by J K Ellem
“Isn’t that what you want?” Shaw asked. “Men, brothers, sons, fathers, even husbands to stare at you?”
Abby said nothing, because the words Shaw spoke were true.
Shaw continued, much to Abby’s shock. “One of your parents is dead. Probably your mother. You have money, enough to leave town, to move away but you're too insecure. Maybe more money is coming your way, when you get older or you just don't have the courage to leave home. The car is yours, paid for with your money, so you have an independent streak but something is keeping you here. When you saw the car for sale it was like you were looking into a mirror. You are too proud to drive a car bought for you by your parents. Erin’s Bay is a small town and in most small towns gossip and inference can be a killer.”
Shaw took a sip of his coffee. It was cold. Great. “You’re an only child, no brothers or sisters.” Shaw could tell Abby was a loner, if she had any siblings they would have pulled her into line. Rarely were siblings ever alike, and often they exerted some guiding influence on the other. “The bracelet on your wrist has your name on it. It’s a nice touch, a gift, perhaps from your mother. It would be something you would never buy for yourself. “
“Why not?” Abby said stubbornly.
Shaw smiled. “You’re vain but not that vain.” He continued. “You know who you are, you don’t need to announce it to the world.” Shaw pointed at the watch Abby wore. “The Rolex is from your father, a keepsake to be passed down.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed, her anger rising. “Why my father?”
“Oyster bracelet not Jubilee. Man’s size, speaks of your individuality, not wanting to conform. Your father gets you but your mother doesn’t.”
Abby averted her eyes, preferring to study the wood grain of the picnic table than look Shaw in the eye.
Shaw knew he’d hit a raw nerve. “You are strong willed, but feel no one really understands you. That frustrates you. You try to please your friends because deep down you are still very insecure. You value loyalty above all else. You are forgiving but you will never forget if someone betrays you.” Shaw paused, thinking he was almost describing himself. “Have I covered everything?”
Abby said nothing, just stared at the table, feeling like she was naked in front of a complete stranger, everything laid bare. Almost everything.
“To answer your question,” Shaw continued, “no, I didn’t mean what I said before.”
Abby looked up, her nails drumming on the table, studying Shaw, contemplating her next move. No words came. Finally she stood up and glared at Shaw before turning and walking away.
Shaw watched her go. He was right.
Moments later, the Mustang growled to life. Tires crunched, the engine whined and a blur of red fish-tailed out of the parking lot in a spray of gravel.
Turning back to admire the view, Shaw smiled. He gazed along the coastline towards where the township of Erin’s Bay sat in the distance, picturesque and alluring. Across the channel, the lighthouse was perched on its jagged outcrop, waves breaking upon the rocks, spray arcing upwards. The water in the channel was a lighter shade of emerald, the ocean further out, a deep, dark indigo.
Shaw stood up, the wind picked up, ruffling his hair. He left a tip under the coffee cup and gathered up his rucksack.
In the east a line of dark clouds were starting to form, the only blight on an otherwise perfect sunny day.
He heard the unmistakable sound but kept walking, not turning.
Abby pulled up alongside him. “Get in.”
Shaw just looked at her for a moment. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
She was persistent, he had to admit.
“I’ll give you a tour around the town,” she added. “Lived here all my life.”
It was an offer worth considering. Arriving in a new town, Shaw preferred acquiring knowledge from an actual local rather than walking around asking questions, looking like a lost tourist.
Abby’s eyes softened. "Please."
It was genuine, almost like a request for help. It tipped Shaw over the edge of indecision; he never could refuse a woman who asked him for help even if seemed indirect.
He slid into the passenger seat.
“Buckle up,” Abby said, a sly smile on her face.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this,” Shaw said reaching for the seatbelt.
The town of Erin’s Bay had a population of around two thousand people. While in the summer months that number increased with tourists, the town managed to keep a low-profile and off the radar of the typical waves that hit the other more fashionable areas of Long Island.
As they made their way down Main Street, Abby pointed out the typical places of interest. The street was lined with quaint gift stores, coffee shops, a hardware store, and numerous eating places with outdoor seating that spilled with people enjoying the sunshine and clear skies. Various out of state SUVs lined the curb, a sign that summer had started.
Leaving the township behind, Abby turned back onto the coastal road and headed towards the peninsula. About two miles out of town, a line of magnificent beachfront estates came into view, huge sprawling properties, partially hidden behind tall walls made of brick or perfectly manicured hedges. Their architecture ranged from modern industrial chic with cold concrete, industrial glass and steel to the more traditional Hampton’s aesthetic of long sweeping rooflines, white weatherboards and gray shutters. It was a small enclave of overstated wealth and privilege all with imposing driveway gates and security cameras.
Abby caught Shaw staring at the homes and she slowed down for his benefit. “Old money mostly,” she said. “Lifestyles of the rich and undeserving,” she added with a hint of sarcasm. The rear of the sprawling estates ran all the way to the dunes with unfettered access to the beach beyond. Most had multiple separate structures; individual guest houses that were themselves the size of a normal 3-bedroom suburban house.
A line of rugged cliffs rose on the left, on the opposite side of the coastal road that overlooked the mansions below and ocean beyond. Perched at the very edge of the cliff tops was an isolated mansion, lonely and mournful-looking. The mansion had sharp gables that rose in a Tudor style with numerous outbuildings, imposing walls and turret-like shapes.
“Who lives up there?”
“The Ballards,” Abby said gazing up at the cliff tops.
“The Ballards?”
Abby nodded. “Newspapers, old media. Made their money in the seventies, my father said. Nice enough people. The kids are brats though, like most of the next generation of rich parents.” Abby flashed an ironic smile at Shaw. “But I’m different, not like the others.”
You certainly are not, Shaw felt like saying.
“They’ve gone to Europe for the summer.” Abby added, “Do every year around this time. The place is locked up.”
Shaw studied the stately mansion above them as they passed underneath, following the gentle curve of the road around the base of the cliffs. “So, what's the story with the guy back there? In the parking lot?" Shaw asked, “Teddy?”
“Theodore Hanson,” Abby replied in a pompous voice. “Once he finishes Yale this year he’ll be running his family’s manufacturing business. They have a plant in Idaho and one overseas somewhere. Packaging, cardboard boxes.” Abby pointed out the Hanson Family Estate. Like the others, it was a sprawling, gated monstrosity. However, unlike the others that only had one CCTV camera at the front, the Hanson Estate sprouted several cameras, and the gates and walls appeared a little more heavy duty.
“You were right about my car,” Abby conceded. She pressed the gas a little more and the engine purred in appreciation. “Do you know much about cars?” They drove past the last estate to reveal a wide, clear stretch of beach and ocean in front of them.
“No, not really. Just know how to drive them.”
Shaw didn't really know much mechanically about cars or what was under the hood or what made them run again if they stopped. But he could id
entify nearly every make and model of car there was, a trait from his past. He knew how to evade a tail if he was being followed. He knew emergency maneuvers and how to use a car as a weapon if needed. He knew what areas of the chassis to shield behind if he was being shot at, where behind the engine block to crouch. Unlike in the movies, shielding yourself behind an open car door was certain death if you were taking fire.
“Do you know a decent motel back in town?” Shaw asked. “A place I can stay for a few days?”
Abby smiled then slowed the car. “So you’re going to stay for a while?” She didn’t know who he was and he didn’t have the slightest interest in her, but for some reason, when he opened the car door and slid in beside her, she felt safe, really safe. She also got a tingling feeling deep inside her when he intervened with Teddy. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
“Maybe.” Shaw kept his gaze on the passing landscape, not offering more. There was a stretch of dunes, then another large property about a quarter of a mile further away came into view.
The mustang slowed a little more and Shaw understood.
Abby turned into a wide paved driveway and parked in front of a set of tall black wrought-iron gates. She turned to Shaw, lifted her sunglasses and propped them on the top of her head. “I know the perfect place you can stay for a few days.”
“No,” Shaw said, looking at the huge mansion beyond the gates that was set amongst an oasis of manicured lawns, topiary hedges, fountains, and flowering blooms. There must be an army of gardeners and staff employed just to maintain the place, he imagined.
“We have a separate guest house, near the beach at the back of the property. It’s empty, fully self-contained, private.” Abby was doing her best sales pitch to convince Shaw. “All meals provided,” she added. “We have a staff of five, anything you need. Better than any five-star hotel.”
Shaw sat for a while not saying a word. This was a bad idea. But it was appealing as well. Staring straight ahead, he asked, “And what do you want in return?”
“Nothing,” Abby replied defensively. “I just like having you around, especially if it means pissing off Teddy and his friends.”
Shaw let out a deep sigh, “But you don’t even know me. I could be anyone.”
Abby’s smile vanished, her face suddenly serious. “Anyone wouldn’t have done what you did back there in the parking lot.”
Shaw turned to face her. “I did nothing.”
“Please? Just a few days. I would feel better,” she replied, a slight pout on her lips.
“What about your parents?” Shaw asked. “What would they say about you turning up with a complete stranger?”
Abby shrugged, “My mother spends most days sleeping or lying beside the pool.”
“And your father?” Shaw asked. “I’m sure he won’t be pleased.”
A cloud passed over Abby’s face and she looked down at her hands in her lap and at the heavy watch on her wrist. She said nothing for a while and when she looked up again, her face was cold and her voice had a raw edge to it. “My father disappeared three years ago.”
The transformation in Abby’s personality was amazing. Shaw could feel the hairs on his neck prickle.
She continued, “He went out alone on his sailing boat. It was a perfect, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, sailed out across the bay.” She paused, fighting some internal demons. “And he never came back.”
6
The path was well hidden, only known to a few or to those who knew what to look for. A small dirt track led down from a narrow back road of broken asphalt, through a tangle of undergrowth before reaching a sandy path that snaked its way amongst sand dunes dotted with tufts of beach grass.
Then it was just a short walk towards the crashing sound of the surf that intensified with each step you took.
The beach house was small and in need of some repair, but Annie Haywood had added a few nice touches, having done most of the work herself since moving in. She had told the real estate agent that she wanted a place out of town, secluded and away from everyone. The agent said he had a place that had just become available, but it was small, and needed some work. He had mentioned that the house was not appealing to families and summer renters who typically wanted something larger, nicer and closer to the center of town. It was still within a few miles’ drive of the township and, for Annie, it was perfect.
Plus, she was fairly handy with a hammer and a paint brush. So, the owner provided the materials, and Annie provided the labor along with her time. And in Erin's Bay, Annie Haywood had plenty of spare time on her hands. In return, she'd struck a deal for lower rent allowing her to live in an idyllic hideaway with the beach at her backdoor and far from prying eyes.
The beach house was hardly big enough to be called a “house”, more like a cottage. So that’s how Annie referred to it. It was cozy in the cold winter months and breezy during the hot summer days and it suited her just fine. It had a gabled roof, cedar shingles, white wooden shutters and a sturdy front porch with a wraparound deck that Annie spent her mornings on drinking coffee while watching the sun rise. In the evenings she sat on a deckchair drinking red wine from a local vineyard while watching the sun dissolve into the ocean.
Annie had painted the shutters sky blue but the double-hung windows provided a challenge so she had left them white and peeling.
Inside it had just one bedroom, and an open, airy kitchen with glass cabinetry, and a small breakfast bar with two stools. Its heavy ceramic farmhouse sink sat beneath a wide panoramic window that looked out on to the rear deck and an uninterrupted view of the beach and ocean beyond.
She rarely had visitors, much preferring the solitude and the solace of her own company.
During the first few months at Erin’s Bay, Annie had felt lonely, a far cry from the emotions she had experienced amongst the bustling noise and hectic pace of New York City.
But as the months passed, she adopted a daily routine of exploring the surrounding dunes, rugged coastline and deserted beaches. Her regimen involved long walks and she soon discovered a plethora of small coves, secluded inlets, and rock pools teeming with marine life.
On these days she would spend hours just sitting on the rocks or barefoot on the beach, alone with her thoughts, dismantling her past, purging all that was bad. Once that was complete, she began to live and breathe again, her mind slowly filling with good thoughts instead of bad memories.
One day she brought a journal along with her as she walked the beach. It was a gift she had been given years ago but had never used. Still wrapped in plastic; a Moleskine soft cover notebook in Reef Blue, a fitting color for her surroundings.
Sitting on a picnic blanket with her toes dipped in a rock pool, the blank pages of the journal would scream back at her in silence. But gradually, as Annie took in the clean salt air and the surrounding beauty, she began to reconnect with herself. It was like meeting with a best friend after a long time and knowing what made you instantly attracted to each other.
She needed to write, to get her thoughts, her emotions down on paper.
Words trickled out of her head, slowly at first, then in a torrent of anything and everything. There were no rules. A few words became a sentence. The sentences became pages, and soon the once pristine journal became a bulge of neat handwritten pages bound in a tattered cover stained with saltwater and sunblock.
Her fears, her regrets, and her most guarded secrets were all neatly laid down in blue ink on acid-free paper with a few granules of sand caught up between the pages.
Filling one journal, she bought another, then another. Soon, she had a collection of neatly stacked volumes of her thoughts, her dreams and her demons, lined up on the bookcase, all in Reef Blue. It wasn’t an obsession, just much needed therapy.
The birdlife, the soothing to-and-fro of the waves, the clear morning skies of summer and the cold misty nights of winter had provided a perfect backdrop for Annie to clear her mind and reset her life.
Now, she cou
ld not picture herself being anywhere else.
Then one day she walked by the local library. She had once been an avid reader, but the trauma of the past had wiped her mind clean of anything remotely relaxing, replacing it with fear and anxiety. With such thoughts almost gone, she was ready to fill her mind once again.
The small yellow index card pinned to the community noticeboard at the front of the library read: "Librarian wanted, flexible hours, part-time. Apply within."
So Annie did.
She worked three days a week at the library, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, leaving the weekends free for her to continue to pursue the solitude and pull of the ocean.
Twelve months on, and Annie was a new person. She didn't recognize herself in the mirror. Her skin was clear and vibrant. Gone were the worry-lines, the creases, the frown-lines and outbreaks of acne.
Her daily walks, local fresh produce and time spent outdoors in the sun and salt air had melted away the extra pounds, giving her a lean, supple and hardened body and mind as well.
But some fears never really went away. Some demons could never truly be exorcized. They always lurked somewhere in the dark spaces of the human mind.
The hall stand was made of teak. Solid, genuine, but subjected to years of abuse and neglect. She had found it orphaned at a local garage sale, and it was in need of salvation. So Annie bought it, strapped it to the roof racks of her car, and brought it home.
It took her just a few weeks to strip back the layers of old varnish, then sand the wood back to the raw, natural grain that lay hidden beneath.
More therapy.
The hall stand had only a single small drawer at the front. She replaced the small brass handle with a larger one for an easier grip. She rubbed candle wax on the inside slides of the drawer so it was smooth and fast to pull out.
She stained the wood a deep rich patina, placed the stand next to the front door, stood back, and admired the transformation. Now, it was a thing of beauty and hidden purpose.