Читать книгу The Beach House - Мэри Монро, Мэри Элис Монро, Mary Monroe Alice - Страница 16

After a week of moping about the house in her pajamas, Cara decided she’d had enough wallowing. Today she would start her visit over. She waited behind the closed door of her bedroom until she heard the front door close and the footsteps of Lovie and Toy departing from the cottage. It had been another in a series of wild mornings of the telephone ringing with reports from the turtle volunteers, followed by a bustle of motion as Toy and Lovie gathered their supplies into the red bucket and headed for The Gold Bug and whatever point along the beach that turtle tracks were found.

The coast was clear, as she and Palmer used to say when their father had left for work. She showered as best she could in the pitiful stream of water that escaped through a faucet with a chokehold of lime, but the French lavender soap her mother laid out went a long way to making her feel enormously better. There were large, thirsty towels and a lovely gardenia-scented lotion to complete her bath. Back in her room, she saw that her mother had unpacked her suitcase for her. Inside the dresser drawer she found a fresh sachet.

Cara smiled, shaking her head and murmuring, “Mama…”

Her mother had always picked up her messy room during her teens. True, the room was vacuumed, the dirty dishes and laundry removed, but Cara knew it was really her mother’s clever way of keeping tabs on her rebellious offspring. One day Cara planted a package of condoms in a brown paper bag far back in the drawer beneath her bras. Oh, how the fireworks exploded that afternoon when she came home from the beach! Lovie tried both to scold Cara and defend herself for rifling through her daughter’s drawers. Cara’s hand stilled on the dresser, remembering that her mother had never told her father about the contents of that paper bag.

Hanging in the cramped closet were her dressy slacks, silk blouses and one sexy black dress. Her closet back in Chicago was bulging with lovely tropical weight wool suits, silk blouses and scarves, and fine leather boots and shoes for a professional working in a city. But she had nothing for a casual day at the beach. Her life in Chicago had not been casual.

She settled on a chic mint-green silk outfit and a pair of very dressy, strappy leather sandals studded with rhinestones that looked great on Michigan Avenue. Looking in the long mirror tacked to the back of the door, she saw a tall, sleek, dark-haired woman dressed to the nines and terribly out of place on the laid-back island. Then, because she felt a need for bolstering, she added a touch of shadow and mascara and a spritz of scent. Her dark hair, still damp, was rolled into a twist and secured with a clip.

By the time she stepped into the living room, the fog had swept out to sea and sunshine poured in from the windows. Her spirits lifted at the prospect of a lovely day as she stood for a moment just inhaling great gulps of the fresh, salty air.

She took her growling stomach as a good sign and moved into the small kitchen, neat and sparkling in the sun. She helped herself to a quick breakfast, then began to prowl, glancing out the windows, peeking in all the rooms and running her fingers through magazines on the coffee table. Before long, she felt the old restlessness stirring. She wasn’t accustomed to so much time on her hands. She had no agenda. She was anxious to do something.

She rationalized that she’d needed a long, overdue vacation. But now it was time to regroup. She’d make a few calls and develop a game plan. Perhaps set up a couple of meetings. After all, she had contacts in the business, and a solid reputation to fall back on.

Except, she didn’t have her computer with her. Or her cell phone. How could she have been so dazed as to leave them in Chicago? She’d stormed out of the city, determined to disengage. But rather than feel freer, she felt totally cut off without access to her e-mail. She was addicted to the connection. Without it she felt jittery and antsy. Marooned on some deserted island.

While she paced, her wandering gaze caught sight of a cluster of photographs on the mantel that hadn’t been there before. Her mother must have just put them up. Her curiosity pricked, she walked closer to inspect.

She was drawn first to the photograph of herself, naturally enough. In a small silver frame she saw herself as a young teen curled up in a tree reading a book. She felt a ping somewhere deep inside and raised her eyes out the rear window to search for the old oak tree that had been a dear friend to her for many years. But it wasn’t in the yard. “Poor old tree,” she said softly, mourning its loss. A flood of memories coursed through her and, instinctively, she placed the photograph back on the mantel and moved on.

The largest was a silver-framed family photograph taken on the veranda of the Charleston house. A ruddy-faced Palmer in a navy blazer with shiny brass buttons sat with his arm around a slender, erect Julia in pale linen, every hair in place. Palmer had borne the butt of many jokes about how he’d married a gal just like mom, but Cara had never laughed. She’d always found that at the root of jokes there often lay a core of truth. On either side of them sat their children, Linnea and Cooper.

She picked up a flowery, porcelain-framed school photo of her niece to study. Linnea was a pretty girl, an interesting combination of her parents. Counting back, Cara figured her niece was nine years old now. She had Palmer’s warm smile and flirtatious grin that would someday wrap a boy around her little finger. But in everything else, she looked like her mother and grandmother: petite, with brilliant blue eyes, fine white-gold hair and porcelain skin. Ol’ Palmer would have his hands full keeping the boys from that one, she thought with a chuckle. And it would only be God’s good justice after the hell he’d raised growing up.

But Cooper was all Rutledge, from his strong jaw stuck out at a rebellious angle, to his broad forehead with the Rutledge hairline and the hint of what would someday become a proud, straight nose. He didn’t smile as much as grimace for the camera, as if to say, Do I have to? She tried to recall how old he was, ashamed that she didn’t know. It was a sad statement about her relationship with her brother. From the pudgy cheeks and the uncertain, wobbly smile, he looked to be no older than five. There was something in his eyes, however, a dark-brown like her own and her father’s, that drew her in. It was the vulnerability behind the bravado that she understood so well.

She placed the photograph slowly back onto its place on the mantel, feeling very distant from these children and sorry for it. She had no children of her own—not so much by choice as by circumstance—and they were her only niece and nephew. She’d sent them gifts at Christmas and for their birthdays, for which she promptly received polite but impersonal thank-you notes. Such was the extent of their relationship. She wondered if they would even recognize her if she passed them in the street?

Making a quick decision, she walked directly to the phone and dialed Palmer’s number at the family house. It was the same number she’d dialed since she was a child. It rang four times before a gruff voice answered.

“Palmer?” she asked, surprised to find him home in the morning. She’d expected to reach Julia.

There was a pause. “Mama?”

Cara laughed. “No, it’s me. Cara. How are you?”

“Cara? Well, for…This is a surprise! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, fine. In fact, I’m in town.”

“No kidding? That’s great. How long you in for?”

“Not too long.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure, actually.”

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. He chuckled softly, a low, masculine rumbling sound unique to Southern men. “Well now, that’s a switch.”

“Don’t start in on me, Palmer,” she replied, laughing. “Actually, I’m out at the beach house. Mama asked me to come for a visit and I had a few days, so here I am.”

“Did she now?” He paused as though thinking that over. “So, did you meet her companion?”

By the way he said the word, she knew instantly that he disapproved of Toy Sooner. Cara sighed, remembering her promise to her mother. “I did. Briefly. She’s been keeping herself scarce and, frankly, I’ve been grounded with a migraine since I arrived. I couldn’t open my mouth except to groan. But I’m feeling much better now. Listen, Palmer, I saw photographs of Cooper and Linnea and I was amazed at how they’ve grown. Actually, I’m calling because I’d like to see y’all while I’m in town.” Palmer’s drawl was so infectious she couldn’t help the Lowcountry from creeping back into her own tone and words.

“Why sure, honey! We’d love that. Julia will cook up something real special. When can you come?”

She felt herself smiling. “When do you want me?”

“Well, here’s the thing. I’m fixing to leave for Charlotte this afternoon. I’ve got some business to tend to up there that’ll take up the week. I’m packing my suitcase right now. How about Saturday? You gonna be here that long? That’s a whole three days away….”

She let the tease ride. Looking out the window she saw a brilliant blue sky. She’d spent her first week groaning in bed with the shades drawn or moping—hardly a vacation. But more importantly, she hadn’t accomplished what she’d come here to do. And she wanted to see her niece and nephew.

“You can count on it, big brother.”

“Well, good,” he replied, and she could hear the pleasure in his drawl. “We’re all looking forward to it. And bring that runaway back home with you, hear? Tell her that her grandbabies miss her. Mama hasn’t been back here but a few times since she left. She’s like a hermit crab, hiding out in that tiny place. I worry about her.”

“Come out to the island, then. It’s not far.”

“Maybe now that summer’s here and the kids are out of school, we’ll do just that. We’ll come out for a good visit.”

“Mama’d like that.” Then, thinking of Toy, “But it’s a little crowded here now.”

“Hell, I don’t stay in the cottage anymore,” he said, shooing away the suggestion in his blustery voice that sounded so much like her father’s it was eerie. “I’ve got my own place on Sullivan’s Island. Over by the lighthouse. Problem is, it’s rented out so much in the summer we hardly ever get to come down to the water like we want to.”

Cara heard the pride in his voice and thought that business must be pretty good for him to buy a summerhouse on Sullivan’s. Last she’d heard, they were saving to buy a house downtown. Could be they liked living in Mother’s house well enough. Then Cara knew an unsettling feeling as a new thought took root.

“Why don’t y’all come around four o’clock,” he said. “We’ll take a spin on the boat, maybe go up the Intracoastal a ways and come around back to the harbor. I’ll bet you haven’t done that in a long time. We can have ourselves some drinks and watch the sun set like old times. We’ll do it proper.”

“Sounds great, Palmer,” she said, meaning it. “Is there anything I can bring?”

“Well now, since you asked. Remember that shack that sells shrimp over on Shem Creek? Clud’s?”

“No, but I can find it.”

“Now, how can you forget an operation like that? Sure you remember. They’ve got the freshest shrimp, sell it right off the boat. You have to turn off Coleman by the gas station and wind your way round the old neighborhood as far back as you can go. It’s way in there by the dock. If you can get me some of that shrimp, I’ll take care of the bill when I see you. About four pounds ought’a do it. I’d get it myself but I won’t be back from Charlotte until Friday and Julia and the kids are coming along to visit her mother. We’ll all be back on Friday, though. Think I’ll make us some Frogmore Stew.”

She wondered if Palmer remembered that it had been her favorite Lowcountry meal growing up and wanted to prepare it just for her. “I sure can’t say no to an offer like that.”

“Well then, that’s that. Say hello to Mama for me. I’ll see you soon.”

They signed off with the same familiarity as if they’d just talked yesterday. It was like that with family, she thought, staring at the old telephone with a grin on her face. They could be separated for years but in a few words an age-old connection was made that had nothing to do with telephone wires.

She placed the receiver back into its cradle but left her hand resting on it. The house was quiet. She was alone. In for a penny, in for a pound she decided and picked up the phone again. God, it was a clunky thing and it weighed a ton compared to her little cell phone. She dialed her home number and checked her messages.

There were the expected sympathy calls from colleagues, some of whom were also laid off, some of whom she wasn’t sure about. She wrote these numbers down. Richard had called many times, asking why she wasn’t answering her cell phone, each time sounding more worried and pleading that she call.

Richard. She missed him with a sudden urgency, conjuring up his strong features and dark-brown hair just beginning to show dashing strands of gray. They’d shared disasters and triumphs alike. Everyone at the agency knew about their relationship and even tacitly approved of it. After all, when they weren’t working together on a project at the office, they were talking about the project during their personal time together. In fact, they’d often laughed and declared that what they had was better than love.

She heard the panic in his messages and felt guilty for not trying to reach him sooner. She hadn’t even left him a message that she was leaving town. Headache or no, she should have tried to contact him. Was Richard as devastated at being fired? It was a shame that he’d had to leave for New York during the biggest crises of their careers, when they needed each other the most.

She looked at her watch. It was 10:15, an hour earlier in Chicago. He might still be asleep. She yearned to call him but decided to contact Adele Tillwell first. If she didn’t reach her early, she and the headhunter would begin a nagging session of lunchtime phone tag. She went to her room to collect her palm pilot, paper and a pen, then returned to the small wooden hall table and made a makeshift desk, cursing herself again for leaving her cell phone. Pulling up a chair, she dialed the number of the trusted contact at an employment agency she’d dealt with many times before, but always from the hiring side of the desk.

Fortunately, Adele was at her desk. After initial pleasantries, they got swiftly down to business. She talked at length with Adele about her current situation, not the least surprised that she already knew about her layoff. They made a few jokes, laughed a bit, shared a little gossip, then when the chitchat was completed they dove right into what was out there in the market, appraised her résumé and considered what her next move should be.

“I’ll do what I can but the hiring picture is grim,” Adele concluded. “Especially at your level. Thanks to your old alma mater, the streets are flooded with applicants.”

Cara felt panic take root. “But my reputation is solid. I’ve got an impressive list of credits.”

“Yes, you do. You’re a plum, no doubt about it. There’s something out there for you.”

She heard the uncertainty. “Go on….”

“It’s just a matter of waiting it out.”

Cara did a little mental arithmetic, trying to figure out how long she could survive without an income. The separation package was generous, but…“I can’t wait too long or I’ll lose my cushion. Not to mention my condo.”

“I can’t control these things, Cara. It could take months, at the very least.”

“God, I hate not being in control.”

Adele chuckled and Cara felt the tension easing. Adele was good at her job. “It’s not totally out of our control. What I can do is work hard for you. And I will, Cara. You’re now my favorite client. I owe you. You’ve done a lot for me in the past.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything, but thanks, Adele.”

“What you can do is follow up on your own contacts. By the way, is there anyone or anyplace in particular you’d like me to inquire?”

They chatted a few minutes longer about possible firms to pursue.

“Okay then,” Adele concluded. “Just fax me the list.”

“I can’t. I’m in the dark ages here. If you saw the phone I was talking on…”

“E-mail me then.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“You don’t? Where the hell are you? Siberia?”

“No.” She chuckled. “My mother’s beach house. I left in such a fog I forgot everything that wasn’t attached. Look, it doesn’t matter. I won’t be here that long. I’ll get the list to you. There’s always the U. S. Mail.”

“This will be interesting. When are you coming back to Chicago?”

“Probably next week.”

“I’ll see what I can line up. Oh, I just had an idea. You can always call Richard Selby and see if he can pull a few strings for you.”

Richard? “Uh, fine. Thanks again. Goodbye.”

She slowly put down the receiver. For another minute she sat with her hand resting on the phone trying to make sense of Adele’s parting comment. Clearly the message was that Richard was in a strong position. Was it possible that he was not laid off from the agency after all? Her mind spinning with questions, she immediately dialed Richard’s home number. Ordinarily she wouldn’t expect him to be at home in the morning, but these were not ordinary times.

After the fifth ring, the answering machine clicked on. His voice answered, clear and upbeat, but she hung up without leaving a message. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she thought the impossible. Could he still be at the agency?

Damn. The last thing she wanted to do was call there. She cringed at the thought of the awkward condolences and embarrassing explanations. But it was unlike her to put anything off. She needed to know. Now. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed Richard’s private number, even while wondering if the number was still valid.

“Good morning. Richard Selby’s office.”

Cara’s breath caught and she took a second to collect herself. “Hello, Trish. This is Cara Rutledge.”

“Well, hello! We’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding!”

She felt the sting of that comment prickle her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware that I was hiding,” she replied with frost.

“Oh,” the secretary stumbled, her tone becoming more subdued. “It’s just that Mr. Selby tried calling you several times. He’s been worried about you.”

“Has he? There was no need. My mother called and I had to leave town immediately to see her. It was urgent family business.” She wanted the word out that there was an emergency she had to tend to rather than that Cara Rutledge was hiding under some bush.

“I hope she’s all right.”

“Everything is fine now, thank you.” She skipped a beat then said as casually as she could, “I take it that Mr. Selby is still with the agency?”

Trish laughed. It was a high trill sound ringing with astonishment. “Of course he is. In fact, he’s been promoted! Didn’t you know? Mr. Selby is now Vice President Senior Attorney.”

Cara’s heart beat faster as suspicion did its nasty job of creating doubt in her mind. It wasn’t hard to create a diabolical picture. Richard worked in legal. He knew the mass layoffs were coming. And yet, he was promoted. That could only mean he was on the inside track on this one. He had to have known that her name was on the list. And knowing, he had left town while the dirty work was done. He let her go to the chopping block with a blindfold on.

Why, the sneaky little coward, she thought, wringing the telephone cord in her fingers. And on her birthday…

“Miss Rutledge?”

“What wonderful news for him,” she replied in an even voice. “I imagine you must be very busy moving offices.”

“Oh, no, we’re done now. The announcement wasn’t made until this week but we’ve known for a while and had time to get things packed up. It’s just that, you know, Mr. Selby didn’t want to make it official until after the layoffs and all. Oh—” She paused, suddenly unsure, as though just remembering that Cara had been one of the unfortunate ones. “I’m sorry, Miss Rutledge. But, of course, you knew all this.” There was a nervous question in the statement.

“Of course,” Cara replied. She needed to get some air.

“He’s in a meeting now, but I know he wants to talk to you. Like I said, he’s been calling and calling. I’ll be sure to tell him you’re out of town. Is there a number where he can reach you?”

Cara paused, feeling his betrayal claw at her heart. “No,” she replied calmly. “I’ll be on the road. Please tell him I’ll call him later. At home,” she added before hanging up, preserving the illusion that they were still on intimate terms.

At the moment, that’s all it was. A hideous illusion. All the closeness, confidences, hours that they’d shared for four years were meaningless! She felt her fury rise up to howl in her chest. Her hand hovered over the phone as she fought the urge to call his home and leave a blistering message on that infernal machine.

She closed her hand in a fist and let it slide to rest at her side. It would be a cold day in hell before she called that bastard again. Even hurt and angry, she wasn’t so stupid that she’d leave a message like that recorded for him to play over to whoever with a chuckle and a drink. He’d be patted on the back for the narrow escape he made. Cara’s eyes squeezed at the pain. How could he have done this to her? She’d never known he could be so ruthless—at least not with her. No, they weren’t married, but she’d thought of them as a team. She recalled the many, happy occasions they’d spent together. There had been so many good memories, so many intimacies shared.

She sat on the hard-backed chair and stared out at the sea, overcome.

Then she laughed.

It started out as a short bark of laughter, a guffaw of disbelief blended with self-mockery then rolled into a choppy cadence of laughs. Oh, it was all too pathetic! This was the real top-aroo. What hellish astrological event brought all these catastrophes her way? She’d turned forty, lost her job and now her boyfriend had dumped her. If she had a dog, it would have been run over by a car. What was next?

Lord, she thought as her laughing ended, she had to get out of this house or she’d go mad. She rose quickly from the chair, eager to put distance between herself and the phone, the beach house, everything. Outside, the late morning sun was high and cast a glistening sheen across the ocean.

She grabbed one of her mother’s broad-rimmed straw hats from a basket by the door and lunged into the sunshine. Though she felt the power of a spring sun on her shoulders, she kept walking, making her way through a narrow path in the empty lots across the street. Such a broad expanse of unoccupied land was unusual on this valuable stretch of beach. Only a few beachfront lots were left on the entire island and here were three lopped together. Her mother was lucky to live across from them and keep her ocean view.

The path cut up a sandy incline and curved around a tall dune. Once again she was exhilarated at the sudden, surprising sight of the wide expanse of sparkling blue water. She heard the echoing roar punctuated by the cries of a gull. Far off in the mist, she caught the shadowy form of a cargo ship and, closer in, a line of pelicans coasted low over the waves. It was a marvel how she couldn’t think about her problems or solutions while staring out at the sea. It was as if she’d pushed a delete button in her brain and the monitor had cleared. The breeze greeted her with a caress, drawing her down from her perch on the dune to the wide arc of beach.

On this side of the island, far from the hotels and restaurants, there were fewer tourists. But farther ahead, groups of sunbathers stretched out on colorful beach towels or sat in the shade under cheery umbrellas anchored in the sand. She began walking toward them, fixing as her goal the long stretch of pier two miles up where she knew she could get a cool drink and rest. As she walked along in her dressy silk outfit, she caught the idle stares of young girls in bikinis and mothers who stood by as toddlers splashed in the warm tidal pools. When she passed a small triangle of space on a dune outlined by wooden stakes, orange tape and a bright plastic warning sign, she smiled. This was a loggerhead turtle nest and it was likely her mother had marked it.

Her shoulders were beginning to burn by the time she reached the pier and the small business section of the island called Front Beach. Young, hard-muscled teens played ferocious games of volleyball before a cheering crowd. Desperately thirsty, she walked up the wooden pathway that led to the Banana Cabana. Tables under red umbrellas were available but she was hot and sweaty and longed for the cool of an air-conditioned room. Stepping inside, she faced a blessed wall of cool and blinked in the dim light of the darkly paneled restaurant.

Cara took a small table beside the wall under a neon beer sign. She didn’t mind sitting alone. Her job had required lots of travel and she was accustomed to eating alone in a restaurant or biding her time at an airport bar. But on a business trip, her mind was focused on the job and her suit and briefcase made her invisible. Here, she idly stared at the walls and her dressy silk outfit screamed “Outsider!” in this easygoing crowd dressed in shorts, T-shirts and beach cover-ups.

A young waitress appeared and pulled out a pad and pencil. She already had a fabulous tan that she was eager to show off. Cara ordered a Diet Coke and a Cajun shrimp salad. It arrived quickly and she began mining through a salad the size of a small planet. As she jabbed her fork into the greens, she got the tingly sensation that someone was watching her. Quickly turning her head, she locked with a pair of eyes exactly the color of the cerulean sky she had left outside the dark room.

The spark of attraction shot straight down to her toes. He was sitting with his elbows on the bar and looking at her intently, his head turned over broad shoulders that stretched the faded blue fabric of his shirt. His thick hair was tawny colored and windblown, there was a stubble on his cheek and long lines cut through his deep tan at the corners of his eyes. He exuded a restrained power too ripe for a boy.

He sat at the bar with his three buddies, each of them a sterling example of a good ol’ boy pulling down a beer at a favorite pub. The bearded redhead to his right leaned over to mutter something close to his ear, followed by a short laugh and a quick glance her way. She saw the tall man’s glance slide from her face down to her shoes, then a slow, easy grin lifted the left corner of his mouth like he’d just caught the punch line of a private joke. He turned his head back to the baseball game on the TV over the bar, dismissing her.

Cara’s cheeks flamed. In her mind’s eye she could see that her strappy sandals with their sparkling rhinestones, which might have looked fabulous in the city, were a joke here.

“Check, please!” she called out, flagging her waitress. The girl came bouncing over, scribbling in her pad en route. Cara whipped her credit card out of her purse before the girl even arrived. The bill was soon settled and Cara hurried from the restaurant, walking swiftly past the bar without so much as a glance.

Outside the sun was blinding and stung her tender shoulders but Cara was mad now and not to be daunted. The anger felt good, the first real emotion she’d had in days. Even better, she now had a mission. Looking from left to right, she searched the lazy street. Her gaze passed over crazy murals on whitewashed buildings, ice cream and pizza parlors, a surf shop and a new, miniature chain hotel to zero in on a small boutique where a loud, raucous African parrot whistled and called. Cara smiled and made her choice, crossing the street.

“Good job,” she said to the parrot as she entered the shop.

The salesgirl, though young, looked Cara over with an experienced eye. From the way she scurried around from behind the counter, Cara knew she had Customer In Dire Need of Help written all over her.

“What can I do for you?” the girl asked in a cheery voice.

“I need a dressing room,” Cara replied, briskly walking through the narrow aisles of neatly folded clothes. She pulled out two pairs of shorts, four T-shirts, a thin stretchy sweat suit that would be perfect for nights on the beach, two swimsuits, a thin terry cloth cover-up, a long black flowing cotton dress decorated with red Hawaiian flowers and a blue tie-dyed beach towel that she couldn’t pass by. She went into the dressing room and emerged soon after in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with the tags hanging out. The salesgirl laughed as she snipped the tags off and carefully folded the mint silk ensemble into a bag.

“Anything else?”

“Sandals,” Cara said emphatically, looking down at the now despised ones on her feet. “I need comfortable sandals that I can walk along the beach in and not worry if they get wet. I plan to do a lot of walking.”

“You should get these,” the girl replied, lifting her own foot.

Cara looked at the clunky, wide-strapped sandals with thick rubber soles and thought they were nothing she’d have picked out on her own.

“Size nine,” she replied, slipping off the rhinestone sandals and tossing them in the trash bin.

“How about this?” the salesgirl asked with a wry smile, holding up a purple Koozie with the Isle of Palms logo. Cara laughed and shook her head, but when she saw a navy baseball cap with the South Carolina palm and crescent moon logo, she bought that, too. Placing it on her head, she handed over the straw hat to add to the burgeoning bag. Leaving the shop, she caught a glimpse of herself in a long mirror. Her neck and arms were sunburned and her long thin legs looked as pale as the underbelly of a fish.

“I scream tourist,” Cara said, but laughed, pleased to see the same jaunty look she’d admired in her mother.

“Now you fit right in.”