Tales From Sea Glass Inn

by Karis Walsh

  “Thanks, Pam,” Jenny said when Pam seemed to run out of things to say. She put her hand on Pam’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Years of living a nomadic lifestyle had helped Jenny hone her talent for bonding quickly with strangers, even though those relationships she made never turned into anything deeper than an occasional postcard that found its way to her next temporary home. The friendships she formed were transitory, but important. They helped her assess people and connect with them during a crisis, when the most vital action was forming a team to handle the problem at hand. She cherished the shared sense of purpose she felt, for a short time, at least, with the people whose lives had been affected by a disaster, the people who were willing to devote their time and energy to help her heal the local wildlife. Once the danger was over, she would pack up her scarce belongings and move on.

  Letting go of relationships when it was time for her to leave was as necessary in her chosen profession as forging them immediately upon arrival. Still, despite her parents’ warnings about getting too close to people she’d eventually leave, and her own self-protective instincts, Jenny occasionally met people like Pam and Mel who made her wonder what it would be like to know them better. To just hang out with them on a normal day, without a life-or-death mission attached to their friendship. She didn’t let her thoughts linger there too long, though. She gave Pam another pat on the shoulder and dropped her hand to her side. “You’ve done an amazing job so far. Try to take a little break. Get something to eat or some sleep, if you can.”

  Pam nodded before she walked away, but Jenny doubted she’d take her advice. Pam wasn’t any more likely than she was to stop right now, to sit and put her feet up and sip some tea. Those small normal acts didn’t belong in this damaged world. Jenny sighed. Someday Pam and Mel would sit in their backyard, on the top step of the stairs leading to the ocean, and relax with a glass of wine or morning cup of coffee. Someday. But not now.

  Jenny froze in place when she saw another woman intercept Pam before she got to the large bank of doors leading into the foyer. She was a stranger to Jenny—a new volunteer? She was dressed simply in jeans and a long-sleeved, light green sweater, with her tawny hair pulled back in a ponytail and a basket over one arm.

  Jenny had a million-item list in her head: Make sure the people from the water company were installing the right number of spigots at the proper height. Double-check the charts for in-processing the oil-covered avian patients. Greet each volunteer and start collecting their names and skills before she assigned them to jobs.

  Later, though. She’d cross every item off the list before she allowed herself to take even a small catnap, but for the next few seconds she’d let herself stand idle while she watched the interchange between Pam and the woman who was giving her a hug and handing her something wrapped in paper. After exchanging a few words with Pam, she moved on to the next volunteer and repeated the same gestures. A hug, a short chat. Handing over a wrapped bundle from her basket.

  Jenny needed to get on with her own work. She’d delegated volunteer training and recruitment to Pam and Tia. But Jenny ignored her carefully structured system for once and walked across the cavernous room toward the newcomer. She was surprised by her own movement, and even more so by her fervent wish that she’d been able to shower and change in the recent past. Since when did she care how she looked, especially when there was more important work to be done?

  “Are you here to volunteer?” she asked. The woman spun around to face her, looking startled at the words. She looked as clean and rested as Jenny felt bedraggled and weary. Just standing next to her was refreshing, and Jenny felt some of the stress she had been carrying inside since her arrival dissipate, only to be replaced by a new kind of tension. Attraction. Jenny allowed her energy to be buoyed by the feeling, but she wouldn’t let herself linger here any longer than she had when imagining a lasting friendship with Pam and Mel. “Tia is in the lobby, and she’ll assign you to a work station.”

  “Oh…sure. Of course I’ll be glad to volunteer. I’m Helen Reiser, by the way.”

  “I’m Jenny Colbert.” She shook Helen’s hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. Helen had a softness about her, accentuated by the tantalizing aroma of yeast and butter that seemed to linger in the air around her, but her strong fingers and direct gaze showed she was anything but weak. Jenny was reading too much into a handshake, but it was part of her job to come to quick judgments about a volunteer’s character. Just as quickly, she discovered the unexpected way her body responded to Helen’s touch.

  “Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

  Helen smiled and a few fine lines appeared near the corners of her big blue eyes. Jenny had first thought Helen was in her early twenties, but the lines made Jenny add a decade to her estimate. Helen had a youthful grin, but something in her expression showed she had lived through tougher times than these. And she was beautiful. Understated, but with something sharp beneath the calm exterior. Jenny shook her head. She was here for one purpose only—to return the shore and its inhabitants to their clean, pre-spill condition. She needed to know enough about her volunteers to be able to do that job well, and nothing more. Maybe she should put some distance between her and Helen until she had more sleep and was her usual efficient and detached self.

  “Yes, well, nice to meet you, too. Be sure to check in with Tia and she’ll assign you to a work station.” Had she said that before? She was having trouble concentrating.

  “I saw her and fed her,” Helen said with the rueful look of someone who had listened to one of Tia’s breathless monologues. Jenny had only been here two days, and already she’d heard more words from the one woman than she herself had spoken in the past month. “I’ll ask her what she needs me to do as soon as I’ve delivered these croissants. I figured no one here has bothered to eat much today.”

  Helen reached into her basket and handed Jenny a parchment paper cone. Jenny paused before accepting the warm package. “I really shouldn’t. I have too much to do, and—”

  Helen waved off Jenny’s words. “Nonsense. It’s small and portable and you need food to have enough energy for this job.”

  Helen walked away before Jenny could protest anymore. Not that she wanted to. She couldn’t even remember the last thing she’d eaten, but she was damned sure it hadn’t been as good as whatever Helen had given her smelled. She opened the top flap of the parchment and took a bite of the small, perfectly moon-shaped croissant. A thick slice of ham and some gooey, melty cheese were folded inside. Jenny finished the pastry in two more bites and crumpled the paper as she watched Helen talking to Mel on the other side of the room. She shook her head. Helen intrigued her mind and aroused her body. Now Jenny’s stomach had joined the fight against her concentration. She’d better stop drooling like an enamored and hungry puppy and get back to work.

  Jenny tossed the paper into a trash can and turned away from temptation. The convention center’s floor was crisscrossed with channels, so segments of walls could be pulled out, separating the main floor into several smaller conference rooms. She had arranged for most of the space to remain open, but a corner of the room was enclosed on three sides. This quieter area would soon be filled with waist-high sinks where volunteers would clean the seabirds, washing every last drop of oil off their delicate feathers. Now, though, it was empty of both people and equipment. The perfect place for Jenny to regroup.

  She pulled a small pad and pen out of her back pocket and flipped through several pages of names. She added Helen to the list, feeling a small tingle of secret pleasure, as if she was writing her name with a heart around it in a school notebook. She rubbed her eyes. Helen’s effect on her was a symptom of sleep deprivation. Nothing more.

  Jenny added a star next to Helen’s name. Even though Tia was technically in charge of volunteers, Jenny kept careful track of them during the early stages whenever she organized a new rescue center. She noticed the leaders, like Pam and Mel. She watched for aggressive recruiters, like Tia, because the res
cue effort would desperately need bodies to help, and most people would have a difficult time saying no to her. She also identified groups of friends who would be more inclined to remain interested if they were on the buddy system. Helen was definitely a leader. Jenny had noticed the way the other volunteers responded to her. She brightened their expressions, and not just because she was handing out heavenly pastries.

  What was it about these coastal towns? Jenny had witnessed it time and again—all communities drew together after disasters, but ocean side towns seemed to transcend the temporary closeness of other places. They were a family.

  Helen was the embodiment of the community’s intimacy. She was feeding the people, nurturing them, with her personality and not only her food. Jenny would be a part of this place for a short while, welcomed inside because of her knowledge of this type of tragedy, but then she would move on to the next place where she was needed. She was a catalyst. She’d handle details, train volunteers, put a system in place. Assign duties and tasks, and then stand back and let the community do the work.

  She’d always been an outsider, moving from disaster to disaster, just as she’d done throughout her childhood with her doctor parents. She had the experience needed to run this rescue effort, but without the people from the community nothing would be done. People like Mel and Pam. Helen. They had the heart and the drive to heal their home. Jenny gave them the tools and resources they needed and then she moved on. Sometimes she felt a twinge of longing when she left, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Because by then she had performed her role—the one her parents had instilled in her from childhood.

  So why did it feel different this time? Why did Helen make her feel a small but persistent urge to see what the view was like from the inside? Just once, just for a moment? Whatever the reason, Jenny didn’t have time to dwell on it right now.

  She saw some weary-looking, grime-covered officers from the Department of Fish and Wildlife carrying crates through the back door of the center, and she stuffed the notepad into her pocket again and rushed over to help. Tonight, she would concentrate on getting as many frightened birds and animals as possible into the safe, yet artificial world of the event center. Tomorrow, they would begin washing and treating them. Hopefully in the not too distant future, they’d be releasing them back into the wild, and Jenny would be released as well.

  *

  Helen felt the lingering weight of Jenny’s gaze as she walked away. She figured it had more to do with the basket she was carrying than with her as a person, but she let herself bask in the electricity she had felt between them. The center was full of exhausted and hungry workers—of course they were going to respond favorably to anyone offering fresh-baked food. Especially her famous ham and Gruyère croissants. She could look like the Incredible Hulk, and she’d still expect to be on the receiving end of salivating glances in this crowd.

  She delivered several more pastries on her way over to Mel. Everyone responded with ravenous gratitude, but something about the look Jenny had given her made a deeper impression. Tia had mentioned Jenny as soon as Helen walked through the door, carrying on a monologue about Jenny’s brilliance and her organizational skills. Between surprisingly short pauses to take huge bites of croissant, Tia had delivered a barrage of facts about Jenny’s competence and her gorgeous looks. She had sounded like a fantasy woman, and Helen had expected her to have some mysterious aura, visible from across the room. In reality, Jenny had looked as zombielike as all the other sleep- and food-deprived people in the room.

  And in reality, Jenny had been one of the most glamorous and regal women Helen had ever seen. A quick swipe of a washcloth and a catnap, and Jenny would be fit for a stroll down Rodeo Drive, although she looked too down-to-earth and principled to be interested in anything as inconsequential as fashion. Tall and slender, she made even the ratty tan coveralls she was wearing look elegant. Her blond hair was streaked with platinum, more likely due to time spent in the sun than in a hair salon, if Helen was right in her assessment of Jenny’s personality. And the green eyes Tia had rhapsodized about? They were as reflective and bright as a tide pool that hid an entire mysterious and varied ecosystem in its depths.

  Damn those eyes. Helen finally reached Mel, who was standing in the center of an empty plywood pen. Helen had planned on coming here with an offering of food and nothing more. Actually, she hadn’t even meant to do that much. Not because she didn’t care, but because she couldn’t afford to give away even a tiny croissant. She had maybe two months’ buffer between this moment and bankruptcy, and given the state of the beaches, crowds of tourists weren’t likely to be flocking to her bakery and buying dozens of muffins anytime soon.

  “Hi, Mel.” Helen hesitated next to the wood panels. She didn’t doubt her abilities as a baker, but she still felt a little reluctant to offer her food to Mel. People raved about the breakfasts at the Sea Glass Inn, and Helen wasn’t sure how her pastries would compare.

  “Helen, it’s good to see you here,” Mel said, stepping over the barrier and giving Helen a quick hug. She broke away and peered into the basket. “What smells so delicious? I’m not above begging if you don’t offer me whatever it is you have in there.”

  Helen laughed and handed Mel a croissant. She’d remained distant from the locals so far, preferring to keep to herself, but Mel’s implied approval seemed significant to her. In the three months Helen had been in town, she’d already seen several stores open and then fail. Businesses were started on a whim because of the appeal of living and working in the laid-back and naturally beautiful coastal community. Too few of the owners—and Helen lumped her naive self of three months ago in with them—actually realized what it took to succeed. She didn’t blame the longtime proprietors for waiting until new arrivals were established before considering them part of the family.

  “I’m supposed to ask Tia where she needs me to work, but do you mind if I help you here for a while?” Helen was skipping steps in the process, but she hoped Jenny wouldn’t mind. Functioning bodies were most likely in demand, no matter what job they were doing, and Helen had made a tenuous connection with Mel. She wasn’t ready to be thrust into the midst of a group of locals who were still strangers to her.

  Mel’s sigh of relief made her glad she had offered to stay, not just for herself, but for Mel and the cause.

  “I’d love to have help. Volunteers seem to prefer to move on quickly to one of the more glamorous, hands-on jobs, so I’ve been doing this alone.” Mel rubbed her temple and left a black smear across her pale, tired-looking skin. “Not that any of this is glamorous, of course. I didn’t mean that. What I should say is—”

  Helen stopped her with a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “I get it,” she said. And she was pretty sure she did. She’d spent enough time in the foster system to understand the myriad reasons behind people’s motivation to help others. Still, help was help, no matter what the reason behind its offer. She’d prefer to stay out of the crowded areas here. Get dirty and do her part, but keep some distance. “Although maybe I should ask what’s all over your hands before I commit to anything.”

  Mel smiled and held out both hands, palms up. “The local news.” She gestured toward the empty pen behind her. “We’re using balled-up newspapers as bedding for the birds. Jenny said it’s good cushioning for them, and it’s easy to clean out the soiled papers. Be prepared for hand cramps.”

  Helen interlaced her fingers and flexed them in front of her. “Finally, those hours spent kneading bread will pay off. I knew I was training for something.”

  She stepped over the side plank of the pen and picked up a stack of newspapers. Mel followed, and they began to separate sheets of paper and scrunch them into balls. They worked in silence for several minutes, until Helen’s hands were blackened and silky-feeling from the residual ink. “Are you afraid?” she asked quietly, finally giving voice to the fear in her own mind.

  “Of ink poisoning?” Mel asked. She laughed without humor and shook her head. “I
know what you mean. About our livelihoods. I will be, but not now. I’m trying to focus on what needs to be done, and what I can do to save these beautiful creatures. Deep down, all of us are afraid of what will happen to our businesses and our homes here. We’re coming together now to do what we can to save the beach. Later on, we’ll work together to survive without a strong tourist season.”

  Helen had no doubt the core of locals would band together and weather this storm, but where would she fit in? Her bakery was new. She’d barely gotten started before this disaster, and she hadn’t been convinced she’d be able to make her business last. Now, at the height of tourist season, when she should be making enough to keep herself in flour and eggs, her store was empty. Apparently even she wouldn’t be in the store much over the upcoming weeks, given the amount of work to be done at the center and the number of people here to do it.

  “Your inn is established.” Helen admitted her fears after a brief internal struggle. She usually would keep her concerns to herself, but something about this place made her want to talk. People and emotions were laid bare here. “You have a reputation, customers who will return once the beaches are clean. I don’t know if I’ll make it that long, and even if I do, who will remember to come to my shop?”

  Helen felt the beginning of a panic attack coming on. She wasn’t prone to them, but they’d been fairly regular since she’d taken on the stress of starting a business of her own. They’d become even more persistent over the past few days, ever since the tide of oil had slicked across Cannon Beach. She found some comfort in the rhythm of pulling sheets of paper off the stack and forming them into balls. Slide and scrunch. Slide and scrunch. Breathe.