The Beach House (28 page)

Chapter 6

Peter stalled for time. It was as if the clouds had parted and finally, after all the years of loving Katherine, he understood why she'd allowed him into her life, why she went places with him, why she was in his house now. It wasn't that she was naive or so innocent that she didn't understand how rare pure friendship was between a man and a woman, she trusted him, felt safe with him, because she thought he couldn't possibly be interested in her as a woman.

What a joke.

But was it on her or him?

If he told her the truth, would she pull away? Would it be the end to their friendship? Was he brave enough to risk it?

“I was married once,” he said, opting for honesty. “For five years. She wanted children and a man who could give her the financial stability to stay home and raise them. At the time I was working at night doing dead-end jobs in order to leave the days free to paint. We saw each other on weekends and sometimes not even then.

“I've had a couple of relationships since then,” he went on, feeling foolish for the need to explain himself, yet unable to stop. “One of them pretty serious, but she was from San Francisco and couldn't take living down here with us provincial types. I still see her when I go to the city, but we're just friends.”

“Do you ever get lonely?”

There was something about the way she asked the question that puzzled him, as if it were more general than personal. “I used to. I got over it when I realized being alone is better than being with someone who is just filling space.”

She flinched. “I would hate knowing that's how someone thought about me.”

“That's not possible, Katherine. You're—” Jesus, what was he doing? “You and Brandon are perfect for each other. Anyone can see that.”

“So I've been told.” She took a long drink of beer. “I can't believe how thirsty I am.”

He took a box of crackers out of the cupboard, dumped them on a plate, and added the cheese and grapes. “Why don't we take this outside?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. “You know, I really think I should go home. I'm sure you have work to do, and you certainly don't need me hanging around getting in your way.”

He put the plate back on the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was the only way he could keep from reaching for her. He'd gambled and lost. Now that she knew he wasn't gay, she figured he wasn't safe to be around anymore. Preachers' wives didn't spend their vacations with other men, no matter how seemingly innocent or platonic the relationship.

“I don't have anything else to do today,” he said. “And you aren't in my way.”

She put her glass in the sink. “I'm sure you'd find something if I weren't here.”

Peter's frustration was like a pill caught in his throat that he could do nothing to dislodge. “Will you come back later so I can finish the sketches?”

“Yes, of course. What time?”

“A little after six?”

“I'll be here.” She moved to leave. “Thanks for the beer.”

“You're welcome.” He followed her to the front door, then watched from the window as she took the path that ran in front of the house next door and eventually to her own, trying desperately to hold on to a sliver of hope that once she had time to get used to him the way he really was, it wouldn't make a difference.

 

Katherine dug her key out of her pocket and made several unsuccessful stabs at the lock before letting herself inside.

How could she have been so stupid? What was that old cliché? Those who assume make asses out of you and me? Well, she'd certainly done that. Her only hope was that he hadn't caught on.

Yeah, right, and fish could fly and politicians didn't cheat on their wives.

How was she ever going to go back there and face him? Maybe she could get sick. Nothing serious, just a little stomachache, even a headache would do.

She let out a groan and dropped onto the sofa. What must he think of her? He had to wonder about the dinner invitation, especially with her being there alone. Thank goodness she hadn't told him about Brandon.

She came forward and buried her face in her hands. The worst part, the part she didn't even want to admit to herself, was how much she enjoyed being with Peter. But she couldn't let it go on the way it had. She was married—at least she was for the next couple of months. There were appearances to keep up, proprieties to maintain. Brandon would be devastated if word got back to the congregation that she was seen in the company of another man.

She sounded pathetic, even to herself. She was like a dog left out in the rain, waiting for someone to come to the door and love it enough to let it inside.

Fortunately the phone rang before she'd sunk into a hole of self-recrimination so deep that she couldn't climb out.

It was Michael. “Hey, Mom—how's it goin'?”

“Great. The weather has been beautiful, perfect for surfing. You really ought to try to get down for a couple of days before you have to leave.”
Please
, she begged mentally. She needed a distraction, any distraction.

“That's what I called about. It doesn't look as if I'm going to be able to make it down to see you again this summer. The guy I was supposed to room with this year had to drop out of school, so I'm going back early to see if I can find someone else. It's either that or get stuck with someone I don't know.”

She had to swallow her disappointment before she could ask, “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon? You still have—” She made herself take a deep breath and count to five. “What time?”

“Six-thirty—in the morning. It was the only flight I could get.”

“How long have you known?”

“A couple of days.”

“I wish you would have called me. I promised Peter I'd help him with something this evening. I won't be able to get out of here until nine, maybe later.”

“You don't have to come up. Dad said he'd take me to the airport.”

“But I want to see you before you go.”

“Come on, Mom. We said good-bye when I was down there last week. You don't need to come all the way up here to say it again.”

“You wouldn't care if I wasn't there?”

“I feel like an idiot when people are making a big fuss over me at the airport. It's not like I'm moving away forever. I'll be back for Thanksgiving.”

He'd given her logic when she'd wanted emotion. But then she'd led with her chin; she had no right to complain about getting hit. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Call me when you're settled in.”

“I will.”

When she hung up it was with the discomforting feeling that she'd been given a preview of her life to come. In the background of her mind she could hear the ties that bound Michael to his family making a
pinging
sound as they snapped one by one. But then what could she expect? The nuclear family he'd known all his life was no more.

She'd made a mistake coming to the beach house that summer. What had started out as a simple need to get away for a while had turned into an abandonment of her family. If Michael had given her the slightest encouragement, she would have gone no matter how inconvenient the trip.

Only knowing he'd meant what he'd said about not wanting anyone at the airport kept her from leaving.

It was hard, this letting-go stuff.

She looked at the clock and wondered if Peter would mind if she came a little early. She needed to be with someone. No, it was more than that. She wanted to be with Peter. He was her friend, and she was in sore need of a friend right now.

Again she said a prayer of thanks that she hadn't told him she and Brandon were separated. It could have ruined everything.

Chapter 7

The closer Eric came to Julia's house, the more he realized how anxious he was to see her. He'd been too busy in New York to focus on her the way he had before leaving. What thoughts had broken through the endless meetings and need for immediate decisions had been the kind that left him hungry to share with her all that was happening to him. The feeling was remarkable, one he'd never experienced before. And it was the one thing, he now recognized, that had fatally hurt his and Shelly's relationship.

He'd changed. His trial by fire had turned him into a man who could finally understand and appreciate the happiness that came with real intimacy. He'd never opened himself up to Shelly, never talked about the day-to-day problems or small joys that invariably made him the person he was. Worst of all, he didn't listen when she tried to share the person she was becoming with him. They'd begun their marriage friends and ended strangers.

Now, far more than wanting to tell Julia about his trip, there was a deep-seated need to do so. He was still reeling from the knowledge someone actually wanted to publish his book. The price they were willing to pay was something else. His agent had assured him that there was sound logic behind the insanely inflated offer. By giving him a quarter million more than anyone had ever received for a first novel, the story would be carried by all the print and television media, both when it was announced and when the book actually came out. To try to buy that amount of publicity would cost far more than the advance.

The terrifying part came with the scrutiny the book was sure to come under. His agent and editor were confident the reviews would be positive. They insisted the story and the writing were good enough to withstand the harshest critic. But Eric had seen what happened to popular fiction when it was put under the magnifying glass of literary critics. There wasn't enough reassurance on the entire island of Manhattan to convince him the same thing wouldn't happen to him.

What he hadn't decided was whether he cared. The only people who mattered to him were the ones who would put out the twenty-five dollars to buy the book. That was a hell of a lot of money when put up against the cost of milk and bread—though not so much when compared to a night out at a mediocre movie.

Self-doubt was something new to him. He didn't care for the way it made him feel. Realizing how little control he would have over his book once it was turned over to the publisher had given him real pause. The problem with jumping in the pool with a dive that turned into a belly flop was how hard it would be to go in again without everyone looking.

He wasn't even sure he had another book in him. He'd been so wrapped up with the one he was working on, he hadn't thought that far ahead.

Eric pulled into the driveway at Julia's and stopped beside the intercom to announce his arrival. Filled with an incessant hunger to see her again, he'd considered killing time until she would be home from work but abandoned the idea. He was too tired to wait around without some guarantee she didn't have a meeting or something else that would keep her in the city that night.

Then, as if the long outgoing tide had finally turned in his favor, Julia answered the intercom herself.

“It's me—Eric,” he said. “I'm here to get Josi.”

“I had a feeling you were coming today.” The buzzer sounded and the gate swung open. “We'll be at the door waiting for you.”

Could that be the reason she'd stayed home? The thought was like a tossed-back shot of whiskey, stealing his breath and warming his insides at the same time.

He spotted her the instant he rounded the final curve. She had on jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The denim material hugged her hips and thighs as if it had been created with just that in mind. She had an incredible body, her skin a natural, unblemished bronze.

He'd seen hundreds of beautiful women in New York, all sizes, all shapes, but none of them compared with Julia. She'd become the standard for him, leaving all others wanting.

A smile lit her face; Josi filled her arms.

She came over to the car to meet him. “How did it go? I've been dying to hear. Why didn't you call?”

He didn't care whether it was simple curiosity or genuine interest that prompted the questions; she'd cared enough to ask, and that was enough. He got out of the car. “I'm sorry. I guess I thought you wouldn't be interested.”

The smiled disappeared and so did the spark in her eyes. “Of course I'm interested. We're friends. Or at least I thought we were.”

He tucked his finger under Josi's chin and gave it a quick scratch. She put her head back and purred. “Everything went well. Actually, it went better than well. The book is sold.”

“Already? That's wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Now all I have to do is finish the thing.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Three . . . maybe four months.” Josi crawled into his arms and settled over his shoulder, her purr so loud that it blocked all other sounds in that ear.

“We should do something to celebrate.” She tucked her hands in her back pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Let me take you to dinner. Better yet, let's stay here and I'll make dinner for us. Connie went shopping before she took off for the day, and said there were lots of things to fix in the refrigerator.

“How does salmon sound?” she went on before he could answer. “I have a killer recipe that will spoil you for eating it any other way. Ken used to say—” She stumbled on the rest but picked up with, “Or if you don't like salmon, I make a pretty good pork roast.”

“What did Ken used to say, Julia?”

She stared down at the ground. “It's not important.”

He agreed. What mattered was that she couldn't or wouldn't tell him. “We'll save the celebrating for next time,” he said. “I've been gone a long time. I should get home and check on things.”

“What things?”

The question surprised him. He hadn't expected her to try to keep him there. “I don't know—the usual.”

“Is there anything that can't wait?”

“No.”

“Then there isn't any real reason you can't stay for dinner.”

First he smiled, then he said, “I guess not.”

“Good. Now what will it be—salmon or pork?”

“Salmon.”

It was her turn to smile. “You'd rather have the pork, wouldn't you?”

He wondered what she would say if he told her that what he wanted had nothing to do with food. An image of her moving beneath him in his bed flashed into his mind. Without taking the time to consider the possible consequences he told her, “I don't care what we eat, Julia. I don't even care if we eat at all. Just being with you tonight is enough.”

She chose not to take him seriously. “Wow, if you write like you talk, I can see why everyone wanted to buy your book.”

Eric felt Josi tense. She brought her back legs up, preparing to leap from his shoulder. Remembering how quickly she'd gotten away the last time, he tucked her firmly under his arm. She twisted and ducked her head to look around him. Eric turned and saw a squirrel slowly making its way across the yard. Again Josi tensed.

“I think I'd better take her inside,” he told Julia.

She looked from Josi to the squirrel and back again. “Do you think she could catch it?”

“There isn't a doubt in my mind.” He put his hand over Josi's eyes. She expressed her displeasure with a low growl.

“I'd just as soon not find out,” Julia said. She motioned for him to follow her into the house.

As soon as they were inside and the door closed behind them, Eric put Josi down. She immediately wrapped herself around his legs, stopping every few seconds to change directions. “I think she's trying to tell me something.”

Julia laughed. “She wants her chance for revenge. You'd understand if you'd been here this past week. The squirrels have been teasing her unmercifully. Every time they see her at the back window, they gather on the deck.”

“How do you know that? I thought you went into the office every day.”

“I decided to take some time off. It's a little experiment,” she said mysteriously. She ran her hand along the back of her neck, lifting her hair off her shoulders. “What can I get you to drink?”

He would have liked something hard and clean, whiskey preferably, but he had a long drive ahead of him that night and it wouldn't take much to tip fatigue into exhaustion. “You have any tomato juice?”

“You want a bloody Mary?”

He smiled. “No Mary, just blood.”

“Make yourself comfortable.” She directed him to the living room to the right of the foyer. “I'll be right back.”

Josi stopped circling as soon as Julia left. She peered up at Eric, gave his shin one last rub, and took off, her tail straight up like an exiting exclamation point.

When Eric had come there to drop Josi off, he'd been in a hurry and hadn't gone any farther inside than the foyer. Even so, he'd come away with a pretty good idea what the rest of the house would be like. As he entered the living room, he saw that he'd been right. While the room was not as ostentatious as he'd expected, what was there bespoke money—lots of it. An eclectic assortment of paintings lined the walls. The spaces on the shelves not filled with books held bronzes, porcelains, and artifacts.

While there were a dozen things that under different circumstances would have drawn his attention, it was the painting over the fireplace that called to Eric. He crossed the room to get a closer look at the man and woman frozen in a moment of poignant intimacy.

So this was Ken Huntington. Handsome, smiling, and obviously deeply in love with the woman he held in his arms—Julia. The artist had captured a magical moment between them.

Or had all of their moments been this magical?

Eric studied the picture. Ken was leaning against the trunk of a large tree. Julia had her arm around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder. His arms were around her shoulders, his head tilted so that his cheek touched her hair. They were dressed casually, as if they'd just returned from a walk in the woods.

“It was a gift from Peter for our eighth wedding anniversary,” Julia said as she came into the room carrying a tray. “He's an incredible artist, don't you think?”

“Yes,” Eric said.

She handed him his tomato juice. “You ought to have him show you some of the paintings he has sitting around his place.” She smiled. “I used to tell him I was going to go through his garbage at night to steal his rejects.”

“And what did he say?”

“That I would be wasting my time. He burned what he didn't like.”

“Ouch.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Julia held her glass out to Eric's. “To your book. May it be everything, and accomplish everything, you desire.”

“Right now that would be to make the reader feel his or her money was well spent.” He took a drink and then licked the thick juice from his upper lip.

Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips. Unconsciously she mimicked him and licked her own. “I'll be the first in line to buy a copy. And I'll tell everyone I know to buy a copy, too.”

How had he convinced himself he could be patient where she was concerned? He wanted her to be a part of his life now, not a year or month or even a week from then. He set his glass on the mantel, then took hers and put it there, too.

“I've got to get out of here, Julia, before I say something you're not ready to hear.” He touched her cheek, then moved his hand to the back of her neck. Slowly he lowered his head and, with a tenderness wrapped in longing, kissed her. Her lips were warm and as soft as a whisper. He closed his eyes and for a blissful second let himself imagine there were no obstacles for them to overcome, no ghosts to battle, only a future to explore. All the good that had happened to him that past week was a cup of water to the ocean compared to this moment.

A soft moan rose from Julia's throat as she responded to his kiss. He could feel a need building in her. Still, seconds later, she put her hands against his chest and gently pushed him away.

“I'm sorry,” she said, a confused expression on her face. She looked at the floor, at the picture over the mantel, and finally at Eric. “It's that—”

“It's all right. I just wanted to give you something to think about after I'm gone.”

He went to the window and picked up Josi. Before leaving, he stopped to look at Julia one last time. “You know where you can find me. The next move is yours.”

 

Julia fixed the dinner she'd wanted to prepare for Eric that night, mincing fresh spices, opening a bottle of award-winning Chardonnay, lighting the candles on the table. But she couldn't eat and wound up refrigerating everything for Connie's lunch the next day.

Next she tried to put him from her mind by concentrating on a report she'd been given that day on the money the company would save by shifting assembly work to a foreign market. Ken had approved the research even though he'd told everyone repeatedly that he had no intention of doing anything about it.