As the Tide Comes In

by Cindy Woodsmall

  It was nearing five now.

  The bottom of her to-go cup was an inch deep in the sand beside her. She’d bought a large iced coffee with her brunch at a nearby restaurant and toted it with her the rest of the day. There were dozens of great places to eat within easy walking distance. Those things were nice, but nothing quite added up. The calendar on her phone said she’d landed here six days ago. Something had to be wrong with the app.

  She wrote a text to each brother:

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  Darryl’s phone immediately pinged with the same annoying message about catching up with her soon.

  How long from now was soon?

  She pushed those thoughts aside and tried to enjoy the moment. On the upside of how bizarre she felt, she’d been sleeping a lot, so she was sure she’d sleep well wherever she chose to curl up for the evening. She’d talked to Hadley or Elliott for a few minutes each day, because they both insisted on hearing her voice regularly. Yesterday Hadley had kept her longer than Tara’s preferred supershort calls. Sundays were slower paced, and Hadley had insisted on a bit more time with her. These days Tara liked texting rather than talking. It was easier to hide her confusion and mounting fears in a text. When she’d texted Hadley about resting so much, her friend responded that was the best thing she could do right now.

  What Tara hadn’t texted Hadley was that she’d yet to connect with her brothers and that she no longer had a room to stay in. As a child, when things got crazy like this—like when her mom disappeared for weeks at a time or when social services moved her in with complete strangers—she simply hunkered down, remaining quiet and not drawing any attention to herself until life began to make sense again. She could do this. Sean and Darryl had no idea how vulnerable and half crazy she felt right now, and she wouldn’t tell them.

  She opened her wallet phone case. One place said they might have confirmation later today of a weeklong cancellation by a guest who didn’t think he could make it to St. Simons Island. She was hoping to receive a call or text from them, but her phone indicated she hadn’t. If worse came to worst, she could sleep on a park bench tonight, and if she did, when she saw Sean and Darryl, they’d hear about it for life.

  The round bottle of Vicodin bulged in her capris pocket. Had she waited long enough to take another pill? Her head didn’t hurt, but it really took the edge off her worry, and sometimes she felt like one of those seagulls in flight. She didn’t think it was quite time to take another, though.

  She set the phone beside her and picked up her coffee, reminding herself to relax. And hoping time didn’t jump again. Sometimes she checked the clock or date on the calendar, and it said one thing, and an hour later it showed that a day had passed. Maybe it wasn’t that she was losing her mind. Maybe it was the app. But she knew the drill. Keep her head down, tell no one anything, and wait out the madness.

  Besides, there were some niceties of this vacation and a pleasant solitude while waiting for her brothers to arrive. But her chest carried a dull ache that hadn’t completely gone away since that man chased her down the beach four days ago. It’d felt like a dream—an ominous being in a fireman’s uniform chasing her through the darkness as rain blurred her vision. He’d appeared out of nowhere, a man with broad shoulders and a powerful stride trying to get at her. Had the incident really happened?

  A panicked shriek pulled Tara from the depth of her lostness. It was like trying to wake from anesthesia. Warmth splashed up the back of Tara’s legs. Was she sitting in water? She looked down, and her heart raced. The tide was touching the rocks, and the strip of beach to walk on was under water. She blinked, trying to focus, and a terrified scream shattered every lost, swirling thought.

  Was Tara dreaming?

  “Mama!” A child screamed.

  Tara blinked, desperately trying to see beyond the world that had held her captive of late.

  “Daddy!” A little girl, maybe four, was calf deep in water as she clawed at the rocks, trying to hang on. “Somebody! Help me!”

  Move!

  The deep voice demanding she move startled Tara, and she jumped to her feet. Water was inches over Tara’s ankles now. How had it come in so quickly? She sloshed as fast as she could, holding out her arms. If the girl lost her balance, she’d hit her head on a sharp rock. “Come, sweetie.” Tara reached for the girl. “I’ll get you to your mama and daddy.”

  The little girl looked terrified, but she didn’t hesitate. She slung her arms around Tara’s neck and held tight. The feel of a tiny body clinging tight was familiar, and Tara ached for bygone days as if something had stolen that time. Tara hurried to the wooden steps, grabbed the rail, and pulled herself out of the sinking sand.

  The girl was a featherweight, so once Tara was standing on something solid, she easily scampered up the wooden steps with the child in her arms. A woman facing away from the ocean and toward the climbing trees was yelling, “Isabella!” But the girl in Tara’s arms was as limp and unresponsive as a noodle. Were they together, or was the woman looking for a different child?

  “Ma’am,” Tara yelled as loud as she could while running down the boardwalk.

  The woman turned, her face red and panic-stricken. “Isabella!” She had a stroller in front of her, and she wasted no time turning it around and running toward Tara. “I thought I heard her screaming. Is she okay?”

  Isabella lifted her head. “Mama!” She reached for her mom and fell against her, sobbing. “Where were you? I couldn’t find you.”

  The woman held her. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” She looked at Tara. “Thank you. My husband?”

  Tara looked behind her. “I didn’t see anyone else.” Tara hurried back down the wooden walkway to the edge of the steps. The ocean water had risen and was above the third step now. She didn’t see anyone, and when she turned back toward land to tell the woman that, the mother was not there.

  For a moment Tara wondered if any part of what had just happened was real. Then she saw the woman marching down the sidewalk as she held the little girl and pushed the stroller. “Where were you?” She stopped in front of a man carrying two large foam cups. She released the stroller and with the flat of her hand hit his chest. “She could’ve died.”

  The couple moved their argument down the sidewalk, but their raw emotion felt familiar and consuming. Tara’s heart raced with panic as if she were the one faced with losing someone.

  A few minutes later the woman returned and hugged Tara. She spoke kindly while introducing herself as Gwen and her husband, Craig. Tara nodded, trying to smile and look normal, but she felt detached and weird. If they noticed it, they didn’t call her out on it. The woman’s words were muffled, but the sentiment was clear—she was grateful not to lose a life more precious than her own. It made Tara grateful for her brothers. They were all she had, and their lives were more precious than her own. As the man and woman thanked her a dozen times, Tara reached into her pocket to check her phone.

  Oh no!

  She ran to the far end of the boardwalk. The waters churned, banging against the jutting rocks. Her towel was floating out to sea, but there was no sign of her phone.

  “Did you lose something?” Craig was right behind her, peering at the water.

  Tara saw no reason to make him feel worse about the incident. “Evidently a towel.” She pointed. “And my shoes.” At least she’d put Darryl’s rock in her suitcase this morning rather than carry it with her.

  “We’re packed up to head home, and we have towels and a half-dozen pairs of sandals and tennis shoes in our car. Your feet look about my wife’s size.”

  “Something for my feet would help.” The pavement was seriously hot, and sometimes the grass had prickly things.

  “Sure. Come this way.” They walked toward the parking lot.

  Did he say they’d checked out of a hotel? “I’ve been staying at the Lighthouse Inn, and I w
as hoping to find a new place to stay.” She reached into her other pocket and felt a few bills. That’s all she had now. The rest of her cash, along with her credit cards and phone, was in her wallet phone case.

  “Have you checked into private home rentals along the marsh?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her mind spinning about how to replace her credit cards. She’d have to call Hadley or Elliott. They’d have answers. Except…she couldn’t recall either of their numbers.

  She tried to focus. “How do you get there?”

  He gave her detailed directions, and Tara tried to take mental notes, but holding a thought had become so very difficult. Life felt like a dream she couldn’t wake from, or maybe it felt as if she’d somehow stepped through a portal into a land of scattered, broken thoughts and lost time.

  Gwen was in the parking lot, standing outside a vehicle with its doors open. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. She lost her shoes in the tide.”

  “Oh. Let us buy you a new pair.” Gwen reached for her purse.

  Tara shifted from one foot to the other, unable to stand on the hot pavement.

  Gwen passed her daughter to Craig. “But let’s deal with those burning feet right now.” Gwen opened the back of the van and tossed a towel onto the pavement.

  Tara hopped onto it.

  Gwen pulled a few pairs of athletic shoes from the back of her vehicle. “I have several sizes, ranging from six and a half to seven and a half.”

  Something caught Tara’s eye, and she looked to her right. The man who had chased her down the beach four days ago was standing nearby. At least when she checked her wonky calendar on her phone earlier today, that’s how long ago it appeared to be. He was next to a truck, maybe twenty feet away, talking to another guy. Ready or not, she needed to get out of here. “Any size, really. Maybe a seven.”

  “These. And”—Gwen reached into the vehicle—“socks.”

  He’d worn a uniform the night he’d chased her but not now. A fireman’s uniform? Maybe. The fireman guy looked her way, and he seemed instantly fixated on her. Did he recognize her? If so, would he call her Mary like the others had when they saw her at the lighthouse? Hopefully he had no idea she was the one in the locked lighthouse or on the beach that night. Today she had on big sunglasses, a tank top, and capri pants, and her head was covered by a silky floral scarf. The head covering helped to protect her sutures from sand and sun. She had an inch-wide strip from her temple back that had been shaved, and ocean air tended to flip her hair in every direction, revealing her injury, so she’d covered it.

  She needed to find her house and stay there, hidden, quiet, and out of this man’s way. Her house? Yeah…it had to be around here somewhere, didn’t it?

  “Wait!” A man called.

  Was it fireman guy calling to her or Craig? She didn’t stop to find out.

  12

  Gavin knew the locals, and the woman in the floral scarf wasn’t one, yet something about her felt familiar, maybe nostalgic, which was really weird. He tried to shake the feeling, but his heart picked up its pace as if he were on his daily run, and his eyes stayed glued to her as she disappeared around a corner.

  As a firefighter EMT he saw unspeakable tragedies regularly, so it didn’t make sense that he was experiencing an adrenaline rush for no apparent reason. Was it possible he knew her without realizing it? Maybe someone he’d gone to middle or high school with for a few years before she moved away?

  He walked over to the man who’d yelled for her to wait. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” The man looked down at what seemed to be a pair of socks in his wife’s hands. “I mean…” His brows furrowed, and he glanced at the last spot where the girl had been seen. “Yeah.” He shut the hatch to his vehicle.

  Gavin closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. Taking control was second nature to him, and within a few seconds he had his attention back on the samples of antique walnut shiplap in the bed of his truck. He walked back to Roy Ashe, the potential buyer. “I’ll have ten thousand square feet of shiplap by nightfall tomorrow.” He had been busy for days meticulously gutting Sapphira’s house, even sleeping there.

  “That’s great. It’s really tough to find this much antique walnut shiplap, but twenty dollars a square foot? That’ll cost two hundred thousand dollars. I’ll pay sixteen. Not a penny more.”

  Gavin needed the cash in hand, but he wasn’t bargaining with this builder of fine homes. The man would raise the price by six dollars per square foot for his wealthy clients, and Gavin’s gut said he was a bit shady, possibly the kind of developer who shorted his workers regularly.

  Gavin closed the tailgate to his truck. “I need to get back to work.”

  “But…we’re negotiating.”

  “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere.” As much as Gavin needed the cash, he wasn’t budging. He’d waited nearly two years to dismantle Sapphira’s homestead. He knew its value, and he needed every penny of it. “The price is two hundred thousand. Firm.”

  “Do you have any antique sinks, tubs, lighting fixtures, door knobs—that sort of thing?”

  “Tubs and lighting fixtures have been removed. Sinks, doors, and doorknobs are still in place. I’ll have eight-inch wide walnut door casings, wainscot, and similar items soon, but right now I’m still dismantling shiplap.”

  “Could I take a look at the place?”

  Gavin had run an ad in the paper and online. This man was the first to respond. From the start Gavin felt uneasy about him. That’s why he’d set up their meeting at the parking lot of Pier Village to show him a sample. He was a builder, and he lived two hours from here. Gavin had nearly a hundred and fifty thousand dollars of reclaimed building materials under a tarp in the carport.

  “Not today.” Gavin needed to move the goods to a secure place, perhaps back inside the home, but that wouldn’t happen between when this man saw it sitting on the driveway and when Gavin fell asleep for the night. “Maybe in a day or two.” Gavin tapped the side of his truck. “You can decide and text me about the shiplap, but if someone else is willing to purchase it, I’ll sell it.”

  “I’ll take it.” The man pulled out his checkbook. “All of it. Will ten thousand dollars hold it until I have my guy get a truck here to pick it up?”

  “Sure will. But he needs to bring a cashier’s check for a hundred and ninety thousand dollars, and I need it in hand before he loads the shiplap.”

  “Not a problem.” He held out the check. “Text me the address, and he’ll be there tomorrow night at nine. When you’re ready, I’d like to be the first one to see all the rest of it. Okay?”

  Gavin nodded and put the check in his billfold.

  * * *

  The voices of tourists faded, and soon Tara focused on her feet as she tried to find her running stride. She had on running shoes. Where did she get them? When did she put them on? If she had on running shoes, why did she still have on her everyday clothes? Her head hurt with each jarring step. She tuned out the questions and focused on running, trying to smooth out the jolts.

  Shade trees brought some relief from the heat. Sidewalks disappeared, and the man’s directions jumbled in her head, the turns and names of streets becoming too wobbly and gray to remember.

  Sweat ran down every part of her, and the sand from the ocean had chafed more skin than not. She stopped and closed her eyes, trying to sense what she needed to do. The heat of the day was waning, and birds were starting to sing their evening song. A weird sensation came over her. Her heart felt like the needle on a compass. She turned in various directions until the hidden compass pulled her onward. She opened her eyes and began walking. The sun hung low in the sky across the open marsh. A dock jutted out from what appeared to be someone’s backyard, and its wooden walkway went out into the marsh. She was walking toward the dock when she spotted to her right a blue
tarp on the roof of a house she couldn’t see.

  Home!

  Tears welled. She crossed the road and jogged down a short street until she was in the front yard of the house with a blue tarp. It was cute: white clapboard and brick with red trim.

  But the only thing that looked familiar was the tarp. Had the workers changed the outside of her home? There was an old-fashioned streetlamp in the front yard, a fenced backyard, and…Tara ran to the driveway side.

  Oh, how wonderful. There was an outdoor shower, enclosed for privacy. She moved to it, opened the swinging door, and turned on the water. She doubted it was connected to a hot water source, but she stepped in anyway and began peeling out of her clothes. There were soap and shampoo dispensers. She removed her scarf and rinsed the sand, sweat, and grit out of her hair and off her body. Then she lathered up her clothes and rinsed them. The tepid water felt delightful. She turned off the water and wrung out her clothes as best she could. She had no way of drying off, but at least she felt clean again before she put her clothes back on.

  She didn’t know why her shoes were sopping wet. She’d taken them off while showering, hadn’t she? But they squished with water as she walked around the house, looking for signs of life. She put the wet scarf around her shoulders. It seemed a good idea, for the sake of her sutures, to let her hair and the scarf dry before she put it on her head again. Once inside the fenced yard, she saw no fencing along the back of the yard, but there was an orange electric cord running from the house and into a garden.

  Oh, a garden. It looked like a nice one, and she was hungry, but she continued walking around the side of the house. One entire exterior wall was glass, and it had five different doors. If this was her house, she had no doubts that Sean and Darryl had left at least one unlocked, maybe all of them. She tried a knob. It was locked, so she continued down the line. The handle of the very last door turned, and she opened it. “Hello?” She stepped inside. “Sean? Darryl?” Part of the roof was missing, and the blue tarp felt familiar. “Hello?”