Deleted

by Tess Thompson

  Jackson tossed a baby carrot at Kara. “This is the official end of your first month. How does it feel?”

  Kara caught the carrot and held it between two fingers like a baton. Her engagement ring glittered under the lights. Apparently, rich football players like Brody could afford diamonds the size of a small country.

  Brody hadn’t hesitated to propose. He hadn’t kept a ring hidden in his desk drawer for months.

  “It feels fantastic to be back at work,” Kara said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it. Even though this is quite different from my old job in Philly.”

  “Not the same as a trauma unit in a big hospital?”

  “Not quite. Brody’s happy to have me out of the house. I was driving him crazy.”

  “Impossible.”

  “No, for real. I’ve been a bit obsessive about the wedding plans. Surprise. It turns out I’m a control freak when it comes to my own wedding.”

  Jackson smiled as he opened a container of hummus. “I can’t imagine he cares one way or the other about the details.”

  “That’s the problem. I can’t get him to engage about colors or flowers or anything. Other than he wanted all the Dogs to be in the wedding party, he couldn’t care less what I do.”

  “The Dogs guarantee a fun party,” Jackson said.

  “Honor guarantees a fun party,” Kara said.

  “Until it dips over into chaos.” Honor was almost an honorary Dog. She’d been Brody’s assistant for over five years. Although feisty, opinionated, and bossy, she was fiercely loyal to all of them. Jackson suspected that her childhood in foster homes had a lot to do with her fervent protection of the people she thought of as family.

  “Any luck on finding a house?” Kara asked. Cliffside Bay rarely had houses for sale. The past few months had been no exception.

  “No, and I need to find a house of my own. I think my dad wants to propose to Janet,” he said.

  “I think so too,” Kara said.

  Even his dad was moving on.

  “With Flora moving out to live with Dax and Janet moving in with your dad, we’re going to have an empty nest,” Kara said.

  “You can fill it up with babies, maybe?” Jackson said. He wanted to fill a house with babies.

  “Maybe. Not right away. I want Brody all to myself for a while longer.”

  They munched on their lunches in compatible silence for a few minutes before the conversation turned to Flora.

  “Are you bringing Sharon to Flora and Dax’s wedding?” Kara asked.

  “I’m not sure. She might have to work.” Had he even mentioned it to her? “Why?”

  “Flora said you hadn’t RSVP’d yet.”

  “I didn’t? Shoot, tell her I’m sorry. I’ll get it in the mail today,” Jackson said.

  “Good because Flora’s worried about you. She said it’s not like you to forget a detail.”

  Flora was too smart. She was the Mullen family’s long-time housekeeper and was like a second mother to Brody and his younger brother Lance. When Brody’s father died, Flora and Janet had agreed to move to Cliffside Bay and live with Brody.

  “Cameron’s giving Flora away. I’m making sure to wear waterproof mascara,” Kara said. “For their wedding and my own.”

  After a health scare, Flora had decided to look for her high school sweetheart, Dax, and the baby she’d been forced to give up when she was only sixteen. She found them both. Cameron Post, their son, was in his forties. Dax Hansen was a widower with one daughter, Mary. It took a matter of days for Dax and Flora to fall back into love. Now they were getting married in the church in town and planned to move into a house on Brody’s property for part of the year. The rest of the time they would live in Dax’s house on the Oregon coast.

  “It’s wedding season around here,” Jackson said. First Dax and Flora, followed weeks later by Kara and Brody. Soon his father and Janet would marry. Would his wedding to Sharon be the third or fourth of their group of friends? Why did that thought not fill him with excitement?

  “Brody told me you’re going to propose to Sharon,” Kara said. “She’s smart and beautiful. I hope you will be as happy as Brody and I are.”

  “Thanks. The Dogs didn’t seem too keen on the idea at our poker game last night.”

  Kara fiddled with the silver bracelet she wore on her wrist. “Well, you boys are sometimes in one another’s business a little too much. It’s sweet.”

  “Sometimes annoying.”

  Kara smiled. “Listen, if you feel it’s right with Sharon, then no one should tell you otherwise.” She tapped just above her chest. “You’re the only one who knows your heart. Whatever you decide, we’re all here. The Dogs, Honor, me.”

  “Thick and thin,” Jackson said. “That’s what we’ve always agreed on. Even if we are a little too much in one another’s business.”

  “You guys really are.” The corners of Kara’s brown eyes crinkled as she laughed.

  “Why is that funny?” Jackson grinned.

  “No reason, boss. No reason at all.”

  Chapter Three

  Maggie

  * * *

  MAGGIE’S RENTAL CAR smelled of cheap plastic and the remnants of the last occupant’s cologne. The cloying scent clung to the seats and the inside of her nose, as if she had a companion riding shotgun. Except there was no companion.

  Stop your whining. You’re fine alone.

  She knew every twist, turn, and bump of the coastal highway that took her from San Francisco to Cliffside Bay. Time had passed, yet the turns of this road remained unchanged. Her eyes filled as the pain of regret, like a hundred porcupine quills, stabbed her. Why had she left? Had she made the right decision to leave Jackson and the only home she had ever known to chase the tail of a dragon? Had a part of her remained here, like a ghost that forever surfed the waves or danced in the sea breezes?

  A few minutes later, Maggie reached the boomerang-shaped curve in the road and turned from the two-lane highway into the town of Cliffside Bay. She did not need to look for signs indicating the way. There were none anyway. Visitors were not welcome. The state of California diligently put road signs up to communicate with the intrepid traveler. As soon as the state put them up, the residents took them down, always in the middle of the night without leaving so much as a trace of evidence. Still, tourists found the seaside gem and passed it on to others, along with specific instructions on how to get there.

  Cliffside Bay. A town who wished to be hidden from the world like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. If only people would stop talking.

  The late afternoon sun hovered high on the horizon and beat down on the waters of the Pacific. She slowed the vehicle and adjusted her sunglasses that had slipped down the narrow bridge of her nose. Not much had changed. Buildings battered by damp sea air lined the main street. A church marked the beginning of town, painted brilliant white and adorned with a steeple that hosted more resting seagulls than the pews hosted sinners. Once upon a time, she’d imagined her wedding to Jackson would take place there. Back when she was young and stupid.

  A hardware store next to a laundromat, owned by the Wilsons, nestled between a group of eucalyptus trees. The post office, a bookstore, the library, and a small park took up the middle section of town. Fresh flowers covered the sidewalk in front of the local grocery. Would there be ranunculus? Did Clayton still drive his beat-up truck out to the flower farms in the early morning hours?

  Zane’s dad’s bar, The Oar, a local fixture since the turn of the century, had been given a facelift since she’d left. When she’d worked there in high school, the building had only a few windows and a weathered awning that might collapse at any moment. Now, picture windows that doubled as doors opened to the street. Patrons spilled out onto the sidewalk, dining at tables under blue umbrellas. One could always tell the tourists by their sunburned backs. Locals were some shade of tan with hair and clothing bleached from the sun.

  Was Zane’s father still the owner? Was Mr. Shaw alive? She’d bee
n gone so long, she suspected many of the people she knew had either died or moved along.

  Doctor Waller’s face flashed across her mind. At Lily Waller’s funeral, he and Jackson had sat together in the front pew of the church with their heads bowed as Maggie sang “Carolina In My Mind,” Lily’s favorite. Maggie had sung it to Lily dozens of times when she was sick. One more time, Maggie. Just until I fall asleep.

  Jackson Waller. He remained in her imagination as clearly as the day twelve years ago when they’d said goodbye. He had eyes the color of the ocean on a sunny day and golden curls that fell over his forehead. His muscular surfer body had burned under her innocent touch back then. Their angry last words haunted her. He would not go. She could not stay.

  Never mind that. I am here to say goodbye, not to remember.

  The memories rushed in as she came upon the old-fashioned pharmacy with faded signs in the window that said, “No Skateboards” and “Clothing Not Optional.” How many afternoons had she and Jackson sat at the counter having sodas when they were kids?

  In high school, bonfires on the beach had been their entertainment of choice. Maggie would play her guitar and sing. After each song, Jackson would wrap his arm around her shoulders and beam with pride. My Bird. Maggie, the future Broadway sensation. How she’d believed in herself back then. She’d seen herself through the eyes of Jackson and Zane, one her love and the other her best friend—the three of them fueled by their dreams and one another and the surf and music. And love.

  Don’t think of it or him or anything else. You have a job to do. Get in and get out.

  Miss Rita’s dance studio was next to Doctor Waller’s office. Curtains were drawn over the large front windows to keep the sun from warping the wooden floor. Was it Miss Rita’s in name only now? Had Rita, her former mentor, retired or moved away? Did a new owner teach the children ballet and fill their heads with dreams of Broadway? It stung, even after all these years, that her letters to Miss Rita had returned unopened.

  After Maggie left, everyone deleted her from their lives. Like she’d never existed, simply because she dared to go after her dream, dared to leave them. Even Zane. Other than Jackson, his betrayal had hurt the most.

  She swallowed the bile that rose to her throat. Every person she’d ever loved had sided with Jackson. His dream they could support. Hers, not so much.

  As she drew nearer, she saw that the doctor’s office sign now said: Doctor Jon Waller and Doctor Jackson Waller. He had done it. Jackson was his father’s partner. She should be happy for him. She really should. It had been twelve years, for heaven’s sake. She was a child when she loved him. An eighteen-year-old knew nothing of love.

  He was probably married by now with little children, like they’d planned. Maybe he’d bought the house they’d always wanted. How stupid she’d been. The way they’d stood outside the gates of the Arnoult house and dreamed of their life together embarrassed her now. She bet he had it with someone, though. A man like Jackson wasn’t single at thirty.

  She was six years old when Tyler Mueller tripped her on the playground on the first day of grade school. “Ugly redhead,” he said before kicking her in the gut. By the time she rose crying from the muddy ground, Jackson had directed several pointed punches to Tyler’s nose. As Tyler covered his bloody nose with his hands, Jackson offered his to Maggie. “Come on, Maggie Keene. I’ll walk you home.”

  They’d walked home holding hands. He’d told her funny stories. She couldn’t remember what they were, only that they made her laugh.

  When they’d reached her house, he gazed at her with those big blue eyes of his. “Don’t you believe for one second what Tyler Mueller says. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world. I’ll come by and get you in the morning for school.”

  She’d glanced nervously at the front door of her house. Jackson must not know about her father. How he hit them for any small thing. A boy coming to the house might be one of the small things. “I’ll meet you on the corner.” She pointed to a half block up the street.

  From that day forward, he had walked Maggie to and from school. From that day forward, Maggie loved him.

  Coming back to this town was not going to help rid her mind of the memories. The faster she could get out of here the better.

  Push it aside.

  She drove another block. Her stomach turned at the sight of her father’s house, tucked behind scrubs and a tall fir tree. She slowed the car as her pulse quickened. The house had been in her mother’s family since the day it was built in 1901. Painted white with green shutters, the outside was almost charming, despite its obvious neglect and decay that had made it shabby and concave, like an old woman’s face that had fallen from years of sun and sorrow.

  The yard lay in shambles. Uncut grass had thinned in spots, yellowed in others. Unruly branches of scrubs stuck out this way and that, like little boys’ hair after a long summer of playing. Empty flowerpots, cracked, weathered, or in various states of disintegration, made a haphazard pattern on the steps of the porch.

  Shaking, she turned her eyes back to the street and pulled away from the curb. My God, she was still afraid of him. Thirty years old and the thought of him chilled her blood.

  Maggie parked in the public parking lot above the long strip of beach. She wanted to see the bench. Just briefly and then she would go do what she had to do. As she crossed the lot to the bench, she squinted into the unforgiving afternoon sun. June in Cliffside Bay—the height of beach season. This, too, had not changed. Umbrellas dotted the beach. Kids dug in the sand. Adults lounged in chairs or on blankets. Surfers rode waves. Boogie boarders screamed with delight as they plummeted to shore.

  Maggie opened her arms and threw back her head as if she were a mermaid waiting for her human lover to return. Sea breezes tossed her long hair about her face. Sun warmed her sinewy arms as she breathed in the briny scent of her childhood, of home.

  She trailed her fingers across the engraving on the back of the bench. M.K. + J.W. She’d kissed Jackson so many times right here at the end of this bench, where a knot in the wood made a spiral like the peace symbol.

  Maggie sat and tilted her face to the sky, knowing sun wasn’t good for her skin and would no doubt double her copious freckles. It no longer mattered what she looked like. There would be no more headshots, auditions, or opening nights.

  Such a crybaby. Face the music. She rose from the bench. Her father must be faced. But first, the cemetery. She’d stop at the market and pick up flowers for her mother’s grave. Was Clayton still the flower man? Cliffside Bay, I’ve missed you.

  The breeze stole her sigh. A seagull cried a long, mournful note against the percussion of the crashing waves. Had she heard someone call her name? She turned, but there was no one there. A man hidden behind a surfboard ran down the slope of the cement boardwalk to the beach.

  In an instant, her last night with Jackson came rushing back.

  That night a full moon was high over the sea. Eucalyptus mingled with salty air.

  “I want you to stay here. For me, Bird. For us.”

  “I can’t pass up the scholarship to New York. It’s wrong of you to ask me.”

  “Our dreams aren’t compatible. Did you ever think of that?” he asked.

  “Don’t you love me anymore?” she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks to find a resting place in the collar of her leotard. “Did you ever love me?”

  “Love doesn’t mean it’s meant to be.” His voice sounded strangled and unfamiliar, almost clinical. Below them, waves crashed in a pitiless rhythm. The sea didn’t care if hearts splintered and broke. “Just like someone can die from lung cancer who never smoked a day in her life.”

  “Jackson. I know you’re hurting.” I’m motherless too. Who was this stranger? This angry, young man? He was not her Jackson. Not the boy who had defended and cherished her.

  “Go to New York. Go live your dream without me.”

  “Jackson, no. I can’t leave like this. Please, don’t be this
way.” She reached for his hand in one last, desperate attempt to stall him—to remind him with her touch that they’d loved each other for a lifetime already. But he jerked away, leaving only the dark night between her fingers.

  “If you go to New York, we won’t make it. You’ll change. I’ll be your past, not your future,” Jackson said. “Either stay in California with me, or we’re done.”

  “I never thought you could be this selfish,” she said.

  “Well, I am.” He slipped into the night. To this day she could not hear a car engine roar to life without catching her breath. The sound of goodbye.

  She’d spent the last twelve years learning how to let go.

  Apparently, she was a slow learner.

  Chapter Four

  Jackson

  * * *

  JACKSON TOSSED HIS surfboard onto the wet sand and fell to his knees. No, no, no. It wasn’t her. It was not her. He pressed his forehead into his surfboard. It had happened again. As he grabbed his board from the back of his truck, his eyes had been drawn to a woman standing by the bench. Her back was to him, so he could not see her face, but her slender, graceful body and long, red hair was so like Maggie that he’d stopped and stared. Had he said her name out loud?

  God, he had. What was wrong with him? Was this the slow descent into madness? Is this how it happened?

  A wave larger than the rest broke near him. He held onto the surfboard and dug his toes into the sand as the wave tried to pull him out to sea. His chest squeezed tight as he gasped for air. No surfing today. He would go home and talk to his dad or call Brody. Anything to keep this spiral from pulling him into the dark abyss.

  He stood and held his board like a shield over his torso and looked back to the grassy cliff where the bench told his young love story in the crevices of its wood. The woman was gone. Had she even existed or was he now seeing Bird where there was nothing but empty space? Stepping back from the water, he set his board aside and slipped out of his wetsuit. The sun on his back would warm him, stop this shaking. Heal him.