The Precipice

by Penny Goetjen

  One of Shelle’s first tasks this summer was to hire a new tennis instructor. The last one had to be fired because he spent more time trying to improve his relations with the female guests than actually teaching tennis. Complaints of sexual harassment were rampant, not the sort of activity management could tolerate. Unfortunately, Aaron did not take the news of his firing very well. He insisted he was an innocent bystander and that the complaints were unfounded. His denials escalated into threats and he had to be physically removed from the property.

  Just north of Portland, Elizabeth hopped off of Interstate 95 onto Route 1. Years ago, Route 1 was the main road to travel along the coast of Maine. It meanders through delightful small New England towns, twisting and turning along the rugged shoreline, past local lobster shacks and wild blueberry stands. These days, most people stayed on I 95 or the Maine Turnpike as far as they can go before getting off onto Route 1, as they hurry to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Route 1 had become congested with tourist traps and the accompanying traffic, suitable only to those with all kinds of time on their hands. Elizabeth had only a short distance to travel on Route 1 before she turned onto Route 72, a winding, hilly road that wound its way through seven miles or so of pine trees and the occasional dirt or gravel road that led to a residential dwelling. A knitting shop was located on the corner of Routes 1 and 72 and had been in the same location for as long as she could remember, probably longer. She thought it was called Dolly’s Woolery. It was across the street from Ronnie’s Clam Shack, a favorite of summer tourists as well as locals.

  Elizabeth slowed down to turn right onto Route 72. The past several hours of driving were starting to take their toll. She yawned and picked up her empty Dunkin Donuts cup hoping for more caffeine to keep her going. She had already drained the last drop before Kennebunkport. It was getting late and the lack of street lights and oncoming cars created a very dark, back road. Travel had become much slower. Replacing her cup in the cup holder, she reached for her package of Twizzlers from the passenger seat only to discover it was completely empty, too. She pressed on. It wasn’t much further. After the last familiar curve, Elizabeth turned off 72 onto Pennington Road. She was nearly there. She cracked the windows for her first sniff of the salty sea air. A warm smile spread across her face as she felt welcomed home.

  Pennington Road was even darker than 72, if that was possible, and snaked its way through an expanse of pines that were part of the state forest, ending in a clearing on a precipice, high above the crashing waves below. Pennington Point Inn was situated on 125 wooded acres of unspoiled Maine coastline. The main building was an impressive, stately looking structure, set back from the edge of the cliff above the water. It was like many New England inns, with white clapboard siding and multi-paned windows with black shutters. An open porch, where wicker furniture sported worn floral cushions, ran across the front of the inn and wrapped around both ends. Double width steps were set left of center of the porch; ornate carved wooden railings framed either side. The inn hadn’t changed much over the years. It stood strong, proud, and almost defiant against the tumultuous ocean, very much like its captain, Elizabeth’s grandmother, Amelia Pennington. The property included nearly a mile of unspoiled, sandy beach and, in its entirety, is quite a piece of coastal Maine real estate. Any real estate developer would salivate at the possibility of acquiring a piece of land like this. For the Pennington family, it was simply home. Over the years, rumors had surfaced from time to time that the gracious, old inn was haunted. Elizabeth found this quite amusing since she had grown up there and never experienced anything of the sort. She often wondered if those rumors actually attracted some people to stay there.

  At the top of the last hill, the Z4 emerged from the woods into a small clearing where Elizabeth came upon a fork. She slowed the car to a stop, shifting it into neutral. She smiled a crooked smile as a couple of clichés came to mind; “the road less traveled,” and “the crossroads of life.” There was a wooden sign pointing to the left for Pennington Point Inn and one pointing to the right for Pennington Point Lighthouse. She resisted the temptation to follow the right fork. Not a good place to be in the dark near the rocks. Elizabeth put the car back into first gear and started to ease off of the clutch when she noticed lights coming down the road on the left toward her. Gently, she pressed the brake again to hold steady long enough for the oncoming car to pass. The road to the inn wasn’t really wide enough for two cars. Shortly a small car appeared from the pines so she glanced into the driver’s side just as her headlights shined in. The driver was male, approximately 25 to 30 years of age, with short, dark hair. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him. His name would probably come to her later. He didn’t try to make eye contact, just looked straight ahead. The car was one of those sports car wannabees; probably a Mazda Miata. Couldn’t really make out the color. Something dark. Maybe dark blue or green.

  After the car passed, Elizabeth steered onto the left fork that meandered through more pine trees for about a hundred yards until she came to another, larger clearing. In front of her was the open sea. She followed the drive to the left toward the inn, passing the entrance to the guest parking lot on the left and continuing on to the circular gravel driveway in the front of the inn. The placement of the parking lot behind the main building of the inn was quite deliberate, maximizing the view of the sea from inside the inn. Her headlights carved a swath in the fog that was beginning to roll in from the water as she rounded the circular driveway. She could just make out the outline of boxwood bushes near the edge of the cliff that had been planted to keep guests from doing anything foolish.

  The sight of the inn sent a tingling sensation through her body. Elizabeth was so glad to be back. It had been too long. She pulled the car as close to the front door as possible along the circular drive. Relief coursed through her. She turned off the engine, inhaling deeply, and exhaling a long cleansing breath. A myriad of emotions swelled up inside of her. She was glad to be here, but wondered what was in store. Elizabeth jumped out of the car leaving everything behind. As she gently closed the driver’s side door, she stepped backwards to admire her prized possession, bathed in the lights of the front porch. A smile spread across her face in spite of her fatigue. “God, I love that car.” She laughed to herself when she realized she had said it out loud and had sounded just like a television commercial. It was just after ten o’clock, but she hoped that her grandmother would still be up. She paused to look southeast, out over the water, listening for the waves crashing against the rocks below. The moon was nearly full and was directly in front of her, casting its light across the shimmering water, from so far away. Turning back toward the inn, she glanced at the porch and noticed the familiar sight of a couple of Schwinn bikes leaning against the railing, a light brown wicker basket hanging from the handle bars of the ladies’ version. She shuffled up the front steps; her feet sounded like sandpaper on the wooden steps dusted with sand from the beach. She was too far away to hear her cell phone ringing. A disappointed Vera would have to leave a message.

  Elizabeth burst through the front doors into the lobby. Oriental rugs fashioned in warm, rich colors greeted guests of the Pennington Point Inn. Situated halfway between the front door and the front desk was a substantial round wooden table with a magnificent fresh floral arrangement displaying the waning colors of summer. This was Amelia’s signature. She felt strongly that guests and visitors should be greeted with this display of simple opulence. Elsewhere in the inn, fresh flowers were also presented, but in a much more understated, yet still elegant, manner. All of the flowers used in the inn during the warmer months came from Amelia’s garden that was her pride and joy. She looked forward to tending the garden and it gave her an excuse to step away from the stressful day-to-day operations of the inn, providing a form of therapy for her. In the off seasons, she used flowers she had meticulously dried to create similar artful arrangements.

&
nbsp; A travel weary couple was checking in at the front desk so Elizabeth slowed her pace and remained behind the urn of flowers to allow time for them to finish. She was thrilled to see that they were speaking with Rashelle. She must have known she was arriving and gave the night manager the night off. Rashelle was an energetic young woman of Elizabeth’s age. She had dark brown, almost black hair that she sported in a retro-shag look. It suited her spunky personality perfectly. She was of average height and build, but her outstanding characteristic was her high energy level that could not be squelched.

  The lobby was centered between a sitting room to the right and the dining room and lounge to the left. Glowing coals in the sitting room fireplace and the lingering smell of smoke in the air were all that remained of an earlier fire, an unexpected yet welcome treat to ward off the chill of a cool summer evening by the sea. Old built-in wooden bookshelves on either side of the fireplace were filled with well-worn hardcover novels, just beckoning anyone entering the room to pluck one off the shelf and sink down into one of the oversized chairs arranged in conversation circles around the room.

  The dining room was located toward the back of the building on the left side. It was closed for the evening and quite dark at the moment, but was set up for the hustle and bustle of the morning brunch. Weekend brunches at the inn had become popular, not only for Pennington guests, but for guests of other hotels and locals as well. A long standing favorite was Amelia’s famous orange-macadamia nut French toast served with warm maple syrup.

  The lounge, located next to the dining room toward the front of the inn, was alive with a spirited card game going on between a foursome of older gentlemen. An imposing wooden bar, with dark leather stools pushed up to it, anchored the far end of the room. A large mirror occupied the wall behind it. A half a dozen square tables were spaced evenly throughout the bar with four chairs set neatly at each. The card game was occupying the table closest to the bar on the left side of the lounge.

  Elizabeth glanced into the sitting room and noticed an elderly lady sitting in one of the wing chairs, her back to the front of the inn and the sea, her left profile visible from the lobby. She seemed to be the only occupant of the room and looked eerily familiar. Her head was bowed as if reading a book on her lap.

  Rashelle finished with the couple checking in and looked up to see Elizabeth. Her eyes opened wide; she clasped her hands together and squealed in delight. Turned to her right, she disappeared through a door to the left of the front desk and reappeared through a door to the lobby marked “Staff Only.” She flung her arms around Elizabeth and they embraced. It felt so good to see her again. Emails and texts didn’t quite have the same warmth as her hugs. Elizabeth detected the scent of alcohol. Some things never change. Rashelle was quite the party girl in college, always looking for a good time, even if it wasn’t the weekend. There were many times that Elizabeth had to drag Rashelle back to her dormitory at two or three o’clock in the morning with Rashelle protesting that it was too early to go home. Once she had to rescue her out of the bed of some guy Rashelle didn’t even know. The next day Rashelle did not confront her for embarrassing her so Elizabeth figured she had no memory of the incident. Elizabeth had a hard time understanding that kind of behavior but she assumed it was a result of the alcohol. Somehow she passed her classes and graduated with a degree. Toward the end of their four years together, Rashelle seemed to be inebriated more than she was sober. Elizabeth wrote that off as senioritis. She had hoped Rashelle would be a little more responsible with her drinking as an adult, especially on the job. Apparently not.

  “You made it! So glad you’re here. Your grandmother will be pleased. How long are you staying?” She didn’t give her a chance to respond. “We’ll twist your arm to stay longer, no matter how long it is. Oh, I am so glad you are here!” Rashelle couldn’t hide her excitement. Her Brooklyn accent came through loud and clear. “Let’s find Amelia. She will want to know right away that you have arrived.” She grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and started leading her toward the carpeted stairway, which was to the left of the guest reception desk and led to the second floor, where the family and staff kept rooms. Rashelle stopped mid-step, rethinking her direction. “I think she may still be talking with Tony. She wanted to be sure that everything was all set for brunch in the morning.” Anthony had been the chef at the inn for fifteen years, but Amelia still kept her hand in running the kitchen from time to time. Tony, as everyone at the inn referred to him, was a rather short man in his forties, with short brown wavy hair, a slight build, a French Canadian accent and a fiery temper to match. His cooking had been reviewed by some of the most prestigious gastronomic magazines. Having Tony at the helm of the kitchen was a real feather in the inn’s cap.

  The girlfriends’ arms were linked together as they headed toward the dark dining room. On their way, they by-passed a short hallway to the right that led to the back porch. One flick of Rashelle’s right hand, as they crossed the threshold into the room, produced a path of light to the kitchen.

  Elizabeth suddenly remembered the woman sitting in the wing chair near the fireplace and she paused to wonder why her friend was leaving the front desk unattended. A glance over her shoulder told her the woman was no longer there. A puzzled look crossed her face. She didn’t remember seeing the woman leave and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should know who she was.

  Their footsteps were quite pronounced on the old wooden, planked floor that was the original flooring for the school’s dining room. It creaked loudly. A wall of windows along the right side of the room offered a beautiful northeastern view in daylight. There was a wooden bar stretched out along the wall in front of them, to the left of the swinging door into the kitchen, which was a smaller version of the bar in the lounge. Empty bar stools lined the counter in silence. Voices emanating from the kitchen assured Elizabeth and Rashelle that they had found Amelia and Tony. The girls burst through the spring-hinged, double doors into the kitchen, and caught Tony mid-sentence. Warm smiles spread across their faces; they were glad to see Elizabeth.

  “Hey, Nana!” There was Amelia, standing in the middle of the kitchen, with a crisp white chef’s apron folded in half and tied at her waist. Wire-rimmed half glasses were down at the end of her nose. Her white, wavy hair was neatly styled to frame her face and accentuated her bright blue eyes. Smile lines punctuated the sides of her mouth. At times, Amelia had a way of looking like Mrs. Claus without the extra weight. She certainly had the warm personality to fill the shoes of such an icon.

  “Elizabeth! It’s wonderful to see you.” They both reached out spontaneously to each other and hugged until the silence became awkward for the non-participants. It had been several months since she had made the trip up from the big city. Work seemed to get in the way of long weekends or any vacations plans, for that matter. A twinge of guilt pinched her in the gut, but the warmth of Nana’s arms washed away the tentative, negative feelings. She wondered if this is what it would have felt like in her mother’s arms. Elizabeth was only four or five when her parents died.

  Elizabeth breathed in deeply as she hugged her grandmother. The familiar scent of Obsession, mixed with whatever hair spray had been on sale when she ran to the store, permeated her nostrils. She smiled. She loved that smell. It was great to be back in her grandmother’s arms. Finally she pulled away and turned toward the head chef.

  “Hi, Tony. How’s it going?”

  “Great to see you, Elizabeth.” He smiled like a proud father gazing upon his own daughter.

  The squeak of the swinging kitchen door announced a new face that Elizabeth had not seen around the inn before. His all white attire and the selection of racquets slung over his shoulder revealed that he was the new tennis instructor. Nice looking guy in his thirties with dirty blond hair pushed to one side. A Denis Leary type, who looked more like an NYPD detective than a tennis pro. His eyes surveyed the small kitchen; cramped quarters
with two large commercial stoves and large, weathered, aluminum pots and pans hanging from the ceiling on a rectangular rack. His eyes came to rest on Elizabeth.

  “You must be Elizabeth. I’ve heard so much about you.” He extended his right arm and shook her hand, clasping her forearm in his left hand. He looked deeply into her eyes. It was her turn to feel uncomfortable. She pulled away and stepped backwards from him.

  Rashelle jumped in to smooth things over. “Oh, this is Kurt Mitchell, our new tennis instructor.” Pleasantries and nods were exchanged. Rashelle quickly moved on. “Hey, Liz, let’s grab a glass of Pinot, shall we?” dismissing Kurt with her shoulder.

  Elizabeth thought a glass of wine sounded divine after that long drive. Then she realized they would have to venture down to the wine cellar and she shuddered at the thought. It was located below the kitchen in what used to be part of the tunnel system for the school. Maine winters can be bitterly cold and stormy, particularly so close to the ocean, so a system of rudimentary tunnels was constructed so that the girls could move from building to building without enduring the elements. Most of the tunnels had been sealed off once the school was converted to an inn. The wine cellar was one exception. Elizabeth was relieved to see Rashelle making her way to the small wine cooler that Anthony kept filled with a nice selection of whites. After pulling out a couple of bottles and examining the labels, she selected a magnum of Pinot Grigio, Elizabeth’s favorite. Then she crossed the creaky wood floor to the utility closet and pulled out a wine bucket, which she filled with ice from the ice bin next to the closet. A cork screw was lying on the counter so Rashelle placed the bucket on the counter and skillfully uncorked the bottle. She then nestled the opened bottle into the ice bucket and headed back across the kitchen grabbing Elizabeth by the arm. Glancing at Amelia and Tony, she asked, “Anyone care to join us?”