Breeze off the Ocean Read online

  “Atlantic City?” Bruce repeated softly, then he nearly shouted. “Honey, that means you can move home.”

  Still laughing, Micki nodded her head. Totally absorbed in each other, both Micki and her father had completely forgotten Regina. In the old days Regina would have made her presence known forcefully, now the voice that penetrated their euphoria was soft, hesitant.

  “May I add my congratulations to your father’s, Micki?”

  “Oh, Regina, I’m sorry,” Micki murmured contritely. “Of course you may.”

  “Yes, darling,” Bruce inserted, one arm encircling his wife’s waist to draw her close. “Of course you may. We’re a family.” He paused an instant before adding, “Aren’t we?”

  A quick glance of understanding and truce passed between the two women.

  “Yes, Dad,” Micki agreed firmly. “We are a family.”

  Regina’s black eyes spoke eloquently of her relief and thanks and Micki was amazed at the feeling of peace that washed over her. For the most part the fourteen years of her father’s second marriage had been turbulent and Micki greeted the cessation of hostilities with a silent prayer of thanks. Still, she didn’t want to strain the ties of this newfound accord, so she tacked on with equal firmness, “But I’ll be looking for my own apartment.”

  “In Atlantic City?”

  Bruce and Regina spoke in astonished unison and Micki fully understood the reason for their astonishment. It was a well-known fact that living accommodations in Atlantic City were almost as hard to find as brontosaurus teeth since the influx of the big hotels with their gambling casinos. The added fact that the shop Micki would be working in was located in one of those hotels lent a sprinkling of spice to her excitement. Now she hastened to correct their impression.

  “No, not in Atlantic City, here in Ocean City. Atlantic City’s such a short run up the coast I doubt it will take me any longer to get to work from here than it did in the early morning crush in Wilmington.”

  “The way I understand it,” Bruce said quietly, “there are already quite a few people that are employed by the hotels making their home here.” He hesitated, his eyes mirroring his sadness. “But why do you want to look for an apartment? Why can’t you stay here at home?”

  “Oh, Dad.” Micki smiled weakly. “I’ve been on my own for almost six years now. I’m used to having my own place. I’ve got an apartment full of furniture and things I’ve acquired over those six years.” Her smile deepened, became impish. “But I have made arrangements to have my stuff packed and sent here in the interim—if you don’t mind?”

  “Mind?” Bruce echoed. “Of course we don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Regina seconded her husband’s words.

  “Oh, sure.” Micki’s laughter rippled through the comfortable room. “But wait until you have all my stuff dumped onto your doorstep. You may wish you’d given a very firm no.”

  Regina made fresh coffee and the three of them settled around the kitchen table to make plans and discuss the pros and cons of various areas in which Micki might be interested in apartment hunting. During the course of the discussion the section of the city in which Cindy and Benny lived came up and at the mention of the young couple’s name the topic of the conversation veered to them.

  “I haven’t seen either of them since they made final settlement on the house,” Bruce told Micki. “But Cindy did call me at the office after they’d moved in, to again thank me for finding the property for them and inform me that they were absolutely thrilled with it.” He grinned broadly. “Those last words are an exact quote from Cindy.”

  “Sounds so much like her I can almost hear her voice,” Micki grinned back. Her father owned a flourishing real estate business and it pleased her to know Cindy had gone to him when she was ready to buy a home. “It will be wonderful to see Cindy and Benny again.”

  “Did they know you were coming home?” Regina asked. “And that you’ll be staying?”

  Micki was shaking her head before Regina had finished speaking. “No, I wanted to surprise them,” Micki answered. Then her eyes shifted to rest lovingly on her father. “Besides which, I wanted my first evening at home to be free of interruptions.”

  The answering look of love in her father’s eyes and the understanding smile on Regina’s lips deepened the feeling of well-being inside Micki. Stifling a yawn behind her hand, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up.

  “I’m going to have a shower then go to bed.” Another yawn was unsuccessfully hidden. When Regina moved to get up, Micki shook her head at her. “You don’t have to come up, Regina. I can finish my unpacking in the morning.” After kissing her father lightly on the cheek, she wished them both a good night and swung out of the room.

  Alone in her bedroom Micki stood still just inside the door and let her eyes roam slowly over familiar things. Everything was the same as she’d left it. Even the paint on the walls, though fresh, was the same bright daffodil yellow as it had always been. When her eyes touched the double, leather-bound picture frame sitting on the night-stand by the bed, they stopped. Her gaze unwavering, Micki walked across the room and picked up the frame.

  The picture on one side was an enlargement of a snapshot that had been taken on the front: lawn. Three figures stood under a mimosa tree. Micki’s mother was turned slightly from the camera as she smiled up at her husband, and between them Micki, at age six, her favorite doll clutched in her arms, grinned impishly at the camera. The picture had been snapped by a close friend of her mother’s the summer before her mother’s death in a fiery highway accident.

  Micki blinked over hot tears before shifting her gaze to the other side of the frame. It had been years since she’d really looked at the studio portrait of her mother and now, remembering her father’s words when she arrived, she studied the color shot carefully before lifting her eyes to her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror opposite the bed. Yes, the well-defined features were very similar: a slim, straight nose; high, though not prominent, cheekbones; softly rounded chin, although Micki’s did have a more determined cast. If the color in the photo was true, they shared the same bright blue eyes and fair skin tone. But her mother’s hair, worn long and smooth at the time, was a gleaming auburn with deep red highlights, whereas Micki’s, which she wore short in an attempt to control her loose, unruly curls, was a dark chestnut. Yes, there were similarities, but her mother had been beautiful, and in Micki’s own opinion, she was not

  With a brief, what-does-it-matter shrug, Micki replaced the frame, then stood eyeing her suitcases dispassionately. Sighing softly, she flicked the clasps of the largest case and opened the valise. Do it now, she told herself firmly, or everything will be crushed beyond wearing.

  Micki kicked off her sandals and moved silently over the plush carpeting as she placed her clothes in the closet and dresser drawers. When the bags were empty, Micki placed them against the wall beside the bedroom door for storage in the large hall closet in the morning, then turned back to the room, a tiny smile of satisfaction tugging at her lips. Everything about the room satisfied her.

  Her father had given her carte blanche in decorating it when she was sixteen, and now, nine years later, everything about the room still pleased her. Micki’s eyes sparkled as they skimmed the white wicker bed headboard, chair, low table, and clothes hamper. A stroke of genius that, she thought smugly. Who would have thought, nine years ago, that wicker would become so popular, not to mention expensive.

  Humming softly she slipped out of her white denim slacks and pulled her blue-and-white striped shirt over her head. Her lacy bra and filmy bikini briefs followed her slacks and shirt into the hamper. She put on a terry robe, pulled the belt tight, scooped up a short, sheer nightie, and made for the bathroom for a quick shower.

  Micki was patting her five-foot-two frame dry when she heard her father and Regina come up the stairs and go into their room. Gritting her teeth, she mentally clamped a lid on the flash of remembered pain and resentment the soun
d of their bedroom door closing sent through her. Always that sound, by the very intimate connotations it conjured, had had the power to hurt her, make her feel cut off from her father, bereft. Now she pushed those feelings away. You’re a full-grown woman, she told herself sternly, with a full, rich life of your own. Go to bed, go to sleep, what’s done is done and can’t be changed. Forget it.

  Minutes after she’d returned to her room, there was a soft tap on her door. Thinking it was her father coming to wish her a second good night, Micki called, “Come in,” without hesitation, then wished she hadn’t when she saw it was Regina. Fearing a repeat of their earlier conversation, Micki tried to forestall the older woman.

  “Whatever it is, Regina”—Micki faked a huge yawn— “could it wait until morning? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  Regina bit her bottom lip nervously, hesitated, then drew a deep, courage-gathering breath.

  “Micki, I don’t want to upset you, please believe that, but”—she drew another, shorter breath before rushing on—”we must talk about Wolf.”

  “No!”

  The one word escaped through Micki’s lips like a muffled explosion and she flinched as if the other woman had actually struck her.

  “But you don’t understand.” Regina’s tone held a pleading note. “We must discuss this, he’s—”

  “Regina.” Micki’s voice was low, intense with warning. ‘This is still my room. I’m asking you to please leave it so I can go to bed.”

  “But Wolf—”

  “Regina.” Micki’s teeth were clenched in an effort to control her voice. “You asked me earlier if we can be friends. Well, I’m willing to try, but there is one condition. I cannot, will not, discuss that person. Not now, not ever.”

  “Oh, Micki,” Regina sighed. “You don’t understand.”

  “And I don’t want to,” Micki snapped. “Do you want me to leave this house in the morning? Find a motel room until I can get an apartment?”

  “No!” Regina exclaimed in alarm. “Of course not. Your father would—”

  “Well, then.” Micki didn’t wait to hear what her father would do. “The subject will remain closed and forgotten.

  “As long as Dad looks as well and happy as he does now, I’m content to meet you halfway toward friendship. I fully expect you to do the same. Do you get my meaning?”

  Regina’s eyes closed briefly in defeat and she nodded. Before staring directly into Micki’s eyes, she murmured, “But please don’t say I didn’t try.”

  Micki wondered over those parting words several minutes after Regina left the room. What in the world could she have meant? With a shrug of her shoulders she turned toward the bed, then stopped and became very still, the echo of that name searing through her mind.

  Wolf.

  Wolf—a predatory animal’s name that suited perfectly the predatory human male. A mental picture formed and, her face twisted with pain, Micki pushed it from her mind.

  Damn, damn, damn Regina, for saying that name out loud.

  Memories crowded in threatening to overwhelm her. Shaking herself like a wet dog, Micki moved jerkily to the bed. No, she would not allow the memories to gather, collect in her mind. Forcing herself to stand very still beside the bed, she breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out

  “I must call Cindy.”

  In. Out. In. Out.

  “I must go apartment hunting.”

  In. Out. In. Out.

  “I must run up to Atlantic City and check out the shop, introduce myself.”

  In. Out. In. Out.

  “I’ve controlled these emotions before, I will tonight.”

  Doing the breathing exercise, speaking softly, Micki felt the pain recede, the trembling leave her body. After what seemed a very long time she slipped between the cool smooth sheets, closed her eyes, and cried as if her heart were broken.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  The next morning Micki woke early, refreshed and ready to face a new day. Surprisingly, after her violent crying bout, she had slept deeply. The realization that she had once again won the battle against her memories added to the feeling of well-being her uninterrupted rest had instilled.

  Glancing at the bedside clock, she sat up quickly and slipped off the bed; if she hurried she could have breakfast with her father. She thrust her arms into her robe and left her room at a near run, dashed into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and brush her teeth, then hurried back along the hall and down the stairs.

  “Morning.” Micki breezed into the kitchen and planted a kiss on her father’s smooth, freshly shaved cheek before seating herself at the old-fashioned wooden table.

  “Morning, princess.”

  Micki’s perfect white teeth flashed in a grin of delight at her father’s use of the pet name. It had been years since he’d called her that, and she loved the sound of it.

  “I thought you’d sleep in this morning.” Bruce grinned back before adding, “What got you awake so early? Regina and I didn’t wake you, did we?”

  “No.” Micki shook her head emphatically. “I must have been slept out.” She smiled her thanks as Regina placed a glass of juice in front of her. “I’m used to getting up early, you know.”

  “All the more reason to sleep in when you get the chance,” Bruce replied placidly. “Regina’s scrambling eggs—would you like some?”

  “No, thank you.” Micki’s mild grimace drew a chuckle from her dad.

  “Kids!” The soft exclamation took the sting from his word. “Who can figure them out? You always loved eggs for breakfast until that last year you were in college.”

  Micki’s stomach seemed to turn over and for a moment she felt trapped while she raked her mind for a reply. Thankfully neither her father nor Regina noticed the way her face had paled, as their attention was occupied by Regina serving the eggs.

  “I guess I just got tired of them,” Micki finally managed weakly, eyeing the creamy yellow mound on the plates.

  “Just like that.” Bruce snapped his fingers. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Stop teasing, Bruce.” Unknowingly, Regina saved Micki from the effort of finding a more plausible excuse. “As youngsters mature, their tastes change.” As she sat down at the table, Regina offered Micki a tentative smile. “Don’t mind your father, Micki. He’s in a very good but devilish mood this morning, due, I’m sure, to your being home again.”

  The grin her father flashed at her confirmed Regina’s words. A slow, silent sigh fluttered through Micki’s lips as she returned Regina’s smile.

  “I can see”—Micki deliberately lowered her voice conspiratorially—”you and I are going to have to stick together to keep this feisty man in line.”

  Bruce’s head snapped up from his plate, his glance sharp between the two women. The spark of hope that had entered his eyes seemed to grow into wonderment as he studied first his daughter’s then his wife’s friendly expressions.

  Micki fully understood the almost breathless stillness that seemed to grip him. The two women had been opponents, at first silent and then very vocal, since the day Bruce married Regina. He had coaxed, cajoled, and even ordered Micki to make more of an effort at getting along with her stepmother. The only thing he’d achieved was to fill Micki with a deeper sense of resentment. She had made an attempt at friendship with Regina. At the very vulnerable age of eleven she had welcomed the idea of a mother. Regina, a younger, beautiful Regina, had quickly disabused her of that idea. Without actually saving the words, Regina had left little doubt in Micki’s young mind of exactly where she stood. If Micki wanted her father’s attention, she would have to fight for it. Micki had fought silently but bitterly, and until last night, she had thought it was a battle she could never win.

  Now the gentle smile Micki gave her father erased the doubt lingering around the edges of his expression. She saw him swallow with difficulty and the action brought a corresponding lump to her throat. Shifting her eyes, she caught the quick flutter of Regina’s lashes an
d the lump grew in size.

  “Princess,” Bruce murmured solemnly, “I wonder if you realize how happy I am to have you home.” The slight emphasis he placed on the word home told the full story.

  “And you can have no idea how happy it makes me to be home.” Micki let her own emphasis reflect his before she laughed a little shakily. “And if you don’t eat your breakfast, you are going to be late for work.”

  “Oh, but you see”—Bruce followed her lead in lightening the mood—”that’s the fun part of being the boss. I can breeze in and out of the office whenever I please.” He paused, a mock frown creasing his forehead. “The only thing is, as I have a very important client coming this morning, I damned well better please to get moving.”

  After her father had left for the office and Regina had refused her offer to help with the dishes, Micki went to the phone in the living room to call Cindy.

  “Hello.” Cindy’s bubbly voice sang across the wire after the fourth ring.

  “Hi, Cindy, how are you?”

  “Micki!” The exclamation was like a small explosion. “Where are you? Are you here in Ocean City? How are you? When did you get home? Are you home?” The questions followed each other in such rapid succession Micki laughingly shouted to get a word in.

  “Cindy, if you will take time to breathe, I’ll explain the wheres and whys.” The small silence that followed these words allowed Micki to continue briefly. “I am home, yes, and—”

  “Then don’t bother to go any further,” Cindy broke in. “Jump in your car and come to the house, I’m dying to see you.” She hesitated, then asked apologetically, “Or did you have other plans for this morning?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Micki laughed, “my only plans for today were to come and see you, if you had no other plans. Does that make any sense at all?”

  “Perfect sense,” Cindy declared happily. “So why are you still on the phone? Get truckin’, woman.” She hung up before Micki could even tell her she would.

  Still smiling, Micki went to the kitchen to tell Regina where she was going, adding she had no idea when she’d be back.