Distant Shores

FIFTEEN

After only a few days at the beach, Elizabeth felt rejuvenated. She slept late, until almost eight-thirty, when the cawing of the shorebirds invariably wakened her; then she made herself a cup of decaf tea, had a bowl of granola, and went outside.

The days had been gloriously sunny, the kind of crisp, winter days that invariably drew tourists to the Oregon coast. Shed spent hours walking up and down the beach, just plain breathing. That simple gift had been granted her again from the moment she first saw the sea.

She spent the barest minimum time on chores and errands. Shed reinstated mail service and arranged for the furniture to be redelivered, and shed purchased enough heat-and-eat dinners to last a week. That was it. No contacting friends, no checking on the multitude of volunteer activities that used to munch through so much of her time, no cleaning or cooking

. Definitely no To Do lists. Shed even put off scheduling the telephone reinstallation and kept her cell phone turned off.

Instead, she walked on the beach. Her beach. It had been there for the two years she and Jack had lived here, just twenty-six steps below her patch of land, and yet, except for that one night with the orcas, shed never gone down there. The stairs had frightened her, as had the tides. On the first day theyd visited the property, Jack had cautioned her against using the stairs--too rickety, hed said--and the tides. I grew up near the beach, remember? A big wave can come up out of nowhere and pull a full-grown man out to sea.

But it was fear that had swept Elizabeth out to sea and left her drowning. No more. Now she tramped up and down the steps like a local and kept a portable tide chart in her back pocket. In her walks, shed come to know every inch of Echo Beach. Shed found "her" rock, a flat, gray stone, rubbed to velvet softness by the tides. Sometimes, shed sit there for an hour or more, just staring out to sea.

Shed begun to dream again. Not ethereal visions that came and went with sleep, but real hopes and aspirations. Although she hadnt found the courage to try painting, shed dug through her belongings and found an old sketchbook and a worn-down bit of charcoal. Shed discovered that her fingers worked better in the sea air; the stiffness that had plagued her for years had gone. Drawing, came--not easily yet, not like it once had, but it came. After all the sagging middle years, simply picking up a piece of charcoal felt like a triumph.

This new life of hers held a freedom shed never known before. She went to bed when she felt like it, got up when she wanted, and spent the entire day doing whatever popped into her head.

Yesterday shed gone to town early and walked from store to store. She hadnt even brought a purse with her. Shopping wasnt the point. Seeing was the point. She couldnt remember the last time shed done that, simply experienced town. After a while shed felt almost like an alien, noticing peoples faces . . . their mannerisms . . . the easy way a child smiled when the ice cream shop opened its doors for business. The tourist shops were full of beautiful art and crafts; she hadnt known that. As a local, shed bypassed the trendy shops and blown through the others in a rush, clutching a To Do list. Shed missed so much.

And yet, throughout it all, Jack was never far from her thoughts.

By her calculations, hed received her letter yesterday. That was why she hadnt reconnected the phone; she didnt want to talk to him yet. Hed always had an ability to erode any position shed taken until it--and she--crumpled beneath the weight of what he wanted.

She looked down at her sketch pad, wondering what to draw this morning. Inspiration was everywhere.

She saw a blue jay perched on a broken, leafless branch. The deep jeweltones of its wings were a stark, beautiful contrast to the weather-grayed bark.

The colors jumped out at her; it felt suddenly as if a veil had been lifted, one she didnt even remember donning, and now she saw the world in all its vibrancy, instead of the pale, shadowed version shed come to expect. The gray-white sky . . . the concrete-colored sand . . . the evergreens . . . the ocher cliffs . . . the white-tipped curl of the waves.

For the first time in years, she needed to paint.

The first raindrop hit her forehead. It landed with a cold splat and squiggled down her cheek.

She opened her eyes and saw that clouds had rolled in. The sky was charcoal gray now, underscored in strands of ominous black.

She flipped up her hood, shoved all her supplies into the canvas bag at her feet, and ran for home.

By the time she reached the stairs, it wasnt just raining. It was raging. Wind swept up the jagged cliff and slapped her backside.

She raced across the squishy carpet of lawn. Gigantic shrubs shivered in the wind and clattered against one another. Leaves, black and dead, swirled in the violent air, smacking wetly against her shins.

Wiping her eyes, she ran the last few steps to the house and ducked under the eaves. Her hands were freezing cold as she opened the door, went inside, and slammed the door shut behind her. Wind rattled the windowpanes and clattered across the shake roof.

She flicked the switch by the door, and the light came on.

Just then lightning flashed in the window. Somewhere close by a tree cracked open and crashed to the ground.

The lights went out.

For a split second, she panicked. Jack always took care of the house during a storm. He found the flashlights and lit the candles and started the fire. Elizabeth didnt even know if there were any candles handy, or if they were all in boxes somewhere. . . .

What if she went looking for them and fell through that rotten place in the floorboards by the guest bathroom?

Woman found stuck in broken floorboards; dead for days before body discovered.

She took a deep breath. "Okay. First things first. You need to start a fire and find some candles. "

She focused on those two tasks, feeling her way through the house, slowly. Without the furniture, there was nothing to hang on to. Just outside the back door, she found a stack of firewood. Thank God Jack took care of things like this.