Castles in the Sand (5 page)

His question was rhetorical. He referred not only to seventy-seven-year-old Mildred Murray, but to Faith Fontaine, the deceased owner of the beach house. When Faith learned that he lay near death in the hospital, she went to him and prayed. The doctors called it a miracle. So did Natalie.

She said, “Mildred is discreet. She will only tell the Father. Gwyn Fairchild knows discreet too.”

“Natalie.” His tone was back to
let’s just hold on here a minute
. “Gwyn too?”

“I won’t tell her details, either. Gwyn is the only woman who doesn’t intimidate Susan to the point of speechlessness.”

“Not like you.”

She harrumphed. “No, not like me. That’s why I have to tell Gwyn. She knows how to love Susan in a gentle way. I only harangue my poor sister-in-law. I don’t know why she even talks to me.”

“Harangue isn’t the word. You simply suggest solutions. Like she needs time away. Aw, Nat. You’re crying.” He backed his chair from the table and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Fighting back tears, she walked around the table and slid onto his lap.

“I promise you Susan will be fine.”

“It hurts so bad seeing them like this.”

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into him. “It’s too easy to imagine us in the same situation. Me being so consumed with my image that I would shut you and the boys out. But for the grace of God, there go I.”

She put her face against his crisp white shirt. It worked pretty well as a handkerchief.

On Tuesday, her first morning at the beach house, Susan awoke at four. Despite the early hour, she followed her usual routine: She showered, ate two soft-boiled eggs and lightly buttered toast, drank a cup of tea, engaged in a quiet time—at least a feeble attempt at it; the open Bible laid in her lap for a few minutes—and walked the dog.

Going through the motions was easier than worrying about what the day held in store for her. The routine was probably a close cousin to her chimp chatter.

Now she sipped another cup of tea in the big armchair by the front window and cuddled with Pugsy. The long beach walk in the brisk predawn hour had worn him out. Wouldn’t Drake have a conniption if he knew she was outdoors at that time of day?

But he wasn’t there to explain her lapse in good judgment.

She watched the tide make its way inland. Big waves had already enticed surfers into the deep. Though they were only specks on the horizon, she could see them because the house sat high enough to afford a view over the seawall straight to the ocean.

Julian surfed. Perhaps he was one of them. The previous day he showed her where he hid a door key on his patio. She was welcome to use it and his telephone anytime day or night, whether or not he was home. Julian was a nice man. Very compassionate.

Should she call Drake and tell him of her uneventful evening and the morning beach walk?

Best to spare him.

Should she tell him of her phone conversation with Pepper Carlucci? Of their meeting scheduled to take place in three hours?

Better to wait. Why borrow worry for him over something that had not yet happened?

Lord
.

The prayer stopped.

She remembered how her mind had shut down the night Kenzie left. Nearly three months later, it hadn’t fully restarted. It was like a dirty CD that got stuck on a smudge and played one word over and over and over.

She couldn’t get past His name.
Lord
.

She couldn’t pray.

The most she could do was go through the motions of everyday tasks and count the minutes until she met Aidan Carlucci’s mother.

The closest link to Kenzie.

Closest? She was the only link.

Standing in a warm sunny space outside the coffee shop, Susan twisted the strap of her handbag around her fingers. She was fifteen minutes early.

Except for classical music pouring from loudspeakers hidden in flowerbeds, the second level of the open-air mall was quiet under a brilliant blue sky. A group of seniors clothed in cozy jogging suits sat at one of the food court tables. Occasional shoppers walked by. None resembled what she remembered of Aidan’s mother.

They had met two years ago when Kenzie joined Aidan’s band, Glory Traxxx. Drake deplored their rock style and thought it not true worship music, but he admitted it seemed to connect with teenagers. So he allowed them to perform at the church for a special youth group rally. Mr. and Mrs. Carlucci had attended along with parents of the ten or so other band members.

All in all Susan thought the evening a spectacular success. She didn’t stop grinning and tapping a foot from the moment of their energetic opening downbeat until the next morning when Drake announced things had been just a bit too wild, a bit too vague when it came to the gospel, not quite suitable for his tender flock.

Soon after that, their youth pastor resigned. A mega-church in Texas hired him. Kenzie had seen him last year when Glory Traxxx performed there. He was happy.

Some days, when Drake was at the office, Susan listened to the cassette recording Kenzie had given her. She would grin, tap her foot, and feel astonishment at her daughter’s voice coming through the sound system.

A woman approached. Her appearance fit the memory of Pepper Carlucci: shorter than average, not fat but roundish in a pleasant way, black hair cut almost as short as a man’s and not styled, really. A small toddler accompanied this woman, though. Surely at her age—

“Susan?” Still several feet away, the woman called loudly and waved. “Is that you?”

Susan lifted a hand in greeting.

The towheaded child skipped alongside her. A boy? His hair curled to his shoulders, and he wore overalls with a long-sleeved red plaid flannel shirt. Mrs. Carlucci wore denim as well, jeans and a white tunic top.

Susan felt self-conscious in her floral skirt and blazer. She probably looked stiff and formal.

They neared. The woman shifted an oversized canvas bag to the other shoulder and held out a hand. “Hello.” A smile lit up her entire face, and her blue eyes seemed to dance. “I’m Pepper.”

She returned the smile and shook her hand. “Hello. And who is this?” She crouched down until face-to-face with the child.

He held out his hand before she could offer hers and smiled into her eyes. “I’m Mickerson Matthew Carlucci Junior. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mickerson Matthew Carlucci Junior. I’m Susan.” She took his little hand into hers and couldn’t help but giggle.

He glanced up at his mother, a look of concern on his face.

“I told him we’re meeting Mrs. Starr.”

“Well, Mickerson, I am Mrs. Starr, but you may call me Susan if you like.”

“You can call me Mickey.”

“All right. How old are you, Mickey?”

“Four, Susan.”

“My, you are the most polite four-year-old I have ever met.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Mickey Senior says I’m a prodigy.”

Pepper groaned. “Prodigy. Nemesis. The jury is still out.”

He turned. “Mom, is it time for my Starbucks muffin treat?”

Susan laughed with Pepper and an odd thought struck her. Would her grandchild be as cute as Mickerson Matthew Carlucci Junior?

They sat outdoors in the sunshine.

Susan thought Mickey was a perfect buffer. His precocious conversation eased them through the first awkward moments of meeting. By the time they sat at a patio table and Pepper unloaded a bagful of books, markers, and miniature trucks, Susan felt able to sip her herbal tea without choking.

“Pepper, how many children do you have?”

“Six. Do you believe it?” She chuckled. “Aidan is the oldest, and—thank goodness—Mickey is the youngest.”

The boy, engrossed in drawing and eating his muffin, didn’t respond.

Pepper said, “We have the twins, Lisel and Sari. They’re working on their masters’ at UCLA. When they were in middle school, we started our second family.” Her smiled was self-deprecating. “Carys is ten, Davita is six.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry that you have six—I think that’s wonderful—we never could have more—Anyway, I’m sorry I don’t know anything about you. Kenzie never mentioned being…well, I just didn’t know she was particularly interested in your son. She spoke of him, of course, as a band member. As the leader, the songwriter. My, he is talented. Are all six of yours prodigies?” The perky tone reared its ugly inflection complete with chimp chatter.

But Pepper chuckled again. “Not exactly. Aidan is gifted in music, like Kenzie. Her voice belongs to an angel. And her fingers fly across a keyboard like it’s an extension of herself.”

“She’s played by ear since she was four.”

“Well, you have a prodigy for sure. Her lead vocals are my favorite of all their songs.” She smiled. “You were saying you didn’t know Kenzie and Aidan were an item?”

“She never spoke of him in…in that way.”

“Their friendship just seemed to develop naturally. You know, from working together. Aidan moved out of the house ages ago, but sometimes the band still practices in our garage. Sometimes they just hang out, like family. Our home is what you’d call laid-back. Really laid-back. I guess with six kids it has to be. People come and go at all hours, all days of the week. After a while, I noticed Kenzie would come and go even if the band wasn’t around.”

Susan bit her lip and waited a moment for her vocal chords to untangle. “So you’ve known her for some time.”

“Yes.”

And I don’t know Aidan because they didn’t hang out at our house. They didn’t do that because…because why?

Kenzie and that independent nature of hers was why! She rarely came herself and only called sporadically.

She said, “When did they start dating?”

Pepper shrugged. “A year ago, maybe.”

A year. A whole year and she didn’t know? What else didn’t she know? “Did they…did they live together?”

Pepper turned to her son. “Mickey, you can go run around. Just stay between those tables and that wall there. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled, brushing crumbs from his mouth. “Thanks for the treat. ’Scuse me.” He grabbed a handful of trucks and hopped down from the chair.

Pepper turned to Susan. “As far as I know they did not live together.”

“He thanked you!”

“What?”

“Mickey just thanked you and excused himself!”

“He’s a polite little thing.”

“He’s amazing.”

“He has five siblings who think they’re surrogate parents. We seem to share the role. Someday, though, we will have to let him go and he will make his own decisions.”

The shift in Pepper’s tone drew Susan back to the subject at hand.

“Aidan has been making most of his own for years now.” She paused. “I saw no evidence in his apartment that Kenzie was living with him. I think he would have told me. I do know they fell in love somewhere along the way. They’re crazy about each other. One thing led to another and now here we are.”

“But Kenzie is a Christian!” The words tumbled out, at last naming a confusion that had plagued her since January first. “Your son writes worship music!” Maybe it wasn’t worship music. Maybe Drake was right. He had studied Aidan’s lyrics. Maybe the opaque references to love and peace and joy had nothing whatsoever to do with God.

Pepper tilted her head in a questioning gesture. “Yeah?”

“Well, I think something is terribly wrong with this picture!”

“You think Christians don’t stumble?”

Susan blinked. “How…how can you condone what they’ve done? What they’re doing?”

“Oh, goodness.” Pepper laughed in disbelief. “I don’t condone it. They’ve made some incredibly stupid decisions and created humongous bumps in their road. They’ve done things their own way, kind of like a hundred percent of the world’s population does. But I accept these two children of ours.” Her tone grew urgent, almost argumentative. “They are wounded human beings who are bringing another one into the world who will need that same acceptance and not condemnation for being born.”

Susan’s heart pounded. “What about consequences? How can they learn from their mistakes if we simply welcome them with open arms? That communicates they can do whatever they please.”

Pepper opened her mouth and then quickly shut it. Her lips disappeared as if she were pulling them inward and sealing them together. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Susan, I’m sometimes accused of being too blunt. Tact just isn’t one of my gifts. I blame my parents. I mean, for goodness’ sake they named me ‘Pepper.’ My personality was doomed from day one to be irritating. Please forgive me if I come across hurtful. I don’t mean to.”