Sands of
Time
by
Bruce A. Sarte
Copyright ©2008, 2010 by Bruce A. Sarte
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
Credits
Cover Artist: Bruce A. Sarte
Editor: Carady Madden
ISBN: 9780982981634
Bucks County Publishing
202 North 7th Street
Bally, PA 19503
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my wife,
Erin.
Without whom I would have never been able to finish the
story.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my wife Erin for her encouragement and support while I sat in bed whining that I couldn't concentrate. I would also like to thank two of the most influential literary influences in my life, Jeff Cain and Verne Romefelt. Mr. Cain taught me how to think about what I was writing and Commander Romefelt taught me how to write what I was thinking.
March 1st
In the blink of an eye, the sound gripped my heart and tore the soul from my still and helpless body.
I heard the screech of tires preceding the violent collision of two polar opposite forces, right before the wretched smell of burning rubber reached me, and then there was nothing. Silence.
It’s always the silence that gets me, every time I hear it… and I hear it all the time… all day… all night.
The deafening silence that only solitude, loneliness, and guilt can bring.
As soon as I heard the silence, I knew what it was. The sound of the car going into the water; the sound of my wife trying desperately to get out; the sound of my children screaming for someone… maybe even me. What is the sound of a life ending? What about the sound of my life ending? It didn’t matter if I ran or walked… but I ran. I didn’t have to see the skid marks to know what happened… but I saw them anyway.
It happened so fast. I watched in disbelief as my entire world exploded in a ball of fire and pain.
As I sit and watch the sun set on yet another day of solitude, I realize it is just another ball of fire that burns a hole in my soul every day, a hole that will never heal. And just like a cancer that spreads uncontrollably through the dying body, this pain infects every inch of my being. And I treat it as any good doctor would… when there is no cure, but you can numb the pain and make it bearable, that is what you do. That’s where the drinking comes in.
Was today any better than yesterday… or the day before… or the day before that? Are things getting better? The holidays came and went, and I barely even noticed. I could say that the holidays were terrible and that I missed
Sandy and the kids more then I ever thought I could miss anyone or anything.
Yes, I could say that, because I am sure it would be the truth if I had even the slightest recollection of Christmas or New Year’s. I can only assume that there was a Christmas because it happens every year, with or without me. But the truth is I was so mind-numbingly drunk that I can’t remember a moment of it, and
I don’t even care.
I could say that I drown myself in my work. During the off-season, our little pub does a thrifty business selling alcohol and food. I could say that, but it’s not true. I’ve barely paid any attention to the pub or the inn. It has been six months since Sandy and the kids were taken from me, and in that time, I have downed more bottles of Jack than all of my customers combined have bought and consumed in the last two years. So, it stands to reason that the inner numbness afforded to me by the warm, personal relationship with my new best friend, Mr. Daniels, has not allowed me to feel the pain… or should I say, has allowed me to skip the whole hurting part of this process.
My shrink says that I need to grieve and accept the loss and move on.
Why? What kind of an evil, sadistic bastard is this doctor? Why would anyone subject himself to the cavernous abyss that is inside of me? Dr. Ashton says that if I look inside myself, I’ll find some sort of inner peace or something stupid like that. Why would I look inside myself when looking inside a bottle allows me to drown myself in the acceptance that only Mr. Daniels can offer?
Dr. Ashton wants to see me weekly; he says I need help to accept what happened. I say acceptance is for pansies and I’ve already got help, so screw that. Dr. Daniels—hey, Jack would like that; he’s a doctor now—Dr. Daniels is working wonders on my coping skills. Nothing bothers me now. What does that quack Ashton know that Dr. D can’t offer me? I won’t be seeing Ashton anytime soon.
Healing? Who needs to heal when you can be numb?
What I do remember from the holidays is mostly sitting in my office with
Jack. Just sitting there, listening to music and singing along to whatever happened to come on, even if I didn’t know the words. Well, if you could call that delirious drivel that was coming out of my mouth singing—but only Jack was judging me, and he tends to be very kind. Especially after a few glasses from his glimmering walls of acceptance.
I did have the inn to run, but in the winter, we are rarely busy. Not too many people vacationing at the Jersey Shore over the holidays and cold weekends. They tend to make their way to the warmer climates or the ski slopes for vacation in the winter months. Oh, we do get a guest here and there, just looking to get away and spend a weekend overlooking the scenic Atlantic, even though it is cold. Some people like that, watching the waves coming in and out even though they know the water is frigid—they tell me they find it comforting. It just makes me want to walk into the cool, flowing waves of the ocean. Step by step, I can feel the water on my feet, grabbing at my ankles, pulling me in. Step by step, my knees are wet in the clutches of the dark and dreary ocean. It pulls me… beckons me further into its cold and welcoming arms. There is no instinct to retreat, no need to turn around, just the welcoming cold of the icy grip of the ocean on my waist beckoning me to continue… step by step… and I just keep going until the undertow grabs me and pulls me under.
So, needless to say, running the inn in the winter is nary a concern. Besides, Natalie pretty much runs the place for me. She’s smart, confident, and understands how I like things… which is very important to me. When I first hired her, I wanted someone who would run the inn the way I would. She’s that person. I’d be lost without her; the inn would be lost without her. There was a time when we had a nice relationship… it was fun… we’d crack little jokes, and she would keep me up to date on what was going on when I was busy with other things…
But since Sandy and the kids were taken from me, I have fallen into this distant, disinterested, hollow numbness that is my current personality, and she began to respond likewise. She acts more concerned and watchful than before… we don’t have that easy conversation anymore… no more jokes, no more laughter. Even with the great responsibility that being my front desk manager carries with it, we never really had an employee–employer relationship.
We were more like good friends who worked together. And now, it seems like that cold workplace interaction that you see in TV. I would say it’s very sad, but I’m not sure I remember what it is to be sad. How does it feel? How does anything feel? I’ve forgotten. I’ve forgotten a lot of things.
How to feel is just one of them…
Dr. Ashton has convinced me that writing is cathartic… Is it?
I guess we’ll find out.
March 4th
The guests come and go and I hardly notice anymore. I used to love this.
The hustle and the bustle of the inn… but now the inn runs itself for the most part. I haven’t really been making the day-to-day decisions. I have left much of it to my staff to take care of, and they’ve been very good about it. Thank God for Natalie. She’s been invaluable the past few months. She’s young and sweet, and she works very hard. She treats this inn as if it were her own. Maybe she deserves a raise? I’ll have to remember to see if I can swing that for her… or maybe just a nice big Christmas bonus this year. God knows that didn’t even occur to me this past year. I wonder if everyone hates me for that?
The rest of the staff doesn’t really speak to me very much anymore.
Actually, they seem to go out of their way to avoid me, all except Curtis, my head bartender. He listens… offers some advice and a straight-faced joke or two to keep my spirits up. We’ve been friends ever since we met in high school, and our friendship has withstood many of life’s ups and downs.
After high school, our paths went in very different ways for many years. I went off to college, and he hopped in his Mustang convertible and took a long road trip. He drove around the country, working odd jobs to pay for gas and food. It was quite the experience—he saw the country and learned how to make something out of nothing. I, on the other hand, went to college. I learned how to drink my body weight in beer, pick up girls, sleep with them, leave in the middle of the night, get two hours sleep and still get up in the morning. Add to that the bonus skill of pretending I was interested in what the stuffed shirt at the head of the room was talking about. Who made out better? Hard to say, really, but you could easily argue that his path was the wiser one. Either way, he runs the pub and does a hell of a job—it always makes a profit. Even with my pilfering of the Jack.
The others… they ask how I’m doing, if they can do anything… it’s all just niceties, really. They don’t really care, so I tell them I’m fine and no, I’m getting through it, thanks… I mean, what would they do if I told them the truth?
“I’m dying inside! I have nothing left! I would not care either way if a demon from hell grew inside of me and devoured my soul, leaving nothing but the empty shell of a broken and hollow man. That is what I am anyway, so what would it really matter? I am NOT OKAY! Nothing is okay, nobody cares, and no one is even capable of understanding, so stop asking! My heart has been ripped from my chest, has dried up and turned to stone right in front of my eyes—do you have the elixir for the virus that has broken my soul into as many pieces as the sky has stars? Does the sky still have stars? I haven’t noticed…”
If given the chance, I think most of my employees would run as far away from me as possible.
Tonight the door to my study slowly opened, and one my bartenders told me we’re out of gin. I picked up the phone and started dialing my alcohol distributor. It rang a few times before I realized how late it was, and that the sales guy wasn’t going to be there. I told the bartender I’d have to call in the morning, and he shuffled out and closed the door.
I don’t even remember his name. I know he has worked here for four years, but still I cannot remember his name. It seems I’m pretty good at remembering the girls’ names… but not the guys’. How pathetic is that?
And I’ve only had three glasses of Jack. I’m surprised we’re not out of
Jack. Surprised, but thankful—hey, at least I have something to be thankful for.
Everything’s coming up roses… Maybe I’ll throw a party.
I went there last night; to the one place I haven’t been… to the one place that can make me feel—to the church. After the guests were settled and the lobby area was quiet, I grabbed my coat and my savior. I went out through the lobby and saw Natalie at the front desk. I told her I was going to the church for a while and would be back later. She looked at me like a sad puppy and told me to take as much time as I needed, that she was on until 6 anyway. That’s my Natalie, always dependable and always helpful. I just wish she’d stop treating me like a shell-shocked war veteran. And in some ways, I’d almost prefer to have post-traumatic stress syndrome.
I could tell that she knew I had been drinking, and I wasn’t doing a really good job of hiding Jack in my coat. She didn’t say a word, but it was that look of genuine concern she gave me as I pushed through the door that stayed with me.
It was almost as if she was reaching out and begging me to let her help. But it was likely my fertile imagination or the seed that Jack planted in my mind. She’s sweet, but why would she want to help me? Probably just worried the inn will run into the ground and she’ll lose her job.
I saw her smile sweetly as the door closed and heard her gently remind me that she was here if I needed her. For what? To heal my wounds? To soothe my soul? Or for work? What could she do for me? She’s sweet. Did I say that already? I guess Jack is still hanging around in my head. How many glasses have I had? I forget… counting becomes a challenge after a while. Outside it was dark and quiet and cold, but at the time, I didn’t notice. I found Sandy’s grave and sat down, leaning against the tombstone. The cold, hard granite… it’s as comforting and welcoming as my bed has become since she’s been out of my life…
Sandra Jean Shepard
Born: May 15th, 1974
Died: September 1st, 2004
Beloved Mother and Wife
Our Lives are Empty Without Her
Empty. Our lives… her grave. When you think about it, it all makes sense. They never found the bodies from the crash, and I still haven’t found my soul. Everyone assumed they were burned beyond recovery in the fire or thrown from the car into the ocean and that their bodies never washed ashore. None of it made sense to anyone, least of all me. I am so tired trying to make sense of it all... of anything anymore.
Yes, anything… that’s the right word. I leaned in, took a swig and started to cry. The tears came from me as if my eyes were melting, slow and warm.
Then they just began to flow more freely. I cried for what seemed like forever.
Then I got angry… again.
“WHY? Why did you have to do that? Why did you always run?! It was always about you and your precious comfort. You never stepped out of your little comfort zone, not for me, not for anyone. You didn’t like something, it didn’t happen. We always fought over it, and you always ran away. You’d run… like a child! WHY? You ran from everything! Including me, including our family… And now you’ve run out of my life and taken our children with you. You took the children; YOU TOOK TYLER AND CAITLYN, DAMN YOU! I hope you’re happy because my life is worthless now... without you… without Tyler… without
Caitlyn...” I was crying openly now. “God damn you… I loved you so much, I still love you; why did you have to leave?”
Then I heard something… felt something. Like someone was there, or like
I was being watched. I jumped to my feet and immediately fell down to my knees... I was very dizzy. Quickly, I tried to recover and find out who was there.
But I couldn’t see anyone. It was just me. I felt it, though. Maybe I should give Jack the rest of the night off.
I didn’t go to Tyler and Caitlyn’s graves… I couldn’t. They were right there, but I couldn’t look. Five feet away… Not even a glance… But I could feel them; I thought I could sense their presence, and I couldn’t bear it, the weight of the lives not lived, the love never given, the smiles never seen… not even Jack could help me.
Then I heard the footsteps. Someone was here; someone was following me. I couldn’t move, but I could hear them coming. Then I saw the flashlight. It was moving back and forth over the headstones two aisles away. Stop, start, swing left to right. I tried to get to my feet, tried to balance so I could hide, but I just fell over again. The flashlight came my way. I tried to lie as still as possible.
I even stopped breathing. Then I felt wetness on my arm. Jack was spilling out onto my coat, dammit. I reacted quickly to keep Jack from completely emptying out all over the ground and me. I needed him. Then the flashlight was on me.
“Sam? Is that you? Sam Shepard? It’s Pastor Paul.”
What was Pastor Paul doing out here at this time of night? What was I going to say to him? Was I going to stand here, staggering, and explain why I was here? And then add the gripping story of why I was drunk out of my mind?
Not likely. And then he was in front of me.
“Sam, my word! Are you okay? Here, let me help you up.”
I was laying flat on my back, drunk, with an open, half-spilled bottle of
Jack Daniels in my hand and reeking of the alcohol. What must have been going through his mind? I could only imagine. But as I took his outstretched hand, all I could feel was concern. I looked into his eyes, and all I could see was empathy and worry. I was finally able to get to my feet and balance myself on some poor soul’s headstone.
“Sam, are you alright? What is going on? I haven’t seen you since…”
His voice trailed off, and he looked away. “Since Sandy and the kids.”
I looked directly into his eyes, and I couldn’t hide the pain.
“Sam, if you are here searching for something, searching for someone, for an answer… God has those answers.”
“Pastor, I…” I stammered, but just couldn’t get the words out. “I really don’t think that I am the kind of person God wants around, and I don’t think He has what I am looking for.”
“God is always with you, always there, whether you can see it or not. The things you have been through are too painful to endure alone, without the comfort of the Lord.”
I stood straight up, fire in my eyes and venom in my mouth.
“With all due respect, God has taken everything from me that means anything. He took away my racing, my wife, and my children. The only thing I have left is that inn, and when it comes right down to it, I just don’t have the heart for it anymore.”
My eyes burned through Pastor Paul. But all he did was put his hand on my shoulder. He looked at me with genuine concern.
“Sam, I know that you feel alone and that you think God has forsaken you.
He has not. I am not going to force you into anything, but when you’re ready, He will lead you, and I will be here for you.”
I couldn’t respond; I could only stare, and I wanted to cry.
“Sam, don’t think you have been forsaken. I have the feeling that God has blessed you more than you think.” He was looking at me a little too carefully.
“Do you need help getting home?”
I looked away, then down at the bottle.
“I’ve got all the help I need.” I glanced back at Pastor Paul, then pushed past him and walked into the night. I looked at the bottle as I stumbled away and decided Jack wasn’t quite done for the night. I finished the bottle and continued to stumble home.
The inn was quiet when I finally fell into the lobby. I have no idea what time I finally dragged my sorry self onto the carpet and fell onto the couch in the middle of the lobby. I looked up to see Natalie’s sexy little body behind the desk, where she was reading a book. She looked up as I noisily flopped onto the cushion.
“Sam, everything is quiet. Someone called down with a question about how late the boardwalk was open. I told them that everything closes pretty early in March, but that’s all. That was around midnight, I guess—it’s almost 4 am now.” The she looked at me with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
I think I was actually drooling; I’m so disgusting. “No,” I managed to slur.
How suave and debonair I was. But I think my inability to keep my head centered on my body gave her the impression that I was lying, so she came over to help anyway. I was a terrible liar, especially when I was this wasted. And I was seriously wasted. I had consumed more Jack then ever before.
“Sam, it’s okay; I can help you… please let me help you.” She put her arm around my waist, and I wrapped my arm around her tiny shoulders as she helped me up. Her shoulders felt so nice.
“We’re friends, Sam. I wish you would let me help you. Let me be there for you—I can listen.”
But I’m not sure if she was actually talking to me. She could have simply been talking out of frustration. She helped me out to the carriage house I lived in just behind the inn, then guided me into my room and sat me on my bed. Wow, I thought, she is really beautiful. Her dark hair and warm chestnut eyes looked so understanding and comfortable and… forgiving. She was looking at me, our faces inches apart—that was because my arms were still around her shoulders.
“Sam, sit down and I’ll help you into bed.”
Help me into bed? Sounds like a plan to me. My arms slowly retreated from her soft and delicate shoulders. Her body was thin and fit—apparently, she exercised and took care of herself. Wow, she is beautiful; did I say that already?
I tend to repeat myself when Jack is around… My hands paused at the small of her back, but my drunken attempt to pull her toward me was clumsily thwarted by my lack of motor skills. My arms fell harmlessly away onto the bed. I looked up at her while she reached down to help me swing my legs up into bed. She didn’t seem to notice that, as she pulled the covers back, her small yet firm breasts brushed my cheek. And I turned and kissed her left breast ever so lightly. She paused… slightly, just for a moment, and then continued. Not saying a word.
She was trying to help me get into bed slowly, but I really fell into bed at that point. She turned to leave.
“Nat?”
“Yes, Sam?”
“Stay here… with me… tonight, please?”
“Sam, you know I can’t do that.”
“Oh, no,” I slurred, “don’t worry; it won’t be a problem, I promise. It won’t be weird or anything… I just…”
“Sam, someone has to be at the front desk.” She glanced back at me with a smile that was mixed worry with concern. “I have to go.” And she quickly but quietly closed the door. I think I was asleep before the door latched shut. I’m such an ass sometimes.
Sometimes?
March 5th
I have no idea what Natalie thought. I don’t know what I wanted her to think. I don’t even know why I asked her to stay—other than I just didn’t want to be alone. But I’m sure we both know what would have happened if she had stayed. I would have done more than just kiss her breast, and it would have ended badly. She’s too smart and knows better than to put herself in a bad situation like that. You don’t mix love and work, that’s all. What if it’s not love? No… that option seems bad, too.
And what did the pastor think? Right now, I don’t give a damn what God thinks, but Pastor Paul has always been kind to the family and me. I should call and apologize… but then he would probably give me the whole “God” thing again, and I just can’t listen to it.
I pulled myself up in the morning and snuck away into my office. Surfed
the Internet for most of the day. Checked eBay for WWII memorabilia, then read the news on CNN and downloaded Kenny Chesney’s new album from iTunes. You’d think I would have listened to the new album, since I just paid $9.99 for it, but no. Instead, I listened to “I Go Back” over and over again… because I do; I go back every day… every day. To the argument… to her running out the door crying… telling myself that I wasn’t running after her… not this time. Forget it.
But what if I had…just one more time?
My phone rang around 10:30, and I let it ring until it went to voicemail.
When I checked the message, it was Pastor Paul calling to see if I was okay. I really just can’t talk to him right now, I told myself. I guess I just don’t know why.
Is it because I don’t want to hear about God? Or because I am too embarrassed? Or both? And maybe because I am afraid that he is telling me the truth.
My phone rang again around 11:00. I decided to answer this time, and it was Stephanie at the front desk. There was a problem with one of the guest’s reservations. Why was she calling me? They all used to come right into my office, without even knocking. They are so put off by me it has come to this: A phone call. So I went to the bathroom, washed my face and straightened myself up, and went to see what was going on.
A young blonde lady was with Stephanie at the desk. Stephanie was one of our interns from Rutgers business school—she was good with the guests and did a good job overall.
“Hello, my name is Sam and I am the owner of the inn. How can I help?”
The fantastically beautiful blonde woman looked at me and smiled. Wow, nice smile. Her green eyes sparkled as she tried not to look annoyed, but I could see a tension there. I had to make an effort not to stare at those deep green eyes. They grabbed me and seemed to not let go. I was afraid of getting lost in them.
“It seems my reservation is not in the computer. I made it online a few days ago. I even have my e-mail confirmation with me,”—she handed it to me—
“but the young lady here says I don’t have a reservation. I… I don’t know what to say, really, other than I made the reservation, it’s paid for, and I need somewhere to stay.” I read over her e-mail confirmation:
Emily Noble
Guests: 1
Dates: March 5 through March 10
Type: Jefferson
Status: Paid
Confirmation Number: 12012004J
“Miss Noble, everything does seem to be in order.” I stepped behind the counter and checked our reservation status for the weekend. “Let me just take a look at our computer.”
I noticed that the Jefferson was indeed reserved, but it didn’t have anyone’s name or confirmation number on it. This happened sometimes with our Internet registration system. I glanced at Emily; she looked like she was going to fall over and I needed to find somewhere for her to land.
“Here we are.” I handed her the keys to the Jefferson Suite, which was one of our finer suites in the inn. She must be a fairly well-to-do young lady to be staying here alone in that suite. No wedding ring, either. Is she someone’s lover, perhaps, stashed away for a long weekend? No matter, not my business. But sometimes it pleasantly helped pass the time to wonder… and there was something about her. Something that made me want to know.
“I’ll have one of our staff members help you with your bags, and I will send a complimentary Patriot Basket to your room to try and make up for the inconvenience.”
She smiled. “No, really, it’s not a problem. I just need my room, that’s all.”
“Not at all, and here is my card if you need anything while you are here, or even if you have questions or would like to make future reservations here at the Patriot Inn.”
Or if you wanted to go out sometime and spend a romantic evening by the fire, or perhaps a naked evening in a hot tub… that would be okay, too. At that moment, she looked at me and smiled. Almost like she heard my thoughts and was agreeing to the sordid affair I was playing out in my head.
Emily started towards her room, and I trudged back to surf the Internet some more… maybe even order that gin we needed for the bar. I checked the stock of Jack Daniels while I was at it—better drunk then sorry.
Listened to “I Go Back” some more… Hey, this writing thing is helping.
Yeah, maybe if I keep telling myself that, I won’t need Jack anymore. Oh, yeah, there he is… Come here, old buddy!
March 6th
Sandy and I purchased The Patriot Inn ten years ago, after my accident. I had been driving NASCAR for five years and had won quite a few races. I was a promising driver with my whole career in front of me. I was in second place in the points standing when I had the wreck that ended my career. It was a hot day in Indianapolis during the Brickyard 400. The heat had caused me to make a tire change earlier than I would have normally made one. I was running side by side with another car when my right front tire blew out. The investigation showed that the sidewall of the tire was faulty. It pulled me right into the wall, which spun me around and flipped the car. The car began to violently tumble end over end until it finally came to rest in the infield. I couldn’t move or feel anything. I thought I was dead. Lucky me, I had only damaged several vertebrae and was paralyzed.
Through several operations, a lot of rehab, and the love of a good woman,
I regained my ability to walk and almost 100% of my physical capacity before the accident. Except for driving. I can’t sit in a car for any length of time. My back begins to hurt, and I get sharp, excruciating pains shooting up my spine. The doctors say it’s all in my head. So is everything else, right?
The inn is in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey, conveniently located about two hours from New York City and Philadelphia. That line is right out of the brochure on the front desk. The inn isn’t on the beach—it’s three blocks away from both the beach and the Manasquan inlet. But from our Jefferson and
Washington Suites, you can see the ocean and the inlet. Guests can walk to the beach, the inlet, or into town to do some antiquing or eat at one of the many restaurants. We get a lot of guests from the city that love the quiet, beach atmosphere of the inn but still want the proximity to New York, Philadelphia, and
Atlantic City. I used to love it, too. Sandy and I would daytrip out to Atlantic City and spend the day walking along the boardwalk, grab dinner, and head back home. Those days were some of the best days of my life. We loved those times.
I don’t think I’ll ever go there again. I miss her so much.
Tyler and Caitlyn used to like to go to Philadelphia. We’d go to the art museum and or a Phillies game. Caitlyn wasn’t crazy about baseball and Tyler wasn’t into art, but they would compromise and spend half the day doing one and half doing the other without much complaining. After the game, we’d all head over to South Street and get ice cream and coffee. The kids loved looking through the stores and taking carriage rides around Headhouse Square. We had so much fun; they were good kids and loved to laugh and experience what the city had to offer. I wish we could do that again… just one more time. I miss them… I miss them a lot…They were good kids; I just wish I had been a good dad. I need a drink.
I retired to my office for my nightly ritual of listening to music and drinking with Jack. I was queuing up what I called my “Misery Mix” in iTunes and getting out my favorite drinking glass when the phone rang.
“Hello, Sam Sheperd.” “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd started up.
“Mr. Sheperd, this is Emily Noble in the Jefferson Suite. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met earlier.” Remember? I was picturing her in a sexy black lace nightgown right now.
“Well, hello, Miss Noble. How can I help you this evening?” Perhaps your shirt is stuck on, and you need some help biting it off?
“I’m having some trouble with the lights in my room, and I didn’t know who else to call. What can I do to get some help?”
“I’ll be right up to take a look…. Ummm,” I stumbled here, “Is it okay for me to come up now? I mean, are you, aaaa… Are you…?”
“Dressed?” She laughed, a light and comforting laugh. “Yes, I am. For now. I’d appreciate you coming up.” Was that a little phone flirting I heard?
“Okay, I’ll be right up, bye.” I didn’t even hear her say goodbye as my face flushed with embarrassment. Could I have sounded a little dumber?
I went up to the Jefferson Suite and knocked. Emily Noble opened the door, dressed in a stunning little black dress with black stockings on and no shoes. The outfit really enhanced her breasts and her backside very nicely, and I had a hard time not staring, especially as she looked at me. It was her eyes again—they penetrated me. Almost as if she knew every thought I was having, and her smile seemed to say, “I know I look fantastic in this dress. Go ahead, keep looking.”
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“The light switch in the bathroom stopped working, and I wanted to take a nice hot bath in your lovely claw-foot tub, but I can’t see anything.”
I tried it to confirm… switch on, no lights. I checked the bulbs and they looked fine, so I opened up the wall plate and noticed that the wires were loose.
Odd, but it was quickly fixed, and click… lights on.
“Oh, wonderful!” She smiled, and I think she even bounced a little. I noticed on the sitting area table and that the Patriot Basket, which consisted of
Asher’s Chocolates and a bottle of Chaddsford Winery Merlot, was untouched.
“Is the basket not to your liking, Miss Noble?”
“Oh, no, it’s lovely. I just haven’t had a chance…” She trailed off. “Just haven’t been… in the mood, I guess.” And her pretty face looked troubled for a moment, but as quickly as it came, the expression went away. Her lover not coming? Perhaps they broke it off. Business deal gone awry? There I go again… none of my business.
“And please, my name is Emily.”
“Alright, Emily. I’ll leave you to your bath. Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?” As quickly as it came out, I realized how it sounded. And the look on her face confirmed I’d misspoken. “I mean…”
Then she laughed. “I know what you meant, Mr. Shepard, and no, I’ll be okay… at least for tonight.” She smiled, and I walked to the door. As I closed it behind me, I said, “Please, it’s Sam. Goodnight, Emily.”
“Goodnight, Sam.”
March 8th
There are just those days and times… moments… evenings… weeks… that you just want to have back. I wish I had that night with Sandy back… I could have made a difference. I could have stopped her, grabbed her and screamed,
“NO! DON’T GO! YOU WON’T COME BACK!” Sometimes when I think that, I wonder if she was even going to come back anyway.
But, yesterday was just one of those days. It started out well enough… I woke up and had a little energy—that is to say, I wasn’t completely hung over. I went down to the lobby hoping to accidentally run into Emily, but she either wasn’t up yet or was already out. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday, after all.
Most people would want to be outside and enjoying it. I made my way into the pub to make myself an omelet, some coffee, and a glass of orange juice. Emily probably polished off that bottle of wine in her hot, steamy bubble bath… and I missed it.
Natalie was working the day shift. She always works the day shift on
Saturdays so she can host her Bible study group on Saturday nights. From what she tells me, it sounds like a good time—they even mix up a pitcher of margaritas. A strange combination, the Bible and margaritas, but who am I to judge? And in true form, I seem to have forgotten about her raise already, damn.
Note to self: Find money.
Natalie and I had a brief conversation about a problem with the lighting outside. I have always wanted to rip it all out and upgrade the whole outside lighting system with a state-of-the-art system that I can control from my office. One that looks like real torches and lanterns. I just never took the time. But several of the light fixtures were in a “state of disrepair” now, so it might become an issue that I need to handle sooner rather than later.
I headed outside to inspect the lights myself. I spent about an hour looking at all the lights and decided that it was finally time to replace the lighting.
I’d started back to my office when I noticed a lovely young blonde woman sitting
at the bar, chatting with Curtis. It was Emily, and she was laughing at something Curtis said. He did have quite a charm about him. Curtis had a gruff-looking face with blondish hair that he kept cropped very short. He wore glasses and a goatee but was always clean-shaven beyond that. The guests loved Curtis and he loved the guests. That was always a good combination. I came up behind Emily and lightly cleared my throat for attention.
“Mind if I join you?”
She looked up, smiling as if we were old friends and she’d been expecting me. “Oh, no. Please, Sam, have a seat. Curtis and I were just chatting, and I had just ordered myself a sandwich.” She swirled her drink, which looked to be a martini.
“Great! I’ll have one, too. Two of whatever Emily is having, Curtis.”
Curtis smiled a strange conspiratorial smile. “Yessiree, boss,” and he swaggered away to fetch up our orders.
“I think Curtis likes me,” Emily began. “You crushed his groove.”
“Oh? I can’t say as I’ve seen Curtis’ groove before—maybe I should have stood back and watched.” We both laughed and the image of Curtis hitting on her continued to amuse me.
“I’ll agree; you are quite enchanting, so I can see how he might give you a little extra attention. So, what’s a pretty lady like you doing at the bar like this in the middle of the day?”
She laughed lightly again. “Interesting choice of words, Sam. Really, I have nothing else to do. I came out here to relax, maybe have some fun and instead I find myself bored out of my mind. I work all week, sometimes six days a week. I take a few days every spring for myself to unwind, but I usually go to the Bahamas or Cozumel or somewhere touristy like that. This is the first year I just booked something, got in the car and left. I’m usually not alone…” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to stop herself. “I know I told you it was a few days ago, but to be honest, I just booked the reservation with you the day before, which is probably why it wasn’t in your system.”
“That is possible—it usually takes a couple of days for us to get all the information in our system.” Yeah, go for that small talk. Chicks love technical innkeeper stuff; it’s a real turn-on. I read that in a Playmate’s profile once.
“Oh, but listen to me. You really don’t care what I do. You’re just being the nice owner of the inn and listening to my rambling.” She sighed, and her eyes caught mine again.
“No, really, I saw you in here and came in to see how you were doing.
How did your bubble bath go? I trust you enjoyed the wine and chocolate and had no further lighting issues?” I asked, with a clear image of how the bubbles would sit on her perky breasts and the warm water would caress and outline the valley between them. I stopped smiling quickly, before it got too creepy.
“No… I mean, yes.” She stopped for a minute and continued thoughtfully.
“I mean the bubble bath was wonderful. The oils you have in the rooms are quite exquisite.” Sandy chose all the bath amenities. “And no, I have not yet enjoyed the wine and chocolates. It seems so… I don’t know… desperate to sit around and drink by yourself, don’t you think?”
I wasn’t really thinking of anything so much as imagining her rubbing oil down her firm calves and up the inner half of her supple thighs. Desperate? I somehow doubted this lovely young lady was desperate. I was desperate, but I wouldn’t sit around eating chocolate and drinking wine by myself. I have Jack to keep me company, and he doesn’t like chocolate.
“No, not at all. Having a nice glass of wine to help you relax and unwind, why not? That’s why you’re here.” Curtis came back with two tuna salad sandwiches… I hate tuna. And the smile on his face betrayed that not only did
Curtis knows that, but he enjoyed retaliating for my presumptuousness. I guess I just assumed she had ordered anything but the one thing we had that I did not like.
“Thank you, Curtis,” I said with a small sigh and a smile.
“Yes, thank you very much, Curtis,” Emily offered with a warm smile.
Curtis smiled and retreated with a quiet laugh, only stopping for a moment to give me a look of smug satisfaction. Emily and I ate our sandwiches and chatted a bit more. I learned that she is 27 and a lawyer in Center City with a medium-sized law firm. She got her law degree from University of Pennsylvania and loved the city so much that she decided to stay. She has a condo in Center City in the Benjamin Franklin House and loves being close to the theater and Chinatown. We chatted for a couple of hours, had a few drinks… she stuck with the martinis and I began my Jack ritual, but added some soda to it so I didn’t look like a complete lush.
Around 4, Natalie found me to let me know she was heading home to get ready for her guests. She frowned a bit when she heard Emily and I laughing, seemingly a bit intoxicated from our many cocktails.
“Sam, I’ll see you tonight, right?”
“Oh, yeah… of course. I’ll be there.”
I had completely forgotten that Natalie had invited me to her Bible study group a couple of days ago—her attempt at saving me from myself. Maybe she was leading me down the path of righteousness or something like that. I said I would go; I didn’t want to be rude or hurt her feelings. And heck, if they really had a pitcher of margaritas there, how bad could it be? But now, after my little run-in with Pastor Paul, I was a bit sheepish about going.
“What time was it again, Nat?”
“We start at 7 o’clock sharp.” She stared at me for a good ten seconds, and I smiled and nodded.
“Seven, Sam.”
“I got it, Nat, I got it.”
She left, but didn’t look terribly happy about our exchange.
Emily and I continued our drinking and chatting. We talked more about her career, how much she loved the beach and warm weather. I wondered if she was this open with everyone or if the martinis were prying her open a little bit. No matter—it was fun. And I still couldn’t put my finger on what it was that drew me to her. Besides her killer ass and fantastic rack, of course.
“Sam, don’t you have to go?” Emily pointed to the clock behind the bar. I hadn’t even noticed the other guests come in for dinner at six. It was now almost seven.
“Oh, yeah, crap…” I gathered myself quickly and began to leave. “Hey,
Emily, wanna come?”
“Come? With you? Umm… Where are we going?”
“Bible study—Natalie, my front desk manager, hosts one every Saturday night. I’ve never gone before and would love to have some company. Maybe even give me an excuse to bail, if I need one.”
“I don’t… I don’t think I should. It’s not really my thing.” All of a sudden, like a door, Emily was closed to me. Atheist, perhaps? Damn. I’d overstepped my bounds. Never mix religion and sexy breasts.
“I’m sorry, I was presumptuous, I just… I’m very sorry. I’ll see you later.
Enjoy your evening.” With that, I bolted out of the bar.
I didn’t see Emily’s reaction, but I did grab the bottle of Jack on my way
out of the office. Just what I needed: Some liquid fire for my belly… and head.
The good news was that Natalie’s apartment was only a 10-minute walk from the inn. The bad news was that I spent an hour polishing off that bottle of
Jack, and that 10-minute walk took almost another hour. It was almost 9 when I stumbled up to Natalie’s door and started banging. She opened the door, and her look of relief quickly dissipated into horror, then shock, then anger. She stepped outside and was so upset she could barely speak to me.
“I cannot believe it. You are two hours late, and drunk. I can’t introduce you to the group, it’s… it would be… embarrassing. What is wrong with you?
And why are you hitting on guests? Stay away from her, Sam—she’s bad news.”
I didn’t respond, and she just looked at me with a hard disdain.
“Please, go—just go home.”
With that, she turned around and shut the door without looking at me again.
“Screw you; I didn’t want to come to this stupid thing anyway…” Then I heard the door click… Had it not been shut? Did she hear that? Dammit. I turned back around to knock on the door and apologize but thought better of it. I would just make it worse.
I stumbled back to the inn but took a detour into the bar. Several guests stared as I made my way behind the bar, looking for Jack. He usually didn’t hide from me, but I was having a hard time finding him. Curtis came out.
“What are you doing?” he whispered. “Go to bed; you’re already loaded.”
Where the hell did he go?!
“Sam, seriously, get your skinny ass out of here before I have to haul it out myself.” Jack! I grabbed the bottle, then looked at Curtis. “Screw you. Leave me alone.”
I stumbled out of the bar into my office with my only buddy. Good ole
Jack. I didn’t even get through half the bottle before I passed out face down on my desk.
What a great day.
March 9th
In the morning, my memory was a little bit fuzzy, so I called Natalie into my office to tell her I was giving her a 10% raise because of how valuable she was to me and how I couldn’t run the inn without her. She just looked at me and quietly said, “Thank you, is that all?”
“Well, I guess so… I guess I was just expecting you to be a little more excited.”
“Excited? Are you kidding? You think that after last night, you giving me a raise could excite me? Sam, you need help. I invited you over last night to reach out to you and show you I was your friend that I care about you and… and that I…”
She stopped here and fiddled with her hands a bit.
“Sam, I am having a really difficult time just watching you drink yourself to death. Sandy, Tyler, and Caitlyn would never have wanted this to happen to you.
And I… I just can’t sit here and watch.”
“Natalie,” I began, “I know that our relationship is a bit deeper than just working together, but that is really none of your business. I appreciate your concern, but I will deal with my life and the loss of my family in any way I see fit.”
I might as well have punched her in the stomach. Her face went white with shock. I thought she was about to cry. She obviously couldn’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth… could I? None of her business? That simply was not true. I wanted her to care. I did.
“I… I don’t know how much longer I can work here like this. I understand your position. I can’t watch this happen to you. I’m sorry for intruding. If you need me, I’ll be at the front desk—for now. I’ll let you know what I decide to do.”
And she was gone before I could do or say anything. What an idiot. She was probably the best person in my life, and I might as well have run her down with my car and said, “Oh gee, sorry.” What an ass.
So I fired up the misery mix and poured myself a drink. And that’s what I did for the rest of the day…
Oh how I wish, how I wish you were here…
March 10th
I awoke suddenly at 3:10 and saw that it was still dark out. My head was pounding over and over, like the surf at high tide pounding on the shore… in and out, over and over. My eyes blurrily fixated on something in front of the window. What, who was that? It was a person… a woman… I rubbed my eyes and could only see the glare of the desk lamp shining on the window, which overlooked the back garden behind the inn. It was eerily quiet—I’d left the Misery Mix playing, but it had stopped. The only sound was a light wind against the window... and there was that feeling again. The one from the cemetery, but it seemed that obvious no one was here. Well, except for that person I just saw when I woke up, that person who is no longer here.
That’s when I saw it. At least, I think I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. There was something on the bookshelf, something that I don’t remember being there before. I looked over at the books on the shelf just below the window, my eyes rested upon a folded piece of paper. Had that been there before? I hadn’t cleaned my office in weeks, but there was never anything except books on that shelf. I picked up my head… slowly. My fixation with the mysterious paper helped to numb the pain in my head, but it was still there.
As I slowly got to my feet, I felt that the paper wasn’t the only thing different in my office, but I couldn’t place what else was wrong. I walked over to the bookshelf and stared at the paper. It seemed to mock me, to dare me to pick it up and open it. It beckoned me to read its contents and discover its mystery.
So I reached for the paper. It was a simple note, written in blue pen with familiar flowery handwriting:
You don’t know what happened.
You don’t understand. They need Help.
Only you can help.
My eyes scanned the entire office. I felt like someone was messing with me—what happened, where? What don’t I understand? What help? What was this note referring to? Who needed help? How did it get here? And why me? I didn’t know, but my head hurt and I didn’t know what to do at that moment.
Seems like I don’t know much. Was this a sign that I should stop drinking or start praying? Maybe turn to God for help? I wasn’t sure, but one shouldn’t make rash decisions under duress. So I reached for Jack and took a nice long gulp from the bottle.
Then I noticed the door to my office was slightly open. I was sure that
Natalie closed it on her way out, but here it was, open. Who came in here? Who wrote me this note, and what did it all mean? I thought I recognized the handwriting. It looked a lot like Sandy’s handwriting, but that was impossible. All of this was making my head hurt even more. Was it time to start praying?
Maybe I should give Pastor Paul a call.
I put the note in my pocket and opened the office door further. I made my way out to the lobby to find Natalie at the front desk. She looked at me; at first it was more of a glare, but she quickly softened when she saw the panicked expression on my face.
“Sam, what’s wrong?”
I stared at her for a long moment, regaining a bit of composure.
“Were you in my office? While I was sleeping, did you come in my office?”
“Sleeping?” I could see the look of disbelief on her face. “No, after our”— she stumbled just a little—“meeting, I went home and then came back in to do my night shift at 10 as usual on Sundays. Why?”
“Did you see anyone come into my office?” I noted that my tone of voice was a little on the harsh side, and I should probably soften it up. I’m not mad at
Natalie—I think.
“No, Sam. What is going on? You’re acting strange, even for you.” Real nice, but true; it’s just great when people know you better than you know yourself.
“Nothing. I… just… someone came in my office and moved something while I was asleep, that’s all. It’s nothing. I guess.”
And what the hell did that mean? Even for you? As I turned to go to bed,
I could feel Natalie’s stare on my back. Her pity, her condescension… At that moment, I hated her for it.
On the way to my cottage, I decided to take a walk around, just to make sure everything was okay around the inn. Okay, so that wasn’t the true reason. I just needed to walk and think. As I made my way around the inn, I began to wonder what I was doing. What was I going to do? How long could I go on this way? Nothing was making sense; I couldn’t even think of anything I wanted anymore. I stopped and looked out a window. My head didn’t hurt quite as much as it had earlier. I rubbed face in my hands and then scratched my head.
“Time for bed, old man,” I murmured to myself.
That’s when I heard it, though I think I felt it as much as I heard it. It was soft, so soft it was barely audible. It was coming from down the hall. Crying… A woman was crying. I followed the muffled sounds of tears to the Jefferson Suite.
Emily was upset, and at 4 in the morning? Before I could think about what I was doing, I was knocking on the door.
“Emily, is everything alright? It’s Sam.”
The crying stopped. And there was only silence for what seemed like the longest time.
“Listen, if you need anything please, just…” and the door opened. Emily stood there, looking absolutely beautiful. She had on a powder-blue cashmere sweater that enhanced her emerald-green eyes and a dark blue skirt with no stockings. I barely even noticed that her eyes were swollen with tears. I just stared into them for a long moment. They had a hold on me again. She sniffled, and it brought me back.
“Why are you”—sniffle—“here?”—sniffle.
“I… I was just, well… to be honest, I was having a difficult night and decided to take a walk around the place before heading off to catch a couple of hours of sleep.”
Honest? Yeah, that’s what that was.
“And I heard you crying. I was concerned—is everything okay?”
What a stupid question. A pretty woman is crying and I’m asking her if everything is okay. She should just slam the door in my face for asking stupid questions. Instead, she stifled a cry and just shook her head.
“No,” she whimpered and suppressed another cry. I wanted to hold her, to pretend that I could make whatever was wrong right again.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-34 show above.)