Page 48 of Three Days of Holiday

I guess not everything stayed the same.

The smell of fresh sea water enters the car through the open window and I breathe deeply. It’s been a long time. Pelican Bay’s small patch of beach is another block or two ahead. The beach was always my favorite place to visit when I’d stay with Aunt Gertie. Every summer from the year I turned thirteen until I started college at Oklahoma State University was spent here in Pelican Bay. My afternoons consisted of lounging on the shell-speckled sand and taking in what little sun I could.

My life back in Westford wasn’t horrible — far from it. But at twelve my mother remarried. Dan, her new husband accepted me like one of his own, but he wanted kids with his genetic code. My mother’s attempt to fulfill those wishes included her popping out one kid each year for the next three. Summers in Pelican Bay allowed me to escape the dirty diapers and temper tantrums, which took over my daily life at home.

I pull my car into the parking lot at the end of Main Street with beach access and stop next to the Two Scoops Creamery. The small red sided building is now shut up for the winter, and the sign advertises a Memorial Day opening. They used to serve the best raspberry twist ice cream cones. I’m not sure how I’ll wait a month to buy one.

The beach is deserted. Of course, it’s seven o’clock ona Sunday night and the temperatures routinely fall below fifty degrees this time of year. Thank you, Internet, for that exciting bit of Maine trivia.

Regardless, I exit the car and lean against the hood listening to the waves as they batter the rocks along the coastline. A seagull squawks overhead and a mist of cold salt water floats in the air, chilling my exposed arms, but still I stay. My eyes track the dark night sky to catch a glimpse of the seagull, but even with the sweep of the light house’s beam every few seconds, he’s not visible in the night sky.

I’m lost in memories, but also I’m just lost. The large maple tree I use as a marker to turn off Main to Aunt Gertie’s house is missing. Or I missed it. I’m not sure which.

Without a working GPS I’ll be forced to drive through town in hopes I’ll catch another landmark to lead me to Miller Street. I slide off my car hood and turn back toward the vehicles when two people on the street catch my attention. It’s doubtful serial killers concern themselves with Pelican Bay — too many small town gossips. I walk in their direction and we meet on the other side of the ice cream shop.

Closer and with the light from one of the lot lamps, I discern they’re a couple. Both are in their late sixties or even seventies. Long grey hair is tied back in a knot for the tall lanky male, his tie-dyed long sleeve shirt a size too big for him. His companion is a shorter stockier woman with her own long grey hair left untied as it’s carried in the breeze behind her.

“Hi.” I walk up to them and try to present myself in a nonthreatening manner. With my dark brown hair pulledback into a messy bun on top of my head and my five foot four stature, I’m pretty sure I pull it off.

“What can I do for you, young lady?” the man reaches an outstretched hand.

“I’m looking for Miller Street, but I missed my turn.”

“There aren’t many turns in Pelican Bay.” The woman laughs and smiles back at me.

“No, but I’ve always used the big tree on Main.”

“The storm in 2013 took her. Blocked half the street when she fell. Had to divert traffic around both city blocks. A mess it was.”

2013? Has it been so long? I’d once vowed I’d come back to Pelican Bay every year. Of course, those promises were made before I met Mario. Before he swept me away into his lifestyle of fancy parties and what he called the high life. It’s possible Mario didn’t steal my innocent happiness. I merely left it here so many summers ago.

“I’m Pearl and this is Roland.” The woman steps out extending her hand for a quick shake. “Where are you looking to get this late on a Sunday night?”

I wasn’t aware seven thirty was late, but there’s no way I’ll argue the point with either of these two. “Gertie Thompson’s house.”

“Oh, sweetie. Gertie passed away about a month ago. Her house is empty.” Pearl walks to me and lays a hand on my shoulder. Her fingers are at least ten degrees warmer than my cold skin.

“Yes, I know. I’m Tabitha, her great niece.”

Pearl steps back. “We didn’t see you at the funeral. The entire town came. Her sister visited.”

“I wasn’t able to make it. There were things inOklahoma to finish up first.” My head stays down so she won’t spot my lie. I’ve never been a good liar.

It killed me to miss Gertie’s funeral. My mother added to it with her own brand of grief over each flimsy explanation I gave her. I just couldn’t find a plausible excuse for the large black eye and bruised cheek on the left side of my face. No one would believe I walked into a door.

Mario put me through crap over the years — late nights, lipstick stains on shirt collars, and even the occasional screaming match — but the shiner made me realize I needed to get out. Every piece that fell into the puzzle after that, I considered fate.

Roland wraps an arm around Pearl and leans forward a little, his eyes inspecting me, but for what I’m not sure. “You here to fix up her old place and sell it?”

“Nope. I’m here to stay.”

“Long way from Oklahoma.” Roland’s eyes do another sweep of my face.

“That’s the point, right?” I fake a laugh. “Pelican Bay holds a special place in my heart.”

“I can’t believe you’re little Gertie’s niece. You’ve grown.” Pearl embraces me in a hug and I brace for a cheek pinch, but thankfully it never comes. I shiver against the warmth of her thick sweatshirt.

“You must get out of the cold.” Pearl rubs her hands up and down my bare arms. “Can’t have you sick on your first week here.”

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