And even if he could walk away, the Navy would not take kindly if he didn’t report it. And that was the rub. Andy knew he was involved up to his eyeballs. If he could just get Cory into some kind of a program, maybe he could work things out.
“You need to hit the bed. We’ll begin sorting some of this out tomorrow morning. But you go to bed, and get some rest. I don’t want you to take or use anything tonight, you hear me?”
Cory nodded. “Yeah. That’s probably best.”
“I’m going to sleep out here. Do you have drugs in your room?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Do I have to go through your room and clean out your drawers? Do you have a weapon here?”
“I’ll get my little stash and bring it out to you. I didn’t bring my Sig.”
Andy packed up his clothes and set the duffel next to the couch. He was amazed he had stopped thinking about how much his feet hurt. He sat down and removed his shoes, knowing what he was going to find.
He gingerly peeled his socks off and stared down at huge red blisters. He’d known it was a mistake. The whole evening was a mistake.
Trying to live someone else’s life again.
Who were they kidding? They’d gone out, bought new suits and shoes, and tried to act the part of what? Some billionaire’s kid? And for what? A few fancy hors d’oeuvres and some free booze? The whole idea suddenly felt ridiculous. It was a grown up costume party.
He was happiest at the beach—eating ice cream, screaming his lungs out in a race with big fat tires, and dodging all the other normal people in the world he had been tasked to protect. Not to take from or fawn all over rich people who didn’t really care who he was. None of those girls who came after Cory cared anything about him. That was what was so sad. He was a piece of meat, a conquest. The price was too high.
He slipped off his suit pants and jacket, folded them neatly, and tucked them into his duffel bag. He placed his shoes underneath the rest of the contents, resting on the bottom. He was going to sleep in his red, white, and blue boxers.
Cory brought him a baggie filled with seven or eight pill bottles, a pipe of some kind, something black and tarry looking, and a small baggie filled with dried buds. Andy tossed the bag on the couch behind him.
“We’re going to talk about this in the morning. I’m gonna sleep here, on the couch, just to make sure you stay settled for the night. You try to go get a beer and I’m gonna be in your face, Cory. I’m doing this because I care for you, man. We’re brothers, and I would hope you’d do the same for me. But don’t go jumping on our friendship, man. Don’t test me, Cory, because I want what’s good for you almost more than I want anything else. You’re not gonna be able to stop me, so don’t even try.”
“I appreciate that. You’re a good friend. You’re my only friend, and we’re brothers.”
Cory turned to go into the bedroom, and Andy called out to him. “Cory, come here.”
The two men briefly hugged, ending with quick pats on the back. Andy held him at arm’s length gripping his right shoulder and shaking him. “I’m pulling for you, Cory. We’ll get through this, somehow.”
He watched Cory disappear into the bedroom. Andy waited until he saw the lights turn out, before grabbing a blanket and pillow from his bedroom, laying them out on the couch. He picked up the bag Cory had given him, and walked out onto the patio. He set aside the firepit grate, and pushed the old charcoal to the sides. He found some tin foil in the kitchen and lay it in a double layer on the floor of the pit.
He tossed the baggie on top, poured lighter fluid on it, and set it on fire, careful to step aside from the black, acrid smoke. The last thing he did was replace the grate on top and watched until the contents were reduced to ash. He heard a tiny ping and figured the glass pipe had exploded.
Inside, he hung by the large picture window and realized the moon was still shining, sending silvery shimmers to the calm ocean. He wondered if maybe Cory had called him as a cry for help. Maybe this was all supposed to happen this way. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed an accurate assessment of the situation.
And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Things had worked out much differently than he’d expected. He’d caught a couple glimpses of what he didn’t want. He didn’t want Cory’s path. He didn’t want that crowd he saw at the reception. He didn’t want ever again to have to hurt the feelings of a woman who had only shown him respect and friendship, who was perhaps too trusting. Based on what he’d seen of the world, he thought he knew better. He couldn’t fix the whole insane world. He could only do one thing at a time, and do that right.
He would stand for Cory for now. He’d let the beach and sand in Coronado take care of the rest.
As he lay back on the pillow and wrapped the coverlet over him, he thought about Aimee. He hoped she would be okay, and hoped she’d find a way to forgive. He was sad that his choices were so limited. If circumstances were different, Aimee would be just the kind of woman he could cherish.
Dwelling on that or what she thought of him was of no use, and was too self-serving. But it didn’t stop him from feeling sad for what would never be.
Chapter 12
Aimee woke up early, her body ready for her normal six-thirty run on the beach. She dragged her legs over the edge of the bed and sat hunched over with her chin in her hands. She didn’t feel like running. She felt like staying in her pajamas all day and watching sad romance movies and crying her eyes out.
“My whole life is a bad movie,” she muttered.
Aimee stood and stretched, raising her fingers to the ceiling and then dropping down to touch her toes. She messed up her hair, rubbed her scalp, and then sifted it all back into place. She walked into the bathroom and was horrified with the woman she saw in the mirror.
Her eyes were nearly shut from puffiness, the results of the crying she did every time she woke up. Mascara had slipped down and created two dark wells underneath her eyes, streaked with tears. The black half-circles as well as faint traces of glittered eyeshadow were the only visible remnants from her Cinderella pumpkin ride last night.
She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and brushed her hair, putting it back into a ponytail. She wore a baseball cap so she wouldn’t have to show off her puffy eyes.
Then Aimee slipped off her pajama bottoms and her IRB tee shirt before she donned her sleek black running pants and lavender fleece top. She carefully put Neosporin on her blisters, and then covered them with anklet socks. She carefully slid into her green Nikes after making sure they were laced extremely loose.
Taking a water bottle from the refrigerator, she tucked it into her back pocket, opened her sliding glass door, and stepped out into the foggy morning. Carefully, she made her way through the sand dune and then down to the beach. She found it completely deserted. It was often like this on a Sunday morning. But this morning was unusually cold and uncharacteristically foggy, so she figured most of the tourists stayed away until the sun came out.
She’d have the beach mostly to herself. That was a good thing.
The ocean looked gray. The sunrise had left the sky purple, turning to yellow-orange in streaks that would soon disappear. She stretched briefly, set her watch for thirty minutes, and then headed down her usual course, finding the firm sand closest to the surf.
Images of last night danced through her head. She took it as a good sign she could still bear to think about her red dress, the smell of the flowers, and the lavish decorations. How it felt to slow dance next to someone warm who had powerful arms. She was happy for the young bride and hoped they were happy as a couple. She also trusted that the bride knew how lucky she was.
The bicycle twins passed her, their silver hair blowing in the breeze. She waved and gave them a warm smile, which they returned.
Later on, she found a group of women running together in a pod in the opposite direction. All of them wore pink, and one of the women had no hair. Aimee gave the group a thumbs-up, and sh
e got seven or eight in return.
She passed a heavyset woman walking alone, snuggled in a ski jacket with a checkered scarf around her neck. She passed two men who sat on collapsible stools, fishing.
When her alarm went off, she saw the path that led down to Connie’s restaurant. At some point, she’d go back there. But not yet. She wasn’t quite ready yet.
She headed for home.
She knew at some point she had passed Cory’s house. Aimee was proud that she didn’t even try to look for it or to see if anyone was awake. She was focused on the stretch of beach in front of her, the way her lungs filled with air, and the sparkle of the pristine, white crystal sand.
As the sky became more blue, she noticed the heat of the day starting. The fog was gone, and one by one, people came out from the houses and beach trails along the shore, to play, to walk, to just be there.
Aimee knew she was close to her house when she spotted the abandoned pink house five houses down from hers. She’d always wondered about that house. No one ever sat outside on the patio, or came out on the balcony on the second floor. The windows were boarded up. The paint peeled and part of the rain gutter on the side had come undone, hanging at an angle at the side, ready to fall down completely.
The house appeared abandoned.
On a whim, she ran up and over the dunes and then carefully trudged through the seagrass. Hopping over the shallow drainage canal, she walked up the nearly deteriorated wooden steps to the patio. A barbecue had been turned on its side, the contents spilled. Two rusty lawn chairs sat side-by-side in perfect view of the ocean. She walked along the side of the house to see if she could find any window not covered in plywood.
Aimee found a door open, leading to a storage room, which contained an old freezer. A dirty mop had been stuck inside, propping up the lid. Just past the freezer was a door which, remarkably, was open.
Stepping inside a large kitchen area, a small sliver of light coming from a hole in the plywood cover made the room barely visible. All the appliances had been torn out, or removed and left broken in the dining room. The refrigerator door was left ajar. The huge L-shaped countertop was made of 1940’s vintage pink and black tile, in somewhat decent condition except for the cracked and dark moldy grout lines.
She walked into the living room and discovered she could open the front door, which let in more light. That enabled her to walk the stairs up to the clutter of broken furniture and dirty old mattresses littering the three bedrooms there. Both bathrooms were also done in four inch green tiles, trimmed in black. Someone had removed a bathtub in one bathroom, and both toilets were missing as well.
As she came down the stairs, she imagined a home decorated in pastels, pictures of beach scenes on the wall. Pillows with mermaids, starfish, and sand dollars brightened the white furniture. She saw people mingling on the patio and smelled a barbeque fired up sending delicious aromas.
She took pictures of several of the rooms with her cell, and then closed the front door, making sure it was locked before exiting the doors through the storage area the way she’d let herself in. She decided to leave those doors as she found them—open.
Standing back on the beach, she was able to take one last picture, capturing both stories, and a portion of the yard in front.
What if I could turn this home into a showplace?
A project was definitely what she needed. And, if this house didn’t work, perhaps it was time she started looking. Now there wasn’t anything holding her back.
Walking back to her bungalow, she sat at the counter and reached for the pad of paper she kept there with a pen. Aimee made a list of all her questions, starting with who the owner was. From memory, she listed all the things that would have to be fixed, going room by room, looking over the pictures to make sure she didn’t miss anything. Added to the list was finding contractors who she’d hire to do the work. She needed the name of a local Realtor to help her decide what it would be worth when she finished to see if it was even worth doing the project at all.
During her shower, she remembered the young man at JJ’s who looked like her brother. That was another loose end she wanted to explore.
As she put moisturizer on her face and blow-dried her hair, the lady she saw in the mirror now didn’t look anything like the wreck who had greeted her this morning. Even her eyes had started to lose their puffiness.
Her stomach began to call, so after getting dressed for a warm Florida fall day, she put on flip-flops, which would help with the blister healing and decided to go to JJ’s for breakfast to see if she could find the kitchen helper she’d seen that night.
She called Shelley.
“Good timing. I was just going to cook some eggs. I’ll meet you there in a half hour? Give me time to shower.”
“Perfect.”
Aimee was first to arrive and took a table in the corner by a large statue of a lobster holding a tray and wearing a tux. She’d seen tourists take their picture in front of it on many occasions.
Her server approached with the mug of coffee she’d ordered. “My friend will be here soon.”
“Great, I’ll come back then.” The young server looked to be about high school age.
“Say, can I ask if the owner is here?”
“What’s wrong?”
Aimee laughed. “Not to worry. Nothing’s wrong. I just have a question about someone who works here.”
“Who?”
“Well, do you know a Logan Greer? He’d be a little older than I am.”
The server cocked her head and considered the question. “I don’t think we have anyone named Logan here, but I only work the early breakfast on weekends. They have a full staff at night, especially when they have entertainment.”
“Yes, this was on Wednesday, I think. There was a band here. It was packed. That’s the night I saw him.”
“Well, the owner doesn’t usually come in on Sundays, but even then, I’m not sure he’s as familiar with the staff. We have a restaurant manager. He hires us and the bartenders and some of the kitchen staff. And we have a bookkeeper who does the payroll. She comes in on Mondays, so you’d have to catch her tomorrow. That’s the only day she works. I don’t know when Roger will be in, but his hours are not set.”
“Would you be willing to give me their phone numbers?” Aimee asked.
“You just have to call the restaurant. I don’t even have a way to reach them outside of work. But calling the restaurant would be your best bet.”
Aimee pulled out her clipboard and asked for the manager’s name as well as the name of the bookkeeper. “Thanks so much.”
Shelley walked through the door, and Aimee gave her a wave. “Here’s my friend now.”
“Hi there,” Shelley said, giving her a big smile.
“Would you like some coffee?” the server asked.
“I’d love some.”
The young girl went in search of coffee. Aimee was anxious to tell Shelley about the house she found.
“I was running on the beach this morning, and I found this house that’s very close to my place. It looks like it’s abandoned. I walked through it and I took some pictures. Let me show you.”
She placed her cell phone on the table and scrolled through several of the pictures, watching Shelley’s expression. At first her friend was excited, but as she viewed the photos, her expression grew sour. She pushed the cell phone back across the table top.
“What do you think?” Aimee asked.
“Honestly?”
“Yes!”
“I think you’ve lost your mind. This place is a dump. I mean, this is a contractor’s dream. Do you have any experience doing any of that work? This isn’t just paint and carpet and drapes, you know?”
“I do know. I’ve got a list of things I need to find out about, and of course I need to figure out what it would cost. But wouldn’t it be great?”
“Well, Aimee, you’re talking a lot of money here. And if you have to hire a contractor to do it all, I’m not s
ure it would work out. I mean, this looks like a money pit.”
Aimee could see there would be no convincing Shelley that what she was going to entertain was a good idea. But that wasn’t gonna stop her.
“What does Cory think?” Shelley asked.
Her comment made Aimee freeze in place. All of a sudden, her world got small. She temporarily forgot the pain of last night, and all her former confusion came screaming back. Along with all the pain and the tears.
“I haven’t told him yet.” She couldn’t make eye contact.
“Well, I think Cory would know some people. He’d certainly know much better than I. But I suppose he’ll have to go back to Virginia, so I don’t know how all that timing will work for you.”
Aimee decided not to tell Shelley about her situation. “I’m just toying with the idea. I thought it would be fun to look at places, maybe invest in a little place here.”
“Sure, I think that’s a great idea. Do you have the down payment?”
“I have some from my parents. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to buy something here.”
“Well, we’re not that far from Little Creek, or at least closer than you’d be in California. I guess it depends on where you want to live, Aimee. Have you thought about that? Have you and Cory made any plans?”
That comment caught her off guard. “No, no plans. There is just something about this place that feels good to me, Shelley. It’s not perfect. But there’s something about the beach—this beach, in particular—that makes me feel like it’s home.”
Aimee was a little fragile inside, and when she felt tears beginning to well up, she quickly grabbed her coffee and took several long sips.
The server brought Shelley’s coffee and a refill for Aimee. They ordered. Then came the awkward silence Aimee was dreading.
“Is Andy still around?” Shelley asked.
“I suppose so. Why?”
SEALed At Sunset Page 11
