Chapter 6
FROM HER TABLE IN THE back corner of the Green Bean, Barb sips her latte and observes the busy coffee shop.
Located at the north end of Main Street, the Green Bean is the town’s newest addition, and Seaside residents had mixed reactions when it first opened.
The old-timers resented the confusing craft coffee menu, which was handwritten on a chalkboard (I just want a regular coffee with half-and-half, is that so goddamned hard?), but the younger residents loved the in-house roasted beans and the live acoustic music every weekend.
The new coffee shop signifies that Seaside is finally evolving into something better than what it used to be.
Mind you, the unidentified body found at Legacy Sands suggests otherwise.
The police still haven’t released a name and will only confirm that the investigation is “ongoing” while they explore “several leads.” This thinly veiled attempt at covering up what might well be a murder doesn’t surprise Barb at all.
Whenever Seaside’s survival is threatened, the truth takes a backseat. The town never forgets its priorities.
As she overheard someone say while waiting for the barista to finish her perfectly pretentious oat milk cappuccino with a shot of caramel, extra hot, extra foam: Seaside’s gonna Seaside.
Her phone pings with a text from Greg, requesting an update on the Wonderland profile.
How’s the puff piece coming?
Waist deep in it.
Barb types back, which is a total lie because she’s only written four sentences so far. She’s been working on something for her side gig instead, which actually pays better than the Chronicle.
I’ll get it to you by midnight.
No bueno. Need 1,000 words plus photos by 8 pm for the print edition tomorrow.
A thousand words? As much as she likes seeing her byline in print, writing a piece that long celebrating the future of the amusement park—and, by extension, Seaside—with no mention of its past will be challenging.
Of course she doesn’t tell her editor this, and simply responds with a thumbs-up emoji. She then tabs back to her Wonderland article, where she’s written exactly . . . seventy-five words. She’s going to need another cappuccino.
“Every time I see you, you’re working,” a familiar voice says.
Barb looks up. Golf shirt, gold badge, aviator sunglasses in one hand, a large to-go cup in the other. Cameron Wallace is standing at her table, and the detective’s face looks completely different from the last time they saw each other. Mainly because he’s smiling.
She glances around to see who he might be addressing. But everyone nearby is engaged in conversation or working quietly. Barb offers him a tentative smile in return. “I guess that’s all I do these days.”
“I’m glad I ran into you.” Cameron clears his throat. “Look, I, uh, wanted to apologize for how I acted the other morning. At Legacy Sands. I was rude to you, and that’s not who I am, and I’m sorry.”
Barb blinks. An apology from him is the last thing she expected at the moment, though it is a very Cameron-like thing for him to do.
He was—is—a really nice guy. “It’s okay, Cam.
It was me who . . . I’ll get your shirt back to you.
” Assuming she can remember where she put it.
“I know how much you love that T-shirt.”
“It’s fine. I mean, I do want it back, but . . .” Cameron shifts his weight. “I just wanted to make sure you know that I regret the way I spoke to you.”
She opens her mouth to brush aside his apology again, and then stops.
Stop making it easy for everyone, she can hear Dr. Leto say in her head.
You deserve an apology, so accept it. And then acknowledge what you did wrong, too.
She takes a breath. “I appreciate it. And Cam, I’m sorry, too.
I didn’t handle things well with us, and that wasn’t fair to you. ”
He nods, his cheeks warming slightly. “It’s cool. But thanks.”
“We should catch up over a drink sometime.” The words are out of Barb’s mouth before she can stop herself, and inwardly she smacks herself. Really, dummy? Are you seriously opening this door again?
“Um . . .” Cameron says, and clears his throat again. “I actually just started seeing someone, so it’s probably best I don’t hang out with someone I used to hook up with. But maybe down the road, if she’s cool with it.”
Hooked up with? Not even Barb, as cynical as she is, would have described it quite like that. She doesn’t need a mirror to know her forced smile is about a foot too wide. “No worries. I’m happy for you.”
Except she isn’t, not really. Once again, she has sabotaged herself out of something potentially good, something healthy, which is the story of her life.
At the rate she’s going, she’ll probably die alone, choking to death on a piece of pizza while watching one of her stupid reality shows that only serve to remind her of the life she’ll never have.
And because she lives by herself, nobody will even know she’s dead until her decomposing body starts to smell.
She doesn’t even have a cat to eat her face.
That’s some award-winning catastrophic thinking, she hears Dr. Leto say in her head. Brava.
She realizes Cameron is still talking.
“I do want to be friends,” he’s saying, though he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here at the Green Bean explaining this to her. “I mean, shit, we are friends, Barb. It might just be a little while before we can hang out again. I guess I don’t pivot as quickly as you do.”
“I get it.” Barb is desperate to change the subject. “So, friend, any chance of an update about the body found at Legacy Sands?” When he looks caught off guard, she says, “Hey, it’s my job, I have to try.”
That finally wins her a laugh, and he slips his sunglasses on. “See you around, Barb.”
A pang hits her right in the center of her chest as she thinks back to how things ended.
There was no reason to ghost Cam. She could have told him that she wasn’t ready to meet his family.
She could have asked him to slow down. Instead, she assumed he wouldn’t understand, and she used it as an excuse to bail before he could.
Because that’s what people do. They bail.
Barb was only ten when her parents divorced, and while her mother retained primary custody of her, her father had her on weekends.
But as the months passed, every weekend turned into every other weekend, and then it was maybe one weekend a month, if that.
Once, when she was acting crabby due to a cold, her dad brought her back to her mother’s early, complaining she was “difficult to deal with.” And then her father met someone new.
The woman had a daughter of her own who was younger and cuter than Barb.
At their wedding a few months later, Barb watched as the little girl ran up to her new stepfather, calling him “Daddy.” He picked her up and swung her around while she laughed, the same as he used to do with Barb.
Not long after the wedding, her father moved to the Midwest with his new family, and she never saw him again.
All these years later, she still can’t decide which is worse: never knowing her father, like Lorelei; having a bad father, like Nicolette; or having a father who loved her until he didn’t, leaving a planet-sized hole in her heart that could never be filled.
You won’t know what’s possible until you let someone in, her therapist had said to her. The right man will see you for exactly who you are, and he’ll love you back, and he’ll stay.
But what if you don’t want anyone to see who you are? Because they’ll find out the truth and hate you for it?
What then, Dr. Leto?