by Sherry Kyle
Haley grabbed his arm and stopped him. "What does that mean?"
"It means, Haley, I want your sister gone by morning." Mark crossed the room toward the garage door and slammed it on the way out.
"I'll talk to him . . . later." Haley's eyes held an emotion Claire had seen before. Fear.
A lump clogged Claire's throat. Did she dare leave her sister alone with this man? The smell of Mark's stale breath lingered in the air. Was Haley right? Was it time to move on with her life? Mark didn't give her much choice.
"Don't bother." Claire held up her hands in defeat. "I'll go pack my bags."
3
Michael Thompson sat on the edge of the king-size bed and looked at a picture of a wedding dress from Bride magazine. "Sandy, just where do you think we can come up with this kind of money?"
"Michael, our only daughter is getting married." His wife of twenty-seven years stood over him. "Look at the cathedral train and the beaded lace bodice."
She was speaking another language. "It's beautiful. And Julia would look amazing in it, but the fact still remains—the price tag is outrageous." He stood and handed the magazine to his wife.
"This is only the beginning, honey. The wedding is in four months, and there is much more we need to plan and purchase. "Sandy hugged the magazine to her chest.
His wife was as beautiful today as when he married her all those years ago. Her striking jet-black hair, cut just above her shoulders, and her brown eyes drew him in. "Sandy, can you keep looking? Maybe there's another dress out there that looks similar but is reasonable." He drew out the last word on purpose.
Her shoulders visibly drooped, and her eyebrows furrowed. "David's family will expect the best."
"Oh, so that's it." Michael strolled to their walk-in closet and opened the door. "You want Julia's fiancé to be impressed. "He came out holding a navy suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. "We're not on the same financial level as the Richards. But that doesn't mean we can't give our daughter a beautiful wedding."
"You'll sell a few houses between now and then." Sandy's silky robe clung to her waist as she tightened the belt.
He cleared his throat. "Let's hope so."
The shirt collar felt stiff, perfectly starched the way he liked. He handed his tie to his wife. The edges of the tie whipped here and there as Sandy configured the perfect knot.
Michael inspected himself in the mirror. "I'm working hard, but houses in Santa Cruz aren't moving right now." The air between them felt thick.
"I made coffee. I'll bring you a cup." Sandy avoided the conversation at hand.
"I've got a meeting. There'll be coffee there." Two could play at this game. He grabbed his briefcase.
The meeting was for new employees. Michael had been a Realtor for twenty years, but he needed an edge over the newcomers if this wedding dress was any indication of the kind of money he'd be doling out the next few months.
"But you haven't eaten breakfast." Sandy stood in the doorway. "Or read the newspaper."
Michael kissed his wife's cheek. "I've got to run. I need to put in the hours if we're going to give Julia the kind of wedding you have in mind."
"So, can we buy the dress?" Sandy quickly flipped through the magazine again, finding the page she had showed him earlier.
"Can you hold off, until we talk about it some more?" Michael walked down the hall to the kitchen and snatched his car keys off the granite countertop. "I'll see you tonight."
"What time?" Sandy followed him to the garage.
"I'll call you." Michael hopped in his BMW, started the engine, and took off.
I've got to get a new listing. And I won't come home until I do.
The sky was beginning to show daylight when Claire loaded the last of her belongings into the backseat of her car. Haley was still asleep. Claire decided to phone her later—when she had landed somewhere for the night and could think of what to say. When they were children, her mother had never liked it when her daughters fought. She would make them sit in their bedroom until they promised to get along.
"Sorry, Mom, not today." Claire took one more glance at the gloomy four-story apartment building. She wouldn't miss this place. She'd been here way too long. Maybe Haley will see Mark for who he is. Claire slipped into the driver's seat and turned the key. Her VW bug sputtered and choked, the engine refusing to turn over. Lately, she took a chance her car would start each time she got behind the wheel. Her funds didn't allow a trip to the mechanic. "Come on." She stepped on the gas pedal and turned the key once more. The sound of her car coming to life brought a smile to her face. Freedom. The excitement of a fresh start mixed with emotions she couldn't quite pin down made her pulse race.
She didn't want to leave L.A.—a place that reminded her of her mother. And yet, it was time to go—time for a new start. Claire drove down the street and merged onto the freeway. She'd give herself time to leave her past behind and figure out her life. And she'd drive up the coast until she wanted to stop.
Ironically, ten minutes later Claire pulled her car off the highway and into the nearest gas station. As she filled the tank, her stomach growled. She'd buy a donut or something sweet to go with a cup of coffee. Claire dumped the contents of her purse on the passenger's seat, looking for her ATM card. Receipts, lip gloss, a comb, a couple of dimes. She remembered locking her wallet in her car last night. She flipped open the glove compartment and dug her hand underneath the owner's manual. Aha. As she pulled out her pink wallet, an envelope fell to the floor.
The letter.
Claire tucked the envelope into her tote bag along with the contents on the seat. First, a good strong jolt of caffeine, then she'd read the letter once more before hitting the road. After walking into the gas station, she quickly purchased the tallest cup of coffee, a package of sugar donuts, and a chocolate bar for the drive. She placed her coffee on the hood of her car and fumbled for her keys.
"Claire? Is that you?"
She recognized the voice behind her. Geraldine. Claire turned around with the food in hand. "It's me." She was surprised to see her former neighbor at a gas station on this side of town. The time since her mother's funeral had not been good to Geraldine. Her white hair was thinner than before and she must have shrunk a good two inches.
"How's your sister, Holly?"
"Haley's fine." Claire gently corrected and gave a quick smile. Now didn't seem like an appropriate time to tell Geraldine her family troubles.
"I know your mother taught you good eating habits, my dear." Geraldine shook her head and clicked her tongue at the contents in Claire's hand.
"Oh, these?" Heat warmed Claire's cheeks.
"No need to explain. Every woman needs a little chocolate. "She winked and reached into her purse. "Well, it was nice to see you." Geraldine patted Claire's hand and slipped her a twenty-dollar bill. "I should've helped you sooner when your mother was alive. Give my regards to your sister. She was always such a good girl until she met that fella."
"Thank you." Claire clutched the money to her chest. She watched as Geraldine shuffled away and climbed into a van with the help of a man she guessed to be in his mid-fifties. The side of the van read Regis Retirement Living. Claire hoped the adult community accepted cats. Geraldine had owned a half dozen when she lived down the hall from her mother's apartment.
Taking a deep breath, she dropped the snacks into her tote bag, grabbed the coffee, and situated herself in the seat. She reached in her purse and pulled the letter from the envelope.
Dear Emily,
Remember this . . .
Riding the roller coasters at the Boardwalk until our heads were dizzy and our stomachs felt sick.
Hanging out at the beach learning to ride the waves.
Late-night walks holding hands. Stealing kisses. Sharing dreams.
I've never met a girl who can make me smile the way you do.
Summer was fun. Meeting you was the best part.
I miss you.
I love you.
&nbs
p; Claire stared at the letter in her hand. Someone had loved her mother. Someone who signed with only an initial. And according to the return address, someone who lived in Capitola. She folded the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope before slipping it into her purse. Claire opened the glove compartment and pulled out a map. She scanned up and down the coast until she spotted the small town of Capitola near Santa Cruz. She'd head north.
A smile tugged at her mouth. She had a plan, a destination. She would find a job and a place to live while she searched for the mysterious writer who had captured her mom's heart all those years ago.
4
With one hand on the steering wheel, Claire dug inside her bag and retrieved the candy bar she'd purchased at the gas station. She ripped open the wrapper with her teeth and bit into the rich dark chocolate. It wasn't much of a lunch. But she wanted to keep on driving. Santa Cruz was a good eight hours from L.A., and she had three more to go, maybe four if the RV ahead of her continued at a snail's pace.
The view near Big Sur mesmerized her. She snaked along the winding two-lane highway, sneaking peeks of the beautiful blue ocean lapping against the rocky shore. The San Lucia Mountains towered regally to her right.
The motor home in front of her gained speed as the road sloped downward.
Claire pressed on the gas pedal. "Finally, we're getting somewhere."
Without warning, the motor home came to an abrupt stop.
Claire slammed on her brakes, but it was too late. Metal crunched as the seat belt dug into her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her car. Her inherited VW bug was damaged. And it was all her fault.
A burly man stepped out of the RV, his brows furrowed as he rushed to her door.
Claire searched his face through the windshield as she rolled down her window. Was he angry? Her hands shook and she willed herself to stay calm. She had no reason to be afraid of him.
The RV driver spat a dark orange wad on the pavement and leaned over to peer through the window. "Looks like you've done more harm to your little car than to my motor home. "His lower lip protruded with chewing tobacco, reminding Claire of one of her brother-in-law's unsightly habits.
Claire opened her door and slid out to take a look, stepping over the asphalt spittoon. The front end of her car was dented and the hood buckled like an inverted V. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. "This is my mother's car."
"Does she know you're driving it?" The man cocked his brows.
Claire stared at the damages. She tucked her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. "She died a year ago."
The older man took off his baseball hat, revealing a bald head, and wiped his brow. "Sorry to hear that."
Drivers honked their horns behind them. Wind stirred by the passing vehicles in the other lane. The man tapped his cap against his leg and spat a stream of tobacco juice on the pavement. "I suppose we should move ourselves off the highway."
"But we're not supposed to, right? Don't we have to wait for the Highway Patrol?" Claire willed her hands to stop shaking.
"Let's move up ahead. Then we'll exchange insurance information."
She didn't have insurance. Claire watched the husky older man hitch his jeans up over his protruding belly.
"Follow me."
She heard the RV's engine come to life.
Claire sat in her car and turned her key. She heard clicking sounds. She tried again. Nothing. She rotated her key once more. Great! The car chooses NOW to die! I should've had the car serviced before leaving L.A. She hit the steering wheel and covered her face with her hands.
Was someone watching her? Claire sensed a presence and turned her head toward the driver's side window. She jumped when she noticed a thin older woman. Her gray hair hung to the side and down to her waist in a long braid.
"Come child, my husband and I will haul you to the nearest campsite. It's a good thing we left our car at home this trip. "She opened Claire's door and motioned Claire toward the RV she had hit.
Should she go with them? A driver honked behind them, giving Claire her answer. She grabbed her purse along with her keys and followed the woman while her husband pulled out a tow bar and hooked her car onto their trailer hitch.
The small RV had all the modern conveniences—a booth-like table with a small kitchen light, a gas stove, a TV with a DVD player, and a queen-size bed in the back bedroom with the prettiest patchwork quilt Claire had ever seen. She sat down in one of the tan leather seats.
"Welcome to our home on wheels," said the woman from the front seat. "We don't like to stay in one spot for long ever since our children flew the coop."
"I understand. I'm flying the coop myself." Claire averted her eyes, self-conscious of her admission.
The older woman grinned. "You . . . such a pretty young thing. I bet your friends and family miss you back home."
Home. Claire didn't have one. But she'd prove she could make it on her own. She didn't need anyone's help. She clutched her purse against her chest and wondered how she got into this mess. One minute she was driving north with the wind whipping through her hair and the next she was sitting in a motor home with the front end of her car in a crumpled heap and refusing to start.
"That about does it. Your car is hooked up and ready to travel." The man climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "I think we've stopped traffic for miles, but that's okay, people got to learn to slow down. Every one of those cars has a great view of Big Sur, if they'd take time to look."
"Now, Harry, don't start on that soapbox. This girl's been through enough." The woman patted her husband on the shoulder.
"It don't look like you'll be traveling much more today." Harry adjusted his baseball cap. "How about we camp the night at Plaskett Creek? You're welcome to join us."
Claire gulped. She'd rather not, but did she have a choice? Any accommodations for the night would be better than sleeping on the side of the road.
"We should introduce ourselves." The woman leaned over to face Claire. "My name's Pearl and this is my husband Harry. We've been married fifty-three years. Of course, we were only children when we tied the knot." She tapped her husband on the arm.
He seemed to get his wife's meaning by the smile and the wink he gave her.
"Say, how old are you, dear?"
"Twenty-three," Claire answered.
"Just a baby." Pearl turned around and looked into her eyes. "What's your name, darlin'?"
No one had ever called her darling. She stared out the window. "Claire."
"Well, Claire, we have six children, all grown and married with children of their own, except Albert. Now he's a confirmed bachelor through and through. He's the youngest of our brood and quite opinionated. He frequently marches for one cause or another." Pearl chuckled.
Claire glanced over her shoulder at her VW.
Pearl wrapped her long braid around her fingers. "Where were you headed?"
Claire shifted in her seat, tired of all the questions. "Santa Cruz."
Harry glanced at her in his rearview mirror. "Santa Cruz is a beautiful place. They have everything—mountains, ocean, redwoods, and mild weather. Have you been there before?"
"No." Claire peeled her eyes away from the mirror. "Have you?"
"A number of times." Harry swerved. Claire could see bikers on the right. "We like to camp at New Brighton Beach, a pretty spot near Capitola."
Claire's heart leaped. Capitola—the return address of the letter. "Will you be going there next?"
"We're headed to San Francisco, an hour and a half past Santa Cruz." Pearl showed Claire a family photo. "See this one, here." She pointed to a woman in her early thirties. "That's Melody, our youngest daughter, and the man standing next to her is her husband, John. She's about to have a baby any day now, and we want to be there for the arrival."
"Here we are. Plaskett Creek Campgrounds." Harry pulled the motor home into the entrance. "Let's see if our usual spot is taken."
Claire peered out the window. The main r
oad wound in a circle, with campsites on the left and a big grassy section in the middle. She was relieved to see restrooms evenly spaced throughout the campsite. Tents and RVs filled most spaces.
"Look, Harry. Our spot." Pearl pointed to a little grassy knoll. "The Lord always provides, doesn't he?"
If the Lord provided for Claire, she'd be headed north in her VW bug without a ruined front hood.
"And land's sakes, look over there." Harry pointed. "The Andersons are here."
"We haven't seen them in what, Harry? Three, four years?" Pearl craned her neck. "What a night this is going to be." She clapped her hands together.
Are these people for real? Claire didn't know how to act around "nice" people like Pearl and Harry. How was she going to handle being around more strangers?
"Oh, you'll simply love the Andersons." Pearl leaned down, grabbed a straw hat and settled it on her head. "They're loads of fun. They have three strapping boys—why, they should almost be men by now, and one daughter, the eldest. I think she might be your age. They go camping as a family every year for a week or two. Of course, Harry and I think the world of Ed and Mary. They've raised all their children in the church, and not one of them has rebelled." Pearl cupped her hand to block her mouth from Harry's gaze and lowered her voice. "Not like our Robert. He's been around the block once or twice, if you know what I mean. But he's turned his life around."
"Now, Pearl, you don't need to share our family troubles."
Claire knew all about family troubles. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Harry pulled into the campsite. "We'll have to unhitch your car or it'll be sticking out in the middle of the road. We can ask the Anderson boys to help us move it to the grass over there."
Claire had never received so much positive attention from people she knew, let alone strangers. She thought back to her mother's friends, the ones who disappeared when they learned her mother had cancer.
"I'd say that accident of ours was a blessing in a way. If you hadn't bumped into us, we wouldn't have had the opportunity to catch up with old friends." Pearl jumped out of the RV and headed toward the Andersons' campsite the minute Harry stepped on the emergency brake.
