Summer Beach

loved Shelly, her sister couldn’t truly understand how she felt. Shelly had been accustomed to being on her own.
Yet in her heart, Ivy knew this is not who she was. She had once been a fearless woman, unafraid of seizing the life she wanted. That was when she had moved from San Diego, gone to school in a new state with no friends, and met Jeremy.
Ivy turned to Shelly. “Eleanor Roosevelt once said, ‘Do one thing every day that scares you.’ From now on, that’s what we have to do.”
Shelly touched her glass. “Deal.”
First, sell that house. Ivy had to be careful with what little money she had left. At least she knew where Jeremy’s retirement fund had gone. The nerve of him. When had he planned to tell her?
“We’ll start over together,” Shelly said. “Maybe I’ll move to Boston.”
“Ha. You would never do that. You love New York.” Ivy sipped her champagne and eased her seat back.
Shelly reclined her seat, too. “I might be having an early midlife crisis.”
“Some of my friends’ husbands went through middle age crises,” Ivy said. “They bought trendy clothes, Harley-Davidson motorcycles, or went sky-diving. That would’ve been okay. My husband just spent our entire retirement on a beach tear-down on the other side of the country.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Don’t go there. It only leads to pity parties.”
“And costly therapy.” Despite her complaints, Ivy had loved Jeremy. Surely they could have worked out their problems; they always had. If she had only known they’d had a problem.
Ivy had once been so secure in her life, and it still astounded her how quickly a seemingly happy, stable life could have crashed around her shoulders like a crumbling relic. She recalled the night it happened. Jeremy always took her out on her birthday, but a disgruntled client in Florida had demanded an urgent trip.
“I’ll be thinking of you, my love,” Jeremy told her as he was packing his suitcase on the bed. “I didn’t want you to be alone, so I’ve asked Misty and Sunny to join you. I’ve arranged a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus, and I want you and the girls to go shopping. After that, you have a reservation at Chez Jacques—don’t worry about the check. I want you to have the best night of your life, my angel.”
“How could I, without you?” She lounged on the bed beside his suitcase, watching him bustle around the bedroom. Still, the day and evening he’d arranged for her sounded like fun. Misty had just graduated, and Sunny was still in college. Having them both home for the weekend was an unexpected treat.
“I’ll be back next week.” A frown creased his brow. “Unless the client wants me to stay over. You know how these jobs go.” Pressing a hand to his forehead and temple, he asked, “Did you buy more pain meds?”
“I did, and I put them in your briefcase.” He’d been complaining about pressure—a headache, she supposed—behind his eye. “Promise you’ll get enough rest. And make time for exercise.” His father had died of a heart attack, and she worried about him, especially with the increased stress he was under. Of course, she should heed her own advice. She untucked her legs and rose to see him off.
“Thanks. I will, my love. Have a happy birthday.” He slid his hand around her waist and kissed her with the same passion he’d always had for her, and then he was gone.
The next day, after spoiling Misty and Sunny with new outfits—Ivy also found a flattering cocktail dress for the evening—the three of them were dressed in their new attire and devouring apricot-glazed foie gras at the best table at Chez Jacques when her phone rang.
“That’s Dad’s ringtone,” Misty said.
Sunny leaned forward. “I need to ask him something.”
Ivy fumbled in her purse for her phone. She’d meant to turn the ringer off before they were seated. She hated hearing people chatter away on phones in elegant restaurants. Why did they always seem to talk louder than with dinner guests? “I’ll be right back.”
Rising on her new heels, she whispered, “Hello darling, we’re at Chez Jacques, and—”
“Mrs. Marin?” An authoritative voice cut her off. “This is Officer McClaren from Los Angeles.”
“Yes?” She listened for a moment and then pressed her hand to her mouth. “It can’t be…he’s in Florida…”
“There’s no mistake,” the disembodied voice over the phone said before the phone tumbled from her hand.
And there, in the middle of the plum velvet-draped dining room, Ivy’s world imploded. She recalled stumbling to her knees and tearing her new hosiery, and Misty and Sunny jumping from their chairs to her aid, along with waiters.
Ivy blinked back to the present. The rest of that night was a blur that she could barely remember now.
She wanted to believe the pressure from the brain aneurysm had hampered Jeremy’s judgment. Perhaps it had been the stress he was under. But no, there was no excuse for his behavior, for not involving her in a decision that could impact her future.
Ivy swallowed against the lump that had risen in her throat. After soothing her throat with champagne, she turned to Shelly.
“I have to sell that house.”

Chapter 2
“THAT’S IT?” Ivy’s heart sank. She shielded her eyes against the sun’s rays, taking in the sprawling property perched on a knoll that swept to the beach. The house was dated, and the landscaping—what was left of it—was thorny and overgrown. No wonder there hadn’t been any offers.
“You’re lucky that Mrs. Erickson’s estate kept up the structural and system repairs, including the roof and electrical, before your husband bought it,” Bennett said.
Ivy caught her breath. The sound of his rich, slightly gravelly voice brought back a flood of memories. She recalled hearing him sing, strumming his guitar, on the beach beside a fire with her friends so many years ago. In an instant, she was seventeen again, with a heart so tender and so swiftly broken. This is why she’d never taken