have the key lime pie with the raspberry sauce,” Tilly replied, nearly drooling over the delectable choices on the tray. Hilly Brewster was a master when it came to desserts, and they always tasted as good as they looked.
Molly stared at the sweet confections and decided on a slice of apple pie with drizzled raspberry chipolte sauce. Oh well, she’d start her diet again tomorrow. Or maybe next Monday.
Iris ordered the chocolate cake.
“I’m going to stop at Beach Books and pick up a birthday gift for my niece, Chris, on my way back to work,” Tilly announced to the others. “Does anyone want to join me?” Lunch with these women was nearly over, and perhaps another hour or so with them wouldn’t be so bad.
Iris shook her head vigorously. She thought about her garden. She needed to get back to her blooms — deadhead her geraniums, and add a bit more mulch to the soil before calling it quits for the day. Maybe run the vacuum. Maybe not. And feed her cats.
Molly also refused Tilly’s offer. It was important she make her way back to The Gull Cottage Motel and relieve Kathy, an employee who watched the office and Hope Amelia each Tuesday.
Elizabeth hadn’t even heard Tilly’s invitation. Her thoughts had returned to the young surfer she had spied outside her front window. Perhaps if she hurried back to the Loft House, she could catch another glimpse of the handsome man.
The Cove
Surfer’s Cove was one of the most beautiful spots on the northern Oregon Coast. The waves were awesome as the kids nowadays would confirm; perfect for water surfing. And they came from all over the Pacific Northwest, the United States, and beyond — their cars parked along Sunset Boulevard, the curved road just feet from the chilly, turbulent sea. Passersby gazed out at the black steely figures dressed in rubber suits, steady on their brightly colored boards as they rode the waves. Local residents and tourists alike came to the cove to watch, to escape their lives, to breathe the salty air. For minutes. For hours. It is what the pounding surf did for people. It transported them to another place and, all too often, to another time. Professionals and restaurant and shop owners took a break from their busy workday schedules to come and watch the powerful ocean rip against the strand. Tourists packed lunches and picnicked on the weathered wooden benches along the grassy bank. The cove was the heart of Paradise.
Afternoon
With a raised arm to guard against the glare of sunlight, Elizabeth scanned the stretch of beach. Her heart raced in anticipation of seeing him, recalling the rush she’d felt as she watched the stranger earlier.
The wind had steadily increased throughout the day, and now white caps covered the ocean’s surface. Elizabeth searched the crashing waves as they rolled forward and again out to sea. She saw no sign of the mysterious surfer.
* * *
I stood on the front steps of Elizabeth’s Loft House watching her look for me. She was a beautiful woman, tall and sleek. She appeared strong and agile, though I knew she wasn’t. My heart swelled as I gazed at her. Then, I felt only sadness.
* * *
Tilly walked home from town, her packages swinging from her arms. The promenade was crowded with bicyclists and an occasional skateboarder or jogger. She could see couples holding hands, young parents pushing baby strollers, and other people walking their dogs.
During the past two years, Tilly sometimes found herself hating babies, children in general.
She caught herself watching families when she was out at the movies, at the mall, at restaurants. Talking, sharing, bursting with laughter. A family. Healthy. Happy.
The length of the south prom from Broadway to Avenue U was exactly one mile. From Broadway north to the end of Twelfth Street, a bit shorter. Before her, loomed the giant landmass called Tillamook Head jutting out into the ocean. Taking the narrow road around the bend of the cove, she could see newly built million dollar homes. How she would love to get a listing for a few of those; she could retire in luxury, and perhaps live on her own, independent of Richard. Would that finally make her happy? No, Tilly knew it wouldn’t.
She shifted the shopping bags, and continued to let her mind wander as she passed one summer home after another. How many nights had she cried herself to sleep? How many lonely nights had she lain beside her husband longing for his touch, for the feel of his arms around her, for him to make love to her? And there were other nights when she couldn’t stand the sight of him. It had been nearly two years since this all began. Since Mark died. Two years of her life gone.
* * *
With her hand rake, Iris completed the task of spreading the extra bit of bark mulch around her flowerbeds. Between the soft green lamb’s ears and whitecandy tufts and snap dragons. As was her habit, she sat back on her haunches to admire her afternoon’s work, adjusting the large straw sun hat on her head.
Iris smiled with satisfaction, and the riot of colored blooms seemed to smile in return.
“The Seaside Garden Club would be proud,” Iris spoke. “My, that was so many years ago; I wonder what prompted those thoughts.” Thirty-five years ago to be exact. The spring Scott ... well, she hadn’t thought about those women for years, always talking about their boring little houses, their perfect little children, and their responsible husbands. Daughters. Sons. Not a woman she could relate to. She’d been a member of the Seaside Garden Club for many years until she ... well, until she’d had to leave town for a few months.
Iris collected her garden tools and stored them in their rightful places in her storage shed at the back of the house. Then she removed her straw hat and smoothed her gray hair in place.
She slowly climbed her front steps. The house, heavy drapes blocking out the sun, seemed sad this afternoon. She seemed sad, remembering things she hadn’t thought about for so long. Well, she would fix that, she decided, as she entered the kitchen where her dirty breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink. Sadie, Essie, and Ruby followed her into the kitchen, and sprang up on chairs to watch her. Iris poured stale morning coffee into a mug. She’d just sit down and think about Scott coming to town on Friday. Count the hours and minutes until he arrived. And just maybe, Samuel would tell her what to do next. Iris rubbed her aching knees. They were particularly painful today.
* * *
Molly and Augie Bradford lived in the larger cottage behind The Gull Cottage Motel. Theirs had a more spacious kitchen, and two bedrooms: one for Molly and Augie, and one for Hope Amelia.
Sitting in a wicker rocking chair in the nursery, Molly held her infant daughter. She was trying to recall what Iris had said at lunch. Was it something about every child having the right to know his father? Even though Augie committed a crime and was in prison, was he still entitled to know about his child? What kept her from telling him about his baby? Every time she thought about writing or phoning him, an unexplained feeling of trepidation gripped her. She just couldn’t do it.
Resting her head on the back of the chair, Molly continued to rock her baby. She thought about what it would be like to have a real husband — to be truly loved. The truth was, she was married to a man who was trying to save his own neck. He’d borrowed a huge amount of money with undoubtedly no prospect of paying it back, and was promising someone that she was good to repay his loan.
Molly looked down at Hope Amelia. Her daughter. Her
