by Gayle Roper
Nan continued through the store out onto the boardwalk and into the early sunshine. She grabbed a coffee and a chocolate croissant from Ed—a sticky bun was too painful a reminder of Rog—crossed the boardwalk, and stepped down the stairs to the beach, the same steps Rog had walked up the night he chased Tim, the same steps beside which he had kissed her so sweetly.
Though there were the early morning bike riders and joggers on the boardwalk, the beach was empty except for the distant figure of a man with a metal detector. Clooney?
She walked to the edge of the water line and sat in the still cool sand. She wiggled her coffee cup into the sand and took a bite of the croissant. She closed her eyes as she chewed, the sour aftertaste of last night mixing with the sweet buttery dough.
Her imagined romance was over.
Lord, I should have known better. I should have remembered Ty and the lessons I learned there about guys. It's back to my original position: no men.
The memory of Rog's voice cut through her mind—Don't you think you're overreacting a bit here?
She wasn't. No, she wasn't.
Was she?
She knew neither Rog nor Aunt Bunny was malicious or unkind. Both of them were nice people. Maybe she was overreacting.
But overreacting or not, they had hurt her. Aunt Bunny was easier to forgive. Trusting her or not trusting her wouldn't alter her life, but trusting or not trusting Rog could. If she didn't trust him to take her side when necessary, what future did they have? She sniffed. The answer was all too obvious. She felt even more an idiot when she thought of her fluttering heart whenever Rog smiled at her, when he put his arm around her, when he kissed her.
"You're looking thoughtful." The voice was deep and male.
Nan looked up to find that Clooney had worked his way to her while she ran on the hamster wheel of her thoughts.
The other night, she hadn't been able to see the gray ponytail hanging out the back of his baseball cap, but she recognized the kid's pail, the red spade, and the state-of-the-art metal detector.
"Clooney, good to see you." She forced a smile.
"You're looking a bit sad this morning, Nan. No trouble at Present Perfect, I hope." Clooney might look like a dropout from life, but he was too astute for Nan's comfort.
"No problems at Present Perfect." She forced her smile to be bigger, brighter. "It's a challenge I admit, but I like climbing mountains."
Clooney smiled. "Good girl." He lowered to his haunches, taking care not to invade her personal space. "I've got something for you." He leaned his detector against his side and reached in his bucket. He pulled out a long bronze-colored chain with a bronze-colored disk the size of a half dollar hanging from it and held it out to her.
Nan looked at him, uncomfortable with the offer. "Oh, I couldn't."
"Sure you can." Clooney smiled. "I give stuff to people all the time, like I gave the glasses to Mooch. Seaside's crawling with folks I gave stuff to. It's just your turn. I mean, what am I going to do with a necklace?"
"But surely whoever lost it will be looking for it."
"Not this. It was buried too deep. It's been waiting for you for a long time." He dangled it in front of her. "It has your name on it."
"It says Nan?" She looked at the disk, dangling eye level. There was something incised on it. She reached out to still it so she could read the words, and Clooney dropped the chain so it fell into her palm.
"Nah, it doesn't say Nan. I didn't mean that literally. It's a Bible verse. I don't know what that specific verse says because I don't know lots of verses, but I do recognize what one looks like. You got a Bible?"
"I do. It's sitting by the chair in front of my picture window."
"Then you can look it up." He glanced behind her and stood. "Competition."
Nan turned, the bronze disk becoming warm in her hand, and saw a teenaged boy coming down the stairs with a metal detector in hand. She looked back to Clooney, but he was already a half block away.
"Bye," she said softly. "And thanks." She looked at the disk. 1 Peter 1:2. She didn't recognize the verse any more than Clooney had. She looked at the little bronze bird that hung beside the disk. What did it stand for, or was it just a bird? An enameled letter G, smaller than a dime, also hung beside the disk. Someone's initial? Grace? Gail? Gloria? Georgia? She sighed, stood and walked home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rog was at the rental place when it opened, returning the tux. Wasted money. She'd looked so lovely, but the night had gone so wrong.
If he read things right, they were dealing with intertwined issues. First, Nan was surprised that Bunny was a Buchanan. She had believed all the woman could afford was that little apartment. She was somehow offended that Bunny had money. He didn't understand that. Shouldn't she be glad Bunny had money?
He'd known who Bunny was because he recognized the name Truscott. You couldn't be in Seaside long without that name showing up for all kinds of reasons, many of them philanthropic. Nan had only been in Seaside a short time, and that time had been taken up with her store. When would she have learned what the name Truscott meant? But her Aunt Char had been Bunny's best friend. How did Nan not know?
Of course, when Nan was working here as a college girl, Char's friends would have been of only passing interest. If he remembered correctly, Nan had never even met Joe Truscott.
So Bunny's real circumstances were one situation, and sadly, he was the other. Well, not him, but the fact that he hadn't told her about both Bunny's part in the leavery and her wealth. He could see why that would miff her, sort of, but come on. The leavery wasn't even a real crime, and the wealth was good.
But the big issue was that she felt she'd been duped and made to look foolish.
He tried to tell himself that if she was that easily upset, she wasn't a good risk in the romance department. Not for a cop. How would she ever handle it if he was called out for some emergency and didn't return for a day or two or longer, and she had no idea where he was and what he was doing?
He should stick her in the same category as Lori and forget about her.
Except he had promised to paint her room, and it was only half done.
Would she want him to finish? Maybe she wouldn't want him in her house. That would be a shame, because he didn't have to report to work until four this afternoon. He could spend the day painting. If he was upstairs and she was in the store, she wouldn't have to see him or he her.
He drove to the boardwalk and parked where he had parked last night. Not that he was here to see her. He was here to get a coffee and bun from Ed's. Excellent Ed's, the woman commissioner had called it last night. He liked that.
He sat on the boardwalk bench across from the store and sipped his coffee. He should go to the back door and ring. Ask her if she still wanted him to paint. She'd probably see him in the peephole and not even answer.
He blinked and took a bite of his bun. He was pathetic, sitting across from a girl's place, mooning over her. Because he was mooning, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.
He stood and glanced at his watch. It was after ten. The store was open and he could see people moving around inside. She would be busy, but too bad. He had to talk to her. He threw his empty cup and bun wrapper in the nearest waste container and walked to the stretch of boardwalk behind the store. He rang the bell.
He was surprised and relieved when she opened the door to him.
She wore her Present Perfect shirt and a pair of tan slacks, and she was beautiful even with the dark splotches under her eyes and downward tilt to her lips.
"I can paint today, if you want. I don't go on duty until four."
"Oh. Okay." Her voice was small and flat. She pointed at the stairs.
He looked at her sad face and felt like banging his head against the wall. Talk about an impersonal, unfriendly opening. Did he come to paint, or did he come to repair whatever it was that had gone wrong between them? He looked into her beautiful hazel eyes. They seemed both hurt and unce
rtain.
He shook his head and waved his arm as if he were erasing what he'd just said. "Forget that."
"You're not here to paint?" Now she looked confused.
He wanted her to smile, to smile at him, for him, to look at him like she had when he came for her last night. He sighed. Shavings to a magnet. He might as well face it. He was going to fight for her. He had to fight for her.
He took a deep breath. "You still mad at me?"
She looked startled and relieved. "Yes, I'm mad, but I'm more hurt."
He spread his hands in petition. "I never meant to hurt you." Of course he never meant to hurt her. He liked her. A lot.
"I thought I could trust you, but apparently I'm no better at reading men now than I was when I was with Tyler."
"Hey, I'm not Tyler."
"I know. But can I trust you?"
Talk about a knife to the heart. "You can trust me." No one had ever challenged his trustworthiness before. He was a Christian who valued his reputation for Jesus' sake. He should be mad at her audacity, but all he felt was sorrow at her sadness.
Nan shook her head. "I can't imagine what you thought when I talked about how poor Aunt Bunny was."
"I thought two things. I thought you were preparing me for the little apartment, which was thoughtful of you, and I thought you were generous and kind to treat her so well when you expected nothing in return."
"Why didn't you correct me? Did she swear you to secrecy or something?"
"We talked after I left you that evening we went to dinner at her place. I told her she had to confess who she was and what she was doing. She gave me her word she would."
Nan's face pinched as if she felt physical pain. "You figured out the leavery as soon as you knew who she was, didn't you?"
"She said she didn't realize how upset you were until you called the cops."
"You could have told me that first night."
"I could have."
"You picked making Aunt Bunny happy over making me happy."
He shook his head. "No, Nan. Not at all. Remember, she's fragile and deeply sad. Joe died a year ago, and her best friend, her life saver after Joe's death, died not long after."
"I know. I'm not really mad at her."
He took her by the shoulders and was relieved when she didn't pull away. "You're tough, Nan. You didn't need me to tell you about the leavery, but Bunny needed to confess. Oh, sure you'd have liked to know because you found it frustrating, but it wasn't going to make you fall apart. Like I said, tough."
"You think I'm tough?" To his surprise she looked pleased.
"You are tough. You stood up to your parents. You quit a good job to pursue your dream. You're fighting your way through the unfamiliarity of operating your own business. Tough."
"I'm scared to death I'm going to fail."
"But are you giving up or are you pressing on?"
"I told Clooney I liked to climb mountains."
He could see her anger slipping. All he had to do was not say something stupid. Lord God, nothing stupid, please!
"When you moved to Seaside and took over Present Perfect, you became Bunny's project. She could focus on you and temporarily forget her grief. You loved her without an agenda, a great gift to someone who usually has people fawning over her."
"She said pretty much the same thing. And I do love her. At first it was in memory of Aunt Char, if that makes any sense. Now I love her for herself. She's plucky. She's fighting for what she thinks is important. She stands up to Alana, no easy task."
"But much easier, since she has you in her corner."
He was aware of movement and glanced up to see Mooch standing in the door to the store, a worried look on his face.
"Rog," he said, "I need to talk with you."
Talk about a bad time for an interruption. Rog held up a wait-a-minute hand and turned back to Nan. He brushed a gentle finger over the dark circles under her eyes. "Forgive me for my choices? Because I really choose you." He pulled her into his arms. "I choose you."
She gripped him hard, her heart in her eyes. "And I choose—"
"Rog! It's an emergency!" Mooch looked desperate. "I need to talk with you!"
Chapter Twenty-Five
Without breaking eye contact with Rog, Nan said, "Come in, Mooch." She stood on tiptoe and kissed Rog's cheek. She whispered, "You have to talk to the boy."
"I'd rather talk to you."
She pulled back with a smile, and he gave her that wink that always made her grow weak in the knees.
"It's about Tammy," Mooch said as Nan walked into the store. She knew it. Tammy'd broken his heart. Poor Mooch.
She stepped out the open front door to the glorious summer day. Or was it her mood that was glorious? She lifted her face to the sun.
He thought she was tough. Had she ever had a better compliment? He thought she would make it. What a wonderful thing to hear after all her parents' negative talk. And he'd waited for Aunt Bunny to speak, because he thought she was better able to bear the frustration than Aunt Bunny was to bear her unhappiness.
And he was right. Now that she understood his thinking, he was right. As for feeling like an idiot? He didn't think her one. She smiled and hugged herself.
He thought she was tough.
She reached for the disk that hung around her neck. She'd looked up the verse after she'd seen Clooney. Grace and peace be yours in abundance through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.
At the time, the idea of grace and peace being hers seemed ridiculous. She had been too upset. And to have it in abundance? Hah! Now it seemed not merely possible but a promise from God to her, and everyone knew God kept his promises.
She fingered the little bird hanging beside the disk. She guessed it was supposed to be a dove of peace, and the G must stand for grace. Grace and peace be yours. In abundance.
Enjoying the sun, the touch of the breeze off the water, and the tangy smell of salt, she felt God's grace and a sense of peace cover her. All was right in her world. She smiled at the bicyclers and joggers speeding past, at the walkers who wanted to enjoy the sunshine as she did.
A grace-filled moment of peace. Her own personal grace-gift. Thank You, Lord.
A well-padded, pretty lady in comfy knee-length shorts and a scoop neck tee walked to the store. Under her arm she held a decorative Seaside sign like the one Nan had noticed earlier. Rather, she had noticed the short supply.
"Can I help you?" Nan asked as she led the way into the store. She was the only staff available at the moment. Mooch was here, of course, but he was busy in the back with Rog. Since it was to be a beautiful weekend, she had both Ingrid and Tammy coming in at two to work until closing, when the larger crowds were expected.
The lady smiled as she followed Nan up the aisle. "I bought this last night, and I want to return it."
Nan had decided to follow Aunt Char's return policy, which was to give back the money with the presentation of the receipt, no questions asked, unless there was obvious damage. The receipt was to prevent someone from claiming to have bought the item when in reality they had just picked it up.
"Sure." Nan smiled. "Do you have the receipt?"
"I do. It's in the bag." She pulled out the sign and rooted for the receipt. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Nan. "It's not that I don't like the sign, you know. It's just too small for where I want to hang it. You don't happen to have bigger ones, do you? I want one that's about three feet long to hang over the front door." She grinned. "We just bought our house here, and I'm having such fun decorating it."
The woman's delight was contagious. "Congratulations. I hope you and your family have years of enjoyment in it."
"It's a dream come true to have a shore house."
Nan barely heard the last as she stared at the receipt in confusion. The top of the page read Present Perfect in a font like the one on the sign over the door and on the shopping bags, but that was where any similarity to a genuine receipt ended. All the real rece
ipts were printed by the computerized register. This one was handwritten on what looked like a page torn from an old booklet. Even the paper was darkened with age.
Nan had seen these receipts before, but where? She closed her eyes as she tried to picture their location. A flash of memory struck, and she saw Aunt Char holding the pad of receipts and saying, "I keep these in case there's a problem with the register. I'm not losing sales because I can't record them."
Nan pulled open the drawer below the register and there lay a pad of receipts just like the one the lady had handed her. She picked up the pad with a sinking feeling. She stared at the little stack of perforated edges that showed more than this one receipt had been torn off.
In a fog, she opened the register and counted out the money owed her customer. She managed a smile as she placed the returned sign beneath the counter. She took the woman to the far aisle where a pair of larger signs sat on the top shelf.
"Oh, I like that one." The customer pointed to one very similar to the one she was returning but half again as large.
Nan nodded. "Let me get someone to get it down for you." Still feeling vague and slightly lost, she moved to the office where Mooch and Rog were deep in conversation. This time she was the one interrupting. "I need someone to get down a sign that's too high for me to reach."
Mooch nodded and followed her. He looked so serious. He didn't even make a joke about her being vertically challenged.
The woman paid for her new, larger sign and left happily. She also left with a register-generated receipt. Nan opened the drawer below the register and retrieved both the woman's receipt and the booklet from the drawer. How many pages had been torn off? And when? She walked to the office with a great vise squeezing her chest.
"We need to talk to you." Rog looked almost as unhappy as Mooch.
Nan nodded. "And I need to talk to you."
"Tammy—" Rog began.
"—has been robbing me." Nan felt her eyes fill with tears. It felt so personal.
