A High-End Finish(7)
The Strand was also the gathering spot for our resident tai chi master to lead his followers, along with any willing tourists and locals, in his early-morning rituals. Many of the tourists who flocked to Lighthouse Cove came to experience the healing serenity our happy little town was famous for. We boasted more New Age healers per capita than any other town in the state, although their number was rapidly being surpassed by winemakers opening wine bars.
As I ran, I found my rhythm and was able to relax enough to expand my focus. The ocean smelled briny this morning. The pink-and-coral shades of sunrise were muted against the stark blue backdrop of the dawn sky. Bold seagulls paraded in the wet earth, dispersing mere seconds before I invaded their sandy territory.
I reached the old Fun Zone Pier a mile south, slapped one of the wood pilings for good measure, and turned toward home. My heart hammered in my chest. The sweat and exertion kept at bay the memory of last night’s events. I mindlessly calculated how many calories I’d burned so far, as if it mattered.
Three-quarters of a mile later, I slowed down and began to jog around in circles, moving slower and slower to bring down my heart rate. I stopped running altogether and watched the waves dwindle and roll onto shore, almost touching my feet as I cooled down. Stretching my arms up above my head, I bent over leisurely until my hands grazed the smooth wet ground. Tiny air bubbles rose where sand crabs had burrowed beneath the surface. I smiled at the sudden desire to plunge my hands into the wet sand and dig some up.
The image transported me back to the summer when I was sixteen years old. Tommy and I had been spending the day down at Barnacle Beach and, just for fun, I had filled a Styrofoam cup with a few dozen tiny sand crabs and had run back to the blanket to show Tommy. Rich girl Whitney Reid and her snooty friend Jennifer Bailey were sunning themselves nearby and I overheard one of them say, “Is she going to start a crab farm?”
The other girl snorted. “I swear she’s dumber than a bag of rocks.”
Tommy had pretended not to hear, but I was pretty sure everyone on the beach that day could hear the two girls talking about me. Tossing them a dirty look, I walked away with as much dignity as I could muster, down to the water’s edge, where I released the tiny creatures. I should’ve dumped the cupful of crabs onto the girls’ backs, but I wasn’t mean enough to do it.
I could still recall the feeling of impotent fury as my teenage self dashed into the water to cool off. First of all, I wasn’t dumb! I was one the smartest girls in our class. But I couldn’t exactly shout out that fact to the rest of the beach crowd.
And second, I was just showing Tommy some sand crabs, for goodness’ sake. It’s not like I wanted to keep them for pets. Hell, maybe I was dumb, because I couldn’t figure out why those girls had to be so mean all the time. I’d begun to feel like I was the personal target for Whitney’s venom and I didn’t know what to do about it.
Whitney was a member of the privileged crowd whose wealthy parents had been coming to Lighthouse Cove on vacation for years. Enchanted by the beauty of the majestic redwood trees, the windswept cliffs, and the wild Pacific Ocean, many families had moved here permanently to take advantage of the good schools, idyllic lifestyle, picturesque harbor, historic Victorian architecture, charming shops and restaurants, and burgeoning wine industry.
My friends and I had always reached out to welcome any new kids to town, but Whitney and her pals had never accepted the gesture. Looking back now, I could see how important it must have been for them to maintain the great imaginary divide that existed between the wealthy new residents and the working-class townies. I just wasn’t sure why.
The rich kids would have been horrified to learn that my father had his own very full bank account, too, after years as a builder of mansions for the rich and powerful. He didn’t like to show it off, though, preferring instead to remain the hardworking, easygoing man he’d always been.
My little sister, Chloe, had hated being called a townie, and as soon as she graduated high school she’d escaped small-town hell to follow her dream of making it big in Hollywood.
I’d had a dream, too, of marrying Tommy and living happily ever after in Lighthouse Cove. But that dream was crushed when he announced at the fire pit one night that the horrible Whitney Reid was pregnant and he was going to marry her. Sure enough, the two were wed within the month. In three quick years they produced three kids, an apparently brilliant feat that Whitney continued to flaunt in my face to this day.
Tommy, however, was simply too nice to be an enemy and he and I had remained good friends after all this time, much to Whitney’s eternal annoyance.
A seagull shrieked at me, shaking me out of my melancholy reminiscences. Thank goodness. As I slowly stood upright again, stretched and rolled my shoulders a few times, I wondered why my mind had dragged itself back to those bad old days. Maybe it was the ugly altercation with Jerry that had brought all that unhappy boyfriend stuff to the surface.
Evidently I had more than a few issues to work through this morning. One jog on the beach wouldn’t quite fix them.
A tinkling bell announced my arrival at the Scottish Rose Tea Shoppe on Main Street. Emily Rose came out of the kitchen, looking fabulous in a cheery apple-embossed apron over black pants and sweater. Slim and sophisticated, she wore her straight dark hair wrapped up in an elegant twist, giving her the look of a beautiful young Audrey Hepburn. She was smart, too, with a wry sense of humor and a kind heart. Even though she was in her early forties, almost twelve years older than I, she was one of my dearest friends.