Tales From Sea Glass Inn (3 page)

“Oh…sure. Of course I’ll be glad to
volunteer. I’m Helen Reiser, by the way.”

“I’m Jenny Colbert.” She shook Helen’s hand,
surprised by the firmness of her grip. Helen had a softness about her,
accentuated by the tantalizing aroma of yeast and butter that seemed to linger
in the air around her, but her strong fingers and direct gaze showed she was
anything but weak. Jenny was reading too much into a handshake, but it was part
of her job to come to quick judgments about a volunteer’s character. Just as
quickly, she discovered the unexpected way her body responded to Helen’s touch.

“Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

Helen smiled and a few fine lines appeared
near the corners of her big blue eyes. Jenny had first thought Helen was in her
early twenties, but the lines made Jenny add a decade to her estimate. Helen
had a youthful grin, but something in her expression showed she had lived
through tougher times than these. And she was beautiful. Understated, but with
something sharp beneath the calm exterior. Jenny shook her head. She was here
for one purpose only—to return the shore and its inhabitants to their clean,
pre-spill condition. She needed to know enough about her volunteers to be able
to do that job well, and nothing more. Maybe she should put some distance
between her and Helen until she had more sleep and was her usual efficient and
detached self.

“Yes, well, nice to meet you, too. Be sure to
check in with Tia and she’ll assign you to a work station.” Had she said that
before? She was having trouble concentrating.

“I saw her and fed her,” Helen said with the
rueful look of someone who had listened to one of Tia’s breathless monologues.
Jenny had only been here two days, and already she’d heard more words from the
one woman than she herself had spoken in the past month. “I’ll ask her what she
needs me to do as soon as I’ve delivered these croissants. I figured no one
here has bothered to eat much today.”

Helen reached into her basket and handed
Jenny a parchment paper cone. Jenny paused before accepting the warm package.
“I really shouldn’t. I have too much to do, and—”

Helen waved off Jenny’s words. “Nonsense.
It’s small and portable and you need food to have enough energy for this job.”

Helen walked away before Jenny could protest
anymore. Not that she wanted to. She couldn’t even remember the last thing
she’d eaten, but she was damned sure it hadn’t been as good as whatever Helen
had given her smelled. She opened the top flap of the parchment and took a bite
of the small, perfectly moon-shaped croissant. A thick slice of ham and some gooey,
melty cheese were folded inside. Jenny finished the pastry in two more bites
and crumpled the paper as she watched Helen talking to Mel on the other side of
the room. She shook her head. Helen intrigued her mind and aroused her body.
Now Jenny’s stomach had joined the fight against her concentration. She’d
better stop drooling like an enamored and hungry puppy and get back to work.

Jenny tossed the paper into a trash can and
turned away from temptation. The convention center’s floor was crisscrossed
with channels, so segments of walls could be pulled out, separating the main
floor into several smaller conference rooms. She had arranged for most of the
space to remain open, but a corner of the room was enclosed on three sides.
This quieter area would soon be filled with waist-high sinks where volunteers
would clean the seabirds, washing every last drop of oil off their delicate
feathers. Now, though, it was empty of both people and equipment. The perfect
place for Jenny to regroup.

She pulled a small pad and pen out of her
back pocket and flipped through several pages of names. She added Helen to the
list, feeling a small tingle of secret pleasure, as if she was writing her name
with a heart around it in a school notebook. She rubbed her eyes. Helen’s effect
on her was a symptom of sleep deprivation. Nothing more.

Jenny added a star next to Helen’s name. Even
though Tia was technically in charge of volunteers, Jenny kept careful track of
them during the early stages whenever she organized a new rescue center. She
noticed the leaders, like Pam and Mel. She watched for aggressive recruiters,
like Tia, because the rescue effort would desperately need bodies to help, and
most people would have a difficult time saying no to her. She also identified
groups of friends who would be more inclined to remain interested if they were
on the buddy system. Helen was definitely a leader. Jenny had noticed the way
the other volunteers responded to her. She brightened their expressions, and
not just because she was handing out heavenly pastries.

What was it about these coastal towns? Jenny
had witnessed it time and again—all communities drew together after disasters,
but ocean side towns seemed to transcend the temporary closeness of other
places. They were a family.

Helen was the embodiment of the community’s
intimacy. She was feeding the people, nurturing them, with her personality and
not only her food. Jenny would be a part of this place for a short while,
welcomed inside because of her knowledge of this type of tragedy, but then she
would move on to the next place where she was needed. She was a catalyst. She’d
handle details, train volunteers, put a system in place. Assign duties and
tasks, and then stand back and let the community do the work.

She’d always been an outsider, moving from
disaster to disaster, just as she’d done throughout her childhood with her
doctor parents. She had the experience needed to run this rescue effort, but
without the people from the community nothing would be done. People like Mel
and Pam. Helen. They had the heart and the drive to heal their home. Jenny gave
them the tools and resources they needed and then she moved on. Sometimes she
felt a twinge of longing when she left, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Because by then she had performed her role—the one her parents had instilled in
her from childhood.

So why did it feel different this time? Why
did Helen make her feel a small but persistent urge to see what the view was
like from the inside? Just once, just for a moment? Whatever the reason, Jenny
didn’t have time to dwell on it right now.

She saw some weary-looking, grime-covered
officers from the Department of Fish and Wildlife carrying crates through the
back door of the center, and she stuffed the notepad into her pocket again and
rushed over to help. Tonight, she would concentrate on getting as many
frightened birds and animals as possible into the safe, yet artificial world of
the event center. Tomorrow, they would begin washing and treating them.
Hopefully in the not too distant future, they’d be releasing them back into the
wild, and Jenny would be released as well.

*

Helen felt the lingering weight of Jenny’s
gaze as she walked away. She figured it had more to do with the basket she was
carrying than with her as a person, but she let herself bask in the electricity
she had felt between them. The center was full of exhausted and hungry
workers—of course they were going to respond favorably to anyone offering
fresh-baked food. Especially her famous ham and Gruyère croissants. She could look
like the Incredible Hulk, and she’d still expect to be on the receiving end of
salivating glances in this crowd.

She delivered several more pastries on her
way over to Mel. Everyone responded with ravenous gratitude, but something
about the look Jenny had given her made a deeper impression. Tia had mentioned
Jenny as soon as Helen walked through the door, carrying on a monologue about
Jenny’s brilliance and her organizational skills. Between surprisingly short
pauses to take huge bites of croissant, Tia had delivered a barrage of facts
about Jenny’s competence and her gorgeous looks. She had sounded like a fantasy
woman, and Helen had expected her to have some mysterious aura, visible from
across the room. In reality, Jenny had looked as zombielike as all the other
sleep- and food-deprived people in the room.

And in reality, Jenny had been one of the
most glamorous and regal women Helen had ever seen. A quick swipe of a
washcloth and a catnap, and Jenny would be fit for a stroll down Rodeo Drive,
although she looked too down-to-earth and principled to be interested in
anything as inconsequential as fashion. Tall and slender, she made even the
ratty tan coveralls she was wearing look elegant. Her blond hair was streaked
with platinum, more likely due to time spent in the sun than in a hair salon,
if Helen was right in her assessment of Jenny’s personality. And the green eyes
Tia had rhapsodized about? They were as reflective and bright as a tide pool
that hid an entire mysterious and varied ecosystem in its depths.

Damn those eyes. Helen finally reached Mel,
who was standing in the center of an empty plywood pen. Helen had planned on
coming here with an offering of food and nothing more. Actually, she hadn’t
even meant to do that much. Not because she didn’t care, but because she
couldn’t afford to give away even a tiny croissant. She had maybe two months’
buffer between this moment and bankruptcy, and given the state of the beaches,
crowds of tourists weren’t likely to be flocking to her bakery and buying dozens
of muffins anytime soon.

“Hi, Mel.” Helen hesitated next to the wood
panels. She didn’t doubt her abilities as a baker, but she still felt a little
reluctant to offer her food to Mel. People raved about the breakfasts at the
Sea Glass Inn, and Helen wasn’t sure how her pastries would compare.

“Helen, it’s good to see you here,” Mel said,
stepping over the barrier and giving Helen a quick hug. She broke away and
peered into the basket. “What smells so delicious? I’m not above begging if you
don’t offer me whatever it is you have in there.”

Helen laughed and handed Mel a croissant.
She’d remained distant from the locals so far, preferring to keep to herself,
but Mel’s implied approval seemed significant to her. In the three months Helen
had been in town, she’d already seen several stores open and then fail.
Businesses were started on a whim because of the appeal of living and working
in the laid-back and naturally beautiful coastal community. Too few of the
owners—and Helen lumped her naive self of three months ago in with
them—actually realized what it took to succeed. She didn’t blame the longtime
proprietors for waiting until new arrivals were established before considering
them part of the family.

“I’m supposed to ask Tia where she needs me
to work, but do you mind if I help you here for a while?” Helen was skipping
steps in the process, but she hoped Jenny wouldn’t mind. Functioning bodies
were most likely in demand, no matter what job they were doing, and Helen had
made a tenuous connection with Mel. She wasn’t ready to be thrust into the
midst of a group of locals who were still strangers to her.

Mel’s sigh of relief made her glad she had
offered to stay, not just for herself, but for Mel and the cause.

“I’d love to have help. Volunteers seem to
prefer to move on quickly to one of the more glamorous, hands-on jobs, so I’ve
been doing this alone.” Mel rubbed her temple and left a black smear across her
pale, tired-looking skin. “Not that any of this is glamorous, of course. I
didn’t mean that. What I should say is—”

Helen stopped her with a quick squeeze on the
shoulder. “I get it,” she said. And she was pretty sure she did. She’d spent
enough time in the foster system to understand the myriad reasons behind
people’s motivation to help others. Still, help was help, no matter what the
reason behind its offer. She’d prefer to stay out of the crowded areas here.
Get dirty and do her part, but keep some distance. “Although maybe I should ask
what’s all over your hands before I commit to anything.”

Mel smiled and held out both hands, palms up.
“The local news.” She gestured toward the empty pen behind her. “We’re using
balled-up newspapers as bedding for the birds. Jenny said it’s good cushioning
for them, and it’s easy to clean out the soiled papers. Be prepared for hand
cramps.”

Helen interlaced her fingers and flexed them
in front of her. “Finally, those hours spent kneading bread will pay off. I
knew I was training for
something
.”

She stepped over the side plank of the pen
and picked up a stack of newspapers. Mel followed, and they began to separate
sheets of paper and scrunch them into balls. They worked in silence for several
minutes, until Helen’s hands were blackened and silky-feeling from the residual
ink. “Are you afraid?” she asked quietly, finally giving voice to the fear in
her own mind.

“Of ink poisoning?” Mel asked. She laughed
without humor and shook her head. “I know what you mean. About our livelihoods.
I will be, but not now. I’m trying to focus on what needs to be done, and what
I can do to save these beautiful creatures. Deep down, all of us are afraid of
what will happen to our businesses and our homes here. We’re coming together
now to do what we can to save the beach. Later on, we’ll work together to
survive without a strong tourist season.”

Helen had no doubt the core of locals would
band together and weather this storm, but where would she fit in? Her bakery
was new. She’d barely gotten started before this disaster, and she hadn’t been
convinced she’d be able to make her business last. Now, at the height of
tourist season, when she should be making enough to keep herself in flour and
eggs, her store was empty. Apparently even
she
wouldn’t be in the store much over the upcoming weeks, given the amount of work
to be done at the center and the number of people here to do it.

“Your inn is established.” Helen admitted her
fears after a brief internal struggle. She usually would keep her concerns to
herself, but something about this place made her want to talk. People and
emotions were laid bare here. “You have a reputation, customers who will return
once the beaches are clean. I don’t know if I’ll make it that long, and even if
I do, who will remember to come to my shop?”