“What does Jane think of all that?” He was curious about what Liz would have told the child.
“Nothing. She thinks he's dead. I told her he was a beautiful actor and we got married after school and came out here, and then she came along and he died when she was a year old. She doesn't know the rest, and we'll never see him again, so what difference does it make? God only knows where he is. He'll probably wind up in jail for the rest of his life, and he's not interested in either of us. He never was. I'd rather she have a few illusions about how she came to be at least until later.”
“I guess you're right.” He admired her. He admired her a great deal. She was a brave girl and she'd made the best of it, and the child seemed to have suffered not at all, thanks to her mother loving her so much. And there was nothing tragic about this girl, she was all guts and heart and beautiful silky blond hair. And she had made a new life for herself.
California was a good place for that. It was a good place to start a new life. And she had.
“I teach school here now. I used my parents' insurance money and went to school at night for a year and got the credits I needed for a teaching credential out here, and I love my job. I teach second grade, and my kids are just great!” She grinned happily. “Jane goes to my school too, and the tuition is less that way. That was one of the reasons I decided to teach. I wanted her to go to a decent school, and I knew I'd have a hell of a time paying for private school, so everything worked out.” She made it sound like a success story instead of an agony, and it was. It was remarkable. She had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat and he could easily understand how it had happened. “Chandler Scott,” or whatever his real name was, sounded like a male version of Isabelle, although he was certainly less of a pro than she, and she had never wound up in jail.
“I got myself involved with someone like that a few years ago.” Her honesty deserved his. “A beautiful French girl, a model I met at the store. She had me in the palm of her hand for over a year, and I didn't get a wonderful little girl out of it.” He smiled at Jane, playing outside, and then Liz, sitting across from him. “I wound up feeling used, and minus several thousand dollars and a watch my parents had given me. She was very slick. Someone offered her a movie career, and I found them making love on the deck of his yacht. I guess they come in all sexes and nationalities, that breed. But it kind of makes you cautious about who you get involved with after that, doesn't it? I've never been that close to anyone again, and that was three years ago.” He paused. “People like that make you question your own judgment afterwards. You find yourself wondering how you could have been such a fool.”
She laughed at him. “You can say that again! I didn't have a date for two years …and even now, I'm cautious … I love my work, my friends. The rest”—she shrugged and threw up both hands—“I can do without.” He smiled at her. He was sorry to hear that.
“Should I leave now?”
They both laughed and she got up to check on the quiche she had made, and when she opened the oven door, the aroma of it wafted into the room.
“Boy, that smells good.”
“Thank you. I love to cook.” She whipped up a Caesar salad for both of them, handling the dressing as expertly as his favorite waiter at “21” in New York, and she poured out a Bloody Mary for him. Then she went to knock on the picture window and signaled to Jane to come in. She had a peanut butter and bacon sandwich for her, and she arrived at the lunch table carrying the chocolate teddy bear, minus one ear.
“Can he still hear you, Jane?”
“What?” She looked confused when Bernie asked.
“The bear …without his ear …”
“Oh.” She grinned. “Yes. Next I'm going to eat his nose.”
“Poor thing. He's going to be in terrible shape by tonight. I'll have to get you another one.”
“You will?” Jane looked thrilled, and Liz served lunch. There were straw mats on the table and a vase filled with bright orange flowers, bright orange napkins, and pretty china and silverware.
“We love being here,” Liz explained. “It's such a nice holiday for us. This belongs to one of the teachers at the school where I teach. Her husband is an architect and they built it years ago. And they go east to Martha's Vineyard to visit her parents every year, so they lend it to us, and it's the best part of our year, isn't it, Jane?” The child nodded and smiled up at Bernie.
“Do you like it here too?” Jane questioned him.
“Very much.”
“Did you throw up on the way?” She seemed fascinated and he laughed at her choice of lunch conversation. But he loved her ingenuousness and her honesty. She was a lot like Liz, and she even looked like her. She was a miniature version of her mother.
“No, I didn't throw up. But it helps when you drive.”
“That's what Mom says. She never throws up.”
“Jane …” Liz warned her with her eyes, and Bernie watched them happily. It was an easy, comfortable afternoon, and he and Liz went for a walk on the beach afterwards, as Jane scampered ahead, looking for shells. He suspected that it wasn't always easy for them. It was difficult to be alone with a small child, but Liz didn't complain about it. She seemed to love it.
He told her what his job was like, and how much he loved Wolffs, how he had wanted to teach himself, but for him the dream had become something else. He even told her about Sheila and how heartbroken he had been over her, and as they walked back to the house, he looked down at her. She was considerably smaller than he and he liked that too. “You know, I feel as though I've known you for years. It's funny, isn't it?” He had never felt that way about anyone before.
She smiled up at him. “You're a nice man. I knew it the minute I met you at the store.”
“That's a nice thing to say.” He was pleased. He cared about what she thought.
“I could see it in the way you talked to Jane, and she talked about you all the way home. It sounded like you were one of her best friends.”
“I'd like to be.” He looked into Liz' eyes and she smiled at him.
“Look what I found!” Jane came bounding up to them, hurtling herself between them as she spoke. “It's a perfect silver dollar! It's not broken or anything!”
“Let me see that.” He bent down to her and held out a flat hand and she placed the perfectly round white shell on his palm carefully as they inspected it. “By George, you're right!”
“Who's George?”
Bernie laughed. “That's just a dumb expression grownups use.”
“Oh.” She seemed satisfied.
“Your silver dollar is beautiful.” He handed it back to her as carefully as she had given it to him, and as he stood up, he met her mother's eyes again. “I guess I should be getting back.” Not that he wanted to.
“Would you like to stay for potluck tonight? We're having hamburgers.” She had to watch their budget carefully, but they always did all right. It had been rough in the beginning, but she was good at juggling things now. She made a lot of Jane's clothes, had learned to cook everything herself, she even baked bread, and with friends like the ones who lent them the house in Stinson Beach, they had everything they needed …even Bernie and his bathing suits…. She had been planning to buy Jane one, or maybe two. And instead she had a whole stack of them, thanks to him.
“I have a better idea.” He had seen the restaurant as he drove through town on the way. “What if I take you ladies out tonight?” And then suddenly he remembered what he had worn. “Will the Sand Dollar let me in like this?” He extended his arms as the ladies inspected him and Liz laughed.