Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  Just as she seemed to have forgotten him.

  He didn’t want to entertain that thought, but at some point, a man had to admit there might be a hard truth to face. A deeply painful truth that he might need to accept and come to terms with.

  At the moment, Jace was stuck in the range of might have forgotten him. Months of her silence had caused him to inch away from that’s not possible, but he couldn’t convince himself that it was time to make his way to wake up and smell the coffee.

  But she still hadn’t made any move about filing for that divorce the FBI said she wanted. That kept Jace’s hope alive, too. It was a flame that kept burning when yet another dark day of silence was marked off the calendar. When he walked away from another mail call that didn’t include a letter for him, he wasn’t completely dejected because it meant another day of not hearing from an attorney on Julianna’s behalf. Another day of not hearing directly from her, confirming everything the FBI agent said about her not wanting “any part of this mess anymore.” Jace wondered if those words would ever stop stinging.

  Still, silence had its own voice, and sometimes it was deafening. What if she had decided to just move on and forget about him? That’s what the FBI said it sounded like she planned to do. Thing was, even if Jace did come to that final, wrenching conclusion, it wouldn’t change his love for her. It wouldn’t make him forget her. So, what could he do? He might as well keep hoping and praying that she really did have a good reason for thwarting their plans and staying low. That someday he would hear her explain it all, that it would put all the pieces of this scattered puzzle together, that he would say, “You did the right thing, Julianna.”

  According to the FBI, she knew where to find him. So he would wait. More and more, though, he was wrestling with moments of doubt. Did she ever think about him and their time in Ambrose Point? Had their love been real and true? Did she have anything, anything at all, that reminded her of him?

  Julianna had not left Mari with a babysitter yet but was relieved that Cassie would be the first. She would be staying with Mari on the night of another first—the live debut of Blair. Everyone thought Julianna was going to support Virginia, which she was, but it would also be the night she would hear life breathed into her own words as they were carried out over the airwaves. There were moments when her excitement was near impossible to contain, when she wanted everyone to know that she was a key contributor to this new radio drama. But because of Leyton, she would have to celebrate this accomplishment privately with just the few who knew. It was sad to be robbed like this, but she firmly believed it was necessary.

  “I wish you would come with me,” Julianna said to Cassie as she stood in the parlor of the older woman’s quarters. It was a cozy stone building behind the Dreamland kitchen, its front room warm with homemade crafts lining the fireplace mantle and crocheted afghans draped across the rocker and sofa.

  “Not tonight. I’d rather stay right here,” Cassie beamed as her loving hands reached to take Mari from Julianna’s arms, “takin’ good care of this little darlin’.” She hugged the baby to her pillowy chest and spoke softly into her ear. “We’re going to have ourselves a fine time, but only if your mama will go on and leave us be.”

  Julianna looked wistfully at Mari, wondering for the tenth time if there was any way she could take her to Blair Burkett’s radio debut. But no, the radio station was no place for a baby.

  Reading Julianna’s expression, Cassie said, “The first time you leave one is the toughest, but don’t go worrying. I’ve got her.”

  “Are you sure you won’t come along?” Julianna knew that her friend would love the WYRC studio and actor’s stage. Cassie had shown such keen interest in the show; she was extremely curious about all the workings of radio. “Mother said she could babysit.”

  Cassie waved toward the door. “Shoo now. Can’t be late for Miss Virginia’s big night.”

  Julianna kissed Mari’s soft cheek then hurried to her car. The night was warm, the sky studded with glittering stars. Springtime. The season for new beginnings, fresh hopes.

  Driving toward the radio station, Julianna passed the bank’s headquarters. She glanced toward Leyton’s office window, expecting it to be dark. He had not arrived home when she left for Dreamland, but it was now after nine at night.

  Wait a minute, Julianna thought as she slowed for a better look. There’s a light on, I think. Was it a reflection from outside or maybe coming from the bank’s hallway?

  She was now stopped in the road, craning her neck out the car window, one hand shielding her eyes from the distracting lights of the sidewalk lampposts. Yes, there was definitely a tiny fleck of light somewhere in Leyton’s office, and it wasn’t shining from the green-capped banker’s lamp on his desk. This light was smaller, as though it didn’t want to be noticed.

  What in the world? She thought. Then she shrugged. Who knows? With Leyton, it could be—could mean—almost anything.

  She drove on to WYRC and parked behind the tall hotel that housed it. The elevator she used was older and less polished than the gleaming, brass-trimmed one that accommodated the main lobby. This one climbed the heights with a disarming rattle, and its wallpaper was a meadow of faded flowers, its floor a conglomerate of scrapes and scuff marks.

  It carried her to the twelfth, and top, story and let her into a lobby of brown and burnt orange, the colors of WYRC. It was the region’s largest radio station, with fifteen thousand watts and operating eighteen hours a day, which was what the Federal Radio Commission deemed a full broadcast day.

  The wall facing the elevator was nearly filled with the call letters spelled out in large, heavy brass. It was very impressive, and Julianna’s excitement showed on her face as she hurried through the lobby and slipped quietly into the audience auditorium. Sitting on the edge of her seat and wringing her fingers in anticipation, she watched as Virginia and Nap took their places on the actor’s stage. Virginia looked flushed with excitement and light nerves, but Nap seemed calm and seasoned, a veteran at the microphone.

  The music of The Scotty Reidman Orchestra began on cue from the producer, sending chills along Julianna’s arms as it climbed in intensity. Next, the lines that Julianna had penned came alive from the script, and Blair Burkett was no longer just a character on paper. Virginia put soul into her, delivering her lines just as Julianna had heard them in her head.

  Afterward, they celebrated a smooth beginning, gathering at Baily’s Place inside the hotel. It was a swanky lounge, designed to look like an English pub and featuring a pianist who played melodic requests.

  “We’ll be asleep in two minutes,” Scotty predicted with a lopsided grin as his arms dropped across the shoulders of two musicians in his orchestra. “We should do something, boys.”

  They stormed the piano then, first lifting the insulted pianist off his bench and gently setting him in a chair. That done, they pounced on the keys and banged out a loud and rapid medley of swing, drawing people from their tables to come lean on the baby grand. Julianna couldn’t resist the magnetism of the three musicians and joined the swaying crowd that had gathered around the piano. Scotty glanced up frequently from the keys and flashed his admirers a quick, charming smile before looking back to his hands raking across the ivories. Once, though, his eyes lingered on Julianna’s face for a few seconds and flattered her with a wink. Taken aback, she looked behind her to see if it was someone else who had garnered his attention, but seeing no one except a balding man, she could only assume the gesture was meant for her. Scotty looked amused by her uncertainty and sent her another wink as if trying to confirm the first one.

  When the crowd around the piano began to thin, Julianna squeezed into a booth that was packed with staff from the station.

  “Here, I ordered you a Coke on the rocks!” Virginia called over the boisterous chatter as she scooted the glass across the table.

  “Thanks,” Julianna called back. “I am having such a good time! Do you know how long it’s been since I had a goo
d time?”

  “Too long,” Virginia answered. Her eyes grew round and she nodded. “You’ve got some gorgeous company, sweets.”

  Julianna looked up from her Coke and met Scotty, slouching casually above her with his hands jammed into the pockets of his baggy, pleated trousers and grinning. “Let’s get this out of the way,” he said. “Are you married?”

  She raised her left hand from her lap, glanced at her wedding band and frowned. “Yes.”

  “Happily?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if you’re ever not married at all,” he took the yellow rosebud from the lapel of his dark jacket and handed it to her, “remember who gave you this rose.”

  He sauntered away and joined his musicians at the bar, where he loosened his collar and languished on a stool. Julianna watched him for a second then looked at Virginia, who was quietly clapping her hands. “Not bad for an old married lady who just gave birth,” she said. “If you want, I’ll shoot Leyton and get him out of your way.”

  “You tempt me.” Julianna sipped her Coke. She looked at the rosebud Scotty had given her, thrilled by how it made her feel. For a woman who lived daily with criticism, the little flower was a big affirmation that she was not the frumpy nobody Leyton tried to paint. When she finished her drink and bid Virginia good night, she left Baily’s Place feeling a foot taller than she had when she arrived.

  When she returned home with Mari, Leyton called from the parlor. “Where have you been, unaccompanied at this time of night?” She could tell from his tone and from the slight slur attached to his words that he had been drinking beyond moderation. Well, big surprise.

  “Tonight was the debut of Blair Burkett,” she reminded him. “I told you I was going to watch Virginia. After that, there was a party at Baily’s Place.”

  He whirled a finger in the air, gesturing a fake whoopee. “Virginia’s broadcasting career. Guaranteed to last until her next flight of fancy.”

  “What time did you get home?” Julianna asked.

  “Eight thirty.”

  “Who was using your office? When I drove by around nine fifteen, a light was on.”

  He was lifting a glass of bourbon to his lips, but his hand froze upon hearing her words.

  Quickly, he resumed and took a sip before answering. “That’s impossible. Your eyes were playing tricks on you.”

  “No, there was definitely a light on.”

  “It was my desk lamp, then. I apparently forgot to switch it off when I left.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “It was a very small light—”

  “It had to be the desk lamp!” He smacked his hand on the arm of the sofa.

  “Fine.” She shrugged. “I really don’t care and have no plans to fight about it. I’m just telling you that a light was on in your office.”

  “The desk lamp,” he muttered as he rattled the ice cubes in his glass then drained what was left of its liquor.

  Julianna watched him, noticing that the bourbon went down with a struggle, as though something had caused his throat to tighten.

  Polli Raffton stood outside the front door of Dreamland, worrying that her heels were too high and her hair too short.

  Not that she’d had a choice in getting her shoulder-length hair chopped off. It had seen too many sessions in the permanent wave machine, not to mention countless bottles of bleach. There was no way she could start her fancy new job with hair that looked like straw, hair that only a scarecrow could be proud of.

  Aunt Bertha had said so. She had also warned Polli that her low-cut dresses wouldn’t be proper in the home of Mr. Richard Sheffield, nor were her teetering, clip-clopping high heels.

  Polli had tried to fix up her image and promised herself she was turning a new leaf. She was uptown now, working for Mr. Sheffield in his Victorian palace. That meant a different class of people for Polli Raffton to get to know, especially men.

  No more Mr. Rotten for Polli Raffton. No more Mr. Dog, like that blubbery Lightfoot Lipton. Whew, that had been a close call. She shuddered whenever she thought about the Feds busting him on that train getting ready to pull out for Canada. For weeks after Lightfoot’s arrest, Polli had chewed her nails to the quick, worried sick that it would come out that she’d hidden him in her unsuspecting aunt’s house for nearly two months. Things would be different now. Now she was in a better position to meet classier men and that’s what she wanted more than anything. For all of Lightfoot’s money, he was far from respectable, miles from the upper crust fellas Polli believed she needed.

  She smiled, one that seemed to say my ship’s come in and knocked boldly on the door to Dreamland.

  It was opened by a man, the kind Polli wasn’t used to seeing around the places she usually went. Those fellas were always rough around the edges, or just downright jagged, but this one was smooth like expensive and polished stone.

  She remained stock-still as his eyes swept her up and down, giving her the typical once-over. Oh, there was no getting around her what he was up to. She just didn’t realize these fancier guys did it the same way the non-fancy ones did. Now she waited for her grade. If he liked what he saw, she’d get a smile, which might be an A or a B. If he didn’t smile at all, she’d get an F and her day would be off to a crappy start.

  When he offered her a quick flash of his perfect teeth, she felt her heart turn a little flip. That probably wasn’t his A smile, though. It was there and gone too fast, but at least her day was kicking off on an okay note.

  “You must be Polli,” he said, stepping aside so that she could enter the foyer. She looked around in awe, her breath catching at the sight of the turned staircase.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I’m Bertha’s niece, Polli Raffton,” she said nervously, not used to being eyed by such a man. He was handsome all right, with blond hair and piercing green-gray eyes. She swallowed hard and pulled away from his eyes. “Polli with an I.”

  “I’m Leyton Drakeworth,” he said, “and you’ve caught me on my way out. I just stopped by to have breakfast with Mr. Sheffield on his first day of semi-retirement.”

  “Oh, Leyton Drakeworth. I mean, Mr. Drakeworth. I’ve heard my aunt talk about you.” Aunt Bertha had actually told her that he was hard as nails on secretaries and that he was married to Mr. Sheffield’s beautiful daughter, Julianna. Neither of those things being good signs, Polli figured she’d better move on so she could get started learning what else this new territory had to offer. “I’d better meet my new boss.”

  “He’s waiting for you,” Leyton said. “His study is off the foyer to your left.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Uh, I mean, thank you.” She started through the foyer, cringing as her shoes clipped loudly on the glowing hardwood. She’d worn lower heels, but it didn’t sound like they were low enough.

  “Miss Raffton?” Leyton called.

  She turned in his direction and gasped a little at how good he looked standing in the doorway. All blond and suntanned, polished as a stone, dressed to kill.

  “I hope our paths will cross again.”

  Our paths will cross again. She nearly swooned out of her heels at hearing that. The words reminded her of poetry, and nobody had ever talked poetry-like to her before.

  He smiled again, and it was different than the first time. This smile was broad and bright, lasting for more than just a second. Dazzled. She felt dazzled, and this time her heart went downright acrobatic on her.

  Okay, now that was an A smile. Maybe an A-plus smile.

  Polli with an I had a feeling this new job was going to work out just fine.

  Tucker Moll stepped onto the porch of Jace’s bungalow and tried to scrape away the sand pile-up with his big shoe. Useless. It was going to take a mighty broom to push these millions of granules and shell chips back onto the beach.

  The place had a wild beauty to it even though it was unkempt and boarded up with its memories. Yucca shrubs sprung from the sand like daggers, but vines and creeping stems were taking them over. Morning g
lories and bamboo grew untamed and crawled across the sand, entwining themselves amid the shrubs.

  Tucker leaned on the porch rail, its white paint chipping away. He looked across the beach grasses that had grown high, like the golden sea oats nearing six foot, waving in the onshore breeze. Beyond them was a rill on the shore, its many rivers looking like branches growing from a tree trunk, channeling shells and tiny marine animals back to their watery homes.

  A year, Tucker thought sadly. A year since it all happened.

  Jace had barely been heard from as of late. Tucker sent him some short newspaper write-ups back in the spring—one that mentioned Julianna and her mother at some luncheon and one that mentioned Julianna and her mother at some other luncheon. Jace had made no mention of them when he wrote back. All he said was, I’m going to be busy for the next few months, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me.

  Busy doing what? Tucker wondered. Counting the concrete blocks that make up his cell? But he figured Jace would make it his business if he wanted him to know.

  He stepped off the porch and walked toward his car. Maybe tomorrow he’d come back and shape up the vines.

  A year . . .

  Julianna’s mind could not bear to go back, to recall where she had been last summer. Even when she stood before the bay window in the nursery, watching the water amble lazily between the emerald embankments, her heart could not step into the realm of how things once were. Any other time, she could think about them, but not now, not at the anniversary. For what did the anniversary really mark, if not the death of a dream, the death of many dreams? To try to go back was to try to destroy her heart.

  She buried herself in scripts for Blair Burkett, able to work for reasonable stretches of time now that Mari was on a regular schedule and sleeping through most nights. Before, when the baby was keeping time with the moon, Julianna had often functioned in a daze and had to grab naps whenever Mari allowed her to.