by Various
She thought back. A cinnamon bun at the coffee shop. A bottle of water. “Of course.”
He gave her a look. “What, a piece of lettuce at lunch?” He shoved back onto his heels.
“What are you doing here?” She pushed her hair behind her ears. Her mouth, cottony, had a hard time getting the words out.
“Marcia was outside trying to call 911. I was heading back from a job out this side of town and saw her standing in the front yard trying to get cell reception.”
“We got rid of our landline last year,” Marcia added.
“And you stopped,” Sophie said to Lucas.
“Of course. She looked like something was wrong.”
Sophie groped for her purse, embarrassed. “It’s not. I’m fine.” She glanced at Marcia and managed to pull herself onto the footstool.
“Take it easy.” Two paws landed on her shoulders as Lucas steadied her.
“Honey, you...” Marcia’s voice shook.
“You scared us,” Lila finished.
Lucas’s gaze fell onto the picture, lying face-up on the floor beside her.
“I got a little lightheaded, I guess. How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“You know, I should take you to the Med Center,” he said. “I want to make sure this isn’t anything more serious than some lightheadedness.”
“No. Forget it. I’m already feeling better.”
Lucas scowled. From somewhere he produced a package of sugar cookies, those gross, stale, five-hundred calorie things you found in vending machines at pay-by-the-hour motels. “Eat these. Your blood sugar is probably low.”
Sophie made a face. “No thanks.”
“It’s not a discussion. Eat them or I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Fine.” She ripped open the cellophane, resisting the urge to look for the expiration date, and shoved three of the cookies into her mouth at one time. “Twehrah,” she said around the crumbs. “Happy?”
“Blissfully.”
She managed to finish swallowing. Then she snuck the rest of the package into her purse while his back was turned.
“I’m driving you back to Francine’s.”
Sophie nodded without a word of protest. Sliding between smooth sheets in a dark room sounded like a lovely idea right about now. She’d had about enough of sleuthing for today.
“Do you want to keep anything?” Marcia picked up the picture frame.
Sophie shook her head. “Thank you for letting me come out, though, and look through everything.”
“Of course. We were happy to. Here.” Lila handed her a bottle of water. “At least take this.”
“Thanks.” It did taste good going down. Cooled the burning center of her chest and settled her heart back into rhythm.
“You know, you might have had a panic attack,” Lucas said a few minutes later, after he’d buckled her into the passenger seat of his truck. “Happens sometimes, though people don’t usually pass out from ’em.” He reached over and pressed two fingers to her wrist. “You feeling better?”
She nodded.
“Pulse is a hell of a lot slower.” He slung his free arm along the back of her seat. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“What were you doing out there?”
She stared at the trees passing by her window. “They had an old box of stuff. Said I could look through it for the show.”
“And?”
She closed her eyes.
“I saw the picture,” he said after a moment. “On the floor.”
Silence. What was she supposed to say?
“Is it your parents? Your father?”
Her shoulders hunched up around her ears.
“Ah.”
She swallowed and tried to sound casual. “Even if it’s him, it doesn’t change anything.”
It changes everything.
“Sophie.” Lucas adjusted his baseball cap. “That’s a huge thing to deal with.”
“Hey.” She reached over and pressed one hand to his lips. “Stop talking. Please.” She couldn’t think about this right now. She sure as hell couldn’t talk about it with someone she’d met only a few days earlier.
“Okay, but can we do something else instead?” He raised a brow and slowed the truck.
She smiled. “No.”
He smiled too. “I was kidding. You need to rest. And we should take a rain check on dinner and dancing tonight.” He slowed at the Stop sign as they approached Main Street. “I can stay with you a while, though. If you want. Make sure you don’t pass out again.”
“It’s nice of you to offer. But you don’t need to.” Still, the thought that he wanted to take care of her warmed something awfully nice down around her toes. Or maybe her ankles. Working its way up to her thighs and her belly and leaving all kinds of tingles in its wake.
“Here we go.” He pulled into Francine’s before she had time to launch herself into a full-fledged fantasy. Good thing, because she still felt a little unsteady on her feet, and a layer of perspiration from head to toe hinted a shower would be a good idea.
“Want a hand going in?”
She shook her head and tested her balance.
“I’ll get some takeout at the diner and bring it back, if you want.”
“I want.”
He grinned. “Sandwiches okay?”
She nodded. Sometimes Lucas reminded her of a big, dopey guard dog. Take care of all the details, make sure she had food, water, shelter, and then blend back into the scenery. Kind of the way he did with all of Lindsey Point’s spinsters and widows. “Sandwiches sound perfect.”
He waited for her to slide from the cab before leaning over to ask, “You do eat meat, right?”
“Oh hell yes.” She took a few careful steps. No spinning. No goose bumps. She was starving, and exhausted, and her head was pounding with the effort of not thinking about the damn wedding picture lying face-up on Marcia and Lila’s living room floor, but otherwise, Sophie felt a whole lot better than she had an hour ago.
Lucas beeped twice as he pulled out of the driveway, and even though she knew he couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the diesel engine, she waved and said, “I’ll see you later.”
* * * *
“Guess I was a little hungry.” Sophie crumpled up her sandwich wrapper and tossed it toward the trash can in the corner.
“Thought you might be.” Lucas sat on the opposite side of the parlor.
“Thank you. And thanks for not saying anything to Lon.” She’d told him she’d taken a walk, visited some locals, and stayed longer than she’d planned. Most was the truth. They’d had to reschedule the interview with Nutty Nellie, something about the woman’s meds being off, so Sophie hadn’t missed anything.
“I’m not used to lying,” Lucas said. He tipped the last of an enormous can of iced tea into his mouth. “And if anything–I mean anything–like that happens again, I’m telling him. As it is, you should get some bloodwork done. Make sure you aren’t anemic or something. You gotta take care of yourself.”
“I do.”
He folded his hands behind his head. “Why is it so hard for you to let people care about you?”
She blinked. “I let plenty of people care. I don’t need them fussing around. There’s a difference.”
“You think I’m fussing?”
“To a certain degree, yes.” She tucked her feet beneath her. “I think it’s what you do best around here. “
“There a problem with that?”
She sighed. “No, Mr. Wonderful, Mr. Rescuer-of-All-Things-Needy, there’s no problem.”
He shook his head, got up, and packed away the rest of the trash they’d scattered on the antique coffee table. “I’m leaving.”
“What did I say?”
“Nothing. It’s been a long day, and you need rest, and I told Lon I’d meet you all at Nellie’s tomorrow morning. So I’m calling it a night. The same way you should.” He stopped shuffling aroun
d the room and stuck his hands into his pockets like his didn’t know what to do with them. “You’re sure you feeling better?”
“Yes. I told you ten times, yes.” Honestly, she’d feel better with those arms around her, but she’d said something to piss him off, and now he stood all wounded-looking in the parlor. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yup. See you.”
“Pfft.” Sophie blew out a long breath as the door closed behind him. She made her way to her bedroom. Unsettled. Dissatisfied. Something felt all wrong inside her.
Upstairs, she turned on her iPad and stared at the screen. She should. She needed to. But what happened when she did? She sank onto the uneven mattress and traced the keyboard. Easy enough to confirm what the picture had told her, loud and clear. Names on a piece of paper would tell her once and for all. What they wouldn’t explain, though, was why? That, of course, was the overwhelming question. Why hadn’t her mother ever mentioned her father’s true identity? Why hadn’t she told Sophie the history of her grandparents? Why hadn’t they ever visited Lindsey Point, even to drive by the sign and shiver at the bad karma?
Protection had always been her mother’s answer. And Sophie had respected that. But now she needed more. She needed to know the truth.
“Damn it.” With shaking fingers, she typed “Find Birth Certificates” into a search engine and waited for the results. She was sure she’d had one at some point in her life. She’d gotten her passport at age ten and her driver’s license at sixteen. But she’d never looked twice at the names typed along the bottom. Who did?
She stared at the iPad screen. Amazing thing, technology. It could turn up in ten seconds what people spent a lifetime wondering about. Or hiding. Five minutes later, she found the site she needed. Two minutes after that, she’d ordered a copy from the Records Department in Boston. Tomorrow it would arrive, thanks to expedited mail, on the doorstep of Francine’s bed and breakfast.
Sophie turned off the light by her bed and crawled under the covers. She fell asleep within seconds.
Chapter 20
A low growl of thunder woke Sophie sometime after midnight. For a moment she laid there, heart pounding, trying to remember where she was and why the room smelled like mothballs. Then it came back to her, small piece by small piece. Francine’s. Lindsey Point. The lighthouse, a story, and an old wedding photo of her mother and her father.
Sophie sat straight up and threw off the covers.. She had not said that word inside her head. Had she? She’d never had a father, never needed one. Dim shadows bounced around the room, courtesy of the lightning now accompanying the thunder. No rain, but it was probably just a matter of time. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared at the iPad beside the bed. Yes, she’d done it. She’d ordered her birth certificate. She’d believed enough of what she saw in the picture to consider the possibilities.
The Baby on the Beach. Fifty years ago. Dead parents, a crying child, no explanation for any of it. Now she was inextricably and eternally linked to them. Maybe. Sophie shook her head. Almost definitely. Why hadn’t she ever known?
More thunder. Another thin spear of lightning. She crept to the window and watched it come, sheets of rain that sped across the sky and pummeled the glass within minutes. She placed her hand flat on the glass, closed her eyes, and listened to the patter.
It lasted less than a half-hour. The rain slowed by degrees and the lightning weakened. A few clouds moved away, and moonlight fell onto the beach. Francine might be a little odd, but she’d chosen the ideal spot for a bed and breakfast. Why wasn’t the place filled with tourists in this busy season? It wasn’t that far out of town. And it had such an amazing view. Sophie leaned against the window frame. She'd never get tired of looking at it. Something about the sea, the beach, and the sky was constant, and yet nothing was. Everything changed with the weather or the sunrise or the tides. No wonder coastlines needed lighthouses. One minute sailors would be riding along on the waves and the next they'd be getting sucked straight under, pulled into shore to wreck on the rocks.
She shivered and rubbed her arms. Lonely life, sailing from port to port, looking through the night for a blinking beacon to save you from disaster.
Sophie leaned close to the window and squinted. Near the water, a light blinked on and off every few seconds. The automated lighthouse up in Bluffet Edge? She squinted harder. Nope. It was a lot closer than Bluffet Edge.
“Holy shit.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Someone’s in the lighthouse.”
Even from here she could see a curve of beach she knew and the slight rise near the keeper’s house where they’d filmed the day before. As she watched, the light disappeared. Maybe she’d just seen stars bouncing off the water. It had been a long day. A hallucination certainly wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.
But no, there it was again a moment later, this time not in the lighthouse itself but in the keeper’s house. She pressed her nose to the glass. It might be a ghost taking a midnight stroll and getting some air after the storm. But more likely, a flesh-and-blood person was out there, either seeking shelter or snooping. Same as the other night, local kids hanging out in the house? Or was someone down there looking for the treasure people kept mentioning?
Sophie chewed her bottom lip. She shouldn’t. Stupid idea. But restlessness coupled with her reporter’s curiosity was hard to resist this time of night. Either a ghost or a trespasser would do. She pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and threw a button-down shirt on top of her tank top. Ten minutes, tops. She’d take a quick walk down to the beach and look around. Nothing crazy. Sleep had fled her, and she’d been trapped inside this stuffy bedroom way too long.
She grabbed her tennis shoes and crept downstairs, glad Francine didn’t have an alarm on the place. Actually, she doubted anyone in the entire town had an alarm. Might save themselves some trouble if they put one on the lighthouse, she thought. She slipped on her shoes and eased the front door open. So far, so good. No sound from the back of the house, where Francine slept.
God, it smelled amazing out here. For a long moment, she stood in the driveway and breathed. Long. Deep. The air was different down by the water, salty and sharp and so crisp it almost cut the inside of her nose. The storm had knocked the temperature down a few degrees, and a breeze blew inland, moving her hair off her face. Good. Maybe it would take the awful humidity with it.
Sophie headed down the driveway. First mistake: she hadn’t brought a flashlight. She stopped and looked back at the bed and breakfast. She didn’t even know if she had one in her bedroom, but she hadn’t thought to look in any of the drawers. Oh, well. She hadn’t brought her cell phone either, which was a stupider decision, but she told herself she’d take a quick walk to the lighthouse and then go back to bed. Pronto. No lingering. The clouds had cleared, and the half-moon cast down enough light for her eyes to adjust after a minute or two. She’d be fine.
A car drove by and she turned, one arm raised to shade against the headlights. It slowed but didn’t stop. Maybe the driver had thought her one of the ghosts. She wondered how many stories from the past few decades could be explained away if people took the time to ask. Hey, Jim thought he saw someone walking down on the beach last night. Noticed you’ve got some sand in your shoes. Any chance it was you? The thing was, Sophie’d discovered, people didn’t always want explanations. They liked their ghosts and the stories that came with them. Gave them something to talk about and pass down to their kids, adding a little color to otherwise bland, dime-a-dozen towns scattered along the interstates.
Not that Lindsey Point fell into that category, not with five crosses planted around town. She made a mental note to tell Lon tomorrow, see if he might want to include at least a mention of it in the episode’s opening minutes.
She kept walking. She hadn’t seen the light in a few minutes, and she wondered if her eyes had played tricks on her. Out here, with no one else around, her idea seemed dumber by the minute. She glanced over her shoulder at Francine’s po
rch light. Lon would kill her–worse, Lucas would kill her–if they knew she’d left her bed to wander around alone in the middle of the night. She pulled her shirt tight around her. At least the rain had flattened the sand and packed it down, so it was easy to walk the few hundred yards to the water. At the base of the lighthouse, Sophie stopped. She wasn’t keen on going inside by herself. Not like the other night, when Lucas had chased her up the stairs to the very top and taken her in his arms, then taken her breath away a moment later.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and approached the keeper’s house instead. Headlights from the road swept over the beach, but this time they didn’t reach her. Funny to see two cars out this late. She would have thought most of the town wrapped itself up tight until morning.
Something caught the edge of her peripheral vision. The light. Definitely inside the house, and definitely not a candle this time. More like a flashlight, the way it flickered from window to window, as if someone was pacing the rooms. Her pulse quickened, pattering inside her neck and wrists. Sophie slowed and listened for voices.
But the moment the light went out, the front door creaked open. She froze. She glanced around and took two steps to her right, enough off the path to hide in a corner out of the moonlight. Footsteps crunched down the steps, and a figure, dark and hunched, one hundred percent real and not a ghost, hurried past her. She held her breath and waited, but the person didn’t look her way. Instead he (or she? Sophie couldn’t be sure) walked directly to the lighthouse. The door opened, and the light bounced around the bottom floor for a few seconds. Then it began moving up the stairs.
That was it. She was going back to bed. She’d gotten more than enough fresh air, she’d poked around and satisfied her curiosity, and now she was thinking that being a hundred-pound single woman in pajamas on the beach wasn’t the smartest idea in the world. A rumble of thunder confirmed her decision. But as she turned around to get her bearings, the door on the lighthouse creaked open.
“You know, you shouldn’t go snooping around in places you don’t belong.”