“So how’d you end up in Malibu?”
“That is a long, long story.” She tapped the newspaper, looked away. “Would you mind if I break off a tiny bit of your bagel? I haven’t eaten all day—watching the carbs, but I am kinda droopy.”
“Take all of it.”
“No, no, just a nibble.”
“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“No,” she said. “I just watch. Because— I mean, how long do you have what you have?”
She broke off a crumb, chewed, swallowed, took a bigger bite, ended up finishing half of the bagel.
“Kids napping?” I said.
“Yup. Finally—it’s hell getting them tired enough to nap. That’s why we were down on the beach. What a day— So anyway, I figured why not use the time to look after little old me?”
“Makes sense,” I said. “I want to be honest with you, Cheryl. Your brother-in-law told me who owns the property.”
“My brother-in-law?”
“Kent Irving. He said he was Baxter’s and Sage’s uncle, which would make him your brother-in-law, right? He gave me his card with Duke Enterprises on it. I didn’t realize I was on famous ground.”
She frowned. “He’s not their uncle. He just likes to say that because it’s . . . simpler to explain.”
“What do you mean?”
“His wife—Anita—she’s actually their sister—Baxter’s and Sage’s. Their half sister. Not their aunt. That makes her my stepdaughter, so I guess Kent’s my stepson-in-law.” She giggled. “Pretty weird, huh?”
“It is a little complicated.”
“She’s a lot older than me and I’m her mom— Don’t laugh, okay? If I start laughing this coffee’s gonna go right up my nose.” Tipping down the sunglasses, she flashed green-blue innocence. “It is complicated. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m in the middle of it.”
“Hey,” I said. “Blended families. Happens all the time.”
“I guess.”
“So Kent’s their brother-in-law,” I said. “And he works for … He is your husband, right? You’re married to the famous Tony Duke.”
“Not anymore.” She looked into one of the shopping bags. Pulled out a red string bikini and held it up. “What do you think?”
“The little I can see is nice.”
“Oh, you,” she said. “Men—they just can’t visualize.”
“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “I’m visualizing. . . . The little I can see is terrific.”
She laughed and dropped the swimsuit back in the bag. “Men think naked is the best, but let me tell you, a little bit of cloth’s a whole lot sexier.” Her hand lowered toward her coffee cup, digressed, and brushed against my knuckles.
“So you’re the ex-Mrs. Duke.”
She slapped my wrist, lightly. “Don’t say it like that. I hate that.”
“Being an ex?”
“Being any kind of Mrs. I’m twenty-five years old—just think of me as Cheryl, okay? Or even Sylvana. Mrs. is like someone old.” She breathed deeply, and her breasts budged reluctantly.
“Cheryl it is.” I finished my coffee, went in for a refill, and bought another bagel. “Here you go—more nutrition.”
“No way,” she said, showing me a palm. “A few bites of that and I’ll bloat up and have to be rolled home.” But after another sip of coffee, she began taking tiny chipmunk nibbles, and within moments she’d gnawed off the top of the bagel.
“Look,” she said, “I shouldn’t even be talking about this—Anita, Kent, Tony. We’ve been divorced for a year, if you need to know. But, what the hey, no one can tell me what to do, right?”
“Right.”
“The thing about Tony is, I still feel close to him. He’s really a great person, not at all what you’d think.”
“What would I think?” I said.
“You know, the whole sex thing. The dirty old man stuff. I really did— do love him. Just in a different way, now. He’s—” Shaking her head. “I really shouldn’t be talking about this.”
I ran a finger across my lips. “Don’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying, I’m blabbing. The thing is, it’s totally my life, right? Why should I be always listening to people telling me what to do?”
“Who tells you what to do? Anita and Kent?”
She picked up the crossword puzzle, squinted at the grid, blinked. “These letters are tiny, I probably need a new contact lens prescription. . . . You know, I think that pony clue might be ‘cayuse.’ That’s got a y, and I think I remember some Indian word like that from Arizona— Cayuse ponies, whatever. Take a look—what do you think?”