The sight that greeted me as I panted my way up the path was the last thing I was expecting, and it pushed the afternoon’s find out of my head. The back garage door was open, and multiple pieces of Beck’s work were arranged on the cement path that led to the house. Sugar weaved in and out of the metal, sniffing and occasionally meowing softly as Mel, clearly in agent mode, stood with her hands on her hips. Clearly smitten, her eyes glittered as she took it all in.
Turning to Beck, she gushed, “Damn, Spike. This is some amazing stuff.”
Joining them, I cleared my throat. Neither acknowledged me, but Mel shifted uneasily. “Sorry, kid. Bad habit of mine, giving people nicknames.”
Beck’s expression didn’t change. “It’s okay, ma’am. Maybe I’ll use that as my artistic alias.”
I choked down a laugh at how much Mel would hate being called “ma’am.” The two women eyed each other for a few seconds while I looked around. It was breathtaking work in various sizes and a variety of styles, from wall hangings to large kinetic sculptures to standalone shapes. I admired a freestanding wave that moved remarkably like the real thing and a series of seagulls in various stages of flight that stretched toward the sky. I didn’t have time to take anything else in before Mel barked out a laugh.
“Okay, kid…uh, Beck. Shall I bring over a contract later today?”
“Does your family have a lawyer, Beck?” I asked. Mel shot me daggers while Beck looked at the ground.
“Not exactly. Erik had one appointed by the court once.”
“Why don’t you look it over, Em?” Mel suggested. “You know how these things work.”
“No,” Beck and I said together.
Mel cocked her head. “Okay,” she said slowly.
“But I’ll call my lawyer and see if she’d be willing to look it over,” I said. “It’ll be the standard form you use with me, so it should only take a few minutes, right?”
“Uh, yeah, pretty much.”
Her answer was evasive enough that I knew I would call no matter what, assuming Beck went through with hiring her to do a showing and sale of her current collection. Mel wasn’t blatantly dishonest, but she wasn’t opposed to making money, especially from someone naïve about the workings of business, like Beck.
June wanted us to come for drinks, Mel said, but we both declined. I wanted very much to linger, to look at the various pieces over and over until I found the one I couldn’t live without, but Beck had already begun putting them into the garage again, giving me quick, sideways glances that obviously meant I should leave. Obeying her wish seemed the least I could do since it was possible my snide remarks had led to this situation. I went quietly inside, hoping she’d be willing to let me see her work later. It occurred to me that her art was different from mine, in that I always had copies of my books available, but once she let a piece go, it was gone.
After what seemed like plenty of time, I went out on the deck to see what Beck was doing. The garage was closed and locked again. She was on the bottom step, Sugar cuddling alongside her, while they watched Xena and Gabrielle chase each other. At the sound of a loud, rattling vehicle coming toward the house, the cats scampered into the garage, and Beck stood. A UPS truck stopped, and I ran downstairs. The delivery guy handed me the box, and I gestured to Beck as I went by again. “Please come upstairs. I need you to help me with this.”
I set the box on the kitchen table and went into my bedroom. When I heard her at the door, I called, “Open that up, will you, Beck? I’ll be right out.”
There was a pause. “You want me to open your package?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes, please. I’ll be out in a few,” I said from the crack in my door where I was watching. I’d forgotten how much fun giving could be.
After slitting the sealing tape open with her pocket knife, she looked toward the bedroom, clearly hesitant to pull apart the flaps of the box. I ducked out of sight. “It’s open,” she called, and I muffled my voice with my hand over my mouth.
“Break the box down so we can recycle it, will you?” That meant she would have to take out the contents and cut the bottom section to flatten the cardboard.
When I peeked again, she was staring at the phone box with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I should, Em. I think there’s been a mistake.”
Wanting to be with her for the big reveal, I returned to the room. “What’s wrong?”
She held out the phone. “You don’t need this. You already have a newer model.”
I covered her hands with mine, making sure she kept a grip on the box. “I don’t need it, but you do. This is my belated birthday present for you.” I held my breath, hoping her birthday wasn’t tomorrow or any time in the near future. I hadn’t prepared myself for her possible refusal and my anxiety built.
She blinked a few times. “My birthday was a long time ago.”
I breathed out. “Exactly. I apologize that this gift is late. And I’m very sorry I was so ugly to you earlier. You’ve already made something of yourself, and you aren’t ever a mooch. You are the opposite of a mooch. You are the kind of person who gives much, much more than she takes, and I don’t want you to think otherwise.” The timing was such that I hoped she wouldn’t think I was trying to buy her forgiveness. But since she’d never seemed suspicious of my motives before, I waited hopefully.
She was alternating between looking at me and looking at the phone, an expression of disbelief on her face. “You got this for me?”
I smiled. “Yes, to replace the one that was broken.” I didn’t mention that I felt at least partly responsible for the whole incident at the dance too. “This way, you can take pictures of your art and make a website. Launch your own sale if you want to. You don’t need to do business with Mel simply because she’s a friend of mine. I want you to feel like this is right for you. The sale. Mel. All of it.”
She swallowed and looked away. “I went and talked to Mr. Howell this morning. He thinks it would be good for me to sell some pieces. He says getting rid of them may help me clear the way to something new, like making room for whatever’s next in my career.”
“Including the PAFA competition?” I said gently.
She nodded. “That mainly. He knows I work best under pressure. He says it’s time.”
Relief washed over me until I realized I was still holding her hands. Then the relief turned into something warmer and more internal. I was struck again by how much I wanted to take her into my bedroom. Giving in to my physical desire for her would be the easiest part. I’d been trying hard to inhibit the growth of my deeper feelings for her by nipping them in the bud, but the fact that she was now staying here was making it much harder. Forcing myself to let go, I said, “I need to get back to work. Can you set this up by yourself?”
Those tiny frown lines had reappeared. “Emily, I don’t think I should. These phones are really expensive.”
“But what if I need you to get something at the store while you’re out? I don’t like not being able to get in touch with you,” I said, surprised to hear the genuine need in my tone. “I’m sure your mother feels the same way.”
She looked at the box again, and I could see a tiny grin forming at the corner of her mouth. “Well, there is that.” Her tone suggested adding her mother to my sales pitch hadn’t been completely convincing. She met my eyes shyly, keeping her hands flat on the table. “Again I…I don’t know how to thank you.”
I cringed, certain she was thinking of my earlier unkind words. “I should be thanking you. You are such a good person. You make me want to be better.” I marched to the almost constant internal drumbeat of my flaws, and this much overt self-avowal was rare.
“I’m not always good. Sometimes I have these thoughts…”
I could see her blushing as she trailed off. I could see something else too. Something in her expression as she looked at me which looked very much like desire. I stepped closer. “What kind of thoughts?” I asked softly.
She swayed toward me, her eyes never leaving mine. “Thoughts about you. And not as a friend.”
I wasn’t sure if it was actually hearing her say the words or the way her body had moved closer that made everything inside me do a funny sort of stutter. I opened my mouth to reply when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I drew away from some automatic impulse, and Beck turned toward the door. Mel came in without knocking, as usual, carrying some papers.
“Here you go, kiddo,” she said, thrusting them in Beck’s direction. When I intercepted and carried them to my computer, Mel’s tone became harsher. “I won’t do anything more until I get your signature.”
“Another few hours won’t matter,” I said, gesturing at Beck. “We’ll bring this to you tomorrow or the next day.”
“Oh, will we?” Mel asked sarcastically. “I didn’t realize this was a three-way deal.”
“She needs time to read this, Mel. Surely you don’t object to that.” I knew from experience that the legalese in a contract could baffle the most gifted intellectual, and I was concerned that Beck’s injury might make such reading even more daunting.
“Whatever.” Mel glared for a few seconds before turning to Beck. “Let me know when you’re ready to make some money.” When Beck merely nodded, she glanced at me. “I guess we’ll see you when we see you.”
“It will be sooner rather than later,” I assured her. She merely grunted and left. Beck and I stood in an awkward silence, the physical space between us seeming impassable. Perhaps she was worried that my friendship with Mel would be jeopardized if anything more happened between us. I tried to think if I’d given her reason to believe that.
After a few seconds, she picked up the phone box. Turning toward her room, she said, “The first thing I’m going to do with the money from my sale is to pay you back for this.”
“It’s a gift,” I called, but there was no answer, other than her bedroom door shutting quietly.
* * *
A while later, I heard her voice, and while I couldn’t make out the words, the tone was one of excitement. I assumed she had gotten the phone working and was probably calling her mother. I moved from my computer, where I’d gotten nothing done, to the couch where I could more comfortably read over the contract. As my sales figures had grown over the years, Mel had taken a slightly smaller percentage, not that she took that much to begin with. The amount she’d be earning from Beck was considerably higher, and I didn’t see where she would be doing much more work to earn it. Oddly, I didn’t feel at all conflicted about siding with Beck on this matter. As important as Mel had been in what I thought of as the most recent chapter of my life, I knew she didn’t need anyone else to protect her or her interests. Beck’s situation was essentially the opposite. She had no previous experience in this type of business and no useful family involvement. I was likely the only person she knew who could help, and though it was completely unlike me to feel confident about looking out for someone this way, I told myself that it was what a friend would do. It wasn’t until we were sitting down to eat that it dawned on me that offering this kind of care was also like something spouses did.
I was pleased to see her carrying the phone, and it remained within sight all through dinner preparation. She put it in her pocket before coming to the table, though, and I was pleased by the display of manners. It always bothered me to see two people staring at their phones instead of talking to each other during a meal, perhaps for the very reason that it confirmed what I’d concluded about the inevitable tedium of relationships.
Granted, interesting conversation was a rare thing. I was apparently desperate for it after spending so much time alone during my marriage, which was probably why my friendship with Mel developed so quickly. I was almost sad, recalling how the thoughtful talks we used to have had grown fewer and farther between. But as my writing career had grown, it increasingly consumed large measures of my time and considerable portions of my thoughts, so I was as much at fault for that as she was. In the past, I’d needed absolute quiet and total seclusion to sink into my imaginary worlds, but for some reason Beck’s presence hadn’t been a distraction. I was honestly glad she was here. Perhaps I’d reached my quota of alone time for now. Or maybe it was that Beck was always good at engaging me.
I cleared my throat and announced, “I hope you don’t mind, but I read over the papers Mel brought.”
She sat straighter. “No, that’s great. What do you think?”
“I think you need to negotiate. Her percentage seems high.”
She frowned and bit her lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I began to talk about the ins and outs of a contract, what she should expect from an agent. In about three minutes, I could see I’d lost her. “Maybe we need to have your mother in on this conversation,” I suggested and saw immediate relief on her face.
“That would be great.” After another second, she said, “She’s going to ask Erik to leave. She said he’s getting on her last nerve.” Lowering her voice, she added, “It may be because she finally saw how he was with me.”
“If that happens, will you go back home?” I asked, aware of my insides clenching. I watched her start to shake her head before she stopped and looked at me.
“Would you want me to?”
Totally unprepared for this question, I felt my mouth go dry, and I stalled by drinking some water. Then, in typical fashion, I punted, hating myself even as the words came out with forced nonchalance. “Whatever you need to do, Beck. I’m fine either way.” Concerned that lie would be apparent if I looked at her, I rose to clear our dishes.
“I guess I’ll see what happens,” I heard her say. I was debating my reply when I heard the screen door close and realized she’d gone out to the deck. Standing at the railing, she was looking out toward the water. It must have been cloudy because there was no moon or starlight.
I joined her, and we stood quietly, side by side for a time. When she sighed, I was certain we must be feeling pretty much the same confusion and indecision, complicated by the underlying attraction that had been growing between us. I’d never minded being alone, so asking her to stay would have been admitting she was what I wanted. But how could she possibly feel the same about me? After spending years developing the verbal jabs that would keep people at arm’s length, making sure they saw only what I wanted them to see, I was shamed by the sincerity with which Beck lived her life. Knowing I could never be open and caring like that, it made sense that I protect both of us by keeping my distance—which was why I couldn’t tell her the truth.
The wind was picking up, and it carried the sound of crashing waves closer than usual. “Weather man says we’ll have showers tonight and bigger storms tomorrow night,” she said, obviously trying for some neutral remark.
I squeezed her shoulders, fighting the urge to press myself against her before letting go. “I think I’ll turn in. Good night.”
“Sleep well, Emily,” she said, but I doubted that would be the case.
* * *
Fear gripped me so tightly, it was like being paralyzed. I couldn’t see or catch my breath, and when the swell of panic hit me, it came with the certainty of having awakened too late. “Help! Please, somebody,” I called as loudly as I could. “Stop. Stop him!”
A few seconds later, I heard the door to my bedroom open, and I put my face in my hands. He’d come back, just like he’d threatened, and now he was going to kill me.
“Emily?” a woman’s voice asked. “Are you okay?”
“Mama?” I sat up, relieved I was able to move again. “Mama, we have to get help.”
“I think you’re having a bad dream.” The voice moved closer. I blinked, staring into the dark, my mind clearing slowly. Of course it wasn’t my mother. Like Abby, she was gone from my life, and it was all my fault. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and I flinched when a hand touched my arm. “You’re here at the beach, remember?”
Beck. “Oh no,” I moaned. What would she think? What could I say?
“It’s fine.” Her hand moved soothingly on my bare arm. “You’re safe. Everything is all right.”
It wasn’t, and it wouldn’t ever be, but she couldn’t know that. “Yeah,” I tried to say but choked, and only a strangled sound came out. Trying to settle myself, I focused on the movement of her hand. Her touch was gentle and calming. God, how I wanted the comfort of it.
Involuntarily, I made a needy, whimpering sound. In response, her weight settled onto the bed, though she didn’t move under the covers. She knelt, hands on both my shoulders, easing me onto the pillows. I turned toward her as she reached around me, hands warm as she caressed my back. I responded automatically, arching into her. This must be how Sugar feels when Beck pets her. I intended to laugh, but what came out was a half sob. I tried to stifle it, to focus myself on the cold lump of guilt and shame that never relinquished its hold on me. But Beck’s presence was too humane, too merciful, and it was like a dam broke. I clung to her, unable to stop the tears, while she pulled me closer, cradling my face. She didn’t ask what was wrong. She didn’t try to quiet me or tell me how everything would be fine. She simply continued stroking my back while I cried for what was lost and for what I’d never had.
It felt like hours passed. Maybe they did. But at some point, my tears ran out, and I was reduced to ragged breathing. The rational part of my mind began forming a series of apologies and possible excuses for my embarrassing behavior, but one of Beck’s hands moved onto my neck, and she massaged me softly, occasionally letting her fingers trail into my scalp. I couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so relaxing, and logic escaped on a long, heavy sigh. My eyes were already fatigued from crying, and I couldn’t seem to keep them open. How was it possible to feel blissful and empty at the same time?
Time passed, and Beck shifted onto one elbow, withdrawing her hand. “Think you can get to sleep again?”
“Please stay.” The words I should have said earlier were out before I even knew I was thinking them.
She let out a breath and settled in. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
* * *
The smell of coffee woke me from the deepest, most restful sleep I’d had in years. Gradually, I recalled the night: the dream, Beck’s gentle comfort, crying myself to sleep. She was gone from the bed, but there were a few muted sounds from the other room. I rehearsed a few possible starters for what was bound to be an awkward morning. “I shouldn’t have asked you to stay,” and “I’m sorry for acting like such a child,” were primary among them. A quick check of the time indicated it was already later than she usually went off to work, so perhaps the discomfort of seeing her wouldn’t be prolonged. Mostly, I hoped she wouldn’t expect some explanation of my emotional upheaval. Her back was to me when I entered the kitchen, but she turned upon hearing me clear my throat, and that beautiful smile flashed across her face.
She walked to meet me, taking my hands as I said, “Listen—”
“Emily,” she interrupted, which was unusual for her. “I know you have some practiced speech you want to give me, but could I say something first?” Stunned, I could only nod. “Last night was the first time I ever slept through the night and woke with someone, and I wanted to say it was very, very nice. And also, I’m glad it was with you.”
Moved, I couldn’t remember a thing I was going to say. I slipped my arms around her waist, and she embraced me, much like she had in the dark. We stood like that for a time until I murmured, “Thank you.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that—other than my husband—it was the first time for me as well.
She sighed and stepped away, saying, “I have to go. I’m late now, but I wanted to be here when you woke up. Breakfast is in the oven. Will you be home for dinner?”
My chest clenched with an unfamiliar sensation of yearning for a life like this, where someone cared about my reactions and considered my needs. Especially someone like Beck, who somehow challenged me and comforted me at the same time. But I had less than nothing to give in return. I had a deficit of worth, and it would be pure selfishness to think otherwise. I did. I wanted to consume her, to take her vitality into my blood and let it restore me. But that would bring her too close, make us both exposed to more hurt, particularly from each other. Better to keep any contact on the uncomplicated carnal level. I could envision ripping her shirt off and putting my hands on her breasts. I wanted to feel her mouth on me. Yes, those desires were much easier to control and should plainly be the limit of my reactions. Still almost dizzy with greed, I took in two shallow breaths. “I think so.”
“Good.” She winked, and I wondered for a second if she’d somehow read my mind. “I’ll see you later. Have a great day.” She opened the door as I reached for my coffee mug. “Sugar’s out here,” she called. “Can she come in and say hi to you?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, still trying to steady my breathing.
“You can toss her out when you’re tired of her. Or if she starts to cry.”
“Right.”
Beck lingered at the door for another few seconds, her gaze on me while the white kitten made its way cautiously inside. I couldn’t help smiling, oddly pleased that she didn’t seem keen to leave. “Wow,” she said smiling back. “A hug and a smile. I’m set for the day now.”
Those last words had the slightest hint of self-satisfaction, so I decided to tease her. Sighing as if terribly bothered, I shook my head. “I suppose next you’ll be asking for a kiss too.”
To my surprise, she shook her head. “I don’t kiss good-bye, Emily, and I don’t kiss hello. I only kiss yes.”
Closing the door quietly, she left me to ponder that. I’d never been much for kissing either, finding it much too intimate for my usual intentions. I wondered if Beck’s motivation was the same or if her meaning of yes was something completely different. I sipped my coffee and watched Sugar make her way across the room toward me. She sniffed thoughtfully at every piece of furniture, running the side of her face along the couch as if to mark it for a return visit. She stopped about a foot away, and I knelt, holding out my hand like Beck had shown me. “Good morning to you.”
She came the rest of the way and rubbed against my fingers, a surprisingly deep purr rumbling from her small form. “I need to talk to somebody,” I told her. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Luckily, she did. I freshened my coffee and carried her out to the deck, where she sat on my lap while I told her about last night. We discussed our feelings, and she was quite certain Beck only had eyes for her. I knew differently. Remembering how Beck held me made me feel almost giddy with a sense of well-being different from anything I’d ever known. Though there had been nothing sexual in her caring touch, more closeness like that would take us from the edge of friendship and into an entirely different relationship. Which, unfortunately, was not a safe place for either of us to venture. There was too little time and too much risk. I sighed, and Sugar rubbed against my stomach, secure in her victory.
“Just promise me you’ll take care of her,” I said when the green eyes looked up at me. “She deserves it.”
* * *
I’d intended to present a middle ground between Emily the swooning wannabe girlfriend and Emily the bitch, but Beck didn’t come upstairs after she arrived late that afternoon. At first, I thought she was playing with the kittens, but when more time passed, curiosity got the better of me, and I went downstairs. When I saw the back garage door open and saw two of the rusted car doors that had been set outside, I couldn’t suppress the thrill that went through me. Beck is working again.
The heavy drag of metal pieces across the ground and a clang that sounded like a muffled bell was followed by a thud and “Dang.” Torn between wanting to help and not wanting to interrupt, I waited. When Beck appeared in the doorway, we both startled.
“Oh, Emily,” she said after a second, hand at her heart. “I didn’t hear you come down. I was, uh…”
When she trailed off, I took a step away. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I heard your scooter, but I didn’t see you so I…”
For a few seconds, the awkwardness between us was almost palpable. Then, as if by some unspoken signal, we both started laughing. Beck shook her head. “I had this idea, and I wanted to talk to Mr. Howell about it. But I needed to refresh my memory about what was in here.” She looked into the garage again briefly before gesturing in my direction. “And, um…would you be willing to help me?”
“Of course.” I couldn’t keep the warmth from my voice, and when she smiled, I knew she’d heard it too. Back off. She’s asking for a professional favor, not for you to rock her world. “I mean, I’ll do what I can.” At least I’d been careful not to say “anything I can.”
“Great,” Beck said. “I have to make some calls, but would you be free for a few hours next Thursday? Available to come to the campus with me, that is?”
“I…I’d have to check.” What had I gotten myself into?
She nodded, obviously trusting me. “If you’re about ready for dinner, you can put that dish in the oven.” I retreated up the stairs as she began putting everything back in the garage. It seemed that no matter what I planned or how I told myself to act, every day with Beck seemed to draw me in deeper. In a short time, our vague acquaintance had transitioned into living together, and now she needed me? That thought was like crashing into an emotional ceiling. I followed her instructions for dinner, but as soon as I heard her in the shower, I called Mel.
My hastily scribbled note to Beck was not a total lie. A minor crisis at Reefside, and friends need my attention. Sorry. That was at least partially true. Please don’t expect me any time soon.
* * *
I’d let myself be entertained by a rousing game of Cards Against Humanity to the point where I hadn’t noticed the change in the weather. When Mel came in from a vape break, she commented on the wind, but we were all impatient for the next round and basically ignored her. It wasn’t until a rattling clap of thunder followed close on a bright flash of lightning that we realized a storm was upon us. A few seconds later, there was another crash, and the power winked out. The W’s sprang into action, reappearing with two battery powered lanterns, two umbrellas, and two flashlights.
“Is everything in pairs with you guys?” Mel asked, but June was delighted with the lanterns, pronouncing them “darling.” I borrowed an umbrella and stepped out onto the deck, trying vainly to shield myself against the driving rain that had already begun to fall. The Guest House appeared dark as well. Surely Beck would be all right. When I ducked inside, shaking water off like a dog, Mel was watching.
“Worried about your houseguest?” she said, practically sneering. I assumed she was still miffed about the contract.
“I was checking on the house,” I replied, keeping my cool despite the growing need to already be there. “Looks like my power is out too.”
“I think you should stay here tonight,” June offered graciously. “Beck will be fine by herself, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure she would, but there are some things I need to do.”
“Like what?” Mel challenged, clearly in one of her antagonistic moods.
“Shut down my computer, for one,” I shot back, pleased I’d thought of something so quickly.
“Why don’t you call Beck, tell her you’ll be staying here, and ask her to do it?” June suggested.
It was all very reasonable, but I couldn’t for several reasons. To begin with, I didn’t want to admit I’d left home in such a rush that I’d forgotten my phone, and like most people, I didn’t bother to memorize phone numbers anymore, relying on the automated choices on my screen. “I have files open, and I don’t want to risk anything happening to them,” I said, hoping that would be the end of it. I pointed at the umbrella. “Could I borrow this for tonight?”
Mel crossed her arms, and I braced myself, knowing from that pose I probably wouldn’t like what was coming. “I don’t see why you don’t just fuck her and get it over with.” And that was even worse than I’d expected.
June swatted at her arm, but she laughed too, and I could hear the W’s snickering by the dining table. Apparently, this was the consensus of opinion as to my best course of action. It pissed me off they’d been talking about me behind my back, though it was something we all did with each other from time to time. The “get it over with” part was even more offensive, though they couldn’t know that. I folded my arms, mirroring Mel’s stance. “It’s not like that, Melanie. Though I’m sure you couldn’t possibly understand.”
As expected, my use of her real name made the W’s look at each other, humming with a slight rising tone that suggested trouble. “I’ll tell you what I understand,” Mel began, but June intervened.
“Take the umbrella, Emily,” she said, practically pushing me out the door. “And be careful.”
I wasn’t ten feet up the path before my jeans and shoes were heavy with moisture. As I tried to adjust the angle of the umbrella, a gust of wind caught it, and I staggered sideways with the force of it. The umbrella turned inside out, useless. I continued to carry it anyway. Wind pushed my hair into my face, and rivulets of water ran into my eyes. With the power out, darkness was absolute. Slightly disoriented, I stumbled into a shrub and realized I had drifted off the path. Lightning flashed again, too bright and brief to help me, and the boom that followed hurt my ears. I paused, cowering and shivering. Shouldn’t beach rain be warm? I started moving again, noticing after another minute that I’d dropped the umbrella. I looked around but couldn’t make it out amid the dark, streaming plants. Shit. The path was all sand. I was definitely off track.
I peered ahead, hoping to at least see a shape that might be my home. House, I corrected myself. Not home. Home was the city, which was probably warm and dry right now. Unfortunately, my mind chose that moment to associate warm and dry with an image of Beck. I envisioned her cozy on the couch, possibly with Sugar on her lap, having no idea of my situation. Cutting off the scene before I could put myself in the kitten’s place, I continued trudging uphill, winding around the soggy dunes and vegetation. If Mel hadn’t been so mean, I might have thought to borrow a flashlight too. The satisfaction I felt at blaming this disaster on her was short-lived, however, because after the next lightning-thunder combo, the rain began to fall even harder, something I wouldn’t have thought possible.
My clothing was growing heavier by the second, but I was too exhausted to take something off and lighten my load. Besides, water was running off every limb and into every crack and crevice in my body, which felt increasingly chilled. But I had to be close now, didn’t I? The two houses were maybe half a mile apart, and it felt like I’d already covered twice that distance. Complete darkness made the world appear infinite, and my heart hammered as I tried to ignore the possibility that I was really and truly lost. If I kept climbing, I’d reach the road eventually, but what kind of person would stop to help a soaked, panicky, woman alone? And if someone did, could I even direct them to my house, assuming I felt it was safe to do so with a stranger?
I tried to fight against my anxiety, reasoning that if I couldn’t find the Guest House, I should be able to find my way to Reefside again. But retracing my steps would be difficult, given the darkness compounded by the rain. And if I failed, I’d end up at the ocean. I could envision the force of this wind pushing me into the surf where I’d be swept away as easily as a piece of driftwood.
A stronger gust of wind pushed me like a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I stumbled into some more vegetation. Losing my balance, I barely avoided going sideways into the sand, sitting squarely on my ass instead. Perfect. Self-pity surged through me, and I felt the prick of hot tears. Maybe I’d sit here until morning, wet and miserable, and everyone would be sorry when I died of pneumonia. At my funeral, Mel would break down, filled with regret for all the cruel things she’d said to me.
A church scene came into my head, but the memorial wasn’t for me. It was Abby’s. After a year and a half, my mother had wanted a casket, but I’d come out of the shell I’d began to inhabit and put up such a fight that she’d relented. “She’s not dead,” I’d screamed over and over. “The police will find her. She’ll fight him off. She’s coming back.” Of course, none of that had proven true, and after the service she’d so carefully planned, my mother had found it impossible to continue with any parenting responsibilities. Father was already gone. I had failed to save Abby, and no one else had rescued her either. Just like no one was going to rescue me now. And death wasn’t beautifully tragic. It was fucking terrible and I didn’t want any part of it.