Beach Season (15 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Beach Season
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C
HAPTER
3
Thea was scheduled to work from 11:00 to 3:00 at Maggie’s diner. At 10:40, she parked her car in a small lot reserved for employees of the diner and a few of the other businesses in the heart of town and waded through vacationers on their way to the beach or the shops.
She had waited tables back in college and then in graduate school and she still generally enjoyed the work. It was mindless enough to be left in the restaurant at the end of the workday, and yet required enough attention and social skill to keep her interested. Sure, there were the occasional difficult customers to contend with, the sort who were never, ever pleased, and the overly permissive parents who seemed to think that it was okay for their precious kiddies to throw food and fits without check, but compared to some of the other part-time jobs she had held—babysitting a truly incorrigible three-year-old and working the deep fryer at a local fast-food joint, for example—waiting tables was a pleasure.
At the end of the shift, which had been busy but largely uneventful, a young waitress named Kathy invited Thea to go out for a drink that evening with some of her friends. It wasn’t the first time Kathy had asked Thea to socialize and it wasn’t the first time Thea had politely declined. It was true that she didn’t want to get too close to anyone as she planned to leave Ogunquit before the winter, but the primary reason she preferred to keep to herself was the fear of exposure. What if she did let someone know about the disaster her life had been for the past few years, and what if, crazily, that someone knew Mark Marais and told him where she could be found ...
Yes, Thea knew she was being dramatic, maybe even overly cautious, but sometimes drama and caution were called for. Interestingly, she didn’t feel so worried about being found out when she was with Alice, though she still had no intention of telling her the gory details of her spectacularly bad marriage and divorce.
After waving good-bye to the other staff, Thea left the diner and joined the crowd of vacationers making their way from the beach to an ice cream shop, from a long lunch in the Cove to a motel for a nap, from Bread and Roses bakery on Main Street to the antique store a few doors down from the post office. At the corner of Beach and Main Streets, Thea stopped to wait for a lull in the traffic before risking her life crossing. It was a notoriously busy corner and one with no traffic lights or crossing guard or police personnel to bring order to chaos.
A loud male voice boomed through the throng gathered with her on the sidewalk. Thea startled and a small cry escaped her lips. The two teenage girls standing next to her giggled.
“Yo! Dude, it is you!”
It was only an enthusiastic teenage boy, now pushing his way through the crowd to slap the upraised hand of a buddy. Thea felt foolish. At the same time she wanted to shake those girls who had laughed at her. She wanted to tell them that life might just test them the way she had been tested and that someday they, too, might jump at the ringing of a phone or a raised male voice.
But of course, she did no such thing. She just stood there like every other solid citizen and waited for a break in the traffic. She had read somewhere that the town’s population swelled to around twenty thousand in the summer. It was easy to believe, especially if you were silly or crazy enough to attempt to drive through the heart of downtown Ogunquit anytime between five in the afternoon and eight at night and actually expect to make your dinner reservation.
In spite of the crowding, Ogunquit certainly had its share of charm. The town’s library was housed in a beautiful stone building set on a perfectly manicured lawn. Harbor Candy, a family-owned shop on Main Street, had been handcrafting its chocolates and other treats since 1956. A fleet of brightly painted trolleys carried visitors through Ogunquit and down into Wells.
And, as with any vacation destination, there was plenty of shopping to be had. There were low-end gift shops, the kind that sold inflatable beach toys, T-shirts with silly slogans involving lobsters, and novelty gifts like snow globes filled with sand instead of artificial snow, and there were high-end shops, like Abacus, which was more of an art gallery than anything else. You could buy a baseball cap at one end of town for a few dollars and a one-of-a-kind gold-and-diamond necklace at the other end of town for a small fortune. With little if any disposable income, Thea avoided all the shops except for the Hannaford in York, the huge grocery store that sold everything from fresh and prepared foods to pharmaceuticals to kitchen utensils to pet carriers.
The same held for the restaurants. Thea ate her meals at home, though she was entitled to a reasonable meal after her shifts at the diner, and sometimes she took advantage of that offer. Not for her the high-end places like MC Perkins Cove or 98 P.R.O.V.E.N.C.E., or even Barnacle Billy’s. But that was okay. She wasn’t in Ogunquit to see and be seen. She was there to lay low and recover a bit of her sanity. Besides, she had never been fussy about food. As long as it was served in a copious amount, she was pretty much satisfied. Alice seemed to have sensed that about her.
Thea reached the employee parking lot and got into her car, a 1987 Clunker. She had bought it for next to nothing because it was worth next to nothing. To help pay for the divorce she had had to sell her almost brand-new car, and finding herself momentarily desperate for a mode of transportation, she had jumped at the dubious deal offered by the Clunker’s owner. She doubted this “gently used” vehicle would last the winter; the power steering was squealing, the shock absorbers were chunking, and the brakes were grinding, but she hadn’t bought it with an eye to an investment. Just before she had left home for Ogunquit her father had offered to help her with the cost of a good secondhand car. The last thing Thea wanted to do was turn to her parents for support after all that had happened, but she was afraid she was going to have to swallow her pride and accept some financial support in the form of a loan.
Thea pulled out into the summer traffic and headed back to her apartment in Alice’s remotely situated house. Another day was coming to an end, another day of refuge in a town largely populated by seasonal transients, people she would never come to know. And another long evening lay ahead, during which, Thea promised herself, she would try very hard not to have a minor nervous breakdown if the phone rang. She stopped to let a strolling, cuddling couple cross the road. The sight made her stomach clench. Maybe, she thought, my therapist was right after all. Maybe I should never have come here.
C
HAPTER
4
After a dinner of a baked potato (easy to cook in the microwave), frozen broccoli (ditto), and a muffin (a day-old she had picked up at the diner for half price), Thea poured a glass of red wine and placed it on the small table next to the chintz-covered chair. She would attempt to begin the Georgette Heyer book she had intended to read last evening, before that call had made her such a nervous wreck. Well, the call hadn’t made her a nervous wreck; Thea had done that to herself. It wasn’t what happened to you, her therapist had told her repeatedly as she struggled through the worst of the divorce and its immediate aftermath. It was how you decided to react to what happened that mattered. It was good advice, but difficult to put into action.
Before Thea could settle into the comfortable chair with her wine and book, an impulse sent her into the bedroom. She hadn’t brought much with her to Ogunquit—an adequate supply of clothing; a bathing suit, though she had no real plan to use it as she didn’t like the idea of spending time on the beach by herself; a selection of favorite books, of course; and one precious piece of her long-distant past.
Thea opened the second drawer of the painted wood dresser and removed a square, purple velvet box. Inside was a painted miniature of Napoleon, with the emperor’s authenticated signature on the back. Hugh Landry, her first and greatest love, had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday. He had found it at an antique shop on Beacon Hill in Boston. Thea’s parents had urged her to return the gift; they thought it was “too much.” But Thea had refused. It was the most special, thoughtful thing anyone had ever given her. Once she had begun to suspect Mark of double-dealing, she had put the miniature in a private safety deposit box in a bank different from the one where they had their joint accounts. To imagine Hugh Landry’s gift being callously sold for someone else’s profit was a horror.
In light of what had happened later in her brief marriage, Thea was glad that she had hidden the miniature away. Now, it was with her again, nestled in its velvet box and tucked into a pile of underwear and T-shirts when it wasn’t in her hand, being gazed upon. Though selling it would help her immediate financial situation, Thea knew she could never bring herself to part with it. The engagement and wedding rings Mark had given her had gone long ago, as had her car and her condo. The miniature was here to stay.
Thea carefully closed the lid of the purple velvet box and returned it to its hiding place. She went back to the living room and its comfortable chintz-covered chair. She opened the Georgette Heyer novel but only a few pages in she realized she was still too distracted to read. Her mind seemed determined to reminisce about the giver of that special gift.
Hugh Landry was everything a young girl could have wanted in a boyfriend—handsome, friendly, popular, and smart. More importantly, he had been everything Thea herself could have wanted in a soul mate. He understood and appreciated her for who she was, not for who he wanted her to be. That, alone, in a teenage boy, was a remarkable thing. Though he was a star on the football team, he never pressured her to go to his games like the other players expected their girlfriends to. He knew she wasn’t interested in sports; he liked the fact that she was her own person and chose to stay at home and read books about European history or “cozy” mysteries set in English manor houses rather than cheer in the stands.
Thea was suddenly aware of Alice’s footfalls upstairs, moving from her living room to her kitchen. She wondered about her own future; she wondered if she would be living alone in her fifties, like Alice was. The prospect didn’t seem so awful, certainly a lot better than living with an abuser, a liar, and a cheat. And if she could be like Alice, self-sufficient and, as Alice had said, reasonably happy, a solitary life might be just fine. Even though Alice had admitted she would like to be in a relationship, her life still had great value and she seemed to know that.
Alice must have settled down somewhere because her footsteps ceased. Thea looked at the book in her lap. That was the problem, she thought. Learning how to become self-sufficient and relatively happy, both of which she had been back when she had been dating Hugh Landry, and both of which she had been for all of the years before her marriage.
Which didn’t mean that several times during those self-sufficient and relatively happy years she hadn’t considered contacting Hugh, but for a variety of reasons—the fear of rejection being one of them; another being the promise she had made to him in her final letter—she had dismissed the idea. Besides, it was unlikely a new reality could ever equal the perfection of an old memory. Distortions were normal; maybe the Hugh of her memory didn’t really exist; maybe he never really had. Besides, there was every chance that a man like Hugh Landry was either married or engaged or soon to be. And there was every chance that he was a father, responsible to his family, and not interested in being bothered by a long-ago girlfriend. Thea wasn’t sure she could handle seeing a happy family picture posted on Facebook or wherever she would find Hugh Landry. Especially not now, in her vulnerable state. She didn’t begrudge Hugh whatever happiness he had found, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be confronted with that happiness.
Thea took an appreciative sip of the wine that had been sitting untouched. She suspected the only reason she was thinking so much about Hugh these days was because she was in this unique situation—divorced, virtually friendless, somewhat estranged from her parents, who were her entire family, and on hiatus from what had become a fraught career, through no fault of her own. Well, that could be debated. She had quit her job as a high school French teacher, if not happily, at Mark’s request. He hadn’t put a gun to her head; not literally, at least.
Thea took another sip of wine and then another and firmly put all thoughts of Hugh Landry and of Mark Marais to the side. With only a few false starts, she finally managed to engage in
No Wind of Blame
. Former chorus girl and wealthy widow Ermyntrude Carter was a vastly amusing character, with her flamboyant but good-natured behavior, as was her daughter, Vicky, a pretty and determinedly theatrical young woman who changed costumes and personas as the mood struck her, which could be several times a day. Knowing in advance “who done it” was no obstacle to the fun of following the investigation through to the remarkable conclusion. Halfway through the novel and all thoughts not associated with the murder of the charming loser Wally Carter had flown far, far away.
C
HAPTER
5
Shortly after a breakfast of bad coffee and cold cereal Wednesday morning, Thea left the house to tramp through the fields surrounding Alice’s house. Not far into her ramble she encountered Alice’s calico cat, a large, ill-tempered beast named Henrietta, who ostentatiously ignored Thea in spite of her attempts to coax the kitty for some stroking. With a flash of her white-tipped tail, Henrietta was over the old stonewall that snaked across the backfield and out of sight. Probably chasing chipmunks, Thea surmised. The area was full of them, chipmunks and squirrels and roly-poly hedgehogs and more varieties of birds than she could possibly name. There was a bird identification book in the apartment and Thea had made good use of it in the short time she had been in residence, but she still had a lot to learn.
She breathed in the air that smelled ever so slightly of the sea. The best thing about being “in Nature” was that there was no way she would ever run into Mark Marais. She smiled at the thought of his twisting an ankle on a rotted tree root or frantically swatting away nonexistent bugs. Compared to Mark, Thea was Mountain Girl and Grizzly Adams rolled into one. One time, early in their courtship, Thea had suggested a walk through a popular suburban park. Still playing the obliging suitor, Mark had readily agreed. But in spite of the wide, flat, and well-cared for trail, Mark had managed to fall twice, tearing the knee of his chinos; be struck with a sneezing attack in the vicinity of a stand of pine trees; and come down later that afternoon with a particularly ugly-looking rash on his hands and arms. At the time, Thea had thought Mark’s willingness to endure such trials for her sake gallant. Only much later did she see that “willingness” for what it really was: calculation.
What had begun as a restorative morning ramble suddenly morphed into a sinister episode as Thea was startled by a powerful mental image. Mark’s face slammed its way into her consciousness, obliterating the velvety moss-covered boulders and the delicate sprays of Queen Anne’s lace, blocking out the stands of lush, green ferns and the rough sculptures made by fallen branches. Mark’s sneering face, his expression one of superiority and deep disdain. Mark mocking her stupidity. And then, as suddenly as it had come, the image was gone.
Thea stumbled to a halt, physically affected by the vision. She no longer felt safe all alone and out of earshot of Alice’s few distant neighbors. She turned and half ran back to the house, small rocks flying up under her heels, tiny wildflowers crushed underfoot. The sudden scream of a blue jay almost sent her to her knees. Once inside her apartment, she carefully locked the door behind her and went to the kitchen sink for a glass of cool water. The past, at least her recent past, was a menace. She wondered if she would ever be done with it.
Now it was a little after noon and Thea was headed into town to pick up her check at the diner. The task could have waited until her next shift, but the nasty image of her former husband had decided her against staying alone in the house; Alice had driven off before Thea had gone out to walk and she had no idea of when Alice would be back. Not that town was necessarily any safer should Mark decide to make an actual appearance outside of her imagination, but there were more people she could call to for help. She knew it was ridiculous to be living her life this way, in fear and trembling, but she clung to the hope that time would do what it was supposed to do and heal her wounds. For the moment she would keep her head down, scrape together what living she could, and keep fantasies of Mark’s revenge at bay.
Once inside the diner, she greeted her colleague Louise, a single mother of two. Louise also worked part-time for a local woman who made exquisite floral arrangements for weddings and other special occasions.
“I came by for my check,” Thea told Louise. “I’m sorry to come at such a busy time. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Not a problem,” Louise said, her usual imperturbable self. “I’ll get your check for you, honey.”
Louise hurried off to the office behind the kitchen and Thea scanned the diner. Really, it was thoughtless of her to have come by at lunchtime, chased out of her own home by what amounted to a ghost. Every stool at the counter was occupied, as was every table up front. Thea glanced to the back of the diner. Yes, every booth, too, was occupied, including the very back booth, though it was occupied by only one person. A man ...
It couldn’t be. Thea blinked, shook her head, did all the ridiculous things a person did automatically when she saw or thought she saw the impossible, or at least, the improbable. But it wasn’t a hallucination. It was Hugh Landry, in the flesh, sipping from a thick, white china cup.
Thea knew she could be a bit superstitious; she also knew that it wasn’t one of her best character traits. But still, how odd was it that just last night she had sat reminiscing about her first great love and now Hugh was here, as if summoned by her memories ...
That’s ridiculous, Thea told herself, clutching the straps of her brown leather bag more tightly. But ... really, what were the odds of Hugh Landry being in this little town, at this little diner, at the very moment she was coming by for her paycheck?
Thea had a strong urge to turn and run out of the diner, paycheck be damned. But she found that she couldn’t move a muscle. And then Hugh lifted the cup in front of him again, took a sip, and over the thick, white rim, his eyes found Thea. She might have smiled; she wasn’t sure. Hugh put down the cup with a bit of a clatter and definitely did smile. She found herself walking back to his table and just standing there, looking down at him.
Neither made a move to touch, to kiss, to hug, or even to shake hands. Thea felt just like she had the day Hugh had come to sit by her in history class. Overwhelmed. Slightly dizzy. Disbelieving. Could this be, she thought, my mind playing a trick on me?
Hugh found his voice first. “Thea. Wow. Sit down, please.”
She slid into the booth as if in a trance. “I can’t believe this,” she said finally, her voice sounding a bit weak in her ears. “I can’t believe it’s you. That’s such a clichéd thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“Clichés are what’s called for in a moment like this,” Hugh said, shaking his head. “I feel the same way. Stunned. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. You could knock me over with a feather.”
Thea laughed and hoped she didn’t sound as slightly hysterical as she felt. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I mean, what are you doing in Ogunquit? Are you on vacation?”
“First things first,” he said. “I just ordered lunch. Are you hungry?”
Thea was suddenly aware of being ravenous—no Alice-made breakfast that morning—and asked Louise, who had appeared as if on cue, an inquisitive grin on her face and paycheck in hand, for a tuna salad sandwich on white toast and a cup of tea. When Louise had gone off, Thea had a sudden vivid memory of sharing nachos with Hugh during the summer before college at a chain restaurant in their town. Every Tuesday night, without fail, they would order a large plate of nachos, extra jalapeños on the side for her, followed by a brownie sundae. She wondered if Hugh remembered that magical, bittersweet summer ...
“Now, to answer your question,” Hugh said, “I was visiting friends in Boston, and I just thought, why not drive north for a few days before heading back home to New York. I’ve lived in the city since graduate school at Columbia.”
“Oh,” Thea said. “But why did you choose Ogunquit and not someplace else?” Why, she thought, the place that I just happen to be hiding out from my life?
Hugh shrugged. “I’d been here about a million years ago and remembered it as being really beautiful. Seriously, I’m staying in a bed-and-breakfast right out of a picture book. If it was any more charming I’d choke on the sweetness.”
“Charming isn’t too hard to find here. Is your ... I mean, are you traveling alone?”
“Yeah,” Hugh said. “I’m single at the moment. I’ve been divorced for almost nine years. I came close to getting married again a few years back, but—” Hugh smiled a bit and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing came of it.”
“I’m sorry,” Thea said, and she was. And she wasn’t.
“No need to be. So, what are you doing here in Ogunquit?”
Thea hesitated and concentrated on folding the edge of her white paper napkin, over and under. “There’s kind of a long and complicated answer to that question,” she said finally, looking back to Hugh.
“Short, uncomplicated version?”
“I guess you could say I’m taking a break from things after my divorce.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Hugh said feelingly. “I mean, divorce is never pleasant, but I hope it was for the best.”
“Unquestionably.”
“Good.”
Their sandwiches arrived. Hugh had ordered a turkey club; Thea remembered it had been one of his favorites back in high school. While they ate, they exchanged more basic information. Hugh told her about his career; he was the CEO of a company that designed and manufactured sets for theaters around the world. Thea told him about her career as a high school French teacher; she chose not to mention the very different job she eventually had taken on Mark’s demand. Neither had children. Yes, both had read about the death due to cancer of a former classmate a few years back. No, neither had gone to the last reunion of their high school. Although the content of the conversation was mundane, Thea felt herself to be in a sort of dream state. In spite of the evidence to the contrary, she still could not entirely believe that she was sitting across a table from her first love.
But at the same time she felt disoriented, she felt oddly comfortable. It was almost as if nothing had changed since they had last seen each other. Hugh had hardly aged at all. His hair was as thick and dark as ever, a brown that was almost black. His eyes—oh, how she had always loved his eyes!—were still so very, very brown and the little lines around them somehow only added to their beauty. His hands—well, aside from a small scar on the left hand—were still strong and nicely manicured. His shoulders were still broad, his smile still big.
“I guess we should let someone else take this table, now that we’re done.” Hugh nodded toward the diner’s entrance. “There’s a line of people forming up front.”
“Oh, right!” Thea shook off her momentary reverie and reached for her bag, but Hugh shook his head and placed enough money on the table to cover both their meals and a generous tip.
Thea slid out of her seat at the booth. Hugh followed, but much more slowly, one hand braced on the Formica-topped table, the other, clutching a dark wooden cane.
He saw the look of surprise, even shock, on Thea’s face; he would have had to be blind not to. “I’m sorry,” he said with a kind smile. “I forget that if someone first sees me sitting down they can’t necessarily know. I was in a bad car accident a few years back. Shattered the left leg. I should have said something earlier.”
“Oh, Hugh, don’t apologize! I’m so sorry.” Thea felt as if she might cry and absolutely did not want to, not in front of all these happy, hungry vacationers.
“Hey,” he said, touching her arm briefly with his free hand. “I’m alive. A little slower than I used to be, but still here.”
She smiled feebly and headed for the front of the diner. Hugh followed her out to the busy sidewalk. They stood facing each other, impeding the flow of young families in beachwear, teenage girls in tiny shorts, middle-aged couples in bright, neatly pressed, and often disturbingly matching day-trip attire.
“I’m so happy we ran into each other, Thea,” Hugh said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “Would you like to get together again, talk about old times? You can tell me what you’ve been doing for all these years. I haven’t even asked about your work. Or about your family.”
“Yes,” she said promptly. “I would.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
They agreed to meet at Jonathan’s at 6:30 that evening.
“She gets too hungry for dinner at eight,” Hugh said with a smile.
“That much will never change,” Thea admitted, touched by his remembering. Again, she felt tears threaten and willed them away.
With a wave, Hugh headed down Beach Street to the parking lot where he had left his car. Thea stood on the corner and watched him for a moment. Her heart felt as if it were going to break. She had a sudden, vivid image of him in his football uniform, charging down the field. She had gone to a few of his games, of course, though seeing him in action had made her incredibly nervous. Whenever the players had—well, tackled each other, she supposed it was called—she had covered her face with her hands.
But in the end it wasn’t football that had hurt him. It was an accident, Hugh had said, and accidents weren’t sought after or asked for; lots of times they simply could not be avoided.
Nothing in this world is sure or certain, Thea mused as she walked to the lot where she had parked her own car. The only thing you can count on is not being able to count on anything. The only thing you can count on is—surprise.

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