North Coast: A Contemporary Love Story

by Dorothy Rice Bennett

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  North Coast

  A Contemporary Love Story

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 Dorothy Rice Bennett

  v4.0

  Cover Photo © 2015 Dorothy Rice Bennett. All rights reserved - used with permission.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Outskirts Press, Inc.

  http://www.outskirtspress.com

  Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  In Memory of Vera

  Prologue

  Gina pushed the battered green Beetle to the limit as she sped up the 101 to Eureka. She had left San Francisco just after dawn, and she wanted to be on the North Coast by mid-afternoon.

  With each mile marker she passed, her heart seemed to pound more wildly and she fought a giant lump in her throat.

  One thought, one question spurred her on. Would Valerie want her—would Val even speak to her—after all these months?

  She didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know if she could handle a rejection, but she was going anyway. . .

  Chapter One

  As soon as Valerie shifted in the bed—her right arm now hanging over the edge—Sam’s big red nose pushed its way into her open right palm. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense the golden retriever’s tail wagging ferociously. Val had awakened late to one of those perfect Chamber of Commerce mornings, as winter sunlight crept through her bedroom windows to the east. Her western windows were open slightly, and she took a deep breath of the crisp air and imagined gentle surf caressing the shores of Humboldt Bay. This was going to be a beautiful day, she considered with satisfaction, and the perfect time for a romp along the waterfront.

  Val changed her position to allow the big dog several sloppy chin licks and then grimaced.

  “Okay, Samantha, that’s enough. You’re drowning me!”

  She playfully pushed the dog’s big head away and climbed out of bed. Pulling on her sweats and Reeboks and corralling her shoulder-length honey blonde hair with a sweatband, she bounded down two flights of stairs alongside the retriever, grabbed Sam’s leash and the house keys from a table near the front door, and stepped outside to face the day.

  After a mile trot down into Old Town, the pair ran another mile along the Boardwalk and a pedestrian walkway near the famed Carson House, a well-preserved Victorian mansion dating from 1885. Although it was early winter, on this sunny morning—rare for rainy Eureka—no one would know it. Both Valerie and Sam sniffed the sea air with contentment. Val found a Frisbee that someone had left behind. She picked up the abandoned toy and looked it over. The blue plastic disc seemed clean enough, so she tossed it for Sam. The female dog happily chased the Frisbee and quickly, tail in rapid motion, brought it back to Val as a present.

  The two alternately walked and loped for more than an hour, at one point skirting two pre-teen girls who careened precariously on inline skates and one small boy on a skateboard. They, too, were enjoying the unusually fine morning. Exhausted at the end of their outing, Val and Sam worked their way at a much slower pace back uphill to the house. The older, two-story frame job with a two-car garage was a weather-beaten shade of brown with off-white trim. Beds of now dormant wildflowers lined the front walk, which was formed of rough-hewn stone slabs. Valerie noted that the front yard needed a touch up—even in winter weeds managed to grow—but she knew that she needn’t worry about it. Her lawn gal, Josie Turner, would be around sometime later to give the yard a good going over.

  Val waved to Mrs. Schowalter, the stooped, gray-haired lady who lived next door. The elderly woman was out sweeping her front steps. Her miniature dachshund, Molly, watched her efforts from a safe perch on a porch loveseat. Valerie sometimes walked with Mrs. Schowalter and Molly, but when they did, it was out of friendship and had no real exercise goals. Molly and her mistress walked rather slowly compared to Val and Sam.

  On days like this one, Valerie mused, she felt reasonably content. Perhaps she had made the right decision to move to Eureka, trading San Francisco’s crowded conditions, traffic, and polluted air for this quieter, if somewhat colder and wetter, northern California town. Eureka thought of itself as a small coastal city, but to Val it was a town, nothing more. However on this day that was enough. She was so glad the holidays were over—her first Christmas season since Doreen had died. Her first alone. She was relieved she had survived the profound sense of loneliness and loss during that highly-touted family time and could now look forward to the coming year.

  While on the front walk Valerie leaned down to pick up the morning’s Times-Standard—a puny roll of newsprint compared to The San Francisco Chronicle and filled with announcements of local, not-so-thrilling events. She sometimes had to laugh at the flower shows, tea parties, bake sales, and other similar social activities, but the Eureka paper still had her favorite cartoon and the daily crossword puzzle. She would survive.

  “Come, Sam,” she said, “How about some breakfast?”

  Followed by the still-panting retriever, Valerie entered the spacious house. She passed through the wood-paneled dining room and into the kitchen, checked for messages on the answering machine atop the counter, then started the coffee maker and refilled Sam’s water bowl. She threw two slices of bread into the toaster, took strawberry jam out of the refrigerator, and filled Sam’s food bowl with a scoop of senior-formula kibble from a large bag in the pantry.

  “We won’t worry about calories today, Sam,” Val mused, her hazel eyes dancing. She considered Sam as the dog slurped water noisily. She was pretty trim for a large, aging dog, but as for herself, at 51 she had begun to put on the inevitable middle-age spread. “I’m just pleasingly plump,” she suggested aloud to the retriever. Never overly athletic, Val still felt she had held her own pretty well over the years. And she wasn’t about to put herself through some wild dieting scheme or surgical procedure, like stapling her stomach, to lose a few pounds.

  While Sam crunched away on her kibble until her bowl was spotless, Valerie slathered jam on her toast and spread the newspaper on the dining room table. Then she grabbed her cordless phone from the counter to return a call from her friend Lanie Olson. The two had planned dinner and a movie later that day.

  Valerie dialed. “Lanie, are you up yet?” she asked, when she heard nothing but silence even though the receiver had been picked up. “It’s too beautiful to stay in bed all morning! Come on, gal, get going!” She laughed. “Are we
still on for dinner and the movie?”

  With an audible yawn, Lanie’s voice sleepily agreed. “Sure thing, girlfriend. Sorry. I was up late last night.” Still yawning she inquired huskily, “Did you find a roomer yet?”

  Valerie frowned. “Not yet, but this is a Saturday. Maybe someone will call today. I hope so.” She paused to take a bite of her toast. “I’d sure like to get it rented in time to help make my mortgage payment.” She sighed. “Oh, well, something will happen.”

  The two set a time to meet. Lanie would come to the house at 4 p.m. They’d walk on the beach, then grab a bite to eat, and hit a 7 p.m. movie at the local multiplex—one of two local film emporiums, the fancy one with stadium seating. Valerie smiled to herself. No funky art movie houses here. If they wanted art films, they had to get them from cable or Netflix.

  Thinking of Lanie Olson always brought a smile to Valerie’s lips. They had first met several months earlier in a local real estate office, where Val had gone to sign paperwork for the purchase of her house. She had just put down her pen after signing several pages of legal documents. Her realtor had moved to a nearby copy machine when Valerie suddenly sensed someone looking at her. Feeling a tingling sensation in her back, she turned and looked into the flashing dark brown eyes of a petite, stocky-built woman wearing a western-style pants outfit. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the woman gave Valerie a grin. Val felt a bit embarrassed and turned away. She was relieved when the realtor brought her another pile of papers to look over. As she did, the petite stranger brushed by her and whispered, “Nice house you picked. I wish it had been my listing.” Valerie nearly jumped in surprise. The woman placed a business card beside her and said, “Give me a call sometime. We’ll have coffee and talk.”

  Valerie had kept the card but knew she would never make the call. A few days later Lanie Olson showed up on her doorstep. Nonplussed at first, Val found the little gal, in her late 40s with short brown curly hair to match her chocolate eyes, hard to resist. “I can see why you are selling real estate,” she quipped. Lanie actually had been a new agent just beginning work with the broker. “Midlife change,” she admitted with a grin. Almost instantly, they recognized a shared kinship and became good friends, although Lanie was quite invested—meaning seven days a week invested—in making a success of the real estate game. The two kept contact by phone and enjoyed each other’s company when possible.

  At this point, there had been nothing romantic between them. Valerie was still grieving for Doreen and wasn’t ready for sexual intimacy with another woman. When her mind could get around such subjects, she admitted that Lanie sparkled and was intriguing but questioned whether she would make a good partner. She felt sure that Lanie was attracted to her—in fact Lanie had kidded about it on several occasions—but Val was not about to encourage her. Thankfully, for the most part, Lanie had shown respect for Val’s devastating loss and resulting major life adjustment.

  After she finished breakfast Valerie went out to the garage, which she had turned into a studio. She worked primarily in oils and sometimes in watercolor, and the large garage was a perfect place to work. Well not quite perfect. Her Volvo station wagon would probably rust, since it was parked in the driveway and often exposed to rain, wind, and ocean salt. The available natural light in the garage was not exactly a painter’s dream either, but she had made it work.

  Sam sniffed around the concrete floor and then, as was her habit, curled up on an oval rag rug by Valerie’s stool as Val put some finishing touches on a painting she had started the previous week. The canvas depicted a coastal scene and featured a majestic lighthouse. She had sketched the natural setting by the ocean—the number of days at this time of the year when she could work outside was limited, so she made it a habit to start a work out of doors when weather permitted and then move indoors to flesh out the details. There was no lighthouse near Eureka that matched what she had in mind, so she used a photograph of another lighthouse along the California coast and sketched from that photograph, placing the lighthouse within her own landscape. Only the purists would know the difference, she thought to herself, and anyway as a painter she was far more impressionist than realist.

  Valerie was so totally involved in her work that she was startled when the front doorbell rang. Sam jumped to her feet and began barking, and Val looked at her watch. 11:30 a.m. Hmmm. Could it be Josie, with a question? She had heard sounds outside a few minutes earlier that might have been Josie at work. Val put down her paintbrush, wiped her hands on a rag, and with Sam at her heels returned to the house. She walked into the entryway and opened the paneled front door.

  A tall, slender young woman stood on the porch. Her face was pale and ringed with stringy, long brown hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail. She wore glasses with clip-on sunshades and sported a sweatshirt with “Arizona” written across the front in bold letters. Faded jeans and rundown once-white Nikes completed the fashion statement. Behind her, Valerie noticed an unfamiliar green, rather battered VW Beetle parked across the street. She decided it probably belonged to her visitor, who stood holding a map in one hand.

  “Yes?” A slight frown marked Val’s surprise at having an unexpected stranger on her doorstep.

  “You have, uh, a room for rent?” the young woman asked. Her voice was low-pitched and hesitant.

  “Yes, I do,” Val acknowledged. Perplexed, she still managed to remember her manners and motioned toward the inside of the house. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Thank you.” With a quick nod the woman stepped into the tile-floored entryway, pulled off the plastic shades, and stole a quick glance around the areas of the house that were immediately visible to her. Sam had stopped barking when Val opened the door. She now sniffed around the unexpected guest.

  Valerie closed the door and waved Sam away. “Enough, Sam.” When Sam backed off, Val turned to the woman. “How did you hear about my room?” she asked as she appraised the visitor. Although seeming hardly more than a girl—at least from Valerie’s perspective—the young woman had a surprisingly appealing quality, despite her rather sloppy outward appearance. A subtle energy radiated from her, and Val now noticed that the shades had covered intense blue eyes.

  “At the women’s center, at Humboldt State.”

  “But I gave only a phone number. How did you get the address?” Valerie tried not to be too sharp, but the edge in her voice was apparent anyway.

  The young woman blushed with obvious embarrassment, her cheeks, ears, and neck turning bright crimson. “I’m so sorry. I suppose I should have called.” She swallowed nervously. “But I’m terrible with telephones. I need to see faces. So I asked the clerk where the house was located, and she was nice enough to tell me.” The words tumbled out. She was clearly very uncomfortable and shifted back and forth on her feet. “I guess she shouldn’t have, right?”

  Valerie shrugged. “No, but I suppose it’s okay.” She suddenly chuckled. “You don’t look like a serial killer—or anything dangerous.”

  The tension broke, and the young woman visibly relaxed. Her fidgeting ceased. “No, I don’t think so.” She risked a smile and extended a slender, yet muscular-looking hand. “I’m Gina. Gina Fortenham. I just got to Eureka, and I’m looking for a place to stay. Your ad made this house sound really nice,” she acknowledged.

  “Oh, yes, thank you. Well, I’m Valerie Stephans.” Val put out her own hand.

  As they shook hands briefly, Valerie noted the younger woman’s damp palm and tentative grasp. Their eyes met, and Val’s breath caught as she stared directly for the first time into the deepest blue pools she had ever seen. An image of the deep blue hues of Oregon’s famed Crater Lake crossed her mind. She gave a little cough and quickly looked away. Still unnerved by the unexpected intrusion and now those intense blue eyes, Valerie took a deep breath, trying to calm down before she spoke. “Well,” she finally said, with a sweep of her hand, “this is a three-bedroom house. There are two bedrooms on the second floor, with a shared bath, that I re
nt out. At the moment, both rooms are empty. Down here is a living room, a dining room, with the kitchen behind, and another small bath and the laundry room along the hallway. My room is on the top floor, in what you might call the attic.”

  Valerie now noticed, as she waved her hand around, that her arm was covered with specks of paint. She flushed, realizing that she hadn’t taken time to thoroughly clean up before answering the door. She pointed to her smock. “I’m a painter,” she explained, “as you might guess by my somewhat colorful look. Hope I didn’t get you—.” She pointed to the paint spots on her arms and hands.

  Gina shook her head. After a slight pause, Val swallowed and continued, “My studio is in the garage. Unfortunately, that means all the parking is on the street.

  “There isn’t usually a problem,” she quickly added.

  “That’s fine.” Gina offered a slight smile. “My Beetle is little. I can always squeeze it in somewhere.”

  Valerie moved toward the stairs. “Here, I’ll show you the room that’s for rent.”

  The two women mounted the first flight of stairs, Sam following on their heels. Gina’s hand trailed along the polished wood railing.

  “I hope you like dogs,” Valerie said. “No allergies or anything?”

  “I love dogs,” Gina replied, “as long as they’re friendly. And no, no allergies.” Sam sniffed at her again, and she briefly offered the dog her open palm and then stroked the top of Sam’s head.

  “The house is carpeted downstairs and on the stairways, but the rooms upstairs have hardwood floors. They can be chilly, especially at night. I hope you don’t mind that,” Valerie said.

  “I like hardwood floors. They have a lot of character.”

  Val noticed that Gina appeared pleased with the bedroom. It was the bigger of the two rooms available and was light and airy, with windows on the east and south. The bay was just visible in the distance over another rooftop. Furniture in the room was old and a bit dark but very serviceable. Across the hall the small bathroom featured a classic, clubfooted tub. Gina acknowledged that the tub was “very charming.”