Read Online The Beach Club by Elin Hilderbrand - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elin Hilderbrand
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Bilbo High School in 1958,” Therese said. “But you probably don’t want to play with an old woman.”
Leo smiled. “No, that’s great, that’s perfect. We’d love to have you join us, Therese. Wouldn’t we, guys?”
Fred and Bart rustled around and made gestures that looked sort of like nods.
“Shall we say four o’clock?” Leo asked.
“That gives you time to relax,” Therese said. “Why don’t you check in and Vance can show you to your rooms.” She set her watering can down on the piano. Cole was stretched out on the carpet underneath, pretending to be asleep. Therese whispered to him, “When you wake up I have some beach toys you might like.” She waited a few seconds and Cole raised his head.
“What kind of toys?” he asked.
“Toys for building castles,” she said. “Want to see?”
“I want my mom back,” Cole said. “She’s not coming back.” He had thick black eyelashes, the kind grown women envied.
“I know you want to see your mom,” Therese said. “But what I have are beach toys. Do you want to see the beach toys?”
Cole nodded.
Therese held out her hand. “Come with me.”
After Therese gave Cole a bucket, shovel, and a large inflatable lobster, and delivered him safely to his room, she went into Bill’s office and collapsed in one of the wicker chairs by the window. Bill typed at his computer.
“The Hearns are here,” she said. “Remember I told you the wife vanished and left mister with those two tiny children? Plus a couple of grown sons from the first marriage?” Out the window, she was glad to see both Bart and Fred spreading beach towels under an umbrella. “Remember I told you? Well, I’m playing tennis with them this afternoon.”
Bill stopped typing. “Call me crazy, but it sounds like you’re meddling, Therese. Or getting ready to meddle.”
Cole and the nanny trudged onto the beach. Cole ran for the edge of the water with his pail and shovel. Just a normal little boy. Therese’s mother instincts whistled like a tea kettle. She looked at Bill, and at the volume of Robert Frost poems on his desk. The two of them had known so much pain. Therese’s way of dealing with it was to sniff out other people’s sore spots, wanting to make them better. Bill’s way was to read his poetry.
“I am meddling,” she said. “But they needed a fourth.”
“Be careful,” Bill said. “These are people’s lives you’re dealing with. Not lab animals set up for one of your psychology experiments.”
Therese stood up, smoothed the folds of her silk skirt. “I take great offense at that.”
“I know you do,” he said. “But will you please be careful?”
“I’m always careful,” she said.
“When have you been careful?” Bill asked. “I have never met anyone more willing to get involved in the jumble of other people’s lives. It’s your insatiable need to clean everything up, to create order, to make things lovely again. You can’t stand to see a mess.”
“I want to help,” Therese said. “I’ve never done anything except try to help.”
“What about Mrs. Ling leaving her husband last year at the end of her stay? Are you going to tell me that wasn’t any of your doing? What about convincing the Avermans that they should send their son to military school? What about arranging the wedding in the lobby for the woman who was dying of lupus?”
“She wanted to get married!” Therese said. “I helped make that woman’s life complete. And Mrs. Ling is happier without her husband—you read the card she sent during the holidays.”
Bill held up his palms. “Therese, I’m only asking you to think about pulling back a little this year. To begin with, think about letting Leo Hearn deal with his family problems on his own. What do you say to that?”
Therese put her hands on her hips. She and Bill were opposites: Bill liked numbers, and the cool, lofty images he found in poetry—and not just any poetry but the poetry of Robert Frost,
Leo smiled. “No, that’s great, that’s perfect. We’d love to have you join us, Therese. Wouldn’t we, guys?”
Fred and Bart rustled around and made gestures that looked sort of like nods.
“Shall we say four o’clock?” Leo asked.
“That gives you time to relax,” Therese said. “Why don’t you check in and Vance can show you to your rooms.” She set her watering can down on the piano. Cole was stretched out on the carpet underneath, pretending to be asleep. Therese whispered to him, “When you wake up I have some beach toys you might like.” She waited a few seconds and Cole raised his head.
“What kind of toys?” he asked.
“Toys for building castles,” she said. “Want to see?”
“I want my mom back,” Cole said. “She’s not coming back.” He had thick black eyelashes, the kind grown women envied.
“I know you want to see your mom,” Therese said. “But what I have are beach toys. Do you want to see the beach toys?”
Cole nodded.
Therese held out her hand. “Come with me.”
After Therese gave Cole a bucket, shovel, and a large inflatable lobster, and delivered him safely to his room, she went into Bill’s office and collapsed in one of the wicker chairs by the window. Bill typed at his computer.
“The Hearns are here,” she said. “Remember I told you the wife vanished and left mister with those two tiny children? Plus a couple of grown sons from the first marriage?” Out the window, she was glad to see both Bart and Fred spreading beach towels under an umbrella. “Remember I told you? Well, I’m playing tennis with them this afternoon.”
Bill stopped typing. “Call me crazy, but it sounds like you’re meddling, Therese. Or getting ready to meddle.”
Cole and the nanny trudged onto the beach. Cole ran for the edge of the water with his pail and shovel. Just a normal little boy. Therese’s mother instincts whistled like a tea kettle. She looked at Bill, and at the volume of Robert Frost poems on his desk. The two of them had known so much pain. Therese’s way of dealing with it was to sniff out other people’s sore spots, wanting to make them better. Bill’s way was to read his poetry.
“I am meddling,” she said. “But they needed a fourth.”
“Be careful,” Bill said. “These are people’s lives you’re dealing with. Not lab animals set up for one of your psychology experiments.”
Therese stood up, smoothed the folds of her silk skirt. “I take great offense at that.”
“I know you do,” he said. “But will you please be careful?”
“I’m always careful,” she said.
“When have you been careful?” Bill asked. “I have never met anyone more willing to get involved in the jumble of other people’s lives. It’s your insatiable need to clean everything up, to create order, to make things lovely again. You can’t stand to see a mess.”
“I want to help,” Therese said. “I’ve never done anything except try to help.”
“What about Mrs. Ling leaving her husband last year at the end of her stay? Are you going to tell me that wasn’t any of your doing? What about convincing the Avermans that they should send their son to military school? What about arranging the wedding in the lobby for the woman who was dying of lupus?”
“She wanted to get married!” Therese said. “I helped make that woman’s life complete. And Mrs. Ling is happier without her husband—you read the card she sent during the holidays.”
Bill held up his palms. “Therese, I’m only asking you to think about pulling back a little this year. To begin with, think about letting Leo Hearn deal with his family problems on his own. What do you say to that?”
Therese put her hands on her hips. She and Bill were opposites: Bill liked numbers, and the cool, lofty images he found in poetry—and not just any poetry but the poetry of Robert Frost,
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