"A lively story of four friends in San Diego"
Reviewed by Clare O'Beara
Posted July 20, 2014
Women's Fiction Contemporary
Four friends - Ned, a single guy, his sister Emily, and
girls Jax and Sage - have kept in touch for twenty years.
Emily has kids now, Jax lives with her controlling
grandmother in San Diego, Sage is a businesswoman in LA and
Ned is a pretty responsible uncle when called upon at
times. CIRCLE IN THE SAND puts this circle of friends
together for a weekend break. Emily's been working too
hard and her husband agrees to take over and let her have a
few days away with her old pals.
Once the four relax, over drinks and barbecued food, their
troubles come out; Sage's boss has a husband who's been
making advances to her, for instance. Jax has had a recent
breakup and her spare room is currently occupied by a pair
of surfer dude students. Ned would really like to have a
nice girlfriend, but he says, "I can think of worse places
to be than in the friend zone of these ladies."
After the weekend their lives crowd back with family time,
stress, declining older relatives and the odd shock to the
system. We see how they cope and don't cope. One lady is
trying to wean herself off the sedatives she takes to deal
with normal life; another has a boss with a Blackberry who
ignores weekend time. Past memories of teen parties, or
school days, with the tight little group come as
flashbacks. Emily advises new parents: "You'll want to give
your little darlings the cutest outfits, the coolest toys.
Save your money. They'll have more fun with the box the
toy came in." Jax also has money issues to concern her,
but it's her grandmother's money, not her own. Ned is
nervous because after a clue he found that weekend, he
thinks one of the ladies may be pregnant and not telling
anyone. Can their friendships survive the stresses?
This lively modern lifestyle story has romantic aspects and
will appeal to people who like reading depth of
characterisation. The tensions are emotional; the quick
switching between characters for each new chapter can be
hard to keep up with as we piece together the story. I'd
previously read 'Emma Vs The Tech Guy' by this author Lia
Fairchild and noticed some common themes, with the story
settled comfortably in its location and some characters
stuck in grooves that they need to leave in order to grow.
CIRCLE IN THE SAND is another engaging outing for Lia
Fairchild.
SUMMARY
Four Friends. Four Different Paths. One Unwavering
Friendship.
Four life-long friends bound by two decades of laughter,
love, promises, and secrets. Once inseparable, the four grow
into independent adults pursuing very different paths.
Sage, raised by career-driven parents, follows a carefully
laid out future of success that leaves her wondering what
she's missed out on.
Emily, the college drop-out, now has three children that
have become her whole life. She's slowly lost herself,
subconsciously seeking dangerous ways to cope. Can she find
herself in time?
Jax always lived on the edge, skating through life with no
apparent ambition, yet remained the energy and emotional
cement of the group. She longs for her friends to accept her
without trying to fix her.
Ned, Emily's twin brother, yearns to stand up and be
counted. But his old loyalties and new feelings for one of
the girls has him pulled in different directions.
Will the ties that held them together as kids be strong
enough for them as adults? These four friends will discover
the true meaning of friendship and unveil truths about
themselves they never knew existed.
ExcerptCHAPTER 1 - NED An ornate purple butterfly, peeking out of a pair of low-slung jeans, catches
my attention. It’s inked on the lower back of a sexy redhead in front of us in
line. Pete slaps me in the gut, as if I hadn’t noticed the tattoo flashing at
me like a neon sign. Yet I found a way to glance at it and not lock in like a
deer in headlights. “Knock it off,” I whisper to Pete and then check to see if
my niece, Sophie, spots him staring. All three of us are in line at the post
office. “You’re lucky I have something to look at now that you dragged me here,” Pete
says. “And why again can’t your sister buy her own stamps?” His annoyance with me is annoying me. “How about next time your car’s in the
shop you get your own ride home from work?” Pete snaps back. “How about when you’re doing me a favor, you don’t do anyone
else a favor that inconveniences me while I’m getting my favor?” I can’t help but laugh at Pete staying true to form. I’ve learned to make
allowances when I visit him in his world; the one that revolves completely
around him. Only because he’s been a true friend when I needed one. “Hey, be nice to my Uncle Ned,” Sophie says as she yanks on Pete’s shirt. “Quit it, kid,” Pete says. Then his gaze scans the length of the room. “Look,
there’s a stamp machine over there. Just go use that.” “Can’t.” I hand him the paperback book I’m holding. “I have to mail this too.
Hold it while I fill out the envelope.” He turns the book over in his hand, examines the worn cover, flips through the
bloated, wrinkled pages. “To Kill a Mockingbird? This is what you need to
mail?” “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” I begin addressing the envelope on the narrow
counter top that runs the length of the line when I feel him behind me, head
looking over my shoulder. “Why are you sending this piece a crap book to Sage? Is this some new seduction
method you got going on?” “No,” I say and continue writing furiously as if the line were actually moving. “Then what’s the deal? Because if I’m remembering right, last time you tried to
hook up with her you ended up in that oh so familiar place called…the friend
zone.” “What’s a friend zone?” Sophie says. I stop writing, glare over to the two open windows and note the same two people
standing there from when we entered this chain gang. A young, stalky guy
wearing a still-wet bathing suit stands at one window and an ancient-looking
man in a business suit and flip-flops at the other. Only in Ocean Beach. Then I
run my hand across Sophie’s soft blond hair. “Pete’s just playing around.” I turn to Pete with a plaster-tight grin. “Sage and I are friends. Just
friends. It’s not even my book. I’m sending it as a fav…” I shake my head,
return my attention to writing the envelope. “The girls share this book. They
take turns reading it.” The girls, meaning my girls: Emily, Sage, and Jax. The
three constants in my life for the last twenty years. They’ve helped shape who
I am. Life with them can make the lava-drenched plains of Mordor, look like a
stroll at the beach. But I wouldn’t change a thing. “And then they get errand boy to mail it to the next chick? Sisterhood of the
travelling book.” “Something like that.” He opens to a random spot. “What’s all this writing?” Before I can answer, he
reads from some black handwritten notes in the margin. Sage’s notes. “Atticus
melting my heart. The ideal father. What is this shi… I mean stuff?” I don’t explain to him that each girl has their own color: Sage writes in
black, Emily in blue, and Jax in red. He wouldn’t understand their relationship
or mine with them. This is just one of the ways they try to stay connected with
each other. “Who cares? Just give me the book.” I take it from his hands and
place it in the envelope. Like a distractible puppy, Pete shrugs it off and
returns to his tattoo viewing. Sophie follows his line of sight right to the
woman’s exposed back. Her arm raises; her finger extends. “Pretty, I want one.” Just before her finger makes contact, I intercept her little wrist and turn her
to me. “Hands to yourself, shrimp.” “But I want one of those…just like Auntie Jax.” I’m sure Emily would cringe at hearing that. Not because her little girl wants
to be like Jax—a generous, kind-hearted, free spirit who’s often a pain in my
ass. It’s because Sophie seems drawn to the side of Jax that is impulsive and
unpredictable, not to mention tattoo-laden. This has given my twin sister some
serious parenting challenges lately. I kneel down so I’m eye level with her. “I’ve seen you paint a prettier
butterfly than that,” I say quietly to her. She shrugs and folds her arms, trying to appear older than her seven years. But
then she says, “I have to pee.” “Yeah, me too,” Pete says. Then he tears his eyes from the butterfly, glances
toward the front and says, “This freakin’ line isn’t moving either.” I shoot him a “you idiot” expression, my patience running razor thin. “I told
you two to go before we left the house,” I say trying to smile. “I don’t want
to lose my place in line.” “But I can’t wait, Uncle Ned.” “Here, make yourself useful.” I hand everything to Pete including money and a
stern order not to screw it up while I take Sophie to the Starbucks next door.
As I open the door, Pete shouts. “But I have to pee too.” Tattoo girl turns for
the first time but, surprisingly, gives Pete a suggestive nod. As I stand outside the women’s restroom waiting for Sophie, I think about Sage.
But not because I’m lusting after her. I just miss seeing her gorgeous smile.
It’s been a few months since her last visit. Then I think of all three girls
and the solid friendship they built over the years. A friendship that seems to
have molded itself into an impenetrable circle, with me nestled contently in
the middle. Growing up surrounded by women—these three women—was both a blessing and a
curse. There’s something sort of strange, yet magical, about watching girls
grow into women. Seeing it first-hand gave me a unique perspective on the
opposite sex. Over the years I’ve served as a friend, a brother, a boyfriend,
and a punching bag at one time or another. I guess I could say that things
could have been worse. I didn’t have to stick around as much as I did. But they
were a shitload more interesting than my neighbor, Louis, and his collection of
fossils. Hanging out with the girls taught me about a much more fascinating
species. CHAPTER 2 - JAX I sit on a brick wall just after sunrise, knowing the odds are against me. I
watch the waves twenty yards in front of me—rolling, crashing, spraying, and
bringing me solitude. This is where I need to be this morning. I shake the hair
from my eyes and let the breeze blow it back. Some days, you can lick your lips
and taste a hint of salt; today is one of them. The air is crisp, enticing
goose bumps on my exposed arms, awakening my senses, and reminding me why I
call this place home. I look far beyond the whitewash hoping for a sign. The same sign I’ve searched
for on so many other occasions. I need to see the smooth, dark-gray back
folding over in the ocean as it releases a massive spray of water. That’s my
sign. It’s tells me everything is going to be okay. I have a better chance
after sundown, but I need to see this now, before my appointment. Some sort of
encouragement would be nice when I’m feeling so alone in this. Yes, I’m used to
going it alone, but this time is different. With my hands pressed down and grinding against the brick, I hang my head for a
moment. Close my eyes and think. I go over the last few months and wonder about
some of the decisions I’ve made. I know it seems as if I don’t care what people
think, but this one is big. I have no problem admitting that I screwed up. I
can say that; I’m not a hypocrite. I say a silent prayer in my head, but as I
often do, I cannot stay focused on what I’m praying for. That’s because as of
late I don’t know what I want. I begin to sing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” by
Poison, the first song my dad taught me on the guitar when I was only eight
years old. Those are my favorite memories of him, when it felt as if I had a
real dad. My voice comes out soft, almost a whisper, and I can hear the music
in my head. I tell myself that by the time I get to the chorus, I’ll glance up
and find what I need to see. The familiar smell of eggs and onion from my favorite taco shop on the corner
float under my nose, carried by the ocean breeze. I haven’t eaten and now I’m
distracted. An egg burrito from Juan’s could be my sign, I try to convince
myself. But it’s no use. I hear the mechanical sound of something rolling
toward me, so I stop singing. But I don’t open my eyes. I just wait for it to
pass. “Hey, sexy,” I hear behind me. The voice doesn’t match the words, so I’m curious. The thought of sustenance
fades as I pop my head up, shift my body on the wall to face the sidewalk. A
boy on a scooter, probably mid-teens, stares at me as he rolls slowly by. “Hey!” I yell, stopping him in his tracks. My voice is sharp and deep, and for
a second, he is frightened by it, but then I smile and see his fear melt into
relief. I know I have this power over people—to make them fear me or love me.
“C’mere, man.” His skin is light brown and reminds me of a warm cup of coffee that could whisk
my chill way. Braids flutter on each side of his head like some crazy Red
Riding Hood as he rolls toward me. His white T-shirt looks like an undershirt,
with a gold cross on a chain hanging between the V-neck. His dark blue jeans
hang low on his waist. I don’t comment on the blue-and-white checkered boxers
that border the top. Worst fashion trend since headbands. “What’s up, sexy?” he says and then smiles wide. His teeth are gorgeous,
straight and white. It’s an effort not to be taken in. “What do you think you’re doing calling a strange woman sexy?” I’m copying
Emily’s tone when she speaks to her kids, though I don’t particularly mind his
comment. I want to see what his response is. He shrugs as he rolls closer and appears surprised to be getting a lecture from
someone like me. I’m often told I look much younger than my twenty-eight years.
I’m only five-two and my light skin and chubby cheeks don’t help. “And why
aren’t you in school?” I can tell this kid has a story. “I got suspended. What’s your name so I won’t have to call you sexy?” I’m betting this type of charm works on girls his age, but still, I indulge
him. I’m enjoying this distraction. “It’s Jax. What’s yours?” “Dante.” Then he tilts his head a click to the side. “Hey, I know you.” He lets
his scooter fall to the ground and, in one leap, hops up on the wall, staring
down at me. “I saw you with your grandma when I was visiting my great aunt,
Lydia.” I recognize instantly he’s talking about Rose and Oak Grove, and I’m sure I’ve
even spoken to Lydia before. My new connection with Rose has me there more, but
not to volunteer. “That’s not my grandma,” is all I say. “I heard you reading that boring ass book to them old ladies.” He turns away
and takes a few steps along the wall as if it’s a balance beam. “That boring ass book is Pride and Prejudice—a classic.” “Yeah, well I’m against prejudice,” he says in a serious tone. Then he squints
over his shoulder and shoots me a grin. “So why’d you get suspended?” I ask, finding myself liking this kid’s style for
some reason. I have no idea what time it is, so I should leave soon. But I
still need my sign, and I want to find out more about Dante. This is what I
live for—the opportunity to meet an interesting soul. It’s the reason we’re on
this earth: to love, learn, and experience. One of the most worthwhile ways to
do that is through human interaction. “We were in English class, and I turned to my friend Eugene and said, “Whoa,
dat ass!” I hold back a smile and say, “So they’re pretty strict about language at your
school, huh?” I went to private school and less than that would have gotten you
suspended. That’s why I spent half of eighth grade at home watching Days of Our
Lives. “No it wasn’t the language, it was dat ass.” “What?” “Dat ass belonged to my English teacher.” Dante spun on the wall, up on one toe
like a ballerina. He was clearly proud of his performance, here and in the
classroom.
I laugh, but contain myself quickly. I know I shouldn’t encourage the kid. I
went through my own time of disrespect and challenging of authority, but this
is his journey. I can hear in his voice; he will learn. “So shouldn’t you be at
home then?” “My mom sent me to the store. Shit, I better go before she beats my ass.” “Well it was nice meeting you, Dante.” I shield my eyes with one hand and reach
up to him with the other. He’s not paying attention to me and is now facing the
water. “Damn! Did you see that, Jax?” He points out to the sea, and I swivel back that
way. My gaze follows his arm, my eyes scramble around until they make a
connection. There it is. A solitary whale, bobbing in and out of the water,
blasting a beautiful spray of ocean in the air. I fill my lungs with refreshing
sea air, then let it all whoosh out freely. “Thank you, Dante.” ??? I sit in the waiting room staring at my phone. I should leave Sage a message,
in case I’m late. I’d driven twenty miles out of the way to get to this place,
to make sure I didn’t run into anyone I know. So I’ll be cutting it close to
get home on time. But I hate to lie so I decide otherwise and turn my phone
off. It’s not only that I hate to lie; often I’m simply incapable of it. I
don’t tell someone their new haircut looks nice if it’s crap. I don’t say I’m
fine with something if I’m not. If you know me, you understand you’re going to
get it straight. I might throw out a warning of, “You don’t want to hear my
opinion.” That’s when you get lucky. I search through my giant purse for something to do to keep my mind occupied.
It’s cluttered, but contains most anything I’d need in a variety of situations.
I’m nothing if not prepared. Watching CNN as the other three in the room are
doing is not an option. I couldn’t care less about political bullshit. The
bracelet I made for Sage’s grandmother, Rose, is still in the plastic bag in
the side pocket and catches my eye. She loved it, but it was too big so now I
have to adjust it. I should have remembered her wrist was smaller than mine,
withered away from age and illness. I wonder if I’ll see Dante the next time
I’m there. He seems sweet under all that swag. Plus, he found my sign, which
makes me want him as a friend. I snatch my book out and begin reading. I leave the bookmark in place because
the girls will notice if I don’t read where I left off. I really don’t mind.
Pride and Prejudice is my comfort read. After a few minutes a nurse steps
through the door. “Jacqueline?” she says. The four of us eye her and then each other, but no one gets up. I turn my
attention back to my book, but I’m soon distracted by a pair of hideous white
shoes that have appeared next to my chair. “Ms. Kensington?” “Yes,” I say, looking up. Her expression is fake happy. Like she’s annoyed she
had to seek me out. “Jacqueline Kensington?” That name is stuffed so far down my subconscious; I rarely recognize it or
respond to it. “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t answer.” I jam the book in my purse and
stand. “It’s Jax.” After we’re behind closed doors and she’s measuring my height, she says, “Is
your name really Jacqueline Onassis Kensington?” “Unfortunately, yes.” My grandmother’s obsession became my legacy. After my
mother got knocked up at seventeen, my controlling grandmother promised to take
care of us, pay for my private school, and let us live with her in Ocean Beach. “I think it’s beautiful. She was beautiful,” she says as she jots something
down and then points to the scale. “Yes, but I’m nothing like her.” And I spent my life trying to convince my
grandmother, and everyone else, of that. I step on the scale. I don’t register my weight or ask her what she wrote, as
I’m sure Sage and Emily would do. I’m an average girl and that’s fine with me.
Sage is masterfully thin and literally works her ass off to be that way.
Emily’s weight fluctuates between dangerously thin and big as a house because
it seems she is always preparing to get pregnant, is pregnant, or has recently
delivered. We finish with the preliminaries, and she directs me to a room. It’s cold and
feels hollow. Even the posters on the wall are clinical instead of sappy or
inspirational, similar to some offices I’ve been in. My every movement echoes
the sound of crumpled paper and makes me cringe. I hate being here, but I have
no choice. As I sit and wait, I think about life. I think about how one night
can change everything. Your destiny. Your identity. Then I think of my whale
and how it surfaced just at the right time. Everything’s going to be all right.
But when I glance down, I wonder why my hands are shaking.
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