Dark Beach

SIX





The tackle shop was still open, even though it was way past closing time. The lights were off, but Kurt sprinted down one crammed aisle, straight to the back window, as if he were focused on winning a gold medal.

“There she is.” He gazed appreciatively at the Retty. “Christ, they really did bring her back.” He turned back to the desk and read from the pile of papers on the counter. “Kurt where are you? Bill. Kurt, thought we were going fishing? Simon and Mable.” He sorted the piles into notes that needed to be added to customer accounts versus requests.

“I sold a lot of goods today,” he told her. “Hell, I don’t think I even need to be here. This place runs itself, and I didn’t even get robbed.”

A worn dining chair sat by his front counter; Jenny took a seat.

“We should do this again sometime.” Kurt leaned over the counter to look at her.

She was a mess. Her hair was frizzy, her makeup washed off, and she was still wearing an ugly pale green hospital gown and matching robe. Kurt had at least requested that his buddy bring him a change of clothes.

“You look great. Look at those tan grippy socks—don’t you just love grippy socks?”

“Stop it. I know what I look like, and what I feel like. And there is no way in hell you’re going to see me again.”

“Oh, come on now. It was a good day. We’re here. We got to know each other.” He coughed and winked at her. “Very well.”

Jenny stood up and leaned on the counter. Pushing her nose right up to his, she said, “I’m going to say thank you. I know you risked your life to save me, but I’m never EVER going to see you again.” She leaned down, snatched up the white plastic hospital bag from Kurt’s dirty floor and rifled through it for her car keys. Eventually finding them stuck in a pocket somewhere, she said, “I hope this key still works.”

“Salt water can be harsh, especially on batteries. Don’t worry. I’ll take you home if it doesn’t.”

“Like I said: it better work.”

“Come on. I’ll see you out.”

The button felt stiff, but Jenny kept pressing it. “This thing…”

“Here, let me look at it.” Kurt put out an open hand. “Take the fob off your key ring.”

He fidgeted with the fob until he got the back off, and then took the battery out, wiped it on his pants, and put it back in. He pressed the button. Nothing. “Looks like you need a ride home.”

“But my purse is in my car,” Jenny said, exasperated. She put her face up to the tinted glass and checked the front seats, then the back. “Wait. I don’t see it in here.” She scratched her head.

“You sure you didn’t bring it on the Retty?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.”

“Here, take a seat in my truck and get warmed up.” Kurt opened the passenger door of his worn orange Ford, turned the ignition on, and flipped on the heat. “Just give it a minute. I’ll go down there real quick and look. What’s it look like?”

“It’s black, shiny, small, one long over-the-shoulder strap.”

“Sit tight.”

“I really need to get home.”

“Just a minute.” Closing the car door, he then ran off down the pier.

Jenny waited until he was out of sight. Then she scooted over into the driver’s seat, released the hand brake, and put the truck into reverse. “This thing is heavy.”

The truck was slow to accelerate, but once it got going she felt as though she could plow down anything in sight. She rolled down her window for some air; it felt fantastic.

There was not a light on in the beach house. “Kip!” She hurried up the rickety steps and unlocked the front door.

“Hello? Molly? Anyone here?”

“Shhh.”

“Kip?” Jenny whispered.

Molly Coggington pointed to the small shape curled up in the rocking chair in the living room, rocking gently back and forth.

“Oh, my God. Are you two okay?”

Mrs. Coggington nodded and smiled.

“She’s sleeping—my Kip?”

“She’s fine.”

“I’m sorry. I had an accident. I couldn’t come back and I don’t have my cell phone.”

“It’s on the counter.” She pointed.

“It is? I couldn’t find it earlier. I don’t know what to say. You’ve been here all day. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t worry.” Molly tilted her head at Jenny’s gown. “I meant to tell you. You need to ring Ron.”

“Thanks. I did. It was a bad day. I … I … don’t know where to begin.” Jenny started fidgeting, wringing her hands.

“It’s fine. You look exhausted, poor dear.”

“I’ll get her to bed, Molly. Thank you.”

Jenny carried her little girl steadily up the stairs. “My little angel baby, I love you,” she whispered, holding the child close and relishing the soft scent of no-tears shampoo and talc. Kip murmured in her sleep. “And you love me.” She placed the precious bundle down on her bed and tucked the sheets in over her. “There, there. Mamma won’t leave you again. It’s just the two of us now … well maybe the three of us.” Jenny patted her belly under the hospital gown. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”



* * *



Kurt stood outside the shop, clutching Jenny’s purse in hand. “I need a beer.”

One cold beer later, and his feet up on the counter in the back of the shop, Kurt tried to tune out. He tossed the empty can across the room, missing the trashcan, and then pulled another from his twelve-pack carton and downed it as quickly as the first.

The last woman had been a local—hot though. It had ended very badly. He had tried to stay away from her afterward. Of course, the locals had mostly taken her side. Could he really blame them? He had been a bit of a rogue. Still, the dirty looks got old.

“Women!” He shook his head and snapped open another beer. At the back of his mind, a voice nagged, I’m just no good. Even my mother left me.

Once a good buzz set in, Kurt stumbled down the back stairs to the Retty. He downed a fourth can on the way and chucked the empty into the bushes.

“Thar she is, my pirate ship. I have no maiden, for am I laden.” He burped loudly and stumbled over onto the bow. “She’s no whore and certainly not a bore … and I’m no poet, that’s for sure.” He raised his beer can in the air and hollered. “Jenny—to you—you stole my truck, and my heart, but not my ship!”

And you’re married and you’re pregnant, he thought. What the hell?

He leaned over the side, gazing down into the oily water. There was not a fish in sight. “Whoa there, buddy. Hold on.” He slid on the slippery deck and then tried to regain balance, but his feet gave way, dropping him hard to the deck. His head knocked with a thump against the wooden railing as he went down.



* * *



“Charlie? Charlie!”

“Charlie. Charlie.”

“Where’s our doggie, Kip?” Jenny and Kip, both bundled in layers of warm grey sweatshirts, had searched the entire beach house, from top to bottom. Out on the lower back patio, they watched the wind whip at the tall grass and felt its salty lick from the corner of the patio, welcoming them to the morning.

There was no sign of Charlie anywhere. Jenny had put his food and water out inside the night before, thinking maybe he had just been hiding somewhere, afraid of the commotion from the police visit, but he’d touched none of it. Perhaps he escaped outside? She placed the food on the back doorstep, and called his name again.

“Come sit by me.” Jenny sat and patted a white plastic beach chair next to her, identical to her own. “We’ll wait here and see if he comes.”

“Charlie.”

“Do you like the beach?”

“Ya.”

“It’s pretty here. Daddy wants to buy this house. Do you think we should?”

“Ya.”

Too worried to sit, Jenny stood again and paced the edge of the concrete patio, back and forth, calling out sporadically.

“Maybe we should call your daddy and see what he thinks?”

Kip nodded, her curls bouncing with the force of her exaggeration.

Jenny held down the number one on her cell phone.

“Honey, good morning,” Ron answered. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too.” She meant it.

“So what’s going on? How come you couldn’t talk yesterday? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I feel great. I slept great last night. I just had a strange day yesterday.”

Silence.

“Well?” he asked, finally. “Tell me.”

“I fell. I had to go to the hospital.”

“What?”

“I was in the ER when I called you. There were people around, listening. I couldn’t talk.”

Ron moved back, away from the sooty dry dock doors and the racket of drilling and hammering. He pressed two fingers against his other ear and huddled into a quiet, but just as filthy, corner. “You fell? Another blackout?”

“Yes, another episode. But I’m fine now. I’m back here, at the beach house.”

“I think you should just try to rest today. Don’t go out.”

“I will. I’ll stay here.”

“And put your feet up, and make sure you eat well.”

“I will … don’t worry.” Jenny continued pacing.

“And the cops?”

“They saw boot prints in the sand, but whoever it was had gone. The prints washed away farther down the beach. They asked me if I had a gun?”

“Do you?”

“I said I didn’t have one. By the way, I still can’t find Charlie. I’ve been looking all morning.”

“When did you last see him?” Ron sounded worried.

“Maybe before the guy with the lantern.”

“Two nights ago? Keep looking for him. You know he does this all the time. He’s probably outside. Maybe he’s in the car?”

“He’s not in the car.”

“The garage?”

“I checked there.”

“Have you tried his special treats—the pepperoni ones?”

“Yes.”

Ron waved away a welder who was hovering nearby to ask a question. “Have you been anywhere else, anywhere you can think of?”

“Maybe.”

The welder wouldn’t leave.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Keep looking. He’ll turn up. He’s like that. He takes off and comes back sometimes. You know that.”

“I know. But we’re in a new place. He only does that at home. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s around. Now go rest. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jenny hung up and plopped back down on the cold plastic chair. Kip grinned at her, happy to have company.

“DOG!” Jenny called. “Where are you?” She turned to Kip and extended her hand. “Let’s go down the beach path, see if we can see anything. Come on, follow me.” Stopping at the entrance to the dune, she examined the ground for footprints. Prints from the officers and deeper, larger prints from the unknown man jumbled together. She followed them, pushing through the grass, but there was no sign of the dachshund’s trail.

“He didn’t come down here.” She stood before the dune drop-off. “I don’t see anything. Where could he be?”

Kip shrugged.

“Let’s go back.”

When they reached the house, Kip ran back over to the chairs and sat, but Jenny shook her head. “Come on inside while I look.” She settled Kip on the couch with a biscuit and a glass of milk and went to search the back of the beach house again. No joy. She searched the patio, the deck of the master bedroom, and even the deck up on the hex room, scanning from side to side. No sign.

The basement.

She stopped at the basement door.

The door was unlocked, the room dark as ever. The old red chest sat by the wall untouched. The shelves stacked with home-preserved goods and all the corroded tools looked the same.

“Charlie?”

Silence.

“You in here, doggie?” She heard a noise behind her and turned to find Kip. “Kip, go back and sit. I don’t want you in here. There’s too many things to trip over, okay honey. Charlie?”

Nothing.

She searched the cramped space, bumping into just about everything and getting her hair caught on God-only-knows what.

This place needs to be gutted. “Ugh … spider webs! Ugh! Get them off me!”

She whirled around, patting at her hair and face, and then heard a faint whine. A little black paw poked out from behind the grey shelves. “Charlie!” Kneeling down, she touched him. “Oh my God, Charlie. Oh, my poor puppy.”

A dark smear of blood trailed behind him as Jenny slid him out of the corner—his back left paw caught in a rusty old mousetrap.

“Oh, Charlie.” Tears stung her eyes. Carefully, she picked him up. The dog’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

“You followed me down here that night, you poor thing. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, you poor little thing.”

“Mamma?” Kip still stood at the basement door.

“Don’t come in here! It’s dangerous. Back up, back up,” Jenny yelled, swiping at a tear and knowing she was unable to show the composure necessary to deal with Kip just now.

“Charlie?”

“I’ve got him, honey.” Jenny squeezed past the junk and out, pulling the basement door shut behind her. “Charlie’s hurt, honey. We must go inside, come.”

“Charlie hurt. Uh-oh.”

Jenny piled some kitchen towel down on the counter and placed the dachshund on top. “I don’t know what to do.”

The metal teeth of the trap were clamped down firmly on the dog’s paw, cutting to the bone. Taking a dishtowel, she wrapped it delicately around the dog’s paw. Charlie didn’t even wince at the pain.

“Mamma, hungry.”

“Not now.” Jenny ran her hands through her hair, thinking. Then she frantically fumbled through every cupboard and pulled open every drawer, hunting for a telephone directory or address book.

“There’s got to be a vet in town.” Snatching her cell phone up off the bench, she dialed Molly Coggington’s number and explained the problem.

“Poor Charlie,” the old woman clucked. “And of course I’ll watch Kip for you; just drop her around. The veterinarian is down on Shore Street, right near the supermarket.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” Jenny said. “Be there in five.”

Wrapping Charlie in a blanket, she carried him out to Kurt’s truck.

Shit! “I don’t have your car seat,” she told Kip. “You’ll just have to sit in the middle, by me, until we get to Mrs. Coggington’s.” The thought gnawed at her. Drive carefully, Jenny, she thought, gently placing Charlie on the floor in the back.



* * *



The day was slow, very slow. Jean sat staring at the computer screen—solitaire. “Close early?” she asked, more a suggestion than a question.

“No. You never know when there’s going to be an emergency.” Just as the words left the veterinarian’s mouth, Jenny burst through the front doors.

“My dog—he’s dying.”

Their eyes widened at the sight of her. Jenny’s blonde hair was frizzled in all directions. Blood stained her grey sweatshirt, and the look on her face said only one thing—something was dreadfully wrong.

“Bring him out back. I’m Doctor Shooner.”

The vet’s office was cleaner, brighter, and way more organized than the ER Jenny had been in the day before. “Place him here.” The vet patted the stainless steel table.

Jenny carefully placed Charlie on it. The vet took a look.

“The mousetrap,” he said, examining Charlie’s paw. “How long?”

“Two days.”

“I’ll take care of him. First, we need to get this thing off.”

Jenny rubbed Charlie’s velvety black head. “It’ll be okay, boy.” She watched the veterinarian gather supplies. “What do I do?”

“You can stay here and watch, or Jean will see to you up front. I need to set up a sterile field and get some fluids in him.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“It may be unpleasant. You probably don’t want to be here for what I have to do.”

“What? What is it?”

“His leg looks infected,” he said, giving the dog a shot of something. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I may have to amputate. And he may need a transfusion. He may not make it.”

Jenny’s look of concern turned to horror. “He’s going to—”

“I don’t know. I will do everything I can. We may have to put him down.”

Jenny burst into tears. Shocked, she rubbed her face, accidentally smearing herself with Charlie’s blood. “No. No, don’t put him down. Do everything—everything you can.”

Jean, looking incongruous in her tight black skirt and high black heels, entered. “You can come with me if you like?”

“Yes. I don’t think I can watch this.” She followed the receptionist to the front desk.

“I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork.”

Jenny shook her head. “Paperwork! I can’t think about that right now.” Jenny leaned over, head in hands on the grey marble counter. The young receptionist frowned, pulled a wad of sterile wipes from a caddy on the wall and wiped at a smear of blood near Jenny’s elbow, causing Jenny to step back.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, I got it. Here...” The nurse handed her a wipe. “Do you have pet insurance?”

“Yes.” Jenny tried to wipe the congealing blood off her hands.

“May I see your card please, and your ID?”

“My ID?”

“Yes please.”

“I don’t have it with me.”

“I need to see it to process the paperwork.” The secretary’s tone became officious.

Jenny scowled. “I can’t believe you’re speaking to me like that. Look at me.” She held up her hands, indicating her hair and the bloodstains. “My dog may die.” Taking another step back, she said loudly, “I’m going through hell, and you’re bugging me about paperwork?”

“I know. And I apologize, but I still need your ID and insurance card.” The receptionist sighed and rubbed her forehead. A huge diamond ring—three carats at least—sparkled on her hand.

“You’re married to him, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“The vet—he’s your husband.”

The secretary stood, flipping her long, jet hair over her shoulder. “I am.”

“I’ll be back.” Just as she had burst in, Jenny turned and burst out through the glass doors, which slammed shut behind her.

Stabbing the key into the ignition, she wrenched the wheel left and headed into town. When she got there, she pulled to a screeching halt, hard and fast, spraying dirt up into the main road.

The tackle shop was empty.

Why does this not surprise me?

“Kurt,” Jenny called. “I brought your truck back.”

There was the usual pile of notes on the checkout counter, but no sign of him or of anyone else.

“I thought he had a clerk? Where is everyone?”

When she reached the stinking fish-gutting sink at the back, Jenny put one hand over her nose and examined the rest of herself in the cracked mirror. “Look at me. I’m a wreck.” She wet a paper towel, wiped a streak of blood from her cheekbone, and washed her hands. Running her fingers through her hair, she fumbled in her back pocket for a spare hair tie and, finding it, tied her hair back.

“How’s that?” She smiled. Better. She squinted again, assessing her smeared sweatshirt. “I’ll just take it off.”

Tucking in her scarlet, fitted T-shirt, Jenny rifled in the drawers for something to use as a belt. She found a length of thin white rope and looped it through her jean loops like a belt. Fashion in a fish shop; who would have known?

A gleam of metal in the drawer caught her eye. That might come in handy. She snatched up the object and concealed it in her sweatshirt.

The store was still empty, except for an old green fridge in the corner. Looking at it, she suddenly realized she was starving. Jenny walked over and tugged on the heavy metal handle.

“I don’t think I have ever seen one like this; maybe in the movies,” she said to herself. Bending over, she checked the shelves. They were packed with different brands of beer, beer cans, brown-paper-wrapped fish, fish eggs, and plastic containers filled with worms. In one long drawer in the bottom, she found a perfectly wrapped, store-bought sandwich.

Roast beef. Not her favorite, but she didn’t care; she was famished. She pulled the sandwich apart and picked off the tomato, then made her way down to the pier.

The Retty rocked back and forth gently on the tide. She was a pretty boat, long and sleek; Jenny hadn’t noticed before. He takes good care of it.

“Kurt,” she called. “I brought your truck back—not a scratch, too.”

Still munching on the sandwich, she stepped into the cabin, noticing that the empty bowls from yesterday’s soup were now on the floor. Jenny picked them up and placed them in the small metal sink. Where is he? She scratched her head.

He wasn’t on the stern, but saw his brown-flannelled back as she neared the bow.

“What is going on? Kurt?” She knelt beside him. “Your head! You’re bleeding.”

“Oooooof.” Kurt came around with a deep moan. Using the railing—his old friend—he yanked himself to a sitting position.

“You reek.” She held her nose. “Did you sleep out here all night?”

“Thank you,” he grumbled.

“Are you drunk? Hungover?”

“No! Maybe … just a little.” He coughed.

“I brought your truck back.” Jenny helped him up and into the cabin, where he slouched wearily on his narrow bed.

“Thanks.”

“What happened?”

“I slipped,” he said with a tone so full of melancholy that Jenny felt a sudden twinge of real concern for him.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

“No. I’ll just sit here awhile. I don’t want to move.”

“I don’t even want to ask, but … I was wondering—

“Your purse? It’s up in the shop, in a drawer under the fish sink. I fixed your key fob.”

“You did?” Jenny’s face lit up.

Despite his pain, physical and emotional, Kurt grinned; he couldn’t help it.

“Thank you so much.”

“It just needed a battery, that’s all. And I have plenty.”

Jenny put her arm around him, struck suddenly by the strength of him under the flannel shirt, the strong shoulders hard as brick. “I have to go, but ... your head. Are you sure you’re okay. I’ll come back if you need me to.”

“No, you go.”

“Just call me if you need me. I’ll write my cell down.”

“Wait,” he called as she turned, his blank expressions hiding the longing in his heart.

Jenny stopped, one hand on the cabin door, and turned to face him.

“I think I need to see a doctor. I feel strange, dizzy … weird.” He put a hand up to the wall to brace himself. “My head is pounding; I need something.”

“I knew it. You don’t look like yourself. You’re very pale.” She put out a hand to him. “Here. I’ll take you in. Where do you go?”

“A clinic in town. It’s not far. Haven’t been to it in years, but that’s where it is.”

The walk up to SUV was slow, but eventually she helped Kurt into the front seat and started the car.

“Make a left here,” said Kurt as they passed the Vet Clinic.

“My dog, he’s injured, I had to take him there.” She pointed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a dog. Did you see Dr. Shooner?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. I take him out a lot, salmon fishing. He’s one of my regulars, him and his wife.”

“Oh her … she’s…”

“A delight? She’s lived here her whole life. He came to town, opened up the clinic, hired her, and within three months they were married.”

“Three months! That’s all it took?”

Kurt laughed. “Yep. But he’s good. He’ll get it done. He’ll fix your dog.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to lose him. We’ve had Charlie five years now.”

“Always more dogs out there.”

Jenny grimaced. “Don’t say that. I can’t think about that.” Her tears welled up. “He’s not just a fish or something.”

“Oh…” Kurt reached a hand over to her. “Don’t listen to me. I’m bad with all this stuff. There it is, on the right.”

Jenny parked in front of a small brick clinic. “I’ll pick you up later, okay.”

“I think they’re only open another couple hours.”

“I’ll be back,” she said.



* * *



“Fire, Fire, Fire! Class Bravo Fire in dry dock one. Fire control team two, report to fire station Charlie. Rescue and Assistance Detail, report to station Bravo. Ladder 32, on their way.”

“What now?” Ron, in dry dock two, ducked for cover under the big sub, which was still on its huge, custom-fit blocks.

Carl ducked in beside him. They hunkered down behind chunks of oak four feet thick and eight feet long that cannonballs would bounce off. There was no room to stand, only to kneel.

Explosions rattled their ears, sparks flew, and metal debris clanged and crashed on the sub above them. Workers ran for cover, many squeezing in beside them. A secondary explosion was followed by a ripping sound—an acetylene bottle hurtled into the dry dock and flew past the huddled men to bounce off the concrete wall ninety feet behind. It hit the floor and spun like a top, flames shooting from its end.

“Jesus Christ! Ah didn’t want to refit that destroyer. They’re damn dangerous; everything is unmarked, f*ckin’ shells an’ ammo everywhere.” Carl poked his head out from under the sub.

“Get back in here.” Ron tugged his vest. Carl jerked his head back inside and the white hard hat rolled off and out into the open; a glowing spark landed in the middle of it.

“You’re bald under that hat? I didn’t know it.” Ron smiled. “Put your hat back on, and stop glaring at me.”

“Just you wait ’til you’re my age.” Carl rubbed his head and then put the hat back on.

“Why shells and ammo everywhere? That should’ve all been dealt with last century.”

“We found an old stockpile in a room that was completely welded off to look as if there was nothing there. Makes no sense. Did an overall inspection first to see what we needed to do an’ one of the guys noticed an unmarked space on one of the old blueprints. They been hoarding it for something, for some mission. Who knows? Heavy, heavy stuff. Intended to kill. We were moving the load off ship—not quick enough.”

“This place is a disaster zone. You’re up shit creek.” Ron glared at him.

“Not me, an’ not us. That young Navy Ensign signed off on the HAZMAT. Besides, the Admiral hates that smart ass’s guts. He ain’t done nothing but talk shit to the Admiral ever since he met him. Seems Ensign’s daddy is an Admiral too.” Carl patted Ron on the back as they watched the chaos—firefighters putting out the flames of hell, men evacuated with burn injuries, yelling, shouting, and pure misery. “Maybe we should just blow up dry dock two’s doors while we’re at it. I’ll have to get me a couple them acetylene bottles to set off at my next Fourth of July party.”

“Bad way to die. Don’t be stupid.”

“Ah’m just kidding.”

“Good. Because there’s no way we’re blowing those doors now.”

“The bad news is this sub’s got live test birds on it.” Ron shook his head furiously. “We touch it. We could nuke the west coast.”

“Nukes! It’s got nukes? An’ the mushroom cloud comes free. Oh shit. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Shhh. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news—and not so loud.” He put a finger to his lips. “They were loading them up this morning. Something’s going on. I don’t know what, but the Admiral called me.”

“He did. You didn’t say anythin’…”

“No. No, I didn’t. I told him we’re working as hard and as fast as we can. That sub is ready to go. We just need to get it rolling.”

Carl sighed, lowered his head and wiped the beaded sweat from his forehead. “That we’ll do. Right after we sort out this mess.”



* * *



“He has no leg?” Jenny put a hand to her mouth as her tears started anew.

“I’m sorry. I had to amputate. He’s on IV antibiotics, but Charlie is a seriously ill little dog. I need to keep him overnight, possibly longer.”

Jenny slumped in a chair in the waiting room of the Vet’s Office. The yellow roses on the marbled table seemed faded; everything looked like she was seeing it through a film of gauze. And then the teeth flashed into her mind. She closed her eyes. Not here. “Not here.”

“Excuse me? Are you okay? Can I get you a glass of water?”

The teeth faded. Jenny jerked upright and slapped her own face. “Get it together. She slapped it again. “You’ve got to get it together.”

“It’s going to be all right. It was just an accident.” The veterinarian put a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s what Ron says,” she babbled. “He always says that, but it’s not true!” She stood up, bumping the coffee table, knocking the vase over. “He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know. It was my fault.”

“She’s freaking out. We need assistance here. Call Ted,” Dr. Shooner yelled to his wife.

“No! I’ll be back tomorrow to check on my dog. His name is Charlie. Please take good care of him.”

“Wait, your insurance card ... you never gave it to me,” said the secretary. Dr. Shooner put his hands up, shushing her.

“Shut up,” Jenny whispered under her breath as she pushed the front doors open. Turning, with the most perfect smile—more fake than she had ever smiled in her life—Jenny said, “I have to go.” She slipped her hand in her purse, chucked the card on the floor, and let the door slam behind her.

A couple of long, deep breaths and moment of silence later, Jenny focused on the present. “Now where is this clinic again?” Jenny asked herself. “Yes.” She started to drive. “I do remember this turn, now.” She flicked off the radio. He better be okay, because I’m supposed to be lying in bed with my feet up, which hasn’t happened today. Rocky Shores: hot and happening, excluding the hot part.

She found Kurt warming the bench outside the clinic. He looked as tired as Jenny felt. She pulled up alongside him.

“Nice car.” Kurt grinned.

“Thanks. Get in. You’re coming home with me.”