Authors: Lisa Jackson

Beach Season (25 page)

BOOK: Beach Season

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CAROLINA SUMMER

R
OSALIND
N
OONAN

“I have this theory
that if one person can go out of their way
to show compassion
then it will start a chain reaction.”

—Rachel Scott

In memory of Rachel Scott,
who started a chain reaction
of love and compassion.
We never met, but you’ve touched my heart.

C
HAPTER
1

Standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, Jane Doyle quietly said her good-byes to the city below—the grid of streets, the park, the rooftops, cars, and tiny pedestrians—as she scooped cereal into her mouth. Not so long ago she would have eaten her breakfast out on the little balcony beyond the kitchen, but not anymore. These days, she tried to stay out of sight, behind doors and tinted glass.

At this time of the morning, with the sun a golden glow over the green patch of Madison Square Park, Manhattan seemed more like a gentle giant than the beast that could make or break a person with a single blow.

One deal ... one appointment on your calendar, and the whole world could turn upside down.

She swiped at a drop of milk on her chin and turned away from the window. It was time to go.

Heading south.

Everybody tries to get out of town for the summer,
she told herself. Her customers were looking at cottages on the Cape and mansions in the Hamptons. Come Labor Day, business would pick up again here in Manhattan.
Until then, think of yourself as one of the lucky ones who gets to escape this concrete oven.

She rinsed her bowl and took a swig of milk right from the container before pouring the rest down the drain. She wouldn’t be back for more than a month. She’d already tossed the other perishables from the fridge and packed her favorite casual clothes into a duffel bag and a backpack. If someone came nosing around, they’d find the two large suitcases and rule out a long trip. At least, that was the general idea.

“Ms. Doyle, can I help you with that?” Alvin Garcia cocked his head toward the green canvas duffel.

“I’m good, thanks, Al.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your briefcase and business attire. You look like you’re going hiking. Or camping, is it?”

She nodded ... the vague nonanswer. “Up north,” she lied. “I’m meeting some friends.”

“Good for you. I wish I was getting away this weekend. They say the mercury is going to hit ninety.”

“Really? Well, I’ll be glad to cool off ... in the river,” she added, hoping that sounded like something a camper would say. The closest she’d come to nature in the past few years was sitting on a blanket for a concert in Central Park, and she hadn’t been smitten with the feel of clotted dirt under her palms. She’d come to accept that she was a “city slicker,” just like her brother TJ called her. Didn’t bother her in the least, though he hated it when she called him a surfer dude. “It’s windsurfing that I do,” he always said. “There’s a difference.”

Jane smiled at the thought of her brother as the doorman helped her into a cab. She’d see TJ soon enough.

“Have a good trip, Ms. Doyle.” Alvin patted the yellow roof of the cab and she was on her way.

Forty minutes later she made it to the front of the line at the small rental car office. Unfortunately, they were short on vehicles.

“I don’t have an economy car for you,” remarked the young man behind the rental car counter. He was as squat as a football tackle, though his hair was as coifed and gelled as a Madison Avenue model. “Everyone wants to get out of town this weekend. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s freakin’ hot, man!” called the guy lined up behind Jane.

The good news: They would honor Jane’s reservation and upgrade her to a small SUV. A Jeep.

Jane signed and initialed the contract, then wrapped her fingers around the keys, liking the pressure of metal and plastic in her hand.

Escape was easier than she’d expected.

For the next half hour, she was so caught up in inching her way through traffic and trying to squeeze her way through the Holland Tunnel that she didn’t have time to think about the fact that she was leaving the city she’d called home for the past ten years. Soon enough, she was cruising on the Jersey Turnpike, the Manhattan skyline a gray cluster receding to her left.

I’ll be back,
she thought, settling into the seat as miles began to separate her from her troubles.

The navigation system directed her to take Interstate 95 straight through to Florida, and when traffic stayed at an even pace, the miles clicked off quickly. In two hours, she was leaving Jersey for Delaware, then suddenly she was in Maryland and it was afternoon—a safe time to call TJ, who was an itinerant night owl unless he was chasing the tide.

She pulled on her headset and made the call. “Hey, guess where I am? Maryland already.”

“Sounds like you’re making good time. And I haven’t even finished cleaning the boards out of the guest room.”

“You’d better get cracking, bro. I’m not sleeping with your windsurfing equipment.”

“You always were a picky one. Where are you planning to stop?”

“I don’t know.” She raked her dark hair back, glad to be so far on her way. “I’m thinking of driving through the night. The thought of some fleabag hotel along the way doesn’t have a lot of appeal right now.”

“No, no, no way, sis. That’s too long a drive for one shot. Stop in Virginia.”

“I’m almost there, and I’m too wired to stop.”

“You have to stop. You’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”

“If I feel sleepy, I can pull over and sleep in the car.”

“Right. I can see the headlines. ‘Twenty-eight-year-old hottie found parked on the side of the expressway.’ A pitch-black night in the swamps of Georgia. What is wrong with this picture?”

Jane groaned as she slowed to let a car merge ahead of her. She hated when her brother was right. “Fine. I’ll look for a hotel when I get tired.”

“Wait! I’ve got a better idea. Stop in North Carolina and stay with my buddy Axel. He runs a little motel in Buxton. That’s right near the water. I’ll get him to hook you up with a room for the night. It’s a detour, but you’ll love it. It’ll get you off the interstate and driving through the Outer Banks, smack between the ocean and bay. You’ll love it.”

The fight went out of her when he mentioned driving near the water. It would beat the monotony of the long stretches of hills and trees she’d been passing.

“Okay.” He told her to program her navigation system for Buxton, North Carolina. “I’ll call Axel and let him know you’re on your way. Let me call him now.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Drive safe,” TJ said before disconnecting.

That was TJ, always looking out for her. He’d always been a caring, sometimes bossy big brother, but his role had expanded when they’d lost their parents young. Jane had been a sophomore in high school, Thomas James a senior, when their parents’ car had slid on an icy road and hit a tree. With no other relatives living in the Buffalo area, their great-aunt Minnie had moved into the old house on Sycamore. An aging Broadway actress, Minnie had brought more drama to their lives than the high school prom, and though they enjoyed her, TJ and Jane knew that, from that point on, they would have to parent each other.

“Why don’t you come stay with me?” Minnie had said last week when Jane had called her to say she’d be leaving New York City for the summer. “It gets lonely, knocking around in this big old house.”

“You’ve got the studio to run,” Jane had pointed out, not wanting to mention that a summer with Aunt Minnie was not what she had in mind for a vacation. Besides, she would feel safe with TJ, even if Florida was not the best place to be in June. “And I haven’t seen TJ’s new condo in West Palm.”

“I heard he has an ocean view,” Aunt Minnie had said. “That’s hard to compete with,” she admitted. “All I can promise is Lydia Lehman’s tush when she’s bending over her primroses.”

They had shared a good laugh over that, but now, with the air conditioner blowing and the compass on South, Jane was glad about her decision to visit her brother in Florida. She felt like she was heading forward, not back.

Somewhere in Virginia, the navigational system steered her off I-95, and Jane was surprised to see pockets of traffic that slowed cars to a standstill in what seemed like rural areas. At last, she made it to Virginia Beach and the first signs of the sea, a choppy blue bay beyond the string of bridges and tunnels.

Even with the windows rolled up she could smell the salt in the air, and she smiled as she imagined her car rimming down the coast of Virginia on the map.

There was something calming about the sea. Living on the shores of Lake Erie, she had grown up testing the moods of the water. Even in a storm, the cresting swells and spray reminded her of the perpetual motion of the earth. Gotta move forward, TJ always said. She understood that, though she’d never faced anything in her life that had made her stop dead in her tracks.

Until this summer.

The scenic route got even more interesting as the expressway turned into a highway and she began to see old-fashioned signs along the way for hammocks and diners, crabs and Christmas shops, roadside markets and surf shops. TRY MY NUTS! was a brand that advertised every few miles, making her smile. The farmland gave way to water on both sides, and suddenly she was crossing the bridge to the land of summer. Sunlight streamed around the opaque clouds, casting a sparkle on water and sand. Small boats coursed through the inlet and wave runners looped playfully as seabirds floated overhead.

Maybe summer in Florida won’t be so bad,
she thought. She would have a chance to spend a block of time with her brother, right on the beach.

In Kitty Hawk, she stopped for gas. The gas cap in the Jeep was tight, and it hurt her hand to turn it. Then there was the smell of gasoline on her hands ... so alien to her pampered life in the city. She restrained herself from wiping her hands on her flouncy skirt and went inside to use the restroom. After so many hours in the car, she felt as if she were moving underwater, all in slow motion.

When she was done, she went outside and bought a Diet Coke, pretzels, and a map that would show the Outer Banks. She’d worked with clients who had vacationed in the barrier islands that fringed the Carolina coast, but she’d never been here herself.

“You lost?” asked the woman behind the counter. She had weather-worn skin and wore square turquoise glasses that brought out the silver in her short, curly hair.

“I’m just wondering how far it is to Buxton,” Jane asked, propping her sunglasses on her head.

“It’s just down the road. Fifty miles, I’d say. Take you an hour and a half, but it’s a straight shot.” She reached over the counter to point the way on the map. “You see here? You’re in Kitty Hawk now. You’ll stay on the main highway all the way. Through Kill Devil Hills and Nags Head. After that the road gets real narrow and you’ll hit a few more little towns. I think Avon is the last one before Buxton.”

Jane thanked the woman, paid for her purchases, and stepped out into the balmy air. The sun had been dancing in and out, and the thick humidity hinted of rain, but the cars and travelers around her hinted of laid-back summer with kids in swimsuits, trucks towing boats, and minivans packed to the windows with coolers, duffel bags, and Styrofoam boards.

The smile on her face didn’t fade as she climbed into the Jeep. Vacation time.

As she drove south, the highway did winnow down to two lanes and the towns got smaller. Rodanthe seemed like not much more than a gas station and pizza place surrounded by huge cottages lining the ocean to her left and the bay to her right.

The town gave way to marshland that took her to Salvo, and then more grasses blowing in the warm wind for miles and miles. The eerie darkness of an afternoon storm settled in as she reached the outskirts of Avon. The splattering rain took her by surprise, and she slowed as her fingers fished to find the rental car’s wipers.

The fast-thrashing wipers barely cleared away the downpour, but Jane slowed her speed and eased ahead, focusing on the red taillights in front of her. When the lights glowed bright, she pressed the brake, gripping the wheel tightly as the Jeep pulled to a stop.

Long-term driving did drain your energy, she thought, feeling the weariness.

The blast that rocked her car came out of nowhere. The wrenching jolt came with a
boom
that smacked the air around her.

A bomb? A gunshot?

A gasp escaped her lungs as she closed her eyes and braced herself against the steering wheel as the car slid beyond her control.

Adrenaline thrummed in her blood, her heartbeat a thundering noise.
Escape. Get away. Now!

They had come for her.

She took a desperate breath, hoping it wouldn’t be her last.

BOOK: Beach Season

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