“Seat belts!” she and Johnny chorused just as they had since they’d been old enough to parrot their mother’s instructions.
“‘We’re off to see the wizard...’” Tony intoned withabsolutely outlandish pitch.
The car purred to life, and Claire turned to fill her eyes with the sight of her laughing children.
“What did Peaches say?” she asked.
Jess chortled. Johnny flushed.
“Nothing,” he said.
“He said,” Jess offered as they turned for the road andtheir adventure, “for Johnny to act like a gentleman aroundhis mother, and—”
“Jess—”
“—a priest around that girl.”
The tension was broken, and the trip was on its way.Claire reached back and tousled her chagrined son’s hairand noticed that Gina was flushing almost as badly asJohnny. Well, she thought, with no little disgust. At least Ihave other problems to keep me occupied this afternoon.
The day began perfectly. Laughter and not a little off-keysinging filled the car, and plans were revised and recommended with amazing abandon. By the time they reachedthe Chesapeake Bay Bridge, they had discarded requests todrive straight on down to Key West, hop a ship for Nassauand find an airport with glider lessons.
History was dispensed with some imagination, and directions offered in a manner befitting grand opera. Tonyentertained them all with accounts of the house he’d builtfor a man who wanted to live just like Elvis, and Gina toldstories about how her dad had been kindly asked not to sing in church anymore. They were so busy laughing that Clairedidn’t even notice Johnny craning his neck to see the bustlein the Norfolk naval shipyards as they swept over theHampton Yards Bridge. She didn’t see Jess elbow him in disgust or Gina take his hand.
Today was for kids. Claire found herself giggling with anoutrageous delight as they accelerated away from the toll-booth at the bay bridge to discover a horizon of water andmarshes and a bridge that seemed to stretch straight to infinity.
The afternoon was warm and lazy and soft. Almost halfa mile out, the water of Chesapeake Bay lapped at the sand,the receding tide leaving behind shellfish and jellyfish andthe odd hermit crab to face the sun. On the other side of thedunes, the tiny town of Cape Charles slumbered like a placethat had been transported through time from the age ofQueen Victoria. Crepe myrtle trees were beginning to sendout purple and pink and white blooms, and lilac bushesscented the air. The wind gusted from inland, where banksof thick purple clouds were building up somewhere south ofthem. Claire didn’t notice. She was stretched out in thefreshly cleaned sand watching her children claim their prizesin the tidal pools.
“Oooh!” Jess shrilled, arms up. “It touched me! I hatejellyfish!”
“They’re out early this year,” Claire mused from one ofthe beach chairs Tony had pulled out of the trunk of the sedan. “Usually you don’t see them till August.”
Tony didn’t move from where he lay, beer bottle proppedon his belly, eyes closed. “Not a problem we have in Atlanta.”
Claire sipped at her soda. “I can’t imagine living that faraway from the water again. When I moved away fromhome, I headed right for a beach.”
“Yeah,” he said with a slow grin. “China Beach.”
Only a few hours earlier, Claire would have deliberatelyturned away. Shut him out, shut herself off.
“Hey,” she said instead, “who said you shouldn’t be ableto get in a little surfing in the middle of a war?”
“Not me,” he sensibly agreed. “Best we got to do wasplay poker. We tried horseshoes, but those people didn’thave any horses. And it’s real tough to get the shoes off awater buffalo.”
Claire laughed. She let the sun heat up her skin and thewind cool it off. She let the sound of the water soothe herand the excited voices of her children be her balm.
She let Tony Riordan mesmerize her with his easy camaraderie.
“Were you any good?” he asked.
“Nope.” She took a sip of soda. “I surfed about as wellas you sing.”
That got his attention. “I beg your pardon—”
“Matter of fact, I ended up in my own neuro unit once.Got smacked in the head with the board when I was at abeach party and almost drowned. Admitting diagnosis waspossible head injury. Dismissal diagnosis, surfeit of bourbon, bad wienies and ajudgmentia.”
“Ajudgmentia?”
She grinned. “Medical term. Means complete absence ofcommon sense.”
