Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ocean Beach really hadn’t changed much, at least not to Summer’s eyes. It still had a bohemian feel to it with its complex mix of poor college students, wanderlust-stricken surfers, and unhoused people living on the streets, as well as a new socio-group: the young, wealthy urbanites.
The sand was warm, the water a frothy blue as it pounded the shore. The air smelled like salt and fast food. Once upon a time, this had been home, but now Summer felt like one of the tourists she’d always resented.
After she’d left all those years ago, her mother had dealt with her grief by selling their house a few blocks inland and buying a tiny condo downtown.
She’d filled it with her handpicked collectibles, healing supplies, and homemade teas, but to Summer the place seemed too far from the water, too small, and closed in.
After the first awkward, sleepless night, she’d made an excuse about needing to be on the beach and had gone to one of her Aunt Tina’s properties, a small cottage on the bluffs overlooking the ocean.
The decision seemed to disturb her mother, and Summer had spent the past few days trying to make up for it.
They’d gone to breakfast each day, where Summer had tried to draw her mom out, but all efforts had hit a solid brick wall.
Summer could just leave it alone as she tended to do with all things awkward and uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to.
Damn it, she was here, she wanted to fit in, wanted to be a part of the family. Wanted to be close again.
On the fourth morning, Summer once again got into her VW Bug and took I-5 toward the bay to meet her mom.
Shaped like a hook and protected by the peninsula of Coronado, the San Diego Bay formed a natural deepwater harbor around which the second largest city in California had grown.
Summer headed directly into the heart of it, into the famous Gaslamp Quarter, once notorious for its nefarious activities, such as prostitution, gambling, and drinking.
Years ago, the entire area had been given a welcomed revival.
Historical buildings had all been renovated in grand Victorian style, carved into the original architecture, leaving a wealth of hotels, shops, galleries, trendy clubs, and restaurants, all illuminated by the prominent, graceful gas lamps lining the pavements.
Determined, Summer drove toward one such Victorian, where Creative Interiors was housed, and parked in the lot behind it.
Her mother was just getting out of her car with a sleeping Socks in her arms. Her mom would be forty-seven this year, but if Summer hadn’t known, she’d have guessed no more than thirty-five.
The woman simply never aged. Lean and toned from her morning jogs, she wore clothing extremely well, including the vintage bohemian-style dress she had on now.
She had porcelain skin, long wavy hair the color of roasted chestnuts, and a way of talking that made you listen.
“Morning,” she said with a welcoming smile. “How are you?”
Summer returned the smile. “Good.”
“So what’s up? I need to open the store.”
“I know.” Tread carefully here. “Mom, I’ve been thinking. The insurance paperwork isn’t that difficult, and I could really use something else to do while I’m here.” Such as get close to you again. “How about a job?”
Her mom stared at her as if she’d suggested getting a third eye. “Why?”
“Well, I’m going to be here a while, so—”
“But honey, why will you be here a while?”
Summer blinked. “Because I told you I would.”
“I don’t expect you to drop everything for me.”
“I’m not.”
“But you’ve never stayed more than a few days.” Her mom sounded baffled.
“I know,” Summer said quietly. “But I want to do this. For you.” Just as she wanted, needed, to reforge a bond that had never been the same since her father’s death.
Her mom made a noncommittal sound as she nuzzled the cat and then began walking. Her crystal earrings made a tinkling sound that floated on the air.
Summer followed. “I really do want to help,” she said softly, longing to see a real smile cross her mom’s lips.
“You’re opening a second shop this week, right?
And it’s a big deal. I’m sure it’s chaotic with everyone worrying about the loss of stock from the warehouse fire, and getting the new store ready.
Surely you could use an extra set of hands. ”
“Hmm.”
That hmm was the sound of her mother thinking, and no one, not even God himself could rush her through a decision. There’d only been one person who’d ever been able to break through that stubbornness, and that had been Tim Abrams.
Other men had tried since Summer’s father had died. Her mom had enjoyed them each for a time, and then on some schedule only she had access to, she’d set them free.
Summer admired the spirit but not as it applied to their relationship. “Mom, five days ago you called me in the middle of the night in tears.” Clingy. Scared. “You wanted my help. You wanted me here.” And that had meant so much, Summer had dropped everything and rushed here.
And yet she hadn’t seen a hint of that soft, clingy version of her mom since she’d arrived. “You wanted me here,” she repeated softly, reaching for her mom’s hand and squeezing her cold fingers. “Now let me do something.”
“You’ve done plenty. You brought Socks back. You went and talked to the fire marshal.”
“Joe.”
“I invited him to our grand opening of Creative Interiors II tomorrow night. He’s been very kind. I’m going to send him a box of my teas. I think he could use some peace and tranquility.”
Summer didn’t want to think about Joe, needing tranquility or otherwise, because thinking about him at all confused her.
The memories of her youth were all tied up with memories of him.
He’d been her best friend, her rock. Her everything.
Granted, their relationship had been decidedly asexual, but she honestly believed that was what had made it so strong and binding.
But then, like everything else in connection to O.B., she’d let it go. She’d let it all go, and life had gone on without her. Twelve years, gone, like a breath of air, and now Joe was no longer that scruffy kid, but a full-grown man, who disturbed her in ways she couldn’t really grasp.
And she didn’t want to think about him having sex on his desk with a beautiful woman who clearly had claimed him as her own.
Did the two of them talk until the wee hours of the morning? Did she say his name softly when he moaned with fear in his sleep from the old nightmares? Did she know he was addicted to Dr Pepper but hated Coke?
Undoubtedly she did, and that made Summer feel like brooding when she had no right to do so.
But the fact was, nothing here was the same. Not Joe, not her mom, nothing.
And actually, she could live with that, she could. She just wanted to find her place. “Mom.”
Her mother stopped and sighed, softening on the spot. “Honey, listen. You came when I called you. That means everything to me.”
“And I’m still right here. Ready to be needed some more.”
“But for how long? I mean I just don’t see you staying, Summer. I don’t.”
Why that hurt when it had always been the utter truth, she had no idea. Her mom had never complained or even let on that she’d have liked more than that from Summer. She’d said nothing at all, and in return, Summer had taken that as tacit permission to stay gone.
But now she wondered what else she’d missed. At what her absence had meant to her mother. Maybe her mom thought she didn’t care, that she’d left and had never looked back.
“How long do you really think you’ll stay?” her mom asked.
An honest question. Summer struggled with an honest answer. “For as long as it takes to get this fire thing over with.”
“That could take weeks.”
“That’s okay. I want to do this.” Please want me to do this.
Her mom was quiet for a long moment. “All right, then. Let’s go in and see what we have for you to do.”
Creative Interiors had once been a premier boat shop.
The building had been built in 1926 and remodeled in the fifties when the original owners had sold it off.
Directly across the street was another furnishing shop owned by their fiercest competition, Ally’s Treasures.
Ally herself was well named, her mother had always claimed, because she was like an alley cat, often sneaking in to see Creative Interiors’s stock, checking out their prices, and returning to her shop to price slash.
But in reality, a little competition hadn’t hurt either store. Uncle Bill had recently repainted the outside of their building a shiny cream with a navy trim. He’d made a colorful hanging sign that read creative interiors: for fun beach living!
The inside opened to one large showroom with two small alcoves off to each side.
In the back were the offices, employee break room, and extra storage.
The walls were the color of melted butter, with soft wood trim and a rough texture.
Decorated like an expensive yacht, it was filled with furniture, photos, and all sorts of knickknacks, such as Bill’s handmade ceramic lighthouses and a set of Tim’s old, savored travel books.
There were also pretty, soft sofas covered in pillows with throws over the backs of them, lamps providing lighting, and rugs on the wood floors that were easy to maintain by their employees.
As for the employees, her mother and Tina had kept it mostly in the family.
Tina had three children from her first marriage.
Chloe, her oldest, worked here, usually with major attitude.
Chloe’s younger twin sisters, Diana and Madeline, were high school divas forced to work at the store whenever they were grounded, which was constantly.