“Grace?” Eddie poked his head out from the back office of the café. “Phone.”
Grace wiped her hands on the towel hanging below the counter and walked into the office. She took the phone from his hand.
“I’ll watch the front for you,” he said as he left the office.
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. Once he was out in the café, she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hi, Grace, it’s Bonnie.”
“Bonnie!” There was only one person Grace could handle talking to at that moment, and it was Bonnie, her oldest, dearest friend. But Bonnie rarely called. She lived in San Diego and sent an occasional letter or e-mail once or twice a month. A phone call was rare, and it worried her. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything is fine here,” Bonnie said. “I’m more interested in how things are going there.”
“Oh, you know.” Grace sat down on the desk chair and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been rough.”
“Well,” Bonnie said, “I wish I could do something to help you, and I’m worried that my reason for calling might just make things worse for you. But I wanted you to—”
“I don’t see how you could make things worse, Bon,” Grace interrupted her.
Bonnie hesitated. “Do you know who Rory Taylor is?” she asked finally.
“Of course. True Life Stories.”
“Right,” Bonnie said. “Well, I was reading one of the L.A. magazines and there was this tiny little blurb—I almost missed it. It said that he’s going to be in Kill Devil Hills for the summer.”
Grace frowned, trying to figure out why that would be of any significance to her. “So?” she asked.
“He’s there—” Bonnie let out a long sigh “—to look into that baby that was found on the Kill Devil Hills beach twenty-two years ago. He wants to do a story about it for his television show.”
Grace was silent, a chill racing up and down her spine. “For what purpose?” she asked. Her voice sounded tremulous, she thought, even though she was struggling for control.
“I don’t know, specifically,” Bonnie said. “But he’s usually trying to solve some sort of mystery. Like, who the baby’s mother was.”
Grace shut her eyes. “You know,” she said softly, “that baby has been on my mind a lot lately.”
“Of course she has,” Bonnie said. “Of course she would be.”
“Why now?” Grace asked, a bubble of anger forming in her chest. “Why, after all this time, does somebody have to delve into that—”
“I know,” Bonnie said. “It’s the wrong time. Not that there ever was a good time for it. Gracie, how are you doing otherwise? What does the doctor say?”
Grace ignored her question. “You know who I hate?” she asked. “Who I despise? Even after all these years?”
Bonnie hesitated a moment before asking, “Who?”
“The nurse,” Grace said. “Nurse Nancy. I would love to get my hands on that woman.”
“I know,” Bonnie said, her voice soothing. “So would I. Look, Grace, I’m worried about you. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t want you to find out some other way. Do you want me to come to North Carolina to be with you? Maybe I could help out somehow?”
“No, no,” Grace said. “I’m all right.”
“I know Eddie would be there for you if you’d let him,” Bonnie continued. “But he said you’re freezing him out.”
“He froze himself out,” Grace said, although that was not the truth and Bonnie probably knew it. Eddie would be there for her, but right now she couldn’t even stand the sight of him. She could hear his voice, a deep voice she had once found mesmerizing, coming from the café. He was laughing with one of the customers. Laughing. She pressed the phone more tightly to her ear to block out the sound.
Bonnie uttered more words of concern, more words of comfort, but Grace barely heard her. She was too absorbed by the thought of Rory Taylor hunting for clues to how that baby came to be on the beach. And by the time she hung up the phone with her old friend, Grace had a plan.
7
THE SUN WAS SLIPPING INTO THE SOUND AS DARIA DROVE into Andy Kramer’s driveway.
“You have an incredible view, Andy,” she said to her co-worker, thinking of how he must enjoy this spectacle every evening.
“I know,” Andy said, opening the car door. “I’m a lucky guy. Now if I just had a decent van.” His van was in the shop again, the third time in the past few months.
Daria spotted the boat tied to the pier behind Andy’s cottage. “I didn’t know you were into boats,” she said. “Is that new?”
Andy laughed, his earring glowing a vibrant rose color in the muted sunlight. “Brand-new,” he said, “but it’s not mine. I share the pier with my next-door neighbors, and it’s theirs. Raises my property value, though, having it behind my cottage.”
She could see his neighbors, a man and woman and a little boy, on the side deck of their cottage, grilling their dinner. She could even smell the steak. “Well, I hope they at least take you out in it sometime,” she said.
“Me, too.” Andy got out of the car and shut the door, but bent over to look in the window. “Thanks for the lift,” he said. “And have a good soak in your tub tonight.”
“I plan to.” She pulled out of his driveway, already thinking about spending a leisurely half hour in the whirlpool tub later that night. The tub was the one extravagance in the Sea Shanty, but it was truly a necessity after a day like this one. She and Andy had spent the day building wall-to-ceiling bookshelves in a huge house in Corolla, and her shoulders and arms ached. Before she could take a bath, though, there was something she needed to do.
She drove the mile and a half across Kill Devil Hills to the cul-de-sac, where she parked in the Sea Shanty driveway. But instead of going inside the cottage, she walked across the street to Poll-Rory.
Rory answered the door in shorts, sky-blue T-shirt and a handsome grin that threatened her resolve. She had to keep the purpose of this visit firmly in her mind.
“Come in, neighbor,” he said, pushing open the screen door for her.
Daria stepped into the living room and took off her sunglasses. She had been in Poll-Rory many times over the years, so the changes in its interior were no surprise to her. She imagined they had been to Rory, though. The furniture, the new paneling on the walls, the artwork and knickknacks had all been selected by the real estate agent handling the property.
Daria spotted a computer on the table in the dining area. Papers and books were strewn across the table’s surface.
“Looks like you’re working,” Daria said.
“Working and playing,” Rory said. “That’s my plan for this summer.” His hands were on his hips, and she felt him appraising her. She probably had more sawdust in her hair. She knew she had paint on her white T-shirt and a smudge of varnish on her cheek.
She looked at him squarely. “I need to talk with you about Shelly,” she said and felt the apology forming on her face. Rory had come all the way across the country to get to the bottom