by Lindsey Hart
The ends.
Owen shot up in bed. His heart hammered so violently it was hard to breathe. He stared at the bedside clock. The glowing digits told him he’d been asleep for just over two hours. He’d knocked himself out with the whiskey, but it hadn’t kept the dream at bay. It came, with more lucidity than it ever had.
He searched back in his memory, sure that the dream had lied. He must not have recalled correctly what happened. The dream was different, clearer than all the rest. It was always Chelsea who saved him in his dream. But this time, it was Maren.
He tried so hard to remember. And when he did, he realized he’d been wrong for years. He remembered, in stark detail, every single aspect of Chelsea’s face that day. Her clothes were soaked, but her hair was only wet at the ends. The crown of her head was dry.
He remembered glancing over at Maren, who sat, chest heaving a few feet away. Like she’d just swam hard. For her life. Or rather, for his.
“No. That can’t be true.” His words bounced around in the silent bedroom. His pulse jumped at his jaw. Blood surged through his veins, stunningly violent in intensity.
All those years, he thought it was Chelsea. It wasn’t. It was Maren. My grandma used to say that I was part fish.
Could Chelsea even swim? It suddenly made sense why she never wanted to go to the beach or even in the pool. He hadn’t seen her swim once since that day he’d assumed she’d saved him.
Why hadn’t she said anything? She’d had every opportunity over the years to set the record straight.
Maren as well could have told him that day, but she’d let silence rule. She’d saved his life and he’d never even thanked her.
She’d told him that she loved him and he’d stood there and mocked her.
Her silence spoke volumes. She’d sacrificed herself for her friend. She’d seen the way Chelsea looked at him. Maybe Maren was right and Chelsea had loved him at one time. Maybe she still did. Maybe people like her, people who were broken early on in life, always searching, searching for something they would never truly find, loved the best they could. Maren had said that about Chelsea. Maybe it was true. She’d seen her friend’s happiness, she’d watched them fall in love and she’d said nothing.
She knew it would have ruined it for them if he knew Chelsea wasn’t the one who had saved his life. For him, that was half of what made him fall in love with her.
Maybe it was me. Maybe I was the one who could never truly love Chelsea. Maybe she knew that and she got away, found someone who could.
Maren had saved his life. He was sure of it. She hadn’t told him, even when it could have saved her Bed and Breakfast because she knew it would change his mind. She could have obligated him, in a way, to help her. He’d accused her of using him, or of trying to when she hadn’t done it at all. He should have listened to her when she was trying to tell him the truth. She could have called in a favor, knowing he wouldn’t turn her down. She hadn’t.
She loved that place. That building was in her blood. Monterey was in her blood. It was all that she had left. Losing it would be like losing her one last remaining family member. It would be like losing all her memories, her grandma, her grandpa, hell, even probably her mother, all over again.
She’d saved his life and he’d done his level best, unknowingly, to destroy hers.
Owen threw back the covers. When his feet hit the floor, he was already running. He grabbed his cell off the charger in the kitchen and even though it was just past three in the morning, he dialed anyway. There were some calls he could make. He had favors of his own to call in. Maybe he still had time to change things.
CHAPTER 14
Maren
The sun was just setting in the distance, a glowing orange ball of fire that seemed to dip into the very water itself. The glow was painted over the water’s surface, the sky blazing with wild streams of pink and purple, orange and red. Truly an artist’s pallet. The breeze was stiff and though Maren was cold, she didn’t go inside to get a sweater or to warm up.
She’d stood, in the exact same spot where she’d dragged Owen from the water that day. Stood there for hours, staring off into the horizon. It had been weeks since he left. Weeks since she’d admitted her deepest secret, her love for him. Weeks since he told her it meant nothing.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything. She could live with that. She just didn’t like the way he left. She couldn’t forgive herself for the fact that he felt that she’d used him. Slept with him just because she wanted something. She should never have let Hettie bring up the subject, but she thought that he’d been sleeping and once Hettie was off on one track, there was no getting her off of it. She honestly thought that even if Owen had overheard their conversation, that her refusal to indulge in Hettie’s plan would have spoken for itself.
Clearly, she was wrong. She’d hurt him, wounded him in a way that she wondered if he’d ever recover from. The sharp sting of being the one to devastate someone else, even if it had been a misunderstanding, didn’t sit well with her.
The crunch of leaves and the first muffled footfalls in sand brought Maren’s head around. She stared with bleary, watering eyes as Hettie shuffled onto the beach. The old woman smiled a huge, wrinkled smile and offered the knitted wrap that she had in her hand. She wore a matching wrap, in pink instead of blue like the one in her hand. Below that she had on a white blouse tucked into green pants, the kind with the elastic top. Her hair was done up in curlers with a shower cap placed over top. Maren wasn’t shocked at all to see her like that. That was just Hettie. It was evening, and she was probably just about ready for bed, but she’d seen Maren out there alone and had come out because she cared.
Maren smiled back warmly. She didn’t blame Hettie. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Owen had been burned before and he was overly sensitive. He made what he wanted to out of the conversation and what had happened between them. She couldn’t change his mind and that’s all there was to it.
“Thanks, Hettie,” Maren whispered. She slid the thick wrap over her neck. It was like a double shawl, with an opening for her head. It wasn’t knit well, there were stitches dropped all over the place and it wasn’t by any means symmetrical, but it was knitted by Hettie with love and that was all that mattered.
“You’re out here all by yourself again. I’m worried about you, honey. I- I saw the for-sale sign go up this morning.”
Maren sighed. She knew she would have to tell Hettie soon. She should have figured the old woman was far too wily not to notice it, even if it only had been a couple hours.
“Yes, that’s right. It just went up. I signed all the papers this morning. Finalized everything.”
“And if it sells? Where will you go then?”
“It will sell eventually.”
“I’m sorry, Maren. I’m sorry I came over that day and said anything at all.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Maren blinked tired, dry eyes. “If he didn’t want to listen to the truth, there was nothing that I could have said that would have made a difference or changed his mind.”
“There was one thing.”
“I couldn’t tell him that. Not then. Not in the heat of it. I told him something else. I told him that I’ve loved him since that day.”
Hettie’s gasp of surprise was so loud and pronounced Maren had to smile. “Yah. He didn’t want to listen to that. I don’t even know that he would have listened if I told him that I was the one who had saved him. He probably would have called me a liar and walked out the door.”
“Or he might have listened.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted him to listen to me or do me any favors just because I was the one who pulled him out of the water, not Chelsea.”
“She can’t even swim.”
“No, she could swim. Just not well. I swam out and I saw her coming and I told her to go back. It was why she was soaking wet. I reached him and swam with him. I was so scared that he had died already or that he was going to die before I got hi
m to the beach.” She shuddered. “I was so exhausted when I got out. I dragged him up onto the sand and I started CPR. He wasn’t breathing. I kept going, refusing to give up. I was so tired though… Chelsea came to take over. Right as she reached him he took a breath. I let her have him. She turned him over, let him cough up all that water. She held him, soothed him. I just sat there and watched. And when he opened his eyes and looked at her… I’ll never forget the way he looked at her. Or the way she looked at him. Chelsea never had anything in her life. She never had anything constant, never anyone to love her. I wanted her to have that. I couldn’t take it away from her.”
Hettie shook her head sadly. “My god, child. She had you. You were her constant. You loved her. You were always her friend. You gave her a place to live, a place to work. You sacrificed your own heart for her.”
Maren’s soft smile never faded. “Maybe. But maybe not. Owen chose who he wanted to love. It wouldn’t have made a difference who actually saved him.”
“You say that now, but I can tell you it would have. He was enamored with her. He thought he owed her his life. I saw the way he looked at you when he was here. He was enchanted with you. It was like he was seeing you for the first time, seeing the one he should have been with. He recognized the connection you shared, that connection you’ll always have because you were the one who gave him his life back. Even if he didn’t know it.”
“Oh, Hettie.” Maren sighed. The soft wool wrap rose and fell with her shoulders.
“You could always come live with me you know.”
“Thank you.” Maren looked right into the old woman’s kind eyes. “Thank you, really. I appreciate that more than you will ever know, but I’m going to leave. I just have to go someplace else. I don’t know where, just somewhere that isn’t here. I’ll be alright. I’ll call and send letters. I promise. Maybe I’ll even come back to visit, you know, make sure the new people are running the place right.” Hettie cackled at that and even Maren laughed softly.
“Maybe you can find some nice place in a big city and I’ll be the one to come live with you. Get my old tired bones out of Monterey for the first time in my life.”
Maren just kept on smiling. She crossed the sandy beach, her legs tired and wooden from standing in one position for so long. She knew that Hettie would never leave her house. It was special to her. Like Maren, it was a part of her, part of her blood and bones and her very marrow. It made her who she was, helped shape her.
“Maybe. At the very least you’ll have to come for a visit.”
“You know, I would like that. I would like that very much.”
“Come over for a cup of tea? I’m chilled right through.”
“Oh, honey, you know me. I’d never refuse tea.”
Despite everything that had happened, despite how her heart was breaking and how it was killing her to sell the place her ancestors had built, Maren steered Hettie towards the back porch and their easy conversation spilled over and echoed through the quiet evening.
CHAPTER 15
Maren
Maren never thought she’d see the day that the keys to her home, a place that was so much more than a roof and walls, were handed over to another person.
She supposed she wouldn’t actually witness the event, but she was there, at her lawyer’s office, pen in hand. She expected that she’d feel a thousand conflicting emotions.
Now that the time had come, the papers spread out in front of her, pen in her shaking hand, her lawyer, Miles Chadworth, staring at her from behind thick glasses and a grey pinstriped suit across a large desk, she felt nothing at all. She supposed she’d numbed out, after weeks of feeling so much fear, anxiety, horror and sorrow.
Somehow, she hoped this wouldn’t happen. That somehow, she’d be spared. That some investor would come forward, a silent partner, that she’d be spared the sale and get to keep her house. It hadn’t happened.
Miles Chadworth had called her the evening before, stating he had a buyer with a cash offer, full asking price. She’d gone above and beyond in her pricing, not able to bear selling the house for anything less than what it was worth. Being that she’d had no other offers and not a whole lot of interest, she was shocked. He’d informed her the buyer was an investor from out of town and wouldn’t be looking at the house.
She couldn’t understand why someone would buy something they hadn’t even seen before, but she supposed people who were rich enough to own it as an investment didn’t need to set eyes on it. She just hoped they didn’t tear it down. That over the years they kept it and that one day it meant as much to someone as it meant to her.
“Here. Sign here. And here. And right on that line there.” Chadwick rattled off the information, turning pages over one by one after she’d signed her name on each line.
With every passing page, the pile grew smaller. It took every ounce of willpower not to jump up and throw the pen to the ground, grab up that stack of papers and look for a window to hurtle them out of. Or even better, a fire to burn them over.
If she did that, she’d still be out of a house. The bank would take it. At least this way, she was leaving the deal with just over ten grand, at least something to start fresh on. She wasn’t out on the street, penniless, jobless and homeless.
Maren’s eyes blurred but then focused. She stared at the name on the other side of the contract. CWG Holdings (2012) LTD. What a name for a company. Why the exact year? What did it matter? Was it when it was formed? Did the owner have so many corporations he had to start numbering them by year to keep track? Why the brackets. It just seemed so informal, so unbelievable that she was going to entrust all of her memories, her ancestor’s pasts, her entire life up to date, to someone who was buying through a shell corporation. She didn’t even know their name.
“Maren?”
“Sorry.” She shook her head and snapped out of her trance. Her lawyer was waiting and not patiently either. Miles wasn’t a young man. He was just over fifty and he didn’t look healthy either. He bore the sallow complexion of a man who hadn’t lived much in the sun or much in good health. She didn’t know him well, but she thought it was probably a bit of both.
“Just sign here, on this last page and you’re done.”
She did as he asked, though her hands trembled so badly the signature bore almost no resemblance to the rest. When she was finished, Chadworth grabbed up the pages, piled them neatly together and stuck them into a white file folder.
My life. My entire life is there in that folder. That’s what it’s been reduced to. All those memories, all those years, the sweat and blood and tears, the joys and sorrows. It’s all right there, about to be filed away and forgotten.
Like her. Once she moved away she’d be nothing but a memory for the people of Monterey. They might refer to her place as the ‘old so and so’ or Maren’s old house.
She blinked hard, refusing to give in to the sudden rush of scalding tears that gathered behind her eyes and burned her nose. Her throat closed up, but she couldn’t do it. She would be strong. She would see this through. It was her own bad business decisions that got her there in the first place. She was the one who had done the renovations, which were badly needed. She’d taken out the loan, assuming business would be better. It hadn’t been.
“Possession is set for the second of the month. That leaves you twelve days. You understand you have to be completely moved out by then.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. I sold the place almost entirely furnished.”
Chadworth nodded as though he’d missed that important small detail. It was all there, in that damn file folder, the few things she couldn’t bear to part with. They were specified, laid out in bold on two lines of black ink, the things that were not included in the sale.
“Thank you for your business.” Chadworth stuck out a pale, thin hand.
Maren reached over the desk and shook it, noting that the lawyer’s fingers were cold and clammy. She barely repressed a shudder. It was fitting, that that hand
should seal the deal.
She left the office, almost as numb as she came in. Except, where the last tiny, fleeting bubble of hope had been, there was now just an empty hole. A gaping hole that would never be filled. It was carved out by the loss of generations, by the loss of her history, her identity, her life.
She probably shouldn’t have driven herself to the lawyer’s office. Maren tried not to be distracted on the drive home. She couldn’t let her mind wander or escape or get the best of her. It was done. The sale was over. The papers were signed and in less than two weeks, the new owners would take over a part of her life that she thought would always be hers. She thought that she’d die in that house, or at least in Monterey like her grandparents and great-grandparents.
As she pulled up to the bed and breakfast, she saw a car parked in the graveled spaces off to the side. It was odd. She frowned as she parked on the street in front of the house. It was where she always parked. Where she’d parked since the day she’d first bought her car. She tried very hard not to think on how many generations had parked there before her.
When Maren was finally able to blink away the tears that clouded her vision, she was shocked to look up and see a man sitting on her front steps.
Not just any man. She recognized the broad set of his shoulders, the crown of dark hair, the handsome, chiseled features. No, not any man at all, but the man she’d confessed her love to. The man who had turned her away. Owen.
CHAPTER 16
Owen
Maren. She was incredible. Even better than memory. She climbed out of her car and he knew right away, from the despondent look on her face, where she’d been. He guessed she was probably at the lawyer’s signing papers, but he wasn’t sure. He’d waited out on the front step and hadn’t had to wait long.
