Sweet Waters (9 page)
Authors: Julie Carobini
Josh laughs, a hearty, from-the-gut sound, and I marvel at how he's changed the room's temperature from bitter cold to balmy warm. When a family of harried-looking parents and two young kids bounce into the lobby, I move behind the front desk to check them in. Still new at this, I fumble around looking for their registration, and swiping their credit card, and trying to remember everything I need to tell them about the inn and Otter Bay. Of course, I might not be so antsy if I weren't straining to hear the conversation playing out between Josh, Nigel, and Peg. What I do know is that, occasionally, Josh glances at me and each time, a cool wave rolls over my ribs.
Mikey, who's been hanging back and watching me work, looks like he has a question on his mind. “So that was kind of you to fix up a couple of rooms like that,” I say to him. “Do you volunteer regularly?”
He shifts. “Yeah. A whole bunch of us from church try to do stuff like this. Josh does the most, though.”
“Really? I wonder how he finds the time.”
“Can't always. When he's staying at the firehouse he can't come, so most of us just wait around until he's back home.”
“Well, you sound like a great group of people.”
“Yeah. Hey, you could come to church. It's pretty awesome. You know where it is?”
Back behind River Lane
. . . I shake away the random thought. “Hm, no, I don't think I do.”
. . . I shake away the random thought. “Hm, no, I don't think I do.”
“It's over on Pines Way. You take Stone Creek to Willows, then you'll make the next left and you'll see it back behind River Lane.”
I look up. “What?”
He searches the counter, finds a pen and a brochure. “Here, let me write it down for you.” He doesn't see that my hands have begun to shake so much that I've clasped them behind my back.
How did I know his church was back behind River Lane?
My mind churns, trying to spit out the source of that memory, but all it comes up with is a jumble of meaningless words.
How did I know his church was back behind River Lane?
My mind churns, trying to spit out the source of that memory, but all it comes up with is a jumble of meaningless words.
“. . . so it's real easy once you get the hang of the turns up there near the ridge.” Mikey holds his notes out to me.
“Thanks. I'm not sure when I'll have the chance to stop in, but now I'll be able to find it.” I pause. Maybe I should tell him that I have a random memory of the address. Then again, I don't want him thinking I'm one of those people with mental powers, like Eliza seems to have at times. Instead I accept the brochure, and glance over to see that Josh has just given Peg a hug, and she is turning to leaveâbut not before assessing me one more time. Her mouth is a thin line, and yet her brows knit together, making her eyes look afraid.
Did I sound that intimidating?
I cringe. Someday I'd like to learn how to get my point across without drawing blood.
Did I sound that intimidating?
I cringe. Someday I'd like to learn how to get my point across without drawing blood.
Surprisingly, though, Nigel wears his same benign expression, and I'm beginning to wonder how and why he does that so well. I turn back to Mikey. “What's the name of your church, by the way?”
“Coastal Christian.”
Somehow, I knew he'd say that.
THAT NIGHT CAMILLE AND I take a walk along the boardwalk that snakes its way along the edge of the coast. While I keep gnawing on difficult-to-recall memories of us as a churchgoing family, Camille chatters on about the drama at the diner this morning. Peg's sudden reentry into the place had sent both crew and customers scattering, according to Camille, who stayed put to eat her pumpkin-bourbon muffin.
“You should've seen her, Tara. She was barking and banging pans and shouting out words like âmuesli!' and âbrie cheese!' Oh it was the funniest thing of my life. One guy came in the door, heard the racket, and turned right back around. But poor Holly kept on twisting her hands together and glancing at Jorge and then at me. I was glad to be there for her this morning.” She stops. “Look!”
My gaze searches the darkness for what she's found. “I don't see anything.”
“Two surfers out there in the dark. Can you believe they night surf?”
A month ago my mother was still in the United States, I was waiting for an elusive engagement ring, and traveling to California was still in my “someday” mental file. Now . . . I'd believe anything. I nod, and we continue walking along the wooden planks. “Someone invited me to church today,” I finally say, not sure why it seems this statement will create a pause along our walk.
“Really? What kind of church meets on Monday?”
I stop and look at Camille. “I mean that he invited me to come on Sunday. He would've invited you too of course, but he doesn't know you exist.”
“Gee, nice. So who is this âhe'? Is he the type of âhe' worthy of attending church for?” She giggles.
“Actually, he seems like a sweet kidâa teenager. He and Josh fixed some electrical problems at the inn today.”
“Okay, so now we're getting to it. You saw Josh today. Working at the inn? How convenient is this? Ha-ha . . . Tara's going to snag herself a hunky firefighter.”
“Stop it. Mikeyâthe kid who was working with Joshâhe's the one who invited me to the church. The weird thing is, even before he said it, I knew where it was located. I think we must've gone there as kids.”
“To church? I don't think so. Daddy was always so down on church people.” She laughs lightly. “Remember that time he complained so much about Anne's wedding being held in a church? He kept mumbling under his breath, and carrying on. I could just see Mom's bare shoulders blushing in that strapless bridesmaid gown. Ooh, she was so mad.”
“You were just a baby, Camille, but I remember running around on a blacktop with other kids, singing songs and eating snacks. A distinct memory popped into my mind today.”
Camille giggles again. “You mean like preschool?”
I pause. Maybe I am thinking of preschool? But why would there be so many women around wearing heels and skirts, and so many men in slacks? “No, I really think it was some kind of church. It's weird because I haven't thought about that in all these years, but when I learned that Josh and Mikey were members, the memory popped into my head.”
“You're not thinking of going, though.”
“Maybe somebody there would remember us . . . or it might spark another memory. I just think it might help us connect with Dad again, somehow.” I'm struck by how many things I never asked him, so many new questions now that we're back in our old hometown.
Camille groans. “Well, don't wake me when you leave.”
We make it to a lookout that juts over low, flat rocks where tide pools gather during daylight. Narrow lines of foam sparkle in the soft moonlight as the water recedes from the shore. Camille shows no interest in this conversation, so I move us in another direction. “Speaking of leaving, I think it's time we find a place of our own.”
As if doused in fresh sea spray, Camille comes alive. “I was thinking the same thing! No offense, Tara, but your snoring's driving me crazyâit's the saddest thing of my life.”
“Guess you'll be wanting to get a job so you can have your own room, then.” I refuse to let her get to me. Snoring. Right.
“I want to go back to school.”
I snap a look her way, wondering if she's serious. “Do you really? Because I'd let you slide on the job thing for awhile if you did.”
She sighs softly, like she's musing. So unlike her. “I'm serious. There's a junior college down the road that has a fashion-design program. I'd like to check it out, at least.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“A guy I met told me about it. Says it's where a lot of the surfers go 'cuz they have night classes.” She giggles then. “Not that they're all into fashion design. That's just one of the programs they have there. Anyway, surfers like it because night school doesn't mess up their wave action.”
Of course.
She continues. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I saw a cute place for rent today. After a lot of the surfers left, I was bored and went for a walk past the pines over there.” She points in the air, her finger enveloped by the darkening night. “Anyway, there's a pretty nice neighborhood, all except for a creepy house that's boarded up. Looks like a fire got it. Other than that, though, the houses are small but really, really cute. And one of them had a For Rent sign on it. It's blueâI knew you'd like that.”
I'm both surprised and gratified by how quickly she's taken to Otter Bay. I'd worried that maybe one of her friends would talk her into leaving me here and flying back home. I actually expected that to happen soon, yet now she talks of cute cottages and getting a degree in fashion design. More and more, it seems, we're finding our place here.
“Let's run by tomorrow and take a look. Sound good?”
I can hear the smile in her tone. “Yeahâwait. What time . . . ? I'm meeting Shane at 9.”
“Shane? Who's he . . . and isn't that a little early for a date?”
She turns to me, a thick curly lock over one eye, and even in the dark I see the twist of a smile on her face. “Not when he's giving me my first surfing lesson.”
Chapter Nine
The din at the Red Abalone Grill has taken on a sour note. It wasn't so much a sound, though, but a sense that the funky vibe we'd come to expect over the past week has been chased away and replaced with a surliness that makes me want to try out the Coffee Cart up in the village. True, word is they only serve coffee and rolls of questionable freshness over there, but at least they provide a stress-free dining experience.
Camille leans across the table, her eyes imploring mine. “Check out the battle-ax at three o'clock,” she hisses.
Peg plunks a plate in front of a woman, the porcelain making a harsh rattle upon landing. The solitary diner flinchesânot exactly the stance a paying customer should take when served.
What happens next, however, makes my stomach roil. I want to turn away, but my eyes stay fixed on Peg as she grabs Holly by the cap-sleeve and begins to gesture at Camille and me. Let's just say she doesn't appear pleased.
Camille plops back against her seat. “What'd we ever do to her?”
I stare at the scene, answering Camille without looking at her. “I'm not sure, but it probably has something to do with me.”
“You?”
I glance at Camille. “I barked at her yesterday, over at the inn.”
Camille presses both palms to the table and leans in again. “Ta-ra. No. Holly and I were just beginning to be friends. She was going to teach me more crochet tricks! You better make up with her.”
Guilt finds me as I watch the desperation in Camille's eyes. I've every right to defend myself, considering how ornery Peg behaved toward Nigel, but this is not the point. Friendships are everything to Camille, and apparently I'm responsible for the growing wedge between her and her newest one.
Speaking of friends, Holly appears, her skin flushed. She fills our water glasses, her eyes cloudy and downcast. “Sorry, ladies, but no special requests today. I know how much you like your peanut-butter smoothie, Tara. We do have a regular ol' vanilla milk shake that you can try.” She peeps over one shoulder. “I might be able to sneak a scoop of peanut butter in that.”
I shake my head. “Forget it. Your aunt's pretty upset today . . . about something.”
“Yeah, she's in a snit all right. Barking at the cook and at me. Says she took her pain pills, but I'm not buyin' it. Somethin's got to change around here or there won't be any customers or staff left!”
I shut my eyes and draw in a breath, then slide out of the booth, intent on making this right. No matter how much it hurts. I ease up to Peg, ignoring how she stiffens. “Excuse me, Peg? I think I owe you an apology.”
That fear I noticed yesterday flashes in the old woman's eyes again, but she holds her mouth in that constant frown.
I continue. “I'm sorry for asking you to leave the inn yesterday.”
Even though you were horrible to my boss.
“And I hope we can start over.”
Even though you were horrible to my boss.
“And I hope we can start over.”
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