Chapter 4
OCEAN
On the surface, Ocean’s new painting didn’t look like anything special.
It was an almost photorealistic depiction of a hedge.
Glossy green leaves filled the canvas, freckled with white ovals of sunlight and a cluster of salmon-colored berries.
Ocean liked the composition, but what interested her most was what the hedge concealed. What the viewer couldn’t see.
Which is a lot to ask of a painting, she said to herself.
She stared at the canvas until she heard laughter ringing across the courtyard. She smiled at the happiness in Sophie’s voice. The freedom. She remembered when she’d first arrived at the Cottages, how she’d struck Ocean as timid and brittle.
Not anymore. There was more to her than met the eye. Just like this painting, if Ocean ever managed to make it work.
She frowned at the berries for a few seconds before she remembered that Mrs. B had asked her to pass along a message.
She wiped her hands on a rag, even though they were clean already.
She hadn’t touched paint today; after teaching her morning sculpture class, she’d just stood in front of the half-finished project and pondered.
Thinking about art, naturally, but also about the woman she’d been dating. The woman who, with crowing delight, Mrs. B had introduced her to.
“I’m a proper yenta now!” Mrs. B had crowed, after years of quizzing every single woman—every single single woman—she’d met about their sexuality.
She’d never developed the slightest hint of gaydar, either, so nobody had been safe: not young women with yoga mats, not middle-aged women with BMWs, not new mothers with strollers.
But most of all, not medical professionals.
At this point she’d charted the sexuality of every podiatrist, ENT, and medical transcriptionist in Santa Barbara.
All in the vain hope she would find someone for Ocean.
Then she met CJ in the YMCA locker room and demanded to know if she was gay. Apparently CJ had said, “Well, I’m not not gay,” which resulted in Mrs. B immediately blurting, “Oh! Finally! I can’t wait for you to meet Ocean!”
CJ was almost ten years younger than Ocean, with auburn hair and winged eyeliner and a sunshine smile.
She was vivacious and femme, and wore bright dresses and big earrings.
She enjoyed crystals, journaling, and chatting with her pet birds.
Riley called her a “flower crown lesbian,” which Ocean had never heard before but sounded exactly right.
After her divorce from Zoe, between raising the kids and feeling like the world’s premier romantic failure, Ocean had shied away from meeting people. But after three dates with CJ she was starting to feel a terrifying sensation of hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her.
She tossed her rag aside and headed for the courtyard, where she found Sophie and Nicholas messing around with boxes, while Anthony dragged Lily-Ann back into her cottage.
“Wait, Anthony!” Sophie called. “Do you need a blender?”
“Yes,” he told her.
“Promise you’ll take good care of him!”
“He likes moonlight walks on the beach,” Nicholas said. “And electrical sockets.”
Anthony swept Lily-Ann inside and closed the door behind them.
“Did I miss the big giveaway?” Ocean asked, crossing the courtyard.
“Yeah, I’m sacrificing my hard-won independence over here,” Sophie said.
“Also, her twenty-year-old blender,” Nicholas added.
“There’s a joke here about blended families…” Ocean looked at Sophie. “Speaking of which, Mrs. B wants you to check in with her before you go back to work.”
“Is she okay?” Sophie asked.
“Other than humiliating me at her dermatologist appointment? Yeah, she’s fine. She, uh, browbeat CJ into getting you an invite to a party in Hope Ranch.”
“Who’s CJ?” Nicholas asked. “Her friend at the Y?”
Sophie elbowed him. “And Ocean’s new squeeze. What party? Why invite me? Are you going?”
“I’m not going, but apparently you are.” Ocean raised her hands before Sophie could ask. “I have no idea.”
Nicholas popped the blender lid into place. “Mrs. B works in mysterious ways.”
“So mysterious that she rarely knows what she’s doing,” Ocean said.
“Ha!” Sophie added more books to the stack on the porch. “I’ll talk to her.”
Ocean considered offering to help them move, but she had an appointment downtown—and also she needed to emotionally recover from Mrs. B interfering with her not-yet-girlfriend’s life like this.
CJ worked as the housekeeper for a superrich couple in Hope Ranch, and the old biddy had arranged the invitation to give Sophie a chance to fundraise or network.
Not that Ocean was going to admit that. Let Mrs. B justify her own meddling.
The whole thing made Ocean uncomfortable; plus, CJ was picking her up at home for their fourth date tonight, which meant the kids would meet her for the first time. That felt like a serious step. To Ocean, at least. She suspected that nobody else cared.
She retreated back to the art studio behind her cottage, then heard the front door slam, which was how Riley announced her return from high school.
She’d started tenth grade this year and announced she was going to “crush it.” Ocean had to bite her lip to keep from suggesting that Riley not set her sights too high.
She wanted to be her daughter’s cheerleader, but couldn’t bear when she got disappointed or hurt.
She went inside and yelled, “Do you want popcorn?”
“With too many chili flakes!” Riley yelled back.
The kernels were popping when the front door opened again.
Miles slipped inside, dropped his backpack, said, “Popcorn? Don’t mind if I do,” then lay in the corner of the living room with his basket of Lego pieces.
He’d grown out of them for a while, but since starting fifth grade he began using them again to decompress after school.
She listened to him mumble about ninjas as he settled a motorcycle on top of his Lego ramen shop.
She kissed his brown head, thinking he needed a haircut, and handed him a bowl of popcorn.
Mixed with nutritional yeast, because she was still her hippie parents’ daughter.
She made Riley come to the kitchen to get her bowl with added Korean chili flakes, then asked about math class, which was safe because Riley enjoyed being so much better than Ocean at math.
She chattered about logarithmic equations until Ocean said, “Some musicians write a beat but others logarithm.”
Riley groaned. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Log a rhythm!” Miles said. “Instead of write a beat!”
“Thanks, mini-Dad,” Riley said.
“You’re welcome, my child,” Miles said.
Riley threw a popcorn kernel at him, and Ocean didn’t snap about making a mess. She and Riley were getting along better than usual, as long as Ocean stepped carefully. She wasn’t entirely sure if “stepping carefully” meant “parenting badly” but she was willing to give it a shot.
She helped Miles with his world map flashcards, then went downtown for a meeting with the owner of a gallery in La Arcada.
He was a charming gent who’d made a living as an artist in Santa Barbara for forty years, which spoke to his talent, his business acumen, and his willingness to sacrifice his soul to the Hungry God of Pretty Seascapes.
They’d known each other forever, so he loudly admired the photos of her work, which was frankly why she’d made the appointment: they both knew her art wasn’t right for his gallery. Still, he offered to make a few calls, which left her sufficiently flattered and hopeful.
When she got home, Riley was in her room while Miles was with Anthony, whom he’d adopted as a babysitter.
Well, without the pay or responsibility.
When Anthony wanted Miles to leave—usually because he was heading to Lily-Ann’s house—he just gruffly told him to get lost. They were such an odd couple, sweet, small, chattering Miles and big, looming, silent Anthony.
Ocean refused to think that a boy needed a male role model, considering the state of most male role models in the world, but Miles certainly enjoyed Anthony’s company.
She felt like she needed a role model of her own, as she wondered what to wear for her date.
Lily-Ann had impeccable taste, but Ocean did not have an impeccable wardrobe.
Sophie was too young to suggest anything workable—Ocean’s fashion sense was geared more toward covering the rough patches than exposing the smooth ones.
She eventually went with black jeans and a navy button-down. Then she added her grandmother’s gold ring, to show she’d gone to some effort, and knocked on Riley’s door to ask her opinion.
“You look great,” Riley said. “For a waiter at a barbecue restaurant.”
Ocean felt herself flush. “Should I wear my cowboy boots?”
“Only if you put on a skirt.”
“I don’t have a skirt.”
Riley turned back to her phone. “Well, that answers that question.”
“C’mon, Riley. You know I’m not good at this.”
Riley sighed, but glanced up. “Those jeans, your knit black tank top, and your burgundy Adidas.”
“What if I get cold?” Ocean asked.
“Then suffer. You have nice arms. They’re doing all the work here.”
“The literal heavy lifting?”
Riley ignored her, so Ocean went back to her room and changed into the tank top.
She enjoyed the idea that she had nice arms. Thank you, Rock Sculpture 101, which some days felt like chain gang labor.
She added a chunky belt, then felt stupid for caring so much, so she went into the kitchen for a slug of whiskey and felt better.
CJ wasn’t due for another half hour. Instead of pacing nervously, Ocean headed for Mrs. B’s house to check in with her. She found Miles and Anthony in the living room with Mrs. B, eating rugalach and watching a show about cuttlefish.
“What’re you doing watching TV?” she said, because Mrs. B had claimed she hated “the boob tube.”
“Waiting for something dramatic to happen,” Mrs. B told her.
“Do cuttlefish lead lives of drama?”
“Oh, not to them, dear. To us.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Ocean made a face, then stepped into the entryway, expecting …
Well, she didn’t know what to expect. She still dreaded surprise visitors after the murders last spring.
But when she opened the door, she found CJ, looking too young in a short cotton dress that showed off her perfect legs and sandals revealing a turquoise pedicure.
“I’m a little early?” CJ said, with a sweet uncertainty.
Her eyes shone under her sap-green winged liquid eyeliner, and her sienna lipstick enhanced the tawniness of her skin. Ocean wanted to paint her. She wanted to stand there and admire her, to walk in a circle around her like a sculpture in a museum.
Instead, she resisted the urge to flex her arms and kissed CJ hello. “Early, gorgeous, and at the wrong cottage.”
“I am?”
“Yes. Stunning.”
CJ flushed. “I mean at the wrong cottage!”
“That, too. This is Mrs. B’s.”
“And this is Mrs. B!” Mrs. B said, swanning in from the living room, her rust-brown caftan billowing behind her.
“Look at you all dressed up! And look at me, dressed at all. I’m usually naked when you see me in the locker room.
Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask, does CJ stand for anything?
Catherine Julia, that’s my guess. Or Complete Joy. ”
Mrs. B swooped in to hug CJ before she could answer, and Ocean spotted Miles in the archway, looking uncharacteristically shy, half-hidden behind Anthony.
“This is my son, Miles,” she said. “And our friend Anthony.”
“Miles is the one in the back,” Mrs. B informed CJ, perfectly straight-faced.
CJ giggled, and Miles said hello, and Anthony looked at CJ—which was a lot coming from Anthony.
“I’m glad to meet you,” CJ said, with an impish little smile.
“We should go,” Ocean said.
“CJ said she was early,” Mrs. B reminded her. “Should I make cocktails? I pour a mean gin and tonic, by which I mean an extremely friendly one. Positively convivial. I’ll squeeze in too much lemon, shall I?”
“Aren’t you helping with my map project tonight?” Miles asked Ocean. “I need to memorize them by next week.”
“I thought Anthony was helping you,” Ocean said.
Anthony glared at Miles. “I am.”
“You can’t even find Chile!”
“So show me again.”
Ha. Anthony was asking Miles to help him memorize the countries, so Miles would learn them. Typical Anthony. Clever in his understated way.
“Once the show is done.” Miles dragged Anthony toward the living room. “We’re going to miss the cuddly fish.”
Anthony gave Ocean a look, either amused that Miles called them “cuddly fish” or impressed that Ocean’s date was so hot.
It was hard to tell with Anthony. Then Ocean said thanks but no thanks to the gin and tonics, and Mrs. B said don’t you mean gins and tonic, and Ocean said, why not gins and tonics, and CJ sort of looked at them until Mrs. B patted Ocean’s arm and said, “Have a lovely time. I’ll keep an eye on the kids. ”
Ocean ushered CJ outside, then said, “Well, I’m glad she announced that you see her naked.”
“Miles is so cute. And Anthony is exactly like you described.”
“I could take him in a fight.”
CJ laughed. “Do I get to meet Riley?”
Ocean had done the dating math and figured that CJ was physically old enough to be Riley’s mother.
Just barely, but still, that made the age gap feel okay.
Except CJ seemed so much younger, like a generation closer to Riley, which made her a little uncomfortable.
So she sputtered for a moment, before spotting Sophie heading across the courtyard to Nicholas’s cottage.
“Oh! That’s Sophie, who you’re inviting to the party. I told her to expect a call from the kindly woman who helps Mrs. B with her bra in the YMCA locker room.”
“Is that really how you described me?”
“Sure. The undergarment fairy.”
“Undergarments,” CJ said, her eyes gleaming with teasing laughter.
“That’s what we called them in my day! Your bloomers.”
“And Sophie knew what you meant?”
“Sure, after I explained that Mrs. B flutters around the locker room after water aerobics until someone helps with her bra clasp. Though on second thought I’m not sure ‘flutters’ is the best description.”
CJ laughed. “Mrs. B is who I want to be when I grow up.”
“I’m still waiting to see who Mrs. B becomes when she grows up,” Ocean said.
“You can’t fool me. You adore her.”
“Yeah.” Ocean gave CJ a lingering look. “I’m not great at hiding my admiration.”
CJ took her hand and led her away.