The Beach House (17 page)

Chapter 3

It's a beautiful morning,” Maggie said as she stared out the living room window. The feeder had drawn a flock of house finches. They swooped and landed, darted and chased, as they vied for prime positions while down below, crested sparrows calmly and peacefully went about cleaning up the spilled booty.

Joe came over to stand beside Maggie, moving slowly as he worked out the kinks that came from a hard night's sleep. He put a finger under her chin to tilt her head back for a kiss. “What are you doing up so early?”

She put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, the touch and smell and feel of him as familiar and welcome as the air she breathed. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I was thinking about Jason. He's special, Joe. I know it's a lot to say after only just meeting, but I don't believe I've ever known another little boy like him.”

“How so?”

“He has a gentle soul. All that time he and Josi were together, he never once teased her by tweaking her ear or tugging on her tail. And he didn't panic or try to get away when she grabbed hold of his hand to stop him from rubbing her tummy. Something like that isn't calculated, Joe, it's a part of who Jason is.”

“Susie's pretty special, too.”

Maggie smiled. “If I could have custom-ordered a little girl for us, she would have been just like Susie.”

He pressed the second kiss of the day to her temple. “What can I fix you for breakfast?”

“An English muffin—and tea.” She didn't feel like eating; she rarely did anymore. It was one of the ironic things about dying. For what had to be the first time in fifty years she wasn't worried about putting on weight. Her clothes hung on her, making it difficult to pretend, even on the good days, that she wasn't in the midst of her last journey.

She didn't regret dying; in a way she was grateful it had come the way it had and that she would be allowed to handle it on her own terms. Her heartache came from leaving Joe. Given the choice, she would have had him go first. Bearing the sorrow and loneliness would have been her final act of love.

Even in heartache, Joe would survive. After his last physical the doctor had told him that as long as he stayed out of the path of a speeding truck, he easily could live to be a hundred.

That day Maggie had been the only one to see the forlorn look in Joe's eyes at what should have been good news. It was then she'd made up her mind that when she left him, it would be with memories of their long life together, not of a death prolonged by ever-incapacitating cancer.

Beneath that decision rode one more compelling and urgent. From the day she'd been diagnosed, what she'd feared the most was something she could never share with Joe. She knew this man who'd been her best friend and lover for sixty-five years. He was incapable of simply letting her go. In his mind he could deal with a “do not resuscitate” order, but never in his heart. For whatever years were left him, he would wonder if he'd let her go too soon; he would imagine the day or week or month she might have lived to be the most important they had ever shared.

If she lingered, Joe would sell his very soul to make her last days as easy as possible, and he would allow her no say in the matter. She could not bear the thought that the cold reality of the cost of dying could leave Joe to live the rest of his life in poverty.

It had taken weeks of impassioned persuasion to convince him that her final moments ought to be of her own choosing. She wanted to be lucid when she told him good-bye, not in a vegetative state with machines and clinicians controlling her final moments. After the life they had shared, how could she leave him any other way? When, at last, he understood it was not cowardice or fear that drove her, but a rational and reasonable wish, he relented.

Maggie had chosen her birthday because its symbolism had irresistible appeal. She thought of the day as a circle, marking her life's beginning and its end. Joe had held her in his arms for a long time after she told him, saying nothing. Finally he'd said he would go along with all that she'd asked—save one thing. He would not leave her to die alone. She'd argued and then pleaded, but he wouldn't budge, telling her that she should have known he was too stubborn to let her have everything her way.

“You've left me again,” Joe said. “Are you thinking about Jason, or is it something else this time?”

She looked up at him. “I was thinking about us. I must have done something really special in my last life to be rewarded with you in this one.”

“If that's true, you're going to have one heck of a life next time around.”

She shook her head. “This is it for me. It simply doesn't get any better.”

“You're right,” he said softly.

“What are we doing today?” Unlike the past, where their August at the beach house had been unstructured, this time they'd made plans. Some were purely sentimental—watching the hummingbirds at Carmel Mission and looking for otters off Point Lobos. Others were things they'd always meant to do but had put off because of finances or circumstance—a round of golf at Pebble Beach for Joe while she drove the cart and a picnic on Fremont Peak.

“Today is lunch at the Steinbeck house.”

It was a treat they hadn't missed giving themselves in years, even when they'd been so broke that they had to cash in the change Joe kept in an old whiskey bottle at the back of his closet in order to go. “Did you make reservations?”

“Yes,” he replied indulgently. “Last week.”

She smiled. “And you chose today because . . .”

“Your favorite quiche is on the menu.”

“Ah, it's truly wonderful how you spoil me.”

He gave her a surprised look. “But you told me that you wouldn't marry me unless I did.”

“Did I really? How clever of me.” It was her turn to give him a kiss. “Remind me what else I made you promise.”

“That I would wash the dishes and do my own laundry.”

“Hmmm, we seem to have let that one slide a little.”

“Maybe it was vacuum and clean the bathroom?”

She gave him a playful poke in the ribs. “I think it was probably more along the lines of convincing me I was the most beautiful woman in the world and doing it with a straight face.”

“No, you would never let me off that easy.”

The wonder of it was that in sixty-five years, the desire had never faded from his eyes. “What time are our reservations?”

“One.”

“And how long does it take to get there?”

He eyed her for several seconds. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I must be losing my touch if I have to spell it out for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“The spirit is willing. I don't see why we couldn't give the flesh a chance.”

He grinned. “You won't believe what you just did to me.”

She took his hand and started toward the bedroom. “I will if you show me.”

When Joe removed Maggie's nightgown it wasn't skin ravaged by time and gravity that he saw, but the body of the young woman who had lain beneath him on their wedding night, her breasts full and firm, her stomach flat, her thighs as smooth as a calm sea and as soft and beckoning as a lover's whisper.

He knew her body as well as his own, where and when to touch her, how to move once he was inside, when that alone would bring her to climax and when she wanted or needed more. There were sighs that told him when she was ready and a quick, barely audible intake of breath that let him know to move faster.

In his care not to hurt her, he awoke a poignancy buried months earlier by fear. Unlike Maggie, Joe had been slow to master the ability to live each day as it came without thinking about what was ahead. With the diagnosis, the once easily put aside knowledge that life was finite no longer provided a shelter. At eighty-eight, with all but a handful of their contemporaries gone, he should have been better prepared for the inevitable. But he could not bear to acknowledge that the rules of life applied to them, too.

In the end he'd drawn his strength from being allowed to give her this one last gift. She would not be the one left behind to mourn his loss.

After they had made love, Maggie curled into Joe's side and smiled contentedly. “There is no better way to start the morning.”

“Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?”

She ran her hand over his chest. “Did I act as if you were hurting me?”

“Well, I did hear you moan once.”

“Only once?” she said teasingly.

He drew her closer. “It's been a good life, Maggie. I couldn't have asked for more.”

“We've been truly blessed, my love. Even being given this time together to say good-bye.” She moved to free her arm to try to ease the ache in her shoulder. For days now she'd been putting off increasing her pain medication, preferring the discomfort to lightheadedness. But she couldn't hide what she was going through from Joe much longer. As long as he believed she wasn't suffering, he could handle what was happening to her. At times, the lack of outward manifestations of the disease even made it possible for them to forget for a while.

“I've been thinking a lot about Julia and Ken since we got here,” she said. “They were so happy together. Do you remember that time we all went to dinner at Winslow's and Ken made that toast where he said all he wished out of life was to live as long and happily with Julia as we had with each other?” She put her hand over Joe's where it lay on her stomach. “I never doubted for a moment that his wish would come true.”

“Now Julia either lives the rest of her life alone or settles for second best,” Joe said.

“Not necessarily second best. No one could take Ken's place, but someone could create a new one of their own.” She turned her head to look at him. “I don't want you to close yourself off to the possibility you could find someone else, too.”

“Why would you say something like that? You know it's not going to happen.” He leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I love you, Maggie. I always will. There could never be anyone else for me.”

“I wouldn't mind, you know.”

He sat up with his back to her. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“Please, Joe. It's important to me. Let me go knowing you'd at least consider the possibility.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it breaks my heart to think of you alone.”

He swung around to look at her. “Leaving me alone, at least doing it now, is your choice.”

She flinched at the attack. “I thought you understood.”

The stiffness left his spine. He closed his eyes against a sudden welling of tears. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

She put her hand in his. At that moment she would have given anything to take away the pain, but she clamped her jaw tight to keep from saying the words he so desperately wanted to hear. She couldn't give in. Nothing had changed.

“Do you want to take a shower before we leave?” he asked, putting them on safe ground again.

“If we have the time.”

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We can make it”—he summoned a mischievous smile—“but only if we take one together.”

“I love you, Mr. Chapman.”

He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “And I love you, Mrs. Chapman.”

Chapter 4

The next morning Maggie stepped outside to pick up the newspaper just as Jason came running across the pathway that separated their houses. “I've been waiting for you,” he called to her. “Dad said I couldn't come over until you were up for sure.”

She smiled. “Well, I'm up for sure now. What can I do for you?”

“Want to go see the fireworks with us?”

The question caught her by surprise. She'd forgotten it was the Fourth of July. “I'd love to. Is it okay if Joe comes, too?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I'll tell my dad to make some more sandwiches.”

“What time are we leaving?”

He gave her a blank look.

“Can I bring something?”

“You mean like toys and stuff?”

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of food and stuff, but I suppose I could pick something up at the store for you and Susie to play with.”

“Do you have any chocolate chip cookies?”

“No, but I could make some.”

His eyes grew big and round. “You could?”

“Are they your favorite?”

He nodded.

“What about Susie? Does she like them, too?”

“Yeah, but not as much as me.”

Eric came out on his front porch and waved. “I see he found you.”

“Yes—and has graciously invited us to join in your Fourth of July celebration.”

“I hope you can come,” Eric said.

“She can,” Jason answered for her.

Susie joined Eric. “Can I come over?” she called to Maggie.

“Of course. If it's all right with your father.”

Eric put a hand out to stop her from launching herself off the porch. “I don't think the two of you need to be—”

“It really is all right,” Maggie said. “Joe and I were going for a walk on the beach. We'd love to have them join us.”

Eric lowered himself to his haunches in front of Susie, said something to her, and waited until she'd replied with a sincere bobbing of her head before standing back up and holding out his hand to her. They walked across the pathway that separated the houses.

“I'm glad you're coming with us tonight,” Eric said. “I wish I could take credit for thinking to ask, but it was Jason's idea.”

“What time, and what can I bring?” She saw a stab of disappointment cross Jason's face and quickly added, “Besides chocolate chip cookies.”

Eric frowned at Jason. “I suppose the cookies were your idea?”

“I just told her I liked 'em.”

“They're Joe's favorite, too,” Maggie said. “And I love picnics.”

Susie wrapped her arms around Maggie's legs. “Daddy said it's gonna be just like making flowers in the sky.”

“What a lovely way to put it,” Maggie told him.

He laughed and jokingly put his hand over his heart. “I am a writer, you know. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.”

“I don't imagine you've been able to get much done this past week.” She moved to give Jason room to stand beside her.

“I work for a couple of hours after they go to bed and then before they get up. I'm a little amazed at how much I've been able to get done in just those few hours.”

Joe came to the door. “I thought I heard someone out here.”

“We've been invited to a Fourth of July picnic,” Maggie said.

It took a second for the information to register. “My goodness, I'd forgotten it was the Fourth.” He looked at Jason and Susie. “Are you coming, too?” He came out to join them.

Jason nodded and Susie grinned broadly.

“And will there be fireworks?” he asked.

“Big ones,” Susie said. “Like flowers in the sky.”

“If there's no fog,” Eric reminded her.

“A picnic and fireworks and my best new friends,” Joe said as he put his hand on Jason's narrow shoulder. “I can't think of a better way to spend the day.” He looked at Maggie and smiled. “The only thing missing is peach ice cream.”

The words triggered a memory so intense, her tastebuds responded in anticipation. The strict diet Joe had gone on after his stroke had spelled the end of a tradition they'd started their first Fourth of July together—cold fried chicken, potato salad, and homemade peach ice cream.

“Where do you suppose we'd have to go to find an ice cream maker?” she asked Joe on impulse.

“There's got to be a dozen places around here we could try,” he said.

“Can I go?” Susie asked.

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Eric said before Joe or Maggie could answer.

“We don't mind,” Joe said. “That is, if you don't.”

Eric hesitated, as if trying to give Joe a chance to change his mind. Finally, a trace of doubt in his voice, he said, “I guess it would be all right.”

Jason looked up at Maggie longingly, his huge brown eyes asking his question for him.

“Would you like to come, too?” she said.

He looked to his father. “Could I?”

Eric glanced from Joe to Maggie and back again. “The two of them can be a real handful at times.”

“We'd love to have them,” Maggie added.

“What about Josi?” Jason asked, his enthusiasm building by the second.

Maggie laughed. “I think Josi would much rather stay here. But I'm sure she'd love to see you when we get back.”

Jason looked up at Eric. “Dad?”

“All right, but I'm drawing the line at your moving in with them. So don't bother asking.”

 

Eric tried to work while they were gone but found it hard to concentrate. He'd never seen Jason and Susie take to anyone the way they had Joe and Maggie, but then he had to remind himself that he didn't know his children as well as he liked to think he did. For all he knew, they were as open and loving with everyone they just met.

Still, Eric was troubled about allowing the friendship to deepen any more than it already had. There was something special going on among the four of them, especially between Jason and Maggie. How many times could Jason survive his world being turned upside-down because he'd lost someone important to him?

But that was crazy. Maggie was a summer friend, someone likely to become a distant memory halfway into the new school year. To deny something now because of what might someday be bordered on paranoia.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the fog bank sitting offshore. The woman he'd talked to about the fireworks in Monterey had warned him they'd had fog three out of the four past years and that the display was likely to be limited to puffs of colored light in the gray; but he'd never been put off by long odds. If he had, he'd never have gone to medical school. No one had given him much of a chance of making it, not coming from a high school in a backwoods logging community with twenty-three in its graduating class. But he'd proved them wrong—and then up and quit.

He wished he had some sense that it was more than need that drove him to write, that he actually had something to say that someone would want to hear. Not that he was writing for posterity; he wanted to entertain, to provide an escape, if only for a couple of hours, to people like the uptight patients he used to see in his office. Television had been a luxury when Eric was growing up, reading a necessity. Already he could see the same signs in Jason and looked forward to the day when they would discuss favorite authors.

Any link was important and to be nurtured when he didn't live in the same house anymore.

The phone rang. Eric's first thought was that something had happened to the kids. “Hello,” he said anxiously.

“Eric? Is that you?”

He'd never heard her voice on the phone but knew instantly who it was. He responded in a way that surprised him, as if Julia had been gone only a couple of days and he'd been expecting the call. “Yes, it's me. You caught me at the computer.”

“Oh, of course. I should have known you'd be working now. Why don't I call you back later?”

It was the last thing he wanted. He would do anything, say anything, to keep her on the phone. Not a day had passed since she left that he hadn't thought about her. “I was just about to take a break. What can I do for you?”

“I've been trying to reach the Chapmans—they're the couple I told you about, the ones staying in the house this month. Have you seen them, by any chance?”

He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk, remembering how she'd looked that last morning as they'd followed the otter from one end of the cove to the other. “Just about an hour ago, as a matter of fact. They took Jason and Susie shopping with them.”

“Jason and Susie?”

“My kids.”

“Oh, of course.” She sounded embarrassed that she hadn't remembered.

Her voice washed over him like a warm summer rain, the kind you tilted your head back to let the drops hit your face, where you licked the moisture from your lips and closed your eyes to concentrate on the utter sensuality of the moment. “I have them for three weeks. Their mother is on her honeymoon.”

For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then, in a voice soft with understanding, “Are you okay?”

Was her compassion born of pain, or had she always been as sensitive to others? “I'm better than okay. I'm happy for Shelly . . . and for the kids.”

“I believe you.”

He hadn't realized until then that it was the kind of thing someone might say to try to impress the listener. “Did you need to get in touch with Joe and Maggie right away? I might be able to find them for you.”

“I was just checking to see if they needed anything. I've tried calling for a couple of days now and haven't been able to reach them. Then I tried them at home and they weren't there, either, so I started to get a little—Never mind. You told me what I needed to know.”

His heart did a quick turn at the depth of concern he heard under the forced nonchalance. He understood now why Maggie wanted to keep the news about her cancer from Julia. “How are things with you?”

“Better.”

“As in ‘better than they were' or ‘better than you'd hoped they would be by now'?”

She hesitated. “Surprisingly, a little of both. I still get blindsided by things every once in a while, but I'm actually having days where I don't have to remind myself that the rest of the world expects to see me wearing a happy face by now.”

“Maggie and Joe talk about Ken a lot.” He was taking a calculated risk in talking about Ken to Julia. Bringing him into their fledgling friendship could as easily put a barrier between them as break one down. “I think they had mentally adopted him.”

“I know. He felt the same way about them.”

“Well, now they're the ones who've been adopted—by my kids. If I let them, Jason and Susie would be over there all day every day.” Innately, he knew they would feel the same way about Julia. She and Maggie were a lot alike.

“I think that's wonderful. And it's probably just what Maggie and Joe need.”

“We're going on a picnic this evening and then over to Monterey to watch the fireworks.”

“I'm going to a party.” It was said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

He wanted to ask if she was going to the party alone but couldn't come up with a way to slip it into the conversation. “I always grumble about going to parties and then have a good time when I get there.” Trite, but true. His grousing about their extended social life was just one of the wedges he'd created between himself and Shelly.

“I'd much rather be going on that picnic with the five of you.”

How could what had obviously been an offhand statement make him feel as if he'd won the lottery? Was he lonely or simply jealous over how happy Shelly had sounded when she'd last called to talk to the kids, wanting some of that happiness for himself?

“I could drive up to get you.” Damn, it hadn't come out the way he'd intended. Instead of a breezy reply to a casual statement, he'd come across as serious and needy as a televangelist asking for money. He dug his fingers into his mustache and scratched. One more week and that was it. If the itching didn't let up, the damn thing was going.

“I just might take you up on your offer if this wasn't one of those command performance kind of things.”

He couldn't tell whether she meant it, or if she was so good at sidestepping invitations, she could let people down without them feeling the impact. “I assume you're still taking an active position in the company.”

“I tried staying home a couple of days last week, but almost went crazy knowing there wasn't anything or anyone who needed me.”

“Which is why you go to work every day—to satisfy that need?”

She waited a long time before answering, and when she did, it was as if she were making a confession. “I have to do something to keep busy, but the business was Ken's love, not mine.”

“I understand.”