Dark Beach (7 page)

Jenny threw her fork in the air, and stood. “Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? We just got here. Please tell me you’re kidding!”

Ron moved towards her, trying to hug her, but she backed up.

“Oh no … you can’t do this to me. You can’t just
leave
. You haven’t taken a vacation in over a year. You gave them many months’ notice.” Anger welled up inside her. She could feel it in her chest, a rising wave. She wanted to punch him and scream, run out of the room, go anywhere but there, but instead she said, “You bastard.” Her words were a quiet punch.

“Jenny, don’t say that.” Ron’s voice was calm; he knew what she was capable of.

“Just go. Leave me here. You….” She turned away. “I can’t believe this. You couldn’t just say no, could you?”

“Jenny—”

“What?” she interrupted. “There is nothing more you could possibly say to me now. Go to your job. You go to them. And don’t come back here. I don’t want to see your face. I can’t even look at you.”

“I have no choice, Jenny. This is a real emergency.”

“What? What could it possibly be?” She paced now, throwing her arms in the air angrily.

“There was an accident, a fire. Systems are shutting down, people are dead, injured, I don’t know the details yet. I have to go assess the damage. I’m the one who designed the dry dock. A sub needs to go out.”

“An accident?” Jenny’s tone changed. “Where?”

“San Diego. I have to go. It’s a real problem.”

“Oh.” She sat back down, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? You let me go on, why?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m in shock—never seen this before, wasn’t expecting it. You have every right to be mad at me.”

Jenny reached up to him. “I’m not mad; short tempered, maybe.”

“I know. I feel bad. They’ve been paging me, calling me, emailing me. I slept in. My flight is in six hours. I have to pack.”

“We barely unpacked anyway. What about our trip?”

“They said I could pick up my vacation hours when everything is done.”

“How long will that take?” She sighed.

“It’s too early to tell at this point. I have to look at it first.”

“Oh. I feel terrible now.”

Ron kneeled and hugged her. “Don’t. Don’t feel bad, please. I feel bad enough leaving you.”

“And you won’t be in danger? I mean … I just don’t know, Ron. What’s going on here?”

“There may be some danger.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quickly. “They’ve got crews on call, and I’ll have plenty of help. Just you worry about you. Stay here and relax; you need it. Order in, go to the beach. The window guy will be by tomorrow morning. He’ll fix the door, too.”

I can do this
, Jenny reassured herself.

She was accustomed to being alone, what with all the travel Ron did. She had managed for years just fine; sometimes she didn’t even mind it.
There was an emergency—you’ll just have to deal with it
, she told herself as she helped Ron zip up his case.

Half an hour later, her husband, now wearing his casual beige business suit, was standing by the door and gazing at his wife and daughter with an expression simultaneously sad and nervous.

“You look good,” said Jenny.

Ron surveyed her, standing before him in comfy sweats and with tangled hair. She was on vacation, he supposed, or was something else wrong? He noticed that she looked slightly weary, as if she had aged in days. A vision of her lying helpless in his arms on the side of the road flashed before him. Suddenly, he didn’t want to leave her.

“Come here and hug me,” he said.

“Bye-bye, Dada,” said Kip, as she hugged his leg.

“I don’t want to go. I can’t leave you two here like this.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Jenny. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“Well, you’re not alone, I guess. Maybe you should look up Nana’s friend?”

“Maybe not,” she said, snuggling into him one last time. “Really, just go, before I start to cry or something. I don’t want you to miss your flight. If you lost your job, then what? I like this house.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He gave her a quick peck.

She snuck her hand around his neck, making the kiss last a few more seconds.

With a final wave, Ron closed the door to the little house on the beach.

***

“What happened here?”

“Um...” Jenny moved her arms behind her back.

“Did you have a break-in?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We did it to get in
. My husband did, I guess. You see, we lost the keys.”

“Oh, you could have called me. I’m a locksmith—on call for this sort of thing. Or I believe Molly Coggington has a set of keys for this place.” The man was old, ancient, with a slight tremor in his liver-spotted hands.

“John, we would have, but we just didn’t think of it, I guess. Or we just didn’t know really.”

“Did you find your keys, then?”

Jenny shook her head. Visiting Mrs. Coggington had not been on her to-do list.

“I can replace all of the locks and get you new keys. How many doors does this place have?”

“It’s my first time here. I don’t know. I can check.”

“Sure. I’ll start fixing her up.
It will all have to be replaced.” He rummaged around in a toolbox. Kip watched with fascination.

“Whatever you need to do, please. I’ll be back. Come on, Kip.”

Jenny didn’t care. She just wanted everything fixed and a way to lock up. Her first night spent alone, lying awake, terrified by every little noise, had been sleepless. She had given up and gone downstairs to watch television instead. The news revealed nothing about the accident, but then she didn’t know what to look for; Ron had given few details.

Avoiding the paint chips scattered around the house on all sides, she checked the patio door. It didn’t require a key. There was the garage and the front door, but the only other entry she found was a back basement door with a big padlock on it. She reported her findings to John, and they tracked around the back.

“I can open this up for you.” He lifted the heavy lock and let it go with a dull thud. This has its own keys, separate from everything else. Let me guess—you don’t have those either?” He ventured a smile.

Jenny put a hand on his frail shoulder. “You are very right.”

“Wait here.” He returned with a worn tanned-leather pouch. Unzipping it revealed a selection of elongated silver lock picks, each with a unique tip. A couple of seconds later, the lock clicked open.

He motioned for her and Kip to enter. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to go into town to get what I need, and then I can replace everything up front. You’re lucky it’s Monday; the glasscutter is in. He’s fixing up a hexagonal window. I had to call in a special rush order, hundred dollars extra.”

“That’s fine,” Jenny said, pushing the heavy door open. It barely moved, but she managed to get in after some force. “I’m sure if Ron had tried the same thing, he would have broken it somehow.” She laughed, picturing it.

She flicked on the light switch and a single bulb
illuminated a thick coating of dust.

“Kip, stay here,” she instructed, leaving her in the doorway. Aside from dust, the basement contained only a bunch of old stuff: an old wooden-framed TV in the corner, some rusty bicycles, piles of magazines. She picked one up:
Life
1964? They kept this. What the heck!”

Venturing further in, she inspected a metal storage unit. It held nothing but jars—jars and jars of peaches, and preserves of some other unfamiliar fruits. “Watermelon rinds?” She touched the jar. It was as if no one had been in there for decades. With little room to turn around, she tripped over an old red-leather chest with a frame
made of rugged cast metal. It was also locked.

“More locks? Where’s John when I need him?” She put her hands on her hips and kicked it.

Scanning for tools, Jenny noticed a rusty garden rake. She lifted it and used the metal end to hammer the lock. No luck. She pounded away incessantly.

“Piece of—” Sitting down on the chest, out of breath, she thought,
I better go and make my girl lunch before I get in this room any deeper.

The chest would have to wait.

“Sweetheart, are you hungry?”

Kip nodded. “Pancakes!” She grinned, the sea breeze pasting her curls all over her face.

“You had pancakes for breakfast. It’s lunchtime.” She led Kip out of the basement.

“Pancakes!”

“How about a cheese sandwich?”

“Cheese, um.”

“Good, aren’t they? I’ll make you one up.” Jenny carried her down to the kitchen and sat her on one of the tall stools facing the bench. Kip stood on it, leaning on the counter.

“Dada?”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. He had to go to work. He’s on a plane, in the sky to San Diego.” She pointed up.

“Dee-
A-Go?”

“Yes, that’s right, honey.”

“Dada. Dee-A-Go.”

The bread was buttered, the cheese added, and the sandwich already in Kip’s mouth when a knock came at the kitchen window.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

In the gap created by the missing front door stood a
tiny, snowy-haired old woman. She was bent over so far it seemed she could barely walk until she hobbled her way over. “Good day to you there,” she said in a strange singsong lilt. “I’m Mrs. Coggington.”

“Oh, yes! You’re a friend of Gerry’s?” Jenny welcomed her in.

“It’s been a few months since I’ve been here. I will tell you, though, that Gerry and I are very good friends, maybe best friends—if I were to have a best one. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me you were coming. Although, she’s been unwell lately, has Gerry.”

“I see,” said Jenny.

“And the door ... what happened? You’re getting a new one, and a new window? I’ve often thought this place could do with new windows. It’s a bit drafty in the winter. One time, I came over and someone had left a window open and it was just so cold, although it was winter, and it was raining as well, I suppose. I did have that new cardigan I knitted with me though, which made it sort of tolerable.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jenny watched as her visitor shrewdly examined every detail of the kitchen.

“As you’ve asked, I would like some juice—prune juice if you have any. I need my prune juice, but I prefer apple.”

“I have apple juice; I will get you some. Ice?” Jenny moved to the refrigerator.

“No, no … no ice. As I said earlier, I don’t like the cold.”

Picking out a small glass for the equally diminutive woman, Jenny wondered if she dared ask her a question.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Coggington accepted the glass and took a dainty sip. “I haven’t been out to the house for some time. I’ve been recovering from hip surgery, you see. Quite a painful ordeal. I could barely walk and I can barely walk now, but it is better. I used to sit all day and just work on my knitting, and sometimes I’d read too. Gerry used to come see me, and I would go see her.”

Jenny nodded as the woman watched her, waiting for some verbal recognition.

“And … what was I saying again? Oh yes ... well Gerry, you know… sometimes she’s there and sometimes she isn’t. I see her anyway. If she’s not there, I just read to her. She likes that.”

“Yes. I met her yesterday.”

Mrs. Coggington’s face lit up. “Oh, you did. How was she?”

“She was ... hmm.” Not wanting to answer truthfully, Jenny wiped a few drop of condensation from the apple juice bottle off the kitchen counter instead.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Coggington. “Yes. It hasn’t been good, has it? Last time I saw her she was mumbling about a whale.”

Jenny jerked to attention. “A whale?”

“Yes. She was going on and on about it. I don’t know what she was talking about. There was no whale in the story I was reading her. She eventually stopped, though.”

“Will you excuse me just a moment?” Not waiting for a reply, she escaped instead to the small bathroom across from the kitchen. She flipped on the light, turned on the water, and dowsed her face. Whatever was going on, it was getting slightly out of control. When she opened the door a crack and peeked out, the old woman was still sitting there, chatting to Kip, who had climbed up on a chair beside her.

“I need my pills,” Jenny muttered miserably.

* * *

Jenny tuned out, only vaguely listening to Mrs. Coggington and John chat until a whiff of that weird smell caught her attention again. It was Gerry, she thought—the smell of her lingering, even with fresh air flowing through.
How do I get rid of it?

She was used to the doggy smell that tainted her home back in Seattle all those miles away, and it wasn’t really a bother; a quick vacuum and that was better. Cat smell was always worse, but she didn’t like cats anyway. Human odors were different. Jenny watched the two of them and decided to politely interrupt. “John, how long before you are done?”