Joan Kilby - Beach Baby

“I have no objection,” Reid said. “Come for lunch tomorrow if you like.”

He left Nina and Amy to say good-night to each other, then went upstairs and knocked on Tara’s door.

“Go away.” Her voice sounded strained, as if she’d been crying.

Ignoring her edict, Reid entered. “We need to talk.”

Tara was lying on her bed, curled on her side, reading a Manga book. Reid sat beside her and stroked her back. “I’m sorry, honey. I was going to tell you as soon as I’d told Amy.”

“There you go, putting her first again.” Tara still hadn’t looked at him, making a pretense of being absorbed in the illustrated story.

Reid pressed his lips together, reminding himself that no matter how mature Tara seemed at times, she was still only fifteen and bound to feel betrayed. “Just because Amy’s my daughter, too, doesn’t mean I love you less.”

Tara shrugged and turned a page. “Whatever.”

Nothing could have been more calculated to push Reid’s hot button than that insolent claim to indifference. “Will you put that away and talk to me!”

Tara closed her Manga book and tossed it onto her bedside table. Then she scooted up to lean her back against the headboard. “You should have talked to me before you allowed Amy into our house. What would Mom have said if she knew you had a secret daughter?”

“Your mother knew about Amy,” Reid said. “She was the only person I told. She accepted that Amy was a part of my life.”

“Did she? Or did she just not have a choice?” Tara said. “Now that Mom’s gone, I suppose you’ll go back to your first family.”

“Nina and Amy were never my family,” Reid said. “You and your mother were. You still are.” He held out his arms. “Come on, honey. Give your dad a hug.”

Tara blinked red-rimmed eyes but she made no move to go into his arms. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep now.”

She’d never refused him a hug before and the significance of it cut him to the bone. Reid rose stiffly, feeling as if he’d aged twenty years in one day. Had he gone from having two daughters to none?

Downstairs all was quiet. Amy had gone to bed and there was no light underneath her door. Reid went into the living room to turn out the table lamp. His hand paused on the switch. Nina’s leather-bound notebook and gold pen lay on the side table where she’d forgotten them.

Suddenly he recalled the light perfume she wore and the unconsciously seductive sway of her hips. Attraction and antagonism churned in his gut. If he’d thought Amy and Beebee disruptive to his quiet lifestyle, their presence was nothing compared to the havoc Nina could wreak on his peace of mind.

Reid picked up the notebook and pen and placed them on the mantelpiece where Beebee couldn’t get them. For good or ill, Nina was back in his life.

AMY HEARD THE DOORBELL the next morning and, with a nervous glance in the hall mirror, hurried to open the door. Nina, in white capri pants, a sleeveless turquoise top and glittery sandals, looked casually glamorous. Amy still couldn’t get over the fact that Nina was her mother.

“I’m so glad you came!” Amy greeted her with a warm smile and leaned forward to exchange tentative kisses on the cheek. She lowered her voice and added, “It’s like a morgue around here this morning.”

“Are you all right?” Nina asked, frowning slightly and searching Amy’s face. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Amy admitted. She felt Beebee’s small hands clutching her calves as her daughter peeked around Amy’s long cotton skirt at the newcomer.

“Neither did I,” Nina said. “I guess we all had a lot to think about.” She bent forward to smile at Beebee, “Hello, sweetheart.”

Beebee shrank back behind Amy’s legs.

“She makes strange,” Amy apologized and lifted Beebee up. “Come on, Beebs, say hello to Nina.”

“Don’t force her,” Nina said. “We’ll make friends in time.”

“Come in.” Amy led the way through to the back of the house. From the second floor came the sound of a violin concerto. “That’s Tara,” she explained to Nina as they passed the stairs. “She’s awfully good, although I get the feeling she doesn’t practice as much as Reid would like.” Glancing at the closed door leading off the family room, Amy added, “Reid’s working. I think he’s behind on his book.”

With explanations over, there was an awkward pause. All the way across the country on the bus, Amy had imagined a dramatic meeting with her mother, her fantasies alternating between tearful recrimination and joyful reunion. What she hadn’t expected was this uncomfortable distance between them, this not knowing how to talk to each other. There was so much she wanted to know, facts and dates, whys and hows. More than anything she wanted reassurance that, despite being given away, she’d been loved. She realized now with a wince at her naiveté that was something she could never ask for.

As the silence stretched, Nina moved to the windows. “What a lovely view of the mountains.”

“Do you want to go for a walk on the dike?” Amy suggested. Movement and action might break the ice.

“That sounds good.” Nina seized on the idea with obvious relief. She watched Amy smooth sunscreen on Beebee’s cheeks and nose, and strap her into the stroller. “Is it too far for her to walk by herself?”

“I always end up running after her on the way out and carrying her on the way back,” Amy explained.

“This is better, then,” Nina said. “We’ll be able to talk.”

Amy smiled tentatively. “That’s right.”

Nina removed a digital camera from her red leather purse and left the purse behind on the kitchen table. She helped Amy carry Beebee’s stroller down the steps and they walked along the street to the pedestrian gate at the entrance to the dike, a raised gravel road that sloped away to the beach on one side and the marshland on the other.

The dike ran around a point between Reid’s beach and the next beach, holding back flood tides from the marsh and pastureland. Rabbits hopped through the long grass, birds sang from the hedges and ducks paddled down the deep, wide channels that crisscrossed the low-lying fields.

Amy pushed the stroller over the bumpy track. No cars were allowed on the dike but there were people walking their dogs or jogging, plus the occasional kids on bikes. They’d gone a few hundred yards when Nina slipped her camera off her wrist.

“Hold it there, Amy, so I can take a photo of you and Beebee to show my parents. Beebee looks a lot like my mother, your grandmother. Her name is Dora. She had red hair, too, which turned auburn as she got older.”

“I never had grandparents that I remember,” Amy said. “Both Mom’s and Dad’s—I mean Elaine’s and Jim’s parents passed away when I was very young.” Amy adjusted Beebee’s sunhat so her face was visible then crouched beside the stroller so Nina could take their photo. “That’s why I came out west, to find my real family.”

No sooner did she say that than she felt guilty. Despite her anger toward her mom and dad, she loved them and knew they were good parents. But what hurt her so badly—besides the lies—was that they couldn’t understand her curiosity about her biological parents. They seemed to think she was only doing it to get back at them. Nina’s silence as she lowered her camera and checked the photo she’d just taken made Amy feel ashamed. Would she get on her case the way Reid had?

“I’m glad you came to look for me,” Nina said at last. “I’ve wondered about you over the years. What you looked like, your personality, if you were happy.”

“We look similar, don’t we?” Amy said shyly, searching Nina’s face and finding no disapproval, only a near mirror-image of herself. “Like mother and daughter. We have the same heart-shaped face, the same dark blue eyes.”