A Beach Wish

by Shelley Noble

  Chapter 3

  It was still dark when Zoe woke up. In her dream she was playing a lullaby on the baby grand in the living room. Her mother stood at her shoulder, singing. Singing? That couldn’t be right. Zoe sat up in bed, disoriented, but not nearly as tired as she should be. She shot out of bed and padded across the shadowed room and pulled the cord to the drapes, then stepped back, blinking against the sudden, painful brightness.

  Talk about your light-blocking curtains. It was dazzling outside. And later than she’d thought. She opened the glass doors, stepped onto the balcony, and stretched, letting the sun warm her face, breathing in the fresh morning air.

  She peered over the balcony rail where, below her, a swath of lawn spread out like a carpet—like a sea—like a . . . crescendo of green.

  And flowers, and shrubs, and pampas grasses with their feathered tops riffling in the breeze. A path meandering down to a white sand beach. The waves a distant steady rhythm, intertwining with the breeze to create a smooth line above the staccato of human activity below her.

  A perfect place for letting inspiration flow. And for saying good-bye.

  She rested her elbows on the railing and watched a yoga class on the beach “greeting the sun.” She tried to clear her own mind, think of nothing. Not music, not poetry, not family—not the duty that lay ahead.

  What did it say that a woman wouldn’t want to be buried near her children? Did it even matter? It wasn’t like they were all going to rest eternally together. People moved on, joined other families, bought their own family plots. Her family didn’t even visit the cemetery.

  Somewhere below her, the quiet hum of conversation was punctuated by the clink of . . . silverware. The aroma of breakfast. That fast-food burger from her drive was a dim memory. She went inside and headed straight to the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, armed with her laptop but not the urn—which she’d replaced in the carryall and hidden in the closet behind her suitcase—Zoe went downstairs in search of sustenance.

  She found it at the end of a short hallway: an airy restaurant with a patio eating area. She stopped at the “Please Wait to be Seated” sign, then opted for an outside table and followed the hostess—another wholesome-looking young woman—across the room.

  She was seated at a table next to a bush heavy with red flowers, with a view of the lawn and a vee of blue ocean in the distance.

  The hostess handed her a menu. “Enjoy your morning. Elena will be with you shortly. Would you care for coffee, tea, juice while you decide?”

  “Coffee—please.” The woman left and Zoe bent her head over the menu. She scanned past the “healthy living” part and went straight to the eggs, passed over the turkey bacon and meatless sausage to the locally raised real pork links, and was deliberating over sourdough, whole wheat toast, or a waffle with fresh fruit when the waitress returned with her coffee.

  “Good morning, I’m Elena, and I’m happy to serve you.”

  Zoe decided to stick to eggs, sausage, and toast and gave her order. As soon as Elena smiled herself away, Zoe took a sip of coffee, hesitated only long enough to savor the rich, heady roast, then pulled out her laptop. Which was ridiculous. She had no work to do here. None that needed a laptop. Not a calendar or a spreadsheet. Not one idea for a lyric, not even a bass line inspired by the waves.

  She opened it anyway. She wasn’t the only one with an open laptop on the table, and she wondered if any of the other guests were actually doing business or just gazing into the distance like she was.

  And that’s how the waitress found her when she returned with Zoe’s breakfast.

  “How do I get to the beach?” Zoe asked.

  “You can take the path through the garden over there, or there is a direct elevator to the beach access road.”

  Zoe considered asking the girl if it was called Wind Chime Beach. It seemed just like something a chic spa would name their beach. But if it was, they might not like ashes being spread so close to where their clientele worked on their asanas and tans.

  She closed her laptop and dug in. Her breakfast was delicious, every fried, eggy, porky morsel. She ate it all and agreed to a refill of the rich coffee. She reopened her laptop, but instead of writing, she sat back and watched a large orange-and-black monarch as it flitted among the flowers.

  A shadow momentarily blocked out the sun. She looked up.

  A tall, buxom, thirty-something woman dressed in yoga pants and a bright yellow off-the-shoulder tee was standing over her.

  “I hate to bother you, but would you mind awfully if I sat in your extra chair? You look like you’re working and I promise not to say a word, but I’m dying for a cup of coffee and they won’t seat me until the rest of my party arrives.” She made a goofy face and Zoe immediately liked her.

  “Please.” Zoe gestured to the empty chair. Actually, she wouldn’t mind the company for a few minutes.

  “Thanks. We had such a night and I don’t know how I’ll ever face Morning Mantra without some Joe.”

  Elena appeared to fill the newcomer’s cup and topped off Zoe’s. She would be buzzing to the beach before long.

  The woman across from her took a sip of coffee and let out a long sigh. “Ah. Heaven. I’m Karen, by the way.”

  “Zoe.”

  “Which package are you doing?” Karen asked.

  “I’m not. I have other business in town.”

  “Oh. And I interrupted. Sorry.”

  “Not at all.” Zoe closed her laptop. “Are you doing a package?”

  Karen nodded. “Soul Sister Weekend. I’m here with two friends. Hot stone massages, Jacuzzi, morning yoga, facials. It’s really nice. Plus the food is really good here. The last place we went was all kale juice and nature walks. They have a real bar,” Karen said. “The gin may be organic, but it has an alcohol content that you can count.”

  She leaned closer to Zoe. “Plus there are a lot of great places to eat and drink in town if you get tired of the hotel. Lots of places to hear music, but they have a pretty good house band here. The guitarist is an old dude, but he used to be semifamous back in the seventies. I’ve never heard of him, but he’s a big deal around here.”

  “I think I heard him for a minute last night.”

  “And the spa really is wonderful. You should try some of the specialties while you’re here,” Karen added.

  “They should hire you for PR,” Zoe said, when she could get in a word.

  “Not me. I’m a number cruncher. Inventory control for a national sporting goods manufacturer. What do you do?” Karen leaned over to sip her coffee; dark brown hair swung past her cheeks, cutting off her expression from Zoe’s view.

  Good question, thought Zoe. “Well, currently I . . . I’m in the music industry.”

  Karen put down her cup. “Wow. Like a musician? Do you perform? Are you on tour?”

  Zoe swallowed. “Actually, I work at the event end.”

  “Like rock concerts?”

  “And award ceremonies. Galas. Things like that.”

  “That’s so exciting.”

  Zoe nodded. It had been a pain in the butt, but it had also been exciting and it had given her lots of opportunities to be around music. It just hadn’t gotten her a gig writing it.

  “Do you know any rock stars?”

  “A few.”

  A woman, possibly the activity hostess, had been making her way around the tables, and she stopped at Zoe’s. She was fortyish, maybe a little older, but tall and fit, with wavy reddish-blond hair, and seemed slightly familiar. The mark of a good hostess.

  “Good morning, Karen. You must be Zoe Bascombe. I’m Eve Gordon, the proprietor of Solana. So glad you made it in last night. Mel said you took the old turn into town.”

  “Nice to meet you. It was an adventure.”

  “Oh, I love adventures,” Karen said. “Though I don’t have too many. What happened?”

  “Just a little fog. And a few potholes.”

  “We’ll be sure to give bette
r directions at the end of your stay. The highway is two minutes away.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Zoe says she’s here on business,” Karen said. “But I’ve been trying to talk her into joining us for one of the packages. I know, you could meet us for Body Bliss tomorrow morning.”

  Eve laughed. “We’ll be glad to accommodate you if you decide to stay. Anything you need, please just ask.” She moved on to the next table of patrons. It was a nice touch—not too much, no hard sell, and she hadn’t stayed long enough to incur an awkward silence.

  “Isn’t she the sweetest? The spa is family run. Everyone is really friendly and seems to like their jobs.” Karen’s eyes rolled upward. “Unlike someplace I could name.”

  “A particular sporting goods office, for one?”

  “The stories I could tell. Oh, there’s Elaine and Brandy.” She waved at the two women who had just stepped into the sunlight. Zoe felt a jolt of envy. Three friends having a fun weekend away. Until recently, Zoe would have considered a weekend alone in her apartment with time to do laundry a fun weekend away. But not today.

  The women hurried over, and Zoe slipped her laptop into its case.

  Introductions were made. Elaine curvy, with curly light brown hair, and Brandy, thin and muscular, definitely the athlete of the three.

  Zoe stood. “You guys sit down. I have to get going. So nice to meet you.”

  “We aren’t running you off, are we?” Elaine asked.

  “No. I’m here on business and it’s way past time I got to it.”

  “Thanks for the seat, it was nice meeting you,” Karen said. “Maybe we’ll see you tonight at the bar.”

  “Maybe,” Zoe said, and headed inside.

  Maybe she would meet them at the bar tonight. Maybe she’d stay for a few extra days. Do one of the packages. That would be a change, a weekend in a hotel, where she did nothing but get pampered instead of taking care of everyone else. The idea was growing on her.

  But first she needed to find Wind Chime Beach and do her duty to her mother. Then she could take a few days for herself before she had to get back to her life.

  The thought stopped her midstep. And just what was her life? Would she return to Manhattan and make the rounds of event planners, land another hair-tearing job as an event coordinator? At least MAX4 had been big on music. She might end up organizing corporate think tank weekends. Or worse.

  Besides, she’d given up her apartment. She couldn’t go back home, not by herself. Chris would take her in. But she couldn’t camp out at his place while she looked for a job. Chris was an actor, but even he’d had the good sense to hook up with a real estate developer, Timothy. They lived in a beautiful apartment on the Upper West Side. She wouldn’t intrude.

  She rode up the elevator in a fog more debilitating than the one she’d driven through the night before.

  The maid had already been. The bed was made; there were fresh flowers on the dresser. The whole room smelled clean and peaceful, and she would have been happy just to relax there, except for what she knew was waiting for her in the closet.

  She forced herself to take out the carryall and carefully placed the urn back on the dresser. “I’m not taking you with me. This is purely a recce. And the idea of searching through town for this Wind Chime Beach—a place that, by the way, isn’t even mentioned on the town website—with you slung over my shoulder is just too depressing.

  “Last chance to change your mind. Are you sure this is what you want? Won’t you be lonely spread everywhere, drifting around on the sand or the ocean with . . . no one to talk to?”

  She stopped, horrified. She was the one doing all the talking. Her mother had left days ago. She wasn’t coming back.

  Zoe pushed her fingers through her hair. “I suppose I should do some kind of ceremony? A prayer?”

  She didn’t know any.

  A song? Music had once lit a fire inside her, made her feel vibrant. But it had been a private feeling. She didn’t really perform in public. Certainly not for her family. Music was her life, not her mother’s.

  Now she was afraid that fire had been doused—killed by her own inattention.

  She grabbed her purse and went downstairs. She stopped by the desk on her way out and was surprised to see the same girl as the night before.

  “Doing double duty?” Zoe asked her.

  “Huh?” The girl looked up. “Oh, hi. Yeah, the person who usually does the morning shift called in sick. And my sister Noelle is in New York interviewing for a job, so I have to stay here until the afternoon shift comes on.”

  “Instead of going to the beach?”

  The girl grinned. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m looking for a beach, too.”

  “Oh, you just go right down the path out back to the stone steps. There are umbrellas, and lounges, and towels and showers, everything you’ll need. Even a juice bar.” She leaned over the counter and said conspiratorially, “You have to smuggle in your own vodka.”

  Zoe laughed. “Good to know.” Could this possibly be the beach where she was supposed to spread her mother’s ashes? “Actually, I’m looking for a specific place called Wind Chime Beach.”

  The girl frowned. “Wind Chime . . . I don’t think I know of a beach . . . Well, there is Wind Chime House.”

  “That must be it.”

  “But it’s just an old house that used to be a hippie commune.”

  “A hippie commune?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And people still live there?”

  “Oh, sure. Floret and Henry and a couple old dudes who retired and came back to live there. And Eli and his uncle David live there. He’s kind of the caretaker. He’s really a photographer, but . . . well, it’s a long story. And Eli; he’s like my best friend.”

  “They won’t mind if I visit them?”

  “Oh, no, it was a pretty big deal in its day. People are always coming to visit and reminisce or to see where their parents or grandparents used to live. Only don’t mention that you’re staying here.”

  “Why?”

  She leaned over the counter. “It’s not our fault. Floret and my great-grandmother have been at it for years. Nobody knows why, at least not that they tell me. It would be funny, if it didn’t upset Mom so much. How did you hear about it?”

  “My mother.” It slipped out without Zoe thinking.

  “Wow! My mother was raised there. Maybe yours hung out there, too. Maybe they know each other.”

  Zoe shook her head. “I doubt it. I’m not sure my mother was ever here. She was raised in Long Island with a string of pearls around her neck. Her linen pants didn’t dare wrinkle. I never saw her let anything ‘hang out.’”

  The girl laughed. “She doesn’t sound like the type to live in a commune.”

  “No,” Zoe said automatically. So why would her mother want to come here? “Does this commune have a beach?”

  “It does. It abuts ours.” She rolled her eyes. “Mom’s been trying to buy it forever. But Floret and Henry won’t sell.”

  “So I can just walk from your beach to theirs?” It still sounded a little too public for what Zoe had to do.

  “Not really.” The receptionist made a face. “It’s barricaded. We, actually my great-grandma, built a jetty across the sand to keep our people from wandering too close, and they put up a sign not to climb on the rocks because it was dangerous. But it’s really because their people like to sunbathe nude. I don’t know what the big deal is—our people are practically nude.” She slapped her hand to her mouth.

  Zoe laughed. It had been a while.

  “I’m Mel.”

  “Let me guess. Short for Melody.”

  “Have you ever heard anything so dorky?”

  “Zoe?”

  Mel laughed.

  “I think Mel is a great name.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So if I want to get to this Wind Chime Beach, how would I go about it?”

  “Oh. Just go right out the door. Two
blocks, then on the next block you’ll see two white houses, then a smaller cottage with one of those little wishing wells out front. That’s the Kellys’ house. They own the local diner if you get in the mood for good and greasy. You just go down their driveway. Their house is on your left and Little Woods will be on your right. You go all the way to the end. And you’ll see it.”

  “Well, thanks, Mel. I think I’ll go over now and take a look.

  A faint flush spread over Mel’s face. “Sorry. I talk too much. Everyone says so.”

  “I don’t think so,” Zoe said. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zoe started out the door, but as she opened it, a man stepped in.

  “Oh, excuse me.”

  “I beg your pard—” He stopped cold and Zoe recognized the off-key singer from the bar.

  She smiled perfunctorily and tried to slide past him. He didn’t move; his expression didn’t change. He stood blocking her way, staring at her in a way that made a chill run up her spine.

  “I’m so sorry.” She ducked under his arm and fled.

  Lee Gordon stared after the girl who’d just left the inn. So he wasn’t losing his mind. She was here. She couldn’t be here. Why had he drunk that bourbon last night? He couldn’t do that shit anymore. Not booze, not drugs, not women, not any of it.

  So why was it coming back now? He spun around, marched over to the reception desk where his youngest granddaughter was minding the store.

  “Hi, Granddad, how was breakfast?”

  “Huh? Good and greasy.”

  “What are you gonna do if Kelly ever goes organic?”

  “Starve, I guess. Who was that?”

  “The woman who just left?”

  Girl. She was just a girl. “Yeah.”

  “One of our guests. Why?”

  He pulled himself together. “No reason. Where’s your mother?”

  “In the office. Granddad, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  Eve stepped out of the office. “I thought I heard your voice. I guess you went to the diner for breakfast instead of enjoying our four-star fare.”

  “Of course I did. Who is that woman that just left here?”