Page 1 of Return to Cheshire Bay
Chapter One
With aheavy sigh from hours of arduous backbreaking cleaning, I staggeredsweaty and barefooted toward the edge of the beach where the coolblue water caressed theonce heated sand. As I inhaled the fresh ocean air and stared outinto the distance, there wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the lateafternoon sky as the sun lowered itself closer to the horizon; itsslumber quickly encroaching.
A rowofcottages to my left,a baker’s dozens worth, dotted the landscape between my place atthe end of the lane and a grove of thick Douglas firs and othervarious coniferous trees where the nearest town lay beyond, nestledbetween the forest and the rolling hills. Cheshire Bay was theperfect trade off to a robust downtown core I’d snuck away fromjust hours ago; a vibrant city filled with honking, beeping, and ageneralized hum to it.
This was whereI felt compelled to escape to.
To thinkthrough the choicesinmy life that ended with me holding up in my childhood summerhome.
To clearaway the cobwebs, bothfigurative and literal.
To findmyself.
I dug mytoes further into the cool, wet sand and let the waves lick at myankles. Each rush up the shorelinegrabbed a morsel of tension, washing it out to thePacific. Yes, coming home to Cheshire Bay was the right thing. Andso far, no one knew I was back. That in itself was a good thing. Adamn good thing.
Taking afew steps closer to the house, away from theebbs and flows, I sat on the sandy beachand reached for my painted toes to stretch away the aches andpains. Airing out a stale and dusty house after arriving in theearly morning from a six-hour drive, was not quite the plan I’dhad. Insomnia got the better of me, but for once, I worked it to mybenefit - now my summer home was ready for living in.
At leasttemporarily.
I hadbig plans forthehand-me-down. Time to update it and give it a fresh feel. I stillhadn’t decided if I was going to sell it at the end of summer orhang on to it as an investment property. I wasn’t as emotionallyattached to it, or unattached I supposed, like my sister was. Monahadn’t been back here since Mom died, but insisted I hold on to itbecause that’s what Mom would’ve liked. Never mind how Dad willedthe deed to the property to me to do with as I pleased. However,our feathers were already ruffled, so I told my sister at thelawyer’s office I’d take the summer to decide.
That’sall I have to figure out what I need. Three months.
CheshireBay used to give me the best summers of mylife, and I was the reigning Miss CheshireBay my last summer here. Beach parties all the time. No boundaries.No rules. I just enjoyed a wildly exciting teenage life. Until myvery last summer twelve years ago. Hopefully, no one stillremembered that incident.
As thesun dipped into theocean, the air around me cooled enough to warrant needing alight sweater. I rose from the beach and dusted off my butt andlegs, ambling up to the weathered porch stretching across the backof the house, and into a kitchen barely big enough for afamily.
Afterpulling my Under Armour hoodie on, I grabbed a mug of steamingapple cider tea and pulled myself up onto the wide ledge runningalong the deck and leaned against one of the posts, vacantly staring out into thetwilight, ready to find the first star of the night. A cool eveningbreeze circled the coastline, and the occasional shudder ruffled mywisps of hair.
Thelights in the house next door flickered on andan unfamiliar shape walked through thekitchen. It was lit up enough inside to see the walls were a mutedshade of mint and the cabinetry was as white as snow. The maninside walked back and forth, and finally emerged onto his deckwith a long neck bottle of beer, sitting in the darkenedshadows.
Yearsago, back when I was acrazy, stupid teenager, that house used to occupy the Morrisfamily; a typical mom-dad-two-kids deal. Like us, and just abouteveryone on this strip, they were summer families – arriving rightafter school finished and leaving September long weekend. I neverknew where they went after closing up, and never cared to ask, theywere just other kids to play with when we were here. Until I becametoo cool to hang out with dorks and preferred the company of badboys. Or bad men as it sometimes came to be.
Thememories flittered awayas I gazed intently upon my neighbour. He most definitely wasn’tMr. Morris, who last time I saw was an older father and certainlywould not be moving with such speed. And based on the outline, itwasn’t either of the two boys who were gangly, paper thin, andmaybe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. Perhaps, when theeconomy took its nasty turn, the Morris family sold, and a newoccupant moved in. It had happened before. Not all on this sectionof the beach were lifetime owners anymore. Just me and a few of theothers. At least, last I’d heard.
Oh well.
Tomorrowin the fresh light,after I cleaned myself up, I’d go over and introduce myself. If Iwas going to be here a while, may as well be the neighbourly one.Besides my house had been unoccupied for so long, seeing lifewithin it may set off alarm bells.
Ilistened to the waves caressing the shoreline as I inhaled nicedeep breaths of air hinted with the apple cinnamon scent from my tea. Every breath Itook, my shoulders fell, and I melted into the pillar. It was tooeasy to give into it all.
The deepstaccato beats from Darth Vader’s theme blared out of myphone, echoing off thewood, and I jumped, tossing my hands out to the side. In a rush torebalance, I knocked my mug clear off the edge where it landed witha crashing crack and the sound of liquid spraying about.
“Damnyou, Parker.”
Why wasmy ex-boyfriend calling? What the hell did he want? Didn’theget everything hewanted when he walked out on me?
Thespicy scent drifted in the air.The shards of ceramic. Tea everywhere. Shit.
My feetwere naked, and I wasn’t about to step anywhere until I could see properly, so I rolledoff the ledge and jumped into the sand six feet below. Butterfliesswirled in my gut.
“Who’sthere?” The gruff voice called over the darkness.
“Shit.Shit. Shit.” I swore under my breath. Not the way I wanted tointroduce myself to the neighbour. “Sorry. I live here and when myphone rang, I knocked my mug off.”
I walkedup the stairs and stayed as far away as possiblefrom where I predictedthe mug had shattered, and stretching out my step, I used my toesto grip the edge of the doorframe. Once inside, I slipped into myshoes and flicked on the porch light, pinching my eyes closed tothe brightness.
After asecond or two when I wasno longer blind, I grabbed for the broom and greeted the lack of amess I was expecting.