Tales From Sea Glass Inn

by Karis Walsh

  But this town would never be the same for her. Everywhere she went, everything she did, she’d remember Jenny and she’d wish she was here. Finding a home had meant the world to Helen, but her true home was practically packed and ready to leave her behind.

  *

  Jenny stood at the end of the inn’s garden, watching a few gulls circle the tide pools below Haystack Rock. The skies around here had been eerily silent and empty for a few days after the spill, but birds were beginning to return. Maybe some of these seagulls were among the ones Jenny and her crew had released back into the wild.

  The return to normalcy was rewarding to witness, but it also heralded the end of Jenny’s stay here. Soon, she’d be packing her small bag full of possessions—including Pam’s miniature oil painting—and hopping on a plane bound for who knew where. She always felt some small tug whenever she left one of her rescue efforts, tempting her to stay a little longer, but she never failed to control the urge enough to leave.

  She couldn’t fool herself this time, though. Everything about this trip was different, but all the differences were concentrated in Helen. She’d spent the night awake, thinking about Helen’s words, her touch, her kiss. In a normal situation, she’d be able to date her and see where the relationship would lead, but this wasn’t routine for Jenny. If she really wanted to have a chance with Helen, she needed to stay here or invite Helen to travel with her. Either one meant a complete upheaval of Jenny’s familiar lifestyle. Was Helen worth the effort of learning a whole new way to live? Everything in Jenny’s body and soul shouted yes.

  “It’s a beautiful beach,” Eve said, coming up behind her. “We’re ready to go whenever you are, darling.”

  Jenny nodded without turning around. As expected, her parents had decided to fly to Los Angeles and do some quick research before traveling to the Sudanese village. Jenny was torn between wanting them to stay and relief at seeing them go. They were her parents, no matter how frustrating they could be, and part of her had never given up on the dream of them being close and settled as a family. Funny how they had the opposite but similar dream of the three of them practicing medicine together across the globe. Neither was ever going to come true.

  “I love it here,” Jenny said, without looking at her mom. “I love the sunsets and the people and the way life is returning to the tide pools.”

  “Yes, it is very nice, dear. Do you remember the village we lived in when you were…what was it, eight? Nine? The one on the coast of Senegal. Your father and I were sent there because of the meningitis outbreak. You loved the beach there.”

  Jenny turned around. “I couldn’t go to that beach because you didn’t want to risk me getting infected. I had to watch the ocean from the back porch of our hut. Mom, did you and Dad ever consider coming back to the States? Maybe not permanently, but long enough for me to make friends or go to a regular school?”

  “And have you miss the opportunity to travel and see the world? What school could have given you the experiences we did? Besides, you couldn’t possibly have expected your dad and me to give up our life’s work. You saw firsthand what a huge need there is for doctors like us. We couldn’t be as selfish as that, Jenny, and you know it.”

  “I suppose not,” Jenny said. But maybe the selfish act was constantly dragging her from one village to the next when she needed the stability of a home and the company of other children. When she needed her own parents to notice her needs, not just the needs of everyone else in the world. She didn’t speak the words out loud, though. Her parents had made their choice, and she didn’t need to fling guilt and recriminations at them. What she had to do instead was move forward without the past dragging her down.

  “I’m going to make some changes,” she said as they started walking back to the inn. “I can’t go on like I’ve been doing.”

  “Finally,” Eve said with a relieved sounding sigh. “We’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses. The work you’ve done is marvelous, darling, and we’re very proud of you. But once you have your degree and can—”

  “No, Mom. I’m not going to give up being a vet. I’m going to stay here and open a practice in Cannon Beach.”

  Her mom laughed, and then seemed to realize she wasn’t joking. “Do you really believe you can be happy as a small-town vet? When you could do so much more?”

  Could she be happy here? Jenny’s heart said yes without hesitation. She might be working on a smaller scale than before, but the job was no less significant. Ask Amy and Sam. Or Buddy. Or Pam, who’d had tears in her eyes when she saw the seagulls return.

  Or Helen, who hopefully would accept Jenny’s apology for pushing her away. She had a long road ahead of her as she struggled to keep her bakery. Being with her and supporting her would be Jenny’s life’s work if Helen would give her a chance.

  *

  Jenny drove on the winding Highway 26, pushing Mel’s compact to the max as she hurried back to Cannon Beach. She had driven her parents to Portland’s airport and dropped them off at the terminal. They had naturally spent the entire hour and a half trip trying to talk her out of her decision to stay in Cannon Beach, but she had been strangely unmoved by their arguments. She had expected to feel defensive, maybe guilty, perhaps more determined than ever to do her own thing and stay. Instead, she had felt the calm peace of a choice well made. Her choice, free of any baggage.

  Tomorrow, during a break from work at the center, she would drive to Seaside and talk to Amy’s vet about the possibility of collaborating on a practice in Cannon Beach. She’d appreciate the contacts and equipment an established vet would bring to the venture because she had few of her own. She was excited about the idea of settling down, but the details were overwhelming. She’d never had to find a place to live or grocery shop or cook or to set up cable and utilities. She’d lived in dorms and had been offered varied types of housing by the communities she’d helped, but an apartment of her own would be a new experience. She felt like a twenty-year-old, moving out on her own for the first time.

  She’d need a car, she decided as she careened around a gentle curve. Mel probably wasn’t planning on lending hers to Jenny on a full-time basis.

  Jenny drove to the center and scanned the parking lot, searching for Helen’s car. She wasn’t there, but a short drive through town brought Jenny to the bakery. Although a Closed sign hung in the doorway, Helen’s SUV was parked outside and a light was on in the back room. Jenny pushed on the door and it swung open, making a chiming sound that echoed through the empty store.

  “Sorry, we’re closed, but…” Helen’s voice trailed off when she came out of the kitchen and saw Jenny in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you,” Jenny said. She wanted to close the space between them in two strides and fling herself into Helen’s arms, but she approached her slowly instead. “I drove my parents to the airport and just got back in town.”

  “Ah,” Helen said. She turned and went back into her kitchen. “Soon you’ll be going to the airport yourself, I suppose,” she called over her shoulder.

  Jenny followed her into the back room and leaned against the counter while Helen jabbed her fist into a bowl of dough. Flour misted over her apron and shirtsleeves. Jenny laughed.

  “You can’t seem to bake without getting ingredients all over you,” she said. She moved closer and used her thumb to dust flour off the arc of Helen’s cheekbone. “That’s one of the many things I love about you. You dive in and do everything wholeheartedly.”

  She heard the catch in her voice when her hand made contact with Helen’s warm skin.

  “Many things?” Helen asked. “What else?”

  Her voice sounded rough with what Jenny hoped was a matching desire for her. Please. “I love how you gave everything you had to help the town, but you were still surprised when people were willing to help you in return. You never expected anything for what you gave. I love how you felt in my arms the other night. I love how—”

  Jenny
forgot what she was about to say when Helen suddenly pressed her lips against Jenny’s open mouth. Jenny tangled her hands in Helen’s hair and kissed her back, exploring the taste of her with an eager tongue. Flour and cinnamon and vanilla. The scents and flavors of home.

  Jenny reluctantly pulled back. She needed to explain herself first, make amends. “I’m sorry I said no when you wanted to come with me. I knew how hard you’d worked to find a place and settle down. I couldn’t bear to have you give up your dreams for me, especially not when I understood exactly what it was like to grow up without the things other people take for granted. A house and friends and a family that is always there for you. I wanted you to have everything.”

  Helen shook her head. “You don’t understand. You became my new dream. We’re good together, Jenny. I’ve been searching for love my whole life, but I thought it would be in the shape of a house with a picket fence or in the form of freedom to live as I liked. But it looks different to me now. It looks like you.”

  Jenny cupped Helen’s cheeks in her hands and kissed her again. The temptation to linger was strong, especially when Helen scooted onto the counter and settled Jenny’s hips between her thighs. Jenny felt the ache of arousal and a wet heat at the point of contact with Helen. She had to keep talking before she forgot how to speak.

  “I was looking for love, too. From my parents, as if they’d finally realize what I needed and care more about me than the next child in line at their clinic. From myself, because I never felt I was doing enough. But things changed for me here. You changed me, Helen. Watching you give of yourself to these people and this place made me want to do the same.”

  Helen frowned and tightened her thighs. Jenny moved her hands to Helen’s waist and helped anchor them together.

  “All you’ve ever done is take care of others, Jenny. I didn’t teach you that. It’s the other way around. I didn’t even want to volunteer until you.”

  Jenny caressed Helen’s lower back, sliding her hands under Helen’s ass and reveling in the warmth discernable even through her jeans. She felt Helen shift restlessly as her fingers flexed and probed. “Maybe we make each other better,” she said, nuzzling Helen’s ear when she spoke. “We’re a good team.”

  Helen moaned softly when Jenny rubbed her hips between Helen’s legs. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind? I can come with you?”

  “No,” Jenny said. Helen grew still but sighed and melted into Jenny with her next words. “It means I’m staying here with you.”

  Flotsam and Jetsam

  Ariana Knight slid her hand along the polished wood banister as she followed Melinda Andrews up the stairs and to the rooms she’d be renting for the next month. The place was perfect for her. The Sea Glass Inn had all the charm and character of an old house, but everything was freshly painted and papered in bright, clean colors. The ocean was beautiful, and Ari had barely been able to keep her eyes on the road and off the rocky shoreline as she drove up Highway 101 from her home in the mountains of Northern California. She’d be able to write here. To pour out her pain and grief on the page and finally process the emotions inside enough to make them go away and stop hurting her.

  “You have a bed and desk in each room, so you can use them however you like,” Mel said as she put Ari’s suitcase on a folding stand. Ari dropped her heavy backpack next to it and went over to the window. Seagulls careened around the monolithic Haystack Rock, and only a handful of people were out on the beach.

  “The beaches are open to the public again, but a few areas are still roped off,” Mel continued. “Every now and again, especially if we have an autumn storm, more oil will wash onshore, so we have a place to wash and store beach shoes by the back door to keep from tracking it in. Tourism normally drops during the fall and the numbers are even lower than normal this year. You’ll have plenty of peace and quiet for your writing.”

  Mel was obviously trying to maintain the cheerful demeanor of an optimistic innkeeper, but Ari heard the strain in her voice. She had read about the spill three months ago and the damage to Cannon Beach, and she had felt an odd kinship with this place. They each needed to heal. Ari hadn’t been able to write at home, and she had decided a retreat at the beach was the answer. She’d bring some tourist dollars to the near-vacant town, and in return she’d get the inspiration she desperately needed. Something about crashing waves and screeching gulls seemed to speak to other authors she knew. Maybe they’d reach inside her, too, and release the emotions she felt bottled up inside.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “I can already feel the ideas starting to flow.”

  She tried to justify the lie by telling herself she just wanted to reassure her host. Mel had been very honest from the start about the state of the beach and the town, but Ari was self-employed as a novelist and she understood the financial burden of unpredictable paychecks and dry spells. Mel’s relief had been palpable even over the phone when Ari called to rent the suite of upstairs rooms for an entire month. She didn’t want to admit she was already feeling as blocked here as she had been at home because Mel might worry she’d back out of her extended stay. Maybe the sea air just needed more time to penetrate her sorrow and transform it into words.

  Mel paused by the window. “My partner Pam has a studio in the garden. She said you’re welcome to use it anytime. It’s set up for painting more than writing, but there are benches and tables, and it’s a very bright space.”

  Ari looked across the yard and saw the low wood-frame building with huge picture windows. The back garden was blooming with asters and mums, and a chipped old boat made an interesting corner arrangement. Just beyond a row of shrubs was the rough-waved Pacific Ocean and some towering rock formations. “I think the view might be too distracting,” Ari said with a smile. “How does Pam focus on her canvas when all that beauty is beckoning?”

  Mel gave her a sad smile as she turned away from the window. “Once Pam starts a painting, everything else seems to fade away for her. She did all the mosaics for the inn and she’s a gifted artist, but the oil spill and all the damage it caused, especially the sea life that was harmed, seemed to shut her down. She hasn’t painted for months now. I hope…I know she’ll find her way back to art again, but the spill caused more harm than one can see on the surface.”

  Ari understood what it was like to lose the outlet of writing when she was hurting or confused or angry. She couldn’t face the emotions in their raw form and had to mold them into sentences and images before she could manage them. Even hearing about another blocked artist made her insides churn with anxiety. She put a hand on her stomach, wanting to write away the knots and tension she felt growing inside, and said, “I’m sure a dry spell is nothing to worry about, especially after facing such a horrible tragedy. She must want to paint the sorrow she’s feeling, and I’ll bet she gets back to work soon, now that the worst is over.”

  “She will,” Mel said with a decisive nod. Ari had a feeling Mel was the type to make things happen. Once she set her mind on getting Pam to paint again, she’d probably not rest until she had her in the studio with brush in hand.

  Ari had never had someone take such an interest in her writing as Mel did in Pam’s painting. Mel seemed to understand Pam’s need to create. Ari’s editors and publishers were supportive and encouraging, but they didn’t have a stake in her work and life beyond a financial and friendly concern. Ari’s girlfriends, few and far between, had been drawn to her as an author at first, fascinated by her bohemian lifestyle and titillated by the fantasies she created. The reality of life with her never seemed to live up to their expectations, though. She’d get stressed over a missed deadline, or they’d get jealous over her consuming passion for writing, and they’d disappear, leaving her to type stories of loneliness and frustration until those residual feelings disappeared as well. Mel seemed as unsettled by Pam’s block as Pam herself must be.

  Mel walked to the doorway. “I’m glad you’re here, Ariana. Mostly because I can’t think of a bette
r or more lovely place for a writer to stay than within sight of the ocean, but also because I know it will be good for Pam to have someone else creating art here. I’m sure the sight of you working will inspire her to paint again.”

  Ari forced her features into what she hoped was an encouraging smile and not a grimace of terror. She couldn’t even motivate herself, let alone be Pam’s muse. She’d come here to ease the pressure, not add more. She carefully wore a mask of competence and ease whenever she talked about her writing to others, and Mel had clearly mistaken it for the real thing. She wasn’t asking Ari to do anything Ari herself hadn’t claimed was natural to her. Just write diligently, and Pam would be inspired to follow suit. No one ever saw the turmoil Ari felt inside.

  “I’m glad I’m here, too,” she said. Was it true? Yes, it was a pretty place, and yes, every writer friend she had seemed to see the ocean as a place of inspiration and boundless creativity. But maybe this wasn’t the right venue for her. Too late. She had to give it at least a month, and then she could go home again. Or maybe to an artist’s colony in New Mexico? An igloo in the Arctic or a tree house in the rain forest? Flowing words and phrases must be waiting somewhere…

  “I’ll leave you to unpack now,” Mel said. “I’ve left brochures and lists of attractions and restaurants on the table over there. I know you’re here to write and not to sightsee, but if you need a break, there are some spectacular places where you can hike or drive. If you need anything at all, just ask.”