Page 15 of Savior
No. He’s not here. He’ll never hurt me again. The only thing I have to be afraid of is my own memories. And that’s plenty to keep me zigzagging around the country.
I give one last once over of the other people on the bus, but there is sign of a tall, dark haired man with large, scarred hands. And there won’t be, I remind myself. As many times as I explain it to myself, I still look around every corner. After all this time, I still don’t think the nightmare has ended. My heart begins to race, regardless of how many times I tell myself to be calm and cool. I take deep breaths. In four seconds, hold, out four seconds, and hold. I repeat it until my heart rate goes back to normal.
By that time, the other passengers have cleared the bus. Feeling foolish, I lift my bags to my shoulder and follow the last of them off the bus and into the depot.
The sun beats down on my shoulders as I walk along the main street that goes around McCormick Lake toward the bundle of businesses. I make a mental note to invest in some sort of sunhat or my pale skin will be burned to oblivion in no time.
Nassau couldn’t have been more different from the places I have called home for the past year. There are crowds here, but they are nothing compared to the mobs of New York and Chicago. The tourist attractions and the lakefront center most of the activity along the water. From the trip in, I know that going two or three miles beyond the city limits will dramatically decrease the amount of civilization, and any farther than that is nothing but fields and farm land. A good place to get lost in.
I reach the cluster of buildings and follow the footpaths down the charming main street lining the lake. Cute little bungalows dot the road across from it and are interspersed with towering cypress and pine. Each house is a different color, and I wonder if this place is seriously a wonderland. I smile at the thought as I walk between two buildings, and turn onto a boardwalk of sorts, which is lined on one side with restaurants and gift shops where delicious scents coat the air and bright bits and bobs on displays. Any one of the shops will need help as summer melts into fall, and the thought of working right on the lake is appealing.
I keep walking until the boardwalk ends and the dock begins. The dock sports dedicated fisherman who are intent upon their lines and lures, their catch filling coolers that line the walk. Teenagers in cutoffs and T-shirts walk hand in hand. Younger kids attempt to throw their own lines over the lip of the pier, and their screams of elation or disappointment ring all around.
I reach the end of the walk, which stretches far out into the diamond-studded lake, and rest against the wooden railing with my duffle bags at my feet. In the distance, a group of brave teens race and splash, spitting water into the sky. The buzz of sea planes flying overhead competes with the crash and hiss of gently rocking below me. Back on the manufactured beach, herds of people shift along the sand with colorful umbrellas and blankets hoping to leech the remnants of summer before it gets too cool.
One day, I want to be like them—surrounded by the love and compassion of good friends. People who care to know what I’m doing and where I’m going. For so long, I’d squandered the attention of friends and family that only wanted the best for me. Hopefully, if I got the opportunity again, I wouldn’t let the same thing happen. You never knew what was most important until it—against all reason—was taken from you.
In the distance, towers of glass and chrome jut into the turquoise sky. Fancy hotels inhabited by even fancier people. If Chloe’s connection at the bed and breakfast doesn’t pan out, I can probably find employment at one of the hotels.
I make my way back down the dock when my eye catches on a bright white building at the far end of the main line of businesses. It’s situated so it has a direct view of the lake, is flanked by rows of beautiful flowering bushes, and has a sign just to the right of the walkway that reads: Nassau Bed and Breakfast. Drawn by the beautiful picture it paints, I sift my way through the throngs of people on the boardwalk until I’m standing in front of it. Even if Chloe hadn’t put out feelers, I would have immediately been drawn to it’s classic lines and charming decorations. There’s love there, it almost emanates from the place.
Heavy pieces of furniture crafted from driftwood on the expansive wrap-around front porch. The front door is open, so I take the opportunity to duck in for a peek before I find the owner for introductions. The foyer is empty of guests and surprisingly quiet for what I’d expected of midday. The only sound is the soft ticking of the grandfather clock situated at the base of the stairs in front of me and the waves crashing in the distance.
I crack open a set of double doors to my right just enough to see the library on the other side. A rainbow of spines decorate floor to ceiling shelves. A grouping of comfortable-looking chairs is placed in front of a delicately crafted stone fireplace. The windows are open to a garden of colorful flowers. To the opposite side is a closed door, where I assume the dining room must be located.
On my left is a little gift shop with more driftwood lining the walls as shelves for knick knacks, books, and a variety of tongue-in-cheek shirts. I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. The space needs no music or scent because the lapping water and fresh air fills the space. It’s peaceful and quaint. Finally, my eyes land on a large hunk of wood with elaborate, delicate branches that serves to hold the checkout counter and register.
A colorful chalkboard on the wall behind it details an enticing lunch menu. They must serve the occasional foot traffic as well as those with reservations. Still seeing no one and feeling curious, I walk slowly through the gift shop and out a pair of French doors. They lead out onto a spectacular veranda with the most beautiful lake views I’ve ever seen, which includes the two weeks I’d spent getting wasted on the shores of Mexico with Paige our freshman year in college.
The memory spears a fresh wave of pain, so I turn from the view and nearly run into a woman with a short cap of white hair. She joins me, leaning her arms against the deck. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Awestruck, I can do no more than offer her a baffled smile. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s what we like to hear.” She straightens and turns to me. “I’m Rose. Were you looking to book a room or order something for lunch? Our fresh fish is to die for.”
“Actually, I would kill for some caffeine. You wouldn’t happen to make coffee here would you?”
“You’re in luck. We have the best cappuccinos in the state. Mostly because you can sit out here on the deck while you drink it.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
I followed the woman back through the gift shop and hall to an open room with a grand staircase and dining room on the far side. I conclude based on the lake views there as well that the back of the house must jut out toward the water, offering a million-dollar panoramic view. The dining room opens up into a spacious kitchen that is bright and airy, all light wood and soft cream accents. There is a central island with a sink and stainless steel stovetop, two commercial-grade ovens, and above them are two identical stainless steel microwaves. Fresh green arrangements sit on the counters. It is like something from a design magazine.
As I step into the kitchen, I hear a curse coming from another side entrance that is followed by a lot of feminine grumbling.
My guide’s mouth pulls into a frown. “Excuse me for a moment.”
“Of course.”
She hurries from the room, her heels clicking against the tile floors. Curiosity piqued, I follow, though only to the stools situated at the bar, which is plenty close enough to hear the conversation going on down the hall.
“What in the devil is going on in here, Diane?”
I jump when three bangs sound in rapid succession from the hall. “Mrs. Cleary has decided she doesn’t want the Lily Suite after all. Too sunny.”
“Did you mention she specifically booked the Lily Suite because it gets a lot of sunlight?”
The woman sighs in response. “Of course I did, Mom, but that woman doesn’t listen to reason.”