Sweet Waters

by Julie Carobini

  “I think we should just forget about her, Tara,” Camille says, a pout in her voice. “She’s obviously deranged, and if it weren’t for Holly—and Jorge’s cooking—I’d never even want to go back there.”

  “I guess. Besides, if we rent this cottage, we can start making our own meals anyway.” I kick a pebble with the toe of my flip-flop. “Just can’t imagine how anyone could dislike our father. It irks me.”

  “There it is.”

  We’ve turned onto Fogcatcher Lane, where single-story beach bungalows line up, each with a small porch for storing sand buckets and surfboards. Most of the redwoods and pines that would normally thrive around here have been cut down, probably to provide views to the water. The cottages, painted the muted colors of the sea—blues and greens and sandy grays—look so well maintained you’d think we were strolling through a Hollywood movie set. All except for one forlorn house, its windows covered by clean plywood, sitting across the street and just two houses past the one we’ve come to see. Black soot lies in uneven spots across its front and down its side.

  We walk up to the sad place in silence. Camille speaks first. “Wonder whatever happened here.”

  “I don’t know. Look. Weeds are growing up the sides, so the fire must’ve happened awhile ago. Wonder when this place will be fixed up.”

  Camille sighs. “Yeah, kind of depressing to live near it.”

  A purple VW Beetle cruises down the street and pulls into the driveway of the rental cottage. The driver, a tall woman with short, sandy-colored hair and a quick step, climbs out and swirls herself around, her gaze switching from the available property to us and then to the paper in her hand. She looks over at us again and calls out, “How-dy! If you’re looking for the rental unit, then I’m your gal.”

  We glance at each other, before making our way toward her. Camille’s eyes can’t hide her giddiness.

  The woman holds out her hand. “Cheryl Draughon here, retired teacher turned realtor at your service. Which one of you ladies is Tara?” She shakes my outstretched hand. “Then you must be Camille,” she says, turning to my cousin. “Well. So you gals are new in town then. Come in, come in . . . let me show you around.” She slips the key into the lock, then turns to us. “I think you’re going to love-love-love it here!”

  Any worry over the burned-out house up the street dissipates the second we slip off our flip-flops and pad around the small cottage, with its marred wooden floors and beadboard-covered walls. From the front picture window there’s an ocean view over the rooftops, and that’s almost enough to get me to sign on the dotted line right now.

  “Oh my stars, would you look at this! Come see, gals.”

  We wander to the kitchen, where French doors open to a wide patio. Our realtor sits in a generous Adirondack chair, one of three situated beneath the overhead sun, its beam illuminating her like a celebrity. “Because it’s on the side, this view is better than that one out front. I could sit here all day with a cup of tea and a square of chocolate and just watch the bunnies in the garden and that glorious ocean down the street.”

  Sure enough, as if on cue, a bunny scurries across the scrubby grass and hides behind an overgrown bush. Camille steps onto the deck behind me, her eyes riveted on the view. “Tara, this is perfect. And there’s even an extra bedroom back there.”

  Cheryl pipes in. “And it’s furnished too.”

  I sit next to Cheryl, reveling in the surprising comfort that hard wood offers. I breathe in the salt air, attempting to calm my racing heart. “How long of a lease do the owners expect?”

  “We’re looking at a year, although I might be able to sweet-talk them into something shorter, if you’re not sure of your plans.”

  I release that breath. Things are moving fast—faster than I’m able to process. Dreaming about doing something is one thing. Actually putting money and effort behind it can be daunting. What if Mom and Derrick come back from Europe early? Or if Camille hates it here, or we miss Mel too much? And what if the rest of the town turns out to be curmudgeons, like Peg?

  Cheryl sits there, just nodding her head. “That’s right. You take your time. This is a big decision for you gals.”

  Camille’s popping up and down on her toes, a fallback to her high school ways. “Come on, Tara. Just this once, let’s do something crazy. This place is perfect for us.”

  I laugh. “You don’t think flying out here in the first place classifies as crazy?” My cell buzzes, and I excuse myself to take it inside. Most people would just slide it open and take the call right there, but I’ve been in enough lines at the grocery store where I’ve overheard things that strangers should never learn. So, out of respect, I take the call in the living room.

  “Tara? It’s me, Mel.” I listen to my sister while watching a V-shaped formation of pelicans flying out toward the sea. Like our realtor, who sits enchanted out on that wooden deck, I too can see myself sitting in that spot, sipping coffee and watching waves engulf the rocks. I finish my conversation with Mel, and head back to see Cheryl and Camille who, though they’ve only just met, chatting like old friends. They stop when I rush through the doors.

  “We’ll take the house,” I say, unable to stop the singsong in my voice. “Mel will be here next week!”

  Chapter Ten

  The tide lays flat, at its lowest level since Camille and I have been here. That hasn’t been all that long, of course, still it’s comforting to see these waters again and all that lies beneath their refuge. I’m wearing water shoes today so I can climb across exposed rock and hunt for a peek at what lives in its many crevices.

  Camille and I got up this morning, put our suitcases in the car, and drove into the village for stale pastry and strong coffee. Afterward, we picked up our new house key from Cheryl, then moved in to our rental cottage. All we have left to do is give Anne a call, and she’ll ship just a few things we’ll need from storage. Just like that.

  It’s Holly’s day off (another reason to skip the diner today), so she and Camille drove into the next town over to check on that fashion-design program at the college. And since Betty’s on duty at the inn this morning, I’m free to explore these tide pools until late afternoon.

  On my haunches, I dangle my fingers into a swirl of water containing several shell-packed sea anemones as the ocean’s spray dances across my face. Gulls cry in the distance. A familiar tangle of waves and air fills my senses, and my mind steps back in time. Daddy’s sad, and Mother’s been crying again. We sit, Daddy and I, our legs dangling over the edge of a precipice, the waters rolling rhythmically beneath our feet, each wave climbing higher than the last. I’m tossing tiny spiral shells into the sea, trying to make them skip like Daddy does, only they sink on impact each and every time.

  Unlike most days, Daddy’s not happy. He’s just staring into the water, wide-eyed and distressed, mumbling something. I strain to recall it. “She lied,” he’s saying. “If only she hadn’t lied.”

  I yank my hand out of the water, the suddenly vivid memory stunning me. A noise from behind causes me to spin and I nearly lose my footing. A man’s voice calls to me, and I hear his steps bouncing across the rocks.

  “Did you get stung?”

  I squint up in the sun to see Josh towering over me. He bends down and takes my hand. “Did something sting your hand?”

  I pull it away, still reeling from the memory of my father and me, my mind fuzzy. “Not at all. I’m fine.”

  Josh’s crinkled eyes inspect me. “I was watching and saw you jerk your hand out of the water. Figured something tried to take a bite out of you.”

  I want to be annoyed by his presumption. I half expect him to act like Trent and begin reciting deadly facts about the dangers of sea water, showing off how much more he thinks he knows than I do. Instead, though, he reaches for my hand again, a gentle May I? in his eyes, and his protectiveness has a calming effect.

  I’m quite sorry I pulled my hand from his so quickly. “No. I–I was just thinking of something, and the move
was completely involuntary.” I roll back onto my rump, and hug my knees with my hands. Eliza would know the right things to do and say at this moment, how to dazzle and delight, but all I can do is tighten the grip on my legs and hope Josh says something soon.

  He settles back too—right into a puddle—then rolls back onto his feet. “Ahh!”

  I cover my mouth with one hand. “Cold?” Eliza would be proud.

  He grunts, his face twisted into a mock grimace. “I meant to do that.”

  It feels good to laugh, and he’s wearing a smile too—although maybe a bit restrained—the fresh stubble on his face shining golden in the sun. “So. All I know about you is your first name.”

  “Sweet. My name is Tara Sweet.”

  “Hm. It fits you.”

  A hot blush fills my cheeks. “Um, you’re smooth, aren’t you?”

  A laugh erupts from him, as if I’ve caught him by surprise. It reminds me of the other day at the inn when the sound of his voice dissipated the tension in the air. It’s doing the same for me now. “Now why would you go and say something like that?”

  I shrug. “Tell me about you, Josh . . .”

  “Adams.”

  “Okay, Josh Adams, the firefighter. Have you lived in Otter Bay a long time?”

  He rubs a hand over his stubbly cheek, eyes guarded again. “We moved here from Los Angeles when I was a kid. I went to SLO—that’s San Luis Obispo—for college, then decided to settle back here. It’s a good town.”

  I nod. “I see that.”

  He searches my face, and I glance away. “What brought you here?”

  Just how do I answer that, exactly? My life has always been about stability. Working hard, saving money, getting married, raising a family . . . But now? The longer I’m here, the more I sense the need to fill in the long-forgotten pieces of my family’s past. Do I tell this to Josh, a near stranger? Certainly I can’t tell him Mel’s prediction—that I’ve come to run away from a broken heart.

  I let out a soft breath. “My family lived here until I was six, and I’ve always wanted to come back and visit.”

  “You’re just passing through then.” He frowns.

  I press my lips together into a smile and shrug. “Well, secretly, I’ve always wanted to move back. My father died a number of years ago, and this place reminds me of him. He loved water, and I always wondered why he let this town slip away from us. He never would say. Anyway, my mother remarried, and the company I worked for was sold so . . .”

  “So you took the leap. That’s courageous.”

  Simple words, yet they touch me within. No one has ever called me courageous before. Headstrong, strong-willed, bossy . . . I’ve heard those monikers, but never anything as noteworthy as courageous. “Thank you for saying so,” I tell him, meaning it. “Although, you’re a firefighter, and that’s got to be one of the most courageous jobs out there.”

  Josh’s eyes, which look out to sea now, take on a dark cast again. He’s quiet for several seconds—have I somehow said exactly the wrong thing? Wouldn’t be the first time. He glances down to where one of his hands toys with a stone. “It can be, if it’s done right.”

  “Nigel says you’re the best.”

  He cocks his chin toward me and smiles, although his eyes still carry a certain sadness. “There aren’t enough people like Nigel in the world, but I guess you know that, working for him, I mean.”

  “Yes, I—”

  A sharp ring tears into the peaceful morning. Josh looks to his side. “That’s me.” He stands and reads a text on his phone. “My shift doesn’t officially start until tomorrow, but when duty calls, it calls.” He snaps his phone back onto his belt, and pulls me up before I realize what’s happening. “Got to run. Be careful out here . . .”

  “I’ll watch for the tide. No worries.”

  He sends me a wave, and I watch him dash back to his truck.

  I RIDE INTO WORK on a wave of mixed emotion. On the upside, we’ve found an affordable place to live near the beach—quite the feat—and Mel will be here soon. And, I can’t deny, running into Joshua Adams, firefighter, hasn’t put a damper on my time here one bit.

  Still, questions remain about Peg’s hostility toward my father, not to mention the cryptic memory that bored its way into my mind earlier today at the tide pool.

  Betty’s behind the desk when I arrive, her gray-haired head drooping to one side. When I approach, she bursts awake and calls out, “Checking in? . . . oh, good, it’s you.”

  It’s good to be needed.

  “Long day, Betty?”

  She chortles. “I’ll say, but oh my dear, having you here to get us organized has already been so helpful. Imagine, after only one day!” She removes her black vinyl purse from the coat rack, and pulls it gingerly over one shoulder. “You have a blessed night, dear. Don’t work too hard.”

  After handling a rush of check-ins in the late afternoon, a lull settles in and I spend some time reading through the piles of tourist brochures Nigel has available for guests. I’m studying one that gives directions and information about a nearby sanctuary for elephant seals when a hostile wind blows in through the front door.

  Peg stands there in her grease-splattered apron, looking angry as a bull. “You didn’t show for breakfast.”

  All sorts of responses zip through my head. “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”

  She stares in silence, and the admonishment to be kind to your elders pummels me with guilt. I sigh. “Hello, Peg. What can I do for you?”

  “Where were you this morning? Because I had something to say.”

  I measure my response. “Well, Camille and I moved into our rental this morning, and then she took off with Holly to visit the college.”

  Color drains from her face. “Holly is with your . . . with Camille?”

  “They should be back anytime now, but yes, they drove down together. I’m surprised Holly didn’t mention it.”

  “She’s over eighteen. And what do you mean your rental? I thought you lived in this inn?”

  I run a hand over my smoothed-back hair, figuratively pushing away the thought of telling her to mind her own business. “And now we’ve found a place more . . . permanent. It’s lovely, even if it’s not the house I once lived in.”

  She harrumphs. “Oh, well that place—that place had to be condemned. It was derelict from all the neglect.”

  I shrug, masking the pain. “Must have happened after we left.”

  Peg’s eyes relax, exhibiting a rare flash of compassion. “Let me make this easy for you, Tara.” She moves closer, her chin raised into the air, as if it makes her feel more brave. “Your father—you may not know or understand this now—but I will hand it to you straight. The man was one smooth character. He could cheat a man out of his lunch, then get the chump to buy him dinner.”

  I step out from behind the desk, panic rising it my throat. “Stop it.”

  “Get your deposit back. Or just cut your losses and go back home.”

  “This is our home now.”

  Peg grunts. “Trust me. It’s better if you go, before you learn more about Robert Sweet than he ever wanted you to hear.”

  Panic has turned to anger unleashed. “You’re nuts! My father was an honorable man . . . a beloved man. Everyone who knows him will attest to it. So take your gossip and your advice, and get . . . out!” I grind my teeth, top row into bottom, yet I can’t stay quiet. “My sister, Mel, will be here next week, and let me tell you, Peg, if you think I’m tough, you won’t want to mess with her.”

  Her eyes turn dull, like she’s given up. “Then you give me no choice but to tell you the truth. Your father, God rest that man’s soul, took nearly eight thousand dollars from me.”

  “Take it back.”

  Peg’s eyes catch on something behind me, but she can’t make an accusation like that, and then just turn away. My jaw tightens. “Take . . . back . . . what you said about my father.”

  Nigel’s soothing voice glides into th
e room. “Good evening, ladies.”

  My hands begin to shake. This woman is nothing but a stranger—I’ve never even heard of her before. My fingers curl into a ball until nails dig into palms as I try to draw air back into my tightening lungs. The last thing I want, though, is for Nigel to hear Peg’s accusation. Daddy’s reputation cannot be sullied this way. Gathering myself together, I adjust my claw clip, its tines scraping against my scalp. I take a slow, even breath. “Hello, Nigel. Nearly a full house this evening, I see.”

  Nigel’s eyes carry a flicker of unease, his usually smooth face showing lines of concern. I let my eyes plead: Don’t. Don’t ask me what’s wrong.

  “Then you’ve done a marvelous job caring for our guests. You were in no need of me to assist.” He nods at Peg. “Getting acquainted with my new desk host, I see.”

  Peg wipes her hands on an apron that should’ve been thrown into the wash hours ago. “Just telling her all she needs to know. Got to get back to the diner now before Jorge starts making tamales again. I’ll see you at breakfast, you know how I always keep your table cleared for you.” She makes eye contact with me again, but this time I see no hint of compassion.

  Only the cold, stone glare of a desperate woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Even before my feet hit the floorboards this morning, I attempt to dial Mom. She had promised to sign up for international calling, and all I can think of as that blasted recording starts again is, why did I not insist on handling that for her?

  Camille’s asleep, but I can’t stay in bed another second. Instead, I’m thinking about my parents as I sit out on the deck, watching the churning ocean spit waves across the rocks, often engulfing them. The light of morning has done little to cheer me after last evening’s confrontation with Peg.

  My father took care of the financial records of various businesses in Dexton, his work always bringing in enough for us to have a decent life. If we needed money, we never knew it. And people absolutely loved him. He donated his time by volunteering to help so many charities set up their accounting systems that anything doubtful on his part . . . well, it’s impossible to fathom!