Beach Blondes: June Dreams, July's Promise, August Magic (Summer) (39 page)

“Still,” he said. “Two years old…Shouldn’t I remember something? I remember things from when I was little, but it’s all disconnected stuff, just images, bits and pieces, like anyone has. Toys. Going to get a shot at the doctor. Laughing really hard when someone was tickling me. This cool little car I had. A pair of pants that were too scratchy. There’s nothing there. I don’t even have any way of knowing how old I was, and those memories aren’t
important
because little kids don’t know what’s important. I mean, when I was two I don’t exactly remember who was president or what was going on in the Middle East. Kids remember dumb stuff. Falling off a swing, that’s a big event.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all Summer could think of to say. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to figure this out. You and I do look alike, but you look a little like Brad Pitt too, so I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I’ve been over and over all this in my mind,” J.T. said. “What do we have? I know that I’m not biologically related to my parents. I know that I couldn’t find a birth certificate for myself, and I had to use a baptism certificate to get my driver’s license. Why? I don’t know. Then Marquez tells me that you lost a brother who would be just my age. And she says she’s seen us do things or say things at the same time, as if there’s some kind of psychic link.”

Summer started to say something, then hesitated. What was she going to say? Are you the boy in white who keeps appearing in my dreams? That would sound slightly insane.

“What?” J.T. asked. Then he wiggled his eyebrows. “See? I
knew
you were about to say something. Proof!”

They both laughed, the mood momentarily a little lighter.

“I was just going to ask you…do you ever have dreams about the past?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have many dreams, I guess. Or at least when I do, I usually forget them within a minute or two of waking up.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?” He looked at her closely.

“I don’t know. They say dreams tell you things sometimes.”

“If they do, then they aren’t speaking very clearly to me,” J.T. said.

“This is going to sound like a strange question,” Summer said. “But when you were saying you remembered things from your childhood—you know, like toys and all—was one of them a red ball?”

He smiled. “A red ball? Was that what Jonathan…I…had when he, or I, disappeared?”

“No one really knows. Forget it,” she said.

Silence fell between them, and J.T. returned his gaze to the picture. Summer could see he was trying to find something in it that would open up his dark past. Some explanation.

“I’m going to have to ask them, aren’t I?” J.T. said softly.

There was no doubt in Summer’s mind whom J.T. meant by
them.
His parents. The people he had always believed were his mother and father.

“The only problem is, do I really want to know the truth?”

Then, surprisingly, his usual devil-may-care smile was back, like the sun poking unexpectedly through storm clouds. He took Summer’s hand and met her gaze. “I know one thing. I’d be proud to be your big brother.”

Summer looked past him at the picture of her parents. If it was true…

Sixteen years of grieving would be ended. A miracle would have occurred.

“I’d be proud to be your little sister, too,” Summer said.

Summer went to sleep worried that she would be haunted by some nightmare from hell involving not only small boys dressed all in white, but also Seth Warner and Sean Valletti. The idea of all those elements coming together—especially Seth and Sean—was almost enough to keep her awake.

But when she woke she remembered no dreams at all. She did, however, notice a pounding noise like the worst headache on earth. It took several seconds of blank, stupid staring before she realized it actually was pounding and not a headache.

“Who is it?” she yelled, sounding cranky.

“Are you decent?” It was Seth’s voice.

“Oh. Seth? Come in!” she yelled. She did not stir from the bed, but pulled the covers higher. She was wearing her usual sleep attire—a baby-tee and boxers. She quickly turned over her pillow after noticing a drool spot. Seth might be grossed out.

The door opened and he came in, looking like a parody of a blue-collar romance hero—tool belt, tight-fitting T-shirt, well-worn and paint-splattered Levi’s, clunky brown work boots.

“What, you’re still in bed?” he asked incredulously.

“I couldn’t get to sleep last night,” Summer muttered.
Mostly because I was racked with guilt over having let Sean Valletti kiss me.

Seth came over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I probably have morning breath,” Summer said. “And speaking of morning, why are you here? Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

“I told you I was coming to put molding in your bathroom and lay in a line for cable,” he said. “All part of the original work order from your aunt.”

“She actually said I should have cable TV down here?” Summer asked skeptically.

“Well…she said I should fix whatever needed fixing and do whatever needed to be done to make this place livable. And how am I going to hang out with you down here if you don’t get ESPN? Don’t make me choose between you and the Milwaukee Brewers.”

Summer wrapped her arms around his neck and with sudden force pulled him onto the bed beside her. “If you have to choose, I’d better win.” She kissed him deeply, with intensity spurred at least in part by the guilty memory of Sean.

“Why, Ms. Smith,” Seth protested, “I’m only here to install your cable. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“I don’t know,” Summer said in as sultry a voice as she could manage at that hour of the morning. “Are you the kind of guy who would do something really wonderful and exciting for me?”

“Yes, I am,” Seth said, not fooled.

Summer collapsed onto his chest and closed her eyes. “Then make me some coffee, because I’m sleepy.”

She managed to stumble to the bathroom and subject her body to toothpaste, soap, and deodorant by the time Seth had coffee ready.

She had also managed to run every possible scenario regarding the question of Sean Valletti through her head. They boiled down to two simple options: tell Seth, or don’t tell Seth. If she told Seth, he might blow it all out of proportion. If she didn’t tell Seth and he later found out, he was certain to blow it all out of proportion.

The unanswered question was, what was the
right
proportion?

“Thanks,” she said, accepting a cup from him.

They decided to go outside. They circled the walkway that formed a narrow deck all the way around the stilt house, leaning against the railing and sipping coffee in silence for a while as they watched boat traffic move in and out of the bay. Little boats, big boats, sailboats, Jet Skis, windsurfers. It was a beautiful day, not too horribly humid, with the heat still many hours away from its afternoon peak. The sky was a perfect cornflower blue, with all the clouds gathered neatly together, far off to the east.

Frank the pelican was away from his usual perch, off for a day of dive-bombing fish. Diver was missing from his perch, too. Off early, as usual, to a day of doing whatever it was Diver did.

“So what happened to you last night?” Seth asked, yanking Summer away from her contemplation of the sky.

“What do you mean?” Summer demanded in a too-loud voice. She could feel herself blushing.

“I mean, we were going to get together after you finished working that boat party,” he said. No sign that he was suspicious.

“Oh, right,” Summer said. “Well, it was J.T. After we got done, which was later than we expected, he wanted to talk. You know, about all that stuff.”

Seth nodded sympathetically. “How is he doing? How are
you
doing?”

“I think it’s harder for him,” Summer said. “Much harder. If it turns out to be true, if he is Jonathan, I gain a brother, and my parents find their long-lost son. But J.T. suddenly has to find a new place in the world. He has a new name, a new history, a new family.”

Seth whistled sympathetically. “What are you guys going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Summer admitted. “None of this has really penetrated. I mean, it all still seems so unreal. I guess I’m just lying back and waiting to see what
he
does. I sure can’t tell my parents about it. Not until it’s definite.”

“How about footprints?”

“Huh? Footprints?”

“Yeah. Most hospitals take a footprint when a baby is born. You know, it’s like a fingerprint, except I guess with babies the fingers are too tiny to use. If you know which hospital Jonathan was born at, maybe you can send away for the records.”

Summer just stared at him.

“I mean, it would tell you for sure, one way or the other. You would know once and for all whether Jonathan is alive and living right here on Crab Claw Key. Get them to FedEx the stuff and you could have proof within a couple of days.”

The first call, the first of what would be many calls, came in at ten-thirty in the morning, just after Diana had finished working out to a TV fitness show. Diana hadn’t performed anything like real exercise in at least a year, perhaps more, and she found she was easily exhausted. Long before the half-hour show was over, Diana had grown sullen, spending more and more time coming up with imaginative insults to throw at the insanely perky exer-witch.

Still, she told herself, it was exercise, of a sort. A small step of progress away from lying around in bed most of the day. There were actual beads of sweat on her forehead. That had to count for something.

Her mother appeared in the doorway. She had “home” hair at the moment, which was to say hair of a normal human size, not the bouffant monstrosity she wore out in public because she thought that was what her fans expected of a successful romance novelist.

Mallory looked suspicious. “There’s someone on the phone for you,” she said, eyeing her daughter closely.

“Uh-huh. So?” Diana wondered if it was one of the agents from the FDLE. She hadn’t told her mother about going to the police. Mallory had tried to stop her from pursuing an action against the Merricks. Partly out of justifiable fear of the Merrick millions, partly out of self-interest—the Merrick family owned a piece of Mallory’s publisher.

“So he says his name is Mark DeWayne,” Mallory said. “Do you know someone named Mark DeWayne?”

That wasn’t the name of any of the cops Diana had met. “Never heard of him.”

She levered herself up off the floor, where she had been stretching out, and went to the phone in the kitchen. Her mother followed close behind.

“Yes?”

“Is this Diana Olan?” a voice asked.

“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

He identified himself as Mark DeWayne, a producer for
The Last Word.

Diana met her mother’s anxious gaze.
“The Last Word?”
she said clearly, enjoying the dawning look of dark worry on her mother’s face.
The Last Word
was the new challenger to the more established TV tabloid shows such as
Hard Copy
and
Inside Edition.

“Yes,” Diana said in response to the next question, still holding her mother’s gaze. “Yes, I
did
level certain charges, as you say. I spoke with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement the day before yesterday.”

Mallory’s eyes flew open wide. Her lip was trembling with suppressed rage. She seemed poised to rush forward, perhaps hang up the phone.

“And you are the daughter of Mallory Olan, the writer?”

“Yes, my mother is the famous writer,” Diana said, enjoying the moment. “You’re probably curious about how she’s reacting to this too, right?”

Mallory froze.

“Well,” Diana said, “of course my mother’s been very supportive. What kind of mother would be anything but supportive?” She sent her mother a look of cold triumph. From this moment on, Diana was in charge. What could Mallory possibly do, now that everything was going public? If she failed to support her daughter, she would look like an unfeeling monster.

“I haven’t decided whether I want to do any interviews,” Diana said. “I mean, the FDLE guys advised me not to talk to people like you, no offense. So I’m going to have to think about it.”

She listened a moment longer. One more surprise for Mallory. “Yes, there is a tape,” Diana said.

Her mother rocked back, pressing her palm against the counter for support.

“A videotape,” Diana said. “Sure, I can confirm that. The FDLE has a copy and I have a copy. What does it show? It shows Ross Merrick confessing, and it shows the senator trying to intimidate me.”

To Diana’s surprise, her mother did not faint. On the contrary, she laughed, a dry, amused, perhaps amazed sound.

A few minutes later, after repeated and increasingly annoyed refusals to sit for an interview, Diana hung up the phone.

Mallory began clapping her hands, slow, ironic applause. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Am I?”

“Oh, yes,” Mallory said. “You have one of the richest, most powerful families in America shaking in its boots.”

“I guess I do. Plus the other thing.”

“Which is?”

“I also have one of the biggest romance writers in the country shaking in
her
boots.”

Mallory bit her lip and said nothing. Diana moved close, close enough for her harsh whisper to be heard clearly. “You had your chance to decide who to support,
Mother.
”

“I was only trying to protect you,” Mallory protested.

Diana laughed derisively. “Sure you were. You were trying to protect me. All you cared about was the wellbeing of your daughter. And that’s the story I’ll keep telling everyone…which is a good thing, because if I didn’t, if I told people you tried to destroy evidence because you wanted to protect your career…I guess after that got out, you wouldn’t
have
much of a career.”

Mallory took a deep, steadying breath. “Diana, whatever you think, I do love you.”

“I love me too,” Diana said. “Now.”

Just then Summer opened the kitchen door and came in. Reading the mood, her face went from sunny to guarded in an instant.

“Is this a bad time?” Summer asked.

“No, not at all,” Diana said brightly. “This is a great time.”

“Hi, Aunt Mallory,” Summer said.

“Summer. Well, I’ve barely had a chance to see you since you got here,” Mallory said. “We’ll have to remedy that. But right now I have a little headache.”

Summer started to answer, but her aunt was already on her way out of the room.

“Sense a certain tension in the air?” Diana asked gleefully.

“Kind of,” Summer answered neutrally. “Were you guys planning World War Three or something?”

Diana laughed, saw that her laughter had startled Summer, and laughed all the harder.

“I, um, just was wondering if you’d seen my video camera,” Summer said, looking mightily uncomfortable. “I couldn’t find it. I use it to post a video blog.”

Diana just laughed harder. “I have a very interesting story to tell you about your video camera,” she said. “Come on, we’ll get it, and then you and I—and why not, we’ll even pick up Marquez—we’ll all go shopping or something.”

“Are you all right?” Summer asked skeptically.

“I’m the greatest I’ve ever been,” Diana said. “And you know what, Summer? You helped start it all.”

“Me? What did I help start?”

“Everything. You know what you said to me the day after the whole big thing at the Merrick estate? You remember, the next day? You told me thanks. For coming to make sure you were okay, and for telling you everything.
Thanks.
That’s what started it.”

Diana realized she was babbling, but she didn’t care. Summer looked as if she was measuring the distance to the nearest exit, but that just made Diana want to laugh again.

“See, you said thanks, and I started thinking, thanks for what?”

“Because you had taken a risk to protect me,” Summer said.

“Exactly. You said I was brave. And I thought about it, and after a while I started to wonder if maybe you weren’t right. And then I started thinking, you know, Diana, maybe if you were brave for Summer, you could be brave for yourself, because what it all comes down to in the end is that you have absolutely no one in the world but yourself. And from that the whole answer became clear.”