head ached as did her entire body. It had been a terrible evening at Annie Rose’s. She’d hated to hurt Scott. She knew they could be together if things had been different. If she had years to spend with him. And then there’d been Tilly and her husband, Richard … it had been a terrible evening.
Her mind kept returning to the young surfer at the cove. She shouldn’t have said what she did to Scott about the possibility of there being another man. Elizabeth had only seen him twice, most recently this morning. And she had only seen him at a distance. They had never spoken, but she was captivated by him. The oddest thing was feeling he knew her; knew everything about her past, her parents, her love for James, her love for Seaside, and the cove. And the fact she was dying. The young surfer knew she was dying! Elizabeth was sure of it.
Somehow she knew this young man loved her. Like a love she’d never known with anyone else. She had feelings for him, too. Strong feelings. She didn’t even know him, but it didn’t seem to matter. How could she have explained all that to Scott?
Elizabeth stretched out under the cool white sheets. Her mind once again returned to Tilly. She had no idea things were bad between the woman and her husband. Tilly had never said a word to her friends during Tuesday lunches at the restaurant. Well, that was no surprise. She, herself, hadn’t been truthful with them either.
Tilly and Richard seemed to be happy, but she knew things were not always as they appeared.
How awful for the couple when everyone saw and heard them at Annie Rose’s. And the episode with the wine … it was so sad.
Poor Caroline. She had handled it so well, but, then, what could she do?
Elizabeth’s throat began to fill as a coughing spasm began. She held on tight and prayed, hoping she would not begin to bring up blood. Not again.
She sighed. It was good to be in her bed in the darkened room. Elizabeth hadn’t felt safe since she’d seen the black, forbidding figure on the beach. Standing in the blinding fog. The memory still haunted her.
Elizabeth could hear intermittent explosions of fireworks from the beach. Leftovers from the Fourth of July celebration earlier in the month. She closed her eyes. She was glad Sammy was beside her, pressing his large body against hers. He was all she had.
* * *
Tilly stormed into the kitchen with Richard right behind her.
“We’ve got to talk, Tilly,” he pleaded.
“Talk!” Tilly yelled at her husband. “There’s nothing else to say!”
“You sound so bitter.”
“Yeah, I’m bitter. So what?”
“It never used to be like this.”
“Well, our lives never used to be like this.” Tilly’s face crumbled as she leaned her back up against the refrigerator. She let out a wail. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed, making a fist and pressing it to her mouth. “Why did Mark have to die?”
Richard could give no answer to that question. Maybe Tilly was right to be as angry with him as she was. Maybe he had deserved the wine in his face, being yelled at, and so much more. It was he who had given Mark the car keys on that cold, icy morning. Tilly had always blamed him. Sometimes he even blamed himself.
He loved his wife, but there wasn’t anything he could do to help her. To help either one of them. They were locked inside this misery together.
There was no getting though to Tilly tonight. She will need time to calm down. Then they would go back to their lives, and for awhile pretend everything was perfect. Tilly would still make her hurtful comments now and then, jabs that caught him in the heart. It would be like that until things built up like this, and she would explode again with pent up resentments — even hatred. It was always the same.
Richard looked at his wife as she leaned against the refrigerator, her eyes closed in prayer or thoughts. A wave of doubt suddenly surged through him, thinking about what she said during dinner. About having an affair. How did he know she wouldn’t have an affair with another man? What would he do? The thought terrified him.
Richard removed his sport coat and tie, and walked to the hallway where he started to climb the stairs to their bedroom. “I’m going up to bed,” he told his wife. He felt old and weary.
Alone in the kitchen, Tilly moved to the desk, and rummaged through a drawer until she found the small slip of paper Iris had given her. With deft fingers, she dialed the number and waited for the handyman’s warm and friendly voice to come onto the line. Her heart pounded.
She heard Brad’s voice after the fourth ring, sounding out of breath as though he’d been running.
“Brad? This is Tilly Jacobs.”
“Yes, hello, Mrs. Jacobs.”
“Tilly.”
“Yes, Tilly,” Brad corrected himself. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking. About the roof, that is.”
“Your roof?”
It was then that Tilly could hear talking in the background. Was it the television? Did Brad have company? A woman was softly giggling.
“Yes. I want to replace it,” Tilly informed him.
“Replace your roof? It’s still in excellent condition. Should last you twenty, thirty years as I told ... .”
“Yes, Brad, I understand what you said. However, I want it replaced,” Tilly insisted. She had no patience for questioning.
“Uh ... all right. I’ll come out tomorrow to give you an estimate.”
“No. No. I don’t need any estimate. Just come out to the house with your materials. Same color. Same everything. Just replace it.” Tilly was in no mood to have Brad Bailey or anyone else second guess her decision.
In the pregnant pause following, Tilly could hear the woman giggling once again. The sound was muffled, then clear, and then she heard what sounded like a door slam. There definitely was someone with Brad. His sister? Girlfriend? Why should she care?
“All right, Mrs. Jacobs … uh, Tilly,” Brad uttered, his words backed by confusion.
“Can you come Tuesday?”
“Uh … yes. I can start the job on Tuesday.”
“Good. I’ll see you then, Brad.”
“See you Tuesday, Tilly.” Brad replaced the telephone receiver. What a crazy-assed woman, he thought, giving a stout laugh. Crazy-assed.
* * *
Iris Grayson lay in her bed half asleep when she heard Scott come into the house. The front door clicked as he turned the key, and then his footsteps pressed on the worn carpeted steps as he made his way upstairs. She heard him shooing the cats away, and then his bedroom door closed softly, the old house once again falling silent. It was good to have Scott home again. Home where he belonged. The rooms were just too empty without him here. Even with all her
