Dune Drive Page 6

  “Sounds like you spend a lot of time watching the bay.”

  “Sometimes I like to go out onto the point and just sit at the end of the pier.” She turned to him and asked, “You know the pier, right? Where Lis and Alec’s wedding was?”

  Jared nodded. “I remember. That was some party. So was Owen’s. It’s still hard to believe he’s married, though. Owen was always such a rolling stone. Had some of the best times of my life with your cousin.”

  “I always remembered him as sort of a good-time kind of guy.”

  “Understated, but we won’t quibble. Doesn’t matter now, though. Cass put an end to his wild times.” Jared nudged Chrissie with his shoulder. “I gotta admit, I miss the old Owen sometimes.”

  “I guess everyone settles down at some point.”

  Jared shook his head. “Not this guy. I can’t see myself ever doing the whole domestic scene.”

  “Born to run, eh?”

  “Something like that.” He’d finished the top scoop and had started on the middle. “How ’bout you?”

  “Tried it once. Didn’t work for me.” She could have said more, but figured the short version was all he really wanted to hear anyway. “So did you get her name?” she asked to change the subject and lighten the mood.

  “Whose name?” He frowned as if not understanding the question.

  “The blonde in the lobby, the one checking in.”

  A grin spread across his face. “Oh, you caught that?”

  “I did.”

  He didn’t answer one way or the other, but she figured he’d scored the name and probably her phone number. If he’d waited till she’d checked in, chances were he had her room number as well.

  He’d finished his ice cream and was wiping his hands off on one of the napkins she’d given him.

  “Thanks.” He rolled the napkin into a ball and tossed it with a flourish in the direction of the trash can on the opposite side of the path from where they sat. The napkin went in and he snapped his fingers.

  She took the last bite of her cone and looked out at the bay. About two hundred yards from the pier, a trio of sailboats skipped along on the breeze. She wondered what it would feel like to be flying across the water in one of those narrow crafts.

  “So I guess you want to get on your way, get your errands done.” Jared stood.

  “I really should. Gigi will start to wonder where I am.”

  “Nah, the woman who knows everything knows where you are.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said as she stood.

  They strolled to the end of the walk, then Jared stopped. “Alec’s boat shop is right down there, right?” He pointed to the left.

  “It is.”

  “I think I’ll stop down and say hi. I heard he has an old skipjack he’s restoring, and I’d like to see it.”

  “My great-uncle Eb’s skip,” she said. “It was outside Ruby’s store on cinder blocks forever. It’s a long story how it got to Alec. You might ask him about it.”

  “I might do that. Hey, thanks again for letting me tag along this morning.”

  “Anytime. And thanks for the cone. My treat next time.”

  He took a few backward steps. “Right. Next Wednesday. Same time. Same place.”

  Chrissie smiled, then with a wave of her hand started the walk back toward Charles Street. She looked back once, when she got to the parking lot, but by then he was gone.

  “Next Wednesday,” he’d said. “Same time. Same place.”

  She wondered if he’d remember, and if so, if he’d show—and if he’d even been serious. If she were a betting woman, she’d bet against it.

  Chapter Three

  Jared stood on the deck of the Cordelia Elizabeth, one of several salvage boats owned by his family’s company, Chandler and Associates, and watched the sun go down. He’d stayed at the inn for the past week, leaving a crew member on board in his absence, but he didn’t think it was fair that the poor guy was stuck on the ship while Jared got to enjoy the comforts of the town. After dinner, he borrowed an outboard from Owen and headed out to the Cordy E, as he referred to the boat, and traded places with the crewman with instructions on where to return the outboard.

  That act of altruism might have caused another man to rethink his generosity, but Jared didn’t mind being alone on an anchored boat. Being stationary in the Chesapeake was nothing like being anchored in the ocean. Here the waves were much smaller and the evening more peaceful. He’d sit in his cabin and read for a while, then he’d let the natural rhythm of the boat rock him to sleep. It would be a win-win sort of night for him.

  He could have talked the blonde he’d met at Captain Walt’s the night before into sharing the bunk with him, but she’d fawned over him to the point where he couldn’t take any more, and the thought of spending more time in her company gave him a headache, regardless of the fact that she’d made it apparent she’d be happy to share his bed, on land or at sea. He’d admit he’d considered it for the briefest moment, but in the end, he realized he just didn’t want to be bothered with a woman who just couldn’t stop telling him how cool she thought he was, and who constantly called him cutie or handsome or hot stuff, as if he didn’t have a real name.

  Where had his head been when he’d even considered it?

  He was pretty sure he knew.

  While he liked to be appreciated—who didn’t?—he hated to have anyone hang on him. He didn’t understand why certain women thought that was the way to get a man’s attention. Maybe that worked for some guys, but he was thirty-six, way beyond the age where he needed that kind of ego boost.

  Why couldn’t all women be like Chrissie Jenkins? He’d spent the better part of an hour with her and she’d not even so much as batted her eyelashes at him. She hadn’t acted flirtatious or silly or laughed too much at things he said.

  Not that he was interested in Chrissie that way, but still. That’s how women should act, in his opinion. Just natural and carry on an adult conversation without showing off what you knew about anything. That’s what made him think twice about a woman. Like he was thinking about Chrissie.

  Not that he was attracted to her in that way, but he liked to be with her. He liked her no-nonsense personality.

  Which wasn’t really a surprise, since he’d been raised by a no-nonsense kind of guy. His father, Gordon, was one of the best-known and most highly respected salvagers in the country, maybe even the world. He’d been called upon by governments, corporations, and private citizens to retrieve the lost—artifacts, ships, remains of crew members—from the bottom of the sea. He was scrupulously honest and was recognized as a man who respected the past. Such a man had no time for silliness or frivolity—especially having found himself a single parent when his children were twelve and eight.

  Jared had few memories of his mother, who, as a concert pianist, had been away from home almost as much as his father had been. He and Rachel had been raised by their mother’s aunt Bess in her Boston home. Most of what he remembered of his early childhood was someone coming home and someone leaving. Both parents had rarely been home at the same time, and Jared had been an adult when he discovered the reason their mother had made fewer and fewer visits home.

  After their aunt died, Jared had been designated executor of her will, which meant, among other things, he’d be responsible for cleaning out the Boston house in which he’d grown up. Rachel was on an important dive at the time, or he’d have talked her into joining him. But as it was, he’d been alone in the old brownstone for the weeks it took him to go through the contents of the house and decide what to sell, what to put in storage. The furniture was easy enough to dispose of—he’d called in an antiques dealer, and having determined that neither he nor Rachel wanted any of the large pieces, sold almost the entire lot on the spot. It was the small things he’d gone through that had been the most difficult to part with.

  The jewelry had been set aside for Rachel, everything in the old wooden chest where Bess had kept her good th
ings. Some pieces called up memories, like the gold brooch in the shape of a rose that she wore most frequently on the collar of her favorite coat, and the sapphire ring that had belonged to her mother that Aunt Bess had always worn on the middle finger of her right hand. Then there was the envelope he’d found marked with his mother’s name—Amelia.

  He’d held on to the envelope—unopened—for most of that day, opening it only later when he took a break. He’d poured a cold beer and taken it into the living room, where he sat on the sofa, opened the envelope, and spilled its contents onto the table. Inside had been a plain gold wedding band and a gold ring with a diamond flanked by two sapphires—these, he assumed, had been her wedding and engagement rings. But there were other pieces as well, pieces that were obviously expensive, beyond what he would have expected his father to have bought. Then again, he’d thought at the time, who knows what gifts a man might choose to dazzle the woman he loves?

  Jared had packed up the envelope and sent it to his father, thinking Gordon might reminisce about the moments he and Amelia shared when he’d gifted her with each piece before passing it all along to Rachel. Then Jared found the cache of letters his mother had written to his aunt.

  Amelia had poured her heart out about the man she’d fallen in love with, the man she couldn’t have because he, like she, was married. Reading the story of his mother’s love affair had felt like a sucker punch to the jaw. Jared’d never questioned that his mother’s artistry as a pianist had been in such demand that she’d traveled through Europe pursuing her career. Finding out so many years later that she’d chosen to stay away for the sake of a man she couldn’t have—a man she’d chosen over her son and her daughter—had shaken him to his core. He hadn’t planned to tell his father, but by the time he’d made his discovery, the package had already been delivered. It had been Gordon who’d later called to say he’d sold every piece and wanted the proceeds to be shared equally between his children. Without thinking, Jared had declined.

  “I don’t want any part of it,” he’d snapped. “Nothing that she’d—” He stopped midsentence, remembering whom he was speaking with.

  “Nothing she’d been given by her lover.” Gordon had seemed matter-of-fact about the situation. Jared thought his father had probably known the truth for years. “I understand. What shall we do with the money?”

  “Burn it.” Jared had shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “What if we do something a little more constructive with it? Delia told me about a proposed women’s shelter outside of West Chester, where she lives. The money would go a long way toward purchasing the building they want to buy,” Gordon said.

  “Fine. Let’s do it,” Jared had readily agreed. “Dad, I haven’t said anything to Rachel. About Mom, I mean.”

  “I see no reason to do that at this time. However, if at some point it becomes relevant, by all means, share what you know,” Gordon had said stiffly before immediately changing the subject to an upcoming dive he wanted Jared to make in his father’s stead.

  He and Gordon had never really addressed his mother’s infidelity. Jared could understand his father not wanting to discuss it, but there were times when Jared wished he’d bring it up. He had so many questions, and he was pretty sure his father had the answers. It wasn’t an easy subject to approach. How did you ask your father to tell you about your mother’s affair with another man?

  It bothered Jared sometimes, mostly when he’d been dating someone he liked. He’d start thinking about how maybe things could work out, then he’d think about his mother, and he’d remember how she’d abandoned him and his sister, how she’d betrayed his father. Then he’d break off any relationship that looked like it might go somewhere beyond the superficial, because all things considered, superficial was good enough for him. Superficial didn’t burn when either of you moved on.

  He knew how cynical he was. He just didn’t care. Even his sister had called him out on it, but he’d merely agreed with her.

  “You don’t give anyone a real chance,” she’d said after he broke off with a woman Rachel had liked.

  “Maybe I just haven’t found someone I thought was worth taking a chance on,” he’d told her.

  “Yeah, well, I think you’re going to die a lonely old man.”

  “Maybe so. But at least I won’t be a lonely old man with a broken heart.”

  “As far as I know, all the broken hearts have been on the other side of your relationships,” Rachel had said. “So why would you even say something like that?”

  Rachel wouldn’t understand. She didn’t know about their mother’s betrayal, so it had been easy for her to fall in love and marry a guy who she could believe loved her enough to stay true to her and to be a loving father to their boys.

  Sometimes Jared wished he didn’t know, either.

  For some reason, he thought about Chrissie, about how she’d alluded to having had a relationship that hadn’t worked out, and he wondered who had been responsible for the breakup, her or the guy.

  Jared guessed it was the guy’s fault. She didn’t seem like the type to mess around. Of course, he didn’t know her all that well. He could be wrong.

  He sat on the deck, leaning back against the cabin wall, and raised his eyes upward to where a thousand stars were beginning to shine through the dark of the night sky. It was a sight that always comforted him as a young boy when he’d accompany his father on one of his ventures. He’d been nine the first time. They’d gone searching for a lost Spanish galleon off the coast of Florida. At night he’d sit out on the deck, just like this, and look up and wonder if his mom was looking at the same sky, the same stars. He hadn’t known then about time zones or love affairs. All he’d known was that he missed his mother, and that maybe right at that moment, she was thinking about him, and they were sharing the stars.

  Jared didn’t have anyone to share the stars with, and he was okay with that. He was here to do a job, but he was growing impatient and bored. He just wished he could get on with it. There was only so much one could do in a town like St. Dennis.

  He went downstairs to his cabin, turned on the lights, and picked up the book he’d started reading the week before. Propping pillows behind his head, he found the place where he’d left off, and fell back into the story.

  • • •

  IF LUCY HADN’T given her tickets and a personal invitation, Chrissie most likely would have skipped the fashion show. She’d never had much interest in clothes, mainly because for most of her life she hadn’t been able to afford much beyond the basics. Over the past few years, she’d almost completely given up on the way she looked. Doug didn’t appear to notice, though she knew he’d beat the crap out of anyone who did. Best to not stand out, she’d learned.

  She showed the tickets to Ruby and said, “Lucy gave me these for a fashion show they’re having at the inn tomorrow night.”

  “Be nice for you to get out with others your age.”

  “Come with me?”

  “What I be wanting to do that for? I got no interest in clothes other than what I got to wear. No.” Ruby shook her head. “You be going without me.”

  “Nope. If you don’t go, I’m not going.”

  “Oh, yes you are. Lucy be nice enough to give you those tickets, you be using one.”

  “Ruby—”

  “Don’t want to hear another word ’bout that. You be going and you be having a good time.”

  Chrissie’d never been to such an event, so she had no idea what to expect, but she’d gone, and was surprised that she’d had a great time. For one thing, the food prepared by the inn’s kitchen had been incredible. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been served such a meal. The appetizers had been as delicious as the entrée and the dessert, though she had to stop herself from mentally critiquing the sauce for the chicken, which she thought was a little heavy on the blood orange juice, and the chocolate caramel crème brûlée, which would have benefited from just a smidge of coarse sea salt sprinkled on just befo
re serving. Still delicious, but she’d have tweaked the recipes.

  It seemed that in St. Dennis, casual dress ruled, so most of the items on display were easy, seasonal, pretty, and too often expensive. The models were all local women, including Dallas MacGregor, who’d married the town vet, and Mia Shields Beck, the wife of the police chief, who both modeled casual attire. Shirley Wyler, Steffie’s mother, modeled vacation wear, and Carly Summit Sinclair, the wife of Grace’s son Ford, modeled the more formal dresses in the show. Savvy businesswoman that she was, Vanessa offered a 20 percent discount on the purchase of any of the items shown that night and had made certain to include clothing appropriate for women of every age. To this end, she’d asked Dallas’s grandmother, the film actress Beryl Townsend—known to all in town as Berry—to close the show wearing a cocktail dress that proved that even at eighty-something, a woman could shine. Berry definitely brought down the house.

  To Chrissie, the best aspect of the evening hadn’t been the remarkable food or the beautiful clothes. It had been so long since she’d had friends that she’d forgotten how good it felt to spend time with other women who laughed and chatted and freely shared bits of themselves. That she could make friends of her choosing, enjoy an evening out without worry of how to explain where she’d been and whom she’d been with, felt like the greatest gift she’d ever been given. Stepping out on her own meant she was free of her past. All friends of Lis’s, the women had been fun and lively and accepting of Chrissie into their group, which consisted of Lis, Cass, Steffie, and Sophie.

  “Do you love that yellow sundress?” Steffie had whispered to the group. “I do.”

  “I’d wear that,” Cass agreed.

  “What about that red and white one?” Sophie asked.

  They all agreed the red and white sundress was perfect.

  “How ’bout that pale pink shirt and the white pants?” Lis nodded in the direction of the model who was just hitting the runway.