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  Kenny snapped the box closed and pulled it away. What kind of wimp did she think he was that he would give her the ring after that sordid confession? He felt rage well up inside of him. He stood up and glared down at Melody. She continued to laugh. She had ruined everything. He wanted to spit in her face. He wanted to push her chair over and watch her struggle to gain her balance. The desire to strike her overwhelmed him. It choked his senses. Hatred coursed through his veins, rushing like a river in spring filled with freshly melted snow. He looked down at the table.

  Suddenly in a rush of motion that passed as a blur before Melody’s eyes, he grabbed the table and flipped it over. Dishes crashed and broke. The champagne bottle hit the wall with a thud. The candles toppled and sputtered out on the wood floor. Melody screamed. She stopped laughing. She looked up at Kenny, and for the first time, he saw respect in her eyes. He approached her and she jumped up and stood behind her chair. He wanted to pick her up and throw her against the wall. He wanted to hear her scream and cry. He wanted her to pay for the pain she had caused him. He tried to push back the feelings of rage, but they consumed him.

  He grabbed her forcibly by the arm. She was at his mercy. He knew it. More importantly, she knew it. Then as abruptly as he grabbed her, he let go, pushing her arm away from him as if it were diseased. “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out!”

  Melody ran for the door, not even stopping for her purse. She ran down the path and into town. As soon as she could find a phone, she called her new boyfriend. In the meantime, Kenny gathered up her belongings, including her purse, and he threw them out on the front lawn. For hours he cursed, pounded pillows and furniture, and gathered Melody’s things. Just after sunrise, he fell asleep. He had somehow stilled his temper during the night. He did not break anything other than the dishes; he made no holes in the walls. And he had not hurt her.

  As exhaustion welcomed him into sleep, he took comfort in that fact. He had wanted to hurt her but hadn’t acted upon his impulses. Perhaps this was the line which distinguished him from his father. Nevertheless, at that moment he vowed to remain single and aloof. The turbulent relationship frightened him more than being alone.

  Melody was not seen in Virginia Point ever again. Her things lingered on Kenny’s front lawn for over a week before he gathered them and put them out with the trash.

  * * * *

  The older Kenny was interrupted from his unpleasant memories by the jangle of the bell. He quickly placed the comb on a bed of soft cotton in a forest green box, and he walked toward the front counter.

  It was Beth LaMonte.

  “Hello,” she said. Her characteristic enthusiasm seemed dampened, as if clouds had passed overhead.

  Kenny presented the box to Beth. He was still shaking from reliving the horrible night from his past. He steadied himself against the counter and waited for her reaction.

  She looked up at him expectantly and then back at the box. She opened it slowly, gently removed the comb, and held it in her palm. She stared at it for a long time and Kenny grew anxious. His pulse quickened; his breaths shortened.

  Beth was speechless. She took in the delicate design, the beautiful colors, and the intricate veins and ripples which brought the blossom to life. She pictured it in the imaginary Katherine’s hair and shook her head in disbelief. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” she whispered in complete astonishment. “How could you possibly create something so perfect?” she asked.

  Kenny pursed his lips. It could have been taken for a grimace or a smile. He looked at Beth for several seconds without moving a muscle.

  Beth saw the elusive window open again, the one in Kenny’s eyes. This time it stayed open for more than a brief flash. Definitely midnight blue, she noted to herself. Behind the façade, she saw it – something brilliant yet damaged, almost fragile. For some reason on that day, at that particular time, he let her see it. He let down his guard briefly and let her in long enough to catch a glimpse of it.

  It comforted him. In that moment when he doubted his sanity, when he wondered whether or not he was a bully or a human being, it was a welcomed recess, a confirmation that he was more man than monster.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it. It is as if you took the essence of something right out of my mind and cast it in silver. It is truly wonderful,” she said, beaming graciously.

  Kenny offered her a faint smile. Then he put up the barriers once again.

  Beth continued to fawn over the comb. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Seventy-nine, ninety-nine, plus tax.”

  Beth laughed. He looked visibly hurt. She stopped laughing.

  “Sorry.” She cleared her throat and handed him one hundred dollars. “Keep the change and…thank you,” she said as she turned to go.

  “You’re very welcome.” His voice was clear and steady.

  His momentary confidence pleasantly surprised her. She nodded politely before slipping out the door.

  Chapter 15

  Obsession

  The comb brought out a whole new level of obsession in Beth. She spent the entire day painting the red-haired girl. By late afternoon, she was on her third attempt, with two half-finished paintings propped up against the wall. The first was her original painting. She started from scratch the moment she arrived home with the comb, but her portrayal of Katherine’s hand was rudimentary if not dreadful.

  The wooden hand mannequin arrived via two-day mail in the early afternoon. At that point, she promptly set aside the second painting and began again. This time she secured a stretched canvas to the easel. The third endeavor was impressive. She started with the eyes, and moved on to the shape of the face. She took a break and repetitively sketched the mannequin hand, which she positioned as if it were grasping a hair comb. Once she felt comfortable with her basic understanding of the shape and perspective of the hand, she continued to paint.

  She worked all day, stopping reluctantly to grab quick snacks.

  It was one day past the solstice, so the sun didn’t set until almost 8:30. Beth took advantage of the daylight as long as possible, and then she resolved to quit for the day. She stood back and admired the painting, which was not yet complete but substantial enough to get an idea of how the finished portrait might look. It was beyond her expectation, something she never believed she was capable of producing. She smiled. She had captured the impetuous redhead who danced through her thoughts every time she read the diary.

  After gazing at the painting for several minutes, she decided she had earned a break.

  The twilight bathed the living room in a warm glow. Beth fetched the diary and sat on the couch. She had recovered from her brief brush with the past, and she was eager to learn more about the captivating girl. She flipped through the diary to find her place. Then she pulled her legs up under her bottom, leaned on the arm of the couch, and read.

  Wednesday, August 13

  Dad has been stalking me. Every time I turn around, there he is. He’s really pissing me off. I haven’t been able to talk to John in days. I’m completely heartsick.

  Next week I start cheerleading camp on Wednesday. Only, you know what? I told Dad we start on Tuesday. I have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday in Augusta. I’m a little scared. I’ve never seen a gynecologist before. But I should start my period this weekend, and I’ll need to start taking the pill soon. That’s what the nurse told me over the phone.

  Dad will think I’m going to cheerleading camp. He’s going to let me take the car. I have $100 cash stashed in the side compartment of my top dresser drawer. I’ll go see the doctor, get my prescription, and be home at around four o’clock. He won’t suspect a thing.

  He can’t stop me. He thinks I’m still a little girl, but he doesn’t know anything. I’m a young woman, a sexy young woman. He has got to understand that he can’t keep me in pigtails forever. Get real!

  Sorry, Dad. That’s just the way it’s going to be.

  Kathe
rine

  Sunday, August 17

  Dear Diary:

  Congratulate me. I’ve ridden on a motorcycle. Yup. I told Dad I was going to Sarah’s house yesterday. As if…

  Anyway, John and I snuck away and drove up to Acadia. It was amazing, the whole thing – the drive, the park, the man – it was incredible.

  John gave me his helmet. He is such a gentleman. We went zipping up the road and I felt so free. It was like a roller coaster, the air on my skin, the rush in my stomach. I had that feeling where you want to close your eyes because you’re so scared but you keep them open because you don’t want to miss what’s coming next. You know that feeling? Well, of course you don’t. Just humor me.

  We zoomed up Cadillac Mountain, along roads cut into granite. It was a whole new experience on a motorcycle. You feel like you are a part of nature or something. We stopped at a picnic area overlooking Frenchman Bay. It was very romantic. He kissed me again. I could live in those lips, they smell and taste so good. This time we didn’t get too heavy, because we were sitting in a semi-public area, but it was still yummy. Maybe it was more so because those people were gawking at us. It felt a little naughty. But they don’t know me and I don’t know them. Besides, I’m in love. Who cares what they think?

  In the afternoon we rode back. He dropped me off discretely down the road and I walked home. But I tasted him on me for several hours even after he was gone.

  I’m going to the doctor on Tuesday. I’m a little nervous. I wish I could talk to Sarah about it, but I don’t feel like confiding in her right now. She’s always so self-righteous.

  So I guess I’ll have to be a big girl. I’ll let you know how it goes.

  Love,

  Katherine

  Beth closed the diary, holding her place with her finger. “Sarah,” she whispered. “I’ll find Sarah.”

  Chapter 16

  Digging Deeper

  The following day, Beth decided to visit Abigail and inquire about Sarah. She left the house at a little after nine Friday morning with a look of anticipation and resolve. It was a beautiful morning, so she walked to the bed and breakfast.

  An hour later she knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  “I should have called first,” she mumbled.

  After a couple of minutes the door flew open. Mary looked a little frazzled.

  “Beth. Come in.”

  “I’m sorry to drop by without calling ahead.”

  “Nonsense. My door is always open to you…unless I’m in the shower.” She grinned.

  Beth noticed that Mary’s hair looked slightly damp. She felt a little guilty, but she smiled politely and stepped across the threshold. Her painting hung proudly over the sign-in table. A new guest had signed in the night before.

  “Oh, you have guests. Perhaps I should come back later.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Mary replied. “They went for a drive. Nice couple from Connecticut.”

  Abigail came around the corner, freshly dressed, her hair still wet. “Hello. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. And you?”

  “Things are busy at The Cove this morning. And that is just the way I like it,” Abigail announced enthusiastically. She looked at her watch. “I think we’ve earned a coffee break. Let’s sit out on the patio.”

  Mary brewed coffee while Abigail arranged the chairs on the patio. Beth followed, feeling cozy and welcome but slightly sheepish for barging in unannounced. Once the ladies were settled comfortably on the patio, Beth got to the point of her visit.

  “Abigail—”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know of a Sarah who was about the same age as Katherine?”

  Abigail raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Mary.

  “Are Sarah’s clothes also in your garage, dear?” Mary asked, sounding almost innocent, while taking a sip of coffee.

  Caught again. Beth blushed. “No, I just…uh…”

  “Never mind, Mary,” Abigail interrupted. “Beth is on a mission. I would hate to interfere.” She winked at Beth and Beth squirmed in her seat, embarrassed but relieved.

  “So, you are looking for a Sarah.” She thought for a moment, then turned to Mary. “Didn’t you baby-sit a Sarah when you were around fourteen?”

  “Yes, I believe so.” Mary looked up at the ceiling and ran some calculations in her head. “She was seven. That would have been in ‘sixty-five, correct? I’ll be. The math works out. She would have been about the same age as Katherine.”

  Beth’s face lit up. “Do you remember her full name?”

  “Oh, gee. It was Whitney or Windler…something like that. Mother, do you remember?”

  Abigail sighed, thinking. “They sort of kept to themselves. You’re right, though. It was something like Windler.”

  “Do you remember where she lived?” Beth asked, hopefully.

  “It was a couple of blocks away. But I don’t remember any Whitneys or Windlers at our town meetings in the last fourteen years since I’ve returned to Virginia Point.”

  Abigail tapped a finger on the table. “Like I said, they kept to themselves,” she said, shrugging.

  Mary turned to Beth, her eyes twinkling. “Would you like to drop in for a visit?”

  “I would love to drop in for a visit.”

  The ladies drank coffee and chatted aimlessly for twenty minutes. Beth was restless, but she tried to maintain a veneer of patience.

  Finally, Mary stood up, placed the dishes on the tray, and asked, “Are you coming, Mother?”

  Abigail looked at her watch and hesitated. “No, I think I’ll pass. I’m waiting for a phone call.”

  Mary looked at her curiously before grabbing the dishes and heading inside. Beth trailed after her.

  “Oh,” Mary said. “Let’s bring some strawberries. Mother, where did you put those strawberries you picked this morning?”

  “They’re in the fridge.”

  Mary fetched a worn Tupperware bowl and filled it to the brim.

  “Strawberries?” Beth asked.

  “You’re not very good in the etiquette department, Beth,” Mary said bluntly. “If we’re imposing on the woman, the very least we can do is bring her some strawberries.”

  “Oh.” Beth felt a little foolish, but she was not entirely certain as to why.

  “Let’s go.” Mary headed for the door. Beth followed her and ran down the stairs, her heart pumping in excitement. Mary led her two blocks behind and then to the right. “It was a blue house. That I remember. The color of a robin’s egg…on the left.”

  The ladies walked down the street searching for a blue house. A green car with several splotches of primer rolled slowly along the right side of the road, stopping at mailboxes. Beth assumed it was the neighborhood mailman.

  “Hello, Patricia,” Mary called, waving joyfully.

  “Hey, Mary.” A woman leaned out of the passenger window and deposited a bundle of letters in a mailbox.

  As they drew closer to the car, Beth observed that it was not an altered, right-side driving vehicle. It was a normal, early 1990s Chevy Lumina with a steering wheel on the left. Patricia sat in the passenger seat, fumbling with a box on the floor, and she steered with her left hand stretched across to the other side. It was not clear from Beth’s perspective how the mailwoman handled the gas and brake pedals.

  “How does she do that?” Beth whispered in awe.

  “Who knows?” Mary shrugged. “So long as the mail gets delivered.”

  Mary stopped suddenly in front of a white house. She stared at the house and the yard. “Well, it’s not blue, but I think this is it. I remember this pear tree,” she said, gesturing to the large tree in the front yard. “It was quite a bit smaller back then.”

  They approached the door and knocked. A young woman in her thirties answered, a baby on her hip and a toddler peeking around her legs. Mary glanced at Beth.

  “Hello, my name is Mary Schmidt from the bed and breakfast. This is Beth LaMonte.” Mary held out the Tupperware containe
r filled with strawberries.

  The young woman balanced the baby in one arm and fumbled with the strawberry container using her free hand. She set it on a table near the door. “Thank you very much.” She nodded politely.

  “You look busy. I’m sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Sarah Windler.”

  “I’m sorry. No one lives here by that name. But we’ve only been in this house three years. We bought it from Mr. Swanson. I don’t know how long he owned it. I could dig up the phone number if you’d like, but it will probably take me a couple of days to find it.”

  “No. Please don’t trouble yourself,” Mary replied.

  Beth was frustrated. She very much hoped that the young woman would trouble herself, and she was a little disappointed with Mary’s response. She decided she would return later and ask her to look for the number.

  “Thank you for your time,” Mary said to the woman. Then she turned to Beth. “Let’s visit the neighbors. I know Mrs. Miller lives here.” She pointed to the house on the right. “She’s been here forever. She’ll probably remember the Windlers…or the Whitneys…or whomever they are.” Mary laughed as they made their way to the neighbor’s house.

  A woman in her early seventies answered the door.

  “Hello, Mary. Do come in.” She turned to Beth. “And who is your friend?”

  “This is Beth LaMonte. Beth, Louise Miller.” The women shook hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, Beth.”

  “And you.”

  “Beth painted a gorgeous picture of The Cove. You should come by and see it. I highly recommend her.”

  Beth blushed as Mary threw her a whimsical look.

  “Did she now? I’ll have to check it out then.” Louise pointed toward the living room. “Sit down ladies. What can I do for you this lovely summer morning?”

  Mary sat in an armchair. “We’re looking for Sarah Windler who used to live next door,” she explained.

  “You mean Sarah Wylder?”

  “Yes,” Mary replied. “It was Wylder.”