JESSE
The lazy summer sun cast a hue over manicured lawns and blooming bougainvillea. The scent of jasmine hung in the hot and heavy air. Children’s laughter echoed as sprinklers misted the sidewalks, and the hum of distant lawnmowers blended with the rustle of palm trees.
Jesse stood in the driveway and watched her two reasons for living climb into an aged Buick and rattle toward an airport. They would be gone for a month, but Jesse knew they would never come back. Not really. This long chapter of her life had reached a conclusion.
Jesse wandered back into the house. Everywhere she looked, reminders mocked her. The photographs on the walls, Lily’s athletic trophies on the shelves, the quilt Rosa made for her last birthday draped over the back of the sofa. When had her home become a shrine to the people they had once been?
Plopping onto the sofa and flicking through the TV channels, Jesse bit back a sigh. She and the girls liked to watch Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries, but without her daughters beside her, she felt silly watching the angsty, monstrous teens.
She padded up the stairs to find a book to keep her company.
Cursing floated through the window and she stopped to peek through the curtains.
Dave Davenport, her neighbor, stumbled off his front porch. He shouted a few obscenities to the sky. A microwave came flying after him and crashed onto the brown and patchy lawn near his feet. He jumped as if a firecracker had been lit beneath his feet and stared open-mouthed at his wife who emerged through the open door.
Yikes. Could Mia really pitch a microwave?
Could she, Jesse, throw a microwave? Out of curiosity, she went to the kitchen to see. Her kitchen, with its golden oak cupboards, white tile countertops, and faded appliances, hadn’t been updated since she’d moved here almost twenty-five years ago. The microwave was so small it barely held a dinner plate. She could lift it, but could she throw it any distance? Should she try?
A crash sounded, and Jesse scampered back to the window.
Oh dear.
Dave was throwing rocks at his house and shattering the windows. Mia had disappeared, but the McKinney’s children from across the street, a girl and a boy, had stopped on the sidewalk to watch.
Jesse longed to tell them to go inside, but she didn’t want to turn Dave’s attention to herself or the kids. He looked like a poster child for an anger management class. Besides, this wasn’t the first fight she’d witnessed at the Davenports. After only a moment’s hesitation, Jesse called the police.
She spent the rest of the evening hiding inside, and occasionally peeking out her window at the officers with their patrol cars, flashing lights, and noisy bullhorns.
CLIVE
Clive strolled along the deserted coastal path. The salty breeze whispered through the palm trees, carrying the faint scent of the ocean and the lingering smoke of bonfires. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow on the dew sparkling on the shrubs lining the trail. The hour was late, well past midnight. Witching hour.
“Remember the night we met?” Clive murmured. “It was a summer night. Your father was such a stickler for curfews. Your conscience and common sense both go to bed at midnight, he always said. Have you seen him recently? Are you able to talk with him?”
Clive strained to listen for a reply, but he heard only his own footsteps and those of another. His neck tickled with apprehension. Turning, he relaxed when he caught sight of Dave Davenport, a man he recognized from church, with a beer bottle in one hand and a scowl on his face.
“Clive, is that you?” Dave called out, his voice gruff with annoyance and maybe something else. Something all too familiar.
“Yeah-ho, Dave.” Clive stopped to wait for Dave to catch up. “You’re out late.”
“So are you.”
The smell of Dave’s breath made Clive take a step back.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Clive admitted.
“It’s hot.” Dave ran his finger around the neck of his T-shirt. “Mia refuses to turn on the air. We never should have bought that house.”
Was there a connection between the weather and home -ownership Clive had missed?
Dave stumbled and nearly pitched head-first into the canyon.
Clive shot out his arm to keep the man upright. They did a slight impromptu dance on the path.
“Have to sleep with the windows open. Damn nosey neighbors,” Dave grumbled, his brow furrowed in frustration. “I swear, that woman next door just can’t seem to mind her own business. Always poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Nosey Nancy. Jabbering Jesse.”
Clive listened as Dave launched into a tirade about his neighbor, his slurred words tinged with bitterness and resentment. A pang of sympathy swept over him.
“Let me walk you home.” Clive offered a sympathetic smile, knowing that sometimes people just needed someone to walk beside them.
“I’m not going back. I can’t even look at that woman’s house without wanting to…” Dave sucked in a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fists in rapid succession.
“Without what?” Clive fought a snake of worry for the unknown Nosey Nancy slithering across his skin. “You wouldn’t hurt her, would you? Violence is never the answer.”
“So, what is? What should I do?”
“What did she do?”
Dave wagged his head. “I don’t want to talk about her.” But he obviously did, because he continued, “I go to the tool section in Lowe’s. And who do I see? That woman! What is she doing in the tool section, anyway?”
“Maybe she needed to fix something.”
Dave jutted out his chin. “Women like that aren’t playing handyman. They hire handymen. She’s spying on me, plain and simple. I spend all day at a job I hate, and who should come in?”
“Sylvester Stallone?”
Dave didn’t even miss a beat. It was as if Clive hadn’t spoken.
“That woman! Says she needs new brakes on her fifteen-year-old Honda.” Dave shook his head. “Cars aren’t made to last that long. She has it out for me. She’s waiting for me to trip up.”
“And then what?”
Dave took a long pull on his beer bottle before answering. “You tell me! She has too much time on her hands.”
“Did you put new brakes on her car?”
Dave smiled, but it was an ugly smile.
Clive’s breath hitched. “You fixed her brakes, right?”
“Of course, but I was tempted…anyone would be.”
Should Clive warn this Nosey Nancy neighbor? He followed Dave along the path. The man stumbled onto the sidewalk, and Clive stayed close behind. Wordlessly, they clomped through the sleepy neighborhood of mid-century ranch-style homes.
Clive’s heart picked up the pace when he realized they were approaching Jesse’s neighborhood. Lorraine had asked him to drop off a book she’d thought Jesse would like. A Nicholas Spark’s love story. Why Lorraine couldn’t have given it to Jesse herself still puzzled him. But he had done as she’d asked. Knocked on Jesse’s door with a hammering heart. Had he been relieved or disappointed when Jesse didn’t answer the door? He still didn’t know.
But here he was again.
Dave stopped in front of the white bungalow with pepper-red trim. White roses spilled from the garden beds. A stone statue of a dog holding a basket full of real flowers stood at the door like a sentinel. Despite the dark windows, it looked like a friendly, welcoming place. Just like its owner.
Was Jesse home now?
Would she glance out the window and see him with Dave? Would she maybe think he and Dave were beer buddies?
No. She knew him better than that, didn’t she? They’d been working together for almost ten years, after all.
Dave spat on the lawn before tottering up the walk of a brown rambler surrounded by a patchy lawn.
“Goodnight,” Clive called after him.
Dave lifted his beer in a silent salute. He climbed the porch with heavy steps and banged through the door.
Clive frowned at something hunkering in the tall grass. Could it be a coyote? No. He edged closer to inspect it.
Why was a microwave lying on the lawn?
Jesse
The next morning when Jesse arrived at work, Marlene met her at the back door. “She’s had a doozy of a night. She’ll probably sleep all day.”
“Nightmares?” Jesse bustled into the mudroom, hung her jacket on the rack beside Lorraine’s Hermes scarves and Burberry coat, slipped off her shoes, and slid her feet into a pair of slippers.
“I don’t think so.” Marlene shrugged into her sweater. “She seems pretty lucid, except she keeps going on about that box. We need to keep an eye on her, or the next thing we’ll know she’ll be out in the canyon with the coyotes looking for that thing.”
Jesse had heard Lorraine talking about the box a few times before, but she hadn’t been paying attention. “What do we know about it?”
“Only that it’s very valuable and quite old.”
“If it’s so priceless, why take it into the canyon?”
Marlene laughed. “She claims it walked there.”
Jesse pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “What does Kelly say?”
“She’s tired of listening to her mom go on and on about it.”
“She doesn’t know what sort of box it is, either?”
Marlene shook her head and shouldered her purse. “Good luck today. Her breakfast is in the kitchen. I wanted to take it up, but she insisted on waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” Jesse found Clive in the kitchen arranging freshly cut lavender shoots in large vases. “Those smell like heaven.”
“A bumper crop this year.”
Clive was a man of few words, but Jesse liked this about him. She knew he was related to Lorraine. Like all the other members of the Galtero family, he had to be incredibly wealthy, and yet, he designed the resort grounds and spent hours working on Lorraine’s extensive property. The lavender fields alone were a true work of art.
Jesse wished she could draw Clive into a conversation, but he seemed to clam up whenever they were thrown together. “Would you like me to take those upstairs for you?”
Clive looked as if he wanted to say something more, but, after a moment, he mutely nodded and handed her the vase.
To her surprise, Jesse found Lorraine sitting up in her bed with a needle, thread, and an embroidery hoop in her hands. Her glasses had slid down her nose, and her swimmy eyes greeted Jesse with a smile.
Jesse nodded at the needlework. “I’m glad to see you’ve picked that back up.” Lorraine had been laboring over the same bit of needlework for as long as Jesse had been working there—twenty-two years.
“I’ll finish before I die, if it’s the last thing I do.” Lorraine shook the hoop with so much force, the needle attached to a thread danced in the air. “Did you see my cousin in the kitchen?”
“I did.” Jesse placed the lavender on Lorraine’s nightstand and smiled because they looked so beautiful against the backdrop of the window overlooking the gardens.
Lorraine made a harrumphing sound. “Did he talk to you?”
“Was he supposed to?”
Lorraine sighed. “If he’s still there, could you send him up?”
“We could just call him. I’m sure he has his cell.”
“No.” Lorraine barked out the word. “Go and fetch him.” After a moment, she added, “and bring me my breakfast.”
Only slightly confused—but probably less confused than Lorraine—Jesse trotted down to the kitchen. When Clive was nowhere in sight, she loaded up Lorriane’s breakfast tray and took the stairs back to Lorraine.
Jesse placed the food on the nightstand beside the lavender stems.
Lorraine eyed the tray. “I don’t want eggs. I hate eggs.”
“You have eggs every morning,” Jesse said, surprised. Lorraine had always had a sunny, easygoing personality.
“That’s why I hate them.” Lorraine pulled a face.
Jesse fought back a smile, balled her hands into fists, and planted them on her hips. “What do you want?”
Lorraine leaned back onto her pillows and addressed the ceiling. “Crepes with raspberry and cream filling.”
Jesse glanced out the window at Lorraine’s garden, a blossoming patch that dwarfed the size of Jesse’s yard. The raspberries would be hard and green little balls this time of the year. She sighed. “I’ll go and talk to Clive about the raspberries.” Maybe they still had some in the freezer from last season.
Lorraine snorted. “Useless boy. He doesn’t know a trowel from a hoe.”
Jesse wanted to argue, because she thought Clive did an amazing job on Lorraine’s enormous piece of property, but she knew better than to engage Lorraine in an argument. Besides, she also suspected if she stayed away long enough, Lorraine would forget about raspberry crepes and eat the eggs.
Lorraine pinned Jesse with a serious gaze. “He doesn’t have to work, you know. He has just as much money as me, probably more because he doesn’t spend a dime if he can help it. I don’t know why he insists on living like a monk. He’s always been so painfully shy. Even as a child…”
Jesse wanted to hear more about Clive, but just then Lorraine’s phone buzzed.
Lorraine plucked up her landline and answered. “Beach clean- up day, you say?” Her gaze slid to Jesse, and she placed her hand over the phone’s receiver. “What are you doing on Saturday morning?”
“Nothing,” Jesse replied.
Lorraine got a conniving look in her eye. “I’ll pay you a $100 an hour to help clean the beach. Deal?”
Jesse wanted to laugh at Lorraine’s serious expression. “Silly, you don’t have to pay me to help with that. I can volunteer, just like everyone else.”
“But if I pay you, you’ll go for sure?”
Jesse smiled, wondering what Lorraine was thinking. “Sure.”
CLIVE
Clive joined the bustling crowd gathered for the community beach clean-up day. Lorraine had insisted he attend. Not that he minded. Especially now that he realized Jesse was also volunteering. He stole glances at her. Her easy smile and happy spirit always reminded him of his Michelle before her illness. Now, as they stood side by side with gloves and trash bags in hand, he felt a flutter of excitement.
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Jesse grinned and gestured toward the scattered debris littering the shoreline.
The sun cast a warm glow over the sandy shore. The Beautify the Beach Bunch, an army of volunteers wearing lime-green vests and carrying trash sticks, stood near the lifeguard tower, awaiting instructions. In the water, surfers caught waves while families played volleyball on the sand, and sunbathers soaked up the warm rays. The sound of the crashing tide and laughter filled the air.
Still, even with everything going on around him, Clive had a hard time focusing on anyone other than Jesse. He barely listened to the Beautify the Beach Boss, a kid in his thirties with a nose smeared with sunscreen and carrying a whistle. After the instructions, the bunch were set loose.
Clive and Jesse fell into an easy rhythm spearing trash, chasing seagulls, and exchanging jokes. Their task carried them to a secluded cove encircled by towering black boulders, rugged cliffs, and lush vegetation.
Clive struggled to find something to say, but after a moment, he came up with a joke. “Why did the tide blush?”
Jesse slid him a glance. “I don’t know.”
“Because it saw the ocean’s bottom.”
Jesse half-snorted and half-laugh. “Okay, that was bad, but I have one that’s worse. Why don’t oysters share their pearls at the beach?”
“Because they don’t want to cast their pearls before swimmers?”
Jesse straightened. “That’s good. That might be even better than the real punch line.”
The real punch line? Should Clive admit that he might be in love with her? Even though they’d never even been on a date?
“Because they’re shellfish,” Jesse said.
When Clive didn’t respond, she said, “Get it? Shellfish?”
He barked out a laugh because that was what she expected.
Jesse stumbled; her foot caught in an abandoned fishing net hidden beneath the sand.
“Are you okay?” Clive dropped his trash stick and reached for her.
Jesse grimaced, shaking her head. Standing on one leg, she fought to free herself. “I think I’m stuck.” She took his proffered hand.
Clive nodded, reaching down to help her untangle her foot from the net. But when he pulled, he felt the net tightening around his own leg, trapping him in its snare. “Uh- oh,” Clive muttered, realizing he was now tangled up in the net alongside Jesse. He fell and took her down.
She landed on his lap but only stayed for half a second.
Inching away, she fought the net.
Laughter bubbled up between them. They tried to free themselves, but their efforts only seemed to make matters worse. And to add to the chaos, a friendly dog bounded over, a piece of driftwood clutched firmly in its mouth. With each enthusiastic wag of its tail, the dog accidentally sprayed sand onto Clive and Jesse.
Their hands and ankles brushed as they struggled to free themselves. Somehow, the net seemed symbolic of Clive’s tangled emotions. He had to tell her. But it had been so long now, he didn’t know how.
Jesse stopped fighting the net and sat back on her heels. “A piece of rope went into a bar.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“It’s a joke. A piece of rope went into a bar, and the barkeeper said, ‘Hey, you! Didn’t you read the sign? No ropes allowed.’”
“So, the rope went outside, tied himself into a knot, and ruffled the end of his rope before returning to the bar.”
“Hey, aren’t you a rope?’ the barkeeper demanded. “’I’m a frayed knot,’ the rope replied.”
This time, Clive really did laugh.
The dog took this as a welcoming sign and climbed onto Clive’s lap.
Clive wished it was Jesse in his lap, but he laughed, grabbed the dog’s stick, and sent it flying.
The dog gave chase.
Seconds later, a harried-looking woman came bounding over a dune chasing after the dog. She stopped short when she spotted Clive and Jesse tangled up in the net.
“Goodness,” she said. “Looks like you two could use some detangling. I bet the lifeguard has something in his first-aid kit.”
“Would you mind getting him?” Jesse asked.
“No problem.” The woman grabbed hold of the dog’s leash. “I was going to apologize for my dog’s behavior, but he might have saved you from having to do a crab-walk through the sand.”
Clive couldn’t imagine anyone he’d rather crab-walk with.
Jesse propped her knees and hugged them. “My mom used to call things like this a sheep in a wolf’s clothing.”
“Things like what?” Clive asked.
“Mixed blessings. When something like a dog knocking sand over you seems like a nuisance, but if he hadn’t come, we might have been stuck here all day.”
But for Clive, being stuck with Jesse wouldn’t have been a nuisance at all. Like the frayed knot, a nuisance, or a blessing, was just all in how you looked at things.
JESSE
Jesse sat curled up on her couch, a quilt draped over her legs, and a book resting open in her lap. The dim light of the lamp cast a warm glow over the room. The clock struck midnight, and Jesse set aside her book, pulled herself out of her cocoon, and headed for bed.
A frantic knock shattered the silence.
Jesse peeked out the window.
Mrs. Jenkins, her elderly neighbor, stood on the porch, her face etched with worry. She wore a floral nightgown under a fuzzy robe and clutched a worn shawl tightly to her chest. The tension in Jesse’s spine eased, and she opened the door.
“Jesse! Oh, thank heavens you’re still awake!” Mrs. Jenkins’ voice trembled.
Jesse’s brow furrowed. “Goodness, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Whiskers, my cat. He’s out on adventures!” Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes pleaded for help. “I’ve searched everywhere, but I can’t find him.”
Jesse understood. The night and nearby canyon were full of coyotes. “Of course. Let me fetch my flashlight. We’ll find Whiskers together.”
Retreating to her house, Jesse tossed a worn bathrobe over her cat pajamas and slipped her feet into fluffy slippers. When the coyotes began to howl, she wished she had a can of bear spray. Sweeping her gaze over her bathroom counter, she plucked up a can of aerosol hairspray.
Back outside, Jesse reassured Mrs. Jenkins and offered what she hoped looked like a comforting smile. “It’s no trouble at all.”
With a sniffle, Mrs. Jenkins followed Jesse out into the dark.
The damp, chilled night air swirled around Jesse. Distant yelps and yips added an eerie backdrop, sending a crawling shiver over Jesse’s skin. She tightened the belt of her robe, her grip firm on the flashlight. The hairspray inside her robe pocket banged against her leg.
“Don’t worry,” Jesse said, her voice steady despite her fluttering nerves. “We’ll find Whiskers. He couldn’t have gone too far.”
CLIVE
It had taken him all day and into the night to buck up his nerves, but now Clive walked past Jesse’s house. His steps faltered when he saw the darkened windows, but he opened the front gate, unwilling to be deterred.
Dave stumbled out of the neighboring house. “Clive, my man!” he slurred, lurching toward Clive with a drunken grin. “You gotta come see this! It’s hilarious!”
Clive sighed, his heart sinking. His heart-to-heart with Jesse would have to wait.
Again.
“Dave, not now. You’re drunk. Let’s get you inside.”
“No. You gotta see this. It’s funny. You’ll love it.”
With a resigned silent shrug, Clive took Dave by the arm and guided him toward their pastor’s house, knowing that Pastor Nickels would be able to help sober Dave up and get him home safely.
Dave shook him off. “Where we going?”
Disappointment dogged Clive as he steered Dave down the street. He had worked up the courage to finally confide in Jesse, only to have it thwarted by Drunk Dave.
By the time Clive returned to Jesse’s house, he saw her lights were off and the windows dark. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to knock on her door, but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to disturb her if she was already asleep.
With heavy footfalls, Clive turned away from Jesse’s house, his mind filled with regret as he walked home alone in the darkness.
He had missed his chance.
Shadows danced in the soft glow of the moon. Clive trudged wearily down the familiar path towards his apartment, his mind already drifting towards the comfort of his bed. He was about to turn the corner when he heard a muffled cry, barely audible against the backdrop of the night.
Curiosity piqued, Clive quickened his pace, his steps guided by the sound. He rounded the corner and spotted Jesse and an elderly woman standing beneath the towering oak tree at the edge of the sidewalk. A flashlight illuminated their upturned faces. He smiled when he spotted Jesse’s cat-splattered pajamas.
“What’s up?” Clive called out, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.
Jesse flashed him a glance, relief washing over her features. “Whiskers is up there!”
Clive’s gaze followed Jesse’s outstretched arm, and sure enough, he spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering down from the highest branch.
When was the last time he’d climbed a tree? He had dim memories of playing Tarzan as a child. Could he still do it? Minus the chest-thumping?
Clive reached for the closest branch and hauled himself up, his muscles protesting. One branch at a time, he swung himself higher. When he neared the trembling Whiskers, Clive spoke in soothing tones, his voice a gentle sing-song amid the rustling leaves. With careful precision, he reached out and scooped the frightened feline into his arms, cradling him close to his chest.
Once safely on the ground, Clive handed Whiskers over to Mrs. Jenkins, who enveloped the cat in a tight hug, tears wetting her cheeks. Together, the trio began the journey back to Mrs. Jenkins’ home, their steps guided by the moon.
Clive stole a glance at Jesse walking beside him, her face lit by the streetlight’s glow.
Could he confide in her now?
His gaze slid to Mrs. Jenkins.
The woman was prattling on about how she’d rescued Whiskers as a kitten.
No. He would wait.
JESSE
The next few days passed quietly. Jesse received a few texts from Lily and Rosa. Pictures of the Tower Bridge. A video clip of the changing of the guard. A snapshot of someone who looked like Daniel Radcliffe. Jesse cradled her phone in her hand. It had taken her months to save up the money for her daughters’ trip. She offered a silent prayer their paternal grandmother welcomed them into her home, if not into her life.
Jesse ran a critical eye over her own home. Without the girls, it seemed like a tomb. She sniffed and wiped away a lonely tear.
The neighbor’s door slammed.
Jesse looked up to watch Dave Davenport storming through the back gate.
Oh, dear. Trouble had returned.
Jesse stood and gathered her purse. She would not spend another day listening to her neighbor’s war. She would go to the grocery store and splurge. Maybe she’d prepare a picnic for the Fourth of July and invite Marlene to join her. She couldn’t afford much, but maybe some fine chocolates, a roasted chicken, grilled vegetables, and a bottle of sparkling lemonade. Her imagination began to spark, and she imagined her fare spread out on the quilt Rosa had made at El Ocaso Resort to watch the fireworks exploding over the town. Even if Marlene had other plans, Jesse promised herself she’d go.
There had been festivities for the Fourth of July at the resort for most of Jesse’s life, until COVID struck. And now, finally, they could celebrate again. Jesse wouldn’t miss it.
Maybe Clive would be there?
CLIVE
Clive pushed his cart through the bustling aisles of the grocery store, his mind preoccupied with the list of items he needed to pick up for his visiting niece. He reached for a box of tampons, trying to discreetly hide it beneath a bag of chips and a loaf of bread. Embarrassed, he glanced around, hoping no one would notice.
“Hey, Clive,” a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
Jesse stood beside him, a smile lighting up her face as their gazes met. A warm jolt shot through him. At Lorraine’s, where he typically saw her, she always wore her brightly colored scrubs with a pair of clunky clogs. Sometimes, the scrubs were covered with flowers or puppies—they were as cheerful as their owner—but they were shapeless and as form-fitting as a grocery bag. Today, she wore a pair of hip-hugging jeans, a T-shirt he suspected was one of her daughter’s hand-me-downs, and a pair of red sneakers.
She was adorable.
Jesse plucked a box of adult diapers off the shelf. “If we don’t keep Lorraine well-stocked, she starts air-drying these guys and reusing them.” Jesse laughed and shook her head. “It’s amazing. I have to remind her she’s rich.”
Her gaze landed on the tampons, and a flash of curiosity lighted her eyes, but she kept her questions to herself. She was probably doing some math and wondering why Michelle, who would have been in her mid-fifties, needed tampons.
Clive wanted to climb underneath the toilet paper display and hide.
“I swear, they rearrange the aisles so often in this place, I get lost almost every time.” Jesse pulled a face. “I wonder where the pasta sauce is hiding today.”
“Pasta sauce?” Clive said, his voice slightly shaky as he tried to compose himself. “Yeah, it’s just down this aisle., I’ll show you.”
They walked together, and a pang gnawed in Clive’s belly. Now was the perfect time to tell Jesse the truth about Michelle and explain the tampon purchase, but the words caught in his throat. He really didn’t want to talk about tampons or adult diapers.
“Do you have plans for the Fourth?” Jesse wheeled her cart past the pasta boxes and stopped at the jars of sauces.
“My sister and niece are in town.”
“I heard the fireworks at the resort will be spectacular this year. I’m so glad we’re finally getting back to normal. Everyone’s coming out of their COVID hidey-holes.”
Not everyone, Clive thought. But he nodded, his grief pressing down his shoulders. His therapist had told him to live in day-tight compartments and to focus on the here and now. At this moment, he was standing beside a beautiful woman in front of a gorgeous display of pasta sauces. To stay grounded, he silently read all the different jar labels. Marinera, alfredo, clam sauce, pesto…
Jesse frowned at the myriad of choices before selecting vodka sauce. “I’ve never had vodka before, or the sauce, but I like its color.” She put the bottle into her cart. “Well, it was nice running into you. I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” Jesse and her cart spun away.
Clive couldn’t shake his unease. It hung in the air around him like a dark cloud. He knew he should tell Jesse, and Marlene the truth about Michelle, but he dreaded the conversation. Michelle’s death was an even more difficult topic than tampons.
His therapist had suggested he make a small pamphlet about Michelle’s death and hand it to people when they asked about her. That way they could get the information without his having to relive those awful months of the pandemic. But the thought of compiling the pamphlet overwhelmed him.
With a heavy sigh, Clive continued his shopping, his deception made his feet and heart heavy. The truth would eventually come out, and he would have to face the consequences of his lies of omission.
JESSE
Jesse enjoyed poking around the gourmet grocery store, tasting the store samples, and selecting the colorful fruits and vegetables. She came home with bags of produce and even fresh flowers. She was about to call Marlene when she caught sight of Mia sitting on her back porch, her shoulders hunched, crying.
You should give the Davenports your picnic, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother’s said.
“No,” Jesse said out loud, even though her grandmother had been dead for ten years. Jesse took the Gerber daisies, chopped off the stems, and put them in a glass vase. They were a bright, happy spot of color on her kitchen counter.
You should give them your picnic, the voice insisted.
“Not happening,” Jesse told her empty kitchen. She picked up her phone and noticed she had another text from Lily—a picture of Lily and a boy sitting on a red scooter atop a rolling green hill. An ancient cathedral stood in the background.
Her thoughts went back to the brief years she’d spent with Travis. They had planned to go to England to meet his family, but they kept putting it off until it was too late, and he was gone.
Love comes and goes.
Her gaze drifted back to the window, and she wondered when Dave and Mia had fallen out of love. She considered the bouquet. Could she just give them the flowers and maybe a card? She slowly shook her head. Neither of them deserved a thing. They had been keeping her awake with their shouting for years.
Squaring her shoulders, Jesse called Marlene and asked if she was free on the Fourth of July. They made plans to meet at the El Ocaso Resort the next evening at dusk.
But that night, when the moon was near its zenith, Jesse collected all her lovely food, the vase of flowers, and even the quilt Rosa had made and placed it all on the Davenport’s’ front porch.
CLIVE
The air crackled with anticipation. Clive stood on the resort’s lush green park, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. Spectators, laughing and talking, surrounded him, but he only felt the presence of Michelle’s ghost. Remember when, my love…
The Fourth of July fireworks at the resort had been a forty-year tradition, until COVID. Then the world had come to a screeching halt. Now, finally, after a two-year hiatus, life and decade’s’ old traditions were returning.
For most, at least.
COVID had forever changed Clive’s life. He wasn’t sure he was capable of recovering.
But this year, with the display set against the backdrop of the crashing waves, it promised to be truly breathtaking. Clive found an empty spot on the massive lawn and set up his folding chair. He settled down, propped out his long legs, and drifted back in time to Angie’s first Fourth of July. She had cowered with every boom. She would get so upset she’d vomit. Michelle cradled her and spoke gently in Angie’s floppy ears. Nothing helped. For the next fourteen years, Clive and Michelle boycotted the Fourth’s festivities and stayed at home to comfort their terrified terrier.
Lost in his thoughts, a familiar voice startled Clive out of his memories. Turning, he spotted Candy Thompson, a woman from his church, standing with an adorable blonde, blue-eyed child by her side. Her eyes were filled with sadness, making him wonder if she still mourned the loss of her husband.
Of course, she did.
He waved her over.
“Clive, it’s so good to see you,” Candy said, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.
Clive nodded, offering a sympathetic smile. “Likewise, Candy.” To the child, he extended his hand in a formal gesture. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Clive. Howdy.”
The child shifted a Raggedy Ann doll in her arms so she could put her hand in his.
He shook with solemnity.
“Howdy,” the girl whisper-repeated.
Candy put her hand on top of the child’s head. “This is my granddaughter, Penny. She’s a bit nervous about the fireworks.”
“I’m not nervous,” Penny insisted. “Mrs. Annie is nervous. Not me.”
Clive nodded at the doll. “Well, Mrs. Annie, I understand your concerns.”
“It’s been two years since we’ve had a proper show,” Candy said. “That’s half of Penny’s life.”
“And maybe all of Mrs. Annie’s,” Clive ventured.
Penny hugged her doll a fraction closer. “She doesn’t like loud noises.”
“Understandable,” Clive said in a serious tone. “I also knew someone who was scared of the fireworks.”
“Did they grow to love them?” Candy asked.
Clive wanted to say yes, for Penny’s sake, but he also didn’t want to lie. “No. Never. And because of it, we had to stay at home locked in our house on the Fourth of July for the whole fourteen years of her life.”
Candy gasped.
Penny’s eyes grew wide.
Candy pressed her hand against her chest. “She died so young.”
“Not really. Angie was a terrier, so fourteen in doggy—years made her about ninety-eight.”
“Do you have a picture of her?” Penny asked.
“I do.” Clive dug his wallet out of his jeans pocket, pulled out a faded photo of himself, Michelle, and Angie, and handed it to Penny.
Candy peered over her granddaughter’s shoulder. “You must miss them.”
“I do, but if Angie were still alive, I wouldn’t be here. I would still be hiding in my house.”
“Do you mind if we join you?” Candy pointed at the patch of grass beside him.
“I would love that.”
Candy unfolded the blanket and smoothed it out.
Penny dropped onto it and, sitting Indian-style, settled Mrs. Annie in her lap.
Candy sighed, her gaze drifting out to the dark sea. “It’s been tough, especially on nights like these. But having Penny here helps.”
“Where are her parents?”
“On a cruise. I could have gone with them, but…”
Clive nodded, his own heart heavy with compassion. “I understand.”
“This is better, right?” Candy asked. “I’m just trying to find my new normal. I’m not ready for the out-of-the-ordinary. Maybe I don’t want to have fun.”
Penny twisted to give her grandmother a look. “You said this will be fun. You promised it would be fun.”
Candy brightened, but even Clive, who didn’t know her as well as Penny, could tell her smile was artificial. “Being with you is always fun. And your mother loved the Fourth of July at the resort when she was just your age.”
“They’ve been having fireworks here that long?” Penny asked, as if her mother were ancient.
“For years and years,” Candy assured her. “They only took a break because of the pandemic. Now, life is getting back to normal.”
But her tone let Clive know that normal was still out of reach for her.
A distant microphone crackled. “Test. Test. Test,” a voice said. The mayor introduced a woman who would be singing the Star-Spangled Banner.
Clive and Candy stood and placed their hands over their hearts.
After the song, the skin-pricking sensation of being watched tickled the back of Clive’s neck. He shook it off, sat in his chair, and stretched out his long legs.
Candy sat beside him with her arms encircling her propped-up knees.
Penny sat like a statue, her shoulders tense.
Watching the colors dance across the sky, Clive noticed a familiar face across the park.
Jesse. Was she alone? Should he go to her?
Ah, but there was Marlene, picking her way through the crowd, holding two ice- cream cones like Olympic torches.
Clive remained where he was, content to watch the show with Candy and Penny. The night sky exploded in a riot of color.
Penny’s expression turned from fear to wonder.
JESSE
Jesse and Marlene sat at the edge of the park.
Marlene had her gaze fixed on the vibrant bursts of color lighting up the night sky.
Jesse tried to focus on the show, but her attention kept drifting to Clive, who sat across the park, engaged in conversation with a woman she didn’t recognize.
Who was that child?
“Isn’t that Clive over there?” Marlene whispered, her voice tinged with curiosity.
Jesse nodded, her gaze flicking to where Clive sat, his profile illuminated by the glow of the fireworks. “Yes, it is. But who’s that woman he’s talking to?”
“Do you think he’s dating again?”
Jesse raised an eyebrow, her interest more than piqued. “Hmm, they look pretty chummy.” A flutter of jealousy tickled inside of her. She had hoped that when he started dating again, he’d notice her.
Marlene chuckled softly, shaking her head in amusement. “Knowing Clive, he probably has some perfectly innocent explanation. But it does make you wonder, doesn’t it? He’s too old for me, of course, but maybe you…?”
Jesse chose to ignore Marlene’s comment and tried to refocus on the fireworks as they exploded in a shower of sparks overhead. “Maybe it’s just a friendly conversation.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” Marlene licked her ice cream.
But Jesse kept Clive and the mysterious woman talking animatedly across the park in her peripheral vision. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. A cold breeze rifled her hair, and Jesse hugged her knees against her chest.
The show continued to light up the sky, casting shadows of doubt and suspicion over the night.
* * *
At night, between turning off the light and sleep, was when Jesse missed her girls the most. The muted music, the whispered conversations, their occasional bumping around in the dark. Tonight, only the sound of rustling leaves in the breeze broke the silence. Jesse lay in bed, half-asleep, when a banging on her front door sounded.
Moments later, someone hammered on her back door.
Jesse jolted upright, heart racing, and stumbled out of bed, cinching her robe tighter. Maybe it was Mrs. Jenkins again? She found Mia standing on the back porch, her eyes wide, clutching the quilt that Jesse had gifted her, its once vibrant colors now faded with time.
“Jesse, please, let me in,” Mia pleaded, her voice trembling. ““I... I can’t go back there. Dave... he’s drunk again.”
Without hesitation, Jesse waved Mia inside and wrapped her in a comforting embrace. “Of course, Mia. You’re safe here. You can stay the night.” She cast a fretful glance at the neighbor’s house. “Does he know where you are?”
Mia shook her head and studied her bare feet.
Leading Mia down the hallway, Jesse pushed open the door to her daughter’s old room, the memories flooding back with each creak of the floorboards. She watched as Mia sank onto the bed, her hands still clutching the quilt to her chest.
“He won’t find you,” Jesse reassured her, her voice gentle yet firm. “You can rest now. Everything will be okay.”
She swept a glance over Mia. The woman wore a pair of cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. “Let’s see if we can find you a pair of pajamas. You’re shorter than Lily, but I bet we can find something comfortable to sleep in.”
“I can’t—”
Jesse rifled through Lily’s dresser. “Of course, you can. You can do anything you want.” She found a white frilly nightgown and pulled it out. Where had this come from? She’d never seen Lily wear it before, which meant Lily wouldn’t mind Mia borrowing it. She handed it to Mia. “Let me find you a toothbrush.”
“You’re being too nice.”
“How can anyone be too nice?” Jesse headed for the first-aid emergency kit she kept in the hall closet.
By the time she got back, she saw Mia had curled into the fetal position on Lily’s bed and had fallen asleep.
Jesse debated for a moment, placed the toothbrush and toothpaste on the nightstand, drew the quilt over her neighbor, and slipped out of the room. She padded into the living room, peered through the window, and scanned the dimly lit street. In the distance, she spotted Dave stumbling out of their driveway, wheeling a motorcycle.
Moments later, the machine roared.
Frowning, Jesse slipped on her shoes and crept out into the cool night air, her footsteps muffled by the darkness. Should she try and stop him? If he was drunk, as Mia had said he was, she couldn’t let him drive. He could hurt someone. He would hurt himself.
Jesse stepped back into the house, down the hall past the sleeping Mia, and into her own room. Dialing 9-1-1 on her phone, she pressed it to her ear, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke to the dispatcher on the other end. “There’s a man... he’s driving drunk. Please, you have to send someone before he hurts himself or someone else.”
Soon, the distant wail of sirens pierced the night. Coyotes in the nearby canyon began to howl. Jesse whispered a silent prayer for Mia, Dave, any passengers on the road, and for any neighborhood cats who might fall prey to the newly awakened coyotes.
The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, bathing the kitchen in a warm light. Jesse sipped her morning coffee, her head groggy from her night of interrupted sleep.
Lily’s bed was empty. Except for the quilt.
Mia had gone.
Jesse knew she’d done the right thing by offering Mia a place to stay, but now she was in a quandary. Should she keep the quilt? The quilt she’d given Mia. The quilt Rosa had made.
Jesse folded it neatly on the table, a colorful patchwork of memories and emotions. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric, her mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. Should she return it to Mia? It obviously meant more to Jesse than it ever could to Mia.
With a heavy sigh, Jesse paced back and forth across the kitchen. She felt torn between her sense of duty to do the right thing and her desire to hold onto the quilt her daughter had made.
Finally, after much deliberation, Jesse made a decision. She picked up the quilt, took it into her bedroom, and draped it over the back of the wooden rocking chair her grandfather made and given to her as a wedding present.
JESSE
Days later, Jesse sat beside Lorraine’s bed.
Lorraine, her wrinkled hands clasped tightly together, gazed out of the window with a wistful expression, as if lost in memories.
“Jesse,” Lorraine began, her voice a fragile whisper that seemed to carry a lifetime of wisdom. “Do you ever think about the things around us? The objects, I mean. Do you think they have a spirit of their own?”
Jesse tilted her head, intrigued by Lorraine’s question. “What do you mean?”
Lorraine sighed, her gaze drifting towards the worn-out armchair in the corner of the room, its faded upholstery a testament to years of use and love. “I’ve always believed that everything, no matter how small or insignificant, has a spirit,” she explained. “A soul, if you will. And just like people, these things... they yearn to be where they belong, with people who appreciate them.”
Jesse’s thoughts went to Rosa’s quilt, and she leaned in to listen. ““So, you think that even objects have feelings?”
Lorraine nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Yes, dear. Call me old-fashioned if you will, but I’ve always believed that there’s more to this world than meets the eye. That everything, from the humblest pebble to the grandest oak tree, has a story to tell.”
Jesse pondered Lorraine’s words, wondering if what she said could be true. Had Rosa’s quilt come home? Maybe all things, like people, just wanted to be where they belonged.
Leaning closer to Lorraine, Jesse reached out and took her hand in her own, her touch a silent affirmation of their shared affection. “Thank you for sharing that,” she said, her voice soft with gratitude. “It’s a beautiful way to see the world.”
The quiet night wrapped around Jesse like a comforting embrace.
* * *
The next day when she got to work, Lorraine insisted Jesse spend the day in the canyon looking for the lost box.
After an eye roll, Jesse collected her sweater, donned a pair of gardening clogs, and banged out the back door. She stomped across the expansive lawn.
“I don’t even know what it looks like,” Jesse complained to Clive when she met up with him in the lavender field.
The sea of blue flowers shifted in the summer breeze.
Clive leaned against his shovel. “Sounds like you’ve been given the day off.”
“She’ll be upset when I come back empty-handed.” Jesse pulled her sweater tighter, despite the rising, warming sun.
Clive hitched an eyebrow. “Will she, though? Or will she even remember?”
“There are coyotes and mountain lions down there,” Jesse groused.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Clive looked over the lavender. “Things won’t get too out of control if I take the morning off.”
Jesse considered Clive. They’d been working together for ten years, and in all that time, she’d thought of him only as a friend. Of course, for most of those years he’d been married, as all the good men are. “What will Lorraine say about you cavorting in the canyon when you’re supposed to be taking care of her lavender?”
“She’d say I hope you find that box.” He paused as if mustering courage. “Michelle died of Covid in twenty-twenty.”
Jesse gave him a glance full of compassion. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
“You know?” he echoed.
Jesse tucked her hand around his arm. “Lorraine told me shortly after her death. It must have been devastating, to not even have a funeral. Didn’t you get the flowers and card I sent?”
He seemed confused and shook his head as if to clear away cobwebs. “The whole time period is just a haze.”
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. I understand. The months after my husband’s death are a blur for me, too.”
He swallowed and looked at his shoes. “I’ve never been one to share.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again.
He motioned toward the path and matched his pace to hers. “Losing someone you love to death hurts, but losing the love of someone you care for hurts much worse.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Jesse said. “Travis died so young. So long ago.”
“I know,” Clive said.
Jesse stopped on a bluff overlooking a tangle of oaks and a burbling stream. The soft morning light shone through the trees. Birds wheeled over their heads, and a pair of squirrels chased each other up a pine tree. “It’s so gorgeous.”
“Yes,” Clive said, looking at her and not the beauty before them.
They walked down the shaded path. She told him how she first met Travis. To Jesse’s surprise, talking about Travis didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.
Clive, in turn, told her about his long marriage to Michelle, and her bout with uterine cancer that had left them childless. “Do you think they can hear us?” Clive asked.
Jesse sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I like to think they’re still with us.” To her surprise, she told him about hearing her grandmother’s voice the other night. “At first, I was able to ignore it.”
Clive turned to her, his mouth an O of surprise. “Did you give away your picnic? And a vase of flowers? And a quilt?”
“How did you know?”
“Mia Davenport goes to my church, and I’m good friends with our pastor who told me that when Dave lost his job, they worried he might…” He paused. “Anyway, Dave was in a bad way, and Mia was, too, but then, according to Dave, an angel delivered them a second chance.” He touched her cheek. “You were that angel.”
“I’m not an angel. I didn’t even want to do it. And money, for me, has always been so tight.” Her voice hitched. “And the quilt—that’s something money can’t buy.” She didn’t tell him the quilt had come home, and she had no intention of ever letting it go again.
“And you gave it away, anyway.”
“I don’t think my grandmother’s voice would leave me alone if I didn’t.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “You can’t tell anyone it was me who gave them the picnic.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
He gave her a soft smile. “Of course. Can I call you Angel?”
“No, because I’m not.” Her thoughts went to the quilt draped over her grandfather’s rocking chair. There’s more to this world than meets the eye. Lorraine’s words floated back to her. Everything, from the humblest pebble to the grandest oak tree, has a story to tell. Everything just wants to be where it belongs with people who will appreciate them.
“If you say so.”
They resumed walking, this time in silence, but with the birds chirping around them, it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but peaceful. A movement near the creek’s bank snagged Jesse’s attention. She pointed. “Look!”
Clive’s gaze followed her finger, and he laughed. “You found it!”
“I found what?”
“The McCord Box turtle!” He bounded through the tall grass, his boots smashing bracken.
“You’ll scare it away,” Jesse warned.
He shot her a quick glance over his shoulder. “I’m faster.”
Jesse watched Clive carefully hoist the turtle into the air.
The creature wagged his head from side to side and rotated his fat legs.
“Do you have any idea how valuable this guy is?” Clive asked.
“Valuable?” Jesse echoed. “A turtle?”
Clive nodded. “And old. Miss Lorraine said she lost him more than thirty years ago.”
The information clicked in Jesse’s head. Here was the box Lorraine had said had walked into the canyon!
“How long can they live?” Jesse asked.
“I’m not sure.” Clive studied the creature. “Kelly told me I could keep it if I found it. I’m sure she will say the same to you.”
“Whatever will I do with a turtle? Make turtle soup?” Was it her imagination, or was the turtle kicking more vigorously than before?
“You can sell it to the zoo,” Clive said. “What would you do if you suddenly had ten thousand dollars?”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Jesse snorted. “For a turtle? Surely not…”
“Why not? Nothing is impossible. McCord turtles are extremely rare.”
Just this morning, if someone had told her she won ten thousand dollars, she’d have bought a plane ticket and followed her daughters to Europe, but now, looking at Clive, taking in his warm brown eyes, the laugh lines creasing his skin, and the way the sun lit his hair, she wasn’t so sure. Love was rare, but it did happen. Suddenly, everything seemed possible.
“It’s Lorraine’s turtle. I have to return it to her.”
“Of course, but, knowing my cousin, she’ll want you to have it.” His smile brightened. “What will you do with your windfall?”
Closing her eyes, she saw herself seated on Rosa’s quilt with Clive in the middle of the lavender field, a basket of fresh fruits and vegetables, a chilled bottle of wine, and a pair of goblets between them. Birds circling overhead, calling. Distant music from the resort floating in the air. Her heart swelled with the image, and she leaned her head against Clive’s arm. “I think I’ll call her Hope.”
* * *
Note to the Reader:
Thank you for reading my story Jesse and Clive. It was inspired by a story in a local newspaper about an expensive and very old turtle found in a canyon near Mission Viejo.