Beach Colors (29 page)

When Nick arrived, lugging a massive sewing machine, the three of them were working at the cutting table, heads bent over their work.

“Where do you want this?” he asked, glancing at Margaux and letting his gaze slide away.

Margaux looked at Mrs. Prescott for directions but she was looking at her son. “Can’t you say hello?”

“Hello. Where do you want this?”

“Upstairs.”

He turned around and clumped up the stairs. Connor tugged at Mrs. Prescott’s dress and whispered to her. She nodded and Connor ran after his uncle.

Mrs. Prescott stared after them, her eyes glistening. Margaux knew she should back away from this family. They had all sorts of issues she really didn’t have the time to get enmeshed in. But she was afraid it was already too late.

While they stood there, Dottie and Linda came out of Le Coif.

“Was that Nick’s voice I heard?” Dottie asked.

Linda opened her mouth but Margaux cut her off. “He brought Adelaide’s sewing machine.”

“He also took Margaux to dinner last night.”

“Linda!” Margaux snapped.

“Really,” Dottie said.

Mrs. Prescott looked pleased.

Margaux glared at Linda, willing her to shut up, but she just grinned back, and said with fake innocence, “It wasn’t a secret, was it?”

Nick and Connor appeared at the top of the stairs to find four women looking up at them. Three smiling and one ready to spit nails.

“Anything else you want me to do?” he asked warily.

Margaux shook her head.

“Actually,” Linda said, “can you wait here for just a second? I want to show Dottie and Adelaide something. You, too, Connor.” She shooed them all toward the kitchen, leaving Margaux and Nick alone.

Nick came down the stairs and looked back at the kitchen. “That was subtle.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his uniform and looked uncomfortable. And who could blame him. Linda had the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“Your mother is a fantastic pattern cutter,” Margaux said, trying to gloss over the awkwardness.

“Is she? I’m not surprised. She tends to do everything she does well.”

Like her son,
Margaux thought, but she didn’t say so.

“We’ve accomplished more this morning than I could have done by myself in a week.”

“Maybe I should go get Connor.”

Okay, awkward was one thing, but he was so obviously uncomfortable and wanting to get away from her that she started getting mad.
She
hadn’t herded the others out of the room. She was just as much a victim as he was. And you’d think he might be glad to see her. Those weren’t bargain-basement kisses last night . . . at least not to her.

“I hope our having dinner together isn’t going to make things uncomfortable for you,” she said, looking for a reaction.

“Huh? Oh no. And I wouldn’t care if it did. I enjoyed it.” He paused. “I hope you did, too.”

“I did.” She moved a step closer to him. She wouldn’t mind a quick taste of last night’s kisses, but Nick looked about as willing as a piece of granite.

“Maybe we can do something again,” he said, not looking at her.

“You and me?”

He frowned at her. “Who else?”

“Just making sure.”

He relaxed into one of those rare smiles that transformed his face and Margaux had a totally adolescent response. Which really discombobulated her.

“I better get back to work,” she said.

“Me, too.” He started for the front door and she returned to her workshop. The moment she was inside, she raced to the front window and looked out. Nick was getting into his police cruiser.

“What happened to Nick?” Linda asked from the doorway. “I guess you’re looking out the window because he just left.” She slapped her forehead. “I can’t work like this,” she squawked, and flounced across the hall to the salon.

Twenty

D
on’t let Linda make you feel uncomfortable,” Adelaide said when they’d returned to work. “You and Nick are both adults and it’s your business.” She glanced toward Connor, who was sitting on the floor reading a picture book.

“I won’t take time away from Nick and Connor.”

Mrs. Prescott smiled fondly at the boy. “You’ll be lucky if you can get away from him. Now, we’d best get back to this pattern.”

Margaux sent them home at two o’clock. Connor had fallen asleep on the floor and Mrs. Prescott was showing signs of fatigue. She’d been on her feet all morning.

“We’ve made a lot of progress and I have another batch of dyeing to do. And some hand-painting I want to experiment with.”

She helped Mrs. Prescott gather up Connor’s toys and his cape, which was looking a little frayed.

“Connor, honey?” Mrs. Prescott said in a soft, soothing voice. “It’s time to go home. Connor?”

The boy came awake all at once. Sat up, alert, and looked around as if he didn’t know where he was or what to expect.

“Say goodbye to Ms. Sullivan.”

Connor got up slowly, like an old man, Margaux thought, or a mime moving in slow motion.

“Bye, Margaux,” he said on a breath. He let his grandmother slip his backpack over his shoulders, waved a little wave to Margaux as his grandmother led him away.

Margaux followed them to the door. “Adelaide?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would it be okay if Connor came down to the beach tomorrow after Mass? Unless you already have plans. I could take him crabbing and there might be a few children there he could meet.”

She realized her mistake immediately. Never ask in front of the child, because Connor was looking at his grandmother with those big eyes. She saw his lips move. Knew he was saying “please.”

“If it’s okay with your gran and you don’t have plans with your Uncle Nick.”

Adelaide Prescott looked from Connor to Margaux, clearly torn.

“I’d love to have you both. Nick’s welcome, too. I’ll call Jude and invite her. If you think it’s a good idea.”

Connor tugged at his grandmother’s skirt. A small movement, no jumping up and down, no pleading. It was eerie and Margaux knew it wasn’t normal. And yet he was such a sweetheart.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.”

Y
ou got the loan yesterday and you waited to call us until today?” Bri pushed the cheese plate across the table to Margaux. She and Grace had shown up at the beach house with champagne and hors d’oeuvres an hour after Margaux called them with the good news.

The night air was balmy and not too humid, so they’d taken snacks and wine out to the porch to watch the sunset. And talk.

“It was kind of a hectic day. This chèvre is delicious.”

“So tell us about it.”

“It was for more than I’d meant to ask for, but Roger thought we should have some pad.”

“Smart man,” Bri said.

“And I found the perfect venue for a runway show.”

“Where?”

“The Cove Inn. There’s a patio that is just the right size and can be dressed very nicely.”

“The Cove Inn? Perfect. Why didn’t I think of that?” Bri said, cutting off a slab of Gruyère and balancing it on a cracker.

“I wouldn’t have thought of it either, except—” Margaux stopped, not sure that she was ready to share about her date with Nick. It seemed a little like kissing and telling. But boy, what kisses.

Bri stopped with the cracker halfway to her mouth. “Margaux?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sensing a story here. How did you think of the inn?”

“I went to dinner there.”

“With Jude?”

“Well, actually . . . I went to dinner with Nick Prescott.”

“The merman? Holy cow. Tell us everything.” Bri leaned forward; Grace scooted over closer to Bri and they gave Margaux their full attention.

Margaux slipped from her perch on the porch rail and pulled up a wicker chair to face them. “He invited me to dinner. I think Linda put him up to it. But I went. And I had a nice time.”

“Nice?” Bri sighed. “He was a dud.”

“Not at all,” Margaux said. “Are you going to eat that cracker or just point it at me?”

Bri put the cracker down.

“You like him,” said Grace.

Margaux hesitated. “Yeah, I do. Most of the time. But he’s really intense. Not very relaxing to be around.”

“Hell, you can relax at the old folks’ home,” Bri said. “Did he, did you . . .”

“Bri, really. It’s none of our business,” Grace said, but she looked hopeful.

Margaux took a sip of her champagne, twirled the stem in her fingers. “After dinner we walked by the water and when we were coming back I saw the patio.”

“And then?”

“And I was so excited I threw my arms around his neck.” Margaux rushed through the last words and looked at the floor.

“And then?”

“I realized what I had done. It was a shade awkward. I thanked him for dinner and he drove me home.”

Grace blew out air. “Come on. If you’re going to tell us, get on with it. I’d hate to have to use my cross-examination technique on you.”

“He kissed me good night—twice.”

“And?”

Margaux smiled. “It was pretty damn good.”

Bri collapsed back on the settee. “I take it that means he left after that.”

“Yeah. Though I think he would have stayed if I had encouraged him.”

“But you didn’t.”

Margaux pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t get involved with anyone now. For starters, I’m not exactly divorced yet.”

“A technicality,” said Bri.

“I’m trying to restart my life, my career, I can’t take time to . . . you know.”

“Have sex? Have an affair? Fall in love? What are we talking about here?”

“I don’t know,” said Margaux. “I just don’t know, but whatever it is—was—it felt pretty damn good.”

“Then go for it.”

“It’s out of the question.”

“I don’t see why,” Grace said.

“It’s complicated.”

“No it isn’t,” said Bri. “That’s just an excuse. Go for it.” She huffed out a breath. “But the merman aside for the minute, you have a shitload of work to do if you want to get something built and shown in the next month or so.”

“I know it. Keep your fingers crossed that I can pull it off.”

“Hey. How can you fail with me and Grace by your side. Selkies forever, remember?”

S
unday was sunny and warm. Adelaide and Connor arrived at the beach house around one. Nick wasn’t with them, and Margaux felt a shaft of disappointment mixed with relief.

She told herself it was because if he came, she wouldn’t have to take full responsibility for entertaining Connor. She wasn’t ready to admit that she’d hoped he’d come for her own enjoyment.

“He had to go in to help Finley. One of the other officers called in sick. I’m not sure he would have come anyway. Though you were very nice to include him in the invitation,” Adelaide added hastily. “He just doesn’t come to the beach much.”

Margaux remembered him swimming in the cove and had to stifle a reminiscent shiver.

Connor was wearing X-Men swim trunks and a large T-shirt. A man’s baseball cap with the Crescent Cove Stingrays logo on the front was shoved down to his eyes.

Margaux thought it must have belonged to his father.

They all went out to the porch, where Jude had set glasses and lemonade.

Connor dropped his backpack on the floor. Adelaide walked out to the edge of the porch and stopped, looking out at the beach.

Everybody looked where she was looking. The lifeguard tower.

The breath stuck in Margaux’s lungs. She’d seen that same look on Nick’s face when they’d climbed the jetty and he’d looked down—on the old lifeguard tower. How could she have been so insensitive to have Mrs. Prescott spend the day with the memory of her dead son looming in the background.

She glanced at Jude, whose expression was stricken.

Adelaide pulled Connor close to her and leaned over, pointing to the lifeguard stand. “You see that white tower on the beach?”

Connor nodded.

“Your daddy used to sit up there. It’s a lifeguard station and it was his job to keep people safe.”

Connor looked out at the tower, his eyes round, his mouth slightly open as he exhaled a long breath. “My daddy?” he whispered.

Adelaide nodded. Margaux doubted that she could answer, because Margaux could barely swallow the lump in her own throat. Adelaide straightened up. “Now you and Margaux go have fun.”

“Let’s go,” Margaux said. “I’ve got pails and string all ready for us by the back door. But first we need sunscreen.”

When they were lathered up, Margaux handed Connor a pail, took one for herself, and the two of them set off across the beach toward the jetty.

Connor stopped to watch some children building a sand castle, but when Margaux asked if he’d like to play, he shook his head and began walking again.

He held Margaux’s hand up the rocks. The tide was out, but the jetty was still wet and slippery. She searched the crevices until she found a promising pool, then set down her pail and lifted out a baggie of fish parts.

When she opened the baggie, Connor wrinkled his nose and made a face.

“I’ll have you know that this gunk is a delicacy to a crab.” She mashed a piece onto the end of one string and handed it to Connor. “Now slowly lower the end into the pool. Try not to move so the crab won’t know we’re up here.”

Connor leaned over the pool and lowered the string into the water. Then he froze.

“You don’t have to be that still.”

He looked at her, confused, and Margaux didn’t offer any more advice. She leaned over the pool with him until she saw movement in the water. “Look,” she whispered.

A crab sidled up to the bait and latched on. “Pull the string straight up.”

Connor pulled the string up. The crab hung on almost to the end, then dropped back into the pool and darted out of sight.

Connor frowned.

“That’s what they call paying your dues.”

Connor’s frown deepened.

“Never mind. It’s hard to catch crabs. Let’s try another pool.” They climbed along the jetty. Margaux picked another pool and they squatted over it, patiently waiting for a nibble.

“It’s coming,” Connor whispered.

“Okay, now wait . . . wait.” The crab bit. “Pull it up gently.”