I’m going to go to my beach now. I want Dad to think I ran away from home. That will teach him a thing or two, won’t it?
Love,
Katherine
“Don’t run away, Katherine,” Beth said out loud. Then she promptly dressed, ate breakfast, and drove to the marina.
Chapter 11
Taking Charge
Rod Thompson was meticulously cleaning salt deposits off of the electric wenches on The Bottomless Blue when Beth pulled up in her car. He stood, quickly disembarked, and strode down the dock as if to prevent her from stepping on. He was decidedly irritated.
Beth held her head high and walked toward the intimidating man.
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson.”
“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” he barked.
Beth ignored his response. “I know who Katherine is.”
Rod’s face contorted in anger. “Don’t you ever say that name in my presence again. Do you understand?”
“It’s just that I feel that—”
“Are you deaf? Jesus Christ, woman, leave me the hell alone!” He crossed the distance between them and pushed Beth so hard she fell down. “Unless you want to find yourself looking for another place to live.” He turned to walk away.
Beth gasped in surprise. “What did you do to her? No wonder she ran away, you monster.”
Silence fell over the marina as Rod stopped in his tracks.
Beth could feel the air change. She scrambled to her feet, ran to her car, and did not stop to look back. She sped up Main Street and drove for miles until she found an obscure, dirt road. She followed it for about ten minutes and came to a rest in a clearing filled with smooth stones. A small lake covered with a thin layer of fog could be seen just beyond the clearing. Grass and brambles surrounded the edge of the lake, and they seemed to continue to grow beneath the surface of the water. Beth looked around. Behind her, beyond the smooth rocks, a forest of trees – both deciduous and evergreen – blocked her view of the road and any surrounding property. Numerous young trees were cracked in half or broken at the base, lying on the ground or entangled in other trees.
Beth grabbed a jacket from the backseat, emerged from the car, and sat on a large rock near the lake. She took deep breaths, drawing in the damp, foggy air. As she rested, the fog dissipated and she could see the far end of the lake, which was no more than two hundred yards away. A patch of reeds rustled ten feet from the shore.
Along with the fog, Beth’s head began to clear. Her mind traced the interesting and amazing events of the previous two weeks as her heart slowed down and her breathing returned to normal.
Then she thought of the red-haired girl, and an odd impulse urged her to move.
* * * *
On her way back home, she stopped at the jewelry shop. When she entered, Kenny was in the back, but he had a good view of the front door, and he glanced up when she walked in. She cleared her throat and announced, “I would like to commission a barrette from you.” She hoped to appear sophisticated, but she knew she sounded ridiculous.
Kenny approached the counter, looking at her with interest, yet saying nothing.
How can you run a business without saying hello to your customers? Beth wondered. Then she spoke out loud, a little less pretentious. “Do you make those? Barrettes, I mean. Nothing real fancy, no jewels, maybe something silver attached to a comb. Yeah, that’s it. A hair comb, not a barrette. Could you do something for under one hundred dollars?” Beth chased away the reproachful voices in her head that reminded her to respect her mother’s money. It’s a business expense, she justified.
Kenny nodded, mumbled an “uh-huh,” and unlocked his customer journal drawer.
Beth saw what he was doing, and she clarified. “It is not for me, actually. It is for a teenage girl. So if you’re making notes there,” she said, gesturing to the little book Kenny had removed from the drawer, “then write down ‘passionate, capricious redhead.’”
Kenny’s face took on an expression that looked almost like a smile. No, it wasn’t a smile, it was more like a stifled air of amusement.
Is he laughing at me? Beth asked herself incredulously. Well, Mister-with-the-notebook, I could have a snicker or two at your expense, couldn’t I? Beth remained quiet for a moment, eyeing Kenny suspiciously as he made a few notes in the journal.
“Thursday,” he said, his eyes averted.
Slightly perturbed, Beth asked, “What’s Thursday?”
“I’ll have it for you on Thursday,” he said dryly, glancing up at her.
She grinned mischievously. “See? I knew you could make a full sentence.”
Kenny’s eyes flashed that mysterious color Beth had seen the last time she was there. She still couldn’t tell if it was black or midnight blue, but for a moment he came to life. It unnerved her slightly, but she held his gaze. Then, in an instant, the life vanished and the well-guarded façade took its place once again.
Beth took a step back from the counter and turned to go. “I’ll see you Thursday,” she said slyly as she exited the store. Pausing for a moment, she waited for another reaction, but Kenny walked, unfazed, back to the smithery.
* * * *
When Beth returned home, she found her cell phone on the kitchen counter. A message from Bobby Downy politely asked when she would deliver another painting. He said he had several people look with interest at the lighthouse.
Beth sighed feeling flustered. She had the lighthouse to finish, the bed and breakfast to paint, and a website to set up. Yet, all she felt like doing was painting the girl. Such an endeavor wasn’t sensible. Deadlines and time management were essential tools for a successful artist. Beth put the diary away in her bottom dresser drawer and went to work.
After making good use of the day, she allowed herself to surf the Internet in search of art supplies. A flexible wooden hand, precisely what she needed, popped up on misterart.com. Smiling, she grabbed her purse and placed an order.
Later that evening Beth closed the curtains to avoid the firefly, averted her eyes from the dresser, and went to bed, vowing to make the most of Tuesday.
Chapter 12
Flashback
Late Monday night, after wrapping up several repair projects, Kenny McLeary began to design a hair comb for an unknown red-haired girl.
Out of wax, he fashioned a dogwood flower with three leaves. He delicately sketched veins on the leaves and ripples on the petals. Then he created a small, raised border around each leaf and petal. The border would remain silver. The leaves would eventually be painted a dark, olive green, and the petals white. A small yellow rhinestone was to be set in the middle to form the center of the flower. The thin, sterling silver ornament would be attached to a clear plastic comb, the type he normally used to create pearled wedding hairpieces for gushing brides.
Sometime on Wednesday, while Kenny multitasked between creating a new pendant, designing a ring, and casting the dogwood in silver, he knocked a toolbox off of one of the benches. It crashed loudly on the ground and tools clattered and rolled in several directions. Kenny jumped with a start. He crossed to a chair at the far side of the room and took several deep breaths to quiet his pounding heart.
Occasionally loud crashing sounds gave rise to unpleasant flashbacks. He tried to keep them at bay, but sometimes they caught up with him.
That afternoon the memory of a terrible evening intruded his creative endeavors. He was eight years old, sitting at his desk putting decals on a model airplane. It had taken him two months and considerable detailed attention to finish the model, and he was quite pleased with himself. He sat quietly in his room, admiring his accomplishment.
Kenny’s mother was drunk, talking loudly in the kitchen across the hall from his bedroom door. His door stood ajar and he heard her cracking jokes and laughing hysterically. His father was also drinking, but he was less jovial. Something his mother said perturbed his father, and the man went into a rage.
“Watch your mouth, you trashy slut,
” he screamed.
“Settle down, Mack. I was only joking.”
“You want to talk back to me? I’ll give you something to complain about.”
Young Kenny froze and did not breathe for a moment. The tension in the air almost suffocated him. He could hear his father slamming kitchen cupboards.
“Clean up this mess, bitch!”
Dishes crashed and broke in the sink.
Kenny heard his mother pleading. “No, Mack. Stop. Please.”
Kenny slipped stealthily to his door and closed it as quietly as possible. But his father must have heard him. Loud, stomping footsteps came barreling toward Kenny’s bedroom and the door flew open. His father towered over him with a two-day beard, reeking of sweat and alcohol. He wore a stained t-shirt and gray sweatpants.
“What are you doing in here? Are you listening to us?”
“Nuh…nothing…no, sir.”
“Are you still working on that stupid toy?” his father asked, gesturing toward the model airplane.
“Yes, sir. I’m just finishing up.” Kenny tried to smile, but he was shaking. “The decals are drying.”
“What a stupid waste of time. Doesn’t your mother give you enough chores?”
“No…ah, yes…I mean, I do my chores. I bought this with my own money, and I only work on it during my free time.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” Mack barked. “You have too much free time. This weekend you need to clean out the garage.”
“But I did that last month.”
“What did you say?” His father stepped briskly toward Kenny and shouted in his face.
Kenny tried to hold his breath against the smell. He said nothing.
“I said what did you say?”
“Uh…nuh…nothing,” young Kenny responded, quivering.
“Nothing, my ass, you little punk.” His father reached for the airplane.
“No!” Kenny blurted out.
Mack turned in fury. “Are you saying no to me? I can’t look at this piece of shit plastic you wasted your time on?”
“No…uh, I mean yes…sorry.”
In a matter of seconds, which passed in slow motion in Kenny’s memory, his father’s face transformed into the image of a deranged beast, fire engine red with a grimace from hell. He threw the airplane as hard as he could across the room against the far wall. It shattered into several pieces. Kenny stood rigid, his chin up, looking over – not at – the wreckage.
His father laughed. “I guess it’s back to the drawing board.” He continued to laugh as he exited the room and slammed the door behind him.
Eventually Kenny crossed the room, kneeled on the floor, and gathered up the pieces. He loosely arranged them into their proper shape. He could hear his parents arguing in the kitchen. Then he heard his mother screaming and crying. He threw the airplane into the garbage, lay down, and put a pillow over his ears.
The older Kenny pushed the memory out of his mind, mangled it and buried it as deep as it would go. Then he stood, crossed the room, and began to gather the scattered tools.
Chapter 13
Sleuthing
Early Tuesday morning Rod Thompson set out on The Bottomless Blue. He threw the dock lines loose, put the engine in reverse, and backed out carefully, correcting for wind and current. He slipped past the breaker wall at 5:06 a.m. He was not seen in Virginia Point again until the following week.
* * * *
Beth worked diligently all day. She finished the painting of the bed and breakfast by noon, and by dinnertime Old Charlie stood proudly, drying in the fresh air that wafted through an open window. Beth absentmindedly closed all of the blinds before sunset. But the diary seemed to sing like a siren from her dresser drawer, and she was unable to resist its summons.
“Muses, sirens,” she mumbled. “I should have majored in Greek mythology.” Wearing a slightly guilty smile, she eagerly retrieved the diary from its hiding place. “Where were we?” She opened the cover and found her place.
Thursday, July 17
Sarah is being a real bitch. I finally told her about John and she acted all weird, you know. She says Dad is right and that he’s too old. I think she’s just jealous, that’s what I think. But she’s still my friend, so I don’t entirely hate her…yet.
Well, I’m going to take a walk and think. Thanks for listening.
Love,
K
Friday, July 18
Hello, Diary:
I’m feeling much better today. I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’m just going to schedule my drop-in visits to the garage for the days I know Dad is running errands. Brilliant, right? I’m going to go this afternoon. Wish me luck!
L,
K
Saturday, July 19
Dear Diary:
It went pretty well yesterday. I hung out with John while Dad was visiting a client, Mr. Campbell. That old fart thinks he deserves house calls. Dad’s known him for a long time, so he heads on out there to take a peek under the hood of Mr. Campbell’s Oldsmobile every now and again when the old guy “smells trouble.”
Anyway, it was fine by me. I got to spend a couple of hours with John. We talked a little…about his travels and about my straight A’s in history classes. I told him I enjoyed history, especially World War II. That’s not typically a girl thing, so I think it impressed him. Sometimes we didn’t say anything at all, and it was okay…comfortable. I’ve never experienced that before. It was weird and good at the same time. I handed him some tools when he needed them. We just passed the time.
I made sure I cut out of there before Dad showed up. John grinned at me when I left. I can’t tell you how gorgeous that grin is. It made me tingle all over. I think he likes me. I really think he likes me.
Well, that’s all for now.
Love,
Katherine
Monday, July 28
Oh, man. What a nightmare. Dad dreamt up a surprise vacation for us the Sunday before last. I feel like I’ve been gone a month. I really missed Mr. Cutie-Pie. I’ve got to find some time to catch him alone this week.
Anyway, Dad must be going bonkers. He’s just trying to keep me away from John. I know it. We drove north along the coast. It was pretty nice in some ways. But I was edgy the whole time. Dad could feel it, and I think it made him a little sad. I used to love taking spontaneous vacations with him. But this time I was sort of mad, so I didn’t care if I was hurting his feelings. He’s got to realize that I’m seventeen now. I’m not exactly his little girl anymore. If he doesn’t start treating me like an adult, I swear I’m going to go out of my mind.
Anyway, I didn’t dare bring you, Diary. Dad is all over me. I’m going to take some time this afternoon to scout out a really good hiding place for you. If Dad reads you, I’m a dead woman.
Love,
Katherine
Tuesday, July 29
How do you like your new hiding place? I’m pretty clever, huh? Dad will never find you now. This is my beach. No one comes here. I’ve got you wrapped in a Tupperware container inside the metal box to keep you dry. If you start to get crinkly, I’ll have to choose another place. But in the meantime, this is the perfect spot.
I’m going to try to catch a glimpse of Mr. Cutie-Pie today. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.
L,
K
Friday, August 1
Dear Diary:
Sorry I haven’t visited for a few days. It is a little harder to get to you on the beach. If I sneak down here too often, Dad will smell something fishy in the air. I don’t need him casing out my private beach.
Anyway, it has been a very good week. I got to visit John twice. Once at the garage, and one morning when he was home sick. I brought him some chicken soup and crackers. When he answered the door, he looked like hell, but he was still cute in his robe with his hair flying in every direction.
At first he did not know what to say when I was standing there. I think he was a little embarrassed. But after a mome
nt, he flashed me his famous grin. I heated up the Campbell’s on the stove, and I sat with him at the kitchen table. He kept saying that I should go so I wouldn’t get sick, but he never stood up and led me to the door, so I stayed. I’ll bet he was just trying to be polite. He seemed to like having me there.
Before I left I did the craziest thing. I invited him to visit my beach this weekend if he felt better. Can you believe I asked him? I told him it was my secret beach, mum’s the word, you know. That way my dad won’t catch wind of anything. And John will think the sneaking is just to keep my hideout a secret. I really hope he comes. Keep an eye out.
Love,
K
Beth fell asleep with the diary on her chest.
When she awoke, she hastily found a bookmark, tucked it in the pages, and returned the diary to the dresser. Then she showered, got dressed, and headed for the studio. She wrapped Old Charlie and The Cove in brown paper and packed them neatly in her car. She dropped the lighthouse off at Kelp Corner. Bobby Downy was waiting with another commission check.
“Thank goodness. We’ve just sold the lighthouse and my walls are going to look bare.”
Beth grinned. She unwrapped the lighthouse painting and held it up for Bobby to see.
“Marvelous. Old Charlie. He is stunning. I’ll have him sold by the end of the week,” Bobby declared.
“That would be wonderful,” Beth said joyfully but discouraging thoughts popped into her head. Assuming his confidence is well-founded, that means I’ll have to complete another painting by Friday. Painting for a living is harder work than I expected. She smiled, nonetheless. And after a moment, she laughed at herself. It’s a pain in the ass when dreams come true, isn’t it?
She dropped by the bed and breakfast. She was nervous, yet excited, to hear Mary’s opinion of her work. Mary, Abigail, and Lou were sitting on the patio when she arrived. Lou answered the door and led Beth to the ladies, who were eating sandwiches and chatting joyfully.
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