“No one, that’s who. Oh, and Hans was here all night I heard. Makes me nervous thinking that he’s somehow involved. His poor wife and kids!”
“But maybe the truck really was delivering, um, lobster.”
“That’s the thing … it’s not even on the menu.”
Liddy weighed that truth. “I suppose …”
“So anyway, how are you? Coming back soon? I’m pulling an extra shift tonight, but I don’t mind. The extra dollars will come in handy.”
She breathed in, noting the flapping of flags on the boats out in the harbor on the other side of the peninsula. “I’m feeling better every day. Not sure when I’ll be back; I’m just waiting for clearance from my doctor.” And for fatigue to stop nipping away at her when she least expected it.
“Well, phew on both accounts. I miss you desperately. Nobody else here puts up with my inventiveness!”
Inventiveness was Trace’s code word for hoarding and the transformation she made with all of her “finds.”
“But,” Trace continued, “we don’t want you back here until you are completely well. Capiche?”
Liddy smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be soon. Keep me up to date, okay?”
With a “will do,” Trace hung up and Liddy turned her attention to her calendar. It mocked her with its lack of entries. She grabbed her phone and texted Meg.
Hey.
Hey, yourself.
Want to grab a pizza with me tonight?
Aww! Wish I could, gf. On my way to Portland. Grrr.
Okay. No big.
When I get back, okay? I’ll buy the Chianti!
Liddy texted back a series of emojis and tossed her phone onto the couch with a sigh. At the counter, she sifted through the mound of junk mail. She couldn’t stand the sight of it, but also could not bring herself to toss any of it away without first examining each and every piece.
A glossy postcard with impressionist-like brush strokes caught her attention. Art Walk Weekend, it said. She glanced at the clock. A little makeup and an espresso would do her good.
The Uber driver dropped her off near a pink-and-brown bakery, the cool night air surprising her with its brisk force. The sidewalk teemed with couples wearing leather jackets and boots. She ignored a twinge of envy, and instead focused on the twinkling white lights that made the downtown area sparkle.
After picking up a map at the information table on the corner, Liddy followed behind other art enthusiasts. Unlike times in her past, she was in no hurry. Paintings, photography, and sculptures were tucked into stores, many of which offered appetizers and sparkling wine to visitors.
She meandered through a jewelry store whose walls had been transformed by a local artist’s paintings of the sea and listened to piped-in classical music. One particular painting of a family building rudimentary sandcastles together on a windy day at the beach reminded her of the artist drifter she’d come upon earlier in the week.
Her stomach began to grumble, so Liddy stepped outside again and considered her options. She watched as a couple holding hands wandered up toward the taco bar. The idea of Mexican sounded ….
Liddy stopped. She heard an intake of breath and realized it had come from her own lungs. Beau. She recognized him when he turned his chin to speak to … well, to speak to whomever it was that he was holding hands with. She stared for a beat too long, unfortunately. The way he turned then and spotted her happened nearly in slow motion. Their eyes met and though she tried to avert her gaze, she didn’t. Couldn’t.
Until she did pull away. Her eyes landed on the bustle of traffic, and then on passersby, many of whom wore lingering smiles and expressions of reflection. She assumed that Beau had continued on. As for her? Liddy no longer felt hungry. Instead, she found the Uber app on her phone and ordered up a ride home.
* * *
She had taken his hand, and for reasons he could not quite figure out, Beau had let her. It was only for a moment, a way for her to pull him along to see something in a shop window. He remembered the foreign feel of her touch. Her fingers against his weren’t unpleasant, but they weren’t quite comfortable either.
“What do you think of this brass sculpture, Beau?” she had asked when he turned toward the window. It was of a sleek dog, standing tall, its tongue hanging out of its mouth. He supposed it would look nice in a library laden with books and ebony-stained wood.
He answered her, but he had no idea what he actually said. Something vague, most likely. What caught his attention wasn’t the sculpture or any of the other art pieces on display, but his reflection in that store window. Hers and his. Together. Wendy was kind and sweet, and most of all, healthy. He couldn’t ever recall a time in the past when he had considered a woman’s health as a criterion for dating, but the thought reverberated so clearly in his head that he almost thought he had said it aloud. As he stood there, his thoughts conflicted, an obliging smile on his face while gazing into that window, Beau realized that Wendy Wilkes would make the perfect mother for the kids he hoped to have some day.
But could he love her?
Perhaps there was truth in the notion that a person could feel eyes upon them, could sense their draw. Beau would never know why he chose that instant to turn his head away from the window, but when he did, something jolted inside of him. Liddy stood on the sidewalk not far away, her stance in mid-stride, as if she had intended to move in his direction, but for some reason had stopped.
Their eyes met. He was sure of it. But something like pain had come over her face, and she quickly turned away.
“Beau?”
He flicked a gaze at Wendy, who stood much shorter than him, her earnest eyes gazing upward.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I was thinking about the taco place up the street.”
He nodded. “Sure. Sounds good.” When he glanced back down the street, Liddy had vanished.
Chapter 8
So Beau had a girlfriend. Good for him. Liddy didn’t know much about his wife’s illness, but certainly he had gone through a lot of pain watching her suffer. He deserved happiness now. Still … hadn’t he said something about wanting to walk the beach with her?
Liddy shook away the memory, threw the covers off, and pulled herself out of bed. He was just being kind. Making pleasantries. Isn’t that what nice church boys did?
Or maybe … maybe Beau was uncomfortable around her. She considered this as she washed her face and got dressed. Maybe in the shock of the moment that night at church, when she’d told the entire congregation about her condition, he’d risen to the occasion because, well, he’d been unlucky enough to be seated next to her. Poor guy. Gentlemen don’t run, even when they want to (which he probably did). Instead, he stayed beside her and offered her an ear.
He was very kind.
But it was time to think of something else. She spun around … well, more like a not-terribly-slow turn. She groaned. The plain, cream walls of her rental were beginning to bore her. Color. She needed color. Maybe this was a sign she was getting better? Whatever the reason, she had to get out of the apartment. She applied concealer under her eyes, scrunched her half-head of curls with gel, and strategically placed a straw bowler hat with a bow over the black-brown virgin hair that had continued to grow in on the other side.
She stood in front of her floor-length mirror. “There,” she said, to the nothingness around her. In her fitted cotton top and deep purple sarong, not to mention that straw hat hiding her shock of stubble, strangers might think of her as some sort of trendy beachcomber with nothing but time and money to burn.
Unless they looked closely.
Truth was she was nearly broke. Disability income barely covered her rent, so Liddy was relying on her meager savings to make up the rest. Her parents had already helped her with her medical co-pays, so she couldn’t ask for more. How fun would it have been to recover without this kind of added pressure? Or with someone by her side to help pick up the slack?
She groaned again. First, she had to heal. So she pu
lled on a sweater, then grabbed her key and slipped out the door.
Thankfully, the sun poked through the fog and Liddy could pad along in flip-flops as if she truly were free of cares. Living on a peninsula presented soul-soothing options. She could wander out to the sand and watch the waves roll or walk along the harbor’s edge where seagulls fed just as hungrily.
She chose the latter. Maybe she’d run into that drifter she’d met on the beach the other day. He hadn’t seemed to notice or care about her somewhat-fragile state …
The booth he’d mentioned was nothing more than a lean-to near one of the storage areas in the vast parking lot that the local boaters used. Why hadn’t she noticed him there before? She found him painting the face of a girl onto a narrow fence board.
He smiled at her briefly before continuing his work. “Thought I might see you again.”
“You did?” She watched his graceful hands as they worked.
“You had wanderlust in your eyes.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe that was just fatigue.”
He stopped for a moment and looked at her, his eyes dropping down her length. A curdle of a chill ran through her.
“I’m Zack,” he said.
“Liddy.”
His appraising smile reminded her of the look on her own face when she viewed a gleaming case of fresh-baked pastries. Carbs, apparently, didn’t bother him either.
She cleared her throat. “Beautiful day.”
“That it is. I’m going to take a break now over in the tavern. Join me, Liddy?”
Hitting a bar at lunchtime. With a stranger. So … rebellious.
“They have burgers there, in case you’re wondering.”
Okay, so she was wondering if there’d be more than beer available. “Why not?”
He dunked his paintbrush into a bucket of water and cleaned off his hands with a wipe from some nondescript holder. “Let’s go.”
They took the long way to the tavern, strolling along a path that offered a crystal view of pleasure boats, their stalwart masts holding firm against the breeze. Occasionally, a pelican soared overhead, spotted its prey, then spiraled into the water with a “whoosh” to catch its lunch. She had noticed the bar before. Its lights seemed to stay lit longer than most other restaurants’ did in the area. Music often streamed out of its doors, occasional notes reaching her condo deck on a fogless night.
The inside was brighter than she had expected, although still rather “rustic,” with rough-hewn split logs for walls. Dated, worn serapes hung from the logs in no particular order. They grabbed stools at the bar and in view of the picture window overlooking the harbor channel.
“What’ll you have?”
A mimosa tempted her, but considering the amount of medication running through her veins, she opted for a Perrier instead.
He looked at the bartender-waiter. “Add a couple of burgers to that, and a beer on tap for me.”
“So,” he said, a smile reaching the edges of his eyes, “tell me about the girl on the beach.”
“That’s a rather vague question.”
“Okay. The hat. Tell me why you wear hats.”
She nodded. “Do I have to have a reason?”
He weighed that. “It is my experience that a woman always has a reason for the things she does.”
“You spend time analyzing women, then.”
“I spend my time creating and, in that time, deeper thoughts come to me.” He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
Liddy laughed. “You’re teasing me.”
He winked. “Maybe. A little. I’ve noticed you around, you know.”
No, she hadn’t. “Really? How so.”
“I’m staying with a friend in the same complex. Every morning, right after the mail carrier leaves, you come downstairs and fish out your mail.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“Most people just have bills, so why would they? My guess is that you have love letters in there.”
“Okay, now you’re flirting.”
He took a sip of the beer that the bartender had placed in front of him. “Is it working?”
She was tempting fate, and she knew it. But it was fun. The most fun she’d had since … when was the last time she’d done anything worth celebrating? She sipped her Perrier. “I’d say yes.”
He laughed into his beer. “Well, okay then.”
She was pretty sure that her parents had warned her against strangers, but they’d never met one as a charming as a chisel-chested artist who could wrangle a paintbrush over an old fence the way Zack could. Nor one who could cause her skin to tingle in a good way by one sweep of his eyes (you know, compared to the medicine-inducing kind of tingling she had more recently grown accustomed to.)
After feasting on burgers, they walked together for at least a half hour, until she could no longer deny her need for a nap.
“You doing okay?” he asked as she leaned heavily upon a railing overlooking a yacht named Valentino.
She pushed herself upright. “Yes, fine.”
“You ready to tell me about the hat?”
She peeked at him through downcast lashes. “Is it obvious?”
“That you’ve suffered?”
She waved a hand at him. “It’s not that traumatic.”
“Then it won’t be hard to say it.”
Liddy sighed. “I had brain surgery and I’m wearing a hat while the rest of my hair grows in. Simple.”
Zack grew quiet. He neither looked shocked nor indifferent; instead, he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.
He walked her home after that, and though he didn’t say it, Liddy knew she would see him again.
* * *
“First, the good news.”
Meg cradled her goblet of Chianti. “Tell me.”
Liddy curled up on the couch in her living room, the gas fireplace snapping in the background. “The doctor has given me the go-ahead to drive.”
“Yes! That’s great. You really are looking marvelous. Something about all that walking in the fresh air has helped your recovery, I’d say.”
Liddy sipped her sparkling water. She could have told her friend about meeting Zack, but really, she knew so little about him still. And if she wanted to be truly honest, she felt protective of his sudden and somewhat ethereal presence in her life.
“And I guess there’s more good news coming, actually,” she continued. “The divorce papers should be here any day now.”
“Finally!”
“Yeah. It’ll be good to move forward. Officially, anyway.”
“Don’t look back, girlfriend.”
“So,” Liddy said, “what about you? Sick of all the traveling yet?”
Meg signed. “Oh, you know, it’s fine. It’s not like I have a man at home to worry about.”
“Aw, you will.”
Meg looked away.
Liddy paused. Meg was ever ready to talk about Liddy’s love life. But her own? Not so often. In fact, Meg often changed the subject whenever the topic of men in her life came up. When she’d made a comment about not having a man at home, Liddy thought maybe things had changed. Liddy took another sip and smiled, intending to lighten the mood. “Hey,” she said, “maybe you’ll meet a pilot, with all the air travel you do.”
Meg nodded, a mischievous grin lighting her face. “Now you’re talking. Maybe he’ll let me wear his captain’s hat while we, you know … fly.”
Liddy laughed so hard she inhaled sparkling water, the sensation burning her nose. She crumbled forward, trying to breathe.
Meg slapped her on the back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to incapacitate you.”
Liddy threw herself backward against the couch, sighing into the air. “I needed that!”
“Oh, hey, there’s more stuff going on in the restaurant at work. Wanna hear?”
Still prone, Liddy slid a glance at Meg. “Spill.”
“I was in the sales office the other day when Sally—you know her, she’s the
executive assistant.”
Liddy nodded.
“Anyway, Sally pulled a fax off the machine and then I heard her rant to the comptroller about unauthorized expenses coming from the restaurant.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure, exactly. She shut the door, of course, but apparently Chef’s been ordering up some pretty expensive stuff. I think I even heard the words pufferfish and duck embryos bandied about.”
“Gross. But wait … pufferfish, I think, is poisonous.”
Meg screwed up her nose. “Double gross.”
“Chef Franco? Did he have an explanation?”
“That’s the thing. He showed up a while later, grousing that the invoice was all some big mistake and that the items he purchased had been mislabeled.”
Liddy shrugged. “So there’s the answer.”
“I don’t know. Word in the ’hood is that those items were code for drugs.”
“I don’t unders—wait. You think that Chef is buying drugs in the restaurant?”
Meg nodded solemnly. “Buying and selling.”
“Oh … my …”
“It might explain the late-night shipments, the various staff members hanging around even after they’ve clocked out. It’s all very clandestine, and of course, nothing’s been proven yet.”
“This is all so sad … I suppose Thomas has still been going over there?”
“That’s what I heard. I’m afraid things are going to be changing at the hotel soon. I just hope …”
“Hope what?”
Meg sighed. “There’s something I haven’t mentioned to you about hotels, Liddy, but basically, this industry is notorious for sending in suits to take over properties, usually cleaning house when they do.”
“And you think that’s what’s going to happen at Sea Glass?”
She shrugged. “No idea. It would be strange since this hotel chain has been owned by the same family for years, but you never know. They could keep ownership, but just bring in someone else to manage it. Happens all the time.”
“And staff loses jobs.”
“Sadly, yes.”
Liddy hadn’t even made it back to work yet and already change was in the air. She experienced a thump of sadness at the thought of losing a job she had barely started—and one that she enjoyed more than any other before it. Not like she was in a big hurry to work full days again soon. (Well, other than the fact that her savings had shrunk like cotton fabric in hot water.) But why did life have to keep changing?
Walking on Sea Glass Page 7
