A Little Romance: Stories for Hopeful Hearts

by Marilyn M Schulz

  He didn’t say anything to that, and he wasn’t looking at her now. Only then did Murphie realize that he was not alone in whatever room he was in. She hadn’t noticed before, but it was not the apartment he had rented when he first started college.

  And someone else was there talking to him; she couldn’t see who, but she could hear—the other voice was female too.

  Her stomach felt a little funny, and she found that her hands were shaking. How can a soldier be shaking from this after learning to stand steady at a checkpoint all night long?

  The other woman said, “It’s cruel not to just tell her.”

  Murphie swallowed back the salty taste in her mouth and realized she had just bitten her lip.

  She said, lowly, “Kale, what’s going on?”

  The other woman said loudly, “Tell her, Kale. Tell her we already got married, and that we’re traveling to Europe together.”

  Kale didn’t have to—Murphie closed the connection. She wasn’t interested in any explanations.

  It might normally have taken her a few days to function again, but given her duties, she didn’t have that luxury. Her friends were all her comrades-in-arms—woman and men. Word traveled fast about things like that, and she wasn’t the only one who had been through something just as bad.

  Divorce rates were high in these military units, and romances came and went even quicker when one of them was back home.

  One said, “At least you weren’t married yet.”

  Another said, “At least he didn’t get your bonus, you still have that.”

  Then there was, “He’s an idiot, and he’s not worth any tears, just forget him.”

  The common consensus was that the man was a rat, but there were many of the other soldiers who had the same problems in their private lives.

  Someone said, “At least you still got your family back home. Some people don’t even have that. I never knew my dad.”

  Family—oh my, she still had to tell her parents. She assumed that Kale had already told his. How embarrassing for them, she thought, and how awkward, given their folks all went to the same grocery stores and the same movie theaters and parks.

  It wasn’t a small town, but it was a close-knit suburb where they’d gone to the same schools all their lives and to the same church. Her parents couldn’t avoid his, and she wondered if maybe they already knew too.

  For the next few weeks, she thought long and hard, but decided against another tour. She had done her duty, and she felt good about that—that’s something Kale couldn’t take for her, even though now she felt a little . . . lost.

  Her friends said, “At least you still have your money, and you can go to college on your own. After this, you can do anything you want.”

  She appreciated their concern and their confidence in her. During her last days, the officers she had served under all praised her and encouraged her too. She had the distinct impression they also all knew what happened, and she felt a little foolish.

  ~~~

  Murphie came home to a banner at the airport and a few signs with her picture in uniform in the local windows as she drove through the town: Welcome Home Soldier.

  Her older brother was there with his family, and her older sister too, with hers. The kids—her nieces and nephews—were all waving little flags. The youngest was just a toddler, and he was in a little pajama suit of Army camouflage with a nametag that had their shared name: Hawes.

  Her mom and dad were both crying, and Murphie cried too.

  When she got out of the car, she was swamped. Family and friends were all waiting there to greet Murphie—along with a stack of bills: overdue utility notices, credit cards she didn’t know she had, and bank notices of overdrafts.

  Kale had been kind in forwarding her mail to her parents’ address, but as for where he had gone, his parents didn’t know that yet.

  His mother said, “Oh, my dear, thank goodness you got home okay. I’m so sorry how things worked out with Kale, but sometimes things just happen. The heart wants what the heart wants, and really, Kale and Kyla have a lot more in common.”

  Murphie did her best to keep her voice from shaking: “Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”

  There was a pause on the phone. Finally, his mother said, “He asked us not to tell you.”

  Murphie was going to explain about the bills that he racked up, about how he had spent all her paychecks, and left her in massive debt besides. But what could she say—it wasn’t his parents’ fault, it was hers for letting him take advantage of her.

  Or maybe it was their fault for raising him that way.

  She kept going back and forth, and finally, she just sighed.

  His mother said, “You take care, my dear.”

  Murphie eventually said, “Thank you.”

  But the phone connection had already ended.

  Murphie went to the bank the next day. They were kind, but she had signed power of attorney over to Kale—it seemed like a good idea at the time, in case something happened to her. He had been her fiancé, and she didn’t figure he’d take that kind of advantage of her.

  She went to a lawyer—a friend of her dad’s. But he said she had no recourse.

  “Sorry, kiddo, but you did sign it over. The most I can do is make sure that he has no access to any more of your assets.”

  That done, she knew she had to dig into her signing bonuses in order to pay off her debts. To her horror, most of that was gone as well.

  She lost it then, all control was gone, and in her anger, she went to his parents’ house and started yelling, telling them what he had done.

  They were sympathetic, but they also asked her to leave.

  She said, “You knew? You knew and didn’t tell me? I was in that Hell hole for fifteen months, and you let him take advantage of me?”

  “Well, my dear, you did sign the papers.”

  She stared for a moment, and then said very calmly, “Don’t worry, I’m leaving. But I can see where he got the idea—shame on him, and shame on you. You sit in church beside other Christians, but they don’t know what you did, I bet. I could have been wounded or even killed over there, but who knew I’d get stabbed in the back by people like you over here.”

  His mother yelled, “Get out!”

  His father just turned red and turned away.

  Then she did as the lawyer suggested—put an ad in the local papers saying that his debts were not hers. She made sure they included his full name and address, as well as his parents’ names. In fact, Murphie used the same verbiage she had prepared for the wedding invitations she had planned.

  His parents were embarrassed and no longer talked to her parents, but her parents said, “Good riddance, and really, Murphie, you dodged a bullet. What if you had married him too?”

  Her dad said, “You can make more money, but you can’t change a bad marriage, you can only end it. We don’t want that for you, and you are better off without him. Don’t cry anymore for him.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad, the heartbreak ended a while ago. The anger . . . well, I still have some time to go before I get over that.”

  Her dad just shook his head. He said, “Don’t waste your time with that. Move on. Forgive him, and forgive yourself, and don’t let him ruin the rest of your life.”

  “Forgive him?” she said, stunned at the concept.

  Her dad said, “You’ll feel better, I promise. Believe me, I know.”

  “Something you want to tell me, Dad?”

  “Not right now, Murphie, but someday, I will.”

  She took him at his word.

  The phone rang; it was the lawyer. He said, “Do you still plan on going to college.”

  “Yeah, eventually, but I have to pay off the rest of the bills, so have to find some work.”

  “Well, I might be able to help you there, at least with that part of it.”

  It was no secret to her that he felt bad that he hadn’t been able to do anything else.

  She said, �
�I’m listening.”

  “My aunt knows people who manage some cottages by the seaside. It’s an old resort that isn’t popular anymore because new developments have gone up.”

  “Um . . . not sure I’m—”

  “Hear me out, please. They need some help, a handyman, or woman—anyone who can do the job—someone to help keep the cottages up to standard and also lend a hand to the tenants. The cottages are rented by the month now, mostly to her elderly friends or friends of friends who used to come to the seaside as children. It’s called Sea View—no, Sea Haven, that’s the one. Not very original, but descriptive.”

  It sounded charming.

  “What does that have to do with college?”

  “Well, part of the compensation is a place to live—it’s just a cottage, but it is by the seaside, and there are a couple of university towns within a hundred miles. The closest is about sixty miles, which might be too far to commute every day, but three days a week is manageable, or maybe you could take some courses online too. You’d be working, but could manage around your class schedule. I talked to my aunt and she thought it a splendid idea—she already mentioned it to her friends.”

  “Handyman?”

  “I’m sure you can manage, given all you told me of your experiences overseas.”

  True, they had to do what they had to do. She had all kinds of skills now that she never even dreamt she’d learn—like fixing engines and electrical things. She could solder metal and rebuild and repair things that had been in explosions too. She could even render emergency medical aid—if she had too.

  Murphie agreed, and he gave her the contact information and the address. She had never been to that part of the coast, but it would be good to start fresh.

  ~~~

  Murphie could have taken the freeway to the university town, and then gone from there. But she meant to drive all day, mostly because she wanted to see some of the area from the back roads. She grew up near the coast, but her family was more farming and forest people than beach people—that’s what their grandparents called those who lived out near the coast.

  Occasionally, the family would come for the day, but then their mom would complain for days afterwards, because sand got

  “everywhere imaginable.”

  Today, the weather was alternating between sun that was too bright and big fluffy clouds that were too cold. In other words, it was spring, and typical.

  Murphie stopped and got out a few times—once to take in the view from a high bluff above the ocean. The trees were stunted from the constant wind, and the beach down below was mostly covered with big rocks. Still, there seemed to be a trail going down from the wide spot on the road where she had parked. She thought about going down, but it was still early, and it would be better when the tide was out.

  She drove through the small towns along the secondary coastal highways. Some businesses had been updated for tourists, but most were not. She found she liked the old places better. One town had a sign on their main street (which was the state highway) that said: Beach Access.

  She took that road down and parked. There were a few other cars and pickup trucks. Out on the beach, the tide was out and people were doing all sorts of things that looked fun.

  A few had dogs that were digging or running or splashing in the waves—same with the kids of all ages. One or two adults were digging—maybe for clams or something? She’d have to learn all that if she was going to live near the ocean.

  One boy was dragging a stick behind him in the waves as he ran, throwing up a rooster tail of water that a big dog was trying to bite. That looked like fun. Murphie thought about taking off her boots, but then she might not want to put them on again.

  It occurred to her that sometime soon she might like to try wearing something besides army boots, or the civilian equivalent. She went back to the car and drove to a local store.

  Inside, there wasn’t much—it wasn’t tourist season here. Clearly there was room for more stuff, but it wasn’t displayed yet.

  The middle-aged woman behind the counter seemed to be reading her thoughts. She said, “Not for another month. What was it you were looking for?”

  Murphie said, “Something lighter than these.”

  She pointed down to her feet.

  The woman nodded and pointed, “Try those.”

  They were flip-flops. Murphy couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked in something like that. She bent to untie her boots and then slid into a pair of pink flip-flops. They felt strange there between her toes. They also felt . . . like freedom. She found herself smiling for no good reason.

  She said, “How much?”

  The woman shrugged, “Take them, no charge. Welcome home.”

  Murphie was going to protest, but she found no words would come out, and her eyes had gotten all watery and she just nodded and managed, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She did buy a few things to eat, and a bottle of lemonade. She had to slip into her boots again to drive, but Murphie spent a few hours on the beach in her flip-flopped feet, and almost fell asleep in the warm sun and sand. She didn’t think she’d ever want to feel sand again after Iraq, but here she was . . .

  Moving on . . . drifting off.

  But dogs found what was left of her lunch, and were now fighting over it. Somebody down the beach whistled and the dogs ran off. A man yelled, “Sorry about that.”

  She only waved, and besides, it was time she was off.

  Murphie drove for another hour, going past the highway signs that pointed towards the city where she hoped to go to college. She’d have time later to go there and look around . . . if she got the job. But it was later than she intended today, and she still had a few miles to go to find where she might live and work.

  She hoped it was on the beach, and not one of those bluffs. The view was lovely, but often there was nothing but rocks below. Murphie thought about running along the beach for exercise, maybe with a dog or two of her own, and right now, that sounded . . . wonderful.

  Following the directions she’d been given, she pulled into a town called Sea Haven . . . not that it looked like a town, more like a grouping of businesses and houses gathered around a random wide spot on the highway, which was also its main street.

  There was a post office halfway down one block, just past the small store with gas pumps. There were a few other shops, a few old motels further down with maybe a dozen units each, but one of those was boarded up and another had a sign that said: “Rental only by the month.”

  There was an old-style drive-in famous for root beer that looked opened too. A few cars were parked outside, and tinny-sounding music was playing on the outdoor speakers—Sixties music, songs about surfing and the beach.

  The rest of the town seemed to be made up of a few blocks in either direction, mostly small houses, though some of the newer ones were bigger. Most of the houses looked occupied, and those that were locked up were still residential; the others had been turned into small businesses too.

  There was an antique shop with junk cluttering the windows and overflowing all over the yard. An art gallery boasted driftwood art and scenic watercolors, as well as custom portraits. A teashop advertised homemade baked goods and said with a sign: “We also have coffee!”

  There was also a store with the brightly colored sign that said: ‘Odds and Ends for the Shore.’

  That shop had a few kites in the window, and various sizes of windsocks—she assumed for somebody’s front or back porch, or their deck or even their boat. Except for the teashop (which only had morning hours) and the store with gas pumps, all the other businesses were closed. They had signs in the windows that stated that their season would be opening soon.

  But the newest and brightest part of the town was a huge billboard just past the post office. It announced a new resort further down the coast—reasonable prices, for rent or for purchase, view lots or beachfront.

  A few cars on the highway slowed down, but went by her spot on the side of t
he road where Murphie had pulled over as she looked around. But the road here wasn’t very busy in general, and more were going towards the new resort than were coming back out.

  Murphie pulled out and took the designated turn, driving out towards the shore.

  ~~~

  The cottages were obvious—they were the only things on the end of the road, and of the land. The old resort was on a bluff, but it was gradual, so the nearest cottage was not far above the beach, though the farthest one was. There were side streets between the highway and these cottages too, and most of the houses on those seemed to be mostly seasonal too. A few looked occupied, and small children were playing outside.

  The name of the last street was Sea Haven Drive, and the name of the old resort of ten cottages was called Sea Haven Cottages.

  She was here.

  Two elderly women in beach hats were sitting outside the cottage that had a sign that said: “Office.” It also had a number on the aquamarine door: 1.

  They might have been sunning, or they might have been waiting. Murphie hadn’t been given a time to be here, just “sometime in the afternoon.”

  As she parked, the women stood.

  The day had warmed quite a bit, and since she wanted to put her best foot forward, Murphie slipped out of her boots and into her flip-flops.

  When she approached, she noticed the elderly women were in Capri pants, but in flip-flops too.

  They said together, “Lillian and Dorothy, ready for your interview?”

  She was, but which was Dorothy, and which was Lillian?

  One seemed to understand. She touched her arm and said, “I’m Lillian, dear, and that’s my sister.”

  Dorothy said, “Come along then, we’ll show you around.”

  They walked to the low part of the bluff first, to the nearest point from the office cottage. There was a groomed trail down, including stairs in some of trickier spots, and some of the rails were wobbly.

  She commented, “This needs shoring up.”