Dark Beach

THREE





Morning brought sunshine and contentment, and Jenny threw open all the doors and windows. A cool ocean breeze greeted her.

“Ah.” She took a seat on the old rocking chair in the living room.

“Chinese food for breakfast?” Ron stood behind her, rocking the chair with one hand.

“It was just so good; I couldn’t resist.”

“May I have a bite?” Ron eased the carton from her hands.

“Yes, you may. I’m just about full.”

He took the last two morsels of sweet and sour chicken. Charlie, his head on his paws on the plush navy blue sofa, raised his ears.

“I just fed you, you silly dog,” Jenny said.

“Jenny?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“I need to tell you something.” Ron’s voice was grim.

Jenny turned her head. “What?”

Ron paused, not knowing what to say. “Um.”

“Tell me.”

“I got an urgent message this morning when I checked my voicemail. I don’t know how to say this, but … there’s an emergency at work. They need me to come in.”

Jenny threw her fork in the air, and stood. “Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? We just got here. Please tell me you’re kidding!”

Ron moved towards her, trying to hug her, but she backed up.

“Oh no … you can’t do this to me. You can’t just leave. You haven’t taken a vacation in over a year. You gave them many months’ notice.” Anger welled up inside her. She could feel it in her chest, a rising wave. She wanted to punch him and scream, run out of the room, go anywhere but there, but instead she said, “You bastard.” Her words were a quiet punch.

“Jenny, don’t say that.” Ron’s voice was calm; he knew what she was capable of.

“Just go. Leave me here. You….” She turned away. “I can’t believe this. You couldn’t just say no, could you?”

“Jenny—”

“What?” she interrupted. “There is nothing more you could possibly say to me now. Go to your job. You go to them. And don’t come back here. I don’t want to see your face. I can’t even look at you.”

“I have no choice, Jenny. This is a real emergency.”

“What? What could it possibly be?” She paced now, throwing her arms in the air angrily.

“There was an accident, a fire. Systems are shutting down, people are dead, injured, I don’t know the details yet. I have to go assess the damage. I’m the one who designed the dry dock. A sub needs to go out.”

“An accident?” Jenny’s tone changed. “Where?”

“San Diego. I have to go. It’s a real problem.”

“Oh.” She sat back down, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? You let me go on, why?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m in shock—never seen this before, wasn’t expecting it. You have every right to be mad at me.”

Jenny reached up to him. “I’m not mad; short tempered, maybe.”

“I know. I feel bad. They’ve been paging me, calling me, emailing me. I slept in. My flight is in six hours. I have to pack.”

“We barely unpacked anyway. What about our trip?”

“They said I could pick up my vacation hours when everything is done.”

“How long will that take?” She sighed.

“It’s too early to tell at this point. I have to look at it first.”

“Oh. I feel terrible now.”

Ron kneeled and hugged her. “Don’t. Don’t feel bad, please. I feel bad enough leaving you.”

“And you won’t be in danger? I mean … I just don’t know, Ron. What’s going on here?”

“There may be some danger.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quickly. “They’ve got crews on call, and I’ll have plenty of help. Just you worry about you. Stay here and relax; you need it. Order in, go to the beach. The window guy will be by tomorrow morning. He’ll fix the door, too.”

I can do this, Jenny reassured herself.

She was accustomed to being alone, what with all the travel Ron did. She had managed for years just fine; sometimes she didn’t even mind it. There was an emergency—you’ll just have to deal with it, she told herself as she helped Ron zip up his case.

Half an hour later, her husband, now wearing his casual beige business suit, was standing by the door and gazing at his wife and daughter with an expression simultaneously sad and nervous.

“You look good,” said Jenny.

Ron surveyed her, standing before him in comfy sweats and with tangled hair. She was on vacation, he supposed, or was something else wrong? He noticed that she looked slightly weary, as if she had aged in days. A vision of her lying helpless in his arms on the side of the road flashed before him. Suddenly, he didn’t want to leave her.

“Come here and hug me,” he said.

“Bye-bye, Dada,” said Kip, as she hugged his leg.

“I don’t want to go. I can’t leave you two here like this.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Jenny. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“Well, you’re not alone, I guess. Maybe you should look up Nana’s friend?”

“Maybe not,” she said, snuggling into him one last time. “Really, just go, before I start to cry or something. I don’t want you to miss your flight. If you lost your job, then what? I like this house.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He gave her a quick peck.

She snuck her hand around his neck, making the kiss last a few more seconds.

With a final wave, Ron closed the door to the little house on the beach.



***



“What happened here?”

“Um...” Jenny moved her arms behind her back.

“Did you have a break-in?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We did it to get in. My husband did, I guess. You see, we lost the keys.”

“Oh, you could have called me. I’m a locksmith—on call for this sort of thing. Or I believe Molly Coggington has a set of keys for this place.” The man was old, ancient, with a slight tremor in his liver-spotted hands.

“John, we would have, but we just didn’t think of it, I guess. Or we just didn’t know really.”

“Did you find your keys, then?”

Jenny shook her head. Visiting Mrs. Coggington had not been on her to-do list.

“I can replace all of the locks and get you new keys. How many doors does this place have?”

“It’s my first time here. I don’t know. I can check.”

“Sure. I’ll start fixing her up. It will all have to be replaced.” He rummaged around in a toolbox. Kip watched with fascination.

“Whatever you need to do, please. I’ll be back. Come on, Kip.”

Jenny didn’t care. She just wanted everything fixed and a way to lock up. Her first night spent alone, lying awake, terrified by every little noise, had been sleepless. She had given up and gone downstairs to watch television instead. The news revealed nothing about the accident, but then she didn’t know what to look for; Ron had given few details.

Avoiding the paint chips scattered around the house on all sides, she checked the patio door. It didn’t require a key. There was the garage and the front door, but the only other entry she found was a back basement door with a big padlock on it. She reported her findings to John, and they tracked around the back.

“I can open this up for you.” He lifted the heavy lock and let it go with a dull thud. This has its own keys, separate from everything else. Let me guess—you don’t have those either?” He ventured a smile.

Jenny put a hand on his frail shoulder. “You are very right.”

“Wait here.” He returned with a worn tanned-leather pouch. Unzipping it revealed a selection of elongated silver lock picks, each with a unique tip. A couple of seconds later, the lock clicked open.

He motioned for her and Kip to enter. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to go into town to get what I need, and then I can replace everything up front. You’re lucky it’s Monday; the glasscutter is in. He’s fixing up a hexagonal window. I had to call in a special rush order, hundred dollars extra.”

“That’s fine,” Jenny said, pushing the heavy door open. It barely moved, but she managed to get in after some force. “I’m sure if Ron had tried the same thing, he would have broken it somehow.” She laughed, picturing it.

She flicked on the light switch and a single bulb illuminated a thick coating of dust.

“Kip, stay here,” she instructed, leaving her in the doorway. Aside from dust, the basement contained only a bunch of old stuff: an old wooden-framed TV in the corner, some rusty bicycles, piles of magazines. She picked one up: Life 1964? They kept this. What the heck!”

Venturing further in, she inspected a metal storage unit. It held nothing but jars—jars and jars of peaches, and preserves of some other unfamiliar fruits. “Watermelon rinds?” She touched the jar. It was as if no one had been in there for decades. With little room to turn around, she tripped over an old red-leather chest with a frame made of rugged cast metal. It was also locked.

“More locks? Where’s John when I need him?” She put her hands on her hips and kicked it.

Scanning for tools, Jenny noticed a rusty garden rake. She lifted it and used the metal end to hammer the lock. No luck. She pounded away incessantly.

“Piece of—” Sitting down on the chest, out of breath, she thought, I better go and make my girl lunch before I get in this room any deeper.

The chest would have to wait.

“Sweetheart, are you hungry?”

Kip nodded. “Pancakes!” She grinned, the sea breeze pasting her curls all over her face.

“You had pancakes for breakfast. It’s lunchtime.” She led Kip out of the basement.

“Pancakes!”

“How about a cheese sandwich?”

“Cheese, um.”

“Good, aren’t they? I’ll make you one up.” Jenny carried her down to the kitchen and sat her on one of the tall stools facing the bench. Kip stood on it, leaning on the counter.

“Dada?”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. He had to go to work. He’s on a plane, in the sky to San Diego.” She pointed up.

“Dee-A-Go?”

“Yes, that’s right, honey.”

“Dada. Dee-A-Go.”

The bread was buttered, the cheese added, and the sandwich already in Kip’s mouth when a knock came at the kitchen window.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

In the gap created by the missing front door stood a tiny, snowy-haired old woman. She was bent over so far it seemed she could barely walk until she hobbled her way over. “Good day to you there,” she said in a strange singsong lilt. “I’m Mrs. Coggington.”

“Oh, yes! You’re a friend of Gerry’s?” Jenny welcomed her in.

“It’s been a few months since I’ve been here. I will tell you, though, that Gerry and I are very good friends, maybe best friends—if I were to have a best one. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me you were coming. Although, she’s been unwell lately, has Gerry.”

“I see,” said Jenny.

“And the door ... what happened? You’re getting a new one, and a new window? I’ve often thought this place could do with new windows. It’s a bit drafty in the winter. One time, I came over and someone had left a window open and it was just so cold, although it was winter, and it was raining as well, I suppose. I did have that new cardigan I knitted with me though, which made it sort of tolerable.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jenny watched as her visitor shrewdly examined every detail of the kitchen.

“As you’ve asked, I would like some juice—prune juice if you have any. I need my prune juice, but I prefer apple.”

“I have apple juice; I will get you some. Ice?” Jenny moved to the refrigerator.

“No, no … no ice. As I said earlier, I don’t like the cold.”

Picking out a small glass for the equally diminutive woman, Jenny wondered if she dared ask her a question.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Coggington accepted the glass and took a dainty sip. “I haven’t been out to the house for some time. I’ve been recovering from hip surgery, you see. Quite a painful ordeal. I could barely walk and I can barely walk now, but it is better. I used to sit all day and just work on my knitting, and sometimes I’d read too. Gerry used to come see me, and I would go see her.”

Jenny nodded as the woman watched her, waiting for some verbal recognition.

“And … what was I saying again? Oh yes ... well Gerry, you know… sometimes she’s there and sometimes she isn’t. I see her anyway. If she’s not there, I just read to her. She likes that.”

“Yes. I met her yesterday.”

Mrs. Coggington’s face lit up. “Oh, you did. How was she?”

“She was ... hmm.” Not wanting to answer truthfully, Jenny wiped a few drop of condensation from the apple juice bottle off the kitchen counter instead.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Coggington. “Yes. It hasn’t been good, has it? Last time I saw her she was mumbling about a whale.”

Jenny jerked to attention. “A whale?”

“Yes. She was going on and on about it. I don’t know what she was talking about. There was no whale in the story I was reading her. She eventually stopped, though.”

“Will you excuse me just a moment?” Not waiting for a reply, she escaped instead to the small bathroom across from the kitchen. She flipped on the light, turned on the water, and dowsed her face. Whatever was going on, it was getting slightly out of control. When she opened the door a crack and peeked out, the old woman was still sitting there, chatting to Kip, who had climbed up on a chair beside her.

“I need my pills,” Jenny muttered miserably.



* * *



Jenny tuned out, only vaguely listening to Mrs. Coggington and John chat until a whiff of that weird smell caught her attention again. It was Gerry, she thought—the smell of her lingering, even with fresh air flowing through. How do I get rid of it?

She was used to the doggy smell that tainted her home back in Seattle all those miles away, and it wasn’t really a bother; a quick vacuum and that was better. Cat smell was always worse, but she didn’t like cats anyway. Human odors were different. Jenny watched the two of them and decided to politely interrupt. “John, how long before you are done?”

“Oh, just an hour or so.”

It was getting close to dinnertime. Factoring in plain courtesy, she asked, “Would you both like to stay for dinner?” Not really wanting them to. Was that the right thing to do? she wondered. Yes. It’s a small town, and they do stuff like this—I think.

“That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Coggington said.

John hesitated, but then agreed as well.

“I’ll have to pop down to the store to get something fresh, though. You two don’t mind me stepping out?”

“Oh no. We’ll be fine here.” Mrs. Coggington looked pleased at the newfound trust. Jenny figured they could keep an eye on each other.

“You can leave the little one if you like,” Mrs. Coggington offered. “I’ve had lots of practice with the babies. Had four of my own.” She smiled.

“Thanks.” Jenny felt a tentacle of panic grip her heart. “But no, it’s fine. She’ll enjoy the drive.”

After peeling Kip away from her cartoons, Jenny drove to Ocean’s Market. A blue sign promising FRESH FISH swayed over the entranceway.

“Fresh fish, it is,” she told her daughter once they got inside.

“Fish, yuck.” Kip kicked her legs back and forth in the grocery cart.

“I know. But they’re good for you. How about some fish crackers? I’ll get you some of those, if you like.”

“Yes.” Kip put out her hand.

“I need to buy them first, honey.”

“Fish, yum.”

The fish counter was all the way in the back and was small but packed. She reviewed the selection, assessing their shapes and sizes.

“The sockeye is good.” A male voice rumbled from behind her, and she turned to face it. “But so is the king.” The stranger gave her a warm, inviting grin. “Sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Kurt.” He put out a hand. “I bring a lot of the fish in to market. Just brought a load in; it’s in the back. I can ask Chop to bring you out one fresh.”

“Chop?”

“Chop—the butcher.” Kurt moved behind the counter. At home there, he leaned over, and winked at her.

Jenny couldn’t help but smile, even if she tried to suppress it. He wasn’t particularly good-looking: tall, sturdy, middle-aged, hair still more brown than grey, with sun-weathered skin, and friendly blue eyes. He was dressed in old jeans and red flannel.

“Whatever you suggest. I’m making dinner for some guests, so I need to impress.”

“Sure thing.” Kurt disappeared and came back a few moments later with Chop, a tall Asian fellow.

“King Salmon for the pretty lady,” Chop said, showing her a big pink fillet.

“Looks good.” Jenny nodded her approval and Chop wrapped it up in brown paper and tossed it to her over the counter.

“Whoa.” Jenny caught it on reflex.

“She caught it.” Kurt slapped Chop on the back and shook his head. “And here I thought she was just a city girl.”

“How’d you know?” Jenny smiled, and waved the package at them.

“I know this town.” Kurt chuckled.

“He does. This guy here—” Chop started.

“You guys are too much for me,” Jenny interrupted with good humor as she added the fish to her cart and pushed off.

“Wait, wait…” Kurt caught up. “That’s just Chop. He thinks this place is Pike’s Place, tosses fish to everyone.”

“I get it. It just surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting to literally ‘catch’ my dinner.”

“Come out on my boat with me,” Kurt said. “I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

Jenny stopped in front of the soup aisle. “Are you kidding?”

“No. Come out some evening. You’re so…” He squinted at her.

“So what?”

“So...”

She blushed, unable to maintain eye contact. “I don’t know you, and I’m married.” She gestured towards Kip.

Kurt grinned at the child, waved back at her, and then said, “Where’s your husband?”

She continued over to the vegetables, picking up some potatoes and then some asparagus.

“Not here.”

“I can see that.” Kurt followed her; Jenny didn’t know why she let him.

“He had to leave. This was our vacation, but he had to leave for work. Now, please. I don’t intend on going out with you on your boat. I’ve got my veggies and my king, and now I’m leaving.”

“If you change your mind, I’m at Kurt’s Tackle in town. Come by anytime. Most of the time I’m fishing, but you can leave me a note, or wait.”

“No, thank you, Kurt. Goodbye.” She hurried to the checkout.

“I’ll see you, then,” he called, waving after her.

Kip waved back at him. Jenny just frowned.

The young checker overheard and giggled. “I see Kurt has put the number on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never seen him do that before.” The girl scanned another item.

Jenny thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in the girl’s voice. “I don’t believe you. He probably does that to every woman who walks in here.”

“I wouldn’t say every,” the girl said, scanning the last item. She looked up, directly at Jenny’s eyes, assessing her. “He’s a man’s man, is Kurt. Mostly doesn’t chat with the ladies no more,” the girl said and rang up the groceries.

“I think you two are in cahoots.” Jenny handed over her money. “You have a good one.”

“Good night.”

“Fish?” Kip asked as Jenny buckled her in.

“Oh, honey. I forgot your fish. We can’t go back in there—tomorrow.”

Kip frowned.

“We’re going home now.” For a beach getaway, I’m not getting away anywhere. This place is swarming with locals, she thought.



* * *



“No bedbugs. Check.” Ron flopped the mattress back down.

It was a necessary habit, although he still itched in the night whenever he traveled. A previous run-in with the critters had left him covered in red, scabby welts and had resulted in a middle-of-the-night checkout, with nothing but a “sorry, we didn’t know” bullshit response.

He pulled open the squeaky drawer of the nightstand and removed a pair of neatly folded jeans and a blue T-shirt, also folded precisely, from his suitcase. They smell like Jenny, he thought—that fabric softener scent he always associated with her before she began to smell faintly of antiseptic and disease, of death even. I shouldn’t have left her, he thought. Shaking his head, he remembered the sea air on the coast, the sunshine. She’ll be fine, he told himself, not really believing it.

The television was on, blaring in the background. It was little company—some football game he was too distracted to truly focus on.

He rifled through the suitcase again, discovering he had forgotten his slacks. What do I need? It’s a disaster, after all. Jeans.

Settling on jeans, he pulled on old pair, along with a heavy black jacket.

He dialed a number on his cell. “I’m here. On my way.”

A twenty-minute drive later, he arrived at a security checkpoint of San Diego Military Base. Fluorescent yellow barricades. Marines with M-16’s. Barbed wire. A stern gate officer waiting to check people through. He felt his stomach tighten. There was no line, so Ron pulled up next to the officer.

“ID, sir.”

Ron handed over his driver’s license. “I don’t have my pass. I’ve been called down for the emergency.”

“You need your pass, sir,” the officer said dryly.

“I’ve been called for the disaster! It’s an emergency. Can you please check or call someone?”

“Sir, please pull over to the right.”

Ron parked the white rental car and waited, watching the officer at the gate, who was now on the radio. There was a tap on the window—another marine. “Sir, please step out of the vehicle.”

A team of men and dogs began to search his car. Ron received a full pat down.

“Get back in the vehicle now, sir.”

The gate officer called over to him, “You will have to go the pass and ID office, back down that way on the right. You may turn around, sir.”

“Fine.” Ron remained calm as he filed paperwork, provided fingerprints, and collected his pass from the office.

The gate officer ignored him as he drove back in.

He wound down the window. “Where do I go?”

“Straight ahead.”

The base seemed very quiet, considering the report Ron had received—that was, until he got closer to the water. An eddy of people—the odd firefighter, marines in camouflage, and plenty of other random workers—swirled around the docks. He parked and was escorted down to the scene in a white shuttle van. Venturing out into the whirl of workers, he strode toward the dry dock.

“Excuse me.” He stopped a marine who trotted by, weapon in hand. “Do you know where I can find the mechanical foreman?”

The marine pointed. “Up there, sir.”

Ron scanned the throng ahead, noticing a cluster of three men in white hard hats and fluorescent orange vests. “Right, thanks.”

All of the men looked very serious, pointing this way and that. A pronounced Kentucky drawl floated down from above. That’s my man, Ron thought, although they had never met in person.

“You must be Carl. I’m Ron.” He extended his hand. Ron had pictured him taller for some reason.

“’Bout time you arrived.” Carl gave his hand a firm shake.

“How bad is it?” Ron asked. No small talk; there was no time.

“One dead, two seriously injured, one minor injury. We have a dead sub in the water that needs to get out ASAP. The folks on this job are a bunch of carpenters.” Carl pointed to two lines of men on the primary and secondary hose team, all wearing full battle dress and self-contained breathing apparatuses. Ron knew this type of comment was normal for Carl.

“What happened?”

“An explosion in dry dock one, cause unknown. We were refitting a World War I destroyer. All Ah know is somethin’ blew, and when it did, it lit up a pile of five-inch gun shells. The debris then lit most everything else. A young welder down there died instantly. These boats aren’t labeled, not up to OSHA standards. Two men on a scissor lift got badly burned and are in critical condition. Some other workers have minor injuries.” Carl ran his hands over his face. “We managed to shut down all major systems, even with the serious damage, but that meant shutting down the whole utility, which also services the sub. We’re in hot water. This sub has got to go out—some emergency in the gulf. She’s mostly serviced. Ah’ve had them workin’ as quick as they can to clean up the mess, but it’s everywhere. The sub’s in dry dock two. The doors are stuck. They caught fire in the explosion.”

“Who do you have in?”

“Multiple crews, machinists, welders, riggers—you name it, we have it.” Carl pointed energetically.

“Well, just get me down there and I’ll take a look at those doors. I need plans, and a few men.”



***



“Look at that beauty. What a whopper.” John nodded toward the fillet of King Salmon.

“Do you like a sweet glaze? I’m thinking butter and brown sugar,” Jenny said.

“We’re easy,” John answered.

“I’m not easy, but yes, that sounds lovely.” Mrs. Coggington smiled, a little bit too wide, at John. They seemed to be getting on well—a bit too well, Jenny noticed. She glanced at their hands; neither of them wore wedding rings.

“So, where’s Mr. Coggington?” Jenny couldn’t help herself.

“Dead. But I was a missus for forty-seven years and I like being a missus now. Anyway, I guess you can call me Molly, since you have invited me to dinner. So very nice of you. I’ve been on microwaved macaroni for weeks now. My fingers ache with the arthritis, you see. It started about ten years ago, and it will not let up. The doctor gave me medication, but it just doesn’t work very well.”

“I have arthritis, too,” John added, splaying the fingers of his right hand and showing her.

“It’s quite a bother, especially when the barometer drops.” Molly sympathized. “I can tell when it’s going to rain, which is basically all the time.”

“This summer has been worse than others. It’s that La Niña business.” John shook his head. “Seems as though it’s permanent. The weather used to be much better.”

Jenny nodded as she put the fish in the oven. “Should only be about half an hour, I think. Wine?”

“Oh no, not with my heart medication. Well, maybe just a taste,” said Molly. She took a seat at the dining table, next to John.

“Just a taste for me as well.” John moved his chair over a little to let Molly in.

Jenny poured them each a half-glass of Chardonnay and lit a new white candle on the windowsill. It would be just the three of them; Kip had already eaten her usual fare—chicken nuggets—and been put to bed.

“So tell me a story about Gerry.” Jenny joined them at the table.

“I didn’t know her. I only saw her in passing, in town,” John said quickly.

Molly took her cue. “What kind of story do you want? I have many.”

“Anything. Something interesting. What was she like ... before?”

“She was quiet, kept to herself most of them time. She liked the beach, and she loved seashells—had quite the collection.”

“I’ve seen them, throughout the house,” Jenny said. “They’re all so beautiful—all colors, even some shark teeth. I didn’t know those washed up on the shore. I wonder where she got them?”

“No idea,” said Molly, gripping her wineglass to still the permanent shaking of her hands.

“They wash up on the shore all the time. You just have to look for them,” said John. He took a sip of wine. “I don’t collect them myself, but many do.”

“She was quiet,” Molly repeated.

“Oh, I know you’ve got more than that.” Molly was holding out on her, Jenny knew it. “What’s with the fisherman saying up front?”

Molly shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on! There’s got to be something more there.”

Molly glared at her and raised her eyebrows at John, as if she didn’t want to say in front of him. “I think someone gave that to her. I’m not sure.”

“I see,” said Jenny, relishing the secret female understanding that passed between them—an understanding that was universal, no matter the age or background, whenever women were in the presence of men. “Did you know her when Ron lived here as a boy?”

“Yes, I did. But we were not close back then. I knew her from our reading group. We met once a month to discuss the latest book. Gerry didn’t say much in the group either. Most of the woman thought she had a bit of an air about her—the way she carried herself. She was always neat as a pin, not a hair out of place.”

“She’s in a home now?” John asked.

“Yes. But, the poor soul, I don’t think she really knows where she is most of the time. Every once in a while I’ll talk to her and she’ll answer as if nothing were wrong, as if the illness had not touched her at all, but that is a rare occasion, that one. Some grow old gracefully, and some don’t. I almost envy her sometimes. She doesn’t know what’s going on. I, on the other hand, feel this...” She put down the wineglass and showed John her cramped, arthritic hand.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” John patted Molly’s bony shoulder.

She looked right at him. “Yes, it’s much better with company, isn’t it?”

“God, yes,” said Jenny. “Everything is better with company. Come on, you two, dinner is ready.”



* * *



They chatted late into the night, mostly about comforting, generic topics, until John thanked Jenny for dinner and excused himself.

“Before you go, I wanted to ask if I could borrow one of your lock picks? I have a box I need to get into,” Jenny said as she saw him to the door.

“Sure.” He opened the leather pouch and gestured to a pick. “This one is good for most locks. It shouldn’t be a bother. Just jimmy it until it pops loose. Call me if you need any help.”

“I think I can handle it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Thanks for the wonderful meal.”

As soon as she shut the door behind him, Jenny turned straight back to Molly. “Now, come on tell me.” She gestured toward the plaque on the wall. “The fisherman?” She was dying to know. “Let’s get comfortable,” she suggested, helping the elderly lady into the living room and maneuvering her toward the sofa. “Do you need anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, I’m fine. I just took a painkiller. Everything will be rosy in a jiffy. You know, I don’t think I have been up this late in years. I love it, but I’m feeling it.”

“I’m up late every night. Insomnia,” Jenny explained.

“Ah yes! I’ve had that occasionally over the years. It comes and goes, like the seasons. You must be in a bother about something.”

“Many somethings, actually—too many for me to think about. I just lie there with my eyes closed and random thoughts plague me until I pass out from exhaustion. By then I’ve usually tossed for hours.” She shrugged. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Can’t you take something?”

Jenny immediately rubbed her belly. “No, I can’t. I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, congratulations, my dear.” Wrinkles spread across Molly’s face as she smiled.

“Thank you.” Jenny suddenly felt a rush of pleasure.

“It’s such a joyous time. I loved those days.” The old lady’s tone grew wistful. “Really, you must let me baby-sit Kip for you. I miss being around little ones. They say it keeps you young. Are you feeling well?” Mrs. Coggington peered down at Jenny’s stomach. “You’re still very thin.”

“I’m feeling better about it now that the nausea has passed. It’s a bit hard though, taking care of Kip sometimes, especially when I’m not feeling well.”

“Yes, that part is not so fun.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Leave Kip with me for a day,” Molly offered, patting Jenny’s hand. “Give you a chance to get out and explore the town and the beach a bit.” She went silent for a moment, as if thinking, and then glanced at Jenny from the crinkled corner of her eyes and said conspiratorially, “Now, you want to know about the fisherman? I’m not supposed to say.”

“You can tell me. That little plaque on the wall, the pictures up in the hex room of a man who’s not her husband—I know something is up. Who is he?”

“She has pictures?”

“Just one. A photo of a man on a commercial fishing boat—smiling away. But there are more of her on the same boat; it’s called the Retty.”

“The Retty.” Molly chuckled. “Gerry must have put that those up afterward. I can’t go all the way up there now, even if I wish I could. My hips are such a bother. Well, she never saw him in that way while her husband was alive, I can tell you. They did talk, though. She’d meet him every so often for lunch in secret, on his boat, but just as friends.”

Jenny frowned. “You sure?”

“Oh dear, yes. Gerry was very loyal. She would never have broken her vows in any way. But she loved her fisherman, nonetheless.”

“What was his name?”

“Barney.”

“Barney?”

“Yes. He was a character. I only met him a few times. Quite a lively fellow—the complete opposite of her husband, who was quiet like her. She told me one time that her husband seemed to have lost his passion once they sold the ranch. He came to the coast for Gerry—his sacrifice so they could stay together. He loved her more than anything in this world, make no mistake. Gerry was quite devastated when he passed, but there was also Barney. I have never loved two men at once, but I suppose it’s possible for some women.”

“Me neither.” Jenny’s thoughts immediately flew to Ron. “I’ve only ever loved Ron. He’s been there for me through it all—the good and the bad—and he accepts me the way I am.”

“He sounds like a catch.” Molly smiled. “I had a good one too. I loved Michael from the time I turned sixteen—still love him, to this very day. Been sixteen years now since he passed, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him.” She took a rose embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and twisted it in her hands. “I still visit his grave every week, though it just about kills me to walk that path. His ashes were scattered along the beach, so I go and see him there, too. I can’t help it. I feel close to him there. It’s as if I could look down the shore and see him standing there, just off in the distance.”

“The beach—it’s alive, roaring,” said Jenny. “I love it.”

“It is indeed. Even in the rain. It’s dark, our dark beach.”

They both smiled.

“I’ll take it. I love clouds.” Jenny said, gazing out at the dark dunes.



* * *



Sleep escaped her. Jenny battled away, tossing on the bed, and then decided to get up and go and open the chest.

She checked in on Kip, who was sound asleep. Then she pulled on a heavy red-hooded sweater and slipped out the back patio door. It was dark, and freezing wind sluiced the rain against the windows. Jenny shivered. The basement wasn’t that much more comforting, illuminated only by the dangling bulb and the thin moonlight.

“Okay, it’s just us now,” Jenny told the chest, looking at the pick. “And I’m crazy.” She hoped whatever was inside would be worth the trouble.

It was.

The lid creaked open to reveal a delicate, seashell-beaded jewelry box. Inside were strands of pearls and earrings to match, a diamond ring, a ruby ring, and some odd turquoise and silver southwestern-style rings that were heavily tarnished.

“My, my!” Jenny slipped the ruby ring on and held it up. It was tight on her finger and it glinted in the light. She tugged at it. Stuck. Damn, she thought. Oh well, apparently no one has missed it for years.

There were some old tapes as well, a pile of doilies—all in shades of blue—and beneath them, a pile of worn spiral notebooks.

Flipping one open, she read: March 2nd. Today has been quite boring. The weather ... should I say more? Maybe I will go for a walk, get some fresh air. The stew is on and the house smells good, so good I almost can’t think from the smell. Still, sometimes I just want to leave this place.

“Hmm, odd.” Jenny flipped through more pages of disorganized writing. The owner’s name was not contained in any of them.

Skipping to the very last page, she continued: ... there was no one when I got there. I couldn’t help but wait. I was all alone, and I didn’t mind. I couldn’t have cared less in that moment. Nothing matters to me anymore.

Jenny sat in silence for a moment, wondering. Then, she picked up the journals and the little jewelry box, turned, shut the door after her, and carried the journals back into the house. When she finally feel asleep she dreamed of nothing.