EIGHT YEARS AGO
“Take my hand, Em.”
Lacing my fingers through Elliot’s, we stepped around a bunch of rocks alongside the path that led to the water. The stones were wet from the ocean spray leaping over them as the waves crashed into the shoreline. La Jolla Beach.
I had never been there before, never seen anything as magnificent as the Pacific Ocean on a windy day. The deep, rich color of the water and the force in which it pummeled the beach—I was enthralled completely.
“Easy,” he told me. “Watch where you’re stepping. It can get really slippery along here, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, like breaking some bones if you fall.”
Elliot led me down to the beach like an adored child, carefully guiding me while holding onto my arm. I was so entranced by the view I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. He kept me safe and I knew it. I was always safe with Elliot.
We stepped onto a shelf of stone next to the sandy beach where we could sit and watch the surfers try and ride the waves. There were so many of them, paddling out and waiting for the perfect ride, then standing upright on their boards and trying to conquer it back into the beach. Quite a few of them wiped out, the surfboard going one direction and their body in another, only to have both spit back up on the shore by the raging ocean. For every ten surfers that fell, one would ride godlike all the way in, mastering the bitch of the Pacific. Elliot spread a beach towel over the rocks where we sat. I could lounge there for days, not speaking, just watching. He pointed out some of the better surfers, explaining what they were doing and why.
“You should’ve brought your board with you,” I told him, knowing he owned one. I had seen it in his garage and I would have loved to sit there and watch him surf.
He just shrugged.
“This weekend is about you, Emily.” He took my hand again. “I just want to sit here with you, enjoying you.”
We spent the whole afternoon just relaxing on the beach, walking along the rocky shoreline and marveling at the ocean, taking in the beauty of it.
Later, we strolled up the hill to the town square of shops and restaurants and found a place to sit outside and eat. As we walked, he would suddenly stop and wrap his arms around me, kissing me until my legs wanted to buckle and make me fall against him. He had borrowed a friend’s beach house for the weekend. He left the sliding doors open so we could hear the waves crashing as he made love to me all night long. He took me to heights I never knew existed in his loving me, making me beg for more. I would crash as the waves would crash, keeping rhythm to the music the ocean brought to us. I awoke in the morning to the sunlight streaming on my face and Elliot propped up on one elbow watching me. I didn’t need words from him. I just reached out and touched his face, running my fingers down his cheek and onto his neck, over his chest and beyond. He felt my desire for him with my touch and made love to me again. It was midmorning by the time we climbed out of our borrowed bed. My hair, a wild mass of curls, and my smile, the smile of a woman so completely content it radiated. My life was perfection. Wrapping the sheet around me, I walked out onto the balcony to watch the ocean again. I sat down when he brought me a cup of coffee.
“I think everyone that is walking on the beach and looking up here is dreaming of you this morning,” he told me.
I laughed and took a sip of my coffee.
“Don’t laugh,” he scolded me. “They are telling themselves you are a vision. The best thing is you are my vision and I am the luckiest man on earth.”
“No,” I disagreed. “I am the luckiest woman alive.”
A loud THUNK jolted me awake, startling me, causing me to twist and almost fall to the floor. It took a moment to realize I wasn’t in La Jolla by the beach … I was in my own backyard in Chandler, a long way from the ocean. But my dream had been so real I could feel the saltwater spray on my skin. I could smell the ocean…
Then I remembered the loud noise, like something hit the house wakening me.
“What the hell?” I yelled out loud and hurried to the front where the noise seemed to have come from. Looking through the window, I saw nothing out of place. Unlocking the front door, I opened it to see a rock lying in the middle of the front patio. It was a large smooth rock about the size of my hand, with red paint on the underside. Turning it over with my foot, I read the word BITCH. What the hell was going on?
Stepping farther into the yard, I glanced around the neighborhood. George, from across the street, came sprinting over to me, anger and concern clearly visible on his face. George was at least seventy-five years old and I’d never seen him move faster than a snail’s pace, but right now he was almost running toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asked me. “I heard something hit the front of your house. I was in my garage when this old car drove by slowly and then sped off. I didn’t get a good look at them or the car except that it was a dark tan, beat up old thing with lots of rust. I didn’t see the driver or if there was a passenger. Damn tinted windows.”
“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I was out back when it happened. They threw a rock at the house.”
I picked it up and looked at it. Then I handed it over to George. He was a retired detective with the Tempe police department. I wasn’t sure what to do but I knew he would know.
He looked at the rock and then looked at me a bit confused.
“Have you made any enemies lately?” he asked. “Or dumped some guy who had the hots for you?”
“No, no enemies I’m aware of and I have taken a break from dating for the last few months. Four, to be exact. I have no idea what this is about.”
“Damn. No dating at all? That’s just a waste—you’re too pretty to be single.”
I had to chuckle at George’s analysis—because I‘m pretty I should have a boyfriend—I didn’t think so.
“I’m going to run home and call one of my buddies on the Chandler force, have him stop by, and we can at least have him write up a report on this. Maybe get some extra patrolling around the neighborhood. This isn’t good. It’s usually pretty quiet around here most days.” He reached over and opened my door for me, motioning for me to go back inside.
“Lock the door behind you. I’ll call when he’s on his way over; in the meantime, I’m going to be in my garage, keeping an eye on things. This is not happening in my neighborhood, not at all.”
Once a cop, always a cop, and I was so lucky to have him living across the street. He may be a bit nosy at times, but I felt safe with him around.
The worst part was being woken up from the most beautiful dream. A memory from long ago I wished I could go back to, but dreams didn’t work that way. My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline so there was no way I was going back to sleep. And it was getting so good too. Damn!
“Elliot? Where the hell are you?” I asked out loud to no one at all.