Read Online Sweet Salt Air by Barbara Delinsky - Free Book Online Page A

step remained light, her eyes had misted. “Mom’s and Dad’s. I was thinking I’d give them to the church. They’ll know who can use them. You take Mom’s.” It was red. She held it out.
    “I’m taller than you. Give me Bob’s—”
    But Nicole’s arm was firmly around the larger blue one. “I need his,” she said in a single fast breath.
    Charlotte took the red one. Helping with the coffee, she carried mugs while Nicole grabbed biscotti. Minutes later, they were outside. The patio was a patchwork of granite slabs that had been quarried in Maine and set in an arcing pattern to mirror the shore. Two heavy wood chairs stood to the right of the beach steps, facing the sea. Closer to the house and more protected were the table on which they had so often eaten back then—glass on top, iron below—newly cleaned and surrounded by chairs.
    Off to the side were a trio of lounges. They pulled two of these closer to the house, under a pergola whose vines would be overrun with peachy roses within the month.
    Cupping her coffee for its warmth, Charlotte tucked her legs under her jacket and angled toward Nicole. “Are you happy?”
    Nicole’s eyes were bright over her mug. “Happy?”
    “With Julian. With your marriage.”
    “Of course.”
    “Is he good to you?”
    “He’s an angel. Why do you ask?”
    Charlotte wanted to believe that Julian loved her, that there was no pattern of infidelity, and that nothing about that one awful night lingered. “Just curious. You always had energy, but it feels nervous now.”
    “I’ve told you—lots on my mind … Dad, the house, the book.”
    “As long as it’s not Julian. I want to know you’re happy.”
    Nicole jumped up and, all but lost in Bob’s parka, crossed the patio. “I would be happy if the gardener had done his job, but look at the mess here.” She knelt at the creeping cypress that bordered the stone and began plucking brown tips from the lowest fronds. “They think we won’t see these, but it isn’t only about looks, it’s about the health of the plant. If you want new growth, the old stuff has to go.”
    “Is George Mayes still doing your work?” Charlotte recalled him being a character, as likely to show up tipsy as not, but intent either way on talking the plants and shrubs through the toughest of times.
    “George tries,” Nicole said as she searched for anything dead she might have missed, “but he’s in his eighties, so his son Liam does most of the work.” Stuffing what she’d pruned in her pocket, she returned to the lounge. “Liam isn’t as good, but they need the money, and it’s not like there are dozens of landscapers on Quinnipeague to choose from, and then there’s Rose.” Wife of George, mother of Liam, Cheryl, and Kate, with however many grands, even great-grands by now. “Her slaw is still the best.” She looked quickly around. “Where’s my coffee?” Spotting it near the cypress, she scrambled up again. When she returned, she said, “I’m not sure if it’s the celery seed or the dressing, but Rose is definitely on our list. Mayes Slaw is the perfect side.”
    Charlotte burrowed deeper into her parka. The memory brought a smile. “The best. And she made it for the whole town. I always imagined she had the grandkids lined up in a row, slicing cabbage at the counter like Santa’s little elves.”
    Nicole laughed. It was a welcome sound. “Granddaughters. The boys’d be doing the physical stuff. They’re a traditional family. Not all on Quinnipeague are. Wait’ll you meet some of the new ones. We’ve gotten more diverse.” Up again, she curved back toward the garden on the side of the house.
    “What are you doing ?” Charlotte called, perplexed by her constant up and down.
    “Checking the flowers,” Nicole called back. “Mom’ll want to know if the sweet William is in bloom. That’s the pink one. The lisianthus is ready to pop. It’ll be a deeper purple than the lavender. Wait’ll I tell her about