Free Fine things by Danielle Steel

to pick something up on the way, so he picked it up, still juggling his jacket and the bags.
    “Yeah?”
    “That's no way to answer the phone, Bernard.”
    “Hi, Mom. I'm just on my way out.”
    “To the store?” The interrogation began.
    “No … to the beach. I'm visiting some friends today.”
    “Anyone I know?” Which, roughly translated, meant: Would I approve of them?
    “I don't think so, Mom. Is everything okay?”
    “Fine.”
    “Good. Then I'll call you tonight, or tomorrow from the store. I've got to run.”
    “Must be someone important if you can't talk to your mother for five minutes. Is it a girl?” No. A woman. And then of course there was Jane.
    “No, just some friends.”
    “You're not hanging out with those boys out there, are you, Bernard?”
    Oh for chrissake. He was dying to say he was, just to irritate her. “No, I'm not. Look, I'll talk to you soon.”
    “All right, all right…don't forget to wear a hat in the sun.”
    “Give my love to Dad.”
    He hung up and hurried out of his apartment before she could call back to warn him to be careful of sharks. And her favorite was warning him about hot items she saw in the Daily News. She was always warning him not to use some product that had gone bad and killed two people in Des Moines …botulism …Legionnaire's disease …heart attack …hemorrhoids …toxic shock. The possibilities were unlimited. It was nice having someone to worry about your health, but not with the passion of his mother.
    He put the two shopping bags in the back of his car and got in, and ten minutes later he was on the Golden Gate Bridge, heading north. He had never been to Stinson Beach before, and he loved the intricate, winding road which rode the crest of the hills, looking down on the cliffs that jutted out over the sea. It was a miniature Big Sur, and he enjoyed the ride. He drove through the tiny town, and went to the address she had given him. She was in a private community called Seadrift, and he had to give the guard at the tollgate his name. But other than the security, it didn't look like a fancy place. The houses were on a very human scale, and the people who wandered by were bare-foot and in shorts. It looked like the kind of place where families went, like Long Island or Cape Cod, and it looked wholesome and nice, as he pulled into the driveway of the house number she had given him. There was a tricycle outside, and a washed-out rocking horse who looked as though he had been out in the elements for years, and Bernard clanked an old school bell at the front gate, and then opened it. And then suddenly there was Jane, wearing one of the bikinis he had sent, and the little terry cloth robe he had picked out to go with it.
    “Hi, Bernie.” She beamed up at him, as they both remembered the banana split and their conversation about Christmas and God. “I love my new bathing suit.”
    “It looks great on you.” He walked over to her, and she smiled up at him. “We could use you as a model at the store. Where's your mom? Don't tell me she's lost again.” He put on a disapproving frown and Jane laughed a deep belly laugh that touched his heart. “Does she do that a lot?”
    Jane shook her head. “Only in stores …sometimes …”
    “What do I do in stores?” Elizabeth stuck her head out the door and smiled at Bernard. “Hello there. How was the drive?”
    “Beautiful.” He looked as though he had really enjoyed the trip as they exchanged a warm, expressive glance.
    “Not everyone says that when they arrive. It's an awfully winding road.”
    “I always throw up,” Jane supplied with a grin. “But I like it once we're here.”
    “Do you sit in the front seat with the windows down?” He looked concerned.
    “Yup.”
    “Do you eat saltines before you go? …Nah …I'll bet you eat banana splits all the time.” And then he remembered the chocolate teddy bear, and pulled it out of the bag for her before handing the rest to Liz. “For both of you,