Worth a Thousand Words

by Doreen Alsen

  “No problem, lass! No one’s going to be after looking at your hair and we’ve got enough T-shirts to choke an elephant.” She patted Angelique’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  That was Angelique’s cue to exit, stage left.

  She cracked open the door of the walk-in and poked her head out and looked in both directions before she left the fridge.

  As far as she could tell, the coast was clear.

  She pulled a baseball cap out of her apron pocket and slammed it on the top of her head, put her face down and took leave of her self-imposed, very chilly prison.

  She shook for more than one reason.

  Angelique touched her eyelashes, all stiff with the three coats of mascara she’d applied. They nearly cracked in half from having been in the cold.

  What had become of her? Her life dependent upon frozen mascara.

  Someone was the new Queen of Ridiculousness. Oh, look.

  It was she. Angelique Durand. The person she no longer wanted to be.

  Oh. Her glasses. She shoved them back on her face and stepped into the dining room.

  “Angie?”

  Angelique started, feeling like she jumped a mile into the air at the sound of Tim’s voice. She turned around. “Hi, Tim.”

  He looked glorious, dressed in old jeans, a blue polo shirt, and his usual Topsider boat shoes without socks. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  She resisted the urge to slap her hand against her chest and pasted a winning smile on her face. “Tim. What are you doing here?”

  “Maybe I came here to say ‘hi’ to you?”

  Be still my heart. “Did you?”

  He chuckled. “Of course I did. And maybe to steal a kiss.” He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on her lips. “So much sweeter than your beignets.”

  She slapped at his shoulder. “Oh you sweet talker.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” He touched her totally frizzed hair. “This is a new look for you.”

  Yes it was. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s very pretty. You’re always very pretty.” He slipped a finger down the slope of her nose. He looked over her shoulder then stiffened. “Who are those people?”

  Angelique knew who he was talking about but didn’t dare look. She actually stepped a bit more into him so the reporter couldn’t see her. “Apparently the Sea Crest Inn is being featured by The Boston Globe and they’ve sent a reporter and a few photographers to cover us.”

  She wanted to throw up. She glanced up at his face. He was looking a little green around the gills himself.

  “Well, I’ve got to go to Cliff Notes. I’ll see you tonight maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  He pulled the bill of her ball cap down over her forehead. “Chester and I will be on the beach. See you later.” He gave her a quick kiss on her mouth and left lickety-split.

  She watched him leave then looked up to see the reporter and photographer staring at her. Instantly nauseated, she retreated to the first bathroom she could find.

  ****

  “Was that who I think it was?” The reporter pulled out his recording device out of his shirt pocket.

  “Which one? The guy or the girl?”

  “I’m pretty sure the guy is T. L. Baldwin. Looks like we found his hiding place. I’d kill my own grandmother to get an interview with him.”

  “Could be. The girl looks familiar, too, but I can’t place her.” The photographer shifted his camera strap to his shoulder.

  “Let’s finish up here then grab a drink at Murphy’s Bar and chat up the locals. It’d be quite a coup to get a hold of Baldwin.”

  “You got it.”

  ****

  “Oh, you’re here!” Bobbie Darling came around the counter in her bookstore, Cliff Notes, with a big smile.

  Tim smiled back. “I told you I would be.”

  “Well, let me show you where we’ll have the book signing. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No thanks.” He followed Bobbie to an area of the store decorated with some chairs and a couple of couches. People sat there reading or tapping on their laptops.

  Bobbie stopped. “I think we’ll set you up over there and we’ll have a podium for you to use when you give a little talk about the book.”

  “I have to talk?”

  She swatted at his arm. “Of course you do, like maybe a little tidbit about some of the photos. They’re very moving, Tim. You have such a gift.”

  “Thanks.” He’d had such a gift. Past tense. Unless you counted the bootleg pictures of Angie which he wasn’t.

  “Then, if you’re willing, you can take questions from the audience, and after that sign books. I’m expecting a pretty good crowd, with all the tourists around and the locals wanting to see a local boy done good.”

  “Jeez.” Tim felt his face flush. “I’m not a local boy. I’m one of the summer kids.”

  Bobbie laughed. “It’s funny how quickly you become a townie when there’s fame involved.”

  Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess.”

  “Besides that, you’re a hero.” She gently touched his arm. “People really want to thank you and support you.”

  His stomach started to churn. “I was lucky. The real heroes are the ones who were executed.”

  She shook her head and swallowed. “Those damn terrorists. I just don’t get all that killing in the name religion.”

  Tim looked down at his shoes. He couldn’t speak because of the swirling ball of acid clogging his throat.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “No, that’s okay,” he croaked out. “It’s over for me. I just pray that the hostages there now get freed.” Actually, that was a lie. He’d lost any faith in a loving God once he’d touched ground in the Middle East.

  Yet another thing he’d left behind in Iraq. “Are we done here?”

  “Yeah. I’ll text you if I have any other questions.” Bobbie’s face was filled with pity.

  Jesus, he had to get out of there. “Awesome. Thanks, Bobbie.”

  “Thank you.” She followed him to the entrance of the store. “See you later!”

  He stepped out into the sunshine. It burned so much gentler here than in Iraq. Still his hands began to shake. “Yep.”

  Maybe he should go take a sail. Or get a drink at Murphy’s Bar. He squinted up into an ominous gray sky.

  Murphy’s it was. As he approached the bar’s door he saw the two men from the Sea Crest Inn. He supposed he should have expected the press would find him at some point, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. With one last regretful thought about grabbing a beer, he headed toward his car to go to the Yacht Club.

  ****

  The five-to-six-feet waves slapped at Fantasy, the chop thick and brutal. Tim reefed the main sail and flew his smallest jib sail. His arms ached as he wrestled with the tiller to keep the boat on course.

  It began to rain soon after he cast off, big, fat bullets of water pelting him. He should have turned back the minute that happened, but he didn’t.

  The first flash of lightning hit the water about half a mile to starboard, and even he wasn’t foolish enough to tempt that particular fate.

  The salt-filled air rumbled around him as well as crackled with electricity. Mother Nature threw just about everything at him. As he battled the elements on his little boat, he let everything else slip away, leaving just him and the sea.

  Another streak of lightning landed way too close to the boat with a screaming sound and heeled the boat too close to the waves. The spreader broke and the mast fell with a sickening series of cracks.

  He shook the water out of his eyes and groped his way along the lifelines to the radio to make a mayday call. That done, all he could do was sit and wait in the pitching sea and hope that the Coast Guard got there sooner rather than later.

  The rain sluiced down his face in stinging icy sheets as he cut the mainsail away and off the mast. He gritted his teeth again
st the elements. The effort to keep the terror from having water slam him over and over caused his muscles to cramp in tight spasms.

  Through the wind and rain, he thought he saw a helicopter bearing down on him. Coast Guard.

  He shook with relief. They lowered a harness down to him so they could haul him up. The chopper’s rotors sent the water in circles around the boat, and a spotlight bathed the scene in bright, white light. He managed to get the harness over his head and tugged on the line to let them know he had it on. It nearly dislocated his shoulders as they winched him up and in.

  One more giant wave, and the Fantasy disappeared into the bay.

  “Are you okay?” One of the rescue crew helped him out of the harness and handed him a towel. “We’ll get you to the E. R. right ASAP!”

  Tim didn’t take his eyes away from the churning sea. “I’m fine,” he said as he shook his head. “I don’t need the emergency room.”

  “You might not have a choice. You’re lucky to be alive. What made you think going sailing by yourself today was a good idea?”

  Sighing, Tim toweled away the moisture on his face. He couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or from his tears of frustration and outrage.

  Chapter Twenty

  Almost at the end of her shift, Angelique filled the salt and pepper shakers in her section of the dining room at the Sea Crest Inn. She’d been doing well enough at breakfast and lunch so they were going to give her a chance to work dinner, when the tips were much better.

  She wanted to replace the shoes her little adventure on the high seas ruined.

  She hadn’t seen Tim since the day the reporters had been at the Inn. She heard about his little run-in with the Coast Guard. She’d been scared out of her wits and was really sure she would never set foot on another sailboat.

  “Angie! There you are, me girl. I need you to run some food over to the bookstore.” Birdie McCorkle bustled into the room.

  “Okay. Sure.” Angelique could use a bit of fresh air.

  “Good. Come with me to the kitchen to fetch the goodies. Bobbie’s having a local author in for a book signing.” She clucked her tongue.

  Angelique followed her. She’d only been to one signing when Lucien dragged her along to an event where he signed his cookbook and hawked his special L’Enfer spice blends. She’d been bored out of her mind.

  She and Birdie boogied on over to the walk-in. On a shelf stood a dozen huge take-out boxes. “Here you go, dearie. Just carry them over to Cliff Notes. There’s a likely lass.” Birdie beamed at her.

  “I don’t think I can take them over all at once.”

  “Of course you can’t. But, sure and it’s not such a long walk. Take all the trips you need.” She left.

  Oh, well. Long walks in the fresh air were good, right? Many walks in the fresh air had to be better. Or not.

  She should just get on with it. She grabbed two boxes and hoisted them on her shoulder.

  The hotel and the bookstore shared a parking lot, paved with the usual crushed quahog shells. Even though she had on ugly, read sensible, shoes, she still had a problem with balance as she crossed the space between both buildings.

  She pulled the boxes off her shoulder, now carrying them in a pose that could only be called ‘two pizzas to go.’

  She had trouble keeping the boxes flat. Obviously, given the frosted pastries in one of the boxes, tipping them would totally wreck the icing.

  God, her arms hurt. She rolled her shoulders back and front, but it didn’t help. She had two choices. She could make six trips with two boxes at a time, or struggle with more boxes and make fewer trips.

  Arghhh. Math. It had to be math.

  She hated math.

  Who didn’t?

  Tim probably loved math. Lived for math. Knew exactly how long it would take a train going 40 miles per hour to get to the station as opposed to a car that started thirty minutes earlier, going 20 miles per hour.

  Beyond math, she just flat out hated school.

  Detested it. X = Pain in the butt.

  And, thank God, she closed in on Cliff Notes. The door was open so she didn’t have to put the food down in order to deal with opening it.

  “Oh, let me help you with that.”

  Angie looked around her boxes to see Bobbie Darling standing in front of her. She happily surrendered the food to the bookstore owner. “I’ll go and get some of the others.”

  “Are there a lot?”

  “It’ll take me a few trips to haul them all over. But it’s no big.” Angelique swore she could feel her nose grow longer.

  “It’s a very big favor to me. Let me get someone to help you.” Bobbie set the boxes down on the checkout counter, looked around, and motioned to one person stacking books to come over. “Sadie will help you.”

  Sadie bopped on over. “What do you need?”

  “Go with Angie here and bring the food for the book signing. Please.” Bobbie smiled at Sadie.

  Sadie nodded. “Of course.”

  “This book signing seems to be a big deal,” Angie said as she crossed the parking lot back to the inn.

  “Oh yeah. One of the local authors has a new book out. He’s kind of a celebrity. T.L. Baldwin.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He was one of those reporters who got kidnapped over in Iraq. He won a Pulitzer Prize for some of his photos back in the Middle East.”

  “Really?” Le bon Dieu.

  “Yeah.” Sadie tugged on the ponytail holder in her hair. “He got rescued, of course, right before they executed him.”

  “Oh. Well, good.” Angelique didn’t really care about all that terrible stuff happening in the Middle East. Too depressing. Her life was depressing enough.

  “It doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly hot.” Sadie fanned herself with her hand. “Like movie star handsome.”

  Soon she and Sadie were carrying the rest of the food across the parking lot to the bookstore. Angelique was more than a little curious to see this local legend.

  The bookstore was filled to the brim, all the customers buzzing around like so many bees in a hive. Angelique and Sadie fought through the crowd to get the food to the signing area.

  There, behind a table stacked with books, stood Tim Baldwin. Clad in jeans, a blue silk tee, and a darker blue, lightweight blazer, hair tousled, cheeks and chin stubbled, he looked good enough to eat.

  “See? I told you he was hot,” Sadie whispered to her.

  Behind her dark glasses, Angelique blinked as she put it all together. Tim, her neighbor, was world famous journalist T.L. Baldwin.

  World famous, Pulitzer Prize winning, Photojournalist.

  She turned wide eyes up to his face. He had a deer in the headlights look to him, but after a second, he gained his composure, she guessed.

  She followed Sadie and helped unload the food. In the meantime, Bobbie’d introduced Tim and he started to talk.

  Her ears buzzed and spots danced in front of her eyes. Tim Baldwin was a damn photographer.

  The man she’d almost bared her soul to took pictures for a living.

  He stole souls.

  Her breath froze in her lungs. She had to get out of there.

  She pushed her way through the crowd, desperate for air. Once outside, she sat on a bench against the shop and put her head between her legs, breathing carefully in and out. The spots in front of her eyes disappeared slowly and the clanging in her ears went away.

  “Are you okay?” Angelique heard Sadie and felt her put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Angelique said as she sat up. “There were so many people in there, and I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Okay. You sure you’re okay?”

  She stood. “I am.” She had to get away from there. “I better get back to the inn or else Birdie McCorkle will come after me.”

  Sadie grinned. “We can’t have that.”

  Angelique nodded. “Thanks.”

  She ran rather than walked back to the Sea Crest I
nn. She just wanted to get home and hide.

  Especially from her esteemed celebrity neighbor, T.L. Baldwin. She knew the T stood for Tim and for sure, the L stood for liar.

  She did not see the media people from the Inn watch her leave, nor did she see one of them follow her out.

  ****

  Tim hadn’t expected so many people to show up. People jammed into every corner of Cliff Notes. The seats Bobbie had put out for the signing were already full and now the crowd was standing room only. With the door open letting the warm air in, the heat began to build in the room. He should probably take his jacket off.

  He certainly hadn’t expected to see Angie there. From the look on her face, he could tell she didn’t understand what was going on.

  Tim fought the urge to run after her and told himself he’d give her some time to cool off and then show her the book. He’d confess that he couldn’t take pictures anymore.

  He would not confess that the only pictures he could take were ones of her. At least not yet.

  Portraits of Despair was the furthest thing from any photography she was used to. He’d get her to understand.

  Because if she didn’t understand about the pictures in the book, she wouldn’t understand how horrible it was not to be able to do the job he’d lived for.

  Still lived for.

  And he might as well admit it. Her good opinion of him mattered to him. It squeezed him like a spandex shirt that was two sizes too small.

  Tim didn’t want to examine his feelings. He had enough on his plate to deal with. He really didn’t want to bare his soul to her in order to make her feel better.

  But he would if he had to. He had too much loss in his life lately. And he realized he needed her in his life.

  The thought terrified him.

  In the meantime, he plucked up a copy of Portraits of Despair to give to her. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d just leave it in her mailbox or on her back patio. Hopefully she’d be curious enough to look through the book.

  Then she’d see his heart. She’d see what drove him.

  If she didn’t? It just didn’t bear thinking about. He’d lost so much. For some reason, he couldn’t stand to lose her as well.

  ****

  Angelique ignored the maniac knocking at her front door. She had a pretty good idea who that maniac was.