Firefly Beach

by Meira Pentermann

  “Oh my stars!” Mary exclaimed when she saw Beth. “Is that it? Is that my painting?”

  “Uh, yes, but—”

  “No buts. Unwrap it. I’m on pins and needles.”

  Mary’s excitement exacerbated Beth’s anxiety. “If you don’t like it,” she explained, “I can always sell it at Bobby’s and paint a new one.”

  “Nonsense. I haven’t even seen it yet. You will have to work on your salesmanship skills if you’re going to make a living out of this, dear.”

  Beth unwrapped the painting with the back facing Lou and the ladies. Then she turned it around slowly. There was complete silence for a moment and Beth’s stomach lurched.

  Finally, Mary gasped. Her eyes started to water. “It is gorgeous,” she whispered. “It is exactly what I wanted,” she added with gusto. “Good show.”

  She stood up and took the painting in her hands. Then she handed it to her mother and gave Beth a huge hug. Lou and Abigail fawned over the painting for a moment. Then Mary snatched it from their hands and whisked it to the entryway. Down came the painting of the starfish, and up went the painting of The Virginia Point Cove.

  “Lou,” Mary shouted.

  Lou ran after Mary. Beth and Abigail trailed close behind.

  “We need to put the nail a little higher. What do you think?”

  “I agree,” Abigail said.

  Beth stood quietly, not offering her opinion. She was slightly embarrassed, but glowing. A special feeling welled up within her, a feeling of accomplishment coupled with hope for personal significance.

  “I’ll get my toolbox,” Lou hollered as he left the room and headed toward the garage.

  Mary continued to gaze at the painting. “What do I owe you, dear?”

  “Oh, uh…” Beth stammered. “Bobby is selling them in his shop for three hundred twenty-five.”

  “I’ll pay three hundred seventy-five then.”

  “But—”

  “I promised you top dollar, and I don’t go back on my word. When you become famous and start selling them for thousands, I’ll brag to all my friends about what a steal I got.” She pointed to the painting and grinned proudly.

  Shortly after the painting was properly adjusted, Abigail announced that she was going to take a walk. “Would anyone like to join me?”

  “No, thank you,” Mary said. “I’ll clean up the patio.”

  “I would like to come,” Beth piped up. She thought it might be a perfect time to ask some questions about Katherine. She had defaulted on her promise to the firefly that she would locate the young lady. Beth did some quick math in her head. I guess she is hardly a “young lady” anymore. She is older than me, for goodness sake. The idea struck her as odd, since she only knew Katherine through the diary’s giddy, teenage narration.

  Beth followed Abigail out the door. She ran to catch up with her. Abigail maintained a quick gait. Beth envied the spry woman and her accomplishments. She has a loving family she can visit as well as her own life in Florida. And she is in great shape, Beth realized as she struggled to keep pace. Beth imagined Abigail in Palm Beach, celebrating her golden years, content in her solitude, complete with her achievements. She wondered if such a day would come in her own life. Then she realized that she was already closer to that goal than she had been only a few weeks ago. She set aside her envy and thought about the author of the diary.

  “Did Katherine have red hair?” she asked suddenly.

  “No, not really. She had brown hair.” Abigail laughed. “But she certainly had the temperament of a passionate, Irish redhead. So I suppose you could say she had a redheaded spirit.”

  Beth was somewhat disappointed. She had hoped that she had telepathically captured the true image of the diary’s author. It was a ridiculous idea, but then, so was seeing floating balls of light. Perhaps it was enough that she had been inspired to paint a portrait, and that she was having an unexpected success. It was a whole new avenue for her painting career. Plus, being able to capture the essence of someone might be as important as accurately drawing his or her physical image. Beth pondered for several minutes before asking her next question.

  “Do you remember the boy’s name?”

  “Oh, gee. It was Josh or Joe—”

  “John,” Beth corrected sharply, but caught herself. “Perhaps? Do you know his last name?”

  Abigail raised her eyebrows slightly. “You are correct. It was John. John Higgins. I remember that because it was the same last name as my favorite teacher. Good old Mr. Higgins.”

  “Do you remember anything interesting about John Higgins? Can you guess where he might have gone if he ran away with Katherine?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t have any ideas,” she replied. “But if my reasoning serves me well, it appears that someone is planning a little detective work.” Abigail smiled broadly. “Are you going to find Katherine, bring her home to her father, and restore love and tranquility to Virginia Point?” she asked, teasing.

  Beth blushed. “No…yeah. I guess I want to find her. I don’t expect it will change the crazy man down there by the dock,” she said, gesturing in the general direction of the marina. “But it will make me happy,” she admitted.

  “Good for you. And don’t underestimate the power of love and blood. If Katherine came waltzing into town, that may be just enough to melt the old buzzard’s ice cold heart.”

  Beth laughed. As they walked, she asked Abigail about Florida, and the elderly woman relayed detailed, animated stories. Abigail asked Beth about her past but Beth offered only restrained, emotionless answers.

  * * * *

  That afternoon, Beth spent a considerable amount of time looking on the Internet white pages for a Katherine Thompson in Maine. She also tried Katherine Higgins and John Higgins. The number of matches overwhelmed Beth. She called most of them. They all claimed they had never lived near Virginia Point. It was possible that one of them was lying, but it was also possible that Katherine had an unlisted number. Besides, if a person was cautious enough to lie about his or her history, then clearly he or she did not want to be found. And it did Beth absolutely no good trying to find someone who didn’t want to be found. Still, she attempted to call every Katherine Thompson, Katherine Higgins, and John Higgins she was able to locate in Maine before giving it a rest and preparing something to eat.

  As she ate, she realized that Katherine and John could be anywhere. If they had run away, they probably would not have stayed in Maine. They may not have even remained in New England. John was from California. Would they have moved to the west coast? Beth shook her head, realizing it could take weeks to call every match across the United States. It seemed hopeless.

  After dinner she took a walk along the road, heading north. Then she crossed through the forest toward the coast. Just before sunset, Beth found her way to the private beach. The sand was cold and she had no blanket. Mesmerized, she sat staring out at nothing as the islands slipped into silhouettes. Soft hues of orange danced on the water and pink caressed the clouds as the sun descended somewhere behind her field of vision. The sea was tame. Barely a ripple could be distinguished on its glassy surface. It was tranquil, a tranquility that Beth craved after days of chaos and concerns. Reluctant to leave, she lingered long after the sun set.

  She thought about Katherine’s invitation to John. Had he come to the beach? There was one way to find out. Beth stood and brushed the sand off her pants. When she looked up, the firefly floated a few feet away.

  “Hello,” Beth said wearily. She pulled her hair back with one hand and stared at the creature. For some reason, that night, she didn’t find it frightening. “I’m not having much success, you know.” She stared impatiently at the firefly as if, somehow, she expected it to answer. “No one wants to lay claim to being Katherine Thompson from Virginia Point. But I have barely scratched the surface. I don’t have enough clues. Am I missing something?” She sauntered down the beach and touched the wet sand with the toe of her shoe. The firefly followed her
to the water’s edge.

  “Anyway, I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe California. But right now I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.” She said this as if instructing a toddler that it was mommy time. The firefly shot over the edge of the cliff. Beth climbed up. When she reached the top, the light creature was waiting.

  “Going to walk me home, huh?” Beth said with a whimsical tone. “That is very gentlemanly of you…or gentlecreaturely.” Beth laughed and walked slowly back to the house, her hands in her pockets, the firefly floating protectively at her side.

  Beth slipped into the house without looking back. The firefly hovered in the clearing. Beth noticed it when she closed her bedroom curtain. She waved tentatively. Then she grabbed the diary and propped herself up in bed.

  Saturday, August 2

  I’m really tired of Sarah. I’m not telling her anything anymore. She is so self-righteous. She thinks she knows everything.

  I told her about my visit to John’s house, and she went berserk. She told me I “need to get on the pill or something.” As if chicken soup could get me pregnant. John is being a perfect gentleman. And well, maybe I should start taking the pill. You never know when it might come in handy.

  I did not tell her that I invited John to the beach. She doesn’t even know about the beach. It is my secret, and it’s going to stay that way. At least until I share it with John. Then it will be our secret.

  Ooh. I can’t wait!

  Love,

  Katherine

  Monday, August 4

  Did you see him? Ha ha. He was here yesterday. And, oh, what an amazing day it was.

  I knew Dad was going sailing with Frank Willoughby. So that gave us an opportunity to sneak down to the beach. He hid the Honda up the road in the forest just in case Dad came home early or something. Maybe someday he’ll take me for a motorcycle ride. That would be very cool.

  I climbed down first. It was fun to spy on him as he came down. His arms gripping the holds, his gorgeous butt swaying as he descended. It was just plain yummy.

  We sat and looked out over the water, saying very little for a long time.

  Then he leaned over and kissed me. He smelled and tasted so good. I’m blushing just thinking about it. His lips were soft. And…well…here’s the thing: I’ve never French kissed before. I thought it would be kind of creepy. But…well…it wasn’t. His tongue was so gentle and…whew. I didn’t know kissing could be like that. I remember when Tommy Sanders kissed me at the “Freshman Ball.” Bletch. That was so awkward. But not Mr. Cutie-Pie. He was really sexy.

  We kind of made out. I think. Only we were just kissing. A lot. It was really nice.

  We’re going to try to meet here again on Thursday.

  I can’t wait. My lips are tingling in anticipation.

  Bye bye,

  Katherine

  Beth caught herself touching her lips and letting her fingers caress the side of her neck around to the front of her throat. She took a deep breath and allowed herself the sensuous feelings, which had long been absent. She continued to read.

  Friday, August 8

  Dear Diary:

  I’m in love. I am completely and totally in love. I’m going to marry this John Higgins. Mrs. Higgins. Mrs. John Higgins.

  He visited the beach again yesterday. We made out. I mean we really made out this time. He touched my breasts. I thought I was going to melt into him right there on the spot. Oh, he feels good. He tastes good. I can’t get enough of this.

  I can see why Sarah suggested I get on the pill. She’s a smart girl even though she’s a pain in the ass. I’m going to have to arrange a visit to a doctor. Real, real soon…because if he touches me like that again, I’m going to go all the way. I swear. I won’t be able to help it. He is the hottest thing in the world!

  Smooooch.

  Love,

  Katherine

  For a moment, Beth struggled with an unpleasant memory that wanted to surface. She closed the diary abruptly without replacing the bookmark, set it on the bedside table, and curled up on her bed facing away from the diary. She chased away the bad thoughts and focused on Katherine and her lover caressing on the secret beach that Beth now called her own. She willed herself a dreamless sleep and was rewarded with an uneventful night.

  In the morning, Beth made more phone calls. There were a dozen dead ends and two disconnected phone numbers. She redialed several people who had not answered the day before. Then she moved on to the California white pages. Surprisingly, she got through to everyone she called, but she found no Katherines from Virginia Point and no John Higgins that had traveled across the country on a motorcycle when he was in his twenties. Finally, she came to the end of her list.

  The last phone number belonged to a Katherine Higgins in California. Beth dialed it with an air of resignation. The phone seemed to ring for an eternity. Beth almost hung up, but at the last moment she heard a click.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Katherine Higgins?” Beth asked, conveying as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “Just a moment.”

  After several seconds a woman picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said. “Who is this?” The woman sounded as if she were in her seventies.

  Beth’s heart sank. But she offered the woman the same speech she gave every other potential Katherine she had spoken with over the previous twenty-four hours. “Hello. I am Beth LaMonte from Virginia Point, Maine. I’m looking for a Katherine Higgins or a Katherine Thompson who grew up here in Virginia Point.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I’m afraid I cannot help you. I’ve never even visited the east coast.”

  “Okay,” Beth said, all the joy draining out of her in one breath. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Good luck with your search. I’m sorry I could not have been of more help. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Beth sighed, hung up the phone, and set it on the coffee table. She had made over fifty calls in less than a day. Fifty phone calls and not a clue, not one single bite. The thought of moving on to the other forty-eight states made Beth weary.

  She wandered over to her mother’s photo. “What now?” she whispered. She felt the tears that were longing to burst forth pressing at the edges of her eyelids. One tear broke through her defenses and rolled silently down her cheek. She grabbed a Kleenex, blew her nose, and lay down on the couch. She was emotionally exhausted.

  “What now?”

  Chapter 14

  Melody

  Kenny McLeary examined with admiration his latest achievement, the dogwood comb for Beth LaMonte.

  This would have looked beautiful on Melody, he thought. All at once, images of Melody popped into his head; images he would rather not have coming to call on such an otherwise peaceful Thursday morning.

  Melody was a flamboyant woman with dark auburn hair. She was passionate, yet volatile. She would light up a room when she entered it. Everyone, male and female, would turn and gaze in her direction. But her mood could turn in an instant, and she would explode like a pack of firecrackers. She was especially dangerous when she was drinking.

  Kenny dated her when he was in his early thirties. He was a very shy man, and Melody waltzed into his life, changing everything. She was on fire. She made life exciting, horribly dysfunctional, but exhilarating at the same time. He found her intoxicating. Of course, much of the time she was intoxicated. It may have been his mother he sought in her. But, nonetheless, he loved her like he loved no one. Her beauty and passion blinded him. He idolized her.

  But she was cruel.

  She appeared in Kenny’s life just after he opened the jewelry store in Virginia Point. Right off the bat, she seduced him into designing a piece of jewelry, a pendant, for which she never paid. He waved her debt and asked her to dinner. It was the first night on a roller coaster ride that lasted for three years.

  On Valentine’s Day just before their third anniversary, Kenny planned to propose to Melody. He designed the most lovingly intricate ring
he had ever created. It was simple, yet elegant, embracing a precious, one-carat marquise cut diamond that he went into debt to obtain. He grilled a salmon, set a table with candles, and poured two glasses of champagne.

  Melody arrived drunk, laughing gregariously. She stumbled into the room and saw the beautifully set table in the candlelight. She dropped her purse by the door. “Hey, Romeo, what do we have here?” She made a beeline for the champagne. She took a sip. “Eww. A little sweet for my taste.” She took several gulps anyway.

  Kenny smiled shyly and led her to a chair. He was very nervous. In some ways he longed to get it over with, but he wanted the moment to be right. He served a plate of salmon on a bed of rice with lightly steamed broccoli on the side. Melody dug in before Kenny even sat down.

  “Good,” she said between bites. She guzzled the champagne and poured herself another glass.

  Kenny looked around nervously and forgot his composure. He knelt down beside her, snatched the box from his coat pocket, and popped it open near her face.

  She stared for a moment at the ring and at Kenny. Then, guffawing hysterically, she shouted in disbelief, “You want to marry me?”

  Kenny stammered. He had not expected such a reaction. “I…uh…yes.” He wiped his brow and tried to steady his shaking knee. “Will you marry me?” he blurted out.

  “Of course not, silly.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you noticed I’ve been away a lot lately?”

  “I thought you were working on a big project.”

  “Well, it is a big project, if you put it that way.” She threw her head back and giggled uncontrollably before her mood shifted to disgust. “I’m seeing someone, you idiot.” She took a large gulp of champagne. “Someone who fucks a whole lot better than you,” she added with a hateful grin. “I only stick around for the jewelry…and that looks like a handsome piece.” She reached for the ring.