A Month at the Shore (28 page)

It was another in a string of improbably glorious days, warm and breezy and absolutely tailor-made for flying a kite. There were dozens of them visible from the town center where the sisters were currently taking in the scene.

"It was Gabe who came up with the Pitcairn concept," Corinne explained. "He's so proud of Chepaquit's history."

"And well he should be. He's a Wellerton, after all, descended from one of our founders."

A discouraged sigh escaped Corinne. "He is, isn't he
.
Oh,
lord
. What was I thinking?"

Laura said, "Now, wait a minute. He's a Wellerton, not a Washington, for
Pete's
sake. Let's not get
overly
impressed."

"You're not impressed that Kendall Barclay is descended from Captain Barclay himself?"

"No! Well
... maybe I was once. But I'm willing to bet that Kendall Barclay takes his pants off one leg at a time," she said dryly, "just like everyone else."

Corinne laughed and said, "Isn't the expression supposed to be 'Puts his pants
on
one leg at a time' ?"

"Oh
. You're right," Laura said, embarrassed. "How Freudian of me." She decided that there was absolutely no point in dwelling on either the man or his pants, since she didn't expect to see him again after her panicky meltdown of the previous night.

She and Corinne got in line to buy cherry slushes from an ice-cream truck parked in the blocked-off street. All too aware of their current notoriety, they waited in discreet silence until suddenly Corinne groaned and said, "Oh, shoot; I forgot to take something out of the freezer for Snack."

At the mention of their brother's name, the woman ahead of them turned her head around sharply, took in who was standing there, lifted her chin, and yanked her grandson out of the line.

"We'll get the slush later, Joshua. Let's go look at the quilt exhibit first."

Little Joshua was having none of it. "No! I want my slush first! You said!"

"Don't be naughty. We can come back when the line is smaller, Josh. Come with me; we'll go see the quilts."

"I don't
wanna
see quilts, not now, not ever. I want my slush!"

He began to bawl loudly.

The woman turned to the sisters with a baleful look. "I hope you're happy now," she snapped. "You are
nothing
but trouble, you Shores."

She gave Joshua's arm a yank that might have dismembered a less robust child and marched him, howling, toward the village hall.

"Who was
that?'
Laura asked, abashed.

Corinne's tan did nothing to hide the crimson flush in her cheeks, but this time her high color was from anger. She was as stunned as Laura was.

Under her breath, she said, "You didn't recognize her? That was Patsy O'Hara's mother. Josh is Patsy's kid."

"Mrs. O'Hara? Oh, God, it figures. She
never
let Patsy play with us. I remember one time I sneaked over to Patsy's house and Mrs. O'Hara came home unexpectedly; I hid under the bed for an hour before she left again and I could escape. It was the most humiliating hour of my life."

Once again Laura remembered why she'd left Chepaquit. How did you change people's initial convictions about you? It couldn't be done. There they were, two grown women, dressed very prettily in summer skirts and pastel tops and politely minding their own business, and what did they get? Bushwhacked.

Of course, the latest scandal couldn't be helping their case for acceptance very much. Still, bones or no bones, it was completely unnerving to have Mrs. O'Hara whip her head around like that at the mention of Snack's name. Was it the Shore clan in general that everyone was focused on—or Snack himself? The town had never had much use for him.

Laura could see that Corinne was wondering the same thing. Their spirits dampened, they skipped the cherry ices and headed off for the kite-flying arena. Corinne was always happiest with the wind in her hair, anyway.

There was no line at the popcorn cart, so they bought a bag apiece and munched on the snack as they threaded their way through strolling tourists and townspeople—no huge crowds, despite the fine weather and the Pitcairn comparison. They wandered down a side lane that led to the town beach, a wide strip of pure white sand with a weathered concession shed in the middle and dotted with humble trash barrels painted with childlike renderings of gulls and shells.

The kites, of every conceivable type and color, were swooping, diving, climbing, and skittering across a sky studded with cotton clouds. Bird kites, twist kites, box kites, dragon kites, stunt kites, trick kites, and several plain old everyday diamond kites filled the air with their jubilant solo dances.

Laura was enchanted.

"They didn't have this during Founders Week when
we
were kids," she said.

"How would we know? We would've been working."

"Too true," Laura said, yearning once again for that childhood she'd somehow missed. "Well, we're not working now, so let's make up for a few lost years."

They took off their sandals and trekked leisurely across the warm sand, digging their toes in now and then to watch a particularly perilous maneuver and, at one point, crying out together when one of the kites crash-landed in the parking lot.

"Don't worry, it's cool," the teenage owner assured them as he began reeling in his fierce-looking F-16.

Relieved to see no damage done, they walked on, pausing at the very end of the exhibition to marvel at the twenty-five-foot-long dragon kite that wiggled and wallowed above them. Its great size and bright yellow, green, and red color scheme made it easily the biggest and brightest kite in the sky, humbling the charming Harry Potter diamond kite that snapped and fluttered alongside.

"It's hard to believe that the same wind can keep both those kites aloft," said Corinne, shading her eyes from the afternoon sun.

"I know," Laura said, squinting up at them. "You expect the one to sink like a stone, and the other to blow apart. I don't understand the aerodynamics of kites at all. You know what, we should just ask some—"

One. The one. The one, the only. What was he doing here, of all places, and with a Harry Potter kite, of all things?

"Hey," Ken said, seeing them at about the same time that Laura saw him. A grin spread across his face, leaving Laura giddy.

When I see him, my heart goes up, up, and away.

Corinne had got it just about right, Laura realized. Her own heart was lifting and soaring alongside that Harry Potter kite. She was astounded by the coincidence of their meeting. Never mind that the beach was filled with locals. This was extraordinary. This was fate.

He was wearing a shirt and tie with his khakis, way overdressed for
Portland
,
Oregon
, but somehow not that weird for a beach in
New England
.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, and she was hoping the answer would be, "Waiting for you, of course."

"Banker's hours, remember?" he teased, and then he went on to explain. "I had the kite—my nieces and I made it when they were visiting—and it was just sitting at home. I figured I'd take it down to the beach and give it to the first kid I saw."

He said with a gallant smile, "Corinne? That would be you," and handed her his string-wrapped stick.

"Me?" she squeaked. "Oh, I couldn't, honest, I don't know how
... I've never flown a kite, ever. Take it back, take it back,
plee-eeze."
She looked as if he'd just handed her the controls of a jumbo jet.

"You're doing swell. Just pump it two or three times, and you'll be able to keep it right where it is," he said, laughing. "Okay, ma'am, you're on your own. Mind if I steal your sister for a couple of minutes while I take in the rest of the show? I didn't do it when I first got here."

Corinne nodded nervously, her gaze fixed on the kite, and Ken took Laura by the arm and said, "Shall we?"

And when he touches me or kisses me, it's pure heaven.

Corinne had that part right as well. Oh, damn,
Corinne
had it
all
so completely right.
  Women in love.

When they had strolled a little
way off
, Laura said to him, "You do realize that my sister will die of embarrassment if Harry Potter crashes and burns, don't you?"

"Harry's fine. Those instructions I gave her basically cancel one another out. It's a perfect day; the kite will fly itself."

"Oh. Well, in that case
..
.
."

She let herself fall into strolling mode with him, perfectly happy, for once, just to be. Maybe it was her imagination, maybe it was the kites, maybe it was because when you smile, the whole world smiles with you—but everyone they passed on the beach seemed willing to make eye contact with Laura without a hint of suspicion, much less hostility. A couple of women even asked to know when the nursery would be open again for business; they'd heard so much about the jumbo-sized annuals for sale there.

It's Ken,
she theorized.
They're
trying to score points with him.

But why would young mothers with children and little old ladies in hairpins want to do that? Wasn't it possible that Chepaquit was simply evolving into a vibrant, smalltown alternative to Boston? The town was clearly growing. Laura had seen the new construction, seen the new faces.

What she hadn't seen, until that moment, were the possibilities for a future there.

Frightened by her own optimism, she walked beside Ken in thoughtful silence. He seemed content to do the same. But she was practically throbbing with awareness of him, despite the bright sun and the people all around them. If they'd been alone on the deck of a yacht in the moonlight, she could not have been more aware of him.

And yet Ken seemed truly to have nothing to say. Once or twice he glanced at her, but he seemed content just to walk. It rattled her, and she got a little silly, as she sometimes did when she was flustered.

"Wanna hear a kite joke?" she asked him.

"Sure."

"A man is in his yard," she said, "trying to fly a kite with his son. Every time the kite gets up into the air, it comes crashing down again. This goes on for a while. Finally, his wife sticks her head out the window and yells, 'You need more tail.' The father turns to his kid and says, 'Son, I'll never understand your mom. Just yesterday I told her I needed more tail, and she told me to go fly a kite.' "

Ken burst into a loud laugh. "I'm shocked," he said primly. "Who told it to you? Snack?"

Caught off guard by the question, Laura had to say: "Max."

Ken gave a single upward jerk of his head by way of an acknowledgment. After they walked a few more steps, he said, "I'm pretty sure I hate that guy."

Surprised, she said, "Why? Because he dumped me?"

"Because he knew you well enough to tell you dirty jokes."

She stopped to do a double-take. "You want to tell me dirty jokes?"

"I just want to know you well enough to."

If she expected to find burning desire in the look he was giving her, Laura was disappointed. She saw wariness in those sea-blue eyes, and, worse, distrust. The question was, what was it that he distrusted?

"We really have spent more time in the trenches than we have at the pool, haven't we?" she said. Before he could answer, she added, "And, face it: it doesn't look as if my life will be normal anytime soon."

"Doesn't look like it," he agreed. "What's your point?"

"My point is that unless you have a taste for the bizarre situation, I'm not sure you want to continue this walk with me."

"Well," he drawled. "I guess we're even now."

"Oh? How so?"

"This time you're the one who's ambushed
me."

The phrase vividly called up a picture of them in the doorway of his bedroom; Laura could practically hear her own moans.

"I didn't intend to ambush you," she said, pressing her lips together. "I just want you to know that there's no obligation to get to know me well enough to tell me dirty jokes."

Without a smile, he said, "How about if I just try to get to know you, period?"

It was an odd proposal, possibly innocent, probably intimate. Laura didn't really know what to make of it, but she knew what her answer had to be. "Yes. Okay. I'd
... like that."

Suddenly they heard Corinne yelling at them. "Ken! Help! That dog ran off with my sandal! Come and take the kite!"

Laughing, Ken yelled back, "I'll get the shoe." He took off after the golden retriever, who apparently had decided that the sandal could use a good wash. Into the sea went Ken. After a brief showdown with the animal, he was able to return the sodden shoe to its rightful owner.