her mountain of debt. Whether or not she managed to turn the inn into a thriving business, she had succeeded in something even more important. She had moved to the ocean to build a home and a new life for herself and her son. The thought of sharing the process with him gave her a sense of optimism she hadn’t felt since she had forced a reluctant Pam to paint for her. She had spent her life acquiescing to everyone else’s choices and needs. Now she was finally making her own path and discovering other people were willing to join her. For a brief moment she didn’t feel so alone.
“Golden Moon for dinner?” she asked as they climbed in the salt-stained Honda. “There isn’t a single good Chinese restaurant in Cannon Beach.”
❖
Mel finally pulled into her driveway and grabbed her overnight bag off the backseat. She ran to the front door and slammed herself inside with a sigh of relief. Her shoulders ached from the effort of driving through the storm on poorly lit roads, and her heart ached after saying good-bye to Danny again. She had felt certain about her decisions while talking to Danny, confident as she explained her work on the house. But driving through the dark night and returning to the dark house made her question this move yet again. Was it worth all the effort for this lonely life?
Mel dropped her bag in the foyer, a habit she was going to need to break before guests arrived. She moved through the house, reacquainting herself with rooms that were slowly growing familiar and flipping on every switch so she could at least fill the inn with light. A snack might help, so she went into the kitchen to microwave whatever happened to be in the freezer but stopped when she saw the light blinking on her answering machine. She pressed the button, and Pam’s voice filled the room, dispelling the shadows better than the lights had done. She was calling about the painting, nothing more personal, but the growing sadness Mel had been feeling since leaving Salem tonight was eased by the sound of a friend’s voice—her only real connection to her new town. And a new painting. Another splash of color to help chase away the dinginess of the old house.
She should have been disappointed because the call wasn’t from a potential guest, someone to help chase away some of Mel’s debt, a check to deposit rather than one to write for the painting. But Mel needed the contact, the friendship—no matter how casual—more than she needed the money.
She was listening to the message for a second time, focused more on the husky timbre of Pam’s voice than on her words, when the power went out. Mel gave a squeak of surprise as Pam’s voice cut off and the inn was plunged into darkness and silence. Silence, except for the wind gusting against the windows, the scrape of tree branches against the side of the house, and a flapping sound overhead that must be coming from a loose shingle.
At least she hoped it was a loose shingle. Her masochistic mind started replaying every horror movie she had ever seen as she went in search of a flashlight. Deranged dolls with chain saws and bloody ax murderers might be dancing around on her roof. She had been in the house alone all week, but never without the weak glow of the streetlights and the lamp or two she always left on in case she needed to get up during the night. Now the utter, isolating blackness made her feel cut off from even the glimmer of connection she had felt while listening to Pam’s message. She focused on practical matters.
Of course she should have anticipated rough coastal weather. Pam had even warned her about an approaching storm. She should have flashlights in every room, candles, matches, extra blankets. Her list of supplies to help her weather the next storm grew, but even the promise that she would be more prepared for emergencies in the future couldn’t save her from two bruised shins and a string of swear words.
She pawed through four still-unpacked boxes
“Golden Moon for dinner?” she asked as they climbed in the salt-stained Honda. “There isn’t a single good Chinese restaurant in Cannon Beach.”
❖
Mel finally pulled into her driveway and grabbed her overnight bag off the backseat. She ran to the front door and slammed herself inside with a sigh of relief. Her shoulders ached from the effort of driving through the storm on poorly lit roads, and her heart ached after saying good-bye to Danny again. She had felt certain about her decisions while talking to Danny, confident as she explained her work on the house. But driving through the dark night and returning to the dark house made her question this move yet again. Was it worth all the effort for this lonely life?
Mel dropped her bag in the foyer, a habit she was going to need to break before guests arrived. She moved through the house, reacquainting herself with rooms that were slowly growing familiar and flipping on every switch so she could at least fill the inn with light. A snack might help, so she went into the kitchen to microwave whatever happened to be in the freezer but stopped when she saw the light blinking on her answering machine. She pressed the button, and Pam’s voice filled the room, dispelling the shadows better than the lights had done. She was calling about the painting, nothing more personal, but the growing sadness Mel had been feeling since leaving Salem tonight was eased by the sound of a friend’s voice—her only real connection to her new town. And a new painting. Another splash of color to help chase away the dinginess of the old house.
She should have been disappointed because the call wasn’t from a potential guest, someone to help chase away some of Mel’s debt, a check to deposit rather than one to write for the painting. But Mel needed the contact, the friendship—no matter how casual—more than she needed the money.
She was listening to the message for a second time, focused more on the husky timbre of Pam’s voice than on her words, when the power went out. Mel gave a squeak of surprise as Pam’s voice cut off and the inn was plunged into darkness and silence. Silence, except for the wind gusting against the windows, the scrape of tree branches against the side of the house, and a flapping sound overhead that must be coming from a loose shingle.
At least she hoped it was a loose shingle. Her masochistic mind started replaying every horror movie she had ever seen as she went in search of a flashlight. Deranged dolls with chain saws and bloody ax murderers might be dancing around on her roof. She had been in the house alone all week, but never without the weak glow of the streetlights and the lamp or two she always left on in case she needed to get up during the night. Now the utter, isolating blackness made her feel cut off from even the glimmer of connection she had felt while listening to Pam’s message. She focused on practical matters.
Of course she should have anticipated rough coastal weather. Pam had even warned her about an approaching storm. She should have flashlights in every room, candles, matches, extra blankets. Her list of supplies to help her weather the next storm grew, but even the promise that she would be more prepared for emergencies in the future couldn’t save her from two bruised shins and a string of swear words.
She pawed through four still-unpacked boxes
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