Seaside Romance

by Mia Ross

  If this had been an adult, the forthright manner would have startled Lauren. Since she towered over her greeter, though, it was just cute. Hunkering down, she offered her hand. “You can never have too many friends. My name’s Lauren.”

  With a firm shake, the girl said, “I’m Hannah Martin. Julia’s going to be my aunt soon.”

  Julia gushed about the Martin family, so Lauren felt as if she knew them already. “I hear you’re going to be the flower girl at their wedding. Are you excited?”

  “Very. It’s an important job, and I have to do it right. Mommy and Julia took me shopping in Portland to buy me a special dress and fancy white shoes. They’re beautiful,” she added with a dreamy sigh.

  Lauren smiled as her memory flipped back to her own childhood, playing princesses with her sisters. What little girl didn’t like dressing up for make-believe? “Are you carrying a basket or a bouquet?”

  “Both,” Hannah informed her proudly. “I have to toss rose petals out of the basket, but I get to hold on to my flowers. I’m gonna keep them for-ever.”

  “Forever, huh? How long is that?”

  Hannah squinted her eyes, scrunching her nose in concentration. “Well, I’m five now, but some people live to be a hundred. Maybe when I’m in kindergarten I can figure it out.”

  “No doubt,” Lauren agreed with a laugh. “When you do, let me know.”

  “Okay.”

  Another girl at the front door squealed her name, and Hannah skipped off to meet her. When Julia had first suggested she help out at Toyland, Lauren hadn’t been sure about the idea. It wasn’t that she disliked children, she mused while she circled the table arranging chairs and supplies for Easter eggs and the coloring contest. She just didn’t have any experience with anything other than rocking her infant nephew.

  Apparently, Hannah noticed her apprehension and went out of her way to make Lauren feel welcome. Their lighthearted exchange was a success, and she was warming up to the idea of working here, at least for a while. Hopefully, this was the beginning of good things to come.

  “All right, everyone!” Julia announced. “Welcome to Toyland’s very first Easter Egg-stravaganza.”

  The parents laughed, but most of the kids looked blankly at each other. Hannah caught on first, and she burst out laughing. “I get it—eggs. That’s funny.”

  Julia rewarded her with a bright smile and a slight bow. “We’ve got eggs to color and an art contest to judge. Are you ready to get started?”

  They all cheered, and Lauren wisely stepped back while they raced toward the paper-covered tables.

  After that, the day flew by in a blur of boiled eggs, crayons, trips to the bathroom and tons of cookies. By her estimate, the kids ranged in age from three to nine, and their artistic ability varied widely. Some preferred pastels, others left their eggs in the dye to take on rich, jewel tones.

  Crouching down beside one very intent boy later that afternoon, Lauren caught his name from the tag on his shirt. “How’s it going, Adam?”

  “Fine.” Shoving wire-rimmed glasses up on his pug nose, he dipped his egg into a fresh color. “Black is all the colors mixed together, so I’m trying to make a black egg.”

  Lauren was stunned by the scientific spin to what she’d always considered a childish task. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  He nodded earnestly. “It was on the science show yesterday. I thought it was cool.”

  “So do I.” Smiling, she stood to move around the table. “Let me know how it turns out.”

  “Will do.”

  He sounded so grown-up, she had to ask, “How old are you?”

  “Seven, but Mom says I’m going on thirty. I’m not sure why, but that’s what she says.”

  Glancing back, Lauren noticed one of the moms watching them with curiosity. Grinning at her, Lauren said, “Moms are pretty smart, so she must be right.”

  The woman responded with an approving smile of her own, and Adam nodded. “She usually is. Except when it comes to broccoli. I really hate broccoli.”

  Lauren laughed for about the tenth time in an hour, and it felt amazing. Her life had lurched down a dark, somber road, and it was wonderful to feel some of the clouds lifting from over her head.

  No doubt about it—this was the best day she’d had in a long, long time.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning, Ben stood at the kitchen counter wolfing down a bowl of cereal. He had a packed schedule of jobs today, and he checked the microwave clock to see it was almost seven. Slurping down the last of his milk, he quickly rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. His coffee wasn’t quite done dripping, but he interrupted the cycle and grabbed the stainless-steel travel mug on his way out the door.

  Outside, he jumped in his truck and headed to the other side of town. When he pulled in at his father’s place, it was quiet as a tomb. It was time to be up getting ready for work, so he interpreted the lack of movement as a bad sign. Ben used his key to let himself in, bracing himself for what he knew he’d find.

  Sprawled out on the living room sofa, his father was sound asleep, cradling an old wedding picture in his arms. Empty whiskey bottles were toppled on the coffee table, where Ben found a very official-looking gray envelope and duplicate sets of legal papers stapled into covers. A quick glance showed him they were final divorce papers, and a flash of anger shot through him.

  Mom had been gone nearly a year now, but he still couldn’t understand how thirty-five years of marriage ended up printed out in triplicate and neatly bound for filing. It was enough to make even the most optimistic soul doubt the possibility of happily ever after.

  His stomach turned at the realization that his disconnected family would never be whole again. He could only imagine what yesterday’s mail delivery had done to his brokenhearted father. How could his own wife hurt him this way? Like any family, they had their problems, but Ben couldn’t recall anything truly awful. When had things gotten so bad that his mother had decided her only option was to run away?

  He’d asked himself those questions a million times. Since he was no closer to an answer now than before, he focused on what he could do something about. Tucking the papers in their envelope, he shoved them in a nearby drawer to get them out of sight. Then he cleared a spot on the table and sat facing his father.

  “Dad?” When he got no response, he repeated it a little louder. There was a shudder, followed by a general ripple of movement. “Dad, it’s Ben. Wake up.”

  Squinting against the weak sunlight, he focused bleary eyes on Ben. “Morning.”

  It was a start. The lecture he’d been set to give went straight out of his head, and he went with sympathy. “I see you had a bad night. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I—” He seemed to realize he was still holding the picture, and he set it on the table before pulling himself into a sitting position. “I wanted some time alone.”

  “With your old friends.” Ben nodded at the collection of empties and was pleased to see his father grimace.

  “I bought ’em in Oakbridge and came straight back here. I passed half a dozen bars on my way, but I didn’t stop. I was sober when I was driving, and that’s the truth.”

  The vow got Ben’s attention, and he changed tracks. “I believe you, but this has been going on long enough, and I’m thinking maybe it’s time you talk to someone about it. You’re not doing so well on your own.”

  He chewed on that for a minute then frowned. “You’re probably right, but shrinks cost money I don’t have.”

  “Pastor McHenry is real easy to talk to. You could go see him.” When that got him nowhere, Ben made one more desperate attempt. “You’ve always enjoyed going to church, but you haven’t been there since Christmas Eve. Why don’t we go together on Sunday? I’ll even take you to brunch at the Albatross afterward.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Standing, he added, “Meantime, I’ll go get ready for work.”

  He was more than a little unsteady, and Ben almost told him to
take the day off. The trouble was, he feared that with nothing to occupy his time, Dad would stare at that old picture and drink himself back into oblivion.

  So, despite his misgivings, he got to his feet and forced optimism into his tone. “Sounds good. I’ll see you at the lighthouse.”

  “Yes, you will.” The fog lifted from his eyes, and he gave Ben the bright, genuine smile he hadn’t seen in far too long. “I haven’t been much of a father lately, but I’m real proud of you, how responsible you are. You know that, don’t you?”

  Ben’s heart swelled with pride, and he swallowed around the lump that had unexpectedly appeared in his throat. This was his father, the honest small-town boy who’d married his high school sweetheart and built a business with equal parts sweat and integrity. He’d been stumbling a lot lately, but with some help, Ben believed he could recover. “Yeah, Dad. I know.”

  “Good.” Patting Ben’s arm, he shuffled back through the hallway that led to the bathroom.

  Taking a few moments to get his emotions back under wraps, Ben dialed the lighthouse’s number. Mavis wasn’t as spry as she used to be, so he waited patiently for her to answer. “If you’re gonna be late, I don’t wanna hear it. I got four buckets overflowing in my sitting room.”

  “Just wanted to let you know we’re running a little late this morning. I’ll come out and prep and Dad’ll join up with me later.”

  “That don’t sound good.” Suddenly, the gruffness was gone, and in a gentler tone she said, “I saw him yesterday afternoon, and he looked like he got run over by a backhoe. Is he all right?”

  Out of respect for his father’s dignity, Ben hesitated. Then again, Mavis had been a close friend of the Thomases for more than forty years. If anyone would understand what was going on, it would be her. “More or less. The divorce papers came from Mom’s lawyer yesterday, and he didn’t take it well.”

  “That poor man,” she clucked in sympathy. “Are you sure he should be working?”

  “I think it’s the best thing for him. I’ll give him some easy stuff to do to keep him busy, and anything tricky I’ll handle myself. You have my word your ceiling will be good as new when we’re done.”

  “Never doubted that. I’ll have the coffee ready when you get here.”

  With that, she hung up, and he shut off his phone. He could hear the shower running, so he figured it was okay for him to go. On his way out, he made a detour to take care of whatever had started smelling up the house since he was here last. He grabbed a large bag from under the sink and did a quick circuit of the living room and kitchen, dropping in things that should have been tossed out a while ago.

  He was officially behind schedule, but he took a couple of minutes to get the coffeemaker going. Taking out a loaf of bread and the butter, he left them next to the toaster as a not-so-subtle reminder for Dad to have something to eat before leaving. A glance around showed him he hadn’t missed anything, and he left the trash in the outside bin on his way back to his truck. Any psychiatrist worth their salt would probably tell him he was making a huge mistake, cleaning up after a grown man who was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

  The problem was, Ben couldn’t bring himself to leave things the way he’d found them. It was too depressing.

  * * *

  Early-morning sunshine woke Lauren the following day even before her alarm went off. After a long, fun day, she’d conked out around eight-thirty and hadn’t moved until just now. Julia’s guest room was in the front of the apartment, with a wide window that looked east, out toward the harbor. When she got up to take a peek outside, she saw the glass was a little frosty, but the sun was rapidly turning Jack Frost’s work into streams of water that glinted as they trickled down the window.

  Edging the window open, she clearly heard some very optimistic birds in the trees out front, and noticed two that kept flying back and forth to the eaves under the sloping roof. Farther afield, she registered the sounds of people starting their days in the shops along Main Street. One voice called out a cheerful greeting and was met with a grumpier response as a truck started up and drove away.

  Suddenly, Lauren wasn’t satisfied with observing. She wanted to be out in that crisp New England morning, drinking in the sights and sounds of this place that had offered her a safe haven from the demons haunting her former life. Pulling on jeans and the hand-knit fisherman’s sweater she’d bought her first day in town, she jammed on her sneakers and crept down the short hallway to avoid waking Julia. Fortunately, the usually talkative Shakespeare was in his little canvas tent, and she made it downstairs with just a quiet squeak on the old steps.

  Outside, she paused on the sidewalk in front of Toyland and took in a deep breath. Chilly and clear as a bell, the air was scented with coffee and spices wafting up from the bakery. It wasn’t even seven yet, so she had plenty of time for a walking breakfast. Drawn in by the delicious smell, she headed over to find out what was on the menu at Holiday Harbor Sweets this morning.

  Within a few minutes, she was holding a large cup of hazelnut coffee and a bear claw still warm from the oven, dripping with the yummiest icing she’d ever tasted. Deciding she’d already seen all there was of the small downtown, she set out in the other direction, toward the harbor, to check out what was going on down there.

  Accustomed to the hectic pace of a large city, she thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to wander around at a more leisurely clip. She didn’t want to get in the way of the crews prepping their boats, but she stood at the top of the large gangway, watching and listening. While the men hollered back and forth, rigging squeaked and clanged, all of it underscored by the calls of circling gulls overhead. It was as if they were staking out their territory, reminding the fishermen they’d be waiting for their share when the boats returned later in the day.

  Here, the air was heavier, dosed with salt and the smell of diesel engines. A steady line of boats headed out to sea, in an orderly floating parade that suggested they did it this way every single day. A metallic clang caught her attention, and Lauren looked out to find the source of the noise. Buoys bobbed in the water, marking the path into the busy wharf. Beyond them, rising up out of the mist, was Last Chance Lighthouse, its slowly rotating beacon cutting a path through the fog.

  It didn’t look too far away, Lauren decided, backtracking up the ramp to continue her stroll. After hearing Ben’s nutshell version of its history, she wouldn’t mind seeing it up close. The two-lane blacktop road leading out there needed some work, but it was in prime condition compared to the dirt lane that wound in toward the tower and the small house attached to it.

  From here, the activity of the wharf was drowned out by the sound of waves crashing on the rocks that formed the rugged coastline. Drawn in by the awesome power of the ocean, Lauren carefully picked her way down a footpath of sorts that led to the narrow beach. Once she was back on solid ground, she stared out at the water, amazed by the sheer force driving the morning tide toward the shore.

  While she finished her breakfast, the salty wind continually blew through her hair, and more than once she almost lost her balance when a strong gust hit her full on. Closing her eyes, she felt the natural currents of wind and water swirling around her and could almost imagine them blowing her past away.

  “Not a good idea being down here this time of day.” At the sound of Ben’s voice, she opened her eyes to find him standing beside her. “Low tide’s better for exploring the shoreline.”

  A little rattled by her instinctive response to the sea, Lauren did her best to laugh it off. “You’re right. It’s so beautiful, I guess I got carried away.”

  His laugh was lost in a sudden gush of noise, but his wide grin came through loud and clear. “Didn’t really take you for a nature lover. You have any other surprises you’re hiding?”

  Through harsh experience, she’d learned to be wary of handsome men with disarming grins. Somehow, this one was different. The instincts she’d kept under wraps for the past few months began rustling, assuring
her Ben was someone to be trusted. If not with her heart, then at least with her friendship. Offering him a genuine smile, she teased, “A lady never tells.”

  “Right.”

  As the rising sun glinted off the incoming water, for the first time she noticed it swirling into depressions along the rocky cliffs. “Are those caves down there?”

  “Yeah, but most of ’em flood at high tide, so it’s best to steer clear unless you’re with someone who knows which ones are safe.”

  He added a knowing look, and she had to laugh. “So you’re a mind reader, too?”

  “Something like that. I’m headed inside to chat with Mavis about her sitting-room ceiling. Wanna meet her?”

  Lauren nearly declined, then changed her mind. It was still early, and she had plenty of time before Toyland opened at ten. What harm could it do? “The woman who makes the killer gingerbread? Absolutely.”

  Ben held out one of those very capable hands for her, and Lauren’s heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. She recognized he was only being considerate, offering to steady her on the uneven ground, but being within arm’s reach of him went completely against the polite-but-distant policy she’d adopted for men in general. Reaching for a nice way to refuse the gentlemanly gesture, she wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’m all sticky, but thanks.”

  Confusion flashed in his eyes but quickly evaporated as he shrugged and trudged up the hill beside her. When they reached the tower’s gravelly yard, the bright red front door opened. An older woman dressed in baggy slacks and a moth-eaten sweater stepped out holding a leash in her hand. The animal at the other end of it made Lauren stop dead in her tracks. “What in the world is that?”

  “That’s Reggie,” Ben explained as they continued up the pathway. “He’s a pot-bellied pig.”

  The woman lived alone in a lighthouse on the edge of the sea, made gingerbread and kept a pig for a pet. Lauren had seen some odd things since arriving in Holiday Harbor, but this one definitely took the cake.