Walking on Sea Glass

by Julie Carobini

  Missy, the owner of the shop, unlocked the door to let her in. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Gingerly, Liddy sat in the chair and pulled off her head covering, a little purple turban-like number one of her aunts had found at the hat store over by the harbor.

  Missy gasped. “Well, okay then.”

  “I call it Frankenstein chic,” Liddy said. She peered into the mirror, aghast all over again at the unevenness of it all. One side of her head hung with limp, unshorn hair, and the other? Not so much.

  Her stylist frowned. “I wonder why they didn’t just shave your whole head.”

  “Well, they tried. Two orderlies came in, one to shave my hair off and the other to catch it, I’m guessing.” She smiled at her attempt at humor, although it ached to do so. “They were so shocked when I swatted one guy’s hand away and told them only to shave off one section. They argued with me, but I told them, hey, I have a hairdresser all ready to perform a miracle, so do as I say!”

  “And they did!”

  “Honestly, when I woke up with my head wrapped, I didn’t care anymore. I was just so happy to be alive at that point.”

  “Yeah.” Missy was quiet for a moment, then took a breath. “So bleach and curls maybe?”

  “Definitely. Do it.”

  For the next hour and half, Liddy tried to stay awake as Missy fussed over the one section of her hair that had been left intact. At times it hurt to keep herself upright.

  “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah, just tired.”

  “Hope this isn’t too much for you. Can I get you something?”

  She shrugged. “Not unless it’s a bed.”

  Missy sighed. “Sorry. I’ll try to get you out of here as soon as possible. Did you not get a lot of sleep in the hospital either?”

  Liddy laughed a little then. “True story: On my last night, they made an old Russian woman my roommate and her screaming kept me awake. I begged them to find her another room, but the hospital was full. So halfway through the night, I was pretty delirious and wrote a cranky note to my doctor and slid it under the door to his office.”

  Missy chuckled.

  “And then I disappeared for a while.”

  Missy stopped working. “You what? Where’d you go?”

  “I wandered around, first falling asleep in the nurses’ lounge—a nurse chased me out of there—”

  “Wait. A nurse told you to leave?” Missy grunted out her disgust. “Didn’t she at least ask you where you belonged?”

  “No. It was weird. So I kept walking and found the sleep lab.”

  She scoffed. “You did not.”

  “Did. And I fell asleep there. When I emerged, I learned there had been some kind of all-out, panicked search for me.”

  Missy spun her around and looked her in the face. “You must’ve been scared out of your mind.”

  Liddy flicked her chin up. “Not really. I was rested and happy, but the floor doctor—actually, he was a resident—kept apologizing over and over. Then they found me a new room and gave me a cupcake. It was hilarious.”

  Missy shut her eyes and shook her head. “You are the weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”

  By the time she left the salon, the left side of Liddy’s face was framed with loose blonde curls. She wore her hat cocked to the right side, and the curls spilling out the other … like some kind of fashion statement.

  Unfortunately, fatigue overtook her for days and few people, except some sweet visitors from church staff, her co-worker Trace—chattering away with hotel gossip—and, of course, Meg, saw her new ’do.

  “You have the nicest friends,” her mother said one day while changing the water for a burst of flowers that had been delivered days earlier. “By the way, Meg called. She wanted to know if you would like to visit your church for a midweek service.”

  Liddy sat up in bed and reached for the compact mirror on her nightstand. She inhaled deeply, then snapped it open and allowed herself a look at her face. Her gaze avoided her hairline and instead zeroed in on her right eye where a yellowed bruise had settled sometime after surgery. Thankfully that little treasure had now gone, but she still looked so tired. She could tell by the less-than-robust color to her skin and the droop in her eyes. Still, the thought of getting out of the apartment, even for a short while, appealed to her.

  “You know,” her mom said, taking a seat on the bed, “I’d be happy to drive you to church and leave a day later.”

  Liddy shook her head. Her mother had missed work and seeing her father long enough. It was time Liddy eased herself into some kind of normalcy on her own. “Mom, thanks, but I think I’m strong enough now to get back into life. I appreciate everything you and Dad have done for me.”

  Meg showed up a few days later with enough energy for the both of them. “Let’s go praise God or something.”

  “I’m not even going to ask what the ‘or something’ could be.”

  “Okay so my halo’s a little tarnished these days. If this church thing works for you, I’m all for it.” Meg glanced around Liddy’s living room. “Dang, look at those gorgeous flowers. I don’t suppose those are from the hotel?”

  “The church.”

  “Nice. Let’s get going already.”

  Liddy’s nerve endings convulsed as she walked into the church service on this busy Wednesday night. So much to take in—bright lights, well-wishers, children weaving through the halls. Her heartbeat picked up the pace as she attempted to take it all in after weeks away.

  And just about the time she longed to find a seat, a steady hand cupped her elbow. She turned to find Beau watching her, his smile almost shy, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “You look good,” he said, still holding her arm at its bend. He didn’t wince at her hat nor the fact that she wore cottony clothes so comfortable they could moonlight as pajamas. “I had hoped to see you here soon.”

  “Th-thanks.” So it wasn’t poetry? He had rendered her speechless. Or maybe it was the meds. She let her eyes swoop over his expression of genuine concern. Nope, it was all him.

  Meg, however, had no such problem. She reached out her hand to him. “Meg Whitson. And you are?” The sudden lilt in her friend’s voice was unmistakable.

  Beau politely shook Meg’s hand and introduced himself, but before she could comment further he turned to Liddy and hugged her gently. “No doubt you’ll be running down the beach again soon.” He paused, his gaze piercingly intense. “Maybe I could join you.”

  When he had gone, Meg eyed her. “I can see why you like this place.”

  Liddy laughed. “Shut up.” She wouldn’t admit it to Meg, but in the last few minutes her walk had gained a bit of a lift.

  * * *

  More than once during the service, Beau let his gaze wander over to where Liddy and her friend huddled at the end of one aisle. She looked fragile yet not sickly, like she had triumphed over her diagnosis but still could use plenty of rest. He was glad to see her; to know that she had not only survived the ordeal of brain surgery, but was, quite obviously, gaining back her strength. A tinge of regret traveled through him—and not only because he had missed the past few minutes of the pastor’s sermon.

  He hadn’t visited Liddy in the hospital, even though the idea had crossed his thoughts more than once. The thoughts, when they occurred, were usually hunted down and destroyed by dark musings. She would never know how much her call to him in her time of crisis had meant, but other than that, they had only spoken to each other a few times …

  Would she think me impulsive?

  Prying?

  A stalker?

  In the end, Beau chose to observe Liddy from afar. He had asked about her condition, and upon hearing that all seemed to have gone well, he waited (sometimes impatiently) for her to wander back into church. And now that she had, he couldn’t decide what to do about it.

  As it turned out, he wouldn’t get the chance to do anything at all. When the service had finished, he intended to grab h
is coat and perhaps say goodbye to Liddy and her friend out in the parking lot. But first he had to avoid, once again, one of the women who had been systematically chosen for him by the elders who ran this church.

  They meant well …

  Beth strode toward him, her smile wide, and her focus on him uncomfortably pointed. He swallowed back his own knee-jerk criticism and tried not to allow his gaze to sprint too quickly toward the exit. He wanted to avoid the woman—not insult her.

  “Beau,” she sang out.

  He said hello, painfully aware that his light skin was unavoidably turning a shade of pink.

  “I hear you and I are supposed to be getting married.”

  He let Beth’s words sink in. The impish quirk of a smile on her face gave her away and he laughed into the rafters.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not into you either.” She paused. “No offense.”

  He wagged his head, the laughter lingering. “None taken.” If only everyone he met could be this forthcoming.

  “Seriously, Beau. I hope you’re having some real laughs these days. Life bit you in the rear for a long time.”

  “Doing my best.”

  She nodded once and socked him on his upper arm. “Good to hear it.” Before she left, she leaned in. “Beware, though. I think they’ve formed a committee to find you a woman. Ha ha ha.”

  Out in the parking lot, Beau slid into his car, buckled up, and sat in silence. Maybe Beth had done him a favor. He felt inexplicably drawn to Liddy so much that, if he were asked, he would not have been able to recount much of tonight’s service. But another question continued to daunt him, one he had not allowed too much of a voice yet, but it nagged at him anyway.

  Namely, did he want to find himself in a relationship with someone who had so recently fought off a serious illness? Wasn’t that too much to ask?

  Maybe those who had counseled him—without any prodding from him—had been right. He should play it safe. Date a variety of women. Avoid commitment for now.

  Still, he cringed at the idea that a committee could be created for the sole purpose of finding him said women. Of course, Beth had been kidding about that (right?). He’d loved well before, and even he admitted to himself that a gaping hole now existed in his chest.

  He groaned, the sound of it reverberating through his car. If he were to utter that romance-novel notion to anyone—Taylor included—he would never hear the end of it.

  Chapter 7

  Funny how attractive solitude sounded after many days of being hassled by highly energetic folks on vacation. That was the thought that occupied Liddy’s mind on this too-quiet morning. Sometimes on those harried work days at the hotel she craved alone time more than her morning coffee. But isolation? Not so much. Especially now during her leave of absence from work. Each day she perked up when, through her second-story window, she spotted the mail carrier weaving through the complex and stopping at the set of grey metal boxes that held the mail. Had he always been so cute? So tall? And where had that swagger come from?

  Had it really come to this? Stalking the mailman?

  Plus there was the issue of ongoing fatigue, the kind that brought with it mysterious plunges with alarming irregularity. The more she sat alone in her apartment debating whether she had the energy to, well, to get dressed and gobble a snack, the more tired she became. Or maybe she had just settled into some kind of blasé lifestyle feted by sleeping in and all-you-can-eat leftovers. The church folk had no doubt been conspiring to make her fat.

  “Come on, Liddy,” she admonished herself. “Pull yourself together. You’re twenty-five—not ninety-five!”

  With a sigh and a not-too-feminine grunt, she made up her mind to pull on a pair of yoga pants and take a soothing walk along the beach. It was only across the street—surely she could handle that on her own.

  The breath of air and stillness of the sun met her on the way down the stairs, along the winding path out of the complex, and toward the beach. When her toes plunged deep into the sand, comfort blanketed her, overwhelming her with its warmth. She rolled her head in a loop, releasing tension from her neck, grateful for the swoosh of rolling waves that provided the music to her walk. She should have done this days ago, her body and mind both needing to move away from the four walls of her recovery. But a trickle of something that felt an awful lot like fear had stopped her cold each time she had considered venturing out. Liddy, her father always said, was as independent as they came, always able to pick herself up after setback, and with little to no help from anyone else.

  But things were different this time around. She had been pushed beyond the posted danger signs and had stepped closer to the perilous edge than even she felt comfortable with. It had scared her, in a way, and caused her to over think every step forward since.

  She drew in air and took a tentative step toward the slow lapping of water onto shore, allowing her body to relax as she expelled her breath. As she made her way slowly toward the water’s edge, she noticed a man about her age, creating the most luxurious sandcastle she had ever seen. The multiple turrets, the moat—even a drawbridge—every part of it made out of sand and stunning, really.

  “She’s beautiful,” Liddy told the man.

  He acknowledged her with a nod, continuing to sculpt the fairytale, his long, graceful fingers shaping a window at the top of one of the towers.

  “Aren’t you concerned that the tide will be rolling in soon?” she asked.

  He turned his eyes upward, shading them with one hand. “Her beauty is fleeting, but her memory will draw me to create again.”

  She smiled. “Aw, that’s a sweet sentiment.”

  He returned her smile. “Amazing what can happen when you sit out here and let your mind go unfettered, like that tide you are so fond of.”

  Liddy slid her gaze out to the ocean where in the distance a paddle-boarder lofted along silky layers of sea. She returned her attention to the shirtless sculptor on the sand, his long blond hair tangled in wispy threads. “I guess you’re right. Walking the shoreline can do that, too, I think.”

  “When I’m out here, nothing else matters. There are no worries. No causes for concern.” As if to prove his point, he lifted a frosted sliver of glass and skipped it out to sea.

  “Don’t do that!” Liddy lunged for the treasure, scooping it from wet sand seconds before it would have been carried away by the tide. She rubbed the piece of white sea glass with her thumb and brought it back to the man. “Here,” she said, tossing it onto the sand in front of him. “Your princess will need a window in her castle, won’t she?”

  He flicked a smile up at her. “I suppose you’re half-right.”

  She raised her brow.

  “This castle’s built for a prince. … though I suppose there is room enough for a princess.”

  The fuzz on her arm stood on end. “Ah, I … I see.” Her laughter sounded nervous in her ears. “If not, you could always add on another turret or something, you know …” Was she blushing? “… for when they’ve had a spat.”

  “Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sorry. The best I could think of.” She didn’t add: considering the recent brain surgery and all …

  He laughed. “As I said before, no worries.”

  “Well,” she said, with another nod of appreciation toward his artistry. “Enjoy your day. You’re very talented.”

  She took a couple of steps toward the water when he called out to her. “Stop by my booth across the way sometime, over in the lot. You’d like the paintings I do.”

  She gave him a wave. Perhaps she would.

  * * *

  “Beau? You have a call on line seven,” Jill said from the doorway. “Wendy Wilkes.”

  Beau stared at the blinking light on his phone. He hadn’t spoken to the young woman that Rex introduced him to since the night of the Kent event. He shut his eyes, trying to retrieve the contents of their discussion. A twist of a memory remained elusive. Hadn’t the
y planned to meet somewhere for something? Had that day already passed?

  Jill stuck her head through the door again. “Line seven?”

  Beau swallowed a sigh and answered the phone.

  “Hello, Beau? This is Wendy … from church? I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but I’m calling because the Art Walk is coming up later this week.”

  That was it.

  “So … would you still like to go with me?”

  He sat up and pressed his lips together, thinking. They had talked about his wife’s love of art on that night when he had driven around, trying to get the bearings of his newfound normal. He had not seen her around much—maybe they had attended different services, or maybe she hadn’t been back. No matter. She had been nice enough. Rex thought so, anyway. “Sure,” he finally said. “When is it?”

  “Friday.” She sounded relieved. “Can you pick me up?”

  Beau glanced at his calendar, acknowledging that though the day hours were booked, his night stood free. In the next breath, he was asking for her address and filling up all available white space for Friday night.

  * * *

  “Things are really heating up here, Liddy. There’s talk that it’s all gonna come down soon. So bummed that you’re missing out.”

  If Liddy had not pulled herself out of her funk and hit the beach earlier in the week, chances were she, too, would be bummed right about now. Not that a week of beachcombing had cured her curiosity about the goings-on at work—in reality, she did feel a little left out when it came to water-cooler gossip. But the walks along the beach had rejuvenated her in ways that only fresh air and a bump of good blood flow could.

  “Has anyone been caught yet?” Liddy asked.

  “Well, no, but the other night a food supply truck showed up in the middle of the night—a housekeeper spotted it. Pulled right up to the back entrance of the restaurant. Who delivers lobster tails at three a.m.?”

  Liddy opened her mouth, but Trace kept talking.