Beachcombers. Part 32

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. Jason's twenty-four." She felt her heart expand under the sunlight of Eartha's interest. "We've known each other, kind of, all our lives--"

The phone rang. Eartha grabbed it, checked the caller ID, and clicked it on. "Darling!" she roared. "G.o.d, wasn't last night divine!"

Lily waited for a moment, until she realized that Eartha was going to keep talking. She stood up carefully, like someone in a new atmosphere. Everything was the same. Everything was different. Brighter. Gilded. Enchanted.

She saw no cup or plate or tray, so she went into the kitchen and prepared a light breakfast for Eartha. When she brought it back, Eartha was still on the phone, so she set it on the table next to her and began the task of picking up, smoothing out, and folding the clothes strewn across the floor. Some were obviously summer clothes, sleeveless and loose and lightweight. She set those in one pile. Others were dresses Eartha had worn in the evening, and those Lily put into a separate pile. Eartha might not want to wear them twice. But if she was going to be someplace different, with people who hadn't seen her on the island, she might want to wear them, especially this black silk that was so flattering to Eartha.

As she worked, she felt light-headed, even giddy. It was the most amazing thing, to have a dream come true. She had fantasized about Eartha giving her clothes and jewelry, and Eartha had. She had daydreamed about leaving the island for more glamorous places, and suddenly, as if an angel had flown overhead and dropped a present into her lap, here was her opportunity. It was so astounding, so magical ... She couldn't believe it, actually. She was afraid to get too excited. Eartha could be capricious. What if Eartha changed her mind?

And what if Eartha didn't change her mind?

She thought she could convince Jason to understand how much she wanted this. Six months away wouldn't kill them, wouldn't change the love between them. Perhaps Jason might worry that Lily would find city life too tempting, or that she might fall in love with someone else, or have an affair. She had to admit it, the thought of having an affair with a Parisian made her heart race. What if he was a count or something? Why not dream big? Her dreams seemed to be coming true! What if he was a count with a little old castle outside Paris?

Slow down, Lily ordered herself. Get real. Think about this: What would it be like to live with Eartha? Every day. Not to be able to go home to relax and kick back in her own familiar place? Would they get on each other's nerves? Of course they would. They were only human. What if Eartha sent Lily packing? So what? Lily would have at least had the experience of living in New York and Paris. And living posh. She wouldn't be cramped in a garret like an au pair or foreign exchange student. Eartha would stay in five-star hotels and ride in limos and attend concerts and operas.

She and Eartha did have fun together. True, Lily was a kind of servant to the older woman, but she was also a kind of friend, and perhaps even a bit more than that. What was she? Lily couldn't be a nurse. She didn't even know CPR. If she was going to Paris with Eartha, she'd better learn that. Would the word companion describe her relations.h.i.+p to the older woman? That came close. Over the past weeks, Lily had come to feel a wary, unsettling affection for Eartha, and she thought Eartha felt the same for her. It certainly wasn't mother/child. Eartha wasn't a thing like a mother. It was actually more like Lily was taking care of Eartha. But of course Eartha was paying her for it.

Oh, things were all mixed up!

49.

Marina How did the Fox family celebrate Labor Day, Marina wondered. She was lolling in the deck chair beneath the apple tree, with a cookbook and a pad and pen in her hand to provide her with the illusion that she was accomplis.h.i.+ng something. It would be a pleasure for them, Marina thought, if she prepared an elaborate holiday meal, with lots of munchies they could enjoy all day as they lounged around reading and talking, and she wanted to roast something long and slowly, so the aroma would drift through the air. She would make a special dessert, something complicated, something chocolate ...

"Marina!" Suddenly Emma surged down the yard. She plopped down on a chair next to Marina. "I have to talk to you. You have to help. It's about Abbie."

"Oh, dear. Is she okay?"

"No, she's not! She's so much in love with Howell Parker, and just because of the little boy--who she loves, by the way--she's decided she can't be with him."

"Oh, Emma, I'm not sure your father would like me to get involved."

"Are you kidding? For heaven's sake, Marina, you might become our stepmother. I know you love our father and respect his opinions, but that doesn't mean you have to walk two steps behind him with your mouth shut!"

Marina grinned, but said nothing.

"Abbie is so so sad." Emma perched on the edge of her chair, unable to relax. "I hate to see her like this. And you have to understand Abbie. She's never allowed herself to get involved with a man. I don't know why. Sometimes I think it's because our mother died. Maybe Abbie doesn't want to love someone because she knows how much it hurts to lose someone."

"You're a rather odd advocate for divorce," Marina said gently. "You know how much it hurts to have a man dump you for someone else. And so do I."

"Oh, I know, but come on, Marina, sometimes divorce is a good thing. From what Abbie's said, Sydney Parker is a jet-propelled b.i.t.c.h. She's not even nice to her son. And Howell told Abbie he loves her. He doesn't love Sydney. And you are the perfect example of how a divorced woman can pick up her life and start all over again. Look at you! You've met a wonderful man."

"That's true." Emma didn't need advice as much as simply someone to listen to her, Marina thought. And she could do that.

"Well, Abbie says Sydney's gorgeous. So Sydney will meet someone else, and Harry will have lots of people to love him. And Abbie and Howell will be with each other, and Abbie already loves Harry and Harry loves Abbie. Everybody wins."

"That's oversimplifying. You know that if Harry's parents get divorced, it's bound to hurt him."

"I don't agree! If they handle it well, he'll be fine!" Emma jumped up and paced back and forth beneath the tree. "Marina, please, listen to me. I think Howell Parker is the love of Abbie's life. We can't sit back and let her throw her chance for happiness away."

"But Emma, what can we do?"

"I don't know! That's why I came to talk to you. Surely there's something we can do. Marina, all her life Abbie's taken care of other people. Just for once, she needs someone to help her." Emma hurled herself back down into her chair. "Talk to her, at least, Marina. Just talk to her, okay?"

Marina reached over and took Emma's hand. "Okay. I'll talk to Abbie. But tell me, Emma, are you all right?"

Tears sprang into Emma's eyes. "Oh, I don't know." She jerked her hand away from Marina's, and suddenly her voice was trembling. "This summer has just turned out so weird. I guess I'm still smarting over Sandra Bracebridge firing me like that. I didn't get to say good-bye to Millicent, and that just feels wrong."

"And did you say good-bye to Spencer?" Marina could tell her words. .h.i.t home by the sudden flush that reddened Emma's cheeks and neckline.

"Oh, that doesn't matter. He probably thinks I'm an idiot, thanks to Lily's nasty little trick."

"He didn't act like that at the police station. In fact, Emma, I think he's rather taken with you."

"Right," Emma scoffed. She shook her head angrily. "I didn't come here to whine and snivel about myself. I'm here about Abbie."

"I don't know what I could say that would change things."

"Still ... talk to her, okay? At least talk to her."

"All right," Marina agreed. "I'll do that."

"Marina?"

From behind her, a man spoke.

The sound of his voice made Marina gasp.

She turned. For a moment, she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Gerry?" She stared, amazed.

"Gerry." Emma echoed the name. She rose, too.

It was as strange as if a fish had come walking down the driveway. Marina's ex-husband stood there, with his boyish shock of blond hair and his come-f.u.c.k-me blue eyes. He wore a lightweight blazer and gray trousers and leather loafers. She had been with him when he'd bought that blazer.

And he was holding a little bundle that looked very much like a baby.

Marina was paralyzed with shock. She was grateful when Emma stepped forward, crossing the few feet of gra.s.s between her and her ex-husband.

"h.e.l.lo. I'm Emma Fox." She didn't offer her hand. Instead she planted herself between Gerry and Marina, hands on her hips, suspicious.

"I'm Gerry Warren. I'm Marina's husband."

"Ex-husband, I believe," Emma said.

Gerry didn't take his eyes off Marina. "I'd like to speak with Marina alone."

"Why?" Emma demanded.

Marina found her voice. "It's all right, Emma."

"Fine." Emma took a few steps toward the house, then turned back. "Dad will be home soon."

"I know," Marina a.s.sured her. She couldn't take her eyes off the bundle in Gerry's arms.

Gerry came closer. "This is my son." He held out the baby.

Marina could sense something moving toward her like a dark wave, a tsunami of important information, she could feel it loom and cast its huge shadow over her life. She was trembling.

Marina gasped, "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"May I sit down?"

"No."

"Marina, please. Marina--" Gerry's voice broke. "Dara died."

"What?"

"Dara died. She developed an infection, but she didn't tell anyone in time, and it spread like wildfire, and she died. Marina, Dara's gone." Gerry began to weep, without restraint, without shame.

She could see that his knees were about to buckle. "Sit down." She took his arm and pulled him forward to the lawn chair.

Gerry collapsed in the chair. Marina sat, too, and ran her hands over her face. What was he doing here, telling her this, that Dara had died. That couldn't be right!

Holding the baby to his chest, he sobbed, bent double, folded over with grief. "Oh, G.o.d, Marina, oh, G.o.d, it's so awful, it's so terrible! I can't believe it happened! I loved her so much! I can't believe she's gone."

A high mewing noise filled the air. Gerry sniffed and straightened and held the baby away from him. "Sorry, Garfield, sorry, little boy."

Marina blinked. "You named your baby Garfield?"

"You know it was Dara's father's name." Gerry gently pulled the blanket away from his son's face. "Hold him." He offered the baby to Marina.

Marina hesitated, then took the baby. The warm bundle stirred in her arms, nestling against her breast. With one finger, she opened the blanket so she could see the baby better. He was so small! He moved his head, and his eyes locked on hers. He seemed to be regarding Marina with wonder, just as she was regarding him.

Marina had never seen anything more precious than this child. She cooed at the baby and gently stroked her finger over his cheek, which was so soft, it was like the surface of water. "h.e.l.lo, little Garfield," she whispered.

The baby responded to her voice by pursing his lips and making sucking motions with his mouth.

That small instinctive response broke Marina's heart open. "Oh," she said, and a geyser of emotion shot from deep in her body. Gazing down at the infant, she wept. Her tears fell on his blanket.

"I know," Gerry said. "I know. Oh, Marina, I loved her so much. I can't believe she's gone."

"I didn't know people could die from infections anymore."

"They do all the time, the doctors told me. Not that it makes any difference, it's no comfort. Dara is still dead."

"I'm sorry, Gerry." Marina tried to smother her weeping, but all she could do was to choke back the urge to wail. She didn't want to frighten this innocent, helpless baby. "I'm so sorry." She had already lost Dara this summer, when Gerry left her to be with Dara. And perhaps she'd lost Dara long before that, when Dara began her affair with Gerry. Dear old friend, Marina thought. To lose her life so young--to lose the chance to live with her little baby! "It's terrible," Marina said.

She could see how her emotions were affecting the infant. She swallowed her tears and s.h.i.+fted the baby so that he lay lengthwise on her knees. She made small bouncing motions with her legs, swaying the baby, and immediately he registered this change. He looked puzzled, but content. His blond hair was almost invisible, swirling like curls of light over his pink scalp. She opened the blanket more and studied his little arms and legs, his crooked knees, his seash.e.l.l fingernails.

"At least you have him," Marina said. "And he's quite something."

Gerry pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. "I know. I know. And Marina ... I want you to come home with us. I want you to marry me again. I want you to come home with me. I want you to be his mother."

50.

Abbie As she'd done for so many summer afternoons, Abbie entered the Parker house, went down the hall, and into the kitchen.

Howell sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.

His son was not in the room.

"Where's Harry?" Abbie asked.

"Hey, Abbie." Howell pushed back his chair and stood up. "I've sent Harry off with another babysitter."

"Oh," Abbie said in a very small voice. "So ... I should leave?"

He stepped toward her, and reached out his arms to hold her, but she moved away.

"Abbie. No, I don't want you to leave. Harry's with another sitter so I can have some time alone with you. I want to talk to you. I've tried phoning, but you won't pick up or return my calls. What's going on?"

Abbie took a few more steps so that she had a chair between her and Howell. His worried expression and the intensity of his gaze tugged on her like a lifeline.

"Howell ..." Her voice cracked. She started again. "Howell, we can't do this. It isn't right. We need to think of Harry."

Howell ran his hand through his hair, tousling it into an almost comical disarray. After a moment, he said, "Abbie, will you just sit down at the table and talk with me? Please?"

She nodded. Her heart was so full she thought it might break. She took the chair farthest from Howell. He sat, too, and for a moment he just studied her face.

"You've changed," Howell stated bluntly. "Have you stopped loving me?"

"G.o.d, no!" The words burst from her before she could think. She closed her eyes and focused on reining herself in. After a moment, she opened her eyes and tried to be calm. Clear. "Howell, I don't think I'll ever stop loving you. But while you were gone, when Harry was hurt, I realized how much he needs his mother, how much he needs both his parents." Urgently, she added, "How much he needs both his parents together."