Chapter 2 #2
“I wasn’t either. This whole day has been gross.” She lifts her gaze to mine and smiles softly. “Except for this part with you.”
In the six months I’ve been trying to get closer to her, this is the most encouragement Fran’s given me. It’s time to shoot my shot.
“You wanna find somewhere quieter to go?” I hold out my hand.
Her gaze darts to it, then back to my eyes. She nods, my chest threatens to explode, but then she shakes her head. “I can’t leave Flo without any help besides Pearl.”
I don’t drop my hand, just take a careful step closer. “She’ll call in back up. She probably already has.”
Fran inches forward. “You’ve got work. I don’t want to wreck your whole day.”
I scoff. Suddenly, the thought of spending time with her outside the diner feels like the only thing on my schedule today. I take the hand hanging at her side—the one she’s fighting not to take mine with.
“You’re not wrecking anything. Let’s get out of here.” I open the office door and lead her out. I hold her hand loosely. She follows willingly.
Flo raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything when we walk out the back door of Flamingo’s.
I instinctively tuck Fran under my arm, keeping an eye out for anyone wanting more pictures or videos of her while I lead her to my truck.
She climbs in, and I grab my sunglasses hanging from the visor and hand them to her.
She slips them on and slides down in her seat, letting her curly hair curtain her face.
Once we’re past Flamingo’s and off the main road, she sits up straighter. “Are you going to ask me why that woman took my picture?”
I glance at her. Even behind her sunglasses I sense she’s daring me to try to pull her secrets from her. “Google gave me some ideas, but I do have one question I’m hoping you can answer yourself.”
“Alright…shoot.” She sucks in her breath.
“Should I tell Junie to call you Fran or Frankie?”
She exhales on a relieved laugh. “Frankie,”
“What about me? Can I call you Frankie too?” I blurt.
“That’s more than one question.” Her lip quirks. “But, yeah, call me Frankie. It’s the only name that’s ever felt like me.”
“Frankie.” I let the sound roll around in my mouth and my head until it mentally connects with the woman who’s made me laugh nearly every morning since I came back to Serenity. Whether she knows it or not, that’s exactly what I’ve needed—to laugh again. “I like it. It feels right.”
“Good on ya. Glad my name gets your official seal of approval,” she teases in her usual dry tone, but her eyes simmer with a shade of green I haven’t noticed before.
The truth is, there’s a lot more I’d like to know about the woman sitting next to me than I’ve gleaned from our morning conversations and from Google.
Things I wanted to ask her the first time I saw her and that I’ve held back asking every morning since.
With permission to call her by her real name, my chest swells with the same satisfaction I get when I’ve solved a complex problem.
I’ve filled in an essential part to the million-piece puzzle that is Fran McVey/Frankie Forsythe.
“Now, Frankie, where to?”
Her teasing grin smooths into a soft smile.
I press the gas and roll through the green light—the last one before we’re on the outskirts of town.
In another half mile we’ll be at the crossroads: the 405 Freeway leading north to San Francisco or south to Los Angeles or the canyon road leading west to Serenity Cove.
I know just enough about Frankie’s past to have an idea what she’ll choose.
“The cove,” she says.
My lip tugs. I was right.
I turn toward the ocean, and Fran—Frankie—sits a little taller. A little looser. She’s still wound tight, but the closer we get to the cove, the more her shoulders drop away from her ears.
Except, when we reach the actual cove that gives Serenity Cove its name, cars jam the road and parking spaces are scarce. That was never a problem before. Sanctuary changed all that. A lot changed while I was in Wyoming.
Sure, there are more official parking spots—all metered—since the last time I was here four or five years ago. But there are more visitors too, making it almost impossible to find a spot on the beach locals once had to themselves.
Strangers carry beach bags and chairs stamped with the Sanctuary logo down the newly constructed path leading from the hotel to the once quiet cove.
Most people would call the safer path an improvement, but I miss the sandy one that wound through vegetation and required the tenacity and courage of a dumb teenager to navigate.
I stop to let a Dad with a wagon full of beach toys and a toddler cross the street to the path. “I hate that so many people know about this place now. Wasn’t like this when I left for Wyoming.”
Frankie shifts in her seat, sinking low and tucking her chin into her chest. “Did you like it there? In Wyoming? Flo said that’s where you trained to be a vet.”
My eyes drift to hers, and I wonder how I came up in conversation with my Aunt.
Did Frankie ask about me? “I liked it, but I never planned to stay. I was only there as long as I was because I met Kayla…my wife.” I lick my lips.
I'm never sure how to say the next part.
“She passed a little over three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Frankie nods, like she already knows. “Must have been hard, taking care of Junie by yourself.”
“My sister Cassidy moved out there to help,” I say lightly. Like those years weren’t the hardest of my life.
I inch down the street in a long line of cars looking for somewhere to park. Quiet settles between Frankie and me. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either.
“Did you surf here as a kid?” She cracks the window, takes a deep breath, but stays low in her seat.
“Tried a few times. I can get up, but I was always too busy on the ranch to really learn.” Salty air reaches my nose, and I breathe it in the way Frankie did. It’s been a while since I’ve smelled the ocean up close. I didn’t realize I’d missed the smell of it.
I make a U-turn to try to find a parking spot again. “What about you? I know you used to surf some, but have you surfed here much?”
She shoots me a quizzical look before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’ve done a fair bit of surfing. I prefer the break on the other side of the cove. Better action over there.”
I look at her, feeling the same surprise she just showed me. “Too much action for me. You must be pretty good.”
Frankie huffs a laugh. “You could say that. Guess Google didn’t feed you anything about my pro-surfer era, yeah?”
My head whips to her. “Really? Pro? I had no idea.”
Her mouth stretches wide. “You’re joking! Start there, then, when you google me later, skip all the bad stuff and go straight to my surf comps.”
“What makes you think I’m going to google you later? If I want to know anything about Frankie Forsythe, I’ll go straight to the source. I’ve got connections.” I wink, then turn my eyes back to the road.
“Seriously, Cal. You obviously knew who I was before today. Don’t pretend you don’t know everything the internet thinks it knows about me. At least give me a chance to set the record straight.” There’s a forced lightness to her voice that doesn’t cover the challenge in her words.
“My mom filled me in on a little bit of who you really are the first time I mentioned you, but I followed her advice to let you tell me the rest of your story yourself. Today was the first time I googled you, and I didn’t dive deep enough to learn much more than I already knew.”
I slow to a stop behind a car waiting for a parking spot then glance at Frankie who’s gone quiet.
“That’s the nicest thing I think anyone’s ever done for me, Cal…Thank you.”
The look on her face is new to me. The only way to describe it is as unmasked. The Fran I thought I knew was an act. At last, I’m getting a peek at the person I’ve been searching for. And that person is Frankie.
I shrug like it hasn’t taken a Herculean effort after leaving Flamingo’s every morning not to find out more about her. “I want to know you, not someone else’s version of who you are.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I’m trying to get to know that Frankie, too.”
I smile. “So far, I like who she is.”
Frankie smiles back, and we settle into a comfortable quiet that pulses with electricity as I navigate around the point.
Serenity Cove is protected from the stronger winds that make the waves on the other side of the point better for pro surfers.
Beginners like me stick to longboards and the gentle waves inside the cove.
Pros prefer the waves outside of it. But because the waves are bigger, it’s sometimes quieter on that side.
Used to be only experienced locals and the occasional pro surfer who knew about the better break, but they kept quiet about it. Then someone put it on social media, and that was the beginning of the end of any serenity at Serenity Cove.
I catch Frankie’s frown as the surfer-packed break comes into sight.
“There’s a spot.” She points to a tiny area between two cars where the curb is painted red.
“It’s not legal.”
“Just for a minute?” She turns to me with pleading eyes that are impossible to say no to.
I park my truck—in the loosest sense of the word—and we climb out.
“Do you surf here often?” I ask her as we stop on a grassy bluff with a view below.
Frankie keeps her gaze pinned on the surfers, her body swaying in motion with the person riding the wave. “I used to, but I haven’t in a few years.”
“Why not?”
She glances at me, then lets out a long breath.
“Because this…” She sweeps her arm toward the water and the cove we’ve left behind. “Is my fault.”
I study her. “The ocean?”
Frankie scoffs. “No. The people who crowd it because of my viral Tik Tok and everything else I did.” She glances at me, and her face twists with unbelief. “You know about all of it, yeah?”
I shake my head.
She scoffs again. “You’re the only one then. Do me a favor and forget I mentioned it, yeah?”
“What were we talking about?” I put on a confused look that brings a relieved smile to Frankie’s face.
My phone buzzes, and as much as I hate to interrupt the moment, I check the number. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.” I turn my shoulder to Frankie. “Everything okay, Hank?”
“I think we need your help here, Cal. Jasmine’s in labor and things aren’t going well.”
“On my way.” I end the call and shove the phone in my pocket. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got an emergency,” I say to Frankie.
She tears her eyes from the surfers. “Oh…that’s fine. You can drop me off back at the diner. Flo probably needs me.”
I pull off my hat and scratch my head, calculating the right thing to do. “I don’t have that kind of time. I’ve got an animal in crisis.”
Frankie’s eyes widen. “You should go then. I can find a ride back to the diner or my apartment.”
That’s not true. Everyone at the diner likes Frankie. They’re protective of her. But, as far as I'm aware, she doesn’t see anyone outside the diner. I’m probably the closest thing she’s got to a friend, and I’ve only been back six months. She’s been here three years.
“Or…” I shift my feet and take a chance. “You can come along and learn the difference between wrangling a large animal and a three-year-old.”
Frankie’s perfect lips pull up. “I bet the animal is easier.”
“Damn right it is.” With my hand on her back, I guide her to my truck.
She laughs and hoists herself into the passenger seat.
As soon as we’re both buckled in, I kick into high gear.
I speed up and pass cars trolling for parking spaces, then swerve back into my lane to avoid a head-on with oncoming traffic.
Frankie grabs the dash and keeps hold of it while I navigate in and out of lanes until I get to the freeway.
“Are you trying to kill me, Cal?” Frankie squeals.
I scoff but take my foot of the gas. “Every second counts with a mare in distress.”
As I slow, she drops her hands onto her lap, but her shoulders still pull tight. “Just in case we die, I feel like I should explain why the tourists here are my fault. Truth is…there’s heaps you should know about me.”
I take my eyes off the empty road to really look at Frankie. She keeps her eyes straight ahead. Her breaths are short and shallow. Skittish.
I tsk. “I don’t mind a little mystery in my life. Why don’t we wait until neither one of us are in the middle of an emergency to tell each other our deepest darkest secrets?”
Frankie meets my gaze with a wry smile. “No idea what you’re hiding, but my darkest secret is that this is my real hair color.” She points to the curls she’s been hiding under a blonde wig and her Flamingo’s hat.
I shrug, letting out my own grin. “My darkest secret is that I think you’re pretty cool no matter what name you go by or whether you’re blonde or…” I glance at her hair. “Sorrel.”
Her brows lift. “Sorrel?”
“Reddish-brown,” I say. “Horse term. Sorry. I was looking at your hair and that’s the word that came to mind.”
“Instead of auburn?” She blinks hard.
“Right.” I huff out a laugh. “I forgot the people word. Sorrel’s what we’d call it on a horse.”
Frankie bursts into a loud, snorting laugh I’ve never heard from her before. It fills the cab of my truck without any of the teasing or gentle sarcasm I’m used to from her.
“For the record, I’m partial to sorrels.”
She laughs again, and I’m already addicted to the sound. “I’ll bet you’ve broken heaps of hearts with lines like that, Cal Holloway.”
“Heaps.” I grin.
“Is that how you won your wife’s heart? Comparing her to a horse?” Frankie makes a nervous breathy sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and nervousness.
“Something like that.” I turn my focus back on the road, but my mind won’t let go of Frankie’s question.
My family and friends don’t talk about Kayla. Probably because I never do either. It was no secret things weren’t great between us when the car wreck happened. Maybe everyone, including me, is afraid to reopen old wounds.
So, I’m surprised that Frankie’s question didn’t hurt. In fact, just like when she cracked open the truck’s window at the Cove, she’s let in air I’ve missed breathing.
I don’t think I’m ready to talk about my wife yet, but I like that Frankie asked about Kayla. I like that she cushioned her question in the joking way we’re both comfortable with.
In vet talk, the best way to earn a skittish animal's trust is to turn your back to it, even at the risk of the animal biting or bolting. You let it approach first.
I think Frankie just took a first step toward trusting me.
Or maybe it’s the other way around.