Page 10 of Somewhere You Belong

“Perfect. I’m guessing there’s no room service in a little place like this, huh?” I’m partially teasing, but the other part of me is becoming increasingly aware that I’m not in the big city anymore and that means certain amenities I’m used to will be few and far between.

The woman winces through her smile. “No, dear.”

“Didn’t think so. Thank you, though.” I hold up my silver key—not an electronic keycard like most modern-day establishments—and then turn toward the front door of the small lobby that smells of stale carpet and ocean air.

“We do have fresh muffins and coffee for our guests in the morning, though!” she calls after me. “Think of it as a continental breakfast, if you will.”

“Good to know. Thank you.” I tell her over my shoulder before I head for my car. I grab my suitcase from the trunk and stop to take in my surroundings. The vast, dark sky is a breathtaking expanse of twinkling stars.

Stars—gosh, when’s the last time I saw actual stars, or even bothered to look up at them?

I shake off the thought and the twinge of sadness that resonates in my chest and wheel my suitcase to the door of my room, inserting the key in the lock, and jiggling it around a little before it finally turns and the door creaks open.

Oh my God.This is where I’m going to die.

As I take in my surroundings, all I can picture is the scene of movie where a woman stays alone in a cheap motel and answers the door when someone knocks, only to be kidnapped and murdered just for the main character to search for her body throughout the rest of the movie.

“This was a mistake,” I mutter to myself as I close the door and lock it behind me, walking further into the room. The bedspread is made of rough cotton in a classic paisley fabric of reds, blues, and greens. The walls are a dark beige, and I can’t tell if that’s the color they were painted, or that color is a product of salty ocean air and age.

The bed is centered on the wall to my right, with a nightstand on each side complete with bedside lamps, and a red cushioned chair in the corner under the window. The room has one of those AC units under the window with the vents that blow up into the curtains, and on the wall to my left is a small tv stand and a box television that looks like it escaped from the ’80s and is still surviving.

“I’m definitely not in D.C. anymore.”

Once I’m changed, showered, and my teeth are brushed, I open my laptop, respond to emails that came in during my drive down here, and make sure my schedule is clear for tomorrow.

When I’m done, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking back over the last few weeks—how I ended up here in the first place, how this meeting tomorrow might go, and the letter that started it all.

And as I drift off to sleep, those familiar images come back to my mind—a woman with blonde hair like my own, a man whose smile I swear I can still remember, and the other memories I allow my brain to conjure up every once in a while—the ones I would have had if my parents hadn’t died.

***

“There’s not a Starbucks around here?” I ask Dolly when I make it down to the lobby, ready for the meeting I came all the way down here for.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Carrington Cove residents shut that idea down before it even made it to the town council.”

“How did that happen?”

Dolly flashes me a knowing grin. “You’d be surprised what a group of strong-willed people are able to accomplish when they set their mind to something.”

I try not to react, but instead swallow hard. “Noted.”

“Anyway, that coffee on the table is the best you’re going to get in town. Keely delivers it fresh every morning. She owns Keely’s Caffeine Kick, the coffee shop on the boardwalk.”

“Charming.” I spin around to see a stack of Styrofoam cups and black plastic lids next to two insulated coffee dispensers, along with a basket of muffins complete with a red and white checkered cloth lining the inside.

“And the muffins are made fresh each morning by Greg and Jenny over at Sunshine Bakery.”

“Well, okay then.” I move to the table and help myself to the goodies as I feel the heat of Dolly’s stare on my back.

“So what are you up to today?”

“I have a meeting,” I mutter as I fill my cup to the brim with coffee.

“With whom?”

“Timothy MacDonald.”

“The attorney?” There’s a note of surprise in Dolly’s voice.

---