RIDE THE TIDE

Tom Cox, a Russell-based character, meets a woman who has just thrown something she

hates into the sea.

By Atonia Walpole

Chapter One – The Encounter:

“Time to throw your sorry ass in the ocean”, she said, as she put out her cigarette and downed the last of her drink. Unsteadily she walked down the hallway to the elevator and pushed the L button. Weaving her way through the lobby and out onto the beach, she clutched a small blue casket in her hand.

He had been sitting on the dune for some time.  The well he had made in the sand was now full

of cigarette butts and he scooped them up, putting them in his empty beer can as he prepared

to leave. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone coming up the beach;  a woman in some long,  flowing white thing. She was not quite steady on her feet; maybe walking in the wet sand had her off balance? Not wanting to have to talk to someone this time of night, he settled back down and watched her walk into the water.  As she walked deeper into the water, she threw something into the ocean .

She had some difficulty getting the thing open and wading through water was getting harder in her long skirt.  As she fiddled with the lid, a sudden a wave slammed her in the back of the head. Pulled down under water, she couldn't find her feet. Strong arms around her, pulling and lifting, gasping for air, then back under water she went. The stars came out. Vaguely, she realized she was being carried.

Half stumbling, half carrying her up the slope, somehow he managed to drag her from the sea onto the path and to the door.  He stood against the door, panting, still holding her against his chest, not sure what had just happened. He'd seen the wave knock her down, seen that she did not come up.

She could hear his heart beating. Suddenly overwhelmed, she began crying.

He said, "Wait here a minute,"  and she was left balanced against a washing machine.  There was a basket chair by the door and she sat down, her head on her knees. It was then she noticed her skirt was gone.

He had changed his shorts and brought a large red and white striped beach towel which he wrapped around her then helped her up the stairs and into the kitchen. Flipping the light

switch, he turned to see what he had dredged from the ocean.  It was not a pretty sight. She was huddled under the towel, long red hair half covering her face and hanging in rivulets down her shoulders. He asked her if she were okay.

She was not okay. The dip in the ocean had sobered her and she was going to be sick. “Bathroom,” she managed to croak and he led her down the hall. She didn't know how long

she had lain there on the cold tile floor.  Rising to her knees, she found a faded blue tee shirt draped across the sink and managed to slip it over her head.

The telephone was ringing and she reached out to answer it, opening her eyes. She sat up quickly; there was no phone. Where in the hell was she? She looked around the room then at

the pillow next to her. Someone had slept there. Nighttime images began to surface. Oh no,

what had she done? Rising from the bed, she peeked out the door.  The house was quiet as she made her way down the hall to the bathroom and into the shower.

He woke at first light and found her cuddled next to him in the bed. She smelled of the sea and sand. He wouldn't take advantage of this situation he told himself and got up, going to the kitchen to make coffee.  Taking his coffee and cigarettes out on the deck, he watched the sun play over the waves.

He didn’t do damsels in distress.  He had come here for the summer to try and finish his novel. There were no memories here, nothing to distract him, so he was making good progress. This

sea creature had disturbed him. He decided to go for a walk.

She did the best she could with her damp hair, pulling it back in a pony tail. Her face scrubbed clean of the streaked makeup and dressed in the tee shirt, she looked young and fresh. Finding the kitchen and the coffee pot, she helped herself.  There didn’t seem to be anybody else around. She wandered out to the deck and saw his cup and cigarettes.  She felt embarrassed, but lit one of his cigarettes.  Trying to get her bearings she looked up and down the beach but couldn't remember which direction she had walked from the Wave Crest Hotel. She stubbed out her cigarette, having decided to head for the street side to see where she was. Just then she saw

him coming up the path. It must be him, she thought. Wanting to run she stood still.

He had walked for a long time, working his mind over the novel and only occasionally over the creature. He looked up and saw her on the deck. Damn. He had half hoped she would be gone.  Coming up the steps, he said, “Good morning."  She was leaning against the railing, wearing his shirt which came nearly to her knees. Her hair, the color of sunsets was blowing around her

face, framing a perfect oval. Staring at him out of dark green eyes, she gave him a crooked little grin.

She hadn’t seen him the night before, only felt him. His hair was nearly to his shoulders, dark brown, windblown and wavy.  He was not clean shaven, but had a rather scraggly, graying beard. He was wearing faded red swim trunks and sunglasses. His body was muscular and lightly tanned. He pushed the sunglasses up and she met the most opaque blue-green stare she had ever seen.  The intensity hit her in the stomach and she looked away. "Good morning”, she said to the sea.

Okay, she thought, I have to get out of here, make the best of a bad and embarrassing situation. She turned to face him, not directly looking into his eyes, and said “I want to thank you for helping me last night, I'm very sorry to have bothered you, and if you could just tell me where

I am, I will be gone."

She had a lazy, honeyed, low-pitched drawl that made him want to hear more. “Do you live around here” he asked.

“You’re British,” she said, then laughed. “Right now, I don’t live anywhere. My whole life is packed up in two plastic bins in the back of my vehicle.  So, no, I don’t live around here”. 

There was a bitterness she hadn’t meant to convey. Keep it light, she thought, get through the pleasantries and get out. “So if you could just point me in the direction of the Wave Crest Hotel, I’ll be on my way and out of your hair.”

Not so fast, he thought. Hadn’t he saved her life? “What were you doing last night? Were you trying to drown yourself?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction. I was dumping my dead husband’s ashes in the ocean. I guess, well, I had too much courage in a bottle, you know? I am sorry to have dragged you into this.” She smiled and chanced a glance at his face.

He ran his hand through his hair and looked off toward the sea. “Well, let’s get in out of the sun.  Would you like a bit o’ breakfast?” He was suddenly very hungry and was not yet ready

to let her go.

He busied himself in the kitchen, getting out pans, eggs, sausages. She stood in the doorway, watching him. She didn’t offer to help, couldn’t possibly eat anything. His coldness seemed to

be melting away. I don't want to know this man she thought; I need to leave. Instead she wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room.  A large desk, piled high with books, papers, computer and a brimming ashtray, sat facing a picture window with an ocean view.

On the sofa rested a guitar.  There were no other personal items in the room, no clues. She remembered the bedroom, messy with clothes but no photographs. Ah, yes, the bedroom. But

he hadn’t touched her.

“Breakfast” he called out and she sat down to a full English breakfast, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, bread and butter.

“I have never seen so much food on a breakfast plate. Do you eat like this every morning?”

“No, but this morning I was hungry” he said and smiled.

The smile did something to her.  It lit up his face, his eyes no longer cold and forbidding. She wanted to touch him but looked down at her plate suddenly hungry herself and ate the breakfast she didn’t want.

After their meal, she helped him scrape the plates and load the dishwasher. “You know, “she said, “I really have to go, Check out time is 12:00 noon and it’s nearly that now."

Offering her a cigarette, he sat down at the table. “I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “You walked quite a way last night.”

That ocean-blue stare was back.  It made her nervous.  She asked, “Is this your house? Do you live here?”

“No and yes” he answered, “at least for the summer. I'm trying to finish a book and took this as a summer rental.  I actually live in England. We have a farm in Yorkshire.”

“We?” she asked.

“My family lives there.”

“Wife?” she managed to get out.

“Not any more” he said and stubbed out his cigarette. Conversation closed.

“I don’t know your name” she said.  She wanted something of him, at least that.

“Tom Cox” he answered. “And you are?”

“Penia Walden. Glad to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand and he took it.

Perhaps he held onto her hand a little too long for she raised her eyes to his. Something inside

him moved. He had made her uncomfortable; she was up and moving toward the door.

He gathered up his keys and followed her out to the rented Jaguar in the driveway.  It was Sunday morning and the traffic was picking up but he managed to get her to the Hotel before 12:00. He asked her for her cell phone number and she gave it to him.

So it was goodbye. Penny felt foolish standing in the parking lot in his oversized tee shirt. Tom had let her out at the door, had wished her good luck and said, "You never know. I may just turn up one day." Ha! She thought, turn up where? She turned and walked purposefully to the front desk for a key. All she wanted was to get on the road.

ON TO PART 2

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