He studied her face. She was a stunning young woman with hope in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile at her. “That’s right, Shelly,” he said. “You’re the one.”
5
DARIA’S MOOD WAS LIFTING. SITTING IN HER PARKED CAR IN the Sea Shanty driveway as she waited for Shelly and Chloe to join her for the drive to Sunday mass, she felt a lightness she had not known for the past two months. She’d felt it when she’d awakened that morning and found herself getting out of bed with a smile on her face. She only had to look across the street at Poll-Rory to know the reason for her altered mood. Her lightness was tempered, though, by Rory’s desire to pry into Shelly’s past. Nothing could be gained by that…and too much could be lost.
The Wheelers—seventy-something Ruth and Les—were getting into their van in the driveway next door. A few of their grandchildren climbed into the van with them, and Daria knew they were going to St. Esther’s for mass, as well. She waved, and Ruth Wheeler called out a greeting.
Chloe and Shelly walked down the wooden front steps of the Sea Shanty. Shelly got into the front seat of the car, Chloe the rear.
“St. Christopher,” Chloe prayed as Daria backed the car out of the driveway, “guard and protect us on our journey.”
For as long as Daria could remember, Chloe had uttered that prayer every time she got in a car—even after St. Christopher had been desainted. Chloe had a bit of the rebel in her.
“There’s Rory Taylor.” Shelly pointed toward Poll-Rory, where Rory and his son were crossing their yard, carrying beach chairs and towels under their arms.
Daria tapped her horn. Rory waved at the car with a smile as she passed them. Rory’s son reminded her of the boy she had known many years ago—the handsome, blond-haired boy with the broad-shouldered build that would later serve him well on the football field. She remembered what a strong swimmer Rory had been and how she’d liked to watch him swim far out into the ocean until the lifeguards whistled at him to come in. He’d been a lifeguard himself one year, and he’d rescued an elderly man caught in the undertow. He’d been seventeen then, and by that time he’d definitely forgotten she existed. The local newspaper printed his picture after he rescued the man, and she’d carried that picture around with her for years, even after he’d gone off to college and stopped coming to Kill Devil Hills.
“Your cheeks are red, sis,” Chloe teased from the back seat of the car.
“Are not.” Daria tilted her chin to look at her reflection in the mirror. She feared Chloe was right: she could feel the flush rising from her stomach all the way to her ears.
“What do you mean?” Shelly studied Daria’s face. “Why would her cheeks be red?”
“’Cause Daria has a thing for Rory,” Chloe said.
Shelly lit up at that news. “You do?” she asked.
“I don’t know what Chloe’s talking about,” Daria said.
“A new man for you!” Shelly exclaimed.
“Oh, no,” Daria protested. “No way.” She glanced over her shoulder at Chloe. “Thanks a lot,” she said.
Chloe laughed.
“I’m not interested in Rory Taylor that way at all,” Daria said to Shelly. “Chloe just remembers back when we were kids, and it’s true, I did have a crush on him then, but that was a long time ago, so don’t get your hopes up.” She knew that Shelly had been worried about her ever since Pete fell out of her life. Shelly didn’t know how much of a role she’d played in his leaving, of course, and Daria intended to keep it that way.
“I think he’s really nice,” Shelly said.
“Yes, he is,” Daria agreed. She’d been particularly touched the night before by the warm and easy way Rory had related to Shelly. That was a sure way to Daria’s heart.
St. Esther’s was packed with the summer crowd. The church had expanded physically since that day Daria and her mother had lit candles for the infant abandoned on the beach, but the atmosphere inside was the same—clean and light and filled with the scent of the sea. Daria knew she could be considered part of the summer crowd herself, since she rarely attended church any other time of year. Shelly went most weeks, either walking or riding her bike or catching a ride from a fellow parishioner. But in the summer, Daria felt a need to attend mass out of respect for Chloe. She’d somehow missed out on the devout genes that had coursed through her family for generations. Perhaps Chloe had received her share.
Communion was a problem for her this summer. Although she’d left behind church dogma and ritual, she still felt guilty about receiving communion when she had not confessed the truth about the plane crash. Yet she received it, anyway. Otherwise, Chloe would have known she was carrying around some sin in her heart. Daria told herself she had done her best the night of the crash. Everyone had done their best. No one had any intent to harm. Nevertheless, she had covered up their human failings. That was her sin.
A group of children mobbed Chloe—Sister Chloe—in front of the church after mass, badgering her with questions about what they would be doing in day camp the coming week. Daria liked watching Chloe with the kids. Her sister was animated and affectionate with them, unlike the nuns Daria remembered from her own Catholic school childhood.
Sean Macy approached them as they were walking to the car, and the three of them turned to greet him.
“Hi, Shelly, dear,” the priest said when he’d caught up to them. “Sister.” He nodded at Chloe, then looked at Daria. “Good to see you at church, Daria,” he said. He had a teasing twinkle in his eye, and Daria smiled at him. All of the Catos had a special place in their hearts for Father Macy, since he’d helped Sue and Tom Cato adopt Shelly long ago. He’d also gotten Shelly her housekeeping job at the church, and he worked side by side with Chloe in the day-camp program.
“I need a moment with Daria,” the priest said to them. He took Daria by the arm and led her away from the car, and she waited for him to speak again. “I’ve been asked to talk with you, Daria,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows. “What about?”
“About resuming your EMT duties.”
She groaned. Someone at the Emergency Medical Services must have been bending Father Macy’s ear. “Who told you to speak with me?” she asked.
“Several people, actually,” the priest said. “You are sorely missed. And the community suffers without you, you know.”
“Thanks for the guilt trip,” she said.
“Seriously, Daria.” His face lost its smile. He was handsome, his hair still that wheat-blond color, but when he didn’t smile, he looked tired. “I don’t know what demons you’re grappling with,” he said, “but I want you to know that I’m here, if you ever want to talk about it.”
“Thanks, Father,” she said. “But I really have nothing to talk about. I just needed a break for a while.”
“I can understand that,” he said. The smile was back again. “I feel that way myself sometimes.” He squeezed her hand warmly, then told her goodbye, and she turned and began walking, slowly, toward her car.
She had certainly considered counseling. That’s what she would suggest for anyone else who’d suddenly relinquished their EMT duties. But counseling wouldn’t help. She’d lie to the counselor, so what would be the point?
In the car, she found that Shelly was now in the back seat, Chloe in the front. She started the engine.
“What did Father Sean want to talk to you about?” Shelly asked.
Daria pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. “He just wanted to see if I could help out with the charity auction this year,” she said.
“Oh,” Shelly said, satisfied, but Chloe gave Daria a dark look.
“With a lie like that,” she said under her breath, “you’d better go to confession before you receive communion next Sunday.”
Daria thought she was only half joking.
6
GRACE SPOONED A DOLLOP OF WHIPPED CREAM ON THE mocha latte and handed the cup across the counter to Jean Best, one of the regular customers at B
eachside Café and Sundries.
“How are you doing, Grace?” Jean asked. Her eyes bore concern, and the question was sincere, but Grace busied herself cleaning the espresso machine.
“Just fine, Jean,” she said. “Thanks for asking.” She knew she should ask Jean how things were going with her elderly mother and the house she was trying to sell, but she didn’t want to engage her—or anyone, actually—in conversation.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jean said, taking her cue from Grace’s reticence and backing away from the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.” She carried her coffee to one of the small tables near the window overlooking Pamlico Sound, and Grace was relieved to see her go.
Beachside Café and Sundries was small, cramped and popular among locals and tourists alike. She and Eddie had opened it eight years ago with money Eddie’s mother had left him. They carried a few staples, but they were most beloved for their coffee and sandwiches, which ran the gamut from avocado and cheese to Italian subs, something for everyone. The shop had been a labor of love, a reflection of love, and people used to comment on the warm, supportive relationship she and Eddie still enjoyed after twenty years of marriage. No one was commenting on it now, though.
Grace made a couple of sandwiches for a man and woman she didn’t recognize. She was more comfortable these days with the strangers, with people who didn’t know her and know all she’d endured these past few months. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want sympathy. And most of all, she didn’t want to talk about it. Because if she talked, she would disintegrate into little pieces. And that she couldn’t afford to do.
She knew her regular customers worried about her. They worried about how much weight she’d lost and how fragile she seemed to be, both physically and emotionally. They commented about her pallor and her inability to concentrate on what anyone was saying. A few weeks earlier, she’d overheard a conversation between two of her customers, one of whom said, “Grace just isn’t herself these days.” That had become her mantra. Whenever she found herself thinking or doing something out of character for her—which was often, lately—she heard that voice inside her head: Grace just isn’t herself these days.
She could hear Eddie in the small office behind the counter area, typing on the computer, and she wondered how many of the regulars knew that things had fallen apart between the two of them. It had to be obvious. The jovial atmosphere that had once existed in Beachside Café was gone, and now there was a palpable tension between Eddie and herself. Several customers even knew that Grace had moved into the above-garage apartment she and Eddie used to rent to tourists in the summer. How they’d found out, she didn’t know, but the year-round population in the Outer Banks community of Rodanthe was small, and it wasn’t hard for people to learn each other’s business. And, of course, everyone knew the reasons for the change in Grace, as well as for the change in her marriage.
“Grace?” Eddie poked his head out from the back office of the café. “Phone.”
Grace wiped her hands on the towel hanging below the counter and walked into the office. She took the phone from his hand.
“I’ll watch the front for you,” he said as he left the office.
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. Once he was out in the café, she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hi, Grace, it’s Bonnie.”
“Bonnie!” There was only one person Grace could handle talking to at that moment, and it was Bonnie, her oldest, dearest friend. But Bonnie rarely called. She lived in San Diego and sent an occasional letter or e-mail once or twice a month. A phone call was rare, and it worried her. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything is fine here,” Bonnie said. “I’m more interested in how things are going there.”
“Oh, you know.” Grace sat down on the desk chair and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been rough.”
“Well,” Bonnie said, “I wish I could do something to help you, and I’m worried that my reason for calling might just make things worse for you. But I wanted you to—”
“I don’t see how you could make things worse, Bon,” Grace interrupted her.
Bonnie hesitated. “Do you know who Rory Taylor is?” she asked finally.
“Of course. True Life Stories.”
“Right,” Bonnie said. “Well, I was reading one of the L.A. magazines and there was this tiny little blurb—I almost missed it. It said that he’s going to be in Kill Devil Hills for the summer.”
Grace frowned, trying to figure out why that would be of any significance to her. “So?” she asked.
“He’s there—” Bonnie let out a long sigh “—to look into that baby that was found on the Kill Devil Hills beach twenty-two years ago. He wants to do a story about it for his television show.”
Grace was silent, a chill racing up and down her spine. “For what purpose?” she asked. Her voice sounded tremulous, she thought, even though she was struggling for control.
“I don’t know, specifically,” Bonnie said. “But he’s usually trying to solve some sort of mystery. Like, who the baby’s mother was.”
Grace shut her eyes. “You know,” she said softly, “that baby has been on my mind a lot lately.”
“Of course she has,” Bonnie said. “Of course she would be.”
“Why now?” Grace asked, a bubble of anger forming in her chest. “Why, after all this time, does somebody have to delve into that—”
“I know,” Bonnie said. “It’s the wrong time. Not that there ever was a good time for it. Gracie, how are you doing otherwise? What does the doctor say?”
Grace ignored her question. “You know who I hate?” she asked. “Who I despise? Even after all these years?”
Bonnie hesitated a moment before asking, “Who?”
“The nurse,” Grace said. “Nurse Nancy. I would love to get my hands on that woman.”
“I know,” Bonnie said, her voice soothing. “So would I. Look, Grace, I’m worried about you. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t want you to find out some other way. Do you want me to come to North Carolina to be with you? Maybe I could help out somehow?”
“No, no,” Grace said. “I’m all right.”
“I know Eddie would be there for you if you’d let him,” Bonnie continued. “But he said you’re freezing him out.”
“He froze himself out,” Grace said, although that was not the truth and Bonnie probably knew it. Eddie would be there for her, but right now she couldn’t even stand the sight of him. She could hear his voice, a deep voice she had once found mesmerizing, coming from the café. He was laughing with one of the customers. Laughing. She pressed the phone more tightly to her ear to block out the sound.
Bonnie uttered more words of concern, more words of comfort, but Grace barely heard her. She was too absorbed by the thought of Rory Taylor hunting for clues to how that baby came to be on the beach. And by the time she hung up the phone with her old friend, Grace had a plan.
7
THE SUN WAS SLIPPING INTO THE SOUND AS DARIA DROVE into Andy Kramer’s driveway.
“You have an incredible view, Andy,” she said to her co-worker, thinking of how he must enjoy this spectacle every evening.
“I know,” Andy said, opening the car door. “I’m a lucky guy. Now if I just had a decent van.” His van was in the shop again, the third time in the past few months.
Daria spotted the boat tied to the pier behind Andy’s cottage. “I didn’t know you were into boats,” she said. “Is that new?”
Andy laughed, his earring glowing a vibrant rose color in the muted sunlight. “Brand-new,” he said, “but it’s not mine. I share the pier with my next-door neighbors, and it’s theirs. Raises my property value, though, having it behind my cottage.”
She could see his neighbors, a man and woman and a little boy, on the side deck of their cottage, grilling their dinner. She could even smell the steak. “Well, I hope they at least take you out in it sometime,” she said.
“Me, to
o.” Andy got out of the car and shut the door, but bent over to look in the window. “Thanks for the lift,” he said. “And have a good soak in your tub tonight.”
“I plan to.” She pulled out of his driveway, already thinking about spending a leisurely half hour in the whirlpool tub later that night. The tub was the one extravagance in the Sea Shanty, but it was truly a necessity after a day like this one. She and Andy had spent the day building wall-to-ceiling bookshelves in a huge house in Corolla, and her shoulders and arms ached. Before she could take a bath, though, there was something she needed to do.
She drove the mile and a half across Kill Devil Hills to the cul-de-sac, where she parked in the Sea Shanty driveway. But instead of going inside the cottage, she walked across the street to Poll-Rory.
Rory answered the door in shorts, sky-blue T-shirt and a handsome grin that threatened her resolve. She had to keep the purpose of this visit firmly in her mind.
“Come in, neighbor,” he said, pushing open the screen door for her.
Daria stepped into the living room and took off her sunglasses. She had been in Poll-Rory many times over the years, so the changes in its interior were no surprise to her. She imagined they had been to Rory, though. The furniture, the new paneling on the walls, the artwork and knickknacks had all been selected by the real estate agent handling the property.
Daria spotted a computer on the table in the dining area. Papers and books were strewn across the table’s surface.
“Looks like you’re working,” Daria said.
“Working and playing,” Rory said. “That’s my plan for this summer.” His hands were on his hips, and she felt him appraising her. She probably had more sawdust in her hair. She knew she had paint on her white T-shirt and a smudge of varnish on her cheek.
She looked at him squarely. “I need to talk with you about Shelly,” she said and felt the apology forming on her face. Rory had come all the way across the country to get to the bottom of Shelly’s story, and she planned to make him stop that search before he’d even begun.