Beach Colors (31 page)

“Why don’t we hang up Steggy on the fishing line?” Margaux said brightly, hoping to give Adelaide time to recover.

“With the clothes pictures?”

“Yes. Right in the middle.”

“Oh boy.” Connor slid off the stool and ran over to the line of renderings.

Margaux lifted him up so he could pin it to the line. Then they stood back and studied it.

“Very cool,” said Margaux.

“Very cool,” Connor agreed.

“Why don’t you go get Linda? I bet she’d love to see.”

Connor took off across the hall.

Adelaide fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “It’s a miracle. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It isn’t me. He’s just deciding to come back to us. On his own terms.”

“Maybe. And maybe he’s found someone he can trust.”

Connor came back with Linda in tow.

“I hear there’s a vicious dinosaur loose in here.” Linda widened her eyes at Margaux.

“There it is.” Connor pointed to his picture.

“Eek!” Linda screeched. “Get my broom. I’ll protect you.”

Connor giggled. “He’s not scared of a broom.”

Linda stuck out her lip and crossed her arms. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Well, dee and tarnation. I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

Once Adelaide and Connor left for the day, Margaux gave up trying to work. It had been a wild forty-eight hours. She drove by the police station hoping to gather her courage to go inside and apologize for the things she’d said last night. She wanted to be the one who told Nick that Connor had spoken aloud, but his cruiser wasn’t there.

Disappointed, she drove home, poured a glass of lemonade, and curled up in the cabbage chair.

It was turning dusk when she heard a car pull into the drive. Not Jude, she always honked. She quickly smoothed back her hair, wishing she hadn’t changed into cutoffs and a T-shirt. Nick had decided to forgive her. Without waiting for him to knock, she hurried through the kitchen and mudroom to the back door.

There was a silver Mercedes parked on the gravel. A man got out and came to the back door. Margaux stopped breathing. She stepped back and tried to shut the door, but he was too quick for her.

“So this is where you got to.” Louis pushed her into the kitchen and shut the door.

N
ick took the beer Jake handed him and perched on the edge of the picnic table in Jake’s backyard.

Jake pulled over a lawn chair and sat facing Nick.

“You know, for a smart guy, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So why don’t you do something to fix it? Stop acting like an ass and go apologize. She’ll forgive you. She obviously likes you. God knows why.”

“Liked me.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine. I admit it. I’m an ass.”

“Then go apologize. Tell her you’re an idiot and you need her.”

“I don’t need her.”

“Of course you do. Or you wouldn’t be moping around here like you haven’t moped since the last time she left twenty years ago.”

“It’s complicated.”

Jake took a long pull of beer and regarded his friend. “You know, Nick. I’ve known you for as long as I can remember and I would never take you for a coward.”

The beer turned to acid in Nick’s throat.
Ben was the hero. The hero who’d killed himself rather than go back into battle.
The boy Nick had sent to the army, the man who couldn’t live with what he’d seen and done.

Jake appeared beside him. Nick hadn’t seen him move. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to get a rise out of you. You know, light a fire so you’d hightail it over to her house and get laid or something. Really.”

Nick blinked at his friend. “What? Oh, I know. I was . . .” He heaved a sigh.

“It’s more than just Margaux, isn’t it?”

“No. You’re right. I’m letting everything jerk me around. She should be home by now. I’ll go over there. Apologize and hope she forgives me.”

But Nick didn’t apologize. When he arrived at the Sullivan house there was a late-model silver Mercedes parked by her blue coupe. New York plates. Margaux had company and his apology would have to wait. He drove past the house and turned back toward town.

M
argaux took a step back. “What do you want, Louis?”

“To see my wife. What else.”

“Not your wife for long. I’ve filed for divorce.” What had she ever seen in this man? He was wearing an expensive summer-weight wool suit. He was good-looking in that Wall Street way; lean, suave, with the chiseled features of a magazine ad and just as shallow. She had never seen a face she hated more.

“But while you’re here, would you like to return the money you stole from me?”

“I can explain.”

How many television-movie losers began in the same tired old way.
I can explain
.

“I’m not really interested in explanations. You stole our savings, stock holdings, and the 401Ks. They repossessed the apartment and shut down my business. I lost everything. All because of you.”

“I know, I know. I meant it for the best.”

Margaux barked out a disbelieving laugh.

“I invested it. I had a tip. It was a sure thing. We would have had so much money we could have gone anywhere, done anything. We could have made your business skyrocket, or you needn’t work at all. But it went sour. The market. The timing. It wasn’t my fault. I did it for us, for you.”

“So there really is nothing left?”

“Nothing. But I can make it right.”

Margaux threw up her hands and walked away, which was a mistake. He followed her into the living room. She began to get apprehensive. A man who would do that to her might not stop at the money. Would he get violent? He’d never hit her or even threatened to. But he must be desperate to have come after her.

“I did it for us.”

“Bullshit.”

“Be reasonable, Margaux.” He gestured for her to sit down. Like he was the goddamned host. “Let’s just discuss things . . . rationally.” He lifted both eyebrows in the way she had grown to dread, a belittling, condescending expression that made you want to confess to anything.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I want you out of here. Now.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Just listen to me. I can get us out of this fix. I’ve got a deal lined up. Really big. I could get back everything we lost and more. I’ll make us very rich. You could start your clothing line again, bigger and better this time. The two of us. Like we always wanted.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? There is no us, Louis. You killed us. If you didn’t come to return the money you stole, then there’s no reason for you to be here. Please leave.”

A tinge of red broke out along his razor-edged cheekbones. And to think she had always loved his cheekbones. Now, they made him look villainous.

“You don’t mean that, baby.”

“Baby? You must have me confused with someone else.” Margaux glowered at him. Crossed her arms and sank into one hip. A posture Louis despised. He broke.

“Margaux, dammit.” He grabbed her by both shoulders. “I need money. I need it now. You can get it. You can take out a mortgage on the beach house.”

“I would never risk this house, not for you or anybody.” She tried to wrench away, but his fingers dug painfully into her arms.

“Ask your mother for the money. She has a bundle, I know.”

“Get out of here, Louis. I don’t care what kind of trouble you’re in. You brought it on yourself and you can sure the hell get out of it on your own. If you can. Now leave or I’ll call the police.”

His grip tightened and Margaux began to feel afraid.

“You owe me.”

“The hell I do. You took everything, you bastard. Now get out.”

He pushed her away so hard she fell on the floor. He turned and began rummaging through the papers on her desk. He would find the bank loan. She struggled to her feet.

“Get out!” she screamed.

But she was too late, he held up her bank statement.

“Now what’s this? You managed to land on your feet after all.”

Margaux’s blood turned cold. This greedy sleazebag was the man she married? Wanted to have a family with? He hadn’t always been this way, had he? Or had she just missed it.

“Just give me the money and I swear I won’t bother you again.”

She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She could only look at him with nausea rumbling in her throat.

He frantically pushed papers around the desk and found her checkbook. He tossed it at her. “A check will do.”

She grabbed the checkbook and threw it behind the couch.

“Goddammit.” He moved so quickly she didn’t have time to dodge away. His hands wrapped around her throat. “Don’t make me hurt you. Now, get the checkbook.”

Vaguely, she heard the screen door slam.

“What the—”

Louis’s hands fell away and the rest of the sentence died in his throat. Margaux saw a blur of jeans and T-shirt before Nick came into focus. He’d slammed Louis against the wall and held him there.

Louis tried to fight back, but was as ineffectual as a bug pinned to a display case. “Who the hell are you? Let go or I’ll swear out a complaint.”

Nick’s grip tightened. “I’m the chief of police here. So swear away.”

Louis looked from Nick to Margaux and laughed, though Margaux heard the fear in it and for a second she felt sorry for him. But only for a second.

“So that’s how it is. Really, Margaux. Your taste astounds me.” He’d recovered that slip of self-control. He sounded cool and sarcastic; the way, she suddenly realized, he often sounded.

Nick lifted him away from the wall. “Stay inside,” he told Margaux, and pushed Louis through the arch and down the hall.

After a heartbeat, she followed. They were already outside. She only went as far as the screen door, but she heard Louis’s last words.

“Get your filthy hands off me. We’ll see how police brutality sits with your superiors.”

“We’ll see how a restraining order sits on you.” Nick shoved Louis toward the Mercedes. “Don’t come back or there will be a cell at the local station waiting for you.”

Louis stumbled toward the car, but he just had to get the last word in. He was so easy to read. “You’ll be sorry, Margaux. You and your blue-collar friend here.” He got in the Mercedes, gunned the engine, backed up, and screeched off in what Margaux knew was a fit of pique. Louis was too cocky to be frightened for long.

Nick came back to the door, looked at her through the screen. She tried to open it, but he held it closed.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. Pushed at the door again. It didn’t budge.

“If he comes back, call the station.”

Margaux felt hot tears roll down her face—tears of shame, of anger, of frustration, and of loss.

“Do you want to get a restraining order?”

“I want you to come inside.”

“I can call Jude or have Finley patrol the block through the night.”

She shook her head. “You. I only want you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She stepped back and he came inside. He opened his arms and she walked into them.

“I’m sorry . . . about everything,” he said.

“Me, too. Especially about what he said.” She hiccupped.

“I’ve been called worse. I need to call Jude or she’ll be on her way over here.”

“Mom?”

“Seems Dottie saw the Mercedes pass the diner. She recognized him and called Jude, Jude called me. I was . . . in the neighborhood. I told them I would take care of it and to stay put. Which I’ve discovered doesn’t mean shit.”

Margaux gave a watery chuckle.

He called. “He’s gone. She’s fine. Don’t come. Call Dottie. You’re welcome.”

He hung up, dropped his cell on the table, threw his discipline, his honor, and his good intentions to the wind, and kissed her. He wasn’t even sure if she really wanted him or if it was just the adrenaline of the confrontation with her husband, but he wasn’t going to ask her again.

“Look at me.” He let go of her long enough to lift her chin until she was looking into his eyes and what he saw there made his decision. He lifted her off her feet and kissed her so deeply he thought he might drown.

She pulled away with an expulsion of air. “I want you . . . but not here in the kitchen.”

“No.”

“Upstairs.”

He took her mouth, his hands splayed across her back, pulling her closer even as he walked her backwards toward the hallway. By the time they reached the stairs, neither of them was leading or following. She let go of him long enough to open a door and Nick followed her inside, not knowing if this was a dream come true or if he was making the worst mistake of his life.

Twenty-two

M
argaux melted into Nick. Heat radiated from him, and she wanted to be closer, her moth to his flame. Colors filled her head as she tugged the T-shirt from his jeans, pushed it up his chest so that she could splay her fingers against him, hard, strong, safe.

His hands seemed to cover her back and she wanted to feel them on her bare skin. She grasped the edges of his shirt and pulled it upward; he lowered his head so that she could yank it over his head. It left his mouth close enough to nuzzle her neck. She was on fire, impatient, ready and eager. She pulled off her own T in one movement.

Nick growled, low like an animal, and a thrill shot through her. He cupped her butt and pulled her up to him until she wrapped her legs around him. His jeans were rough on her thighs, the friction sent shock waves through her body. He unclasped her bra; she leaned backwards, and they toppled onto her bed together.

In a flurry of movement, they shed their clothes while Nick spread kisses over her lips and breasts, nipped at her collarbone, and finally settled himself above her.

And stopped—hovering there like a film when the projector breaks.

“What?” Her question was almost a wail.

“I—are you—?”

“Dammit. Don’t think, don’t analyze, don’t be responsible. Just love me.”

He pushed her knee to the side and drove into her. Margaux’s breath caught, then he began to move, slowly, rhythmically, braced on his elbows, his eyes open and staring deep into hers.