Читать книгу Secrets At the Cove - Honey Perkel - Страница 16

July was the peak season for my beloved Seaside. The town was hopping with thousands of tourists. Hotels and motels were filled to capacity. Shops and restaurants were doing a booming business along busy Broadway and everywhere else around the town. The miles of beach were crowded with sun-worshippers, and people flying kites. Nets were set up for volleyball. All were enjoying the bright hot sun, and the cold Pacific Ocean. And the summer evenings — my eyes teared up with the beauty of God’s own sunsets.

But under the perfect blue waters, dangers lurked at the cove. Sadness lingered in the hearts of those I loved, and in my own heart as well. Those who I held most dear were in trouble, fighting for their lives, and I couldn’t help them. Within each of them was the desire to be free. To release themselves of the strain of living secretive lives. But, each of them was afraid. The fences they’d built around themselves in a fortress called Life, remained tall and strong.

Twilight settled over the town. The sky was afire in hues of deep purples and mauves, as the sun lowered into the sea. Like some masterful painting. At the far end of the south prom, Annie Rose’s restaurant was packed on this Friday night. The small and elegant dining room was awash with romance and warmth. Candlelight flickered and glowed at each table, and the air was rich with the scent of red roses and good food, the room a soft hum of conversation.

Like a protective mother hen, my lovely Caroline flitted from station to station, making sure her guests were comfortable and duly fed. Marcia seated many regulars as well as vacationing tourists. It was a typical, busy Friday night.

Caroline’s job and those of her employees were not to question or judge the private lives of their customers. Not to their faces, though they couldn’t help but talk among themselves. For there sat Evan Fiedler on this Friday night with his lovely wife, Joanna. Did she even suspect that her husband was meeting another woman here on Wednesday nights?

At the end of the bar, sat Miss Lonely Heart, Sylvia. Bruce had only been able to get her first name late one evening after she had put away two martinis. She was a diminutive form, young, always dressed in black, who often came and sat alone, nursing her cocktails throughout the evening. One after another. She spoke to no one, merely stared at herself in the large gilded mirror behind the bar. A forlorn figure.

Caroline smiled at the woman whenever she arrived at Annie Rose’s, but chose not to approach her. And even the briefest conversation was out of the question. Caroline made sure she knew the needs of her patrons, no matter how important or mundane they may be. Nor did I ever interfere at times like this. It was none of my business, though Sylvia No-Last-Name certainly had my sympathy.

Bruce was home from Medical School for the weekend, and was tending bar tonight. He smiled, and blew my sweet Caroline a kiss as she moved past him. I laughed as she grabbed it playfully as though it were something tangible, and patted it onto her cheek. Those two always made me laugh.