Chapter Two
I didn’t sleep well that night. It wasn’t because I felt guilty. Far from it. Jerry had deserved everything he got. Including the kicks and my flimsy death threat. I mean, it’s not like I would ever follow through, for goodness’ sake. But it felt good to put some fear of God into the man.
But no, the reason I couldn’t sleep was because half the town had been out there to witness the fight, which meant that people would be talking about me for weeks. I didn’t care as much about them overhearing the death threat, since any other woman would have said the same thing.
But I hated being taken for such a fool by that big creep. To think I’d actually started to like him. It made me feel like a complete idiot.
And here was a question for the ages: Why did Jerry want to kiss me in the first place? I could tell he didn’t feel romantic toward me. Had he honestly thought he deserved “payment” for one lousy dinner? I didn’t get that mentality. One of these days I would ask a man I trusted to explain it to me.
But back to the subject of my small town and the fact that in a single instant I had become fodder for the gossip mill. Everyone in town knew I hadn’t been out on a regular date with a man in years. Obviously, that was what had spurred the creation of the pub’s betting pool. So now, if there was someone living under a rock somewhere, even he or she would hear all the gory details soon enough.
One thing is for sure, I thought as I climbed out of bed. I will never go out on a blind date again. At least I had some remnant left of the good judgment I was once famous for.
Normally I was willing to put up with the usual good-natured teasing from the locals. But in this case I wasn’t ready to face people yet. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I decided I would avoid my usual haunts for a few days until everyone found something more interesting than me to chatter about.
I would have to cancel my breakfast with Dad at the Cozy Cove Diner. I couldn’t face being grilled by him just yet. Instead maybe I would swing by the Scottish Rose Tea Shoppe on the town square. My good friend Emily owned the shop and would be sympathetic to my need for a friendly face and some privacy. Right now I could use some quiet solidarity. The only downside was that I would have to make do with English breakfast tea rather than coffee. But fine, I would do it and blame that pompous jerk Jerry Saxton. What a nightmare he’d turned out to be. One of these days, I thought, that man is going to push some woman too far.
Exhausted after a long night of head-spinning replays of that ugly scene by the pier, I decided to go for a run. I threw on my sweats and sneakers and jogged down to the beach for some exercise. Not only would it clear my head, but it would also keep me in shape. In my line of work, it was important to stay strong and agile. My work was labor-intensive and I didn’t ever want to have to shirk any of the physical tasks I made the guys on my crew perform.
The sun was just peeking over the eastern hills when I reached the boardwalk. Others were already out on this brisk, clear morning, running with their dogs or walking to the rhythm of whatever music was blasting into their ears through their tiny earbuds. It was an unwritten rule at this early hour of the morning that nobody had to speak to anyone else if she didn’t want to, but I did give a brief, friendly nod to a few of the locals I passed.
At the low concrete seawall that separated the boardwalk from the sand, I hesitated. A chill skittered across my shoulders as I gazed at the wooden stairs that ran down from the pier. I hated that I was having any reaction to this spot at all. And I refused to let thoughts of that jerk kill my run or my enjoyment of the morning. This was my beach and no way was Jerry Saxton going to ruin it for me.
I hopped over the seawall and plowed my way through the stretch of sand to the water’s edge. As I started my slow run south, I concentrated on my breathing instead of the disturbing image of Jerry Saxton grabbing me.
Pacing myself, I passed all the familiar landmarks: the paddle tennis courts where I’d strained a ligament in my knee four years ago; the rocky breakwater where my high school boyfriend, Tommy Gallagher, had first kissed me; the penny arcade where Tommy had won the fake diamond ring I still kept tucked away in my jewelry case; the T-shirt shop where Jane and I got our first real jobs when we were sixteen; the fire pit where Tommy had tearfully broken up with me.
Obviously, there was a time when my entire life revolved around Tommy Gallagher. Those days were long gone, thank goodness, though there was some comfort in knowing that the two of us were still friends.
The sound of my own breathing and the pounding of my shoes against the hard-packed ground drove me on. I followed the slow curve of blond sand that marked the beginning of the Golden Strand, where some of the town’s most prominent citizens lived in beautiful Victorian-style mansions built by my father.
The Strand was also the gathering spot for our resident tai chi master to lead his followers, along with any willing tourists and locals, in his early-morning rituals. Many of the tourists who flocked to Lighthouse Cove came to experience the healing serenity our happy little town was famous for. We boasted more New Age healers per capita than any other town in the state, although their number was rapidly being surpassed by winemakers opening wine bars.
As I ran, I found my rhythm and was able to relax enough to expand my focus. The ocean smelled briny this morning. The pink-and-coral shades of sunrise were muted against the stark blue backdrop of the dawn sky. Bold seagulls paraded in the wet earth, dispersing mere seconds before I invaded their sandy territory.
I reached the old Fun Zone Pier a mile south, slapped one of the wood pilings for good measure, and turned toward home. My heart hammered in my chest. The sweat and exertion kept at bay the memory of last night’s events. I mindlessly calculated how many calories I’d burned so far, as if it mattered.
Three-quarters of a mile later, I slowed down and began to jog around in circles, moving slower and slower to bring down my heart rate. I stopped running altogether and watched the waves dwindle and roll onto shore, almost touching my feet as I cooled down. Stretching my arms up above my head, I bent over leisurely until my hands grazed the smooth wet ground. Tiny air bubbles rose where sand crabs had burrowed beneath the surface. I smiled at the sudden desire to plunge my hands into the wet sand and dig some up.
The image transported me back to the summer when I was sixteen years old. Tommy and I had been spending the day down at Barnacle Beach and, just for fun, I had filled a Styrofoam cup with a few dozen tiny sand crabs and had run back to the blanket to show Tommy. Rich girl Whitney Reid and her snooty friend Jennifer Bailey were sunning themselves nearby and I overheard one of them say, “Is she going to start a crab farm?”
The other girl snorted. “I swear she’s dumber than a bag of rocks.”
Tommy had pretended not to hear, but I was pretty sure everyone on the beach that day could hear the two girls talking about me. Tossing them a dirty look, I walked away with as much dignity as I could muster, down to the water’s edge, where I released the tiny creatures. I should’ve dumped the cupful of crabs onto the girls’ backs, but I wasn’t mean enough to do it.
I could still recall the feeling of impotent fury as my teenage self dashed into the water to cool off. First of all, I wasn’t dumb! I was one the smartest girls in our class. But I couldn’t exactly shout out that fact to the rest of the beach crowd.
And second, I was just showing Tommy some sand crabs, for goodness’ sake. It’s not like I wanted to keep them for pets. Hell, maybe I was dumb, because I couldn’t figure out why those girls had to be so mean all the time. I’d begun to feel like I was the personal target for Whitney’s venom and I didn’t know what to do about it.
Whitney was a member of the privileged crowd whose wealthy parents had been coming to Lighthouse Cove on vacation for years. Enchanted by the beauty of the majestic redwood trees, the windswept cliffs, and the wild Pacific Ocean, many families had moved here permanently to take advantage of the good schools, idyllic lifestyle, picturesque harbor, historic Victorian architecture, charming shops and restaurants, and burgeoning wine industry.
My friends and I had always reached out to welcome any new kids to town, but Whitney and her pals had never accepted the gesture. Looking back now, I could see how important it must have been for them to maintain the great imaginary divide that existed between the wealthy new residents and the working-class townies. I just wasn’t sure why.
The rich kids would have been horrified to learn that my father had his own very full bank account, too, after years as a builder of mansions for the rich and powerful. He didn’t like to show it off, though, preferring instead to remain the hardworking, easygoing man he’d always been.
My little sister, Chloe, had hated being called a townie, and as soon as she graduated high school she’d escaped small-town hell to follow her dream of making it big in Hollywood.
I’d had a dream, too, of marrying Tommy and living happily ever after in Lighthouse Cove. But that dream was crushed when he announced at the fire pit one night that the horrible Whitney Reid was pregnant and he was going to marry her. Sure enough, the two were wed within the month. In three quick years they produced three kids, an apparently brilliant feat that Whitney continued to flaunt in my face to this day.
Tommy, however, was simply too nice to be an enemy and he and I had remained good friends after all this time, much to Whitney’s eternal annoyance.
A seagull shrieked at me, shaking me out of my melancholy reminiscences. Thank goodness. As I slowly stood upright again, stretched and rolled my shoulders a few times, I wondered why my mind had dragged itself back to those bad old days. Maybe it was the ugly altercation with Jerry that had brought all that unhappy boyfriend stuff to the surface.
Evidently I had more than a few issues to work through this morning. One jog on the beach wouldn’t quite fix them.