Trapped in Tourist Town

by Jennifer DeCuir

  He was sure his readers would delight in the humor aspect, as he described his icy plunge into the river. It turned out canoes were easier to get into than out of. He recalled the spectacularly embarrassing moment when his arms were pinwheeling wildly as the foot planted firmly on shore and the foot still in the canoe drifted further and further apart, turning him into a human wishbone. Not his finest moment. Burke rolled his shoulders and thought about the email awaiting an answer.

  Meredith was pushing for an answer. Where was he going from here? What fabulous locale had he chosen for his next assignment? She’d given him carte blanche (within reason) as she’d been so pleased with his articles on Scallop Shores, the seaside town she’d been so certain he’d fall in love with. She’d offered up some suggestions: Monte Carlo, Santorini, and Jamaica, to name a few.

  That was another overdue visit he’d have to make while he was in the city. It was one thing to cut ties with a family that he’d never felt he belonged to. But the magazine, his editor, they’d always been decent to him. He had no complaints. Up until a few short weeks ago, he’d hounded Meredith for the plum assignments. Now he was telling her ‘thanks, but no, thanks’. The idea set his stomach churning like a pit full of snakes.

  What the hell was he going to do for a living? He knew if he asked to do freelance from Scallop Shores, the answer would be no. It was a travel magazine, after all. No. If he wanted to stay in this town, he had to quit his job at the magazine. He’d have to find a nine-to-five, probably working weekends and most definitely pulling in a minimum wage. How the hell much was minimum wage? Could anyone even live on that?

  Burke had never wanted for anything in his life. While other college-bound kids straight out of high school were eating boxed macaroni and cheese or Ramen noodles, and buying secondhand furniture at Goodwill, Burke’s parents had bought him an apartment—a penthouse apartment—complete with an interior designer named Maurice, who had spent more time checking out Burke’s butt than fabric swatches.

  Living in this tiny one-bedroom cottage was the closest Burke had ever come to slumming it. And once he gave his notice at the magazine, he was one step closer to sleeping on the street. Did Scallop Shores even have a homeless community? He could be the first. The thought of squatting in front of Logan’s Bakery almost made him smile.

  Okay, he had to snap out of it! He was following his dream, right? He was going to write the Great American Horror Novel. It didn’t matter if he never earned a dime. He would be doing what he loved, in a town that he was learning to love. It was a new beginning, and damn it, he could do this!

  Elbows on the table, Burke rested his chin in his hands and stared moodily out the window. The sun shone bright, everything outside awash in color. The sliver of ocean that he could see was placid. It should have been calming, that tranquil blue. But it made him feel weak. And being weak pissed him off. He needed a plan.

  He needed to know just how bad things were going to be financially, once his parents cut him off. The penthouse was in their name. That issue had never bothered him before. It had allowed Burke his independence, while also ensuring that his parents could feel they were doing their part to support him, and still remain emotionally distant.

  Hadn’t a trust fund matured a couple of years ago? Did he have access to that? Was it already in an account somewhere? Maybe things weren’t as dire as his panicked brain had made them out to be. Then again, perhaps there were strings attached and part of getting his hands on that money meant accepting a role in the family business.

  Resigned to the fact that these questions were going to have to remain unanswered until he saw his father, Burke pushed his chair away from his workspace and stood up. His brain was too cluttered to do any kind of writing today. The beautiful summer weather was calling to him. Besides, living this close to the seashore and not spending more time at the water’s edge was a crime. He’d enjoy a run down to the beach and cool off with an icy dip in the Atlantic.

  Cady was working or he’d ask her to join him. It disgusted Burke how she’d had to beg for the time off. Two frickin’ days! From what she’d told him, she never took vacations. That Mr. Logan really took advantage of her. He couldn’t wait for the day she gave her notice.

  As he changed into running shorts and laced up his sneakers, he grinned. Mr. Logan had made Cady train Sophie on making espresso drinks. It was his one condition in order for her to take the time off. Burke knew it was killing her to let someone else touch her precious machine. But it meant that the bakery owner was admitting that customers would order the higher-priced drinks. That had to be worth something, right?

  The humidity wasn’t quite as thick as it had been, but the sense of walking out his door and into a wet blanket was still something Burke had a hard time adjusting to. As he jogged out his driveway and down the short, unpaved road that held a couple of other rental properties, he tried to picture the area in winter. Cady told him the beach areas were pretty much deserted after Labor Day.

  Burke ran past a roadside stand that sold local produce. He’d have to come back when he had some cash on him. He’d gotten addicted to fresh blueberries on his granola in the morning. They weren’t big and plump, like you could buy in the grocery store. These were much smaller, growing wild in the woods around town. And they were so much sweeter. His mouth watered and he picked up his speed to put some distance between himself and the tempting fruit.

  Taking a right, he passed a campground that catered to RVs and smaller campers. It would kill his father to know this, but Burke liked that Scallop Shores didn’t just cater to the well-to-do, like some of the ritzier towns up the coast. This town made it possible for people on any budget to vacation here. There were a couple of hotels that his father wouldn’t absolutely cringe at. The B&Bs were quite popular, too. But there were motels and campgrounds of all kinds.

  He watched a group of teens playing a game of volleyball on the cushiony grass at the campground. Mothers managed to hold a conversation from their webbed lawn chairs while keeping an eye on a group of toddlers splashing around in a kiddie pool. Oh, to have had summer experiences like this when he was growing up! Well, there was no sense lamenting the past when he had it within his power to change his future.

  Burke arrived at the beach and knew that his plan to run the whole length before rewarding himself with a swim was not going to be possible. Had he really not been down here at this time of day before? Not a parking space to be had. Families were jaywalking between cars that were stuck in traffic as far as the eye could see. The sand was nearly nonexistent, covered in multicolored blankets and towels. A rental station had been set up near the lifeguard stand, though there weren’t many floats left to be rented. He stood on the sidewalk, looking down over the chaos that was Scallop Shores overrun by tourists. It was glorious!

  Chapter 12

  Horns blaring and traffic rushing past. Voices raised in conversation over the myriad noises surrounding them. A jackhammer digging up concrete a street over. All of it wrapped Cady up in a cacophony of discordant pandemonium. It was glorious.

  Spinning in a slow circle, she took it all in, a wide grin stretching across her cheeks. She’d promised to wait in the little coffee shop across the street while Burke met with his father. But he had her cell number and she was too excited to sit around twiddling her thumbs. The minute he disappeared behind the glass door of the high-rise, Cady had scrambled from her chair and out into the bustle of the city.

  Before he had left, Burke had slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table. It wasn’t like she didn’t have any money of her own, so she tried to push it back toward him. The tightness of his jaw and a quick shake of his head caused her to relent. He was worked up over this meeting with his father. If this was what it took to convince him she would be fine on her own for an hour or so, then she wouldn’t argue.

  Cady meandered down the street, stopping to admire a killer pair of heels on a well-dressed storefront mannequin. She wouldn’t have any use for them
in Scallop Shores. But here? In the city? She was starting to develop some dangerously expensive tastes. Lustily eyeing the shoes one more time, she sighed and moved on.

  What an amazing day! Her first plane ride. Okay, so that hadn’t been quite as thrilling as it had been nerve-wracking. Who knew she had a fear of flying? Burke had been so sweet, holding her hand and dropping soft kisses against her temple when her squeezes were probably close to breaking his poor hand.

  Her first cab ride. Never mind that she thought the guy was going to kill them before they ever arrived at their destination. There might not have been multiple lanes in Scallop Shores, but there were stoplights. And rules. She was pretty sure that red meant stop—not zing through before anyone else had a chance to step on the gas pedal. Cady bit her lip. She’d have to get used to that now, wouldn’t she? Oh, boy.

  Bright sun found its way down to the sidewalk, bouncing off all the glass and chrome. Blessedly, the humidity in New York was not as cloying as it was on the coast. It was a gorgeous summer day. Fighting the urge to skip down the sidewalk, Cady giggled to herself. She was finally in the city.

  A tall man in a business suit rushed past, knocking her shoulder and causing her to shuffle several inches to her left in order to keep her balance. If she hadn’t been looking down already, she would have tripped over the legs stretched out in front of her. An old man, his scruffy beard filthy and his long trench coat entirely too warm for the weather, scowled up at her from the pavement.

  Oh, the poor dear! On this day of firsts, Cady encountered her first homeless person. She gave him her kindest smile, wavering only slightly when it was returned with a toothless leer. Remembering the twenty-dollar bill that Burke had given her, she stepped closer, reaching in her pocket and leaning down to press it into the old man’s hand. She refrained from wiping her hand on her shorts, but only just barely, after she’d had to yank it out of the old guy’s grasp. Okay, that was only slightly creepy.

  Patting herself on the back for having done her good deed for the day, Cady turned the corner to continue her exploration of the city. She’d probably just helped a homeless man feed himself for the whole week. Her jaded brother would have thrown a fit. Chase would claim it was just going toward booze or cigarettes. But Cady had to believe that someone as down and out as that poor man would see the money for the boon that it was and figure out a way to stretch every last penny.

  Smiling at anyone who’d make eye contact with her, Cady practically danced along the sidewalk. It felt good to do for those less fortunate. This felt more rewarding than volunteering at the nursing home. Maybe she’d find a soup kitchen, where she could volunteer her time.

  On the next corner she encountered another homeless person. This one was a young mother, with a toddler, and a scruffy little dog. No one else was stopping. How could no one care? The woman looked younger than her by at least five years. Her little girl, stringy hair and face streaked with dirt, was no more than three. Living on the streets? It was horrifying.

  Scrambling in the tiny purse she had slung across her body, Cady drew out all the bills she could find. Thirty-six dollars. It was all she had on her. The young woman refused to make eye contact. She was probably too ashamed. Circumstances had forced her to beg on the street in order to feed her child. What that must feel like!

  “Please. Take it. I wish I could give you more.”

  When the woman hesitated, Cady turned to the child, offering her the money. Eyes bright, she snatched at it like it was a shiny, wrapped Christmas present. Cady gave the dog a brief pat on the head and scratch behind the ears. She sent a watery smile to the mother and child and turned before she really started crying. She’d taken a few steps back in the direction she’d come before she heard the woman’s raspy voice.

  “Thank you.”

  Cady nodded and kept going, her footsteps heavier and her mood lower. Living in the city was going to be a lot harder than she realized. There were so many people who needed help. And as soon as she gave her money to one, she discovered another who needed it even more. How did she decide who was more deserving? As much as it killed her, she knew she’d have to harden her heart to the atrocities she knew she’d see on a daily basis.

  On the way back to the coffee shop, Cady passed several other eateries. Pausing at one that had the cutest little bistro tables outside, she shrugged her shoulders and went in for an application. Couldn’t hurt to get a jump-start on things.

  By the time she’d arrived back at their original meeting place, she had five job applications and an offer for drinks to discuss “an ideal working arrangement.” She’d tossed that application in the first trash bin she’d come to. Ick! She was ready to celebrate a productive and emotionally draining morning. Unfortunately, this coffee shop didn’t serve Diet Coke, so she ordered a cup of hot chocolate and settled in to wait for Burke.

  • • •

  Pacing the downstairs lobby long enough to make himself dizzy, Burke checked the time on his phone. Five minutes after ten. Satisfied that he was officially late for their appointment, he stabbed the elevator button for the top floor. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored door, he relaxed his features until the smug smile stretching across his face had disappeared. It wouldn’t do to look so happy when one was about to get chastised.

  Burke stepped off the elevator and into a plush lobby. It spoke volumes that he’d never actually seen his father’s place of business. Though, looking around, it was really no surprise. The pale cream chairs, larger-than-life paintings, and sculptures all screamed “Don’t sit there! Don’t touch that!” He felt as though he were a small child again, uncomfortable even in his own home.

  An older woman looked up at him from behind a curved half-wall, her hair pulled back so severely Burke wouldn’t have been surprised if she couldn’t close her eyelids. She nodded her head, a polite smile ghosting her lips.

  “You must be Burke. Go ahead in. He’s expecting you.” She remained seated, extending a skinny arm to direct him toward a set of double doors to his right.

  His footsteps made no sound as he waded across the thick carpeting toward his father’s home away from home. A fresh pot of coffee brewed somewhere close by. His nose twitched, his mouth watered, and he suddenly longed to have Cady by his side as he entered his father’s domain. She probably would not be pleased to know that he associated her with the smell of roasted coffee beans. Even if it was the really good stuff.

  Two doors. Tempted to open them both with a flourish, making as grand an entrance as possible, he refrained. But only just. Unsure if he was supposed to knock first or just let himself in, Burke rapped lightly on the door at the same time as he turned the knob. It hadn’t mattered either way, as his father was on the phone. The older man lifted a long finger, either to indicate that he’d only be another minute, or to remind Burke to hold his tongue.

  Okay, then. So much for gaining the upper hand by arriving late. Burke ground his back teeth together and wandered further into the spacious corner office. Sun streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the room in natural light. The view was amazing, although wasted on Prescott Sanders, whose gleaming mahogany desk faced the doors and not the Manhattan skyline.

  His father continued to bark into the phone, so he continued to explore his surroundings. A seating area in the corner looked only slightly more comfortable than the one he’d seen briefly in reception. Two wingback chairs in that same cream color, a thick glass coffee table, and a long, white leather couch that Burke suspected was used more for afternoon naps than meetings with clients.

  On the opposite wall was a bank of bookcases, matching the desk, serving as a catch-all for knickknacks. Realizing he had a unique opportunity to gain some insight into the man whom he knew so little about, Burke began to peruse the shelves. There were plaques and trophies, several from other countries, for various hospitality industry awards. Ah, and a photo of Prescott with President Obama. Burke rolled his eyes.

  The bookcase closest
to the desk was the hardest to get to. He had barely enough room to slip between the furniture to examine the contents. If he didn’t know better, Burke would have thought that this was because these were the items his father was fondest of, that he wanted to keep close enough to view on a daily basis, to take down off the shelf and hold. He nearly forgot that his father was still in the room, he had such an irresistible urge to snoop.

  Not a speck of dust marred the polished wood. A few snow globes took center stage—swiped, no doubt, from Burke’s own collection when he was a kid. He picked up the one from Anaheim. Yep, this had been his. A bitter reminder of the only time he had fought to accompany his father on a business trip. The man was opening a hotel mere steps from Disneyland, for crying out loud! But his father had insisted his school work come first.

  Shoving the snow globe back in place, Burke knocked over a picture frame that sat in the middle of the shelf, hidden in the shadows. It was a photograph of a woman with long, platinum-blond hair. She sat in a meadow of daisies, cradling an infant in her lap. Burke didn’t recognize her and was tempted to assume the photo was the original that came with the frame. Until his eyes lit on the next one, also hidden behind the row of snow globes. It was the same woman, her hair trimmed to just brush her shoulders. The infant was now an adorable little boy with his mother’s pale hair but eyes that looked familiar. They looked like—his. Burke scrunched his nose in confusion. The child looked like him, but not.

  Moving on to the next item tucked toward the back of the shelf, Burke felt a burning in his gut that intensified with each labored breath he took. A Little League trophy. He’d never been allowed to play baseball. His mother had insisted sports were too dangerous. His father was too busy to argue on his son’s behalf. Or he just hadn’t cared. Either way, it didn’t matter. This was not his trophy.