just saying,” Missy said, but nothing else, as if those three words were explanation enough.
Across the room, Bess watched Heather lean in close to Nick, who didn’t pull away. And why should he? The blonde had big tits and a small ass and a flat stomach. Heather could suck the chrome off a truck hitch. She didn’t “sort of” have a boyfriend.
“Slow down with that drink,” Missy advised as she poured herself another. “That bitch Brian’s a fiend for the alcohol.”
For maybe the first time in her life, Bess wanted to get drunk. Instead she put down the cup and left the party. At home she declined an offer by her older, married cousins to join in on a game of gin rummy. She stretched the phone cord as long as it could reach, out onto the deck, and though it wasn’t their appointed time she called Andy, anyway. The phone rang for a long time before his brother answered.
“Andy’s not home.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back? It’s Bess.”
Did she imagine Matt’s hesitation? The sympathy in his voice? Would Andy’s brother tell her the truth if she asked him to, about the other girl whose letters Bess had found in Andy’s desk drawer?
“I don’t, Bess. Sorry.”
He sounded sorry, but that didn’t do her any good. Bess thanked him and hung up. She looked out at the black ocean but could see no waves.
She hadn’t meant to look in Andy’s drawer, hadn’t been looking for something she wasn’t meant to see. He’d asked her to grab a package of snapshots he wanted to show his parents, and Bess, who liked Mr. and Mrs. Walsh but wasn’t sure if they really liked her, had been all too happy to escape the dinner table to get them.
She’d been in Andy’s room quite a few times and knew what drawer in his desk he meant. The pictures weren’t there, but there was a rubber band-bound package of envelopes addressed to Andy in a looping, unfamiliar hand. A girl’s handwriting. Men didn’t dot their i’s with little flowers.
She hadn’t meant to find them, but once she had there was no question of her not reading them. She’d eased the first from the envelope and glanced at the salutation, skimmed the body of the letter and went straight to the signature.
Love, Lisa
Love? What the hell was some girl doing sending Andy, Bess’s Andy, letters signed with such a word? At the sound of footsteps in the hall, Bess had crammed the letters back into the rubber band. If it had been Andy in the doorway she’d have confronted him then, not left it a secret dissolving them like acid.
But it had been Matty, Andy’s younger brother, who’d come to see what was taking her so long. Bess saw on his face he knew what she’d seen, or guessed, but Andy was Matt’s brother and Bess was just some girl who might or might not someday be part of their family. Matt had said nothing, so neither had she. Not to Matt, and not to Andy himself.
She’d left the next day for the shore with Andy’s promises ringing in her ears. He’d write. He’d call. This year, he’d visit. So far he hadn’t kept any part of his promise.
So far, Bess had stopped expecting him to.
Chapter
09
Now
The Surf Pro still sold overpriced bathing suits, but like so much else time had changed, money was no longer quite the issue it had been when she was younger. Bess perused the racks of clothes, knowing she wouldn’t find much of anything Nick really needed—jeans, T-shirts, boxers, socks. Her fingers drifted through racks of baggy surf shorts and wetsuits. It didn’t escape her that she knew just what a twenty-one-year-old guy needed, or what one would like.
She’d only stopped into the shop on a whim because Nick had once worked there. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find. A plaque? A shrine to his memory? She doubted there’d even be anyone working there who remembered him. That, more than anything, and hearing him ask why she hadn’t known he was gone, pushed her out of the shop and back onto Garfield Street. She’d driven into town to hit the small grocery store, Shore Foods, because it was what she knew. A lot had changed since the last time Bess had been to Bethany Beach. More shops, for one. She’d have to look for something like a discount store to find everything she really needed, but for now Nick would have to deal with wearing shorts and T-shirts she picked up from the Five and Ten.
Across the street from where she’d parked was Sugarland. Or rather, where Sugarland had once stood. The storefront had changed, nearly swallowed up by a bunch of newly constructed specialty shops and an arcade, but the store inside looked mostly the same. Cleaner and with updated decor, but not much different than it had been when she’d been a slave behind the counter.
On impulse, clutching her plastic bag of gaudy, tie-dyed clothes, Bess crossed the square and went into the shop. The bell jangled on the door the way it always had, and she couldn’t help smiling. The bored teenager behind the counter barely glanced up. She looked about sixteen, with dark, thick hair pulled into a ponytail, and rectangular glasses perched on the end of her pierced nose. She yawned as Bess came up to the counter.
“Help you?”
“I’d like a large tub of the caramel corn.” Bess hadn’t bothered reading the menu, but surely Sugarland still sold the gooey, secret-recipe caramel corn that had been so popular.
The girl waved a languid hand toward a small pyramid of tubs. “We only have small right now.”
Bess couldn’t forget the hours she’d spent bending over the hot vat of sugar, corn syrup and melted butter. Mr. Swarovsky, Sugarland’s owner, had insisted on fresh caramel corn every day. “Is it fresh?”
Bess winced the instant the words slipped from her mouth. She sounded just like every uptight tourist who’d ever made her crazy. The girl didn’t react much, just shrugged.
“Sure, I guess. Hey, Dad!” she called over her shoulder toward the back. “Dad!”
The man who ducked out of the back room took up a lot of vertical space. His broad shoulders and lean hips gave the illusion he was taller even than he was, though Bess estimated him at over six feet. Dark thick hair spiked off his forehead, and glasses nearly identical to the ones the counter girl wore would have hinted at the family relationship even if she hadn’t called him Dad. The man’s smile stretched across his face and revealed straight, gleaming teeth. It transformed him instantly from geeky to gorgeous, and Bess wondered what she’d done to deserve such a look.
“Bess? Bess McNamara?” The man came around the counter, oblivious to his daughter’s goggling stare, and reached for Bess’s hand.
She gave it, and he pumped it up and down. “Yes? I mean, yes. I’m Bess.”
“Bess.” The man held her hand tight in both of his for a few minutes longer than necessary before letting go. “It’s me. Eddie Denver.”
It was rude to gape in disbelief, but Bess did anyway, scanning him up and down while he laughed. “Eddie? Oh my God, Eddie…wow!”
He laughed and ducked his head, and that gesture cemented it for her. “Yeah. Times change, huh?”
Bess
