my beloved Seaside. The town was hopping with thousands of tourists. Hotels and motels were filled to capacity. Shops and restaurants were doing a booming business along busy Broadway and everywhere else around the town. The miles of beach were crowded with sun-worshippers, and people flying kites. Nets were set up for volleyball. All were enjoying the bright hot sun, and the cold Pacific Ocean. And the summer evenings — my eyes teared up with the beauty of God’s own sunsets.
But under the perfect blue waters, dangers lurked at the cove. Sadness lingered in the hearts of those I loved, and in my own heart as well. Those who I held most dear were in trouble, fighting for their lives, and I couldn’t help them. Within each of them was the desire to be free. To release themselves of the strain of living secretive lives. But, each of them was afraid. The fences they’d built around themselves in a fortress called Life, remained tall and strong.
Twilight settled over the town. The sky was afire in hues of deep purples and mauves, as the sun lowered into the sea. Like some masterful painting. At the far end of the south prom, Annie Rose’s restaurant was packed on this Friday night. The small and elegant dining room was awash with romance and warmth. Candlelight flickered and glowed at each table, and the air was rich with the scent of red roses and good food, the room a soft hum of conversation.
Like a protective mother hen, my lovely Caroline flitted from station to station, making sure her guests were comfortable and duly fed. Marcia seated many regulars as well as vacationing tourists. It was a typical, busy Friday night.
Caroline’s job and those of her employees were not to question or judge the private lives of their customers. Not to their faces, though they couldn’t help but talk among themselves. For there sat Evan Fiedler on this Friday night with his lovely wife, Joanna. Did she even suspect that her husband was meeting another woman here on Wednesday nights?
At the end of the bar, sat Miss Lonely Heart, Sylvia. Bruce had only been able to get her first name late one evening after she had put away two martinis. She was a diminutive form, young, always dressed in black, who often came and sat alone, nursing her cocktails throughout the evening. One after another. She spoke to no one, merely stared at herself in the large gilded mirror behind the bar. A forlorn figure.
Caroline smiled at the woman whenever she arrived at Annie Rose’s, but chose not to approach her. And even the briefest conversation was out of the question. Caroline made sure she knew the needs of her patrons, no matter how important or mundane they may be. Nor did I ever interfere at times like this. It was none of my business, though Sylvia No-Last-Name certainly had my sympathy.
Bruce was home from Medical School for the weekend, and was tending bar tonight. He smiled, and blew my sweet Caroline a kiss as she moved past him. I laughed as she grabbed it playfully as though it were something tangible, and patted it onto her cheek. Those two always made me laugh.
Dinner at Annie Rose’s
Iris Grayson’s nephew and Elizabeth Windsor dined at table number nine. They made a handsome couple, Caroline thought. Across the way at table number six, sat Tilly and her husband, Richard. However, Caroline noticed that neither woman appeared particularly happy on this beautiful night.
“Are you having a nice time with your Aunt Iris?” Elizabeth inquired, sitting across from Scott.
“Oh, yes,” Scott answered. “Of course, I just got here this morning.”
“What are your plans while you’re here?”
“To see you.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“To see you,” Scott repeated, and offered her a smile.
“Be serious, Scott.” Elizabeth was growing uncomfortable.
“I am serious.” And the look on Scott’s face told her there was no doubt.
Elizabeth squirmed a bit in her chair, then took a sip from her daiquiri cocktail to calm herself. This was not going to be easy. She knew why Scott had come to Seaside.
“Don’t want to be my friend?” he asked, pushing out his lower lip in a mock pout.
“Scott, that’s all I want to be,” she said. “I really like you.”
“Ouch.” Scott winced. “You’re mortally wounding me.”
Elizabeth took another sip of her cocktail.
“Am I driving you to drink?” He smiled.
She remained silent, studying the small vase of red roses standing on the white cloth-covered table between them. She didn’t know what was making her more nervous, the expectations from the man sitting across from her, or the flickering candlelight on the table.
Elizabeth had always been paranoid about fire; even an innocent thing as a lit votive candle could send her into a tail spin. She had inherited the fear from her mother, though she had never known the reason.
“Seriously,” Scott continued, “I thought we had something great going for us. Was it just my imagination?”
“Well, I thought so, too.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but agree.
Scott looked searchingly into Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes. Her long dark hair framed her pale face, like a curtain of silk about her slim shoulders. The dim candlelight made her appear almost frail, vulnerable, in a black slinky pant suit, cinched at the waist with an aqua sash. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold, and protect her.
Scott loved Elizabeth. He had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her at Aunt Iris’. Elizabeth had stopped by the house on a chilly afternoon to return art books his aunt had loaned her. She’d appeared sad, vulnerable even then. That was six months ago.
From Aunt Iris’ house he had taken her to coffee downtown. Strolling Broadway, dressed in heavy coats and scarves, they had browsed the shop windows. Elizabeth had shared memories of her vacation in Seaside with her parents when she was a child. They had ended up taking in a movie at the theater on the highway. It had been a great afternoon, one neither Elizabeth, nor Scott had wanted to end.
The following morning Scott had joined Elizabeth for a walk on the beach and then she had invited him up to the Loft House for a mug of hot chocolate. She wanted to show him her paintings. They sat and talked long into the day.
That had been in January when icy winds blew in off the ocean, locals hunkered down in the warmth of their homes, and tourists braved the slick, snow-covered mountain pass to catch a glimpse of the ravaged sea.
Two months later Scott had returned to Seaside specifically to see Elizabeth. He wanted to know just how important this woman was in his life, and to know how important he was in hers. Was there a chance for them to share a future together? He thought it had gone well.
He’d ended up staying the weekend at the Loft House. He and Elizabeth shared every moment, taken walks on the beach, gone to another movie, cooked meals together in Elizabeth’s small, but efficient kitchen, and they’d made love.
Now Scott had returned once more, only to find something had changed. Everything had changed. Elizabeth had grown distant. “What happened to us?”
Elizabeth didn’t have an answer. She was grateful that at that moment Mertle Roe brought out their dinners from
