The Dirty Book Club(57)

Destiny pulled six minibar bottles of Dewar’s from her backpack, then entered the cottage with a purposeful stride. “Thirsty?” she asked the cocoon of blankets on the bed.

M.J. turned away to open the blinds. If the proverbial line of appropriateness did exist, she did not want to be there when the rebellious teenager and pregnant woman drank their way across it.

“Wake up,” Destiny cooed, bottles clinking.

Addie pushed herself up to sit. “You brought Dewar’s?”

“Three for each of us.”

Addie took the bottles.

“Wanna shoot them?” Destiny asked, ribs jutting out from under her bikini top.

“No, I wanna dump them.”

Destiny laughed. “Yeah, right.” But she quickly sobered when Addie strode toward the kitchen sink.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re fifteen.”

“So? Like you never had a drink in high school?”

“Of course I did, with other high schoolers, not my mom’s friends.” Addie shot a Help me out glance at M.J. “Where is Jules, anyway?”

“Who cares?” Destiny leaned against the fridge and crossed her arms with an indignant harrumph. Then, sensing disapproval from the motherless women standing before her, added, “What? My dad can’t stand her, either. Why do you think he never visits?”

“He’s wrapping things up with his clients,” M.J. tried. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Please. He’s training rich housewives, not Navy SEALs. If he wanted to be here he would.” She yanked a denim thread from her shorts. “He hooked Mom up with this stupid job to get rid of her, to get rid of us! I mean, Liaison of Love? Really? What is that?”

“She sweats romance. It’s perfect for her.”

“Makeup artist was perfect for her. Not weddings. She’s allergic to flowers! But I guess that’s what happens when you don’t wear a condom. Your whole life turns to shit.”

Addie bristled. “We should probably paddle out before the tide comes in.”

“Yeah,” M.J. agreed. “Help yourself to Dan’s surfy stuff.”

From the deck, M.J. watched them fearlessly charge the ocean. Then, with bellies flat against their boards, they duck-dived through the crashing white water until they reached the school of surfers on the endless stretch of corduroy beyond the break. There, with faces trained on the horizon, they bobbed on the undulating ocean and waited for Fortune to spin her wheel. Would they be lifted up and taken for a ride? Slammed against the rocks? Thrown off course by the current? No one knew.

In that moment, surfing had transcended sport. It became a philosophy or a metaphor for the unpredictable nature of life. To live with grace was to remain fluid, let things roll through us, not get attached. Expect-the-unexpected sort of thing, ride whatever comes along and see where you end up.

This could be something, M.J. thought. A poem, an article, a revelation for Dr. Cohn or something to share with Dan next time they Skyped. Pencil at the ready, she opened her journal and tried to block out the shore pound, the squealing children, the lifeguard’s whistle, and listened for more deep thoughts.

“She hasn’t changed a bit,” said a male voice. Not at all what M.J. expected to hear.

It was David Golden. Elbows resting on the railing of his deck, hands clasped, like Gloria’s had been the day they met. He removed his T-shirt and hung it over the railing, revealing a torso that vouched for his active lifestyle. While his faded jeans, which fell an inch below his butt-crack vouched for his lack of underwear.

“We used to sit out there for hours,” he mused. Then a nostalgic chuckle. “Addie would do this thing . . . right as a good swell was coming, she’d distract us by lifting up her top and then drop in on the best wave.”

Sunshine reflected off the ocean, casting a warm glow on the right side of his face. The left was shadowed and dark. He was attractive, but in a different way than Dan. Less textbook handsome and more black-book dangerous: wry half smile, sexy gap tooth, and eyebrows thick enough to hide secrets.

“You still care about her?” M.J. asked.

“Of course, Addie Oliver was my first . . . everything.”

“But not your last?”

He straightened up, stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, she hasn’t changed a bit. And I love that about her. But I—” He lowered his voice. “I want to grow up.” Then, with a deprecating snicker aimed at his childhood home, the one that his mom just gave him because he couldn’t afford his own, he said, “Trying to, at least.”

“Actually, Addie has changed a lot. You’d be surprised.”

David turned away from the ocean, found M.J.’s eyes and held them with his own. “You’re right, I would be surprised if she changed. But she won’t. She can’t. She’s still playing the kid card and it’s bullshit. It’s just Addie needing attention and she’s too old for that.”

“She told you?” M.J. asked, feeling somewhat betrayed. She and Addie had an agreement: they said no cell phones. Then again, this wasn’t about her. It was about Addie and David and their unborn child. If Addie sent David a text or snuck out in the middle of the night to tell him the news, it was her business. M.J.’s job was to support Addie, not judge her. But David? David she could judge. So she knocked his shirt off the railing and onto the beach.