seventeen

The next morning came early. Earlier still for Rene and Sam, who had come home well after midnight, then spent the rest of the night placating unhappy twins and trying to calm overly stimulated puppies. If Sam was surprised to come downstairs and find Michael sipping coffee at the kitchen table, he didn’t show it.

Rene was a different story entirely. She burst into my room, chanting in a voice so chipper it should have come from a purple dinosaur, “Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s almost noon!”

I sat bolt upright and yelped. “Geez Rene! You scared the crap out of me.” I glanced at the alarm clock. “Eight o’clock? You seriously barged in here and woke me up at eight o’clock? You’re lucky I don’t sleep with a gun.”

“What, you shoot everybody who gives you a personal wake-up call?”

“I do if they sound as chipper as you do.” I held the sheets to my chest with one hand and reached toward Rene with the opposite, doing my best impression of a bedbound zombie. “Caffeine. Must have caffeine.”

“Funny, Kate. Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t get you up earlier. I’ve been on pins and needles since Alice got me up at five. Michael’s making breakfast, but Sam refuses to let me interrogate him, so I’ve been stuck waiting for you. Let’s start with the most important item first. Are you two back together?”

I ignored her diatribe and, more importantly, her question. “You’re letting Michael cook? I hope you enjoy scraping eggs off the ceiling.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Rene grumbled. “Besides, I just came from the kitchen and it’s not bad. I think you’ve been exaggerating about his messiness. Now spill. Are. You. Two. Back. Together?” She grinned, exposing a mouth full of shiny, white, meddlesome teeth. A ferret who’d learned how to open the sock drawer. “Oooooh. Maybe that’s why you’re so sleepy. Did you two stay up all night playing conjugal visit?”

“Sorry to ruin your fantasy, but Michael spent the night in the downstairs bedroom with Bella.”

Rene’s grin wrinkled into a scowl. “Kate, what is wrong with you? Forgive the guy already! You belong with Michael and you know it!”

She was right, of course. After a full night’s rest, I was on the cusp of admitting it too. I loved Michael. That had never been in doubt. I needed Michael. That was also a no-brainer. One question still haunted me: could I trust him?

I was beginning to realize that the answer was yes. Michael was a good man. He’d made a mistake—a big one—but he’d never intended to hurt me. Rebuilding our relationship might take a while, but for the first time in almost a week, I believed it could happen.

Provided the universe gave us a chance.

“I’m not giving up on Michael and me, but the first step to our happily ever after is keeping him off of death row, and that might not be easy.”

Rene winced. “My conjugal visit joke wasn’t funny, was it?”

“Don’t worry about it. Honestly, we all could use a little humor right now.”

Rene perched on the edge of the bed, all flippancy gone. “Seriously, Kate. What happened last night?”

I gave Rene an outline of what Dale, Michael and I had discussed, focusing primarily on the details the police already knew. Namely, Gabriella’s life insurance policy and her pregnancy. I wanted to tell her my suspicions about Officer Boyle, but Dale’s stern admonishment to not talk about it had scared me to silence.

Rene wrinkled her brow. “That’s everything?”

I didn’t reply.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re holding out on me?”

“Because I am. I’m sorry, Rene, but that’s all I can tell you. I’ll fill you in on everything else as soon as I can, but for now, Dale has sworn me to secrecy.”

Rene was usually nosier than a small-town spinster, but she didn’t press me. A Herculean effort that must have used every last drop of her willpower. “I’ll hold you to that. In the meantime, what are your sleuthing plans for today?”

“I don’t have any.”

“There’s no need to lie, Kate. A simple ‘I can’t tell you’ would suffice.”

“I’m not lying,” I insisted. “Dale went to Portland to meet with a private investigator, and he asked Michael and me to keep our heads down until he gets back.” I shrugged. “So I guess we play tourist at the festival for the day.”

Michael’s voice called from the kitchen. “Go get her, Bella!”

“Oh no! Rene, take cover!” I yelled.

A hundred-pound, fur-covered cannonball charged up the stairs. I covered my head and curled into a side-lying fetal position in a futile attempt to protect my stomach. Bella crashed through the door and flew onto the center of the bed—or rather onto my body, which was lying on top of it. She pranced back and forth across the mattress with pure German shepherd abandon, scratching the covers and licking at my face.

“I know, I know,” I said. “It’s good to see you too. It’s only been eight hours, you know.” I popped out from under the covers and scratched my fingernails up and down her ribs. “I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

Bella tilted her head. Hungry? Me? Always!

I raised my voice loud enough for Michael to hear. “I’m up already. Remember, payback’s a bitch.”

A toothbrushing and a quick comb-through of my hair later, the three of us meandered downstairs to an aroma so heavenly, it was worth scraping bacon grease off the windows. Tomatoes, peppers, cheese, onions, and the tiniest hint of garlic. Obviously one of Michael’s famous omelets. The scent of cinnamon-laced vanilla hinted that he’d baked cinnamon rolls for dessert.

Michael looked up from a spattering skillet. “It’s about time you got down here. Rene had some soft tofu in the fridge, so I made you a tofu scramble. The rest of us are having omelets. Pour yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair. The cinnamon rolls are almost done.”

I would have opened my mouth to thank him, but I was shocked silent. A single thought resonated through my brain. Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?

The kitchen was spotless. Sure, there were a few dirty dishes, but they were neatly stacked in the sink. The stovetop had been wiped clean. The dishtowel, folded in a perfectly aligned rectangle on the counter beside it. I surreptitiously glanced up at the ceiling and along the floor. Nothing. Even Bella looked confused. Where were all of the tasty food droppings?

“I see Sam got stuck with cleanup duty,” I said.

Sam shook his head. “Not me. This is all Michael’s doing.”

Michael had cleaned while he cooked? Inconceivable. Cooking, for Michael, was an exercise of chaotic creativity, done with the joyful abandon of a child stomping through mud puddles. Neatness ruined the fun. At first I assumed that the out-of-character cleanliness was done in a valiant effort to placate me. But one look in Michael’s clouded eyes and I realized pleasing me had nothing to do with it. He was overwhelmed. My normally laissez-faire boyfriend was struggling—trying to create order in a newly unpredictable life.

The realization made my whole body feel heavy.

He smiled, but the expression didn’t seem genuine. “Go on, sit.”

I sat.

We ate breakfast, then spent a surreal morning pretending to be friends on vacation, making small talk while focusing on the mundane details of life with three dogs and two infants. Feeding, walking, diapering, and entertaining. We completely ignored the fact that Michael could be whisked away in an instant.

It was our new normal. A weird but somehow comforting routine of denial. I convinced myself that my avoidance was enlightened, not simply a distraction. Yoga, after all, teaches us to live in the moment. To not angst about the past. To not worry about the future. And each wonderful moment I spent with my loved ones that morning was precious. So, like a child cowering under the covers, I pretended that if I couldn’t see the bogeyman, he couldn’t see me. It was a delusion, of course, but man did it feel good at the time.

We continued our pretense of normalcy until almost noon, when we loaded up the twins and headed off for the Sandcastle Festival. Michael and I drove in the Honda; Sam and Rene followed with the twins in the Volvo. Bella sat with her rear in our back seat and her head pressed through the bucket seats to the front, obviously ecstatic that her pack had reunited. I pulled out my cell phone and glanced at the screen. Dale hadn’t called.

“Kate, can I ask you a favor?” Michael asked.

“What?”

“Can you leave your cell alone for a while? If Dale calls, we’ll hear it. I’d like to act like everything’s normal for a few hours.”

“Michael, I—”

“I know it’s not real. I know nothing has changed. But can we pretend?” His voice trembled. “If things go sideways, I want to remember one great day.”

I smiled. “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that it’s a great idea.” I paused, hoping I wasn’t about to lie. “This is all going to work out, Michael. I promise.”

Blissful denial.

Our two-car caravan pulled into Tolovana Beach’s completely packed parking lot at twelve-fifteen. “Wow, the lot’s full already,” I said. “I thought the judging wasn’t until two.”

“It isn’t,” Michael said, “but the teams started working at eleven. People get here early to watch from the start. It’s like one of those reality cake decorating shows. Truly, you’re not going to believe it.”

“I’m not going to see it,” I countered. “We’ll never find a parking space.”

“No problem,” Michael replied. “Sandcastle competition day is the one day each year that cars are allowed on the beach.” He pointed to a sign in front of the iconic Mo’s restaurant: All vehicles must be off the beach no later than 3 p.m.

“What happens if we’re still parked there after three? The fun run doesn’t start until three-thirty, and I have to teach yoga afterwards.”

“We’ll be long gone before three, unless you want to wave goodbye to the Honda as it floats out to sea. Don’t worry. There’s a huge exodus after the judging. We’ll move the car then.”

I chewed on my lower lip, doubtful.

“Seriously, Kate. Don’t worry. After fifty-two years of running this event, the committee has it down to a science. Trust me.”

I wasn’t completely comfortable, but I agreed. A teenager wearing a kelly green 4-H T-shirt directed us to a makeshift parking area that was eight cars deep and stretched a quarter-mile down the beach. We parked next to Sam and Rene and began the complex series of tasks required for a day trip with four adults, three dogs, and two babies. I hooked on Bella’s two-foot-long city lead. Sam inserted the twins into their tandem backpack. Rene held a flexi-lead in each hand—one attached to Ricky’s collar, the other to Lucy’s. An ill-advised setup that would inevitably result in her being split in half like a wishbone.

“Rene, didn’t you bring shorter leashes?”

“The pups like to roam.”

Novice.

Michael was stuck with pack mule duty. He slung a diaper bag over each shoulder and tucked three dogs’ worth of waste bags into his pockets. He pointed north, toward Cannon Beach’s majestic Haystack Rock. “The sandcastle contest is that way.”

The organizers couldn’t have hoped for a better day. The weather was a perfect blend of early fall crispness and late summer warmth. Haystack Rock stood like a green-black sentry watching over rainbow-colored kites that dotted a bright blue sky. The huge basalt formation was Cannon Beach’s most famous attraction: a bell-curve-shaped monolith that was an ecosystem all to itself, providing a home for orange and purple starfish, green sea anemones, and orange-billed puffins.

An ecosystem that had been invaded.

I felt surprisingly melancholy as we walked along newly dug tire tracks toward the sound of the crowd. It was as if the tourists—Michael and myself included—were an infestation. A parasite of some kind. I missed the beach’s quiet, natural beauty. The rhythmic whisper of waves against sand. Fearless seagulls searching for sand dollars. Scatterings of driftwood that Bella could chase to her heart’s content.

Fortunately, the human invasion would be short-lived. The evidence of today’s projects, washed away by tomorrow morning. That thought made me sad, too. So much in life was temporary. What took a lifetime to build could be whisked away in a heartbeat, no matter how much we wanted to hold on to it.

Good lord, Kate. Get a grip. Remember the teachings. Be. Here. Now.

Here now was pretty darned good. Here now was worth cherishing. I reached over and grabbed Michael’s hand. He glanced at me as if surprised, then interlaced his fingers with mine. The connection felt warm. Comforting. Right. My sadness didn’t disappear, but it lightened.

Michael pointed to a canopy topped by a lemon yellow sign with the word Refreshments painted on it in bold black letters. Bella lifted her nose and sniffed, clearly scenting fresh-grilled hamburgers. “If we get separated, go there,” he said.

“Consider us separated,” Rene replied. “I’m starving!” She tore off toward the food tent, dragging along two bewildered puppies.

“Rene, wait!” Sam yelled, jogging after her. The twins bounced like brunette and blonde bobbleheads over his shoulders.

“Want to eat?” Michael asked. “There aren’t many vegetarian options, but they usually have grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I gestured toward Rene, who was angling her way to the front of the line. “I’d rather check out the sandcastles. Let’s wait until she goes back for round two.”

The contest area had been broken into at least fifty thirty-by-thirty-foot squares, each delineated by four metal stakes linked together with green gardening twine. Not far away, ten-foot-diameter water holes had been dug into the beach. Mini-mountains of sand were piled next to them. Artists hurried back and forth from the sand piles, carrying raw materials for their creations in five-gallon buckets. Back at the plots, their team members poured the sand into frames, wetted it with water, and stomped the mixture solid. T-shirts proudly advertised team names ranging from Team Oyster to Boogie Monster to True Grit.

As the time moved closer to one o’clock, the crowds began to converge. I’d been surprised at the number of people in Cannon Beach a few days ago, but that was nothing. Thousands upon thousands of people flooded the area around Haystack Rock. I saw many of the locals I’d spoken with earlier, but in the spirit of keeping my head low, I avoided them.

Von and a team called the Sand Doggers were creating a giant dog house complete with a ten-foot-long wiener dog. Jimmy’s mother, Zoey, was there with an older version of herself that I assumed was her mother. Both tried valiantly—and futilely—to hold on to the toddler. I was pretty sure I even glimpsed Crystal’s pink-tinted hair.

The only potential buzz killers were a half-dozen police officers gathered around their white and blue police SUV. I shaded my eyes and squinted into the light. Officer Alex, dressed in her familiar blue-black uniform, chatted with a blonde officer dressed in brown. Officer Boyle wasn’t with them.

By one-thirty, the atmosphere was thick with swarms of people, the voices of happy beachgoers, and the energy of too many people crowded into too small a space. Rene—who reunited with us after inhaling two hot dogs—asked Michael to watch the puppies while she and I tried to elbow our way closer to the exhibits. No matter how close I got, I could still barely see. The contest area was surrounded by too many people, most of whom were significantly taller than my five-foot three-inch frame. All Jimmy would be able to see from his three-foot-tall perspective would be the back pockets of strangers. No wonder he tried to escape. Who wouldn’t want to leave that sight behind?

At twenty minutes before two, the artists traded their shovels for water sprayers, screwdrivers, chisels, and putty knives. Their expressions were serious, their voices harried. Sandcastle Picassos at work.

By the time the ending whistle blew at two, I’d come to one firm conclusion: the term sandcastle was an obvious misnomer. Castles were the definite minority. The creations included Komodo dragons, gorgeous sea princesses, human-sized chess sets, and yes, even a ten-foot-tall castle, dragon and moat included. My favorite was a family of bullfrogs sunning themselves on a half-dozen lily pads. I had so much fun that I almost forgot about Gabriella’s murder. Almost.

An announcer came over the loudspeaker. “Thank you for attending the fifty-third annual Cannon Beach Sandcastle Contest. The time is now two-thirty. Please remove your vehicles from the beach no later than three. The Family Fun Fest and 5K Fun Run begins at Whale Park at three. Join us back here for the bonfire and beach concert at eight.”

“That was amazing,” Rene said as we trekked back to the cars.

“Are you coming with us to the run?” I asked.

Rene and Sam exchanged the look of exhausted parents everywhere. “Sorry, the twins are wiped out and so are we.” He reached down and ruffled Ricky’s ears. “These two monsters even look sleepy. We’re heading back to the house.”

Michael helped them load the puppies into their crate. I didn’t think it was possible, but the bruises under his eyes seemed darker than they had earlier.

“You look beat, too,” I said. “Why don’t you and Bella go back to the beach house with Rene and Sam? I’ll move the Honda and park closer to the fun run. After all, I’m the only crazy person who agreed to work this afternoon.”

Michael shook his head vehemently. “Not a chance. I’d love to watch you teach, and I know where to find the best parking spots. Besides, Shannon needs the moral support. The run is usually the least popular event of the weekend, and Shannon’s really put her heart into it. She’s convinced that if it goes well, she can get Cannon Beach to sponsor a half marathon next spring.” He sighed. “I have a feeling she’s going to be disappointed. We may be the only two people there.”

“In that case, I’ll teach yoga. You do the running.” Jogging was not in my repertoire.

“Yeah, take Michael with you,” Rene quipped. “The run will be good practice for him. He needs to get in shape so he can run from the cops.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not funny, Rene.”

But honestly, it was. Even Michael managed to crack a smile. I truly hoped her words wouldn’t be prophetic.