Chapter One
Riley
I leaned on the kitchen doorframe of the farmhouse and only heard echoes of both my past and of him, stirring in the other room.
This farmhouse was over one hundred years old. It felt strangely empty without my grandfather in it. Empty even though my ex-boyfriend was still living in one of the guest rooms.
This place just hadn’t felt the same since Grandpa died.
The kitchen was empty except for the pile of moving boxes next to me. The long farmhouse table with benches was gone. The sunny window that had warmed dozens of bright green plants was bare. I conjured the memory of copper pots hanging from the rack, the glass-fronted cupboards full of colorful plates, and the Sunday newspaper spread out between steaming cups of coffee, but it faded too fast.
I’d forgotten to drink coffee this morning.
"Wow, you're up early." Owen sidled past me and headed for the empty refrigerator. He pulled open the door and then scrubbed the back of his neck. "What's going on?"
"The same thing that's been happening for the past six months," I snapped.
"Oh, come on, Riley. We both know you want to stay here. Why are you torturing yourself like this?" Owen reached out to pull me into a hug.
I spun away. "No. You want to stay here. I need to move on. I need to make something out of my life. I promised I would."
With my back turned on the sunny kitchen, I could imagine my grandfather at the sink, and what he would look like if he were alive and watching this exchange. He would be trying not to eavesdrop, but he’d still be nodding vigorously in agreement with me.
“Never settle, Riley,” Grandfather said as he sat next to me on the swing. “You have too much to offer, just like your mother. She had such a kind heart, but she settled in life, settled for a man who did nothing but take.” He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. “Promise me, someday you’ll get away from here and make something of yourself. Enjoy life. Live your dreams.”
“I promise,” I said.
Owen’s voice pulled me out of my brief daydream. "Calm down, sweetheart. We've still got time." Owen snatched my purse off the moving boxes and fished out my wallet. "How about you run down to the corner store and grab some coffee and donuts?"
"And what are you going to do?" I asked, turning to him again. "Take these boxes out to the moving pods? Get your shit together? Have you even started packing?"
Owen shrugged and handed me a wad of my own cash. "Relax. You'll feel better after a little coffee."
I covered my face with both hands and then swept back my hair. "It's over, Owen. We broke up. The new owner moves into this house in two days. I'm leaving today, and you better move out, too, before you cause problems with the new owner."
The worn out words brushed past him like the light breeze from the farmhouse's open front door. He dropped the cash back in my purse and shook his head. "Riley, people do crazy things when they're grieving. I get that."
I marched down the hall away from him. The first-floor guest room was to the right of the entryway. I shoved the bedroom door hard against a pile of Owen's dirty clothes. I grabbed a flat moving box and popped it into shape. "I'll help you pack."
He took the box from me and tossed it on the unmade bed. "I know he called me lazy and I know he didn’t really like me, but your grandfather never really saw us together."
"He helped you move into this room. It was a favor to me. I should have known better." My throat was tight and the words were sharp.
"I know. He was wonderful to me —to us." Owen pulled me into a hug despite my stiffness. "Do you really think he would have let me move in if he didn't think we loved each other?"
A small voice inside reminded me my grandfather would have done anything for me, but Owen was right, too. I laid my head against his chest and squeezed my eyes shut. We had been in love, once. Now everything seemed to be ending.
I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist and hung on.
Owen brushed one big hand over my hair. "I love you, Riley. What would I do without you?"
His words made me feel like I was falling, but it wasn’t the kind of joyful falling. It was more of a panicked free fall over a cliff and into lava. I stepped back before he could pull me into another hug.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. "How did this suddenly become all about you?"
"Because I'm with you, Riley. We're in this together."
I shook my head hard and backed out of the room. "We're done, Owen. I can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" He tripped over the dirty laundry, yelping, as he followed me into the foyer.
"Nothing! You're doing nothing, and I've been stuck doing nothing for the past year." My raised voice reverberated through the empty halls. He’d been my boyfriend for a year, yes, but before that he’d been one of my best friends. Now he was just a pain in my ass, and I couldn’t seem to get rid of him.
I had to get away from Owen, but my heart felt like it was tearing in half as I slammed through the screen door. How could I say a proper goodbye to the house with Owen there in the doorway, tugging at his ripped t-shirt, and trying to convince me to stay?
A line of moving boxes stretched down the front steps and onto the gravel driveway. I yanked open the door of the moving pod and started shoving the boxes inside. My back hurt, but I was glad because it dulled the sharp, empty feeling in my chest. I had kept so little of a full life. Now it would be put in storage until I found a new home. If I ever did.
I’d worry about that later. First, I’d go to see Anna’s graduation. Then, I’d figure out my life.
Owen didn’t stop me from packing the boxes into the pod. Hell, he didn’t even try to help. He shuffled onto the front porch and sat on the top step, watching. I padlocked the moving pod and headed to my grandfather's car without looking back. The door of the old station wagon creaked and the engine sputtered, but it started, and I made it to the end of the long, gravel driveway.
I tipped the rear view mirror up, away from the front steps, and studied the white farmhouse. Every pitch and eave of the roof, every corner and window, was familiar. I rubbed my aching chest. Spring was just coming to upstate New York, and there were patches of snow in the shadow of the chimney. The trees were bare and reflected sharply off the curtainless windows. This old house was waiting for new life, and so was I.
A whole new life on a whole new coast waited for me. All I had to do was put the car in gear and drive past the stone pillars at the end of the drive. Above the original plaque that marked the year the house had been built, my grandfather had placed a bronze sign. It was aging, green around the edges, but the words Cullen's Farm stood out in bold letters.
He would have wanted me to leave. We’d always talked about it. Me in far off places, meeting new people, and putting down new roots. “Do something for you, Riley,” he’d always say.
I couldn't even look at the garden he and I had planted together. I shifted into drive and eased forward slowly.
Owen watched for a moment as I drove off, and then he got up and walked back inside. The porch swing caught a breeze and rocked gently back and forth as if Grandpa and Mom were there, swinging together, sending me off to this new life.
"I'm not sorry I stayed, Grandpa." A light drizzle whispered onto the windshield. "After Mom died, you were everything to me, and I'm glad I didn't miss a minute with you."
It was over. Not only the good times, and there were many, but the months of hospital visits and the painful goodbyes. It was time to go.
"Get the check, go to the bank, drop off the car, catch your flight, and take off," I told myself. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I was almost to the end of the street. "You can do this. One step at a time. Get the check." The farmhouse disappeared, and I kept a hard look ahead.
* * * * *
"It’s different here." I shifted the phone from one hand to the other as I balanced on the thick log of driftwood. The West Coast smelled different—it practically tasted different. When I’d climbed out of my rental car to take a quick break, I hadn’t expected to become so enchanted with my first beach stop.
Anna laughed. "Let me guess. The light, the air, and maybe the ocean?"
"How'd you know?" I landed on the cold sand and wriggled my toes.
"Because I've known you since you thought pigtails were still an acceptable hairstyle. You know, there's a whole iconic city just over the hill behind you, right? Not to mention that big red bridge everyone's been talking about. Are you sure you’re doing okay?"
I smiled into a salty breeze. "Yeah, I'm all right. Better than all right."
I couldn’t wait to get down to Santa Cruz for her graduation, but in the meantime, I planned to enjoy my little road trip, all on my own. It had hurt to leave Owen behind, but I also felt like I’d set down a huge weight. Now I was ready to see new things—starting with this gorgeous ocean.
Ocean Beach was a wide stretch of sand that reached out to churning waves. Surfers dotted the white water in sleek, black wetsuits. The water was cold and the wind was stiff, but the sun was bright above me. Only the hardiest of tourists drove out of San Francisco's trendy neighborhoods and stretched their legs on the beach.
The day before, I had fought the traffic up and down the streets, stressed with completing an imaginary list of necessary sights. The Golden Gate Bridge was a blur, Lombard Street a mess of pedestrians, and Chinatown a confusion of crowded shop fronts. By the time I stood at Coit Tower and saw the open ocean, I could hardly breathe.
"I gotta say you sound a lot better," Anna said. "Even though you must be freezing. Please tell me you brought a sweater or jacket."
"Yeah, I know, San Francisco is not a warm tropical paradise; that's Southern California. I've got a sweater." I shaded my eyes and watched a surfer crash along the edge of a frothing wave. "Don't worry, I rented a car, and soon I'll be heading down Highway 1. I'll be there in time for your graduation on Monday."
Anna let out a tight breath. "Wait, what? I can't believe you're driving tonight."
It took me a second to speak—I was afraid I’d start crying if I did. "You remember?"
"Riley, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when he died. Of course, I know today's the anniversary," Anna said.
"You were at the funeral. Thank you for that." My throat felt too full of emotion at the thought of that day.
"God, it's been that long since we've seen each other? I’m so glad you’re here." Anna took a deep breath and changed to happier tones. "You finally made it to California! You need to find a hotel and celebrate tonight. Your grandfather would be so happy for you."
The cold ocean air snatched the tears off my cheeks. "Thanks, Anna."
"You got it all done, Riley. You settled his estate, you sold the farmhouse, and you kicked Owen to the curb. I wish I was there to toast you."
I shoved my sandy, frozen feet back into my shoes. "Poor Owen. I should have stayed and helped him pack."
"Are you shitting me? I'm sorry, Riley, but I’m not sorry at all. Owen was hot and he used to be our friend, but he turned into an asshole who just wanted to lie on the couch and make you do the work. Maybe now he'll realize what he's missing and that he should have worked a little harder." She stopped and swore again under her breath. "He's not calling you is he?"
"No, not calling," I said.
Anna caught me. "Texting. Delete them. Delete them all right now, Riley. Then find a hotel, something with a spa. Treat yourself tonight."
I laughed. "I'm walking to my rental car right now. See you Monday. Call you from the road."
* * * * *
Back on the highway, I braked as the line of traffic got caught in Pacifica. Luckily, the road went right by the beach so I could enjoy the scenery while I was stuck. The speed limit dropped, and I looked at a long line of hungry beach goers outside what turned out to be a taco shack. From the restaurant's deck, patrons had a perfect view of the surfers against the backdrop of impending fog.
For one, wild moment, I wished I was on a boat heading out to meet that fog. I would be enveloped, everything I knew would be obscured, and if I kept moving, somehow, I would come out of it. Then I’d burst through to sunlight on open skies and the whole of the Pacific Ocean before me.
A sign next to the taco stand proclaimed Pacifica as Fog City before the highway climbed back up the sharp cliffs and continued along the coast.
My phone beeped again.
"No, Owen, I don't care who's couch you’re crashing on," I said as I tossed the phone onto the back seat. Anna would be proud.
I stopped to put the top down on my rented convertible. The fresh air helped offset the dizzying effects of the drive, but I could see how some people might prefer the long straight stretch of the inland Interstate 5. Anna had suggested I-5, but I wanted the challenge and the beauty of the Coast Highway.
Between the cliffs and the water, it took me a long time to notice the beauty in between. Many of the sharp corners of the switchbacks were nestled in between pine trees. As I slowed the car to make the turns, I saw bright green ferns and mossy creek beds. Heading back toward the ocean, cypress trees bent away from the view, carved into stretching poses by the constant wind. Along bright sunny patches of highway stood tall golden grasses with waving plumes that reminded me of flowing horse tails.
The biggest surprise was the lack of civilization. Large swathes of the coast were nothing but untouched meadows and impossible to reach sandy beaches. Every now and then a faded barn would tip precariously in a field. Sometimes metal gates signaled a driveway, but most were overgrown with grass. Then I would come across an old pick-up truck or two parked in a turn-out with surfboards leaning against them. Locals chatted as they peeled off their wetsuits. I squinted past them and tried to spy their hidden surf spots, but they were always just out of view.
The wild coast, the swooping highway, and spying only the occasional other car was freeing until I felt a shudder in my car's engine. I glanced at the GPS and saw it was still recalibrating. The same way it had been for the last hour. The signal was lost, but I laughed —who could get lost on a highway with no exits?
No sooner had I thought that when a knocking sound started in the engine. I stared at the dashboard, waiting for the lights to begin flashing. Nothing. I had enough gas. “Shit, this is the last thing I need right now.”
I stared up at the sky for a brief moment and begged Grandpa to pull a few strings for me. “Come on, please? Just get me to Anna’s.”
The knocking sound began to trade off with a strange sizzling hiss. I pulled into the next turn-out and stretched back to retrieve my phone.
My heart pounded, and I could feel my palms getting sweaty. Fighting down panic, I turned off the car and reasoned it might just need a break. While I waited for the hissing sound to stop, I scrolled through the many text messages from Owen.
"Come on, come on," I clicked on each one without reading them. "Get a fucking clue, Owen, leave me alone.”
I held my phone up and waved it around, but it was no use. I was far out on the California coast with a noisy engine and no cell phone signal.
How was it I could get Owen’s stupid text messages but not have a signal to make a call?
I forced myself to wait a full five minutes. Then I gritted my teeth and started the car again. It ratcheted to life with more of the disconcerting knocking, yet the gauges on the dashboard made it seem like everything was perfectly fine. I took that as a sign to get back on the highway and keep heading south.
The sharp curves and switchbacks I had ridden like a rollercoaster before were now nerve-wracking detours. The only signs I saw told me the safe speed to approach the treacherous corners. I wanted signs for towns. Gas and service stations. People. The farther I went without seeing a road sign, the higher a bubble of panic rose in my chest. There were no cheerful green signs declaring how the next town was only a few miles away. There was nothing.
The car shuddered as I let off the gas into the sharp turns, then knocked loudly as I accelerated out of the curves. I squinted, hoping to spot a cluster of buildings, a ranch outpost, anything that marked civilization and phone service. Instead, there were only wheeling sea gulls and mile markers that meant I was far from anywhere.
Finally, a brown sign peeked out of a clump of tall grass. I slammed on the brakes. Pulling into the state park, I was relieved to see a large white pick-up truck emblazoned with the state seal of California. A ranger, stationed in a little booth, caught my panicked look and waved.
"Sorry, but could you tell me how far until the next town?" I called from the convertible. “I need a mechanic, I think.”
"Half Moon Bay is about an hour away.” He stared in the direction of the loud noise coming from under the hood and then shook his head. “You know, that doesn’t sound good."
"I know, but I'm guessing it's either another hour on the road or I stay here tonight."
"Sorry, miss, but the state beaches all close at sunset. You can't stay here."
I hadn’t meant I’d really stay the night here. Shaking my head, I shifted back into drive and thanked him as I turned the car around.
"Good luck!" he yelled as I drove past his booth.
Every time the car shuddered, I glanced down at the dashboard, hoping everything remained dim. Instead, this time, the check engine, low oil, and a mysterious circle with an X inside all came on at once. They should have just given me a skull and crossbones. I was so distracted by the indicator lights that I almost missed the road sign.
"Michel's Beach," I read. "Ooh, wait, did that give a population number? Population means people! Hell yes! Civilization." I looked up at the sky again and smiled. “Thank you!”
The next sign told me the beach outpost was only four miles away. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and coasted as often as I could, allowing my foot to hover above the gas pedal. The car shuddered and knocked until I couldn’t stand it. I pushed the volume button on the steering wheel as the speakers began to flood with golden oldies—my grandpa’s favorite songs—to drown out the sounds.
I was barking out the second verse of an early Elvis song when I spied a white building perched on a green slope of grass. I figured it was some sort of a spa or retreat until I saw the neon sign declaring happy hour. Patrons sat on a balcony behind a protective wall of Plexiglass. They looked comfortable, unruffled, and able to enjoy what was fast becoming a fantastic sunset.
I, on the other hand, was white-knuckled and windblown as I turned away from the building and down a sharp switchback. When I followed the highway back toward the coast, I saw a row of sun-faded buildings next to the white one.
"Oh god, please tell me Michel's Beach is more than a bar and four shacks," I muttered.
In answer, the car spluttered into silence. I coasted off the highway and into the gravel parking lot. I flopped my head back on the seat and saw the sign above me.
The Sand Dollar, where a buck can buy happiness. I sighed and turned my energy to strangling the steering wheel. "I'd pay anything if you would just get me out of here!"
I pried my fingers off the steering wheel and turned the key. The engine cranked up to running. I whispered encouragement.
"That's it. All you needed was a couple minutes off, and now we can make it to a real town. I'll just let you rest and we'll go."
As soon as I said the word 'go,' the engine shuddered. The thick smell of something burning overwhelmed me. Thank god the top was down. The car died before I could turn the key.
“Fuck!” The profanity flew from my mouth without hesitation, something I wouldn’t normally do, but seemed to become easier for me over the last few months.
I stumbled out of the car, then reached back in and retrieved my phone and my copy of the car rental agreement. I held my phone up and wandered the gravel parking lot, hoping there might be a signal. Apparently, no one inside The Sand Dollar cared if their cell phones worked because I had to walk to the opposite end of the lot, on the pinnacle of a seaside cliff, to get even a faint signal.
I flipped open the rental agreement and punched in the numbers, praying again that the call went through and someone actually answered.
The man at the car rental office was sympathetic but useless. "It sounds like you’re at least an hour away from the nearest office, and it’s almost six o'clock."
"I'm sorry, didn't you hear me?” I asked. “There was a burning smell and the engine just stopped. Now there's nothing."
"So it's completely dead?"
I curled my fingers into a fist. On the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, the last word I wanted to hear was dead. "The car is not working at all."
"You said you smelled something burning and then it died?"
A split rail fence divided the gravel parking lot from the precipice. I leaned heavily on it as my vision blurred with hot tears. "Yes. I need another car or a ride or something."
"I'm sorry the car died. I can send a replacement for you on Monday."
I dug my fingers into the weather-worn wood of the fence rail. "Could you please stop saying 'dead' and 'died'? This is just not the day I can handle that." My voice wavered. "Wait, what? Did you say you can’t send a replacement until Monday?"
The rental car clerk cleared his throat. "Yes, and I apologize."
"I need a car or a ride now. I have somewhere to be!"
"Our mechanic isn’t available to drive down there until Monday. Also, we don’t have any available cars. Are you sure the car is dead?" he asked.
"Yes. Dead! It just died and left me here on my own!" I clapped a hand over my phone as jagged sobs bent me over double.
I stared at the ground, kicking a few rocks and hoping for a brief distraction from my reality. I looked at the busy bar, and the image drove home the crushing loneliness. I focused on the horizon, the far-reaching water, and forced myself to breathe long, slow breaths. The tears didn’t stop, but I was reasonably sure my voice would work now that the sobs were under control.
I interrupted the clerk's apologies. "I'm from out of town. I have somewhere to be."
"At least you're not stuck in a turn-out," the young man said. "Where exactly are you?"
I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead hard. "I have no idea. The last sign I remember said Michel's Beach."
"Oh, hey! They have a really nice brewery in Michel's Beach."
I hung up and jammed my phone in my purse. Then I tugged out a compact and flipped open the mirror. I looked like hell, with tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. I snapped the compact shut and decided that what I really needed was a drink.