What If
Page 3
Chapter 3
Rose’s, Morro Bay
The short drive to Morro Bay had been tedious, but Heather was determined. The 101 led less than a mile to route one west toward Morro Bay, well marked. Within 15 miles, she was driving through the quaint beach town. As promised, she could hardly miss the huge Morro Rock. Being a week day and not quite in to tourist season, it was relatively easy to find a parking space. There were even a few parking lots located next to some of the restaurants and others across the street.
Linda Sue had told her that her best route would be to walk down Embarcadero Road along the water area. That way she could take hundreds of photos of the varied views. Since Morro Rock would be the focus of many of her paintings, she would start there. Fortunately, she was one who walked a great deal. Back in her home in Rosehearty, Scotland, everyone walked.
Close up, the rock was overwhelming and quite spectacular, even in the light fog that surrounded Morro Rock. It would take up the whole of a large canvas, but she could get photos of the details. As she walked around the rock as far as she could, she took many shots of every portion of the massive rock. Heather had been told that the sea wall that ran out from the rock was made of boulders from the original rock.
She loved the smell of the ocean and enjoyed the light breeze off the water. It was so like her home.
As she walked down Embarcadero Rd., she passed many restaurants. The young woman could hear Linda Sue’s voice in her head. “Eat lunch.” She wasn’t at all hungry, not after that great breakfast, but perhaps she should find something. Many of the restaurants had great views of the rock and Morro Bay. Perhaps she could go inside one and ask permission to take photos. That looked as if it would have a view. It wasn’t lunchtime yet. Maybe they wouldn’t mind if she just took some photos.
Heather entered and spoke to the pleasant waitress, asking permission to just take photos. The answer was affirmative. Heather took many photos from as many angles as possible. For a moment, she thought of having lunch there in order to keep her promise to Linda Sue, but she just wasn’t that hungry, although the odors emanating from the kitchen were most tempting. Maybe she would return here for a meal some time.
She thanked the waitress and headed back to the street. There were so many more views she needed to get on camera. With the sale of the first painting she had done in the studio, it spurred her on. As soon as she printed out these photos, she could get to work in the studio made for her by Linda Sue. Those brushes were sitting there idle.
The shops were interesting as she walked by. The air felt good, fresh and she was beginning to feel exhilarated. Heather was looking for interesting views. Perhaps she could climb one of the hilly streets for a better aspect. There was a place called Dorn’s up on the hill and Linda Sue had told her that the food was good there, but she preferred a more level view. The paintings should be at the shore level, mainly. She continued to walk down the street, even stopping by a gallery to admire some of the artwork in the window. Walking through one of the parking lots, she noted that she still had a view of both the water and the rock. Heather took many photos from different angles.
Hmm, she thought to herself looking around, there was supposed to be a gallery here that was a must do on her list from her friend. Thomas Kincaide was called the painter of light. A signature gallery should be here. She walked about the building. Finally she saw it and entered the shop. The paintings were wonderful; some were so detailed. It was amazing. The very attractive woman at the desk offered her a post card of Kincaide’s latest work, a consigned piece for Disneyland honoring the 50th anniversary. It was a castle with a rainbow. The young lady also offered to turn the lights down in order that Heather might see why this artist was called the “painter of light”. The paintings actually seemed to retain the light even when the lights were turned down. What a delightful shop. After enjoying all the works of art, Heather thanked the lady and went on.
She walked up the stair way to the balcony where she could take just a few photos from the height. Suddenly, someone attempted to brush by her, going down the stairs touching her, but almost enough to knock her slightly off balance.
“I’m so sorry,’ a male voice spoke out quickly and just as insincerely as he continued down the stairs.
Heather barely turned around. She knew the voice didn’t mean the apology. Might as well try to focus again. He sure was tall, just like her Ian and his hair was about the same shade of brown. He was hurrying and she could only see his back, but… It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her Ian. He was gone. Missing. There was no way, but still. She had the strong urge to follow him. She had to see for herself. Putting the camera in her black shoulder purse, she went down the stairs and on to the street. He was heading back to where her car was parked. She had to continue to go after him, but staying back. It could be so embarrassing if he saw her and it wasn’t Ian.
Without warning, he stepped into one of the restaurants. He seemed to know where he was going.
As she came close, she saw the sign of Rose’s. She stepped back a bit and pretended to look at the children’s cars on display in front of a gift shop. So cute. Even a little fire engine. Then she went inside down the corridor going past an elevator, a stairway and rest rooms. He could have used the elevator, but the stair way was blocked with a sign that said the restaurant up the stairs was open only for dinner. When she reached the end of the corridor, she asked the waiter who greeted her if she could have the table in the corner where she would be able to see the entire corridor, the bar and grill where she was and the outside tables and view of the rock. Everything was in view. No matter where he went, she would be able to see him. He was not in view at the moment. Where had he gone?
She would have to order something, although she wasn’t the least bit hungry. The soup sounded good, so she ordered a bowl of the “famous award winning” clam chowder and a cup of coffee, just to try it out. The waiter walked off and came back quickly with the coffee and followed quickly with the large bowl of chowder.
Heather tried to not look obvious as she ate her soup and sipped the coffee. Although a few other customers came in, he wasn’t in view. What gorgeous views. She would ask to take several photos from here. If people liked the view, someone might want a similar painting. Trying to remain un-noticed, she glanced around, pulling out her camera. No one seemed to notice or care. So she started taking some more photos.
Right behind her she saw a fishing boat pull up to the dock next door. The fishermen were dropping off their catch. More photos. She would have like to get shots of the sea otters peeking up from the water, but they moved too fast. They would pop up quickly in one area and then in another. But she could get pictures and put them in the paintings.
Looking around, she noted that the restaurant was quite nice, clean with the great view from any part of the place. There was a bar also with a view.
Her waiter was pleasant and she saw that the other patrons were getting the same kind of service. She finished her delicious chowder and kept looking. The man did come in here, but where was he? No one had come out of the elevator. No man anywhere near his description had come into the corridor.
When the waiter had come over to see if there was anything else she wanted, she just asked for more coffee. She was trying to delay her departure. He didn’t seem to pressure her and the place was not full. A short time went by and she began to think she had overtaxed her vivid imagination. Would his memory ever stop haunting her?
She paid her bill and rose to leave. This was something she would try not discuss with her friend.
Still, the man who had gone past her did not return.
She had better just go on. Heather had spent far too much time waiting for her apparition to appear. This was the day she was supposed to have made so much headway in getting the much-needed photos for her paintings. She did have some, but Linda Sue would be disappointed. That was no way to become a successful artist.
“Tomorrow, I’ll do better
,” she whispered to herself. “Tomorrow.”