Traded

by Tess Thompson

  “I knew it. Out late?”

  She let out a long, tortured sigh. “Violet and I made the mistake of going into The Oar after we had a nice, quiet dinner at Angelou’s. Instead of going home and getting our beauty sleep, we decided it was a brilliant idea to go out for just one drink. It was her birthday, and she’s feeling kind of down since that asshole she was dating decided to leave town in the middle of the freaking night. He ghosted her! Can you believe anyone would ghost Violet? She looks like a Victoria Secret model, and she’s so perfect, you know, saving the earth and everything.”

  Violet Ellis owned a boutique in town that sold products made from refurbished items: purses out of old tires, bracelets out of typewriter keys, baskets out of soda caps. In addition, she headed up the committee to preserve the town’s original buildings, as well as ensuring the city ordinance that kept commercial chains out of Cliffside Bay stayed intact. Cliffside Bay had their own coffee shop and didn’t need Starbucks. They had a bookstore and a dance studio and The Oar. They didn’t need Amazon or Arthur Murray or Hard Rock, thank you very much.

  “Doesn’t she have a little boy?” Brody asked.

  “Yeah, Dakota. He’s two. Cutest little guy ever. Violet’s mom’s in town, so she took care of him so we could go out.”

  “Where’s the dad?”

  “Gone,” said Honor. “Like most men.”

  Honor’s father had left her and her mother when she was just a baby. It didn’t take too much to connect the dots. Honor didn’t trust men, and she made damn sure she kept them at arm’s length so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  “So, one drink led to another, and pretty soon it was closing time, and Zane offered to drive us home,” Honor said.

  “That was nice of him,” Brody said. Not surprising. Zane was the type to walk old ladies across the street and make sure drunk girls got home safely.

  “Especially since Violet was puking out his truck window for most of it.”

  “Oh, God, poor Zane.”

  “I know. He’s so sweet. And so bartenderish.” She flashed a sheepish smile.

  “You mean because everyone tells him their problems?” Brody asked.

  “Exactly. I felt kinda bad for him,” she said.

  He cocked his head to the side. Honor never felt bad about anything. Interesting.

  “Half the women in town are in love with him and I swear it’s like he’s totally oblivious.” She plopped on the couch and took her makeup bag from her purse. “Violet thinks he’s gay.”

  “Zane’s not gay. What gave her that idea?”

  She looked at him over her compact and rubbed her lips together. “Because he lives like a monk. It’s weird to have that many women hitting on you and not sleep with one of them at some point.”

  “He’s not the type to sleep around. Even before Natalie called off their wedding, he wasn’t the type. Women used to throw themselves at him in college.”

  Honor went back to dabbing her perfect skin with makeup. “Well, that’s why Violet thinks he’s gay. No one can go without sex for that long. And, for all that’s holy, he needs to move on.”

  “It’s not that easy after you’ve been hurt,” he said.

  “Good riddance if you ask me. It’s better he knew before he married her than after.”

  “I agree.” Zane’s fiancée, Natalie, had been cheating on him. Days before the wedding, her best friend had told Zane the truth.

  “Can you imagine if he’d married her?” Honor asked. “Half of the bar would be hers right now thanks to California law. Which is why I’m never getting married.”

  “Not everything’s about money,” he said.

  “It is when you grew up in foster care.” Honor’s mother had succumbed to drug addiction, leaving her daughter at the mercy of the foster care system.

  “You stay away from Zane. All he needs is you messing with his head.”

  She glared at him. “I’m offended. Seriously? I’m not that bad.”

  “Honor Sullivan, you wreck any man you get involved with. I love you, but it’s the truth.”

  “It’s not my fault they get all needy and clingy.” She paused as she picked lint from her sweater. “Anyway, I’m not the least bit interested in Zane Shaw. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known you. If there were any interest in either of our parts, it would’ve happened by now.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Why?” Honor asked.

  “Because one of the rules of the Dogs is that we don’t sleep with anyone in the circle of friends.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. Who else would you sleep with?” Honor asked.

  He sighed. “There are hundreds of other choices pretty much anytime we go out.”

  “Not in this town. Unless you’re interested in someone over the age of eighty,” she said.

  He laughed. “Good point. But San Francisco isn’t that far away. Look at Kyle—he never has much trouble finding a woman to take home or otherwise.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s Kyle. Not exactly discerning, if you know what I mean.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.” Kyle was a womanizer. No two ways about it. Brody and the other Dogs were worried he was going to catch something. Or get someone pregnant. “What’s weird is that he was a complete nerd in college. Glasses. Skinny. Studied science.”

  “I can’t imagine it now.”

  “CrossFit and a personal shopper at Nordstrom do wonders,” Brody said.

  “Jackson texted me this morning. He’s on his way up today with the rest of his stuff and wants to store some of it in my garage. He’s going to stay at his dad’s place until he can buy a house.” Honor rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “And Miss Priss will not be coming with him. You tell me what that means.”

  Miss Priss was Honor’s nickname for Jackson’s girlfriend, Sharon. “You think they’re breaking up?”

  “I hope so, but I’m worried he’s going to propose.” Honor said. “Sharon’s never going to move here. She’s a city girl, plus if Jackson thinks she will ever give up her career for him, he’s sadly mistaken. It’s going to be Zane and Natalie all over again.”

  “Is it hard to always be the smartest person in the room?” Such a know-it-all.

  She blinked her round eyes and nodded her head with great solemnity. “The struggle’s real.”

  Honor was most likely correct about Sharon. Jackson had lost the love of his life, Maggie, when he was only eighteen. Sharon was the first woman he’d dated seriously since Brody met him twelve years ago when they were Freshmen at USC. Back then, it had taken until the second semester before Jackson talked about losing Maggie. Even now, Jackson rarely mentioned her. However, Zane, who had grown up with the childhood sweethearts, believed Jackson had never fully recovered from her death.

  Brody had major reservations about Sharon. She was too put together, too studied in the art of presentation, like an athlete with physical prowess but no heart for the game or their team. Not to mention that Sharon didn’t want to leave the city and her research job. Jackson, as he’d planned all his life, was about to move back to Cliffside Bay and join his father’s medical practice.

  Brody had to put aside his worries about Jackson for now and tell Honor about Flora’s diagnosis. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “When you’re done grooming yourself, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  She brushed her cheeks with blush. “Okay. Sorry. What’s up?”

  “I have some bad news.”

  “Oh crap.” She put down her compact. “What is it?”

  “Flora has a brain tumor.”

  Honor dropped the blush container. It fell to the floor and broke into two. “A brain tumor?”

  “Doc Waller says it’s not the super bad kind. She’s going to need surgery and radiation, but no chemo.” He swallowed, watching Honor closely. After her mother had disappeared when Honor was six years old, she had grown up in foster care. In the five years that Honor had been with him, Flora was the c
losest thing she’d ever had to a mother. “I don’t want you to freak out. She’s going to be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Her round eyes leaked tears. The mascara she’d just applied ran down her face in black streaks. “I mean, how do you know?”

  “Because the statistics tell us she will be.”

  “Right. The odds are good. It’s going to be fine.” She wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I’m being ridiculous.”

  For a second, he imagined her as a little girl, hoping for a family that would adopt her. That family had never come. Until his.

  Flora meant so much to all of them. But she was going to be fine. She had to be.

  Chapter Seven

  Kara

  It was dark outside when Kara woke from her nap. She’d slept a full five hours. Feeling better than she had in days, she showered. The familiar smell of the shampoo she’d brought from home soothed her. Some things she could take with her. Smelling the same was one of them. She dressed in jeans and a lavender-colored sweater, then put away the contents of her suitcases. Her current wardrobe was a sad shadow of her former closet. When she found a job, she’d buy a wardrobe for mild winters and temperate summers.

  She went to the window and pulled up the shade. The view was of the parking area. Six cars, including hers. Were there six apartments? Were they all as gloomy as this one? She pulled the shade back down and turned on another lamp. One moment at a time. Dinner. What to eat for dinner?

  Crap, there’s no microwave. She couldn’t even heat up a frozen dinner. A pang of homesickness shot through her. She’d loved her kitchen in her condo. Kara had taken advantage of it, cooking for friends whenever she could. Every Tuesday Jessica and a few of the other nurses they worked with had joined her for dinner and wine. They all laughed and talked about work and men and silly things like television shows and sales at their favorite shoe store while Kara cooked. Jessica had kept their glasses full. How naïve she had been in thinking it would continue forever. How ungrateful. If only she had known what was to come, she would have soaked up every moment, committed it to memory to keep her warm now on this damp night.

  Dinner. She must figure out what to do for dinner.

  The bar and grill up the street had looked inviting. The Oar, if she remembered correctly. A burger and a drink sounded good. Maybe two drinks. She could walk there and let her mind go a little numb. She’d bring the book she bought in the airport and not think about her problems. Tomorrow was another day. She could look for a job in the morning. No reason to worry. I’m going to be fine. She had enough money to live for months before she needed a job, thanks to the program. Frugality was of the essence, but if she were careful, she’d be fine, even if she had to eat out more often than she used to.

  The minute she walked outside, a cold wind chilled her. She tightened her jacket as she walked around the side of the old Victorian to the front. Lights shone from several of the windows. She detected the scent of curry as she walked past the front porch. A twinge of loneliness replaced the hunger in her stomach. She imagined the scene inside the apartment: perhaps a couple making dinner together, or a family about to sit down for a meal. Even before everything had changed, she’d longed for a family of her own. The only difference then was that she had a chance.

  Stop it. You’re not allowed to feel sorry for yourself. Others had it much worse than a new home in a beach town.

  Street lights cast shadows as she walked toward The Oar. Apparently, rush hour traffic didn’t exist here in Cliffside Bay. Only an occasional car passed. Storefronts were dark, other than The Oar, the market, and Miss Rita’s dance studio. She crossed the street to get a better look. A brochure with a list of classes hung on the door. She peeked through the window. Mirrors covered the walls, in partnership with ballet bars. Women talked in clusters. She looked back at the list of classes.

  Zumba at 5:00 p.m. each weeknight. Yes!

  A dance studio in this little town? What were the odds? A rush of excitement fluttered in her chest. Maybe just inside those doors were some new friends? Was it possible that she was exactly where she was meant to be? She would attend as soon as she could. A routine was just what she needed to make this feel more like home. Dancing always erased the blues.

  For a second, her gym at home flashed through her mind. Although large and impersonal, it had provided all the dance classes she wanted. But she was here now, not there. Everything was smaller here, even the dance studio. Perhaps small was better. She crossed the street—no crosswalk or lights or horns blaring. She wouldn’t miss rush hour traffic.

  Warmth enveloped her the moment she walked through the doors of the bar. She shrugged out of her jacket as she looked around. Vintage surfboards and oars decorated the walls. Checkered tablecloths, roughened walls, and scuffed wood floors seemed just right for a bar and grill in a beach town. She could almost hear the Beach Boys singing.

  Several families sat at tables near the window. Half a dozen patrons sat at the bar, stooped over their meals or drinks.

  Not once in her life had she eaten dinner alone, other than in her own apartment. Her stomach danced with butterflies. Don’t be stupid. This isn’t hard. It’s just dinner.

  She took a seat at the far end of the bar. The blond, muscular bartender flashed her a smile and a “be right with you” on his way to deliver a steaming plate of fish and chips to the other end of the counter. Dozens of microbrews lined the inside of the bar. She settled onto the stool. This was nice. She could be a regular here until she rented a place with a real kitchen. Making a new life one day at a time. One moment at a time.

  The bartender returned and flashed her an infectious grin. Blond curls fell over his tanned forehead, and a five-o’clock shadow roughened his boy next door face. His eyes were the color of the Caribbean ocean. He wore shorts and a t-shirt, despite it being February, which showed off his muscular torso and legs. “Welcome to The Oar. I’m Zane, the owner. You’re renting the room from Old Man Cooper, right?” He leaned against the counter.

  “I know him as Mr. Cooper, but yes. I’m Kara.” She smiled to hide her confusion. Eaton. My name is Eaton. “Kara Eaton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kara Eaton.”

  “How did you know I was renting from Mr. Cooper?” Should she be freaked out or comforted?

  “Well, we don’t get that many newcomers here, for one. For two, I saw you park your car and carry your bags inside when I was coming back from a run this afternoon.”

  “I see. Okay, I feel better now. I’m from Philly. I’m not used to the small-town thing yet.” The instructions from the program were a guide in her mind. She could say was from Philadelphia, but not her real name.

  He chuckled as he handed her a menu. “For better or worse, everyone will know your business. Some of the old-timers don’t like new folks moving in, so don’t take it personally if you get the cold shoulder.” He grabbed a pint glass from under the counter. “How’d you decide on Cliffside Bay? We’re not exactly on the map.”

  How had she found this place? The answer to this had not been on the bio sheet. How could she reply in a way that sounded legitimate? “Fate, I guess.”

  “Let me buy you a beer to welcome you to town. What do you like?”

  “IPA?”

  Zane nodded. “We have seven to choose from.” He pointed at the plastic menu in her hands. “Back side lists all our beers.”

  “You choose.”

  “Awesome. It’s Taco Tuesday. Two-dollar tacos with all the fixings. Chicken, pork, or beef,” Zane said.

  Tacos for two dollars? She knew where she’d be on Tuesday evenings from this day forward. “Chicken, please. Three of them. It’s been a long day.”

  “Done.” He moved to a machine behind the counter to enter her order. “You want guacamole? You’re in California now. We’re all about the avocados.”

  She smiled, remembering the sandwich choice from earlier. Lunch seemed a million years ago already. “I’m trying to fit in, so load me up.”


  “It’s good you’re here early. In about fifteen minutes, this place will be full. Our locals love Taco Tuesdays.”

  She glanced at her watch as Zane filled a pint glass with an amber-hued beer. It was a little after 6:00 p.m. “I’ll remember for next week.”

  After Zane set the beer in front of her, he lingered, drying glasses and chatting. Kara learned he was the son of the previous owner, who was now in a memory care facility. “I’ve had the place for a few years now. I made some changes, but for the most part, this place has been a local fixture for fifty years.”

  “What did you change?” she asked.

  “I added a computer system. My dad was completely against technology. Old school.” He gestured toward the beer taps. “And I brought in the craft beers as a way to differentiate us from just another bar and grill. Believe it or not, we have people who come from the city just to try some of our unique beers.”

  Kara sipped from the bitter IPA in front of her. “This one’s delicious.”

  “Best part of the job. I scout out small breweries no one’s heard of and bring them here.”

  She wiped a bit of foam from her upper lip. “That’s a good perk, although I imagine working nights is rough on your social life.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Zane said. “If friends want to see me, they pop in and have a beer. I surf in the mornings and open this place up around eleven to get ready for lunch. I tried to do the corporate thing in Los Angeles after college, but I was miserable. When my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago, he asked if I’d come help him sell the place. But I knew the minute I came home and stood behind this counter that this was where I was supposed to be.”

  “Was his decline rapid?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “I’m sorry.” She’d seen her share of Alzheimer patients over the years. When they wandered into the emergency room, they were usually confused and frightened. Just this winter, a man had come in from the snow without any shoes. They’d had to amputate one of his toes.

  “We had a chance to say what we needed to say. I’m grateful for that. I visit twice a week, but it’s been a year since he’s recognized me. It’s rough.” Zane’s expression changed from grief to stoic in the second it took him to grab another glass. “What brings you to Cliffside Bay?”