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  He joined her standing. Their bodies almost touched. Claire had changed. She wasn’t the little girl he’d seen holed up on the window seats of the house, reading books—she was now a woman. A compassionate woman who surprised him with both her inner and outer beauty. Maybe he would stay the full three weeks his mother begged him to stay, after all.

  Especially if Claire would be there.

  Chapter Four

  First Kiss

  Dinner was certainly an experience that first evening Claire was back at the beach house. Upon preparing the live lobsters, Frieda became visibly upset at the screams coming from the boiling water. She ran from the kitchen, covering her ears, with large amounts of air puffing in and out of her cheeks. She resembled a puffer fish Claire once saw in a book about the sea. Melanie had to finish up. And for anyone who knew Melanie, that was trying to accomplish the impossible. She wore Frieda’s apron and threw bowls and dishes around the counters. Mr. Prescott gave up waiting in the dining room for his dinner and found the bottle of wine and drank half of it before the entrée hit the table.

  By that time, Mr. Prescott’s volume was as robust as his waistline. He ripped into his lobster like a lion to a rabbit, while wearing some sort of towel for a bib. Melanie encouraged him to save his tailored shirt from melted butter. Claire snacked on the salad and homemade bread, never having much preferred seafood. A few shrimp here and there, and only if they were deep fried so she couldn’t see the piercing red veins spiraling through the poor specimen. She had taken too many oceanography classes to know what the organisms were that the Prescotts had chosen to eat during the summer months at the beach house.

  Except for Mallory and Jason sharing stories about places they’d visited and things they recently had done in New York, no one else said much. Claire watched the couple’s hands brush each other while grabbing for the salt or their drinks. And the smiles that came onto their faces as they remembered parts of the stories they were keeping all to themselves. Although Mr. Prescott seemed he couldn’t care less, with a few eye rolls here and there, Melanie shook her head and listened to the tales with mild interest. Claire knew one day that would be her with her boyfriend and she couldn’t wait for it. It seemed like her life had been on hold for years. Not that she blamed her circumstances; she just wanted a bit of normal to happen to her, too. To feel a skip in her heartbeat because of love and not fear for her mother’s last breath to come. A reason to smile, just because she was thinking of her someone special. And to know he was thinking of her.

  Melanie found a lot of time throughout dinner, in between Mallory’s conversation and Mr. Prescott’s yawning, to fret about the way in which dinner was prepared. Or, more importantly, whether it was prepared correctly. Obviously it’d been awhile since she was forced to cook and she needed assurance none of them would need medical assistance later, due to food poisoning.

  Claire’s nightmare might come true about barfing the entire week. But what could you do to salad and bread? Thankfully she passed on the seafood and whatever pale-yellow stuff that was in the royal-blue bowl. Mr. Prescott licked his finger when he saw some had transferred onto him when he handed it off to Mallory.

  “Are you sure the texture is right, James?” She clutched her throat with one hand and prodded the meat in the shells of her crustacean with the other. “If it’s undercooked, it could make you sick. And, I’m not sure that little clinic downtown has evening hours. We might have to airlift to the nearest hospital if anyone falls ill.”

  “Good Lord, Melanie! I said it was fine. Stop worrying about it.” He finished swallowing the bulk of food lodged in his cheek before finishing his thought. “But I know one thing—Frieda has got to go. She is slacking on everything around here. The grounds look riddled with weeds, the pantry is in chaos…”

  “Dear.” Melanie interrupted him and placed her hand on his arm. “Let’s not talk about this at dinner.”

  “Does that mean if I start slacking you’ll let me go, too, Dad?” Colin asked the question, almost as if to provoke a fight.

  “Not at the table, Colin,” his mother warned, darting her eyes his way.

  Claire wasn’t even sure Mr. Prescott had heard Colin. He was drowning in the last of the wine bottle he’d uncorked earlier. Beddy-bye time would come soon for Mr. Prescott.

  The platters were almost empty of food and everyone pitched in and cleared the table, taking the dishes to the kitchen for poor Frieda to clean in the morning. Afterwards, the family moved out to the porch area. It was a screened room with lofty ceilings. The fans were set to high, blowing the magazine pages on the center coffee table. Melanie had always made sure the wicker furniture was painted every two years to keep the glossy finish maintained. The salty air was brutal to anything outside the confines of an air-conditioned house. The slick, tiled floors helped lower Claire’s temperature as she slipped her sandals off and set her skin against the coolness. She noticed Colin chose to sit in a chair by the window, facing the water, away from the hub of the family. The dark screens and lights inside the room made it hard to now see outside to the water.

  “Colin, dear, would you take the fans down a notch? They’re blowing everything.” She laid her hand on the top of her head, as a few blonde strands broke from the hairspray net.

  “I swear, Melanie. It feels like an oven inside here.” Mr. Prescott stood in the doorway that connected the main house with the porch. “The thermostat is reading 87 degrees. Are you sure Frieda got it serviced last month like we phoned and told her to do?”

  Melanie stood from resting comfortably in the chaise lounge. It was also Claire’s favorite chair. When Claire was small, she’d sneak in and lay back in the plush yellow cushions and pretend she was the queen of the home.

  “I’ll check on it. Go sit down and let the fan cool you down, dear. Colin, put it back on high, will you?”

  Claire looked at Colin. He seemed as comfortable as a mouse did in a den of snakes. His body was hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, ready to pounce if someone said boo. Claire felt the need to put him at ease.

  “So, Colin, what’s the one thing about America that you missed the most?”

  He stroked his chin and stared blankly after readjusting the fan speed yet again. “I guess some of my friends. But I made some there, so it didn’t matter.”

  “Don’t lie, Colin. You know you missed me the most,” his sister Mallory said jokingly. She had her legs laying across Jason on the sofa. That poor guy sat very still, probably not wanting to do anything out of the ordinary, such as rubbing her feet, for fear the wrath of Mr. Prescott would be felt. He seemed fully aware he wasn’t the dream candidate as Mallory’s intended. The icy winds that blew past him with the eye stares from Mr. Prescott at dinner was a telltale sign.

  “I did miss your nagging, sis. London was definitely a lot quieter than here, now that I think about it.”

  She threw a pillow from the sofa at him.

  Claire could hear Mr. Prescott snoring. Two minutes on the chaise and he’d drifted off like a baby. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. It was summer and there was no work in the morning, yet Mr. Prescott always had a hard time looking as if he were on vacation. Claire only remembered once seeing him in a tee shirt. It was the summer he’d purchased a boat and took them all out for a ride. It was pretty, like the ones Claire saw in old movies she and her mother watched. White with wood grain down both sides of it. He’d even bought a captain’s hat for the occasion. They went out only once in it, though. After hitting one of those beacons in the water and damaging the hull, he sold it, and the boathouse, till this day, remained empty except for a tiny one-engine scooter boat. She and Mallory took it out once and got in trouble with their mothers. What did they know that it was the property of another Prescott who visited the house when they were gone?

  Melanie returned to the room. She rubbed the sides of her hair back into the low ponytail. “It seems that
Frieda forgot to call the service repairman. So, it looks like we’ll all be sleeping with our windows open tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Hopefully nothing serious.” She looked at Mr. Prescott and put a finger to her mouth and finished talking in a whisper. “I’ll get him to bed and with any luck, the repairman will arrive in the morning and fix it before he knows any better. Poor Frieda. She’s getting older and it seems things are slipping her mind.”

  Melanie nudged Mr. Prescott and was able to escort him to the bedroom without him pitching a fit about the advancing degrees of the house. Claire felt sorry for Frieda, should he find out it was her mistake. Maybe she needed help, now that she was getting on in years. Claire noticed she was moving slower, nothing like how she used to act. Back in the day, when Frieda finished her chores for the day, she always found time to play with the kids. Playing hide-and-seek, building sand castles, or even telling stories by the campfire she’d make for them on the beach at night. She was a natural-born grandmother; it was only a shame she never married to have any grandchildren of her own.

  “Well, I guess we’ll go upstairs.” Mallory stood and smacked her boyfriend on the leg. “Jason is going to Skype his mom. She’s in Alaska with his father. They’re doing a deep-sea dive.”

  “That sounds cool,” Claire said. “How long have they been there?”

  “For a month or so, I guess,” he answered, looking at Mallory for help in his memory recall. “I didn’t get to see her when classes broke for the summer, so I’m trying to keep in touch the best I can. They won’t be back for another month.”

  Melanie hugged his arm. “That’s okay. I’ll keep you company, baby.”

  He smiled at her before they cleared the porch door.

  Claire turned and stared out at the blackness of the night. Years ago, it was usually the time she and Mallory would go out and catch lightning bugs in a mason jar. Now, the darkness signaled just an end to another day. Sadder even now without her mother being there. Claire pulled at the front of her dress to fan some air on her chest. Her skin felt clammy, as if her shower earlier never happened.

  “I think I’ll go to bed. I’ve had a long day.” She looked at Colin. He was the only one left in the room, and seemed so distant in thought.

  “Okay. I think I’ll watch some television. Maybe there’s a good movie on.”

  She stood to leave. “See you tomorrow morning, then. I hope your dad doesn’t fire Frieda while I’m here. That would make the second most depressing event of my year.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  It was midnight and sleep had not yet come for Claire. The moon’s bright light beckoned her to the open window in her bedroom. Its white beam of reflection shone on the water, making a line from the middle of the cove directly to the end of the pier. Noises of night bugs were loud on the lawn. Crickets chirped, some type of hyper bird whirled on the roof of the house, and a faraway owl somberly hooted in the distance. Her cotton gown felt like wool against her skin, and the ceiling fan circulated hot air around the small space. She had sat wide-eyed in bed for as long as she could. If only she could get some cool relief.

  She pulled open her bedroom door with caution so it wouldn’t creak in the long hallway. The worn wooden floors of the old house told on anyone who moved at night. She successfully made it to the staircase on tiptoe and edged her way down toward the back door. In the darkness, she managed to stub her toe on a table leg and fought the obscenities that swirled through her mind. Slightly favoring her left foot, she pulled open the door leading from the porch to the back lawn. It faintly let out a screech that resembled the boathouse owl. The rusty spring pulled it back quickly before she could catch hold of it, slamming it shut after her. Hopping on one good foot, she made it to the last concrete step. When her feet lifted off, she ran through the soft, cool grass toward the beach. The salty air clung to her body as she made her way to the dock. The moon reminded her of someone having turned on a giant light switch, allowing her to see every wrinkle of blackened water before she made it to the end.

  “Going for a swim?”

  The voice startled her. She grabbed for her heart and turned to see Colin a few feet away. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Twice—that makes twice. What are you doing out here?”

  “I’d ask the same of you.”

  She lowered the gown she’d pulled up to enjoy what little breeze was coming off the water. “It was too hot to sleep.”

  “So go for a swim and cool off.”

  She could see every feature of his face in the moonlight. His chiseled jawline, his crystal-blue eyes, and inviting lips. “Go for a swim? In the dark? Are you crazy? There might be fish in there.”

  He held his side and laughed. “You mentioned you were a scientist, right? There are fish in the water, Claire. And besides, you used to go swimming at night.”

  “That was when I was young and fearless.” And had no thought about being naked. “Now I’m aware of the things that might lurk at night underwater. There could be killer eels in there. Or sharks that somehow lost their way at sea and meandered into the cove. You never know.”

  “Let’s find out.” He began shimmying off his shorts. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, maybe having shed it in the hot house before coming outside.

  “Fine. I’ll watch you get eaten. Safely here on dry land. But don’t worry, when your head bobs and you call out, I’ll run and get someone to help you. Have you even seen the movie Jaws? I’m not an avid movie watcher, but I know that one.”

  He pulled down his underwear and she jerked away her head, giving her a twinge of whiplash. “Colin Prescott, put your clothes back on! Your mother would flip out if she knew you were down here…like that.”

  “Oh, Claire. We’re not ten anymore. Surely you’ve seen a guy’s naked body before. Now go ahead and get undressed so we can jump in together.”

  “Excuse me?” Claire’s voice trembled at the notion. She pulled at the neckline of her gown. “Get undressed? Not on your life.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the black outline of the trees across the shore. Her body slightly trembled at the suggestion. “You know, I don’t know the type of girl you’re used to hanging out with in London, but girls like me don’t just drop our…” She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Our pants and swim in the black waters.”

  “Girls like you? Not all girls are prudes, Claire. Some are adventurous. Some don’t just live in pages of books and they experience things around them. I knew you’d be chicken. I don’t know why I even suggested it. You live in a shell, Claire Ashton. Never willing to take a chance. Just like when I dared you to swim to the buoy and you wouldn’t. Or wanted to go on that boat ride. You shot me down every single time. Who cared that the boat wasn’t ours. It was something fun to do.” He raised his voice and she could see his hand wave in her peripheral vision.

  Claire kicked herself for not doing either one of them when he asked. She felt horrible when he found out she went out in the boat with Mallory.

  “Why, I bet you don’t even kiss with your mouth open. Afraid you might get some kind of disease or something.”

  Claire bit her lip. Anger swelled up inside her from his wrong accusations about her. Kissing a guy with her mouth open was nothing she’d rate as a feat in life, especially when all the guys she’d had the misfortune to kiss were always shoving their tongues down her throat. She’d yet to meet someone who treated her like anything more than a notch on a bedpost. A scorecard being checked to see how long it took to get between the bases. She was taking a sabbatical from fast men and their hidden octopus arms. She was holding out for the right one.

  Unfortunately, while she waited, she was always being pegged as the prude. She’d show Colin he had no idea just who he was accusing of being non-adventurous. What did she care about guarding her modesty for this moment, anyway? It was night. And this would be her last hurrah, probably. Her last vacation. Quite possibly the last time she’d even see Colin Prescott. Life was short. Seeing her m
other’s abrupt end showed her that. And she wouldn’t leave this cove with another regret for not having done something.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll do it, but you go first.”

  She heard him laugh. “Fat chance. We go together.”

  She thought about it, giving a more than loud sigh to the quiet universe. Where did that annoying owl go? Was he watching with suspense just as she was, having this feeling suddenly of an out-of-body experience?

  “If you’re worried I’ll see something, I’ve already seen your body.”

  She turned around and punched him in the arm. “You big fat liar. You told me you didn’t see anything.”

  He flinched, shielding his more private parts from her abuse. “It was a blur, Claire. Nothing more than a quick glance. I tell you what. I’ll look the other way while you get undressed, then we’ll hold hands and jump at the same time. Like you and Mallory used to do together.”

  “What do you know about that, Colin Prescott?”

  There was a moment of hesitation before he answered. “I used to climb up in the tree by the embankment and watch you go skinny-dipping. Shocking, to say the least. But of course you didn’t go completely in the buff. You were sure shirtless, though. The guys at school, when I went back in the fall, didn’t believe I’d seen a girl in real life without clothes.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the years of past embarrassment bite at her cheeks, warmth rising to the surface. That little peeping Tom. She would’ve died if she knew he saw her then. What was the big deal now? He’d already seen the boney body of her former years. Seen whatever he denied seeing in the bathroom just hours ago. At least now she had somewhat of a curvature to her contour. And that’s all he’d be seeing. It was dark, for Pete’s sake. It wasn’t as if she’d ever come back after this summer. Years from now, she’d remark this was the gutsiest thing she’d ever done.

  “Are you sure you won’t look? And that there’s nothing out there that will eat us?”