by Donna Fasano
After the heat of the day, the cool sand felt nice against Sara’s bare feet and the rhythmic sound of the waves relaxed her.
“I mean, he went stark white,” she stressed. “He didn’t offer an explanation. And he looked so shaken. Almost frightened, really, as he’d stared at me. I… I…” Sara shook her head. “I tried to ask him about it, but there was a flurry of activity and then he was gone.”
“Maybe he had seen a ghost.” Cathy laughed. “Maybe Greg is haunting the shop and Landon saw his apparition. Ooo-ooooo-oo,” she sang the macabre sound in several wavering high and low notes.
Heather came to a complete halt on the spot.
Caught off guard, Sara and Cathy took another step or two before they, too, stopped and turned around.
Chastisement tightened the muscles of Heather Phillip’s pretty face and her fist rested firmly on her rounded hip. Heather was the quiet one of the group. So painfully shy as a child that she had ignited the protective instincts of both Sara and Cathy back when they had all first met in elementary school. Heather had spent the first twenty-eight years of her life in the shadow of her fun-loving, gregarious mother who had been a well-known and very well-loved personality in Ocean City. Heather suffered terribly when her mother had become a casualty of breast cancer nearly ten years ago, and that had only been the beginning of Heather’s loss.
“Why would you say something like that?” Heather asked Cathy. “Don’t plant that thought in Sara’s head. Greg wouldn’t haunt the sweet shop. He loved Sara. He wouldn’t scare off a perfectly nice guy who is only trying to help her.”
Cathy chuckled and waved her hands in the air as if she were brushing Heather’s concerns away with the light, salty breeze. “I know that. I was joking. She knows I was only teasing her. Right, Sara?”
Sara stood with her feet rooted to the sand, the complicated mix of emotions that churned in her gut at the mention of Greg seemed to steal the words right out of her throat.
Heather moved toward her. “Sara, what is it? What’s wrong? Cathy didn’t mean it.”
Already within arm’s reach, Cathy placed a gentle hand on Sara’s shoulder. “It wasn’t Greg, honey. I shouldn’t have said that. I was just teasing.” Then she smirked. “It was probably the cookie. Did Landon gag? Was it dry? Did you add too much salt to the dough?”
Cathy’s humorous ploy made Heather chuckle, but that didn’t stop her from giving Cathy a little shove. “Shut up, already.”
Then Cathy and Heather both sobered and focused on Sara.
“It’s Greg,” Sara said. “I just realized. I didn’t think about him today. Not once. I spent almost the entire day with Landon Richards, and I didn’t think about Greg. Not one time.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth for a second as she tried to figure out just how guilty she should feel. Sara waited for the tears of grief to burn her eyes, and she was surprised when they didn’t come. That just thickened her shame even more.
“Don’t be like this,” Heather said. “Don’t you feel guilty. It might not feel like it, but this is a good thing.”
“It’s a very good thing,” Cathy agreed.
“How is it good?” Sara demanded.
Heather pressed her lips together for a moment, her long brown hair falling over her shoulder. “It means that… maybe you’re healing.”
Cathy nodded. “Maybe you’re ready to stop wearing all that black.”
Sara’s spine went rigid. “I don’t wear black.” A surprising flash of anger speared through her.
“Not on the outside.” Cathy’s tone remained kid-glove soft. “But all three of us know that, ever since Greg’s funeral, you’ve been living as if you had the word widow tattooed across your forehead. But, you know—” she offered a little smile and lifted one shoulder “—Heather’s right. This is a good thing. Maybe you’re ready to, you know, move on.”
“But I don’t want to move on!” The sharp words tumbled from her mouth before Sara could stop them. “Not if it means forgetting Greg. He was my husband. He was my whole life. For a lot of years. I don’t want to forget him. I won’t let—”
“Okay, okay. It’s all right.”
It was Heather’s gentle voice that had Sara blinking her way out of the swirling vortex of anger and guilt. Sara stopped talking and looked out at the vast expanse of blue water. She took a deep, indrawn breath, held it for a moment, and then released it slowly.
“I’m sorry,” she told her friends. “I was overwhelmed there for a second. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just…” She went quiet as tears blurred her vision.
“It’s all right,” Heather repeated. “We understand.”
Evidently, Cathy felt a change of topic was in order because she asked Sara, “So Landon did a good job on the plumbing?”
“It was perfect,” Sara told her. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes as the three of them continued their walk on the beach. “And he was neat about it too. No mess when he was finished.”
Cathy looked impressed. “That’s a rare trait in a man.”
Sara just smiled. Although she wished Cathy wasn’t so hard-hearted when it came to the male of the species, Sara knew her friend had good reason. Her ex-husband had put her through the wringer during their drawn out divorce. When it was all over, Cathy had been left in financial ruin. The experience continued to color her general attitude about men.
“Oh,” Sara said, “I almost forgot. He offered to come back tomorrow afternoon once the restaurant is closed and replace the main valve in the utility room. He said it should be replaced before it starts leaking, or fails altogether. He says it’s all corroded. ”
“Yea!” Heather smiled broadly and clapped her hands. “That’s great.”
“I’d love a shut off valve by my kitchen sink at The Grill,” Cathy said, excitement lacing her tone.
Heather’s eyes went wide. “Oh, yes! I’d love one at the sink in my kitchenette upstairs, too.”
“Wait. We can’t do that to him,” Sara said. “It wouldn’t be fair. He’s only in town for a few days.”
“He’s on vacation?” Cathy asked.
There was the slightest pause before Sara said, “Yeah, I think so.”
She didn’t elaborate because she wasn’t completely sure why Landon was in town. His whole “need to see the ocean” story had sounded a little off. Not that wanting to visit the seashore was an odd thing, not by any stretch of the imagination, but as he’d explained to her how he’d come to drive over a thousand miles to see the Atlantic, she’d gotten the distinct impression—from the careful and even hesitant measure of his words—that the series of events still somehow confused him and that he hadn’t quite figured it out for himself yet. Of course, she was doing nothing but speculating, but she’d been very intrigued when he’d said the New Jersey beaches hadn’t felt “right.” Of course, all of his uncertainty could be blamed on his being upset by having just sold the family business back in Kansas. Packing up and leaving your home, your work, your family, everything you knew and were comfortable with would be enough to discombobulate anyone.
“And he’s staying at your place?” Heather asked.
Sara nodded. “I’ll sleep downstairs at Mom’s. I gave her a call, and she’s happy to have me.”
After Greg’s accident, Sara had slept downstairs at her mother’s house for weeks. Her sickly mom had welcomed her with open arms.
“Gosh,” Cathy said softly, “I’d kill for a shut off valve.”
Heather reached out and gave Cathy’s forearm a quick squeeze. “Me too.”
“I’m telling you, that would be asking too much of him,” Sara repeated firmly. But the desolation in their voices and the pleading look in their eyes made her frown. “No. I mean it. We’re getting a nozzle in the utility room and that’s it. You can’t ask for more of his time than that. It would be taking advantage of him.”
Placing her palm flat against her chest, Heather said, “Well, I can’t ask him, tha
t’s for sure. Rudeness isn’t in my nature.” Then she grinned. “But I’m sure Cathy wouldn’t have a problem with it.”
“Damn straight, I wouldn’t.” Cathy laughed.
Sara gave each of them a mock glare. “But you won’t!”
“Okay.” There was surrender in the two syllables Heather sang.
Cathy continued to laugh, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Heather. “It’s a good thing Sara isn’t the boss of me, huh?”
Before Sara could respond, a wave rushed onto the shore and splashed against their ankles and calves, pushing chilly water and sand up the legs of their pants and sending all three of them racing toward dry ground.
Chapter Four
In 1933, a vicious hurricane traveled up the east coast, producing a storm surge that resulted in 100-year floods and caused ocean waves to tear at the shoreline, eroding the beach for hundreds of miles. The massive amount of water ate a fifty-foot crevasse through the southern most tip of Ocean City and forever separated the town from the land that would become known as Assateague Island. The town administrators, who had long desired an inlet that would offer boaters and fishermen easy access between the bay and the ocean, seized on the prime opportunity nature had provided and built jetties to insure that the new waterway would remain open.
Landon had read about the creation of the inlet at the Life-Saving Station Museum. Although he’d arrived just before closing time, the kind woman who’d taken his entrance fee told him to take his time before once again burying her nose in the romance novel she’d been reading when he walked through the door. He’d trolled the cool confines of the small building located at the southern most end of the boardwalk, reading about the history of the town and the heroic deeds of the Surfmen of the US Life-Saving Service. He’d learned a lot about shipwrecks and rescues on Delmarva’s coast.
It wasn’t that shipwrecks intrigued him particularly, but getting lost in the details of such disasters as the Sallie Kaye, which broke up on the shore in 1882 during a blizzard, had been just what Landon needed to fend off the distress—no, the shock—he’d experienced when he’d been with Sara at her shop.
Now, he sat outside on a bench and watched a tall-masted sailboat pass through the channel. Small fishing boats struggled against the swift tidal currents in the narrow waterway. He’d had a friendly conversation with an elderly man who fished from the cement promenade that ran part of the length of the inlet.
He’d succeeded, for the past couple of hours at least, in sidestepping and outright avoiding thoughts about what had happened earlier. If it were possible, Landon would forget that the whole incident had occurred. Well, not the whole incident, of course, but most assuredly the final, freaky moments. If he could, he’d even go so far as to have the memory surgically removed; that’s how much the weird, out-of-body experience disturbed him. But that was a ridiculous notion. Too bad thoughts and memories weren’t susceptible to a surgeon’s blade.
It had been only an instant, really. That one, explosive moment when Sara had fed him that cookie. The sweet, buttery taste had hit his tongue, he’d looked up into her beautiful green eyes, and—
His skin turned clammy despite the warm sunshine beaming down on him. He stood up suddenly, his gaze latching onto the windswept dunes on the island across the inlet. Then he turned and began to walk, his steps swift, as if he were hoping to escape whatever it was that was chasing him even though he knew that was impossible. The thoughts were in his head. A man couldn’t run away from his own thoughts.
What he had experienced was strange. Unexplainable. And being walloped by that overwhelming moment of déjà vu when he’d been with Sara hadn’t been the beginning. Not by a long shot.
Months ago, the dreams had started. Vague, whispery images of azure blue skies, almost other-worldly, crystalline sunlight, and the waves. Always the waves. The rhythm of the ocean lapping at the shore seemed ever-present when he slept. Odd dreams for a land-locked farmer who had never set foot on a sandy beach in his life.
And then the other odd happenings began—when he’d been wide awake.
He’d tried to talk to his sister about what he was experiencing, but Cindy had laughed off his concerns. Then again, she laughed off most things. She was a busy wife and mother, trying to keep up with the housework and caring for her kids and heaps of laundry and cooking three full meals a day. Farming took a lot of physical energy and that required calories. Cindy had cooked for her husband and Landon and the three hired hands. Before they’d sold the farm, Cindy had worked as hard as, or harder than, any of them.
His brother-in-law hadn’t been much help either. When Landon had approached him to talk about the dreams and his odd desire to visit the ocean, Henry had only continued to chew his toothpick and gaze out across the field of corn. After a few moments, Henry nodded and told Landon, “Don’t you worry none. This, too, shall pass.”
Later that same night, Landon couldn’t help noticing that the beer had gone missing from the refrigerator, and the liquor cabinet had been locked, drum tight. At first, Landon had been annoyed by Henry’s response. Then his irritation had flared into outright anger, but then he’d wondered what he would have done had he been in Henry’s shoes and Henry had been the one complaining about the strange and unexplainable.
Hearing sounds that shouldn’t exist, dreaming of far away places, being hit with crazy emotions, and thinking things he’d never thought about before. To a simple farm boy like Henry, these occurrences could be rationalized by one of just a few causes; biblical grace, demonic possession, imbibing an abundance of alcohol, or general insanity. Evidently, Henry had been most comfortable with the idea that Landon had developed a drinking problem, and he had solved it the best way he knew how—by removing access to the offending spirits.
So Landon had quickly learned to keep his experiences, his dreams, and his thoughts to himself, no matter how bizarre they became.
But in all the months that he’d been plagued, he’d never experienced a moment so profound, so utterly soul-shaking as when he’d been with Sara. More precisely, when he’d eaten that cookie. What the hell the cookie triggered in him was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t like he’d never enjoyed a sugar cookie before. Cindy had done plenty of baking at the farm. Was it that the cookie had been shaped like a pumpkin? Who the hell knew? It was October and Halloween wasn’t far off, for cripes sake. Pumpkin-shaped cookies were everywhere this time of year.
All he did know for sure was that he’d been jolted to his very core.
He had clearly witnessed Sara’s concern, but all he could think about was getting away from those walls that had begun closing in on him, fleeing from the chaos that churned both his thoughts and his emotions. Landon’s need to burst out into the fresh air, into the openness of the outdoors had almost pushed him into behaving rudely. However, Sara must not have been too put off by his behavior because, before he’d left her bake shop, she’d jotted down her address and told him he could arrive any time after six.
Landon reached the end of the walkway and turned to focus on the boats rocking on the choppy swells of the inlet. He reached up and smoothed his palm over his chest, the edges of the slip of paper Sara had given him evident beneath the fabric of his shirt pocket.
He glanced at his watch and nodded to himself. He was ready. He could arrive at her home and act like a normal human being. He could put what had happened behind him. He could banish it from his mind, and smile while carrying on a pleasant conversation just like any other sane individual.
He’d certainly had enough practice at it that was for damn sure.
Chapter Five
“You okay, Mom?” Sara tucked a lap blanket between her mother’s hips and the plastic arms of the wheelchair.
Sara had arrived home in time to fix a light dinner of soup and salad. With her mom’s condition, heavy meals just weren’t something she was interested in and that was fine with Sara. Opening a tin of chicken with rice soup and dumping a bag of ready-made salad into
a bowl made evening meals a breeze.
“I’m fine, hon. Stop worrying about me.”
Sara just smiled and settled herself on a deckchair. Although she’d never say so, her mother was one of the biggest worries of her life.
This was one of Sara’s and her mother’s favorite times of the day. The sun shimmered like a liquid gold orb, slowly sinking toward the horizon. The backlit clouds glowed vibrant shades of lavender and yellow. It was a beautiful, breath-taking painting. And the best thing about it was, there would be a brand new one for everyone’s enjoyment at this same time tomorrow.
The sound of a truck pulling up to the curb had Sara grinning. She was so glad that Landon hadn’t missed the sunset.
“He’s here,” she whispered to her mom, hopping up from her seat.
Landon got out of his truck and lifted his hand in greeting. Judging from the plastic bag he carried, Sara surmised that he’d visited one of the grocery stores.
“I’ve got eyes,” her mother quipped. “Why didn’t you tell me he was such a broad-shouldered, good-looking guy?”
“Mom. Stop. He’ll hear you.” Why was it that, with a single observation, parents could make you feel all of thirteen again?
Her mother only chuckled.
Landon stepped up onto the deck. “Hi.”
“Hey there,” Sara greeted him. “You made it in time for the sunset.”
He looked out over the water, and she took the opportunity to study his features. His cheekbones were high and his brow bone was strong. She wondered if he might have some Native Americans climbing around on a limb or two in his family tree.
Her mother shifted in her wheelchair, drawing Sara’s attention. Her mom’s arched eyebrows made Sara flush with embarrassment at having been caught staring.
