Promise Cove by Vickie McKeehan

Posted on Friday, September 6, 2013

Around five-thirty, Nick stepped into the apartment over the garage Jordan had described as a dump. Hot and sweaty after the all-day sanding and staining job on the front porch, badly in need of a shower, he looked around and decided she’d exaggerated its poor condition. The place was actually spacious, almost loft-like, and smelled like lemon wax from the old oak, hardwood floors she’d polished to a gleam. She’d left the windows open. The ocean breeze on his sweaty body felt good to the skin.

The place was sparsely furnished. And what was here looked like leftovers from the ’70s. An ancient sagging green sofa divided the living space, creating two rooms out of one. Beyond the sofa sat the double bed, an old urn top maple that looked in better shape than the rest. Glancing around the room, he decided, despite the lack of furnishings, he could be comfortable here. When he spotted the tiny kitchenette, which consisted of a small refrigerator and a two-burner stovetop tucked into the corner on one wall, he went with impulse. He walked over and threw open the door to the fridge. Sure enough, there inside, his hostess had stashed six cold beers. Grateful, he twisted the top off, guzzling the cold brew down like a man plucked off a deserted island. He crossed over to the back window and scanned the view of the ocean. As he drank his beer, he thought of Scott. Nick could envision him walking on the beach, surfing, living here with his wife and child. Hell, even in broad daylight, Scott’s ghost refused to let go.

Sweaty, he started shedding clothes, wanting nothing more than a hot shower. He plopped down on the bed to pull off his boots, tested the mattress. He’d been in worse, he decided, as he began to pull off his jeans.

And it would have to do. Even if he had to pitch a tent to stay somewhere on the property, he was committed now. As he pulled out his shaving gear and walked into the bathroom, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d gotten himself into. He was here for Scott even if his wife had no idea who he was or how he’d known her husband.

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