Tales From Sea Glass Inn (19 page)

She put her hand on Ari’s shoulder and Ari
covered it with her own, letting their fingers intertwine. “You didn’t take
anything away from me. I’ll always write about the things I feel, but some
emotions have to be mine for a while longer before I can give them away.” Like
the one she was feeling right now. Someday she’d write about this wave of love
flooding through her, but for now it belonged only to her and Jocelyn.

She leaned her forehead against Jocelyn’s and
sighed. She had come to Cannon Beach a broken and blocked writer, but also one
too focused on herself to see past her own needs. She had wanted healing, not
for herself but for her ability to distance herself from the pain she felt.
Jocelyn had healed her heart, instead. What could she offer in return?

Jocelyn wrapped her free hand around the back
of Ari’s neck and held her close with a firm but gentle pressure. “So you’ll be
staying here a little longer?”

“Indefinitely,” Ari said. She brushed her
nose against Jocelyn’s and kissed her cheek. “No one is waiting for me at home
except a few houseplants.” She paused and finally put her concerns into words.
“You were here for me when I needed someone honest and strong, but I don’t want
you to think I’ll always take and never give. I want to support you. To
discover you. Hopefully, I can be what you need, too.”

“What I need? Hmm…I don’t suppose you’d be
interested in doing another reading and signing while you’re here? I’m thinking
over the holidays would be good because we should have a tourist surge during
those times.”

“Mercenary,” Ari said with a laugh. She
captured Jocelyn’s mouth in a hungry kiss and nibbled on her lower lip. “I’ll
do anything you ask.”

Jocelyn’s hand tightened on Ari’s nape.
“Forget the signing, then. I can come up with some much better ideas for you.”

“I can’t wait.” Ari’s arm went around
Jocelyn’s lower back and pinned them hip to hip. Jocelyn braced her hands
against Ari’s shoulders and her smile faded.

“Can I be honest again? I was attracted to
you from the moment you walked into my store and tried to spy on the books I’d
recommended to Rosalie. Before I even knew your name. But I was too caught up
in what I thought I needed, and I tried to control the way my feelings were
growing. With a little help, I’ve realized how exactly perfect you are just
because you are you. Not a version of me.” She relaxed the pressure on her hands
and let Ari pull her close again. “We balance each other. I’m glad you’re
staying.”

Ari felt the steadiness of balance already,
with Jocelyn in her arms. She was sure they’d clash at times, but they’d also
bring peace and clarity to each other. She kissed Jocelyn again, her tongue
exploring and promising. Jocelyn’s breasts were pressed against hers, and she
felt when her breath came faster. She pulled away from the kiss and whispered,
with her lips just grazing Jocelyn’s ear, “I’m not leaving here until I know
how my new story ends.”

Heather Grant honked and flashed her high beams
before pulling into the oncoming lane and sailing by a slow-moving camper.
Fucking two-lane roads. Passing lanes were few and far between out here on the
highway from Portland to Cannon Beach. Once she was back in her own lane, she
stepped on the gas pedal and accelerated to her comfortable cruising speed of
ten miles an hour over the limit. Until she crested the next hill and found
herself stalled behind a semi.

She tapped restlessly on the steering wheel
as she slowed to match the truck’s pace. The road wound through national
forests and the Coast Range foothills, and the dense trees and vegetation
occasionally opened up into wide swaths of clear-cut emptiness. Heather was
focused on the road and not paying much attention to the area’s flora, but she
noticed the lack of beauty when she drove past the acres of felled trees and
torn-up shrubs. She didn’t have time to stop and mourn the forest or its
inhabitants, though, since she was already hours behind her schedule. Her
unaccustomed tardiness didn’t bode well for her enforced vacation.

As soon as the road widened enough for her to
pass, she was zooming along again with her lights illuminating the empty road
ahead. She’d wanted to get this drive over during the light of day, but she’d
stopped by the bank on the way out of town. She just needed to check on one
loan for one customer, but then she had moved on to one other and one other.
Three hours had elapsed before she turned her voice mail on and her computer
off and locked the door to her office. Now she was traveling on unfamiliar,
unlit roads as the early dark of winter enveloped the wilderness. She leaned
forward, peering over the steering wheel, as if the extra inches would give her
yards of visibility. She saw a shadow at the edge of her headlights’ range. A
flash of movement.

Heather braked hard. She felt the back end of
her Volvo push the car into a skid, and she heard the click of antilock brakes
and the squeal of tires searching for traction. She had been sitting too close
to the steering wheel in her attempt to see the road ahead, and her head
smacked into something sharp.

One stretched moment of confusion,
screeching, and hurt. And then silence. Heather gasped to catch her breath
after the adrenaline dump. She sat in the silent, stopped car on the shoulder
of the road with the smell of burning rubber in the air, blood dripping from
her forehead and her broken thumbnail. A fat and shimmery raccoon stared at her
car before ambling across her path and disappearing into the woods.

“Damn.” Heather rummaged in her glove box and
found a pile of fast food napkins. She wet them with bottled water and blotted
her forehead. She was going to have one whopper of a headache in the morning.
She winced as she gingerly peeled off the broken piece of thumbnail—her head
and hand must have collided when she’d snapped forward. Once the semi roared
past, rattling her car in its wake, she got out and checked the road to make
certain she hadn’t hit anything. She’d seen the raccoon walk away unharmed, but
what if it had been traveling with another one? She didn’t see any sign of
animals either under her car or along the shoulder, so she got in and carefully
pulled onto the road again.

She drove much slower now, her eyes glancing
left and right instead of staring straight ahead toward her destination. Her
hands trembled on the wheel as her initial shock wore off. Her head and thumb
throbbed, and she slammed on the brakes every time she saw the glint of light
reflected on the side of the road. She saw several deer and an opossum, but
none of them ran in front of her car. She sighed with relief when she saw the
turnoff for Cannon Beach. Lights from the small town and an increase in traffic
gave her a sense of being back in civilization after too long away, and she
slowly let the tension release from her shoulders and neck.

Her GPS guided her along the quiet main
street. A teeny grocery store and a post office that looked more like a gnome
house than an actual building for humans weren’t a promising welcome to this
town. A few elegant restaurants and a dozen or so art galleries were more
suited to her taste, but how long would they keep her entertained? She was
supposed to stay here two weeks, but she doubted she’d last more than one. Her
doctor wanted her to take a vacation and see the sights. If she made an effort,
she could get through his annoying prescription in half the time he’d
suggested.

She pulled into a parking place next to a
huge and ancient house, and her headlights flashed on a sign for the Sea Glass
Inn. What looked like glass tiles in a hundred colors glimmered like a rainbow,
and Heather sat in her car staring at it for several minutes. She finally
turned off the engine and got her suitcase out of the trunk. She was late
enough as it was without wasting more time.

Heather went through the front door and heard
a chime echo through the house. She waited in the foyer until a tall woman
wearing jeans and a yellow sweater came out to greet her.

“You must be Heather. I’m Mel. I was
beginning to think you might be lost since we expected you…Oh, goodness! What
happened to you? Do you need a doctor?”

Heather put her fingers to her forehead and
felt a crusty blood trail curving over her eyebrow and down her right temple.
“I’m fine, really. I’m late because I had to get some work finished before
coming here, and I hit my head when I stopped to let a raccoon cross the road.
Really, it’s nothing.”

Mel looked skeptical, but she didn’t argue.
“There’s a first-aid kit in every room. Just, please, let me know if you need
anything else.”

“I will. I just need to clean up and I’m sure
it’ll hardly be noticeable.”

She signed the register and followed Mel
upstairs. The place was old. Freshly painted and decorated, yes, but Heather
would have preferred something more upscale. A five-star high-rise complete
with day spa and a thrumming, flashing nightclub. Sights and sounds and
sensations that would occupy her mind and distract her. Her work usually did, and
her vacations should, too. What would she do here? Think all day? She was
supposed to be resting for her health, but the thought of a week or two of
boredom made her blood pressure spike.

Mel led her into a spacious room. The walls
were painted a soft pale green, and a painting of a beach after a storm
dominated the space over the bed. Heather looked at it long enough to recognize
the talent of the artist and the beauty of embedded sea glass, but the subject
was too much. She was used to surrounding herself with bland, nonprovocative
landscapes and meaningless color-blocked pieces, like the art hanging in her
bank. Or like the cheap oil painting hanging over her desk, depicting a generic
old barn in the middle of a field. She turned away and set her suitcase on a
folding luggage rack. A window behind it looked out over the backyard and the
ocean. Heather couldn’t hear the rhythm of the ocean waves through the glass,
but she felt it inside when she saw the hint of foam-tipped waves in the
darkness. A small building sat sheltered in the garden. Large-paned windows
were lit from inside, and Heather saw people moving around.

“That’s Pam’s studio,” Mel said, coming to
stand next to her. “I told you about the retreat she’s holding this week when
we spoke on the phone. Four of the people attending are staying in the inn, and
three others live nearby and are commuting. They’ll be spending most of their
time in the studio and shouldn’t get in your way much at all.”

“I don’t mind a full house,” Heather said.
She knew Mel and the other business owners at Cannon Beach had lost an entire
tourist season after the oil spill, and now they were offering a variety of
activities and special events to draw tourists in during the traditionally lean
winter months. She had gotten a good deal on this room because she’d come
during the retreat week and Mel had offered her the participant rate, so she
certainly wouldn’t complain about the extra guests. Besides, if she were here
on her own, she wouldn’t be able to escape the attention of her hosts. This
way, she’d be one of a crowd—a very small crowd of five, but still…

“We normally serve breakfast and no other
meals, but since the artists sometimes work so long they forget to eat, I’ve
been keeping the fridge stocked with sandwiches and fruit and other healthy
snacks. You’re welcome to share as well. Just help yourself.”

“I might take you up on that,” Heather said
with a relieved sigh. She had originally planned to get to town and do some
sightseeing right away before going out for dinner and a glass of wine. The
idea of going out right now was unappealing. “I wouldn’t mind a walk and a
quick bite to eat before going to bed early.”

Heather surprised herself with the admission.
She wasn’t usually the quiet evening in and early-to-bed type. Quite the
opposite. Maybe the long drive coupled with her raccoon scare had worn her out.
A good night’s rest, and she’d be back to her old unfazed and active self.

“Sounds like a nice plan,” Mel said. She got
the first-aid kit and a clean towel out of a cupboard in the bathroom and set
them on the counter. Heather picked up a binder with information about Cannon
Beach and nearby towns. Mel had included a list of tourist destinations and
things to do in the packet.

“Can I keep this list?” she asked when Mel came
back.

“Of course,” Mel said. “I have plenty of
copies, so take what you like as a souvenir of your time here.”

Heather ripped the pages out of the packet.
Souvenir? No way. She was planning to check off all the activities on the list
and send it to her doctor. Then he wouldn’t be able to lecture her about not
taking enough time off.

Once Mel left, Heather took off the dusky
blue suit she had worn to the office. She cleaned the blood off her face and
squeezed some ointment on the small cut on her forehead. Once she had finished,
the damage looked minimal, and except for a small headache and partially
missing thumbnail, she was unscathed. She pulled a bulky fisherman’s sweater
over her head and put on a pair of black sweatpants. Not an attractive outfit, but
who was going to see her out here?

She found her way to the brightly lit and
welcoming kitchen with its blue cabinets and cozy breakfast nook. Mel had said
breakfast was served in the dining room, but Heather thought this looked like
the perfect place to sit with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. Maybe Mel would
let her bypass the group meal and sit here by herself instead.

She snagged a ham and cheese sandwich and an
apple out of the fridge and started eating as soon as she was out the back
door. She followed a flagstone path as it curved around the garden and past the
studio. She hesitated in the shadows and looked inside. Eight people—the
artists and Pam, Heather figured—were seated around a large wood table on
benches that looked like halved tree trunks. Different types of art projects in
various stages of completion were set up near the windows where they must get
wonderful light during the day. Four paintings, two clay sculptures of figures,
a twisted heap of metal, and something that looked like a pile of coat hangers.
Heather’s gaze skimmed past them to a life-sized sculpture of a human figure.
As she walked by the studio, the path brought her closer to the window and she
could see some of the details of the sculpture. The figure’s chest was molded with
the texture of a tree trunk and its feet were entwined with roots. Some type of
plant had been roughly drawn on the sculpture’s neck and into its hair. The
expression on the face was one of almost terror as the human tried to escape
the elements of nature. Heather thought of the clear-cut areas she’d traversed
today on her drive. Some humans seemed to have turned their backs on the
environment more easily than this carved person was able to do. The piece had
been shaped and molded with a subtle touch, and even in this early stage, the
skill of the artist was evident.