

“The Beach? I don’t know it.” Kim looked vague, and Deanna laughed.

“No, no. It’s not a restaurant. I meant I wanted to go for a walk on the beach.”

“Now? At this hour?” It was only eight-thirty, and just barely dusk, but Kim was hungry to begin her evening and have a look around. “Why don’t you save that until tomorrow after my meeting with the new client?” It was obvious that Kim was not lured by surf and white sands. But Deanna was.

She shook her head resolutely and put down her Coke. “Nope. I can’t wait that long. Are you going to change before we go out?” Kim nodded. “Good. Then I’ll go for a walk while you dress. I’ll just wear what I have on.” The cashmere sweater and gray slacks still looked impeccable after the drive.

“Don’t get lost on the beach.”

“I won’t.” Deanna smiled sheepishly at Kim. “I feel like a kid. I can’t wait to get out and play.”
And look at the sunset, and take a deep breath of the sea air… and remember the days when Marc and I walked down that beach hand in hand.
“I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Don’t rush. I’m going to take a nice hot bath. We’re in no hurry. We can have dinner at nine-thirty or ten.” Kim would make reservations in the staid, Victorian dining room of the Pine Inn.

“See you.” Deanna disappeared with a wave and a smile, pulling on her jacket and carrying a scarf in her hand. She knew it would be windy on the beach. When she stepped outside the fog was already rolling in.

She walked along the main street of Carmel, weaving her way between the few straggling tourists who had not yet taken refuge at dinner tables or in their hotels, their children chattering at their heels, their arms filled with booty from the shops, their faces smiling and relaxed. It reminded her of the time she and Marc had come here with Pilar. Pilar had been an exuberant nine, and she had joined them on one of their sunset strolls on the beach, collecting bits of driftwood and shells, running ahead of them and then back to report her discoveries, as Deanna and Marc talked. It seemed an aeon ago. She reached the end of the street and suddenly stopped to look down the endless expanse of alabaster beach. Even Marc had admitted that there was nothing like it in France. The perfectly white sand and the rich swell of waves rolling in toward the shore with sea gulls drifting slowly by. She took a deep breath as she looked at the scene again, watching the tide roll inexorably in. There was a lure to that beach, a lure like none she had ever known. She pocketed the scarf and slipped her shoes off, feeling the rush of sand between her toes as she ran toward the shore, stopping short of the water’s edge. The wind ripped through her hair. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was a beautiful place, a world she had left buried in memory for too long. Why had she stayed away for so long? Why hadn’t they been back here before? With another deep breath, she set off down the beach, one shoe in each hand, and her feet aching to dance in the sand like a child.

She had walked a long way before she stopped to watch the last rim of gold on the horizon. The sky had turned to mauve and a thick bank of fog was moving in toward the shore. She stood watching it for an interminable time, then walked slowly up toward the dunes where she made a seat for herself amid the tall grass and pulled her knees up under her chin as she looked out to sea. After a moment she rested her head on one knee and closed her eyes, listening to the sea and feeling a rush of joy in her soul.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Deanna jumped at the unexpected voice at her side. She opened her eyes to see a tall, dark-haired man standing beside her. For a moment she was frightened, but his smile was so kind that it was impossible to feel threatened while in the warm embrace of those eyes. They were a deep blue-green like the sea. He had the build of a man who might have played football in college. His hair was as dark as Deanna’s and ruffled by the wind. He was looking down at her intently.

“I like it best at this time of day,” he said.

“So do I.” She found it easy to answer him and was surprised that it didn’t annoy her when he sat down beside her. “I thought I was alone on the beach.” She glanced shyly into his face, and he smiled.

“You probably were. I came up behind you. I’m sorry if I startled you.” He looked at her again with that same open smile. “My house is just behind here.” He nodded over his shoulder to an area shrouded by wind-contorted trees. “I always come out here in the evenings. And tonight I just got in from a trip. I haven’t been here in three weeks. I always realize then how much I love it, how much I need to walk on this beach and look at that.” He looked straight ahead, out to sea.

“Do you live here all year ’round?” Deanna found herself conversing with him as though he were an old friend, but he had that way about him, it was impossible to be ill at ease.

“No, I come down on weekends whenever I can. And you?”

“I haven’t been here in a long time. I came down with a friend.”

“Staying in town?”

She nodded, and then remembering, looked at her watch. “That reminds me, I have to get back. I got carried away by my walk on the beach.” It was already nine-thirty and the last light of day had fled as they talked. She stood and looked down at him, smiling. “You’re lucky to have this anytime you like.”

He nodded in answer, but he wasn’t really listening, he was looking intensely at her face, and for the first time since she’d noticed him next to her, Deanna felt an odd rush of warmth in her cheeks and was aware of her embarrassment when he spoke.

“Do you know, you looked like a painting by Andrew Wyeth, sitting there in the wind? I thought that when I first saw you sitting on the dune. Are you familiar with his work?” He had a look of great concentration in his eyes, as though measuring her face and the thickness of her hair. But she was already smiling.

“I know his work very well.” It had been her passion when she was a child, before she had discovered that Impressionism was much more her style. “I used to know every piece he had done.”

“Every piece?” The sea-colored eyes were suddenly teasing but still warm.

“I thought so.”

“Do you know the one of the woman on the beach?” She thought for a moment and shook her head. “Would you like to see it?” He stood next to her, looking like a bright-eyed, much-excited boy, only the manly spread of his shoulders and the few strands of gray in his hair belied the look in his eyes. “Would you?”

“I—I really have to get back. But, thank you….” She trailed off in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man one ought to be afraid of, but nevertheless he was only a stranger who had appeared on a beach. It struck her then that she was really a little bit mad to be talking to him at all, standing there alone in the dark. “Really, I can’t. Perhaps some other time.”