The Beach House Read Online Free

airport after lunch, they stood in a crowded hallway, off to a side away from the streaming beeline of passengers buzzing toward the baggage claim area.
    Jo laughed. “There they are.”
    Char and Andie appeared on the escalator, bringing up the tail end, gabbing like a couple of magpies oblivious to their surroundings.
    Without warning, Molly burst into tears.
    Oh, Lord!
Ninety minutes ago she had greeted Jo with laughter. Now tears?
    Jo swung an arm around her shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. “Aww, honey. I thought you always liked Char and Andie. I’m afraid it’s too late to ditch them. They’re waving at us now.”
    A sob won out over a giggle, and Molly dug into her skirt pocket for a tissue. Due to a recent onslaught of such unexpected crying jags, she always carried a bunch of them. One of the elderly ladies at church promised to get her some lace hankies. That was just what she wanted.
    Jo went on. “In all fairness to the girls, I don’t suppose you’re crying because you don’t want them here. Let’s blame the old standby.”
    She sniffed. “What’s that?”
    “You know. The female’s multipurpose solution for every baffling malady under the sun.” She raised her brows.
    Molly knew. It was what she suspected. “Hormones.”
    “Yours have malfunctioned.”
    She nodded and wiped her eyes. “They’re totally out of whack.”
    “Menopause is just around the corner, dear.”
    Her protest fizzled. Jo was an OB/GYN. She knew whereof she spoke. She probably knew plenty of fortyish women already experiencing menopause.
    If there was such a thing as a natural-born doctor, Jo was it. She had diagnosed and offered treatment her entire life. One early memory was of her caring for Molly’s skinned knee after a bicycle accident. It had been no simple slapping on of a Band-Aid. A thorough cleaning, ointment application, a lecture, and a follow-up visit were involved. They were nine years old at the time.
    Jo patted her arm now. “We’ll talk later about it. Check out those two. They haven’t changed much, have they? Char’s still cute and petite. You can tell by the look on her face that she’s never met a stranger. Andie’s still pretty. What is it about her that makes you feel all warm inside? She emanates freshness or something. Oh, Moll. How did we grow apart?”
    It was a rhetorical question. Molly blinked away the last of her tears and waved. What Jo said about Char and Andie was true. Their features expressed their personalities.
    Char was a sparkplug. Her hair, still short and blond, stuck out in every direction, evidently moussed that way on purpose. On most women the style would look downright frowzy. On her it looked good, as did the faddish outfit of floral capris and blouse. She was still in tune with fashion and displayed it well.
    Andie’s hair was less bright than in the past. Its old vivid red color had faded to a subdued copper, its wild style replaced with neatly curled layers falling just above her shoulders. Her brown pantsuit revealed slightly rounded angles, as if she had found the thirty pounds or so that Jo inadvertently lost. The bit of plumpness gave her a matronly appearance, which only augmented the sweetness of her smile.
    Carry-on bags and handbags thumped to the floor as they all squealed and took turns embracing one another.
    “How y’all doing?” Char drawled in her whispery voice.
    Andie giggled. “Oh, my! Isn’t this wonderful?” Her soft voice was pitched high like a little girl’s. “Where do we start?
    Jo pointed down the walkway. “Baggage claim. Then to the beach house!”
    They gathered their things and strolled through the airport, all chattering at once. Molly thought how easily they slipped into old roles. Jo led. Andie encouraged. Char sprinkled glitter. And she, Molly, followed half a step behind, the teammate ever alert to back up the others.
    The past rushed at her, and tears filled her throat again. The stale air closed in, a suffocating