| |
For Franny, the weekend became a mad rush of cooking, cleaning, handing out brochures, and answering questions about the lighthouse, the Great White, the memorial, nearby Blakely College, where to eat, where to ride bikes, and whether a ghost still haunted the lighthouse. She slept little on weekends with a full house, rising long before dawn to begin baking for the day and going to bed long after her last guest had turned out the light.
She didn’t talk to Heath at all, though she saw him both Saturday and Sunday. He spent one afternoon building raised flower beds along both sides of the house and another securing the support posts on the side porch. He seemed content, not angry or sad, but it was hard to tell from a distance. He waved and grinned each time he saw her, which she supposed counted for something. She’d started a list of inside repairs for him too, though she had a feeling he’d long since worked his hundred and fifty dollars’ worth for the month. She rapped on the window one morning and held up the coffee pot and an empty mug, but he only shook his head.
She meant to stop over and talk to him Sunday afternoon, after her last guest pulled away, but then Aubrey called.
“Franny? You’re still coming to our engagement party next weekend, right? And you can make a few things?”
Franny ran one finger down her penciled-in schedule hanging on the kitchen wall. Sugar. Aubrey and Finn’s party had snuck up on her. She had two guests mid-week and a full house again next weekend. How the heck was she supposed to bake for sixty people and then take an evening off to join the party?
“Of course,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”
Aubrey rattled off three or four desserts, thankfully Franny’s easiest to bake. She scribbled notes as her hair fell into her eyes. I’ll just stay up late a couple nights this week. Won’t be too bad. It was the least she could do for her friends.
“...totally appreciate it,” Aubrey went on. “I know you’re busy.”
“Some weekends are busier than others.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Heath cross the back lawn. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and heat rose in her cheeks. Like a schoolgirl with a crush on the most popular football player, she found herself fantasizing about running into him, falling into his arms, waking up with his kiss on her lips.
“Franny?”
“Ah, sorry.” She’d completely missed the last minute of conversation. She heard the muted roar of Heath’s truck engine out front, and a moment later he drove away. “What did you say?” Stop thinking about him. Stop wondering where he’s going. She still didn’t know much about him. Maybe he had a girlfriend somewhere in town. Or in another town.
“I just asked if you needed any help at the Hideaway,” Aubrey said. “I mean, I’m not very good with tools, but I can do laundry or make beds if you need an extra pair of hands.”
“It’s okay. I have a light week.” Though she really needed to think about hiring someone part-time, if only to help out on the weekends.
“I don’t know why you’re not full to capacity every night,” Aubrey went on, “especially during the summer. It’s such a beautiful place. And the views from every window...”
“Some weeks are better than others. It’ll pick up in the fall, with all the leaf peepers traveling in from the cities. To be honest, I should probably advertise more, but I just don’t have the time. Or know where to start.” Her gaze fell on the stack of home decorating magazines she kept stacked in the parlor. Sometimes she read through them for ideas, though recreating the pictures inside proved to be a challenge.
“Listen, I’ve gotta go. But I’ll talk to you later in the week, okay? And I’m serious about the help. If you need any, call me.”
“I will. Thanks.” Franny hung up and sank into a chair by the front door. She loved this chair, with its overstuffed cushions and wide arms, but she knew its pale lavender color didn’t match the other decor. For an instant, she wondered if Heath would ever help her something like that, painting walls and buying new furniture. She wrinkled her nose. Probably not.
With a sigh, she flipped to a fresh page on her note pad and began to make a shopping list. Baking she could handle. Home renovation she’d leave for someone else.
###
HEATH SPENT MOST OF his afternoons driving around town, following the roads up into the hills and then back down along the coast. He visited the campus of Blakely College one day, a few miles south of Lindsey Point. Beautiful place, but he didn’t belong there. He’d barely made it out of high school. College was for other people. Sometimes he went to the Great White for coffee, sometimes lunch, but never dinner and never a drink. He bought burgers or sandwiches from one takeout place or another and often ended up parking at the opposite end of town and walking the beaches there.
Franny’s right, he thought more than once. There’s something calming about the sand and the water after dark. Occasionally he saw other people on the beach, and he always waved and walked on. No need for conversation. Nothing to say. Twice he saw the three-legged dog and tossed it a scrap or two of food. It kept its distance, though it always swallowed the scraps whole. Heath could count its ribs, and its fur had matted around its shoulders. Pathetic thing. That’s what Franny had called it, and the moniker seemed fitting for the solitary creature.
The weather turned cooler mid-week, but he welcomed the fresh air that came off the bay. He took his time walking down the long, lonely stretch of sand. Far in the distance, the lighthouse rose against the sky, barely visible in the gathering clouds. Heath looked around for the dog, but he saw nothing tonight, not another soul. A few drops of rain wet his face as he stood near the water.
“I wonder where she is?” he said aloud. Between trying to sleep through the night, doing odd jobs around the Hideaway, and driving for hours, he managed to keep his mind in neutral until the early evening. Then, almost always, it turned to Chloe. Sometimes to Beth, but the anger he still felt toward her at taking his daughter away destroyed him so much that he’d learned to keep it buried. Chloe, he could think about without anger. Hurt, yes, and regret, yes, but most often, he just felt a shallow ache when he wondered what she looked like today, where she lived, how she did in school, if she had a boyfriend... His gaze moved to the half-moon. He wanted to look for her. He’d even picked up the phone last week and tried to call Beth’s mom, her old friends, anyone who might be able to tell him where she’d gone.
Every single one had resulted in a dead end. It was as if he, Beth, and the beautiful baby girl they created had never existed at all.
The rain picked up, and Heath turned for his truck. He didn’t mind the rain – hell, he’d endured a lot worse in combat – but he didn’t want to stick around for the lightning slicing across the sky. By the time he climbed behind the wheel, the summer shower had turned to a full-blown storm, and thunder rumbled above him in a regular pattern. Sounds. He hated them. Thunder, fireworks, a car backfiring – it all took him back to Kabul and Bagram, to Roberto and Collins and all the other guys he’d served with. No matter how hard he tried, how hard he fought it, his body switched to full defense mode. Cold sweat. Tight stomach. Attention everywhere at once, waiting in anticipation. Heath turned up the radio as loud as it would go and bumped across the uneven ground, backing up the beach until he reached pavement again.
More lightning and thunder, almost on top of each other. He started to sweat. This son of a bitch is close. He flipped his wipers to high and slowed as he drove up Main Street. Water had already started puddling on the ground, which meant hydroplaning if he wasn’t careful. The next time thunder came, the lightning flashed at exactly the same time, and something exploded nearby.
Heath jammed on the brakes. He couldn’t see. All he could hear were explosions around him. Above him. To the sides and beneath him. With hands so tight around the steering wheel they ached, he pulled over and killed the engine. The interior of the truck closed in on him, and he rolled down the window for some air.
It’s just a thunderstorm. He ran one hand over his forehead. You are not in Iraq or Afghanistan. You are in Lindsey Point. In the U.S. of damn A. Get a grip. Lightning flashed again, but weaker this time. Still, it must have hit something, because all of Main Street had gone pitch black. Heath drew a breath, tight in his chest. He forced himself to focus on the street in front of him and the rain hitting his face. Not in the Middle East. Not under enemy attack. He took another breath, a little easier this time. Shapes and angles came into sharper focus, and he saw a transformer hanging from an electric pole that had fallen nearly to the ground. Sparks jumped furiously, and a small patch of grass on the library’s front lawn had caught fire and burned despite the rain.
A car passed him, and Heath turned the key in the ignition. No reason to stay parked on the side of the road, caught inside memories and phantom thoughts. He backed up and turned the corner by the Great White. Sirens screamed in the distance. “Get a grip,” he repeated as he drove. “Get a grip.” It’s a small town fire. It’s not an enemy attack.
By the time he reached Patchwork Lane, his breathing had almost returned to normal. He peered into the darkness. They’d lost power here too? Franny had two rooms occupied this week. He made his way to the end of the road, reached the driveway and parked. Inside the Hideaway, he spied faint lights moving around. Did she have a generator? No, if he had to guess. Franny probably had good old fashioned candles.
In that moment, and for no reason he could explain, Heath’s anxiety vanished. As the resident handyman, he had a job to do, even if it was just checking on Franny and the guests and making sure the Hideaway had at least one working fire extinguisher. Without bothering to change into dry clothes, he climbed the front steps, knocked twice, and let himself in.
“Franny? Everything okay in here?”