Chapter 5
five
. . .
SUMMER
“You, arrested for public indecency. That would’ve been iconic,” Darcy says with a wicked grin, snapping her gum as she punches in her table’s order.
The Salty Pirate Café is filled with its lunch crowd. The small wood building painted in a tranquil sea-blue is located on the boardwalk just feet from Emerald Beach. It’s a good five miles down the beach from the Coral Cove Beach a Covey finds you.”
“That’s your advice?” He sits back in his chair, clearly annoyed to have gained no information.
I point to the map. “Maybe near the library? One hasn’t been found in that area yet.”
Jason perks up. “Yeah? Okay. We’ll check it out.”
“Enjoy your meal,” I say, before following Darcy back inside the restaurant.
“It’s fun to mess with them,” she says.
“Yeah, I know.”
While Darcy heads toward the kitchen, I turn down the hallway to the restroom.
Inside, I fix my ponytail, then wash my hands, making sure to scrub off the paint on my arm, before I head back to work.
“Fish biting today, Cal?” I ask, kicking back on my skateboard to come to a stop in front of the elderly fisherman.
“No luck.” He shakes his head, then repositions his beat-up green hat on his head. “My bait’s dried out.”
“Sorry about that.” I reach in my backpack and pull out a brown bag. “Today’s special is a shrimp po’boy with coleslaw and pickle chips. And I even threw in one of those blondies you like.”
His eyes light up with appreciation. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I say, as Paulie, one of my afternoon dogs, noses at his elbow. “But I wanted to.”
Cal gives Paulie a scratch behind the ears and her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth. Pearl and Mattie weave between my legs while Sunny sniffs at Cal’s tackle box.
“You’ve got good company today.”
“They put up with me for the snacks,” I say with a shrug, as I reach for my backpack.
Cal chuckles, then adds. “Well, so do I.”
I smile, untangling the dogs’ leashes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He gives me a wave, as I drop my skateboard onto the dock and pedal to get started.
“Summer,” Deb, one of the town’s security officers, calls, “no wheels on the dock.”
“Come on, Deb. Make an exception for Cal’s meals on wheels,” I call as I fly by with the dogs running along beside me.
She gives me a stern look, but waves me on.
Once I’ve dropped the dogs at their homes, I turn left at Nude Food, Coral Cove’s organic and waste-free market, and make my way down Ocean Breeze Avenue toward the library.
Before I pull the canvas out of my bag, I glance around to make sure no one is around, then unlatch the closure and slide it out before placing it on the window ledge of the library, under the water-resistant awning in case it rains.
Recalling the wave of panic that the couples’ inquiry at the café today had brought on had me questioning everything.
The anonymous paintings had been a way for me to take back my art. To pour the passion I have for painting into something fun that didn’t require me to be seen. But now that the paintings have become something, the notoriety of what the townspeople and visitors have dubbed Coveys, that old feeling is starting to emerge again. That I’ll be found out and everything will be taken away.
I’m a grown woman now.
I am in control of my passions and joy.
No one can take that away.
I stand back and take in my work.
I’d passed the beach bungalow on Hanover Way a few days after I’d arrived in Coral Cove. I’d taken Edgar on a morning walk and I’d gotten lost when I’d stumbled upon the quaint gray bungalow with the yellow door. Although the beach house could use some love, and another artist might make adjustments to the reality of it, I’d captured it as it stood. Unruly grasses blocking part of the large front windows. Rugged wooden path in need of repair, and a picket fence with a missing section in front. It’s one of my best pieces. As I reach to set it on the bench beneath the overhang, I hesitate, the ache in my chest making it difficult to part with it.
There will be others.
In three months since I moved to Coral Cove, I’ve left nearly twenty pieces around the small coastal town. Walking the dogs has gotten me familiar with the town and people’s comings and goings. On our morning walks, I’ll usually scope out a place I think would be good to leave the next painting, then later, after my shift at the café, when dusk has softened the shadows, I’ll leave it for someone to find and hopefully bring joy to their space.
The aspect of sharing my art in this anonymous way has been thrilling. There’s no pressure, no face behind the art, just joy, and that’s all I want.
I take one more glance at the beach house painting, then hitch my canvas backpack over my shoulder and head for home.