Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  “Take the what?”

  “The Hampton Jitney.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A bus.”

  “You mean like a Greyhound?”

  Shana nodded.

  “Why do they call it a jitney?”

  “Probably because it sounds fancier. I think they give you snacks and a newspaper. And there’s free Wi-Fi.”

  “But otherwise it’s just a bus?”

  Shana shrugged. “Pretty much. But you know what they say about the power of good packaging, right?”

  “That sounds like something you’d talk about in one of your classes.”

  Shana laughed. “Good idea. I should write that down.” She reached over and gave Katrina’s shoulder a squeeze. “And speaking of my classes, you are strong, Kat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was a light drizzle in the air early the next afternoon when Katrina boarded the Hampton Jitney. It was Monday, and a few weeks into the off-season, so she was surrounded by empty seats as the driver pulled away from the curb. A complimentary New York Times on her lap, she pressed her forehead against the window and peered down at the busy sidewalks below. Once they emerged from the Midtown Tunnel and the skyscrapers of Manhattan began to fade into the distance, she finally relaxed and soon was asleep.

  When she woke up, the Jitney was rolling quietly along a one-lane road. She glanced at her watch. They’d been traveling for less than an hour and a half, but it looked like they’d reached another planet. After a stretch of farmland, signs of civilization began to appear. A fruit stand here, a vegetable stand there, and multiple sod farms dotted the road. The most unexpected nod to modern times that Katrina noticed—and immediately adored—was a scraggly old man on the side of the road who appeared to be selling hot dogs out of a run-down RV. She hoped the Jitney driver would pull over, curious to find out what a hot dog sold on the side of a road tasted like, as well as what the man selling them would be like.

  She chastised herself for forgetting to bring a canvas and her paints on the trip. She would have loved to paint the rickety, dusty RV juxtaposed against the swish-looking Hamptons Jitney. For all anyone knew, both vehicles could have been made by the same manufacturer, but everyone knew they would forever operate in different worlds.

  After stopping briefly in Manorville, the driver pulled into Southampton. As she stepped off the bus, Katrina immediately understood why people invariably used the word quaint to describe the hamlet. The main street—which was actually called Main Street—looked as if it had been lifted from another, more genteel era. Lined with leafy trees and antique lampposts, the sidewalks were punctuated by the crisp striped awnings of clothing boutiques, jewelry stores, stationery shops, antique stores, and sandwich places, each one bright and inviting.

  She’d made a reservation at a small bed-and-breakfast right past Main Street. It hadn’t taken her long to choose the place—she fell for it as soon as she saw the website’s photo of the classic colonial-style yellow house, complete with white plantation shutters, surrounded by a lush green lawn and a white picket fence. It had looked so . . . peaceful. As she rolled her carry-on suitcase down the pristine sidewalk toward the inn, she smiled and silently thanked Shana for the suggestion to come here. Though she’d been in town for only a few minutes, she could already tell Southampton was going to offer her just the respite she needed from the big city.

  As the innkeeper handed her the key, she realized she had never stayed in a hotel alone before, and she felt a stirring of pride.

  I’m staying in a bed-and-breakfast.

  By myself

  I’m a grown-up.

  With a hint of a smile on her lips, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  The room wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. The queen-size bed was covered by a light-yellow canopy and topped by a fluffy down duvet swathed in a crisp white cover. An oak armoire and a dark-green velvet chair occupied one side of the room, and the white wallpaper was dotted with tiny green flowers. The plush, dark-green carpet looked as though it had just been shampooed. Warm afternoon sunlight bathed the entire room in a soft glow. The overall effect was soothing but not fussy. She also noticed how quiet it was. There was a stillness she hadn’t experienced since she’d arrived in Manhattan.

  After unpacking her things, she decided to take a stroll through town. She was just locking her door when she heard her phone chime. It was a text from her mother, who wanted to know if she’d set up any phone interviews yet.

  Katrina deleted the message without responding, then opened the door and tossed the phone on the bed. As she descended the stairs, the innkeeper, a short, pudgy gray-haired woman who Katrina guessed was in her sixties, looked up from her desk with a warm smile.

  “Get settled in okay?” she asked. Light jazz played in the background.

  Katrina smiled back. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. The room is lovely.”

  “You’re in one of my favorites. If you haven’t already, be sure to check out the view of our English garden in the back. It’s just splendid, especially in the early afternoon sunlight.” She spoke with a twinkle in her eye that reminded Katrina of Mrs. Claus.

  “I’ll be sure to do that. I was thinking of going for a walk along the beach before dinner. Is there a particular route you’d recommend I take to get there?”

  The innkeeper shook her head and smiled again. “My dear, you can’t go wrong in Southampton. Just see where the wind takes you, and enjoy the scenery along the way.”

  The innkeeper hadn’t been exaggerating. Katrina found Southampton downright enchanting, especially when compared to the gritty East Village. Adding to the charm were the picturesque residential blocks surrounding Main Street. The houses were immaculate, the lawns manicured, the leaves raked, the window boxes bursting with bright flowers. She spotted a handful of old-fashioned bikes with wicker baskets propped here and there, as well as a number of people riding bikes or strolling. Most wore cable-knit sweaters tied loosely around their shoulders, and many had tiny dogs in tow. It was hard to believe it was all real—it seemed like a perfectly choreographed stage set.

  Every person she saw greeted her with a smile.

  She spent nearly an hour wandering the streets and window-shopping, then headed out to Cooper’s Beach, a ten-minute walk from the bed-and-breakfast. She took off her shoes and held them in one hand as she strolled along the shore, enjoying the sensation of warm, soft sand crunching between her toes. Despite California’s reputation for sun, a stroll along its northern beaches typically involved shoes and socks, not to mention a warm coat—and oftentimes a hat. She thought of Half Moon Bay, the closest beach to Mountain View, where the water was so frigid that even die-hard surfers wore wet suits.

  The Southampton coastline boasted an imposing lineup of classic country homes, most of which were white brick finished with cedar shakes. Katrina knew that many of them had been passed down through the generations, and she tried to imagine the families gathering for tennis-and-martini-filled summer weekends over the years. Each house was separated from the shore by an iron gate to keep unwelcome gawkers at bay. Despite a few gaudy McMansions—which created a somewhat jarring contrast of old and new money—the overall effect remained undeniably charming.

  Turning her gaze to the waves rolling gently onto the beach, Katrina reflected on how much her life had changed in just a few short weeks. Here she was, literally standing on the opposite end of the United States, three thousand miles from the only home she’d ever known.

  In a place where she knew absolutely no one.

  And she’d come here all by herself.

  Everything about her life right now was unfamiliar, every experience new. Yet somehow—maybe for the first time ever—she felt comfortable in her own skin.

  She felt a breeze swirl up around her, and as she reached inside her purse f
or a hair tie, she suddenly remembered the windy night she’d arrived in New York City. She’d been so nervous waiting in that taxi line, so afraid she wouldn’t be able to do it without Deb.

  Deb, who had convinced her to change her life before it was too late.

  Deb, who had pushed her to go to New York on her own.

  Deb, who had seen something in her that she wasn’t able to see herself.

  Until now.

  She wandered another half mile along the beach, savoring the beauty from all sides: the deep-blue water, the white sand, the rolling dunes sprinkled with beach grass, the storybook scenery framed by a towering windmill in the distance. When the sun’s rays began dancing across the waves, marking dusk’s arrival, she could no longer ignore her growling stomach. Reluctantly, she turned around and made her way back to Southampton Village.

  Shana had suggested she have dinner at a place that used to be called James On Main but now had a new name she couldn’t remember. “I think everyone still calls it James On Main,” Shana had said. After consulting with a friendly passerby, Katrina discovered it was now officially called Lori Restaurant, but judging from the woman’s reaction, Shana was correct. Apparently everyone still called it James On Main. She wondered what the new owner thought of that.

  She wandered down Main Street to number seventy-five, and took a peek inside. The space was much larger than it appeared from the sidewalk, its high ceilings furthering the cavernous effect. It was about half full, mostly of small groups of women, along with a few older couples. The bar was dotted with solo patrons, some of whom were also having dinner. She decided to follow their lead and eat there. She’d never felt comfortable dining alone, especially when she’d forgotten to bring something to read—as she had tonight—but she was starving, and the place looked cozy.

  The bartender approached as soon as she took a seat.

  “Hello there. What can I get you tonight?”

  “A menu would be nice, thank you. And a Sprite, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Seconds later, an attractive man with salt-and-pepper hair walked up and stopped at the bar stool to her right.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Her eyes darted to his left hand. No wedding ring.

  He set his drink on the bar, then took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the stool. “First time in Southampton?” he said with a smile.

  She laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You have that look about you.”

  “And what look is that?”

  “Wide-eyed, sincere. It’s alluring.”

  The bartender reappeared and set down her Sprite, along with a menu. “Let me know if you have any questions. The specials are in the front,” he said before disappearing again.

  The man pointed to Katrina’s glass. “That’s all you’re drinking?”

  Katrina nodded.

  “Can I buy you a real drink . . . what’s your name?”

  “Kat . . . er, Katrina,” she said. “Katrina’s fine.”

  “Well, Katrina, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Preston. Now will you indulge me? I hate to drink alone.”

  She looked at him for a moment. He looked friendly enough, but something wasn’t right. She wasn’t sure why or how, but something just felt . . . off.

  “Can I ask you a question, Preston?”

  He smiled. “Of course.”

  “Are you married?”

  He looked surprised. “Am I married?”

  “It’s not a trick question.”

  He hesitated for just a moment.

  Just long enough.

  “Good-bye, Preston.” She picked up her drink and walked to the other side of the bar.

  After a deluxe breakfast of scrambled eggs and homemade pumpkin bread early the next morning, Katrina spent nearly an hour reading the newspaper before changing into exercise clothes and heading out on a combination walk/jog around town. She was feeling noticeably stronger and, even more importantly, she was proud of herself for having made the effort.

  When she got back to the bed-and-breakfast, the innkeeper was cleaning up the kitchen area.

  “Well, hello there. Have a good run?”

  Katrina smiled. “Calling it a run would be a stretch, but it was nice to get the blood pumping a little bit.”

  The woman put her hands on her waist. “You’re in such good shape—I’m jealous.”

  Katrina was startled by the woman’s comment. “Thank you. I’m working on it.” In such good shape? In her entire life, she had never thought of herself as being in shape.

  The innkeeper sighed. “I keep telling myself I need to exercise but never seem to get around to it. I’d love to have your discipline. Would be good for the self-confidence, you know?”

  Katrina nodded. In her eyes, I’m confident, she thought. Confident, disciplined, and in good shape.

  She thought about how different her life looked to her now from when she’d first arrived in New York.

  Perspective really is everything.

  And everyone’s perspective is different.

  Katrina spent the afternoon wandering in and out of the myriad boutiques and jewelry stores in Southampton Village. She couldn’t really afford anything, but it was fun to look. She came close to buying a pair of strappy heels that were 60 percent off but decided against it. That she’d even considered purchasing them was victory enough for her.

  After stopping for coffee, she stumbled across a boutique with a stylish pink dress in the window. She immediately thought that Grace’s jewelry would be a perfect fit there, and wondered if the owner was on site. Maybe she could get a business card and have Grace get in touch. Going door-to-door to convince shop owners to carry her jewelry sounded like an incredible amount of work, and she didn’t envy Grace for having to do it.

  She pushed open the door and hadn’t even set a foot inside when a voice barked at her from the back of the empty store.

  “Can’t bring that in here.”

  Katrina froze, then looked at the coffee cup in her hand. “This?”

  A well-dressed woman appeared from behind a mannequin and nodded. “Sorry.” She pointed out the door. “There’s a trash receptacle right outside.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry about that.” She backed out of the door, embarrassed. But the latte was brand-new, and she wasn’t going to toss it.

  Maybe she’d stop by for that business card later.

  That afternoon, Katrina did something she hadn’t done since she’d arrived in New York.

  She took a nap.

  A long, glorious, lazy nap.

  And she didn’t feel guilty about it.

  When she woke up, she momentarily forgot where she was. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, it came back to her.

  I’m in Southampton, New York.

  On a Tuesday.

  By myself.

  She smiled.

  There was no denying it anymore.

  She was different now.

  And she was happy.

  That evening, she did something else she’d never done before. She went to a movie by herself.

  It wasn’t until she was on the Jitney back to Manhattan late the next afternoon that she realized she’d forgotten to swing by that boutique for a business card to give to Grace. Maybe she could find a similar shop in the city? She wanted to help Grace, but she was intimidated at the prospect of approaching another icy owner who didn’t want coffee in her store.

  Justin would never bark at a customer like that, she thought.

  Then again, Justin sold coffee.

  The warm thought of Justin was quickly squelched by the sour memory of how she’d lashed out at him after her night out with Reid. She knew he’d forgiven her for how she’d treated him, but she still ha
dn’t forgiven herself. That would take time.

  The Jitney rolled along, and as the skyline of Manhattan came into view, Katrina remembered that first taxicab ride into town, how anxious she’d been, her stomach in knots, terrified of being there without Deb. Watching the skyscrapers grow larger—many of them familiar to her—she realized how different the city felt to her now. No longer a daunting, impenetrable fortress, New York was now a familiar place where she had an apartment, and friends, and a life.

  She was returning . . . home.

  When she logged into her e-mail account that evening, she had a new message through LinkedIn.

  It was from a recruiter, asking if she’d be interested in a senior accountant position at a software company in Sunnyvale.

  Start date: December 1.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hey, look who’s back. How were the Hamptons?” Justin spread his hands on the counter.

  Katrina gave him a curious look as she approached. “How’d you know I was in the Hamptons?”

  “Shana was in here yesterday. Plain scone and chai tea—her usual. Did you have a nice time? What can I get you?” He pointed at the chalkboard behind him. “Peter came up with a couple of new specials.”

  “I think I’ll have my usual as well.”

  “Skim latte and a blueberry scone?”

  “Yep. I’ve missed that.” She patted the New York Times under her arm. “Thought I’d go back to my routine this morning.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to go back to your routine. What did you do out there? Take in a couple of lawn parties, maybe play some croquet?” He squinted at her. “Although now that I think about it, I can’t really picture you in an oversized hat.”

  She smiled. “I did remarkably little, actually. Just wandered around, went to the beach, did a lot of thinking.”

  “Thinking about what?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing in particular, just life, I guess.”

  “Always a good subject in my book.”