Chapter 12
12
G inger smoothed her hand over her cream linen dress as she arrived at the restaurant overlooking Laguna Beach. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the crowd gathered on the beachside patio, their faces a mix of sorrow and celebration.
Nearby, musicians played the jazz music she recalled as Kurt’s favorite. He and Oliver and Bertrand often argued over who was better: Miles Davis, Louie Armstrong, or John Coltrane.
Break the tie, Ginger. Who’s your choice?
She had laughed and replied, Ella Fitzgerald.
So many memories, so much fun. Lifting her chin, Ginger searched the gathering for Oliver, wondering how much he’d changed. But then, so had she. Would he recognize her?
She scanned faces as she approached the group, recognizing old friends and colleagues. It had been years since she’d seen many of them, but the years melted away as warm smiles and hugs greeted her.
And there, in the middle of a throng of people, stood Oliver. He turned as if sensing her presence, and his face lit with instant recognition.
“Ginger, darling. You made it.” Oliver Powell, Kurt’s younger brother, approached with open arms. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and his blue eyes sparkled with genuine warmth. Years of laughter lined his face with character.
“How could I miss this lovely celebration?” Ginger replied, embracing him. “Kurt meant so much to Bertrand and me. How are you?”
“Much better now that you’re here,” he replied. “My brother lived a full life, didn’t he? Ninety years of pushing boundaries and charming everyone he met.”
“He certainly did.” Ginger nodded as memories of Kurt’s infectious enthusiasm for technology and life flooded back. “I remember the day he hired me. He changed the course of my life.”
As they chatted, Ginger noticed how distinguished Oliver looked in his navy blazer and crisp white shirt, trousers, and deck shoes. Like his brother, he’d always been attractive, but the years had added a distinguished presence.
The ceremony began with friends and family recalling cherished stories about Kurt, punctuated with laughter. Music drifted across the beach as friends and family shared stories of his brilliance, kindness, and zest for life.
Ginger was swept up in the beautiful tribute to Kurt’s life and shared her memories of times she and Kurt traveled to New York on business and later, after she and Bertrand were married, when they would all meet for dinner in Boston.
“I remember your wedding,” Oliver said. “Kurt and his wife went, and I tagged along for a beach trip.” He chuckled. “You were intoxicatingly beautiful.”
Ginger smiled at the memory of that magical day. “And here we are again, back at the beach.”
“Yes, aren’t we?” Oliver said, holding her gaze.
Others pulled him away, so Ginger circulated, speaking to other old friends and new acquaintances.
The breeze picked up as the sun began to set, washing the sky in vibrant shades of pink and coral. When the music ended, guests began to leave.
“Would you stand with me while people leave?” Oliver asked.
“I’m happy to,” she replied, feeling comfortable with him. It felt so natural because many were her friends, too.
While the last guests departed, Ginger lingered beside him, chatting and watching the waves crash against the shoreline. A bittersweet ache filled her chest. So much had changed since those early days in Los Angeles, yet the memories remained vivid. How happy she was that she lived such a good life and did much of what she enjoyed.
Like Kurt and Bertrand.
Oliver’s voice broke through her reverie. “How about a glass of bubbly—water, that is? We each have to drive home.”
“Perfect, I’m parched,” she replied, accepting the glass with a smile. They sat at a table near the beach.
Ginger squeezed lime into her water and sipped. “I’ve been thinking about Kurt introducing Bertrand and me, those exciting days of new technology, and the parties at your family’s house in Boston where we met Margaret. We’ve had a wonderful life, haven’t we?”
Oliver chuckled. “I remember those parties well. I once told Bertrand how disappointed I was that he’d managed to sweep you off your feet before I had a chance.”
Her cheeks warmed at his words. “And I remember Bertrand telling you that you were far too young for me,” she replied with a laugh. “Even though we were the same age.”
“Well, I had some growing up to do, and you were definitely off the market,” Oliver said. “But I’m not too young anymore, am I?”
Ginger’s heart quickened as she met his gaze. There was something there, an unexpected spark of interest she couldn’t deny. “I like to think we’re still young at heart.”
Oliver touched her hand, and she responded, twining her fingers with his. Oliver held her gaze. “I’d love to visit Summer Beach soon. Would it be alright if I called on you?”
For a moment, Ginger was transported back in time, feeling like the young woman who had first arrived in Los Angeles, full of dreams and possibilities. But she wasn’t that woman anymore. She was a grandmother and great-grandmother, a woman with a lifetime of experiences behind her.
And yet, she was still a woman.
“I’d like that, Oliver. We have so much history and so many stories to share. I’ll introduce you to my family.”
“I would like that very much,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.
Oliver and Margaret had never had children, and she sensed an air of loneliness about him. She raised her glass. “Here’s to seeing you in Summer Beach.”
As they clinked glasses, the last rays of sunlight glinted off the crystal, and a flutter of excitement filled Ginger. Maybe life still had surprises in store for her.