The Beach House (14 page)

“Zach! Enough. I have to go. Molly’s foot needs all my attention.” Andie sat on a kitchen chair facing her friend seated in an overstuffed armchair. With Molly’s leg extended and her bare foot resting on Andie’s thigh, Andie could work while she talked. Kneading feet was second nature to her, not requiring all of her attention or even her eyesight. She caught Molly’s wink.

“Mom,” Zach said, “you’re supposed to be on vacation, not doing reflexology.” His deep voice was indistinguishable from his dad’s. Jadon’s was the same. She pictured them both: tall, handsome, and athletically built like Paul.

“Honey, this
is
vacation for me. I get to give my old friend a treatment just like your great-grandma used to do for her.”

“I knew you were going to say that. You are weird.” The loving tone of a teenager who sometimes appreciated his mom erased any derogatory implication. “Bye.”

“Bye.”
Give my love to your dad
… The words spun in her head. Instead of voicing them, she closed up the phone and set it aside.

Paul had not returned any of her calls. His assistant called once. That didn’t count. Sherri had chatted for a few moments, put her on hold, and then came back to report Paul was on another line. Could they phone later?
They
.

At the moment Andie wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Of course she loved him. Wives loved their husbands. He provided well, had an honest reputation in the business community, was nice to her. Polite, at any rate. She respected and honored and appreciated him. The word
love
, though, implied
like
. She didn’t think she
liked
him—

“Yow!” Molly yelped.

Andie lifted her finger from behind the ankle where she’d been pressing. “That’s a little tender there.”

“Yeah!” Molly winced. “So how are your kids?”

Easily conversing while she worked, Andie moved her thumb in a caterpillar-like walk along the sole, searching for other areas that would feel tender to Molly and like cracking egg shells to Andie’s fingertips.

“Oh, man!” Molly flinched again. “Good grief! I forgot how bad this hurt.”

“
Oui
. But, zee pain means zee bad stuff goes kaput.” She mimicked her grandmother’s French accent.

“Speaking of Grandmère Babette,” Molly spoke through gritted teeth, “Jo and I remembered the List.”

“Mmm. Hon, try to relax. Ah, yes, the infamous List.” It was a catalogue of classic, womanly traits. Or at least what a colorful, independent Frenchwoman believed womanly traits to be. Babette had always slipped life lessons into casual conversation with the four girls. They would then rehearse her wisdom on train rides home from her downtown apartment. While the others dictated, Andie wrote them in a notebook. For high school graduation gifts, she collected the sayings into what she called “The List,” copied them in calligraphy onto thick linen paper and framed them. She still had hers on a laundry room wall out of everyone else’s sight. Paul thought it silly.

Molly said, “Do you have eight matching plates?”

“Sixteen. And goblets and a dozen perfect recipes.” She smiled. “With a real estate agent and community pillar for a husband, entertaining has become a way of life.”

“What’s your favorite list item?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell you the impossible one. ‘A real woman knows she can’t change the length of her calves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents.’ The hips have gotten wider, the calves never were right, and my mom…sheesh. I still feel thirteen years old when I’m around her.”

“Inadequate?”

“That’s it. Molly, you have a lot of hormonal activity going on.”

“Tell me about it. Some days I feel thirteen and I don’t even have to call my mom.” She laughed. “Can you fix it? Make me normal?”

“Why would I want to make you normal? Anyway, I can’t fix or diagnose what’s going on. Jo does that. I can only tell you that things are unbalanced, but you already know that.”

“How is your business?”

“It’s good, slow but sure.” She smiled. “I meet all these people through Paul, and when I tell them what I do, their eyes glaze over. ‘I see. You unclog nerve endings. How interesting! And that releases energy to do what?’”

“Make me feel better,” Molly supplied an answer. “And help the body heal itself. Ouch! The process, however, is not fun. Do you tell them that part?”

“Most of them are asleep by the time I get to details, but once in a while I pick up a new client. Molly, we really should do more of this tomorrow. You need to flush out the toxins with a lot of water. I doubt that at ten o’clock at night you want to drink a gallon.”

“No, I don’t. I always remembered Babette’s admonition about drinking water. Your grandma taught us well, didn’t she? About a lot of things.”

“She did. I wouldn’t have survived without her as buffer between me and my mom.”

“Andie, you know she was saying to accept yourself for who you are and accept your mom for who she is and forgive her.”

She gently set Molly’s foot on the floor and straightened her back. “What do you think she would have said about fortieth birthdays?”

Her friend thought a moment. “That there’s a strong possibility we’ll feel lousy, but to take heart. It’s a corner and corners are for turning. I think her wise granddaughter said something along those lines as well.”

Andie smiled. “Let’s go outside and count the stars.”

Molly and Jo sat again at the outdoor dining patio on Thursday morning. The scene was a repeat of the previous day complete with egg burrito, distant surfers, and overcast skies. Missing, however, was Molly’s anxiety to call home. Another twenty-four hours of relating as Molly Preston had stifled Superwoman and infused her with courage.

She raised her latte and touched it against Jo’s across the small table.“Here’s to your second fortieth birthday, Josephine. How do you want to spend it?”

“I told you all, I live here. I don’t need a day—”

“Hush. You gave us permission to pry you from that corner. This is our first attempt. You have to go along with it.”

Jo pressed her lips together.

“Come on, Jo.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I want to show you my condo and office.”

“Great. We’d love to see them. Now that wasn’t too tough, was it? See, we’ll bring you out one baby step at a time.”

“No yanking?”

“Only when absolutely necessary.” Molly smiled. “The next step is you have to decide what we’ll do for dinner.”

Jo groaned. “And please one vegetarian, one meat and potatoes lover, one very finicky high-maintenance eater, and one fresh seafood devotee.”

“Need I repeat? It’s your day. Go for the fresh seafood. We can handle it.”

“Easy for you to say. At least you eat seafood too.” She gazed toward the ocean.

Molly watched her and felt a fresh sense of admiration for her old friend sweep over her.

Though it might be prying off the plastic lid from that container of worms, she decided to ask anyway. “Jo, was that the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

Sunglasses were not in place yet. Her slate blue eyes resembled the ocean when the sun shone on it. Comprehension filled them. “You mean not drink on my birthday?”

She nodded.

“Yes, it was the hardest thing.”

“I am so proud of you.”

“Don’t be. I am my mother’s child. You know how Char does that thing with her tongue on her teeth because her mom taught her to do that instead of spout off in anger?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I remember a kitty dying, the runt of a litter. I was probably about four. I cried and cried. Dr. Christine Zambruski nailed me with one of her looks reserved for bungling nurses. She hissed, ‘Death is part of life. You are not allowed to cry over it.’”

“Oh, Jo. How awful. I don’t remember hearing that.”

“I didn’t think of it until recently. It was buried deep. I would cry now and then, but only with you and Char and Andie. Never in front of my mother. And never at a funeral. ‘Death is part of life!’”

Molly recalled Jo’s words from their first night together. She said she hadn’t cried in twelve years. “You didn’t cry on your birthday?”

“No. Didn’t cry, didn’t drink. I’m a big girl.”

“But you asked for help. You called us.”

Jo nodded.

“And you asked us for help to get you out of the corner.”

“Progress?”

“Definitely.”

“Someone else helped. I met him yesterday behind the house, a strange, wild-looking guy. Dreadlocks.”

“Zeke.”

Jo stared at her.

She laughed. “I met him too, out on the boardwalk. He’s a street pastor.”

“What in the world is a street pastor?”

“His church is the street. Or the boardwalk, in this case.”

“Does he preach on a soapbox?”

“I don’t think so. He walks around ministering to people he meets. He does a Bible study with a couple of the homeless regulars.”

“Ministering. Hmm. I guess that’s what he did with me. I told him the whole story about the girl before I told you and Char and Andie.”

“Really?” Molly wondered why it was a stranger could connect with Jo where she herself hadn’t. Another of God’s mysterious ways.“He saw your pain, hon. Better than I did.”

“I hid it from you as best I could. Don’t give me that look. We’re on vacation! I wasn’t about to dump all my woes on you. Zeke just happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment. I had a splitting headache, and my three buddies were not following my prescribed agenda.”

“How did he get the story out of you?”

“I have no idea.” Jo shook her head.“His eyes.”

“Yeah, I noticed those. They could do it. Rather otherworldly.”

“Molly, you look pale. Do you feel all right?”

She unzipped her sweatshirt part way and pulled at the neck of her T-shirt. “Just a momentary yucky twinge. They’re coming more often. I feel like a teenager. Out of control. My body surprises me with all sorts of things. I’m hot, cold, nauseous. I gain an extra five pounds unaccounted for. I wail one minute and laugh the next.”

“Let’s do a blood test today, find out just where you are hormonally.”

“Jo, it’s the natural order of things. My cycle is sporadic. Things are shutting down. It takes some adjustment.”

“But you don’t have to grin and bear it. There’s hormone replacement therapy.” She reached over and tapped the coffee cup.“And things like eliminating caffeine from your diet.”

“Now you’re getting a little pushy, Doctor.”

“Well, it’s my birthday. I can say what I want.” She grinned. “And you have to go along with whatever I decide to do. Right?”

At that moment, seeing her hurting friend’s rare wide smile, Molly would have agreed to do almost anything she proposed.

Molly carried a cup of coffee and paper-wrapped breakfast at her side in a napkin. She’d chosen the burrito with egg, ham, and cheese for Jimmy Mack, the homeless man she’d talked to the previous day.

A long line of people snaked out from Kono’s open door and onto the boardwalk. She and Jo sidestepped it. As if on cue, the cloud cover dissipated above them, giving way to blue skies. She felt a momentary sense of exposure, of being unprotected. She missed her ocean rock sentinels, low-hanging fog, and uninhabited beaches.

And then she saw Jimmy Mack. The sight of him reshuffled her emotions. A sense of community enveloped her, as if she stood in God’s living room with sky for ceiling and walkway for carpet. Tastefully decorated with ocean and plants, the huge area easily accommodated a crowd. She imagined not everyone there knew the host.

Jimmy Mack sat in the same spot on the same bench as before, his arms wrapped around a knapsack on his lap, his eyes at half-mast. He appeared to stare at nothing in particular. Drugs or alcohol…or utter despair?

She nudged Jo’s arm with her elbow. “I’ll be right back.”

Not wanting to startle him, Molly approached slowly and sat on the bench a few feet from him. The salty air did not mask the odor of an unwashed body. Up close she saw yellow in the whites of his eyes, the roughness of his dark skin, the coarse black hair beneath the black stocking cap.