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  5

  Claire watched through the RV window as Pearl waved her arms and darted over to the Andersons' campsite. Three teenage boys and an older couple jumped up from their camp chairs and ran to meet her. Pearl pulled the woman into her arms, laughing. A young woman stepped out of the RV, rushed toward Pearl, and hugged her tight around the neck. They acted like relatives who hadn't seen each other in years. Claire's chest tightened. Was there a single person in the world who would be as glad to see her as these people were to see each other? She propped her chin on her hand and leaned against the window as she watched the reunion.

  Pearl turned and pointed to Claire's VW bug hitched to the back of the RV. From the way she swooped her arms, Claire imagined the story she was telling. She wasn't in the mood to join such a happy crowd. She'd wrecked her most treasured possession, and yet she didn't want to be alone either.

  Harry opened the side door of the RV. "Come meet our friends."

  Should she? Claire let out a breath, stood, and allowed him to lead her out the door.

  "Well, what do you know, it's my good friend Harry." Ed walked up and pumped his hand. "Good to see you, oldtimer!"

  "Speak for yourself." Harry spat a dark wad on the ground and laughed. "I don't think I've ever seen you with a beard before. You remind me of someone."

  Claire quickly studied the man, trying not to make direct eye contact. Ed was tall and thin, but his beard and mustache met at the corners of his mouth, looking soft and gloriously white.

  Harry rubbed his chin as if in deep thought. "Oh yeah, you remind me of a skinny Santa Claus."

  Ed chuckled. "And who is this pretty girl?" He reached out his hand.

  "This is Claire. We bumped into each other, so to speak, down the road."

  "More like I bumped into him." Claire shook his hand.

  Ed headed around the back of the RV toward the small car. Harry and Claire followed. "By the looks of your VW bug, I'd say you got the worst of it."

  "We need to unhitch her car for the night and put it over there." Harry indicated a space next to the RV. "Can we get your boys to help?"

  "Let's ask them." Ed smiled at Claire, looped his thumbs in his jeans pockets, and walked over to his family.

  Why hadn't she seen the dent in Harry and Pearl's motor home before? Was she so concerned about her car that she didn't pay attention to the RV? Her stomach twisted. Claire grabbed Harry's arm, stopping him in his tracks. "I want to pay you for the damages to your motor home . . . And I will, I promise. As soon as I get a job. . . ."

  "I'd say you have more problems with that car of yours. Why don't we take one step at a time?" Harry winked at her. "Remember, God provides."

  Haley and Claire had sold most of their mother's jewelry, furniture, and dishes after Haley had been laid off, but Claire begged her sister to let her keep the VW bug. And now look at it. She'd have to find a way to get the car fixed.

  Ed returned with three young men in tow. "Claire, I'd like you to meet my sons, Christopher, Andrew, and Joe."

  Claire waved. "Hi, nice to meet you." She glanced at each one of Ed's teenaged sons.

  The awkward moment of silence made Claire's heart race.

  "Come on, boys, stop staring at the pretty lady and unhitch her car." Ed stepped forward and motioned for his sons to join him. "There'll be plenty of time to get to know her tonight."

  The young woman who had hugged Pearl earlier stood a few feet from Claire with a glass in her hand. "Hi, Claire, I'm Samantha." She smiled, revealing deep dimples. Samantha looked fit in a green striped tank top and denim shorts, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail under a visor as if she had walked off the set of a TV commercial. Fresh. Clean. Athletic.

  "Would you like lemonade? I made it fresh this morning."

  Claire could smell the citrus and see the fat, golden lemon slice floating in the glass. Her mouth salivated. "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry about your car. I hear it was your mom's."

  Claire took a long drink. "Word travels fast."

  Samantha gestured toward the campfire. "We're making hot dogs and beans for dinner. You're welcome to join us. It's not gourmet or necessarily healthy, but that's camping." She shrugged.

  "I'd like that." She handed Samantha the empty glass. "Thanks for the lemonade." Claire remembered last night's meal with Haley and Mark. The three of them had eaten in silence, except for the occasional slurping sound from the spaghetti.

  She glanced at her crumpled car one more time before she followed Samantha to the campsite.

  Michael slammed the phone down a bit too hard. His frustration level had risen with each call he'd made, and the last one had set him on edge. His highest-priced listing in the Uplands pulled out. The couple had decided they'd wait another year before selling. Michael threw a pen across his desk.

  "Hey, man, what's the deal?" Eric, his good friend and colleague two decades his junior, had witnessed his tantrum.

  "No deal. That's the problem." Michael leaned forward, steepled his brow, then turned toward his friend. "What is with real estate these days? I haven't seen such a slump in ten years."

  "It's your attitude, man. People can tell you're tense." The top button of Eric's shirt was undone, his tie hung loose around his neck, and a glimpse of white undershirt was visible. "Professional. That's what I am." Michael straightened his tie and the papers on his desk. "Look. I know your intentions are good—"

  "Of course they are." Eric slapped Michael on the back. "I'd do anything for you, you know that."

  This conversation was going nowhere fast. "Say, I've got a few more calls to make." Michael picked up the phone hoping Eric would get the hint.

  "Slow. Calm. Take a deep breath before you call." Eric patted him on the shoulder.

  Michael let out a breath. "Thanks, Doctor. I'll take it from here."

  "Can I get you a cup of coffee? A Coke?" Eric dug in his pocket and pulled out a few coins.

  "I'm good. Now, get out of here." Michael turned his body away from Eric. He looked up the number for his next prospective client and punched it in.

  On the third ring, a female voice answered.

  "Hello?"

  Michael heard children in the background. "Hello, Mrs. Johanneson. Michael Thompson here. We met at a recent open house. You'd mentioned you might be interested in selling."

  "Who's this?" The voice questioned.

  Michael heard a baby cry, the sound growing louder. "Michael Thompson, from Crown Real Estate."

  "I'm the babysitter. I'll let Mrs. Johanneson know you called." Click.

  The girl never asked for his phone number. Michael hit the "Off" button and clipped his phone onto his belt. Eric's offer of a cup of coffee sounded better as time ticked by. He stood and ambled over to his friend's cubicle.

  "Five o'clock. I'll meet you there." Eric finished his phone call. He raised his index finger, indicating he needed a moment. He jotted a note on a slip of paper. "Michael, you're never going to believe this. Last Saturday, when I took your open house, I met the nicest couple. They're relocating to our area and need to buy a four-bedroom—and fast. I researched properties on Sunday and I think I found them the perfect house. We're meeting—"

  "At five. I heard." Michael raked his left hand through his hair. "Are you still up for that cup of coffee?"

  "I would if I could, man, but suddenly I'm swamped." Eric pointed to the stack of folders.

  "Anything I can take off your hands?" Michael groveled.

  "Hey, you're the best in the business. Give your clients that old Thompson charm." The phone rang on Eric's desk. "Breakfast tomorrow morning?"

  Eric answered his phone before Michael could respond.

  He turned and headed toward the coffeepot. The coffee didn't taste like Starbucks, but it was free. He poured himself a cup and sat down. The break room was top-notch—walnut table with chairs to match, Picasso prints on the wall—a room where a guy could feel good about working for a quality company. Michael's mind wandered to
Julia's fiancé— David Richards. He was a good guy. Moral. Brilliant. Outstanding citizen. He was from a family of lawyers that represented the wealthy. The only strike against him. He remembered the night a couple of years ago when his daughter came home and said she had met a wonderful man at the church Christmas party. They'd been inseparable ever since.

  The image of the wedding dress came to mind. His daughter would look like a princess. But it didn't take an expensive dress for her to be beautiful. She had dark hair like her mother's, and striking blue eyes like his. A good combination. Michael sighed. He loved his daughter and would do anything for her, but first he had to make Sandy understand. Julia was marrying into a wealthy family, one he and Sandy could not compete with. Michael made a decent living—but obviously, not enough. A salaried position sounded better all the time. Michael downed the last of his coffee.

  He stood and stretched. He'd work a couple more hours, and then run by his rental property on the way home. If he could lease the two-bedroom ranch on Depot Hill, it would provide decent income.

  On the way to his cubicle, he caught a glimpse of Eric leaving the office. "Why did I give him that open house? Just my luck." The words slipped out even though he didn't believe in luck. The fact that Eric got what should have been his clients rubbed him raw. Then he felt guilty for the thought. He'd been tired. Tired of sitting inside empty houses with only one or two prospective clients walking through. Eric had done him a favor, so it was his own fault he didn't get the possible sale. Michael checked his attitude.

  Could people tell he was tense? He rubbed the back of his neck. Hard as a rock. The hot tub at home would relax his sore muscles. But that would have to wait.

  He needed to sell another house.

  6

  Claire sank deeper into the camp chair as her meal of hot dogs, beans, and Mary's potato salad settled in her stomach. She nestled under a flannel blanket next to the crackling campfire and listened to Ed play the guitar while the rest of the Anderson family sang. Samantha's voice captivated her. If Claire could sing like Samantha, she'd be headed to Nashville. But not Samantha. She said she only wanted to "give God glory," whatever that meant. Claire didn't recognize most of the songs they were singing, except for Jesus Loves Me. Mom had whispered that song to her the night before she died as she held Claire's hand. The memory was locked into her heart.

  Pearl sat across from her on a log, knitting booties for her soon-to-arrive grandchild.

  Claire grinned at the blue yarn. She hoped the baby was a boy.

  Harry slouched in his camp chair, his legs outstretched and his arms folded across his chest. Claire knew he was asleep by the rise and fall of his chest and the soft whoosh of air bubbling from his lips, even though she couldn't see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

  The scene before her was picture-perfect. If her family were anything like the Andersons or Pearl and Harry, she'd still be in L.A. Life would be different. Imagine being able to relax and enjoy each other's company without fighting or quarreling.

  The song ended, and Pearl tucked the knitting needles and yarn into her tapestry bag. "I'm ready for bed. And I think this big guy was ready an hour ago." Pearl nudged Harry on the shoulder.

  "What's going on?" Harry sat forward, rubbed his eyes, and blinked.

  "You were snoring." Pearl growled like a bear. "Just like that."

  Ed tapped him on the knee, his grin gleaming in the firelight. "You were sawing logs."

  Their joking manner warmed Claire as much as the fire.

  "Very funny." Harry wobbled to his feet. "I only closed my eyes for a few minutes."

  "It's all right, dear." Pearl kissed Harry's wrinkled cheek. "We're teasing." She picked up her bag and held Harry's hand. "Claire, I'll make up your bed. Come when you're ready."

  "Thank you." Claire watched Harry and Pearl take careful steps through the darkness, their flashlight illuminating a path ahead of them.

  "I think we're going to call it a night too." Ed placed his guitar in its case and snapped it shut. "Ready, honey?"

  "I'm right behind you." Mary came over and squeezed Claire's shoulders. "We're headed to Santa Barbara in the morning. It was a pleasure to meet you, dear. Please give Samantha your address. I'm sure she'd like to keep in touch."

  Claire had no address to give. She shivered. Would she ever get to Capitola? "Andrew, can you put another log on the fire? Our new friend is shaking." Mary stroked Claire's hair. "Unless you're ready to turn in?"

  Claire's mother used to stroke her hair like that. A surge of tears threatened at the thought. She cleared her throat. "I'm going to stay up a while, thank you."

  Andrew jumped up and laid a thick log on the fire. Sparks flew upward as it thudded into place. Within seconds flames engulfed the wood.

  Mary patted her shoulder. "Good night, then."

  "Good night." Claire watched Mary hug and kiss each one of her children and slip into the RV. Her throat constricted. It had been too long since her mother had held her in her arms.

  "Now that the old folks have gone to bed, what do you say we have a good time?" Joe grabbed a flashlight. "Hey, Claire, do you want to take a night hike?" He winked at her.

  All three of the brothers had been flirting with her all day, but Joe provided the comic relief. The teenagers had been treating her like a queen after they moved her Volkswagen to a grassy spot next to Pearl and Harry's RV.

  "Sorry, Joe." Claire stood and sat by Samantha. "We have plans for tonight. Girls only." Claire caught Samantha in a pleading look.

  "That's right." Samantha swung an arm around Claire's shoulder. "Girls only."

  "You two are no fun." Joe handed the flashlight to Claire. "You don't know what you're missing."

  Claire smiled. "Good night."

  "Samantha, don't stay up too late." Christopher yawned. "Remember, we're leaving first thing in the morning."

  "Yes, Father." Samantha rolled her eyes. "Brothers," she whispered. "They can be a pain."

  If the years being bossed around by Mark were any indication of what a brother was like, Claire would rather not have one. "I can imagine."

  "I'd say we have at least a half hour before the fire dies. "Samantha poked at the log with a stick. "So, Claire, where were you headed when the accident took place?"

  Samantha must have heard Pearl talk about her plans to make it on her own. Claire's hands grew moist. She rubbed them on her jeans. "Up the coast. I need to figure out a few things."

  "Like what?" Samantha wrapped her sweater tighter around her shoulders.

  "Like who I am. What I want to do with my life. Where I want to live. Things like that." Claire stared at the fire. Making eye contact with Samantha now would make her feel too vulnerable.

  "I know what you mean. It took me a few years to pin all that down. Now I have a steady boyfriend, my own apartment, and a job I love. Four years of college paid off." Samantha leaned toward her. "Is there something else bothering you? Besides your car?"

  Was Samantha a mind reader? The tenderness in her voice made Claire want to confide in her. Should she tell her about the letter? What did Claire have to lose? After tonight, she may not see Samantha again. "Wait right here. I'll be back."

  Claire thought about her decision the whole way to Pearl and Harry's RV. She shone her light on the trail that led from one campsite to another. Monterey pine trees surrounded the campground. The moon was hidden from view for only a minute as she walked down the path. Then, as Claire took another step, the three-quartered-shaped crescent appeared. The moon had comforted her when her mom was sick, and now wherever she lived, no matter what town, the moon would always be there to console her.

  Turning off the flashlight, Claire slipped inside the RV to find her purse. A spike of pain shot through her knee as she smacked into a bed. Her face contorted as she stifled a scream and rubbed the sore spot. Wasn't the bed a table not too long ago? Claire reached for her tote bag and pulled out the letter. Hugging it to her chest, she walked back to the campfir
e.

  Samantha's face glowed from the firelight. "I saw a raccoon skitter across the grass. It freaked me out."

  Claire laughed. She wasn't afraid of animals, big or small.

  "What's that?" asked Samantha.

  Claire held up the envelope. "A letter to my mother when she was seventeen." She pulled out the piece of paper.

  "Who's it from?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine. The person signed it with only an initial."

  Samantha leaned over for a closer look. "What's it say?"

  Claire read the letter out loud. When she finished, the campground was eerily quiet, except for the crackling of the small flame.

  "I need to find out who wrote this." Claire slid the envelope into her pocket and edged nearer to the fire. "I wonder what it would be like to talk with him, to find out about that summer, and why they drifted apart." She watched as the fire died, the log splitting into fragments.

  "I wish I could help you." Samantha's voice soothed her ears. "I'd want to know—if that was written to my mother. You miss her, don't you?"

  "Yes. More than you know." Claire blinked back tears. "My mom and I were close. More like best friends."

  "I couldn't imagine losing my mom in my twenties. You're so brave."

  "Not as brave as I should be. After she died, I wanted someone to take care of me so I moved in with my sister. What a mistake that turned out to be! I ended up taking care of her. But I'm on my own now." Claire rubbed her hands together and stifled a yawn.

  Samantha reached into her canvas bag and produced a pen and a piece of scratch paper. "Here's my cell phone number. Call me anytime, day or night." She scribbled a note and then handed it to Claire.

  "Thank you." Claire tucked the piece of paper into her pocket.

  "I'm going to miss you. It was so nice to have another girl around. Too much testosterone in my family." Samantha stood and hugged her.

  "You can say that again." Claire smiled, then stepped back, more at ease with space between them.