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  Pearl looked up. "Land's sakes, Harry, it's our friend Claire. "She scrambled out of her beach chair, dropped her knitting needles, and hugged Claire so tight she could barely breathe. "How've you been, darlin'?" Pearl finally let her go.

  A couple of months ago, Pearl's use of the word darling had made her uneasy, but today it felt comfortable. In fact, she would have been disappointed if Pearl didn't call her by that name. "It's so good to see you two." Claire tucked her hands in the pockets of her shorts. "I'm renting a house on Depot Hill."

  Harry sat forward. "And how's that car of yours?"

  "Almost fixed. Blake, my neighbor, is working on it."

  "Blake, huh? You sure he knows what he's doing?" Harry crossed his thick arms over his chest. "That car of yours is a classic. You wouldn't want just anyone tinkering with it."

  "Oh, Harry, for goodness' sake. Leave Claire alone." Pearl tugged on the bill of his baseball cap. "I'm sure this Blake knows what he's doing."

  "Congratulations on your new grandson." Claire grinned. "Samantha told me." She reached into her bag, grabbed her flip- flops, and slipped them on.

  "We're coming from San Francisco. We helped John and Melody with our new grandbaby. But it was time to go. You know that old saying, 'When the fish start smelling, it's time to leave.' "

  Claire laughed. Pearl was a woman of wisdom. "I'm surprised to see you here."

  "New Brighton Beach has always been one of our favorite spots. We've already been here a week. Our RV is right up there on the bluff." Harry pointed behind him.

  "About your RV . . . I still need to pay you for the repairs."

  "Oh, honey, we're not going to get a new bumper for a little scratch." Pearl twirled her long braid between her fingers. "You keep your money and put it toward something you've been saving up for."

  Savings? It would be a while before she could save for anything. With all the new stuff for her bedroom, she'd be paying her friends for a long time.

  Claire took off her sunhat and wiped her forehead. "How long are you going to be at New Brighton?"

  Harry finally stood. "We leave first thing in the morning." He tugged on the waistline of his jeans. "We're heading south to L.A. Our son Albert wants us to pay him a visit."

  "Who knows what cause he's marching for now." Pearl shrugged her shoulders. "I can't keep up. Say, have you ever been to L.A.? Albert's about your age and if I do say so myself, quite good-looking."

  "There you go, woman." Harry grabbed his baseball hat and slapped it against his thigh. "Albert will find himself his own bride. Stop matchmaking. Although, Claire would be a nice catch." He grinned.

  "Yes. I've been to L.A." She wrinkled her nose. "And I'm not going back there anytime soon if I can help it." Unless I can't make it on my own. The thought unnerved her.

  "I know I've said this to you before, Claire, but I firmly believe it. Remember, the Lord provides." Pearl winked and patted Claire's arm. "Ready to go, Harry. I'm done baking in the sun." She reached over, folded her beach chair, and picked up her knitting supplies. "Claire, can you come up for dinner? We have plenty."

  "Thank you, but I—" Claire pointed down the beach.

  "We understand." Harry folded his beach chair. "You need to check on Blake and that car of yours." He gave her shoulder a grandfatherly pat.

  Claire momentarily toyed with the idea of following Harry and Pearl to their campsite. It would be so nice to be in their company for a while longer. But Harry was right. She needed to check on her car.

  "Nice to see you, Claire. Keep in touch." Pearl smiled.

  Claire watched as the couple ambled up the beach toward the path that led to the campground.

  The Lord provides. Pearl had said this to her before. At that time, Claire didn't have a job or a place to live. Did she believe it now? Maybe. But did God really care about her? She still had unanswered questions, such as who wrote the letter to her mother? Why was her picture frame the same as Geraldine's? And why did her heart skip a beat whenever Blake was near? Claire's breath caught in her throat. Where did that come from?

  She walked home so deep in thought she nearly ran into her favorite neighbor on the sidewalk in front of her house.

  "There you are." Blake fit the image of a mechanic. He wore blue pants and a button-down shirt with a few tools sticking out of his shirt pocket. "Can you come over and take a look at your car?"

  There was a magnetic pull between the two of them that she couldn't describe. At that moment she'd follow Blake almost anywhere.

  "Claire, what's wrong? You have a silly look on your face." Blake walked closer, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward his carport.

  "Oh, it's nothing." The last thing she wanted to do was ruin any chance she had with this man. Not that she thought she had a chance with him. If chemistry had anything to do with two people getting together, then they were the perfect match, but she knew there was more to love than physical attraction. Her thoughts drifted to Haley and Mark. They married before they knew each other. Mark's addiction to alcohol has been an ongoing problem since their first year of marriage. No amount of flirting on Blake's part would force her into an irrational decision.

  "Take a look at the bumper and hood I found at Gino's Auto Recycling."

  Claire picked up speed. She couldn't wait to sit behind the wheel of her car and drive again.

  "Now, I haven't been able to work on your engine yet." Blake led her to the carport. "But your car will look better once I get the new bumper and hood in place."

  Claire gasped when she saw her dismantled car. In a way, it was a relief—she didn't have to look at the evidence of her neglect. She ran her hand over the side of her VW.

  "Here they are." Blake pointed. "The color of the hood doesn't match your car, but it fits perfectly." He picked up the hood and laid it on top. "And this silver chrome bumper was an amazing find."

  Claire bit her lower lip, then smiled. "Blake, it's going to look perfect." She touched the new hood. "I can see you know what you're doing." Harry's words echoed in the back of her mind.

  "It's a hobby, but I've been at it for years." Blake grabbed a rag from his back pocket and wiped a dirt spot off the front window. "The engine's what may cause me trouble . . . oh, and I found replacement headlights. I noticed yours were cracked."

  "Thank you, Blake." Her eyes filled unexpectedly, and she turned her back. Blake was so considerate. She didn't want to take advantage of his kindness. "I'll have to figure out how to pay you for all this."

  "Let's figure that out when I'm done." Blake walked over to Claire and nudged her arm. "In the meantime, you can cook me dinner. After tonight, I'm working the next four days."

  "I better get going, then." Claire bumped his arm back, and a smile tugged at her mouth. "I'll check the fridge for leftovers. "She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked away.

  "Hey, I like my steak medium rare." Blake called to her retreating back. "I'll be by at 6:30."

  She walked up the sidewalk hoping Blake was watching her. As she reached the sidewalk, she took a quick glance over her shoulder. No! He was working on her car instead.

  Claire cut through Blake's front yard to her own. The UPS truck was stopped in front of her house. A postal worker hopped out with a wrapped brown box in his hand.

  "Your package, Miss." The man had a friendly smile that reached his eyes.

  Claire took the parcel from him, signed her name on the tracking device, and looked at the return address. Haley. She ran to the front door and burst through.

  Michael and Sandy Thompson were sitting in the family room talking with Geraldine. All three craned their necks at her noisy entrance.

  "I'm sorry." Claire retrieved a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and scooted past them to her room. She sat down on her bed and quickly tore open the package.

  She found a note on top from her sister.

  Claire,

  I know these were your favorite stilettos, so I'm

  giving them to you.
<
br />   I thought you'd like to see this journal. Hopefully it will answer the questions you have about Mom.

  And here is a small portion of what was yours in the first place . . .

  I miss you.

  Haley

  Claire peered inside the box and found the bright red stilettos. She pulled them out and slid them on her feet. She stood up and wobbled across her room, positioning herself in front of her full-length mirror. There was something about a pair of high heels that made a woman feel glamorous. She posed in different positions, admiring the look.

  Claire walked back to see what else was in the box. An envelope sat wedged against the side. When she grabbed it, a handful of twenty-dollar bills tumbled out. Claire stifled a scream as she counted the money . . . two hundred dollars! Why was her sister sending her cash? Money she knew Haley couldn't part with right now with a baby on the way. The Lord provides. Claire smiled, remembering Pearl's words. She'd give each person she owed—Harry and Pearl, Geraldine, Nancy, Vivian and Blake—forty dollars. It was a start. She tucked the money inside her wallet.

  At the bottom of the box was a journal in her mom's own handwriting dated from September 1972 until May 1973. She flipped through the pages, then turned to the first entry.

  I'm in love with Martin DeWitt. We had a fun summer together, and today I received a letter. He signed it with his first initial. Isn't he cute? He's trying to keep his identity a secret, but I know it's him.

  Claire tossed the journal across her bed. Martin DeWitt? Who in the world was this man and how did he know her mother? What about Michael? She thought he had written the letter. Claire kicked off her heels and paced the room. She could come right out and ask Michael again, but with Sandy sitting next to him it might be awkward. If she waited until Michael, and Sandy left, she could show Geraldine the journal and ask her. Claire opened her door a crack and peeked out. Geraldine, Michael, and Sandy appeared to be in the middle of a deep discussion.

  Claire leaned back against her door. Were the answers right in front of her in the journal? She dove back on her bed, grabbed the journal, and turned to the first entry. Claire shifted against the pillows and reread the opening line again.

  I'm in love with Martin DeWitt.

  22

  Claire heard Geraldine's voice on the other side of her bedroom door. "Claire, dear, may I come in?"

  She set the journal down on her nightstand, crossed the room, and opened the door.

  "Michael and Sandy invited me out to dinner and to spend the night." Geraldine leaned on her walker and grinned. "It's so nice to be wanted. So, you have the evening to yourself."

  She hoped her company wanted her too. "Thanks. Blake should be coming over soon. I'm making him dinner."

  "I have candles in the top right-hand drawer in the kitchen. You're welcome to use them." Geraldine winked. "Can you help me get my bag packed, dear?"

  "Yes, but first I have something for you." Claire opened her purse and took out her wallet. "Haley sent me money. Here's my first payment for the furniture." She handed Geraldine forty dollars.

  "Are you sure you can part with it?" Geraldine tucked the money into the neckline of her dress.

  Claire nodded. "Come on. I'll follow you. Let's get you packed."

  She glanced at Michael and Sandy sitting comfortably in the family room. Her eyes met Michael's, and she quickly turned away. Why couldn't she look at the man without feeling vulnerable? She wondered what kind of relationship he shared with his daughter. A shiver ran through her. She couldn't imagine having him for a father. But then again, how would she know? Her father left before she could remember him.

  Once Geraldine's bags were packed, Michael, Sandy and Geraldine took off. For the first time, Claire had the house to herself. She dimmed the lights and turned the radio to her favorite country station. She swayed to the music as she moved to the kitchen. The candles were right where Geraldine said they would be. She pulled out two red ones and set them in candleholders on the table. She opened the refrigerator and looked at the contents inside. She didn't want to admit to Blake she wasn't a good cook, especially after all the wonderful meals he'd been making, but she could barely boil water. When her mom was ill, she'd call for take-out and have dinner delivered to their door.

  She could make a delicious sandwich. She pulled out the roast beef, provolone cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat bread, and condiments. What would Blake think? Cold sandwiches by candlelight. That was an interesting combination. She whipped up the light supper, adding potato chips and carrots to each plate. As she poured the soft drinks, the doorbell rang.

  The musky scent of Blake's cologne hit her before he walked into the house. Did he have to smell so good? With his damp hair combed back and his face clean-shaven, he had a way of making her knees grow weak. "Come in. It's you and me tonight." Her voice sounded eager.

  Blake entered the house and looked around. "Where's your cute roommate?"

  "I'm glad Geraldine is in her eighties, or I'd be jealous." Claire bit her lip. What was it about this man that made her speak her mind?

  "Jealous, huh?" Blake teased.

  Claire smiled and motioned to him to join her at the table." It's not steak . . ."

  Blake followed her. "I'd enjoy eating cold cereal alone with you." Once they were seated, he held out his hand and bowed his head. The words of Blake's prayer soothed her spirit.

  "There is something you should know about me . . . I can't cook."

  Blake chuckled. "Geraldine warned me earlier."

  "But I can make my first payment." Claire pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the table. "I received a package from Haley today. She sent me money." She plucked a baby carrot off her plate and popped it into her mouth.

  "Don't you need this money for living expenses?"

  "I like to pay my debts. I'm sure it will take me a while to cover all that I owe you."

  "The dinner is your first payment."

  "It's nothing like what you fix."

  "You can pay me another way. How about another neck massage?"

  Claire's pulse quickened. She remembered the feel of Blake's skin against hers. She'd have to be careful. The last thing she needed was to complicate her life with a man who was too good for her. The women in her family didn't go for guys like him. Blake was confident, secure, and close to God—three things she was not. No, men who left their families or were alcoholics were what she was used to. At least, that's what happened to her mother and sister.

  She needed to change the subject fast. "Haley sent a couple other things too." She swallowed a swig of her soda.

  "Like what?" Blake appeared to be enjoying his sandwich— either that or he was starving after working on her car all day.

  "A pair of red stilettos—"

  "Hmmm. I'd like to see you in those!"

  "Really?" Claire laughed.

  "Why not?" Blake smiled.

  "Now?"

  "Sounds good to me."

  Heart racing, Claire pushed her chair away from the table and went to her room. She took the heels out of the box and placed them on her feet. Now, if she could walk without falling on her face. With tentative steps, she rejoined Blake in the dining room.

  He leaned forward and flashed her a smile. "Wow. Nice. How about I take you to dinner in those." The look in Blake's eyes sent chills down her spine. "Bella Roma after my four-day shift."

  "Bella Roma?" Claire's eyes widened. She joined him back at the table.

  "It's a quaint little Italian restaurant here in Capitola." He placed his hand on top of hers and brushed his thumb across her fingers.

  The momentary excitement disappeared when she thought of her responsibility to Geraldine. Claire wrinkled her brow. "I don't feel comfortable leaving Geraldine alone."

  "I think she'd be fine for an hour or two. I won't keep you out all night." He grinned and sat up straight. "How about we ask Nancy or Vivian to stay with her?"

  Claire's heart fluttered. One thing she knew about
Blake—he was persistent. He seemed to have everything figured out. "Bella Roma sounds wonderful." She was giving in and enjoying it. Claire glanced at her own half-eaten sandwich. She had lost her appetite. This man was making a path to her heart. It was exciting and disturbing.

  "Did your sister send you anything else?" Blake took the last bite of his sandwich.

  Claire wiped her hands with a napkin. "A journal."

  "Sounds intriguing. Who from?"

  "It's my mother's journal from 1972, after she received the letter." Claire kicked off her heels and retrieved the book from her bedroom.

  She motioned Blake to join her on the couch. "Come, and I'll show you."

  Blake sat down, resting his arm behind her.

  Claire scooted closer to him. His nearness made her wish she had remembered to dab her neck with perfume. She opened the book and read. "I'm in love with Martin DeWitt—"

  "Didn't you tell me you thought Michael Thompson wrote the letter?"

  Claire closed the book and set it next to her on the couch. "I thought he did. It all made sense until this journal showed up. And now I don't know what to think. Why does Michael look as if he's hiding something? The way he dodged my question about the letter still makes me uncomfortable. And then, there's the picture frame. How come Geraldine has the same one?" She stood and paced the floor.

  Blake rose from the couch. "Are you sure you're not making too much of all this?"

  Claire's hands flew to her hips. "What do you mean?"

  "Claire, you have your answer. Martin's name starts with the letter M and your mom says she was in love with him. It's time to move on with your life." Blake led her back to the couch. "She won't be forgotten."

  "Don't you see, I can't quit. I need to understand this part of my mom's life." She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "There is something more to this letter. I can feel it."