by Karis Walsh
A woman with spiked blond hair and a color-blocked silk tunic separated herself from the crowd and came rushing toward her. Mel glanced over her shoulder to see if she was aiming at someone else, but the woman stopped directly in front of her.
“Melinda Andrews, am I right? Proprietor of the Sea Glass Inn? I’m Tia Bell, of the Bell Gallery.”
“Mel is fine. And this is Tracy, a guest at the inn.” Mel put her hand out, but Tia grabbed her in a bear hug.
“No formalities here, our small community is like a family.
Tracy, welcome to Cannon Beach. Do you just love staying at Mel’s inn? I’ve heard it’s fabulous. Of course, I had a feeling from the beginning about you moving here, Mel. I told everyone I saw, ‘This one’s going to make it,’ and sure enough, you did!”
Mel wasn’t certain three guests constituted “making it,” and according to talk Mel had heard at the local grocery store, no one in town had been very optimistic about her venture. But any sign of acceptance as a local was welcome. “Thank you. I—”
“I’ve been meaning to stop by and take a tour of your inn,” Tia continued, apparently comfortable carrying on a conversation without assistance. “Oh, you should have a housewarming. It’ll be a great way to meet your neighbors and spread the word about your business at the same time. Word of mouth is the best way to advertise, I always say.
I’ll plan the party for you—it’s what I do. And you should join the arts commission, and I’ll give you the schedule for city council meetings.
I’m sure you’ll want to get involved in your new hometown. By the way, rumor has it you have some of my dear friend Pamela’s artwork in your inn…Whatever you paid for them, I’ll give you double.”
Mel was trying to figure out how she’d possibly have time to join every committee in town, and she slowly caught up to the last part of Tia’s monologue.
“My mosaics are quite definitely not for sale, but I’d love to show them to you if you stop by for coffee sometime.”
“Ah, a shrewd businesswoman. Just as I suspected when I heard you had snapped up that beautiful old house. Coffee and a tour sounds divine. I’ll come by Monday at three? So good to have met you at last, Mel. And you too, Tracy. Now I must run. Enjoy the art show, and remember all proceeds go directly to our local no-kill shelter.”
“Serve decaf,” Tracy said as they watched Tia accost another arrival.
Mel laughed. “So she heard a rumor I have some of Pam’s paintings? I have a feeling most rumors in this town start and end with her.”
Mel and Tracy walked down the first aisle. Most of the booths were filled with paintings and sculptures, but there were plenty of crafts and holiday items as well. Mel had already met more locals than she had realized while on shopping trips in town, and she had an unexpected sense of belonging as she greeted new friends every few feet. She enjoyed being with Tracy as well. The occasional brush of their shoulders and their closeness when they’d lean in to talk over the noise of the crowd was pleasant. Mel didn’t have the same instant reaction she did every time Pam came near, but she felt comfortable and happy with Tracy’s companionship.
Tracy stopped to buy some stained-glass Christmas ornaments, and Mel wandered alone to the end of the aisle. She scanned the paintings in each booth as she passed, hoping to find a painting with colors to match her bedroom. She had almost asked Pam for yet another mosaic, but even the thought of sleeping with a glaring reminder of Pam in her bedroom seemed masochistic. And, someday, she wouldn’t want an ex in the bedroom with her and a new partner.
Mel came to the end of the aisle and was about to turn around and look for Tracy when she saw a painting of a dog with a piece of wood almost its own size in its mouth, running on the beach. The dog was unmistakably Piper, the style unmistakably Pam’s. Mel walked over for a closer look at the series of watercolors.
Pam motioned for Lisa to come over and finish wrapping the bronze puffin she had just sold. She had noticed Mel the moment she approached the booth, had seen her smile when she recognized Piper.
Pam had the ridiculous notion she had painted those watercolors just to see that smile. Creating for someone else. Something she hadn’t done so completely since her portrait work. She had painted the commissioned mosaics for Mel, for the inn, but she had used subjects that inspired her. Had expressed emotions she needed to purge. Had converted thoughts—thoughts she couldn’t put into words—into images.
But this new balance was something unexpected. Familiar, but lost for so long. Painting because the subject made her smile, infused her with a sense of wonder and appreciation for the world around her, but also because she remembered the look on Mel’s face when she met Piper for the first time, connecting with another creature after being isolated for so long. And because she liked the way Danny dropped his young adult persona and became a kid again when he played with her dog. Pam had reluctantly sold the watercolors only minutes after the show had opened, but she had wanted to keep them.
Give them to Mel. But Mel might have read more into the gift than Pam meant to say.
Pam stepped up behind her. She wanted to put her arms around Mel’s waist, whisper in her ear how much she had missed her, drag her out to her car and show her how much she had missed her. She stood there, feeling awkward and out of balance. She only missed the sex, not Mel herself. But if that were really true, she’d have no problem touching Mel, suggesting a night together. Instead, she was tempted to hide under the table until Mel left the booth. But they lived in a very small town. She couldn’t avoid seeing Mel forever. She cleared her throat and Mel turned to face her.
“These are lovely. I didn’t know you painted with watercolors.”
“Depends on the subject,” Pam said. She couldn’t stop herself from stepping closer. Inhaling, searching for the scent of roses. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too,” Mel said. “How’s your house?”
“Good as new,” Pam said. Partially true. The walls and roof were fixed, the new patches fitting seamlessly with the old. But the house wasn’t right. The bed was cold. The sheets smelled wrong. The walls were empty. Pam hadn’t noticed those things before. “I saw a different car parked outside your inn. Your guests must have arrived.”
Someone approached them before Mel could answer. A customer.
Pam sighed, irritated by the interruption.
“There you are, Mel,” the woman said. She moved next to Mel, their arms just touching.
“Pam, this is Tracy, one of my guests. Tracy, Pam’s the artist I was telling you about.” Mel didn’t move away as she made the introductions.
“Nice to meet you—I love your mosaics. They’re perfect for the theme of Mel’s inn.”
“Thank you,” Pam said stiffly. Not a customer, but one of Mel’s clients. Obviously wanting to be something more. She was looking at Mel with the same kind of longing Pam guessed had been on her own face only moments before. She wondered if this woman was sleeping in her room, with her starfish. Or was she sleeping in Mel’s room?
Did she really need to stand so close to Mel? Pam was tempted to get the bronze puffin back and drop it on Tracy’s foot. Put her out of the mood for romance.
“I’d love to buy one of these for Danny’s room,” Mel said. “Are all three sold?”
Pam nodded, dragging her gaze off Tracy and her thoughts off whatever the two of them might be doing together. She was the one who had told Mel she should experiment, play the field. She just hadn’t expected her to start with her very first lesbian guest. She wasn’t surprised this Tracy woman was interested in Mel. Who wouldn’t be?
Mel was sexy. Beautiful and strong and talented and interesting. And sexy. Pam had hoped to have more time than this. Time to get used to seeing Mel around town, being her friend. Time for her urges to fade.
The need to touch her, the desire to feel her naked body pressed so close. Time for Pam to be able to think of Mel with another woman without wanting to scream. Maybe she’d drop t
he puffin on Tracy’s head instead of her foot.
“They are, but don’t worry. I’ll paint one for Danny,” Pam said. Her surprise at the ease of her offer momentarily replaced her uncalled-for jealousy. She had fought against taking Mel’s original commission, but now she had no qualms about agreeing to produce a watercolor for Danny. An image of him and Piper scaling big rocks at the park slipped easily into her mind. She filed it away. She would paint it tomorrow.
“He’ll love that,” Mel said. “And I’ll be sure to donate the money I’d have spent to the shelter.”
“Cool, they can use it,” Pam said. An uneasy silence followed while she wondered how she could get Mel alone again.
“How about getting that pizza now?” Tracy asked. Her voice sounded overly bright, as if she had picked up on the uncomfortable dynamic between Mel and Pam.
“Sure,” Mel said. “Nice to see you again, Pam.”
❖
Mel got through dinner at Fortuna’s and managed to pay enough attention to Tracy to keep up her end of the conversation. Her wandering mind often returned to Pam, though, and her unreadable expressions when Mel first turned and saw her and when Tracy walked over. Pam had stood so close, desire and promise blended together in the curve of her smile. And Pam had never failed to deliver on that promise. But Mel hadn’t been able to read Pam’s reaction to Tracy. Jealousy or anger? Or, even worse, indifference? There had been plenty of other women in the auditorium, so no doubt Pam had been able to find company of her own. Mel had no question about her own reaction to the thought of Pam being with someone else. She didn’t like it at all.
A strong wind had blown the rain inland, and the evening was cold and clear by the time Mel pulled her Honda into the inn’s driveway. She got a couple of beers out of the fridge, and she and Tracy bundled in heavy coats and sat at the top of the stairs leading to the beach.
Mel leaned against the back gate and relaxed into the intermittent talk and companionable silence. The ocean was invisible but so present she could feel the constant drone of waves inside her. High tide. She could tell just from the sound of the surf. She enjoyed Tracy’s company, liked talking to her, and was surprised by how much they had in common. But the energy of the tide fueled the restlessness that had been growing inside her as the evening progressed. So different from the night when she and Pam had kissed for the first time.
She breathed deeply, pulling herself out of the past and into the present moment. Trying to forget the day she and Pam had sat in this very spot and shared a pizza and wine. When they had talked about Mel’s past and the clouds and the approaching storm. But she couldn’t forget because her thigh rested against the cold metal ashtray Pam had used. And the ocean breeze stirred up the smell of stale smoke.
And the waving blades of sea grass that caressed Mel’s hand felt as soft and centering as Pam’s touch had been when she had reached out to comfort Mel. The wind brought tears to her eyes and made the muscles in her face tighten in the cold.
Tracy reached over and gently traced Mel’s hand with her index finger before she slid their palms together and tightened her hold. Mel was aware of the soft comfort of Tracy’s grip, the growing warmth of skin on skin, the pressure as Tracy’s thumb gently massaged the top of Mel’s hand. This was what she wanted. Connection, intimacy, someone who was able to talk about relationships and dating without breaking out in a nervous sweat. Tracy leaned forward and kissed her, her lips asking a question Mel answered with a yes. She kissed Tracy back, a part of her rejoicing because after so many years she felt sexy.
Desirable. Hopeful. And too aware. She hadn’t thought about those things when she had kissed Pam because Pam consumed her. And then she was those things.
Tracy pulled back with a sigh. “The artist?”
Mel didn’t have to answer. She figured her feelings had been obvious from the moment she had shown her guests to their rooms and told them who had painted the mosaics. “I’m sorry.”
Tracy gave her hand a squeeze and, then, released it. “Don’t be. I had a feeling, but I had to try. To see if I could kiss her out of you.”
Mel laughed. “I was hoping you could, too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Mel said. She was tempted. Pour out her heart, share the feelings she had for Pam. Feelings that insistently grew stronger, more intense, even though she tried to fight them with common sense. But if she talked about them with anyone, it should be with Pam. “Thank you, though.”
“I’ll let you be, then.” Tracy gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stood up. “I had a fun evening, even considering how it ended. Good night.”
She went back to the house and Mel stared after her. The inn’s lit windows gave it a soft, welcoming look, and the glazed stones in the meandering path glistened in the diffused light. The old house had been stubborn, but Mel had made it adapt to the fragile vision she had carried in her mind. She had tried to endure her marriage by pretending to be a straight and happy wife. And she had tried to do the same thing with Pam, pretending to be satisfied with a no-strings relationship. No more. She hadn’t compromised on any part of the dream she had held for her new home. She certainly wasn’t going to settle for anything less when it came to love.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pam stepped out of her office on Tuesday afternoon and saw Mel standing by the window. Her hair was windblown and her cheeks red from the cold, as if she had been on the beach only moments before. She seemed miles away from the silk and hair spray Pam had noticed on her first visit to the gallery. When she turned and saw Pam in the doorway, her smile was different as well. Back in August, Mel’s expression had been self-conscious, hopeful, sexy.
But, since then, she had been tested and had succeeded. Now her smile was easy and confident. Breathtaking. Pam saw no trace of the tentative outsider Mel had been in the summer. She looked at home.
In the gallery, in the ocean town, in her bulky jacket and faded jeans.
“Hi, Pam,” she said, walking closer. “I need to talk to you. Come for a walk with me?”
“Sure. Lisa, you’ll be okay without me here for a bit?”
“Oh, I think I can manage,” Lisa said without looking up from her crossword puzzle. Pam could guess what she was thinking. Of course she’d be okay. She’d been running the gallery single-handed all morning while Pam had sat in her office and stared blankly at the tax form she was supposed to be completing. The numbers had made no sense, and the only figures she had been able to see were Mel and Tracy tangled together in Mel’s sheets. She grabbed her coat and followed Mel outside.
Mel crossed the street and led them to the beach. She was silent on the short walk, and Pam’s daydreams of Mel stopping by for a quickie in her office faded away. She let Mel set the pace of their meeting and didn’t ask the questions she had burning in her mind.
Mel was obviously a woman with something serious to say. Never a good thing. Pam saw no reason to rush into whatever trouble was ahead.
Mel climbed up to sit on a large tree trunk, which was weathered and smooth from the ocean’s waves. Pam sat next to her and hugged her coat tighter against the chilled breeze. Mel stared out at the ocean for a moment, her chin-length hair whipping across her face. Finally she turned to face Pam.
“I lied. To you and to myself,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “After all my claims to want an open, honest life, I lied. I told you I didn’t want a serious relationship, that I was opposed to marriage. The truth is, I didn’t like my marriage. I didn’t like who I was in my marriage. But I believe in love and commitment, and I want those things in my life.”
Pam felt the crashing ocean waves competing with the beating of her heart. Of course she had known Mel needed forever. As much as she had tried to convince herself Mel was like her—a player, able to separate sex from any emotional attachment—she had always expected their relationship wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Mel. And Pam had let her own fee
lings get out of control. She had gotten involved with a woman who had come here to settle, to make a home.
And she had needed to get away before Mel trapped her in the life she was building.
She had been too late, though. Mel had already trapped her. Pam wasn’t satisfied with their few nights together, the few weeks they had lived in the same house. She wanted more. And if she were given months to be Mel’s lover, years to be her friend, Pam still wouldn’t be satisfied. She’d never get tired of Mel or bored with her. Better to stick with tourists, strangers. Because an hour or two, a night or two, was always enough. And when they left, they didn’t leave a hole in your heart. An aching for more. Yes, Mel ought to have someone who loved her, was committed to only her. Forever. Not just because Mel wanted it, but because no woman could possibly be satisfied with only a brief moment in time with her.
“You deserve those things,” she said. She brushed her fingers through Mel’s unruly hair and cupped her cheek. “And I believe you’ll find them. But not with me.”
“I won’t accept secrecy or being used,” Mel said, raising her hand to cover Pam’s. “We’d be good together. We balance each other. And I love every part of being with you. Your talent, your sensitivity, your body, your touch. But I’m offering a whole relationship. I won’t settle for less.”
Pam shook her head and withdrew her hand. “I care about you. More than I should. But what you want—it’s just not who I am.”
“I think deep inside you want the same thing. You’re just afraid of it.” Mel leaned over to give Pam a kiss. Her mouth lingered for a moment, and then she pulled away and stood. “Good-bye, Pam.”
Pam could hear the sadness in Mel’s voice, and she saw determination in her posture as she walked down the beach toward her inn, the waves breaking at her feet. Pam wanted to run after her, to convince Mel to resume their halfhearted, comfortable arrangement.
