Summer's Child. Diane Chamberlain

the front door was almost certainly Rory Taylor. She knew what he looked like; everyone did. He was carrying a beach chair, and she grimaced as he headed toward the beach. Damn. She’d been hoping he would get in his car and drive out of the cul-de-sac so that she could follow him. She’d pictured him driving to the nearest grocery store, where she could “accidentally” bump into him in one of the aisles. But things were not going her way. Nevertheless, she’d prepared for this possibility as well. She wasn’t supposed to be in the sun, but what did a rash or a sunburn matter at this point? Grabbing the beach blanket from the back seat, she got out of her car.

      Rory had just finished the first chapter of the paperback he was reading, when a woman spread her blanket on the sand near his chair. He tried to keep his attention on his book, but he couldn’t help staring at her, and he hoped his dark glasses would prevent her from noticing. The woman was very attractive, tall and slender, with light brown hair that reflected the sunlight. Her one-piece, high-necked navy blue bathing suit made her shoulders look sexy. She was very pale, though, as if she hadn’t spent much time on the beach so far this summer. She lay facedown on her blanket, took off her sunglasses and closed her eyes.

      She’s going to burn to a crisp, he thought.

      It was a weekday, and the beach was strewn with sunbathers, but not really crowded. He could see Zack sitting close to the water, sharing a blanket with a few other kids his age. Zack already had the sort of tan it took most people a summer to acquire, and his hair was several shades lighter than it had been when they’d first arrived. Had Rory tanned that quickly, looked that good when he was Zack’s age? If he had, he’d never known it.

      He returned his attention to his book and was in the middle of chapter three when the woman lying near him suddenly let out a yelp and jumped up from her blanket.

      Startled, Rory looked up at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      The woman laughed, her cheeks coloring. “I think something bit me,” she said, brushing her hand over her arm. “Probably just a horsefly.” She had deep bangs that framed her face and accentuated her chiseled features, and she was older than he had first guessed. Late thirties, or maybe even early forties.

      “Oh, yeah, there are a few of them around,” he said, although to be honest, he hadn’t seen any yet this summer.

      The woman suddenly stood perfectly still, staring at him, and he knew that he’d been recognized.

      “You’re Rory Taylor!” she said.

      “Guilty.” He rested his book facedown in the sand, glad to have an entrée to talk with her. “And you’re…?”

      “Grace Martin,” she said. She sat down again, brushing her hand over the invisible bite on her arm as she smiled at him. She had one of those wide, straight smiles that was impossible to observe without smiling back.

      “I live down in Rodanthe,” she said, lifting her sunglasses from the blanket and slipping them on. “I was visiting a friend up here in Kill Devil Hills, and the day was so beautiful that I decided to relax on the beach awhile before heading back.” Her hands were still shaking from her run-in with the fly, and even her voice sounded a bit tremulous, but the flush remaining in her cheeks made her look very pretty. Her sunglasses were see-through blue, and he could still make out her brown eyes behind them. There was something needy about her, and he felt an unexpected desire to comfort her by taking one of those pale hands in his own.

      “What’s the beach like in Rodanthe?” he asked, although he didn’t particularly care about the answer. He just wanted to keep her talking.

      “Oh, about the same as this. Not as many people, though.”

      “Must be nice,” he said.

      “So, why are you here?” she asked. “We don’t usually get movie stars in the Outer Banks.”

      He laughed. “I’ve never been in a movie,” he said. People made that mistake all the time. “But to answer your question, my family has had a cottage here ever since I was a kid, right behind us on that cul-de-sac.” He pointed behind him. “I haven’t been back to it in a long time, but recently I’ve been thinking about an incident that happened here many years ago that might make a good episode on the show I produce.”

      “True Life Stories,” she said.

      “Right.”

      “What is the incident?” She cocked her head, and he wondered if she was coquettish or merely curious.

      “Well, a long time ago, a newborn baby was found on this beach,” he said, “right about where we’re sitting. A little closer down to the water.” Right where Zack was sitting, actually, he realized.

      Grace leaned forward, eyes wide behind the glasses. “You’re kidding?” she said. “How long ago?”

      It was genuine curiosity, he thought now, and it was gratifying. He’d wondered if the story would capture the interest of the general public. “Over twenty years ago,” he said. “I was fourteen the summer it happened. My neighbor, a little girl who lived across the street from our cottage, found the baby early one morning.”

      “Who’d left it there?” Grace asked.

      “No one knew,” he said. “They never found out. So I thought, even after all this time, it would be interesting to try to find out who that might have been. Who did it, what prompted her to do it, how has she lived with herself since then. That sort of thing. And I thought that her answers might lend some insight into the reasons for the rash of abandoned newborns we’re seeing these days.”

      “It must have been terrible for the little girl who found the baby,” Grace said.

      “Oh, I don’t know. She was a pretty tough little kid,” he said. And a tough grown-up as well. “Her name is Daria, and she was considered a hero. There were articles in all the papers about her. Were you living in the Outer Banks at that time? Maybe you remember reading about it?”

      “I was living in Charlottesville twenty years ago,” she said. She looked perplexed. “Why was the girl considered a hero if the baby died?” she asked.

      “Oh, the baby didn’t die,” he said. “That’s the exciting part of the story. She—the baby was a girl—would have certainly died if Daria hadn’t found her, but she survived, and Daria’s family adopted her. She suffered some mild brain damage, but she’s beautiful and—” he searched for a word “—charming.”

      Grace looked astonished, and he knew the story was even more captivating than he had thought.

      “So…where is…I guess the baby would be a young woman by now…” Grace seemed to have trouble putting her thoughts into words. “Where does she live?” she asked finally.

      Rory turned and pointed behind them at the Sea Shanty. From where they sat, only the white widow’s walk was visible above the sea oats. “Right there,” he said. “She and Daria live together in that cottage.”

      “Right there,” Grace repeated. She stared at the widow’s walk as if lost in a daydream.

      Rory spotted Zack walking toward him across the beach. “Here comes my son,” he said with some pride, and Grace slipped out of her daydream to turn toward the boy.

      “Hey, Dad,” Zack said as he neared him. “Can I have some money?”

      Rory should have guessed Zack was not coming over to him for some father-son conversation.

      “Zack, this is Grace,” he said. “Grace, meet my son.”

      “Hi, Zack,” Grace said.

      “Hi,” Zack said without really looking at her. He was waiting for Rory to answer his request.

      “I don’t have any money on me,” Rory said. “My wallet’s in the cottage if you want to help yourself to a five.”

      “A five? Don’t want to leave you broke or anything,