Return to the Beach
The Epilogue to Pam of Babylon #17
by
Suzanne Jenkins
Copyright © 2018 by
Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.
Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.
Return to the Beach: A Pam of Babylon Novella is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Where familiar places in Pennsylvania and New Jersey are mentioned, it is in a completely fictitious manner. For more information about the series, go to http://suzannejenkins.com/pam-babylon-series/
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Chapter 1
The sound of Latin music drifted out of the apartment on Sandy Beach Lane at the Babylon Execu-Suites. With windows open on a beautiful spring day, Valarie Castillo sat hunched over piles of books with ominous-sounding titles: Trigonometry for Accountants, Statistics, and Psychology for a New Era. She looked up from her book when she heard the familiar sounds of a car pulling into the parking space outside the apartment. It would be her boyfriend, Tim Hornby, home from his mandatory anger-management class. After the attack on Pam’s daughter, Lisa, so much had transpired in Tim and Valarie’s household that was out of her control. She was definitely taking it one day at a time.
Jumping up, Valarie said a little prayer under her breath; let him be in a good mood. Tim could be moody and uncommunicative in the extreme lately, taken to avoiding intimacy, seeming barely able to tolerate her presence.
Even after his arrest, he’d maintained full custodial care of his adopted son, Brent, because Brent’s mother was so busy now with her new, thriving business. This included a spot on the daily local morning news show as a correspondent, and her weekly TV show. Oh yes, Sandra Benson-Hornby was a household name.
Waving at the door, her heart lifted when Tim smiled and waved back, holding up food bags from their favorite burrito truck. Thank God. She laughed out loud.
“Do you need help?” she called.
“Nope, I can handle it. I’ve got enough for a couple of days. They’re going on vacation before the summer season starts.”
“Yikes, I can’t believe it’s almost summertime. By the way, we got an invitation to Mrs. Braddock’s annual Memorial Day party,” she said, holding the door open for him.
Prayer answered, he bent down to kiss her hello. “I wonder if that means her royal pain in the ass isn’t going to be invited.”
“Oh, who cares? Let her come,” Valarie said, chuckling. “You’ve had worse adversaries in your lifetime.”
Tim looked at her, thinking about what she’d said. It was true! He’d almost lost his life when Sandra’s ex-boyfriend, cop Tom Adams, had shot him at a Christmas party. Who was Sandra, anyway? Then he thought of Lisa. She’d be there. Why would Pam invite Lisa’s attacker to a family party?
“How’d it go today?” Valarie asked. “You seem okay, in spite of it.”
“I am okay,” he said, kissing her again. “Today we talked about confronting our fears. We were instructed to write down the five biggest fears we had. At the top of my list was losing Brent.” Tim looked down at Valarie. “The next was losing you. I’m sorry about everything.”
“Tim, I keep telling you that there’s nothing to be sorry about where I’m concerned.” She unpacked the bag of burritos. “I’ve never been happier. I’m sorry you’re struggling, but I’m here for you.”
“Let’s eat,” he said, the conversation making him nervous. “Then I have to get busy on this book. Elizabeth emailed, by the way.”
“What was her tone?”
“All professional,” Tim said. “Wanting to know when I’ll be ready to show them the manuscript.”
“I think it’s amazing that you were able to write all through this. You hear about writer’s block, and you certainly had all the motives to get it, but you just pushed through.”
“Writing, you, and Brent—that’s how I got through all of this. The humiliation of shooting myself in the foot was the worst. Truthfully, I’m more concerned about having to see Dan Chua and Lisa’s hunky boyfriend than Sandra at Pam’s party. Talk about embarrassing.”
Valarie had no pat reply for that. He was right—it was stupid. She hadn’t even known he had a BB gun in the house. Cringing, she thought of the headlines for the next week after the event, outlining what he’d done, starting with the attempted rape of Lisa. The family had asked that Valarie bring Brent to playdates with Lisa’s children to avoid having to talk to Tim. It was a painful reminder for him of his actions, but rightfully so. He’d temporarily lost his mind, and the family didn’t care to give him the opportunity to do so again.
“So what do you think? Should we brave the party? Rub shoulders with the rich and famous of Babylon?” Valarie asked.
Tim sorted through the mail of the day, preoccupied. He pulled up a beige envelope with his publisher’s logo in the upper left corner. Frowning, he wasn’t expecting anything from them.
“Tim, what is it?” she asked.
“Give me a knife,” he said, and when she hesitated, he said, “To use as a letter opener.”
She handed him a knife, and he stuck the tip of it into an open area on the end, zipping it open. Waiting nervously, Valarie’s lips mumbled a little prayer. Tim pulled a folded paper out with what looked like a check enclosed. From the neck up, she watched his face go white.
“Tim! For God’s sake, what is it?” she cried.
“You know that beach house you’ve wanted? We just got the down payment.”
On Seaview Drive, Pam was in the kitchen, cleaning the oven. She felt like doing it, felt like wearing grubby clothes, getting on her hands and knees, and sticking her head in the oven with a steel wool pad.
Most everyone was finally gone for the day—Nelda was off getting the new house ready for Bernice to move into when she returned to the beach from Rehoboth. Randy, home from Bali at last, was in the city digging through the archives of projects Jack had completed. Laura Long, Randy’s daughter, was there with him, agreeing to co-host the TV series about Old New York with Ryan Maddox, Jack’s son.
Randy’s right to the series name Old New York had been established in the courts when the emails outlining his idea were produced. Sandra and George Crier would just have to find another name.
Peter Romney, Pam’s partner at Lang, Smith and Romney, had provided the conference room as the place where the organization for all the paperwork could take place. If a space to confer with clients was needed, a smaller room that was formerly an employee meeting room could be used.
This project had solidified Lang, Smith and Romney’s position in historic preservation, and they’d never been busier. The only problem was that with Ryan’s participation in the TV series, he’d have less time to do the actual business. The resolution to the problem was to hire a few new full-time people, including Laura Long as Ryan’s co-host. She’d do all the research with Randy, and that had a twofold goal—preparing for the show, freeing Ryan to work, and for her to learn the business. Randy was right there with her, learning, and it was fascinating, giving him a new respect for Jack Smith.
So while his wife was scrubbing the oven, he was sitting in a chair across from three rusty metal file cabinets the maintenance men from their Exchange Place building had dug out of storage in the dank basement. Evidence of water damage on the
bottom drawers made Randy all the more concerned that these treasures weren’t being treated with the respect they deserved. It appeared he’d rescued them in the nick of time.
“What’s happening?” Ryan asked, walking in.
“We keep finding compelling projects with stories to match,” Randy answered.
Giving Ryan a sidelong glance, Laura grinned, holding out a sheaf of paper. “It appears that your father had tea with this homeowner on a regular basis. He was quite the ladies’ man.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Randy replied, frowning. Laura was involved with Ryan romantically, and the chemistry between them was thick as fog.
Ryan took the papers from Laura and leafed through them. “Can I talk to her?”
“Go for it,” Randy said. “Tell her we might feature her house in the series if she’s up to it. The amazing thing is the photo documentation with each project. Too bad video phones weren’t around because we’d have a field day.”
“The homeowners might have film,” Ryan said. “My parents have Super 8 film canisters of the entire renovation process of their house. It’s so boring.”
“I can hear the click of the film while it runs,” Randy said. “Fascinating. That’s a touch we might consider incorporating into our video, too. That click.”
“Great idea,” Ryan said. “I’d better get moving. Peter has a full day of calls I have to make. Yippee.”
“Can I go along?” Laura asked her father.
“It’s okay with me,” Randy replied. “I’m thoroughly intrigued with this file.” He held up a yellowed file folder full of news.
“Come. You can learn this end of the business, too,” Ryan said to Laura. “Also, Violet is coming in this afternoon. I guess you talked her into working with us.”
“I did,” Randy said. “She was going nuts at home. Violet has an eye for treasures, so I think she’ll fit right in.”
“She’ll be great here,” Laura said. “I feel responsible for her relationship with Dale the Jerk ending, so at least she’ll have a job.”
“You are not responsible,” Randy said. “If anything, you did us a great favor. Violet deserves better than Dale McGuire.”
The last to leave for the day, Violet came down the stairs from the apartment above Pam’s garage, dressed for the city.
Catching Pam with her head in the oven, Violet yelled, “Pam, don’t do it!”
Carefully pulling out so she didn’t get oven cleaner on her perfect, bandana-covered hair, Pam laughed.
“Jeez, you must really be bored,” Violet noted, pouring coffee into a travel mug.
“Not really. I want straight brain waves, and cleaning the oven is accomplishing it.”
“From either the job or the fumes from that crap,” Violet said. “I’m going into the city. I can’t believe I agreed to do it.”
“Violet, you’ll be perfect in that role. I think you’ll be surprised.”
“Well, whatever,” she said, uncomfortable with the adulation. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Violet had gained some weight, but it was good. She had gotten too thin before, and now she looked like a normal woman. Working with Randy would be good for her; they were compatible, and he respected her.
Surprisingly, Violet and Ryan were also developing a relationship, both amused that they could find anything in common. Discovering that they could confide in each other opened up a door to friendship, and it was to Violet that Ryan confessed he was in love with Laura Long, and Violet couldn’t wait to tell Pam.
“Oh, don’t tell me that!” Violet had cried, slapping her hands across her ears. “You know I’ll have to tell Pam.”
“That’s the whole point,” Ryan had said, laughing. “Then she can tell Randy, and Laura and I will be off the hook.”
“Well, that’s just great! Randy’s gonna have a fit,” Pam cried when Violet told her. “I thought Ryan was living with Jennifer.”
“He is, but only until he can help her find a place so she can move out of Jack’s apartment. Evidently, she was leery about moving out of her old apartment in the first place because it was so cheap, and he reassured her that they would be together forever, blah-blah-blah. So now he feels obligated to get her a place and pay her rent in advance.”
“Oh, I don’t even know what to think now,” Pam said, ripping her rubber gloves off. “He makes me so angry. He’s so irresponsible. Randy just met his daughter and now this! He’ll hate it.”
“Pam, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Randy is very fond of Ryan. It’s a little sickening if you ask me. He’s treated like a prince downtown.”
“Oh, will you give me just half a break? You know what? I’m not telling Randy! That will serve Ryan right. I bet he planned on this all along. Well, guess what? I’m not going to be his go-between.”
Violet snickered and picked up her purse and briefcase. “I’ve got a car coming, so I’d better get moving. I’ll enjoy seeing Ryan squirm for a few days. Do you want me to tell him you know?”
“I don’t care what you tell him,” Pam said, throwing her gloves on the counter. “I’m so sick of the whole lot of them.”
Violet’s laughter followed her out of the house. Pam looked around the pristine white marble kitchen, the spotless house, the gray-green rays of the sun trying unsuccessfully to penetrate the layer of dense fog out to sea that was quickly making its way to the beach.
“Margaret! Peter! Come quick, we’re going for a walk.”
Desperate to get out on the sand, Pam moved fast. Entering the pantry to get a bag for beach glass collecting, she could hear the tapping of dog nails on the marble kitchen floor. The leashes hung on hooks by the back door of the veranda, and they followed her out there, curious but lazy until they saw her reach for her straw hat. It would smash her hairdo but keep the damp salt fog from befouling it.
In the seconds it took to prepare for the walk, the fog had reached the beach. Pam loved it. Not ready for summer, not looking forward to the masses of beachgoers and the constant company and parties they would host, this last blast of unseasonable weather was a respite. When Jack was alive, they had gone out west to see Brent, and he’d marveled at May Gray and June Gloom in southern California.
“This is so not what you read about in the travel journals,” he’d said, frowning.
“I love it!” Pam had expounded. “I’d thrive in the Pacific Northwest.”
“You’re one nutty broad,” he’d said, pulling her body to his. “Never a dull moment.”
Thinking of those words, she let out an involuntary sob loud enough to be heard by her dogs. Obviously, all of their moments together must have been dull. Then she thought of two traitors: Sandra Benson and Ashton Hageman, conquests of Jack’s, from whom the knowledge that he was bored with Pam came.
“Don’t even give those two losers a second thought,” Pam said out loud in the gloom.
“Pam! Pam Braddock! Is that you?”
“Fudge,” Pam muttered. It was Marian Cooper. There went her peaceful respite on the beach.
“I’ve been hoping to see you since we got back,” she said, running up to Pam, out of breath. “You’d think after the torture we went through in Bali, I’d be in better shape than this.”
Bent over, she had her hands on her knees and was panting.
“I remember some exercise fanatic telling me it had to be purposeful to be effective, which leaves out working your butt off in Bali.”
“That may be the title of my memoir! Working My Butt Off in Bali! Excellent, Pam.”
“Do you mind if we walk? I’m feeling a little anxious,” Pam replied, then guffawed. “She said to her therapist.”
“Ha! Yes, let’s walk. I’m about ready to jump out a window myself. Every time I say that, I have to remind myself that I’m not on the tenth floor in Manhattan any longer. The worst thing I’ll do is smash one of my dork landlord’s flower beds.”
“Ted is a dork,” Pam said. “I defended him for a long time,
but being a dork isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If we can accept that someone is a dork, we won’t have unreasonable expectations of him.”
“That’s so wise,” Marian said admiringly. “Who said it?”
“I don’t know. No one. Me.”
They walked south on the beach for a while, contemplative. Then they both started talking at once.
“You go ahead,” Pam said.
“Well, about Bali,” Marian started. “I wonder if Randy shared anything with you.”
“About what?” Pam asked, cagey, with poker face in place.
“About Frank,” she answered after a pause.
Frank was Randy’s bodyguard, driver, jack-of-all-trades. He was like a loyal dog who had never asked Randy for anything for himself, and now suddenly, he was interested in this woman who was a bit of a freak after living with swinger Will Carlson, who was now a frequent visitor of Alison Case, who lived with Dave from Organic Bonanza.
“Randy makes it a point never to interfere in his employees’ private lives unless it infringes on ours.”
“I would never do anything to divulge anything about anybody,” she stuttered. “I give you my word.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” Pam said. “Randy knows everything.”
“No, I mean about your business,” Marian said, a tilt to her head that got Pam thinking.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pam asked, bristling. She stopped in the sand and looked at Marian, her blood pressure rising.
“It’s okay, Pam,” she said gently. “I’m a doctor. Nothing shocks or surprises me.”
A wave of heat prickled its way up from the soles of Pam’s feet, elevating the hairs on her body. Warmth, then revolting disgust, settled in her stomach, then her bowels.
“Marian,” Pam snapped, sharp as a stick breaking in two, “don’t say another word. I don’t want to hear it, do you understand me? If you want to continue a relationship with me, shut your mouth.”
Taken aback, Marian pressed her thin lips together, obedient to Pam’s request. Thinking that revealing to Pam what had been confirmed to Marian during the trip to Bali would strengthen their friendship, she now saw how wrong she was. It was her turn to feel a wave of warmth. She didn’t want to alienate Pam or Randy, because of Frank. Since they’d returned to the beach from Bali, her life had taken on new meaning, all because she was in love with Frank. Wishing there was a way to backtrack, she decided to lie to her.
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