Seven Tears into the Sea (23 page)

I'd told Jill about the sleepwalking and Dr. Cates. Only Jill, because I didn't think I could trust Mandi not to tell. Apparently I couldn't trust Jill, either.

It was
my
secret. She had no right to tell, and she'd sworn, under pain of death, to tell no one. It was just between us.

Well, I guess not. I jerked on fresh jeans and a sweatshirt. I wrapped a towel around my hair, and the minute I walked back into the kitchen, Mandi snatched the towel off. “I'm going to streak it blond like mine,” she said, mixing silver paste in one of my coffee mugs.

Betrayal and the bleachy smell made me sick.

“It's really ironic,” I said to Jill, “that my parents left Mirage Beach because it was a gossipy little town, and you, sitting in Valencia, couldn't keep my secret even a week.”

They had the decency to look chagrined that I'd overheard them.

Jill sat down at my table and matched her fingertips together in this calm, meditative manner. “Gwen, don't take this the wrong way, but it's also only been one week that you've known this guy.”

“So what?” I said. “He's amazing. Why can't you be glad for me—”

“You almost went off with him instead of us,” Mandi said.

I looked at Jill and she nodded.

“Is that what this is about?” I asked. “You're jealous?”

They both started saying, no, that wasn't it at all, but that's what it came down to.

“But I did leave Jesse,” I said, finally. “And I did it for you, Mandi, because Zack is bad news.”

I was about to tell her he was a sadistic thug and that she should be mature enough to see that, but then Mandi sort of smirked, and I lost my desire to lecture her. Why should I care, if she didn't?

“I think we should all go to bed,” I said, finally.

“That would be best. We'll all feel better in the morning,” Jill said. She made a smoothing motion with her hands.

Jill always knew best. Just ask her. I wondered why I'd never noticed it before. I knew these two were my friends, but right now, I couldn't remember why.

Mandi was crying again. “I wish I was sober enough to drive home.”

“Well, you're not,” Jill said, slipping into her sleeping bag. “And besides, it's my car.”

I trotted upstairs to my loft and tried to sleep, but I couldn't. And since I didn't get undressed and put on a nightgown, I guess I never really wanted to. If Gumbo had been there, curled up beside me, I might have lasted longer. But the smell of the sea wafted through the skylight. I had to find Jesse. Together we'd watch the sun rise on Midsummer morning, just the way I'd planned.

W
ILD
W
ESTERN
T
HIMBLEBERRY
(Rubus parviflorus)

V
elvety pink berries, dark green leaves, and cautioning spines mark this woodsy berry. Cousin to the blackberry, it may live at the shore, in red-wood forests, and on the High Sierra, but deprived of moisture, it will sicken and die. Thimbleberry wine is nectar to fairies, and herbal lore praises the thimbleberry for shielding the virtuous. Running through a thimbleberry thicket is rumored to dispel illness, while a sip of thimbleberry tea returns evil to those who wish it on others.

I couldn't find Jesse.

First I checked the bonfires. Smoke sat heavy on the early air, and I wondered if I should take it as an omen.

A few people were still watching the fires die down. Red O'Malley sat upright, a gray-striped blanket around his shoulders, while Shannon, Eric, and their three little boys slept. Hearing me, Red looked away from the white twists of smoke and raised a hand in greeting.

I'd finally remembered what it was I liked about him. That night on the beach, he'd been the first person to reach me. I didn't know if he'd been a volunteer fireman, if he'd been working with the sheriff, or what. I did know he'd swept me up from the sand and without asking a single question, taken me to my mother.

Now his smile came from one insider to another. That was all about being crowned, I thought.

Leaving the bonfires last night had been a mistake. I wished I was still wearing rumpled leggings and my crown. And I wished Jesse were walking beside me. But I returned Red's smile, knowing I'd still won something that would make me a permanent part of Mirage Beach.

I tiptoed past the sleeping family to the bonfire Jesse and I had leapt. It had burned out long since. Gray ash stirred in the early breeze, whispering secrets I was too dense to understand.

Next I went down to the cove. It was silent except for wavelets, searching the sand for the seals who'd fled the noise and had yet to return. Nana said the cows and their young would come back this evening and sleep so soundly we wouldn't hear them for several days.

Last I went to Little Beach, stopping atop the highest dune. The beach was littered with skeins of kelp and driftwood. A few pieces were black, probably washed in from a bonfire. Jesse wasn't there, either.

I sat cross-legged, watching the tide roll in from a pewter and pink sky. Gulls banked and cried, scolding me for not observing at least one Midsummer morn tradition. I was Queen, after all.

I built a cairn of rocks, about a foot high, and topped it with some tiny purple flowers. Probably it was an offering to fairies or summer spirits. I really
didn't know, but I felt better for doing it.

Standing, I looked back at my cottage. Jill and Mandi wouldn't be up for hours so I had no excuse to skip work. Would Nana have her dark tea today or was that tomorrow?

No matter, I thought. I'd feel better helping over there. The Whartons would be awake and eager for breakfast, even if the Hobbits slept in.

Tired and melancholy, I still picked up the pace a little, excited that I'd won a crown. The Whartons, who'd admired Jesse and me together, would be pleased, and that was good for business. Besides, I still believed I'd see Jesse, soon.

Thelma greeted me as befitted royalty.

“Morning, your Ladyship,” she joked, and my gloominess didn't keep me from making a curtsy. “Hear you had an early evening,” Thelma said, checking the eggs she was coddling before giving a small kettle of hollandaise sauce a stir.

“Not really,” I said. I found the biggest mug in the cabinet and poured myself a cup of black coffee. “My friends kept me up late,” I said, drizzling in a little milk.

I sipped with my eyes closed, and only when I opened them did I notice Nana was sitting at the kitchen table with her leg elevated.

It sure hadn't taken me long to forget why I was
here. Nana needed my help. I bent to kiss her cheek.

“Why don't you slip off to bed and let me take over,” I asked her.

Thelma hmphed, indicating she'd already tried that tactic, in vain.

“And let you girls have first crack at the eggs Benedict? I hardly think so,” Nana said. “What I would appreciate though, is if you'd slip a full-length apron on over those jeans.”

I'd totally forgotten what I was wearing. Before I could apologize, Nana had left for the parlor.

While Nana dined with the Whartons, I came back into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee.

“I've been wanting to ask you something,” Thelma said.

“Okay,” I said, bracing myself.

“Seeing you last night around that Zack McCracken, I noticed how he can't seem to decide if he likes you or hates you.”

“He hates me,” I said. “Neither of us is confused about that.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Thelma told me. “He may hate you because you won't give him the time of day—not that you should.”

I think it was exhaustion, not patience, that made me wait for Thelma to go on.

“Well, has he bothered you up at the cottage?”

“No—” I began, then stopped. There'd been the wet footprint. And the feeling I was being watched, but surely those were paranoia. “Why are you asking?”

I was getting chills, even in this kitchen, warm from baking.

“A few months back I caught him in the cottage. Said he was coming up there to shave and take a shower, even though we had the power turned off, so there was no hot water.”

I thought of the razor and the missing key, but I didn't say anything. I thought of the way he'd grimaced when I sat on the dirty pier beside Jesse.

“It's admirable that he wants to be clean—” I began, but Thelma cut me off.

“But no excuse for burglary.”

“Right,” I said, “and I don't think he can get in. I set the dead bolt every night, and my dad checked the place out pretty thoroughly.”

A bell tinkled from the parlor. Thelma swatted the seat of my jeans.

“That should never happen!” she scolded.

“I know,” I said, and bolted out of her reach.

It was eleven o'clock by the time I returned to my cottage.

I'd already slipped past my hedge and said good morning to my spider, when I turned back and picked three
blackberries. Most of them were dark purple now, instead of green, but they were still hard when I squeezed them.

I gave them an experimental chew, just the same. Still pretty darn tart, but better. I shuddered a little at the taste and glanced up in time to see a half-feathered nestling coast from the swallow's nest to the far end of the hedge.

The mother bird swooped after him, scolding, I thought, or lecturing about self-preservation and the presence of humans.

And cats, I thought, as I entered my dark cottage.

Mandi and Jill were still asleep and there was no sign of Gumbo.

Even when I put fresh food in her dish, she didn't appear. I jogged upstairs to see if she was sleeping in her favorite sunbeam on my bed. She wasn't.

“Gumbo? Here kitty, kitty?” I listened. Nothing.

Last night I'd left the cottage open for Jill and Mandi. They'd dropped off their suitcases and sleeping bags. My breath caught. Had they stopped here before going to Siena Bay? Or after, with Zack and his crew? Had Zack been inside my house?

I ran back down the stairs, calling more loudly. “Gumbo!”

Jill sat up, rubbing her eyes. Mandi rolled on her side and opened her mouth experimentally. Then very slowly, she sat up too.

“What's happening?” Jill asked.

“I can't find Gumbo. Was she here when you came in last night?”

“I didn't see her,” Jill said. “But you know how she hides from strangers.” Jill blushed; last night's fight must have rushed back to her. From the quick glance she shot at Mandi, I knew they hadn't arrived alone.

“Mandi, did you see Gumbo?”

“God, Gwen!” Mandi shielded her eyes from daylight as I pushed back the gauzy curtains. “You told me not to let her out and I didn't.”

Mandi held a pillow over her face, and for one minute, I really hated her.

Gumbo had been outside before, but not at Mirage Beach.

I took a deep breath. All I could do was get Mandi and Jill out of here and hope Gumbo returned.

“We've missed the Midsummer Madness parade,” I said. “If you want to see any of the events in town, we should probably get going.”

“We'll take two cars,” Jill said, standing and stretching. “You'll probably want to stay longer than we can.”

“If I don't get some aspirin, I'll die,” Mandi said. “That guy tried to poison me.”

Jill and I shot Mandi the same accusing look.

“Well, he did,” she mumbled, and wobbled to her feet, still holding her head. We made it out of the cottage in about twenty minutes, with Mandi vowing she didn't
care how she looked, although she had spent eighteen of those minutes monopolizing the bathroom mirror, stroking on mascara, with her cell phone clamped between her ear and shoulder, complaining because Cook's Cottage had such terrible reception.

By the time we arrived at the village, Midsummer Madness was in full swing. Shops were decorated with balloons, pennants, and
SALE
! signs.

We bought mochas and sipped them as we walked around. Though I wanted to check out the traditional Siena Bay Fisherman's Faire—with old-fashioned games, a rag doll booth, and blackberry shortcake concession—I tagged along with Mandi and Jill, looking in shop windows.

It was only for another hour. After that I had to find Gumbo. And Jesse.

We walked by the Bling Bling video arcade, loud with its hooting games. It was crowded with kids.

Mandi peered in through her sunglasses, then shook her head. She wasn't finding much to like in Siena Bay.

“This cobblestone effect is cool,” Jill said, looking down at the grass-bracketed rocks in front of a rustic office building I recognized from my last trip to Siena Bay.

One of the signs read,
DR. JACK CATES, CHILD AND FAMILY THERAPIST
. Jill came to a dead stop.

“I know I screwed up big-time telling your secret,” Jill began.

“And it wasn't last week,” Mandi said.