Taylor blew his nose into the phone, the sound reminiscent of an off-key trumpet.
Beau loosened his tie. “Man, that’s horrible. How does your wife stand you?”
“Are you kidding me? Robust nose-blowing is a sign of virility. The first time she heard that, the woman was hooked!”
Beau laughed, but the sound of it soon died away.
“So. You want to talk about it or do I have to blow my honker again to get it out of you?”
“I’ll pass.” Beau pushed himself deeper into the couch cushions, attempting to allow the day’s stress to ease its way out of him. “Right before you called I was checking the mail and found that the church had sent me an invitation to a singles event.” He paused. “Can you believe that?”
“That they sent the most eligible bachelor in the church an invitation to the singles potluck?”
Beau coughed out a shocked and somewhat tortured laugh. “You agree with this?”
“Hey, I’m not saying I agree. Just look at the facts, though: You’re not ugly, you drive a nice car, and you’re employed. My friend, you are the freshest meat that group has seen in a while. Why wouldn’t they invite you? Kudos to the genius who thought of it.”
Beau shook his head and groaned, yet was unable to shake away the odd smile that Taylor’s ridiculous theory brought to his face. It was strange on the church’s part, really, thinking that he would be ready to wear a badge that said “I’m available” quite so soon. And yet, Tay’s assessment had entertained him right into considering forgiveness. Likely it had been the idea of the church’s kindly pastoral care assistant, Tessy, who never liked to see anyone sad.
He released a sigh and cradled the phone against his ear as he relaxed into the couch. “So this is why you called me? To harass me about meeting women?”
“That and to see if you want to meet for a burrito on Friday. That is, if you don’t have a date by then.”
“Oh.” Beau eyed the ceiling, and for a moment experienced déjà vu. He had spent many nights like this, staring up at the ceiling as Anne slept in the other room, hoping for answers. He still hadn’t received any.
He sat up, digging his elbows into his thighs. Friday night was coming and his calendar was clear. “Sure,” he said. “I’m in.”
Chapter 3
The new normal.
That’s what people called a change so drastic, so unanticipated and unwelcome in a person’s life that it actually needed a moniker as a reminder of his or her new “situation.”
Kind of like finding one’s name and address on the singles’ mailing list.
Why had he been so taken aback? Beau had always prided himself on his ability to reason, to plan his future in an organized fashion. He’d taken to Excel like a dog takes to water, for example. And so it should not have surprised him that someone at church, too, had exercised their own navigation skills through the murky waters of logic.
Anne was gone, and he was single. Hence, he had become eligible to join a new club.
Taylor’s raucous laughter volleyed in his memory, saving him from another go at a pity party. Though he had been momentarily tempted.
Beau shoved a naked foot deep into the sand and began to trudge along through the morning air. One foot in front of the other until the steep, dry drifts flattened into packed wet sand. His mind turned in another direction, tumbling with a to-do list that seemed as far and wide as the sea itself. Email to answer, clients to reply to, bills to pay. And yet, none of it felt all that important anymore. Necessary, yes, but no longer important enough to skip a walk by the sea on a crisp morning. He stopped and gazed out toward the horizon, a hazy glow sent from the east forming over the water. For the first time in months, it occurred to Beau that he hadn’t had to remind himself to breathe.
He continued moving along the shoreline, allowing the lapping waves to lick at his feet. The icy water made his toes throb. Sandpipers skittered out of his way, and gulls gave him a haughty glare before they, too, scurried out of his path.
He smiled. “Chickens.”
One particularly fat seagull let out a bark-like cry, as if taking offense at Beau’s remark. Beau watched it fly away, his eyes settling on a solitary figure jogging from the opposite direction. The woman in black running pants and a sleek long-sleeved jacket moved swiftly toward him. Then she slowed before stopping abruptly, as if spooked by something in the water.
He glanced out to sea, but saw nothing amiss. No fins or troubled swimmers. By the time he returned his gaze to her, she had started up her jog again. She moved tentatively at first but picked up speed on approach, then dodged around him as she passed by. In that brief instant of hair flying and limbs pumping, their eyes met—hers were dark and intense—and he found himself smiling at her.
Beau continued his walk along the shore, drawing steady breaths from the sea and contemplating his plans for the day. Maybe, he thought, his new normal was finally sinking in.
* * *
What was that? Liddy gulped the wet air, her body running on autopilot. If she stopped long enough to contemplate the suddenly odd and disconcerting behavior of her own body, she very well might never run again. One second she was jogging along, her mind ping-ponging between trivial matters, and the next, her legs refused to move forward as they had been trained to do.
Everything about this morning had been normal. She had pulled on her running pants and top, yanked her hair into a ponytail, and laced up her Nikes. She had set out, allowing the morning to drench her with its salt-infused air. She jogged slowly at first, then sped up, her breathing measured and her body adjusting to the pace.
Just like normal.
As she ran, her mind wandered to the all-sorts-of crazy Trace had left her under the volcano yesterday, to that cute bellman with the floppy hair at work, then to the vastness of the sea, and back again. She could always count on using her morning runs to sort out the mental to-do list that seemed so mangled when she awoke each day. Without her daily jog, she might not remember to apply mascara to both sets of eyelashes and wear matching shoes. Exercising in the morning, she had long ago decided, was better than espresso—though she always downed one of those before work, too.
Was this all in her head? Workout over, Liddy crossed the street to her condo complex, narrowly missing the bicyclist in her path. He flashed her a sign that let her know exactly what he thought of her. Whatever. She had worse things to worry about. Like why, as she ran along the sand this morning, her feet suddenly would not cooperate. Why they wanted to go in another direction, even though her mind was telling them to continue forward. And why her left arm had a distinct shake to it as her mind battled to get her feet and legs to cooperate.
This blip in her usually event-free morning workout passed as quickly as it had occurred, leaving behind nothing but confusion and worry. She’d had a similar occurrence months before, but less dramatic than this one. Back then, she had attributed the oddity to “nerves.” Shawn had just announced that he was leaving her, so when she had experienced momentary confusion one day while walking to the store she figured that stress was the culprit. An unanticipated divorce could do that to a person. Couldn’t it?
Now she was far less convinced. Liddy climbed the stairs to her rental, replaying the moments that she still could not define. When she had snapped out of her confusion on the beach—had been able to convince her body to do as it was told—she vaguely remembered a man walking toward her. He may even have looked at her as she passed him by.
He must think I’m crazy …
Liddy unlocked her door and slipped into her home, aware of the rivulets of sweat running down her back and the lingering fog dulling her mind.
The test results she hoped to get later this week couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
By nine a.m., the morning’s strange episode was behind her. Liddy bustled past the valet desk and several bellmen wheeling carts, caught a wink from Thomas who worked most shifts that she did, and strolled in
through the sliding doors leading into the lobby—uncharacteristically quiet for the moment. “ ’Hey, Trace,” she called out as she took her place behind the concierge desk.
Trace glanced up from her seat at the desk. “Hey, yourself. Glad you’re here. If I have to order up one more harbor cruise, I think I’ll puke.”
Liddy plunked her bag in a drawer. “Where’s your sense of adventure … your longing to connect our guests with the sea?”
“The only thing that connects me to the sea is the railing I spend most of my time leaning over.”
“Ah. Hence the puke visual.”
Trace nodded, her smile evident as Liddy’s phone rang from behind the concierge desk. “It’s all yours, girl.”
Liddy watched as Trace grabbed an overly stuffed purse from beneath the desk and padded away, her high-heeled sandals smacking on the tile. She picked up the phone. “Good morning, concierge desk, Liddy speaking.”
“Hi. My family and I are in room 202. What time does the lunchtime harbor cruise leave?”
Like she’d been booking local cruises for months instead of weeks, Liddy entered a reservation within minutes, reminded the caller to bring windbreakers and barf bags for his family—just in case—and hung up the phone. Since moving to this lesser-known stretch of the coast, Liddy had learned that although air temps were cool, the sun shone bright and the days were crisp and comfortable in the fall and even into winter. Visitors could stand on the beach and make out many of the identifying shapes of islands off in the distance. No wonder Trace had been taking calls about cruises all morning …
The voice mail light on her phone blinked, and a line had begun to form in front of her. A wispy-haired elderly man wearing a beret and pulling a golf bag behind him barked at her. “Need a ride to the course.”
“Certainly, sir.” Liddy raised two fingers into the air, letting Hannah, the bell captain, know she needed assistance at the desk.
“This is Thomas. He’ll take you in the shuttle.” She glanced around the lobby, searching for more signs of collared shirts and comfortable pants of the brightly colored variety. “Does anyone else need a ride to the golf course?”
A couple more golfers came forward.
“Looks like you have a full shuttle, Thomas.”
“Great.” He paused, raising two sandy-brown eyebrows as if a question hung on his lips. As he tipped his chin, a lock of his hair flopped over one eye. “I’m taking lunch downstairs at 12:30. Join me?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
The duffer in plaid pants grunted and Thomas turned toward him. “Yes, sir. Follow me.”
Three hours passed without a break. As guests checked out, some needed help with rental cars, while others, as if soaking up the last precious moments of their vacation, lingered in the lobby to ask for directions and restaurant recommendations. Meg had called once from the road giving her some much-needed girl time, not to mention a hilarious recap of some of her cold calls. Who knew an organization existed to help prevent animal obesity? By the time help arrived for her to take a lunch break, Liddy was famished.
She wandered down to the employee area known as “the Galley,” a euphemistic term, really. For while the name may conjure up an image of a gleaming brass seaboard kitchen, the Galley was actually located in the bowels of the hotel, far away from the polished lobby and halls. There employees could graze on leftovers from hotel events.
Thomas sat at a table, his thumbs working over his iPhone, and two plates piled high with chicken à la king in front of him. Apparently, the hotel chef had overestimated the demand for creamed chicken at the previous night’s banquet.
He barely looked up. “Says here there’s an event at that church of yours.”
“That so?” Liddy slid in beside him. Considering she had only visited the nearby church a couple of times, she hardly thought of it as her own.
Thomas peered at her over his phone. “Some kind of documentary.”
“And you’d like to go.”
He shrugged. “There’ll be a guest speaker.”
She waited.
“Cody Kent.”
“Aha!”
He grimaced. “What?”
She shrugged back. “Who’s Cody Kent?”
Thomas plunked his fist on the table, still clutching the phone. The right side of his lip curled upward with force, as if he were a fish on a hook. “You’re kidding. You don’t know the name of the greatest pitcher that ever was? Or at least … that ever was in our lifetime?”
Liddy poked her fork into the unappetizing meal on her plate. She twirled the beige mess in front of her. “Sure, I do. Thought maybe it was some other Kent.”
He stared at her until she laughed, then he took a bite from his own lunch, groaned, and slid the plate away from him. “So?” he said. “Will you go with me?”
“Why? You don’t think they’ll let you in on your own?” Liddy laughed and added, “Sinner.”
Thomas slanted her a look. “Actually, I was hoping to spend some time with you outside of”—he looked around at the windowless room, then back at her—“outside of this miserable place.”
Liddy set down her fork and considered the man in uniform sitting across from her. Not a line anywhere on his face and his grin sizzled—like he was cooking up a secret behind those baby blues. She and Thomas were likely close in age, and yet the experiences of the past few months had aged her. She sensed it in her body, but worse, in her mind too where clear skies battled continually against the presence of a persistent, hazy grey cloud. Despite physically distancing herself from the pain of her breakup with Shawn, she had yet to fully embrace the laid-back lifestyle of her new surroundings.
Maybe Thomas would help change all that.
* * *
“You’re the last one here.”
Beau’s chin jerked upward. His assistant, Jill, hovered near the doorway to his office. How long had the older woman been standing there?
“Beau?” She spoke quietly, almost motherly. “Those documents can wait until tomorrow. Go home. Get some food in you.”
Jill paused and he knew she would find a way to stick around until he turned off the light and wandered down the stairs to his car. Despite the fascinating spreadsheet in front of him, Beau nodded at the woman who had a family of her own to tend to, and he pushed away from his desk. “I think I am getting hungry. Thanks for the reminder, Jill.”
But when he reached his car, the little white lie he had told—the one about being hungry—became ever more apparent. Instead of food, he needed something to wake him from the fog that had crept into his thoughts long after his quiet beach walk this morning. Food, however, was of no interest to him.
On his way home, he remembered the hoopla announced again at church last week about baseball pitcher Cody Kent showing up at a midweek service, no less, to talk about living right both on and off the field. A worthy, charitable event, not to mention a good excuse not to head home quite yet. As he sat at the stoplight, his mind wandered to good times before Anne’s illness, to the early days when Saturday afternoons meant a cold beer and watching his favorite team.
At the green light, Beau made a U-turn back to town, all the while thinking that baseball season couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
He spotted her just after taking the last open seat on the aisle of the third row of the church hall. It was much easier to find a spare seat for one, he had found. She was talking animatedly with a guy next to her—maybe they’d arrived early—her hair pulled back much like it had been this morning when they’d passed each other on the sand. She wore red well.
A slap on the back by Taylor broke his concentration. “Hey, Beau.”
“They let you in?” he shot back, over his shoulder.
Hands in his pockets, Taylor gave Beau a good-natured smile. “Had to. I hung the lights for this blowout.” Tay glanced around, his chin bobbing. “Man, there are a lot of women here. No idea so many of ’em liked baseball.”
&nb
sp; Beau smirked and looked away, his gaze landing again on the mystery woman in the red sweater. The guy next to her playfully bumped her shoulder. He forced himself to listen to Taylor’s banter. “Baseball. Yes, I’m sure that’s why they are all here.” He answered his friend without looking at him.
“Oh, I get it. You’re here to see all of them!” He swept an arm toward the people in the crowd, many of them female.
Beau nodded. “Right—” He whipped his chin back toward Taylor. “Hey—what?”
His friend stood there nodding, a Cheshire-cat-sized grin on his mug. “Want me to help you pick one? You have a penchant for blondes, right? Saw one over by the exit and I don’t remember her having a ring on her finger.”
Beau shrank back. “You looked at her hand? You are one strange dude.”
Taylor placed a forceful hand on Beau’s shoulder, his smile sheepish. “I consider it my job to look out for you, friend. You can count on me.”
Beau shook his head and laughed. “I’ve no doubt about that. But I’m not here for … for anything other than to hear the speaker.”
“So you’re in need of some inspiration.”
Beau considered the past ten hours, most of them spent with his eyes staring at a computer screen, analyzing marketing data for clients who had been waiting for answers. His mind still exploded with figures and charts, many of them meaningless to him now, but still enough clutter in his head to keep him from dealing with his new life. He knew that wasn’t good, but the alternative—dwelling on how he wanted his future to play out—made him weary.
Instead, he nodded at Taylor and simply said, “Some inspiration is good for the soul. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Taylor’s grin faltered, and Beau realized just how much his friend wanted to keep smiling on his behalf. “Then you’re in the right place.”
Walking on Sea Glass Page 2