Dark Beach (9 page)

“So tell me a story about Gerry.” Jenny joined them at the table.

“I didn’t know her. I only saw her in passing, in town,” John said quickly.

Molly took her cue.
“What kind of story do you want? I have many.”

“Anything. Something interesting. What was she like ... before?”

“She was quiet, kept to herself most of them time. She liked the beach, and she loved seashells—had quite the collection.”

“I’ve seen them, throughout the house,” Jenny said. “They’re all so beautiful—all colors, even some shark teeth. I didn’t know those washed up on the shore. I wonder where she got them?”

“No idea,” said Molly, gripping her wineglass to still the permanent shaking of her hands.

“They wash up on the shore all the time. You just have to look for them,” said John. He took a sip of wine. “I don’t collect them myself, but many do.”

“She was quiet,” Molly repeated.

“Oh, I know you’ve got more than that.” Molly was holding out on her, Jenny knew it. “What’s with the fisherman saying up front?”

Molly shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on! There’s got to be something more there.”

Molly glared at her and raised her eyebrows at John, as if she didn’t want to say in front of him. “I think someone gave that to her. I’m not sure.”

“I see,” said Jenny, relishing the secret female understanding that passed between them—an understanding that was universal, no matter the age or background
, whenever women were in the presence of men. “Did you know her when Ron lived here as a boy?”

“Yes, I did. But we were not close back then. I knew her from our reading group. We met once a month to discuss the latest book. Gerry didn’t say much in the group either. Most of the woman thought she had a bit of an air about her—the way she carried herself. She was always neat as a pin, not a hair out of place.”

“She’s in a home now?” John asked.

“Yes. But, the poor soul, I don’t think she really knows where she is most of the time
. Every once in a while I’ll talk to her and she’ll answer as if nothing were wrong, as if the illness had not touched her at all, but that is a rare occasion, that one. Some grow old gracefully, and some don’t. I almost envy her sometimes. She doesn’t know what’s going on. I, on the other hand, feel this...” She put down the wineglass and showed John her cramped, arthritic hand.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” John patted Molly’s bony shoulder.

She looked right at him. “Yes, it’s much better with company, isn’t it?”

“God, yes,” said Jenny. “Everything is better with company. Come on, you two, dinner is ready.”

* * *

They
chatted late into the night, mostly about comforting, generic topics, until John thanked Jenny for dinner and excused himself.

“Before you go, I wanted to ask if I could borrow one of your lock picks? I have a box I need to get into,” Jenny said as she saw him to the door.

“Sure.” He opened the leather pouch and gestured to a pick. “This one is good for most locks. It shouldn’t be a bother. Just jimmy it until it pops loose. Call me if you need any help.”

“I think I can handle it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Thanks for the wonderful meal.”

As soon as she shut the door behind him, Jenny turned straight back to Molly. “Now, come on tell me.” She gestured toward the plaque on the wall. “The fisherman?” She was dying to know.
“Let’s get comfortable,” she suggested, helping the elderly lady into the living room and maneuvering her toward the sofa. “Do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, I’m fine. I just took a painkiller. Everything will be rosy in a jiffy. You know, I don’t think I have been up this late in years. I love it, but I’m feeling it.”

“I’m up late every night. Insomnia,” Jenny explained.

“Ah yes! I’ve had that occasionally over the years. It comes and goes, like the seasons. You must be in a bother about something.”

“Many somethings, actually—too many for me to think about. I just lie there with my eyes closed and random thoughts plague me until I pass out from exhaustion. By then I’ve usually tossed for hours.” She shrugged. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Can’t you take something?”

Jenny immediately rubbed her belly. “No, I can’t. I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, congratulations, my dear.” Wrinkles spread across Molly’s face as she smiled.

“Thank you.” Jenny suddenly felt a rush of pleasure.

“It’s such a joyous
time. I loved those days.” The old lady’s tone grew wistful. “Really, you must let me baby-sit Kip for you. I miss being around little ones. They say it keeps you young. Are you feeling well?” Mrs. Coggington peered down at Jenny’s stomach. “You’re still very thin.”

“I’m feeling better about it now that the nausea has passed. It’s a bit hard though, taking care of Kip sometimes, especially when I’m not feeling well.”

“Yes, that part is not so fun.”

“
No. It’s not.”

“Leave Kip with me for a day,” Molly offered, patting Jenny’s hand. “Give you a chance to get out and explore the town and the beach a bit.” She went silent for a moment, as if thinking, and then glanced at Jenny from the crinkled corner of her eyes and said conspiratorially, “Now, you want
to know about the fisherman? I’m not supposed to say.”

“You can tell me. That little plaque on the wall, the pictures up in the hex room of a man who’s not her husband—I know something is up. Who is he?”

“She has pictures?”

“Just one
. A photo of a man on a commercial fishing boat—smiling away. But there are more of her on the same boat; it’s called the
Retty
.”

“The
Retty
.” Molly chuckled. “Gerry must have put that those up afterward. I can’t go all the way up there now, even if I wish I could. My hips are such a bother. Well, she never saw him in
that
way while her husband was alive, I can tell you. They did talk, though. She’d meet him every so often for lunch in secret, on his boat, but just as friends.”

Jenny frowned. “You sure?”

“Oh dear, yes. Gerry was very loyal. She would never have broken her vows in any way. But she loved her fisherman, nonetheless.”

“What was his name?”

“Barney.”

“Barney?”

“Yes. He was a character. I only met him a few times. Quite a lively fellow—the complete opposite of her husband, who was quiet like her. She told me one time that her husband seemed to have lost his passion once they sold the ranch. He came to the coast for Gerry—his sacrifice so they could stay together. He loved her more than anything in this world, make no mistake. Gerry was quite devastated when he passed, but there was also Barney. I have never loved two men at once, but I suppose it’s possible for some women.”

“Me neither.” Jenny’s thoughts immediately flew to Ron. “I’ve only ever loved Ron. He’s been there for me through it all
—the good and the bad—and he accepts me the way I am.”

“He sounds like a catch.” Molly smiled. “I had a good one too. I loved Michael from the time I turned sixteen—still love him, to this very day. Been sixteen years now since he passed, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him.” She took a rose embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and twisted it in her hands. “I still visit his grave every week, though it just about kills me to walk that path. His ashes were scattered along the beach, so I go and see him there, too. I can’t help it. I feel close to him there. It’s as if I could look down the shore and see him standing there, just off in the distance.”

“The beach—it’s alive, roaring,” said Jenny. “I love it.”

“It is indeed. Even in the rain.
It’s dark, our dark beach.”

They both
smiled.

“I’ll take it. I love clouds.
” Jenny said, gazing out at the dark dunes.

* * *

Sleep escaped her. Jenny battled away, tossing on the bed, and then decided to get up and go and open the chest.

She checked in on Kip, who was sound asleep. Then she pulled on a heavy red-hooded sweater and slipped out the back patio door.
It was dark, and freezing wind sluiced the rain against the windows. Jenny shivered. The basement wasn’t that much more comforting, illuminated only by the dangling bulb and the thin moonlight.

“Okay, it’s just us now,” Jenny told the chest, looking at the pick. “And I’m crazy.” She hoped whatever was inside would be worth the trouble.

It was.

The lid creaked open to reveal
a delicate, seashell-beaded jewelry box. Inside were strands of pearls and earrings to match, a diamond ring, a ruby ring, and some odd turquoise and silver southwestern-style rings that were heavily tarnished.

“My, my!” Jenny slipped the ruby ring on and held it up. It was tight on her finger and it glinted in the light. She tugged at it. Stuck.
Damn,
she thought.
Oh well, apparently no one has missed it for years.

There were some old tapes as well, a pile of doilies—all in shades of blue—and beneath them, a pile of worn spiral notebooks.

Flipping one open, she read:
March 2nd. Today has been quite boring. The weather ... should I say more? Maybe I will go for a walk, get some fresh air. The stew is on and the house smells good, so good I almost can’t think from the smell. Still, sometimes I just want to leave this place.

“Hmm, odd.” Jenny flipped through more pages of disorganized writing. The
owner’s name was not contained in any of them.

Skipping to the very last page, she continued:
... there was no one when I got there. I couldn’t help but wait. I was all alone, and I didn’t mind. I couldn’t have cared less in that moment. Nothing matters to me anymore.

Jenny sat in silence for a moment, wondering. Then, she picked up the journals and the little jewelry box, turned, shut the door after her, and carried the journals back into the house.
When she finally feel asleep she dreamed of nothing.

FOUR

“I don’t know why I’m here
; it’s ridiculous,” Jenny whispered to herself.

“What’s that?” asked Kip.

“It’s a supply shop. Come with me.” She unbuckled Kip.

Kurt’s Tackle place looked new, not how she had imagined. It was very clean and very white. She pushed open the glass door. Inside, it was a fisherman’s dream. Every pole, net, and fishing item possible packed the three narrow aisles, cramming the register into the back left-hand corner.
Kip eyed it all with delight.

“Come in, come in. Don’t be shy,” came Kurt’s
gruff voice. “How may I help you today? Need a pole, some line, lures, a life ring?”

Jenny squeezed down the ais
le, all the way to the counter with Kip close behind.

“Or you could sign up for some salmon fishing
,” he said. “I have a tour going out in a few hours. There are a couple of spots open.”

Did he not recognize her?
Her initial bewilderment was turning into a feeling that she should turn around and get the hell out of there. “I think, well … uh … do you have any tape?” she mumbled, grabbing Kip’s hand to stop her pulling at a display of tackle boxes.

“Tape?” Kurt
smiled. “I’m teasing you. I knew you would come.”

Now she most definitely wanted to leave. Instead, she stood as stoic and poker-faced as possible.

“Know how I knew you’d come?”

Jenny shook her head and her sleek ponytail whipped to and fro.

Lowering his voice, Kurt said, “Because you’re looking for something.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You have that look women get.”

“What look?”

“... When they need more.”

“More of what?”

Kurt smiled.

“I have to go.” She turned. “Come on, Kip.”

“Wait!”

She shook her head. “No. No thanks. I have to get home.”

“Come out with me tomorrow—on my boat, at noon. Meet me here. I’ll make you lunch.”

“No
…no thanks.” As she left, tugging a curious Kip along after her, she heard him yell that he’d be waiting for her.

* * *

Ron reached up and wiped a trail of sweat and soot from his face. His red-rimmed eyes took in the destroyed dry dock. Even after many hours of cleaning up, it still looked a disaster. And they were still unsuccessful at opening the doors—the damage was too great. He climbed down into dry dock two and snuck through to dry dock one using an old access tunnel.

“Carl? Carl!” he called.

Carl was busy yelling at some kid welder who was standing up on the grey destroyer and looking down over the railing.