by Amber Burns
As soon as I was clean I looked in to find him sitting next to the wall of the box, once again crying. I took the whole lot to the lounge to watch TV for a while. I put the little guy on my chest while Queen of the Damned played, and that’s how I fell asleep on my couch, with him curled purring on top of me. I woke up the next morning with a tiny paw on my nose and two mismatched eyes staring into mine. I smiled, and named him Armand after a character in the movie I had fallen asleep to. Somehow the little grey kitten with the odd eyes had stolen a place in my heart.
“Well little guy, seems like it’s you and me now,” I said… and it struck me that it felt good to not be completely alone for the first time in months.
I sat there with a smile as Armand fell asleep purring on my chest.
Later that week I was on a usual outing to stock up on basic groceries and buy cat food for Armand when I walked into a local store that hadn’t been open in the weeks before. The bell on the door rang as I entered and I looked up at the counter, as I always did, feeling like an intruder. It was at that moment that I looked straight into her face; it was my mermaid from the beach.
She looked up at me and smiled the smile of a shop proprietor when she heard the bell.
“Good morning, you’re new around here, aren’t you?”
Her voice was the sound of wind chimes, and I had already lost my heart along with my powers of speech. I stared at her as though I was looking at a real mermaid, a fictional creature.
“Um, hi, yeah, I… I’ve been here a while now, but. Sorry, I just… You.”
I must have sounded like a total idiot, so I shook my head, walked off into the shelves and gathered everything I wanted. When I approached the check-out counter, where she stood quietly paging through a magazine, she looked up and that gaze stopped me in my tracks. Her eyes were turquoise, a deep cerulean blue unlike any color I’d ever seen.
“Ready to try that talking thing again?” She said, brushing a strand of her long hair behind her ear.
A little giggle escaping her throat as I placed my basket on the counter, I cannot imagine what my face looked like, but I felt like a blithering idiot.
“About that, I’m sorry. It’s just that I see you walking along the beach every evening from my house, and I never expected I’d see you face-to-face. Your walks have almost become as much my ritual as yours…”
“Which house is yours?” She asked, ignoring the fact that I’d practically stalked her.
I paused a moment, spending the time gather my thoughts watching her ringing up my purchases, smiling at the pouches of kitten food and bag of kibble. I swallowed down the lump in my throat.
“The light-blue one along Crystal Beach, it’s pretty much the only intact house in a stretch of about seven.”
When she was done ringing up my goods and I’d paid, she said goodbye, and as I turned away.
I was nearly out the door when she said, “I’ll keep an eye out for you enjoying my evening walk Mr.”
I turned back to her.
“My name is Michel, Michel Deverroux.”
Our eyes met, and I swear it was a joining of souls. With no other woman had I experienced this sensation in my life ever at the first meeting.
“I am Annabelle, it’s nice to meet you Michel.”
4
Annabelle stood at her kitchen sink with her hands submerged in the warm soapy water washing dishes. It was one of her favorite activities when things got to be a little too much and she needed to do some de-stressing. For her it wasn’t just the activity, it was the fact that her window looked out onto the ocean that helped too. The beach was her thinking place and the sound of the waves brought her peace. It was also one of her favorite scenes to paint. The beach was still empty, tourist season still being a few months away, allowing Annabelle to savor the pristine landscape.
The sun set slowly over the horizon as the glasses clinked against each other under the bubbles, leaving an unmistakable pink glow to spread across the sky. Annabelle stopped moving her hands as she heard a knock at the door. She picked up a dish towel and rubbed her hands together on it, walking through to her front door as she did so. She saw the outline of her father’s familiar silhouette, and she saw him lift his hand to tap on the glass again.
“Hold on Daddy, I’m coming!” She called slipping the catch and opening the door.
He gave her a hug, “Good evening sweet-pea.”
Annabelle stepped into his embrace, breathing in the scent of his aftershave that immediately transported her back to being a little girl, safe and unaware of all the bad in the world.
“Hi daddy, are you okay?”
He nodded with a concerned look crossing his features, “I just thought I’d pop by, I know this isn’t an easy week for you baby girl.”
No matter what went on, his use of sweet pet names could always lift her spirits.
“Yeah, I was trying not to think too hard about it, but it’s tough for you too you know. Can I get you something to drink?”
He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the old oak wooden table.
“Coffee?” He asked.
Annabelle nodded pulled her mugs down from the cabinet above the kettle, listening to him talk about his garden, going fishing, and things at the shop.
“Is everything still in order to open for season in a few of months time dad?” She asked, filling the percolator with coffee grinds and fetching cream and sugar to put on the table along with the mugs.
“It’s all ready, now we just need the time to pass so that holiday makers can pitch up and spend their money. Oh, did you hear that someone new is apparently moving into Andy Lechat’s old house in a few weeks? A nephew or such? Poor bastard’d got a big job ahead of him, that house is a wreck.”
He picked up the coffee when she passed it to him. Annabelle cocked her head to the side.
“Wow, I had no idea, did he sell it?”
“No sweet-pea, Andy passed away.”
It was a shock to Annabelle, because through working in her father’s shop during season time she had gotten to know everybody who spent time in Crystal beach. Andy had always been sweet to her since she was a little girl, and she had watched the old house fall to ruin over the past few years because he hadn’t been here all that much. People had come to repair the worst of the storm damage after the Hurricane, but there had been no presence other than that.
“I have done so many sketches of that old house…” She trailed off in thought.
Her father stood and patted her on the shoulder.
“I know honey. Well I’d best get back to my place before it gets too late, just thought I’d check on you.”
She let him out and then locked the door, kicked off the sandals she’d been wearing all day and walked back toward the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, her bare feet padding on the rough-hewn wood floors of the passage and kitchen. Annabelle curled up on the couch in her lounge with her glass of wine and then sat staring blankly at the vase of roses on her coffee table.
Annabelle had received a bouquet of baby pink, medium pink and darker blush colored roses for the past two years from Malcolm Evans, the man who’d broken her heart. It was the memorial of her mother’s death, and even though the gesture was kind, it grated at her that he felt he had the right to remember the death of someone she loved so dearly, especially because to her this was a reminder of his betrayal.
A tear ran down her cheek and she reached up to wipe it away on her sleeve. Her mother had died of breast cancer three years ago, while Malcolm was still a part of her life. He had decided soon after that to find solace from Annabelle’s sorrow and depression in the arms, and between the thighs of his personal assistant. His actions broke up the relationship, ending an engagement that was one month away from a wedding, and bringing her life to an almost grinding halt.
If it hadn’t been for her art, art students and the house she now lived in alone, Annabelle might have gone insane. She rubbed her eyes and looked toward th
e painting against the side wall of her lounge, it was a landscape of Crystal beach, and sure as she’d told her father, it was one of the many she had done of the Lechat house. For some reason she had always been drawn to the property, and yet, she’d never been inside it. Even though Andy, or ‘Uncle Andy’ as all the local kids had called him, was always friendly, she had never visited, only painted the house from a distance.
With a heavy sigh she stood and walked down the passage to climb up the stairs and go to her bedroom, she needed a soak in the bath to unwind and help her get to the point of being able to sleep. She’d have a long day ahead in the shop tomorrow.
Annabelle stripped herself and turned the faucets to let both hot and cold water run into the Victorian tub in her bathroom. She had done very little to this house since her father had moved out after the death of her mother, pleading that there were simply too many memories here for him. This particular property was one of the few seafront houses that was a double-story. The only change she had made was to incorporate the upstairs bathroom into her own bedroom, making it an on-suite.
Steam filled the room once she closed the door, and she breathed deeply the relaxing scent of the Jasmine oil as she poured it into the tub. The full length mirror against the wall above the sink foggily reflected her pale and thin shape with small pert breasts and when she wiped the mist from its surface, her turquoise blue eyes, stark against her dark red-brown hair.
“Oh why would anyone want such a waif when tanned, toned and perfect girls flood the beach every season?” She muttered, climbing into the bath and closing off the faucets.
Since the sordid business with Malcolm, her self-confidence had all but vanished. She had thought he loved her unconditionally and found her attractive. She had also thought that when a man truly loved a woman he supported her through thick and thin, and didn’t abandon her in tough times. But when her mother had died and grief had become too much, instead of comforting her, Malcolm had run off to his assistant’s arms for distraction. Annabelle had caught them in his office one evening when he was ‘working late’ and she’d wanted to surprise him with dinner in a thoughtful gesture.
Part of his list of many excuses had been a mention of ‘you don’t look after yourself anymore’ and ‘I don’t like your skinny-ness’ after she had lost all the curves. It had left her broken and retreating into her shell. She had not been with another man since, and Malcolm had been her first. These things can destroy a young girl, she was only twenty three at the moment, and had just turned 21 when he left. Annabelle sank back against the porcelain, warmed by the heat of the water. Her eyes closed in absolute bliss as she tried to let the thoughts of him leave her head, thinking instead of the destroyed old Lechat house, and vowing to have a look at it when she walked the next evening.
She slept restlessly that night, haunted by the image of her mother, warning her that Malcolm was no good, and when she woke she had tears on her cheeks.
“I should have listened to you mommy.”
It was only five AM, but Annabelle got out of bed and went to make herself coffee. Unlocking the front door, she sat on her porch gazing out at the ocean in the pre-morning darkness and watched the sunrise over the horizon. The peace lasted an hour before she had to go and get dressed for work. Once she could no longer put it off, Annabelle hopped into her jeans and pulled a T-shirt over her head. She grasped her hair together in a long ponytail on top of her head and then pulled it through the loop of the elastic again; making a loose bun. Annabelle grabbed her sneakers, put them on and then headed for the door. She drove her little VW Beetle to the University in Galveston, where she tutored students in the fine arts department, and parked in the lot.
Her students, five of them today, waited in the small classroom the university had assigned her, and all greeted her with smiles as she walked in.
“Hey guys, ready to work on some detailed trees?”
Her students all nodded, stood to fetch easels and charcoal pencils, and then all found seats to get to work. She spent two hours with them before leaving to head back home, stopping at her father’s store to check on things there.
When Annabelle walked along the beach that evening, her bare feet sunk into the cold sand with each step. She stopped to look toward the Lechat house and stood for a while gazing at it in the fading evening light. It was so isolated along this stretch of beach, so few people had rebuilt after their homes were destroyed in the Hurricane. With that thought she smiled, it was just as isolated as she was, and she enjoyed the quiet.
Crystal Beach was a popular spot during the holiday season, but the folks who lived here year-round struggled to make ends meet unless they had external jobs in Galveston or surrounds. Looking at the old house now she could see the broken shutters and stairs even from this distance, and felt genuine pity for the person who got stuck with the place. It would need a seriously large amount of tender loving care to look good again from outside, and who knew what state the inside was in.
She turned back toward her house and slowly walked home, stopping periodically to look out at the sea, watching the waves break on the beach. The swells were getting bigger again, and she looked up at the sky, wondering if there was a storm coming. These walks were cathartic and kept the depression and loneliness at bay some days when she felt overwhelmed by life. She smiled as she caught sight of the thunderheads building over the distant horizon, and jumped as a flash of lightning shot down into the ocean, the rumble of the thunder only slightly delayed. Just as she stepped onto her porch a huge raindrop struck her on the nose, and she shook her head, running under the roof of the porch for shelter.
Standing barely covered from the oncoming rain, an idea occurred to Annabelle, and she ran into the house to grab her art supplies. At the same time she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the sudden cold. She carried her easel and box of paints outside, and as the clouds got darker, her brushes made music on canvas. The image that was there when she finally finished by the porch light, was that of a stormy sky, the full moon peeking out from behind ghostly clouds, and waves crashing onto powder-white sand.
Annabelle carried her supplies back inside and set the painting in a corner to dry, standing back to admire the work once she’d locked the door. It was dark and more moody than anything she’d done before, but it was perfect. She stripped off her damp clothes as she walked up the stairs, and spent a full hour soaking in the tub to wash the oil paints off her skin. With a shudder she stepped out of the blue-grey water that had grown cool and toweled herself dry. Dry and naked, Annabelle fell into her.
Annabelle woke up still tired the next morning, and later than usual too. She crawled out of bed after seven. She felt as though she was dragging lead around in her shoes the whole day while she packed shelves with books and records. The wine racks were always pleasant, she had a fondness for fine wines, both enjoying a glass in the evening and also knowing as much as she could about them. Her mother had wanted her well educated in all fine things, books, music and wine being a few.
She selected a bottle of Bordeaux to take home for herself and by three o’clock kissed her father’s stubbly cheek and begged her leave.
“I’m sorry daddy, I didn’t sleep well last night and I am so tired I can’t see straight, is it okay if I go home for the day?
In a few weeks time, rumors started spreading around Crystal Beach about the new occupant of the Lechat house. Word was that he was an army vet, from Afghanistan. Others said that he screamed in the night so loudly that the houses miles away heard him in the dark. Even more gossip said that he had a drug problem, one that started in a Galveston boarding house, and was fuelled by a local dealer. Then there were the rumors that he was the one dealing… A few said he was ugly as sin, and even more that he was exactly the opposite. Annabelle never did trust local gossip.
Annabelle continued going on her walks and working in the store to ready it for the holiday season that was starting in a few weeks. She spent her days tutoring he
r students and in the evening she painted her pictures. During any moments in-between, she dreamt of love. She dreamt and wished for a good, pure and caring kind of love, and simultaneously felt that she didn’t deserve it.
The days turned into a blur until one evening when she was walking along the beach and turned to face the Lechat house for the first time in ages. She was surprised to see a new coat of paint and the repaired shutters. She shook her head and smiled, walking on. Surely a drug dealing loser and a person with a using problem wouldn’t make the effort to repair and beatify a house?
