Free The Beach House by Georgia Bockoven Page B

imagine a worse pairing.
    Beverly systematically began going through Tracy’s pockets before she put the clothes away, as if it were a long-established habit. “Clyde just thinks the world of Chris.”
    The action surprised Margaret. It would never occur to her to search Chris’s things at all, let alone under the guise of being helpful. Was Beverly looking for something specific or simply snooping? Neither possibility held much appeal.
    â€œChris likes Clyde, too,” Margaret said automatically. She turned at the sound of the front door opening.
    â€œI’m back,” Chris said.
    Margaret went to the door. “We’re in here.”
    The glow of anticipation dulled when Chris saw Tracy was not with them. He looked at his mother over Beverly’s shoulder as Beverly gave him a hug. Margaret pointed to the beach. “Wow, look at all this stuff,” he said, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. “She must have cleaned out her closet.”
    â€œTracy brought a friend,” Margaret said.
    He shot her a questioning look.
    â€œJanice Carlson,” Beverly filled in. “She’s on the cheerleading squad with Tracy.”
    â€œTracy’s a cheerleader? When did this happen?”
    Beverly’s smile was somewhere between beaming and smug. “I’m sure I told your mother. She must have forgotten to pass the news on to you.”
    No, she hadn’t, but Margaret was wondering now if she wouldn’t have been better off doing so, especially considering how Chris felt about the cheerleaders he knew at school. His favorite word for them was airheads, but there were other, less flattering, words, too. “Clyde couldn’t come, so he let Janice use his ticket. This is her first time at the ocean.”
    â€œCool,” he said without much enthusiasm.
    â€œBest of all,” Beverly said, “you get your own room. No more sleeping on the sofa.”
    â€œI’ll move my things after dinner,” Margaret told him.
    â€œWhere will you sleep?”
    â€œWith Beverly.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do that, Mom. The sofa’s fine with me.”
    The contrast between Chris’s and Tracy’s reactions to the sleeping arrangements was too obvious to ignore. “Would you like to come home with me?” Beverly said. “Just long enough for some of your behavior to rub off on Tracy.”
    He looked to Margaret to interpret. “It’s not important.” She purposely changed the subject. “Where have you been? You look as if you ran to Monterey and back.”
    â€œI probably smell that way, too.” He lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt and sniffed. “I’m going to take a shower. What time’s dinner?”
    â€œI told the girls an hour”—she checked her watch—“and that was thirty minutes ago.”
    Â 
    An hour and a half later, Tracy and Janice still hadn’t returned. Chris was on his way to find them just as they started up the stairs from the beach.
    â€œDamn,” Tracy said. “He’s come to get us.”
    Janice looked up. She stopped in midstep. “ That’s Chris Sadler?”
    â€œFor cryin’ out loud, Janice, shut your mouth before he sees you looking at him like that. I never said he was ugly.” Tracy checked Chris out again to see what had gotten to Janice that she might have missed. He was dressed in cutoffs and a blue tank top, and for once his hair looked decent. Obviously he’d stopped letting his mother cut it for him.
    â€œHe’s gorgeous ,” Janice said under her breath.
    â€œJust wait till he says something. Then you’ll understand.” Tracy gave him the dismissive smile she used on guys at school who actually thought she could be interested in talking to them. “Chris—hi.”
    â€œEveryone’s been wondering what happened to you.”
    â€œI told Mom we were going for a walk.”