Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  Another Yesterday

  Angela Christina Archer

  Contents

  After the story

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELEVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  Join my mailing list

  Seashells and Second Chances Collection

  The Wildflower Women Collection

  About the Author

  For my wonderful kitty, Charlie.

  You were taken from me too soon and I will miss you every day for the rest of my life. I wish you were still here, hogging my lap while I tried to write every morning.

  August 2015 - April 2, 2020

  Don’t forget to check out the other titles in the Seashells and Second Chances Collection and sign up for my monthly newsletters where you will get updates, new release and sale announcements, plus links to discounted and free books, and lastly fun member only benefits.

  ONE

  Maggie

  March 1967

  People long to know the future. We long for visions of what tomorrow will bring just as much as we desire the hinted notions of what will happen. Will tomorrow bring happiness with some blessed event to make our lives better? Or will tomorrow bring sadness as though a disaster happened upon us, rippin’ our world to shreds as it causes us to crumble into pieces?

  All too often we look forward to the unknown, excited for the possibilities we are certain will come. We don’t ever think about the horrible things that can strike a blow to our existence. Whether we do so out of not wanting to live in fear or we do so because we just want to stay positive, it doesn’t matter. We stare into the unknown void with smiles on our faces and hope in our hearts.

  As we were meant to do.

  As we should do.

  It’s only when the future does happen and it’s not what we wanted or how we wanted our lives to go, that changes us. But, I suppose that’s normal. Who would wish to bask in some horrible situation that could leave our world a mess of chaos, strife, pain, or worse, somethin’ so awful we didn’t believe or think we could live another day?

  Only a masochistic fool would desire such an existence.

  Of course, even with the good, life is still change, and is a constant evolvin’ motion flingin’ us in another direction—whether planned or unplanned, whether wanted or unwanted. Life is all the good and all the bad wrapped up in one. In the good, we look ahead with a level of bounce in our walk. And in the bad, we look over our shoulders, wishin’ we could have another yesterday.

  With my car window cracked, the cool, New England breeze blew through my hair as my Volkswagen Beetle rumbled down the road, passin’ the town’s welcome sign.

  Carved from a huge slab of lumber, the elegant cursive letters were painted in a deep maroon-like red

  “Welcome to Shadow Brook,” I said to myself. “Well, it sounds like a nice place to stop for dinner, maybe even stay the night. What do ya think, Rachel?” At just a little over nine months old, my infant daughter couldn’t answer me, I did for her, however, changin’ my voice into a baby-like tone—mostly to entertain myself. “Sounds good, Momma.”

  “Why thank ya, sweet thing, I think it sounds good too.”

  I glanced over to the map sittin’ between the baby seat and me. Maine—the last state before Canada, and as far north as I could go. If I didn’t figure out where I wanted to stop, I’d have to turn around at some point.

  “And goin’ south is not an option,” I said to myself.

  South meant closer to South Carolina.

  South meant closer to my parents’ house.

  South meant closer to hell.

  Nestled along the shoreline, the town of Shadow Brook popped out from behind a line of trees like a surprise on Christmas mornin’, and I slowed the car down to a near crawl, glancin’ at the different houses and shops through my windows as we rumbled down the road. One buildin’ in particular, a two-story painted with bright blue paint, sat perched on the beach near a dock full of boats. It was crooked like the leanin’ tower in Italy—or some other country—I’d learned about in school.

  What an odd place.

  The engine in my bug gave a jolt.

  “What the heck was that?”

  It gave another lurch and then a third before it died.

  “What in the world just happened?”

  My foot pressed on the brakes as I coasted the bug over to the side of the road. The wheels rolled through the dirt, grass, and rocks and the crunchin’ sounds echoed through the window. The bumpy trip sent Rachel bouncin’ in her seat and her little socked feet jerked with such a repetitive force, her blanket fell to the floor. Jerked awake, her face scrunched as she spit out her pacifier, and I grabbed it before it hit the seat, shovin’ it between her lips once more. I let out a sigh as she grabbed it with her small fist and held it against her face while she sucked on it.

  “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.” I rubbed her little squirmin’ feet with my hand until she calmed. “Now, let’s just see if we can get this goin’ . . .” I flipped the key over, and the engine cranked and cranked.

  Nothin’.

  I flipped the key over again.

  More and more crankin’, and then, silence.

  It wouldn’t start.

  I checked the gauges. Was it overheatin’? Was it the oil pressure? Was it . . .

  “Out of gas?” A growl left my lips at my own stupidity. “How can I be out of gas?”

  Easy. Ya didn’t fill it up when ya should have.

  I ducked down, glancin’ around at the settin’ sun, eerily bein’ drowned out by dark clouds in the distance. While a few people were out and about, walkin’ down a few of the streets, the town held more of a hollow vibe, as though very few people lived here, or I was about to star in my first real-life horror movie.

  “Well, I guess we better get to walkin’ and find some gas.”

  I inched Rachel out of the car seat, hoisting her onto my hip while I grabbed my purse and the gas can from the front trunk of the bug. Up ahead, a couple hundred feet and through the trees, a big glowin’ sign peeked out among the bare branches with the word ‘gas’ etched in black letters. The bright yellow orb with old-fashioned font was not only a sign of relief but seemed fittin’ to this tiny little town. I suddenly felt a little foolish for thinkin’ the horror film joke.

  With Rachel on my hip and armed with a gas can in my hand, I trudged up through the parkin’ lot and set the can next to the first available pump. The old buildin’ reminded me of the 1940’s with older pumps, retro signs with flashy, blinkin’ lights, and two garage bays with the doors open and tires stacked just outside them.

  “Run out of gas?” a voice called out.

  I spun around, meetin’ an older gentleman approachin’ from the garage. With a warm smile on his round face, he wiped his hands with a rag that wasn’t much cleaner than his oil-stained, blue overalls.

  “What gave it away?” I ask
ed, laughin’ slightly.

  “I suppose it was a stupid question.”

  “Nah, it wasn’t.” I adjusted Rachel over to my other hip, fixin’ the bottom of my coat and her thick blanket underneath her so as to not expose any skin.

  “Did you have to walk far?” he asked.

  “No, I’m just down the road.”

  “Well, let’s get your can filled up then. They say a storm is coming and you don’t want to get tied up in it.”

  Before I could grab the handle of the dispenser, the old man fetched it and knelt down beside the can, unscrewin’ the cap before he stuck the spout in the top. “Around here we don’t let customers fill their own cars . . . or cans.” He gave me wink as he tucked the rag into his back pocket.

  “Well, that’s quite the customer service.”

  “Are you new in town or just passing through?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.”

  He pushed the bill of his baseball cap up to where it barely sat on his head and scratched his forehead for a second. His snow-white hair stuck out in several directions and the top was so thin, it hinted the chance he’d be as bald-as-a-baby’s-butt within the next few years. “Well, Shadow Brook is a great town to stop and stay for a while. At least until you know where you’re going.”

  “I will say it’s a cute little town. I mean, from what I’ve seen so far. I only drove into it about a mile before I ran out of gas.”

  “There’s not too much else for you to see, then.” He chuckled. “What you’ve already passed is pretty much most of it.”

  “Are ya serious?”

  He laughed again, this time his round belly jiggled underneath his overalls. “I’m afraid so. We don’t have many folks up here living in Shadow Brook. But the tourists come in the Spring and Summer and they can fill up the place.” He paused for a moment. “Or at least fill up the inn. When that’s booked they mostly just come for the day.”

  “So there is an inn?”

  “Yep. The 1308 Brook House Inn. It’s just up the road about another half a mile. It’s right on the beach, course, you won’t want to spend much time out in the sand this time of year. March isn’t much for beach weather.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t think so either.” I glanced up at the sky. The dark clouds that were once in the distance were closer—a lot closer—and a cool breeze had blown in from the north.

  “Some nights the chill can definitely take your breath away, but that’s Maine for you.” He laughed. “But if you’re looking for the inn, you can’t miss the place. Just head down that way and you’ll run into it. It’s owned by Helen Stanford, and she’s a wonderful woman.” His eyes glinted with a little bit of sparkle I couldn’t help but notice.

  The gas pump dinged and shut off, and the old man removed the spout and twisted the cap back on. “That will be four eighty for the gas.”

  I handed him a five-dollar bill, refusin’ the change as I grabbed my gas can. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome. If you stay at the inn, tell Helen I said hello.” He stuck out his hand. “The name’s Jerry, by the way.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Maggie Wilson.”

  “Nice to meet you too.” As he set his hat back onto his head a raindrop hit my face and we both looked up at the clouds.

  “Do you want a ride back to your car?”

  “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. I’m really just down the road.”

  He lifted his brows as he scratched the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, totally, sure. Ya have a nice evenin’.”

  “You too.”

  With a last, quick wave, I trotted back down the road to my car.

  I set Rachel in her seat then moved to the tank. Thunder rumbled above my head, and before I could even pray for the storm clouds to hold in their rain until I was done, it started pourin’ rain, drenchin’ me within seconds. Wet and cold, I slid back into the driver’s seat. My teeth chattered as I started my car, prayin’ to the man upstairs that gas was the only thing I needed. With a few clicks over, she purred and began to rumble, and I cranked the heat on full blast so Rachel and I could warm up before I looked at the map again.

  My finger traced along the different highways and roadways on the printed page. Exactly where was Shadow Brook?

  “Highway 189?” I glanced around at the windows, blinkin’ while they fogged up. “How did I get off of Highway 1? I don’t remember takin’ any off ramps.”

  Rachel let out a whimper from her seat as she stretched, or at least did as much as she could in the tight confined space. I knew how tired I was of the car, drivin’ all the way from our house in Washington to San Francisco, and then out east. I couldn’t imagine how she felt, not knowin’ what was goin’ on or why she had been forced into this small space for the last week and a half with no end in sight.

  “What do ya think, Rachel? Should we stay for the night?”

  I glanced back down at the map again. With only a few more towns until I hit the border of Canada, there was nowhere left for me to go.

  Here or south.

  Those were my only two options.

  As I turned down into the tiny parking lot, my headlights shined on the inn. Two stories, it rested between the sand dunes and reminded me of somethin’ one would see in a photograph or a paintin’—even in the darkness and the rain.

  In just the short drive, Rachel had already begun to fall asleep, and her eyes sprang open as I scooped her from her seat and the raindrops began peltin’ her face. She screamed as I tried to tuck her head below my chin. With one hand wrapped around her, I grabbed a couple of our bags with my free arm and dashed down the wooden pier sidewalk around to the entrance of the inn. Long tufts of beach grass stuck out between several of the boards, and the blades tickled against my ankles as I passed them. My clothes already soaked from fillin’ up the car, now dripped—the material so full of water they couldn’t possibly hold another drop.

  I dropped the bags near the door and as I reached for the doorknob, the door opened from the inside and a man stepped through, bumpin’ into me in his haste.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, outstretchin’ his hand to grab my shoulder and help me balance.

  “It’s quite all right.”

  “No, it’s not. I should have been a bit more careful.” As he shifted his weight, the light from the lamps hit the chocolate hue of his hair. Younger, but certainly not my age, his face had a few lines like that of someone in their thirties. “Oh, wow, you are soaked to the bone. Let’s get you two inside.”

  “It’s no big deal. Really.” I patted Rachel on the back before I bent down and grabbed for the handles of my bags.

  “Here, let me at least get those for you.”

  “Ya don’t have to.”

  “Please. It’s the least I can do for almost running you over.” His smile played off the gentleness of his voice—deep and bold, and yet, soft as though he could calm a storm with mere words.

  “Well, I guess . . . since ya said please.”

  He fetched the bags for me and held the door open as I walked inside. The smell of the sea just as strong as it was on the porch wafted through the foyer as I made my way up to the front desk. I spied a silver bell restin’ on the corner, but as I lifted my finger to tap on it, the man called out behind me.

  “Hey Helen?”

  “Yeah?” a woman’s voice answered.

  “You got someone new here.”

  Heels clicked against the hardwood floor in the room next to us and as I spun to face the man, a woman strode through a pair of opened French doors. Her long, lavender skirt brushed against the floor, hidin’ the very shoes that had made such a noise.

  “Good evening,” she said. With her gray hair tucked up in a loose bun, she studied me from my head down to my toes and then back up again, peering over the tiny gold frames of her glasses that had slipped down her nose. “May I help you?”

  “I guess I’m here to check in.”

  “
Oh, all right. Let me get you a couple of towels first.” Before I could utter a word, she vanished into another room, reappearin’ with a couple of folded linens in her arms. She wrapped one around my shoulders then motioned me to move so she could lay one down on the floor.

  “I’m so sorry for gettin’ the floor wet.”

  “Not to worry, dear. Happens more than you think up here in New England. My name is Helen.”

  “Maggie Wilson.”

  She turned toward the man. “Is she a friend of yours, James?”

  “No, no. I . . . I just wanted to help her inside.”

  “Oh, well, aren’t you ever the nice gentleman.”

  “Not quite. I nearly ran her over as I was leaving.” He ducked his chin as if he was tippin’ a hat even though there wasn’t one sittin’ on his head. “I’ll let you get to checking her in, though. Good night, Helen.” He turned to leave, but snapped his fingers and spun back around. “I’m stopping by Jerry’s on the way back to the cabin. Want me to give him a message?”

  One of Helen’s hands shot to her hip. “No, I don’t.”

  James laughed. “I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Good night, James.” Biddin’ him farewell, she faced me once more. A gentle smile etched through the lines of her face. “So, do you know how long you are staying with us?”

  I shook my head. “I just need somewhere to stay for the night.”

  She glanced down at my feet once more, and her eyes narrowed as she slowly traced my body back up to my head. Her gaze only stopped on one thing: Rachel.