The Compass Rose

[Niamh]

This thread is an exploration of dreams; how what we dream shapes us and our destinies.

The setting is a small fishing-village on the coast of California. The time is the present.

The story opens with the return of a woman to her home after many years away.

This is a closed thread. All parts have already been cast, and no further writers will be allowed to post at this time. We are sorry that it must be this way, but the complexity of the story mandates a small and well-organised group of players. Thank you for your understanding.

Note: Some characters (Wrenna Mallory, Calla Mallory) in this thread are from The Compass Rose, a novel by Kimberly Humphrey, copyright 1994. Their usage in this thread is permitted, but all rights to their usage elsewhere are reserved.

Additional Notes: This thread is meant to be an exercise of the storyteller’s art. It is not intended to be predominately erotic, though sexual scenes are not in any way proscribed. What is asked of the writers is that they remember at all times that they are telling a story. That they strive to write with depth and with feeling. That they create characters we will care about. That each person react responsibly and courteously with regard to his/her fellow writers. No blocking. No taking control of another person’s character. No hijacking of the story to serve personal ends.

When you cross the threshold of this place, you will be entering the dreamscape of the human heart. All things are possible here.

Welcome.


http://www.mythicalmaiden.com/compass_rose_wren.jpg

Early in the morning as the gulls wheeled in circles over the awakening sea, Wrenna Mallory opened the doors of The Compass Rose for the first time. It was a large empty space surrounded by seascape. She paused on the doorstep and waited a moment before she entered. She wanted always to remember it the way it looked now. Whitewashed and clean with no memories clinging like cobewebs in the corners. When finally she did step inside, the floorboards creaked beneath her boots. Strangely, she liked the sound. She liked the smell of the oiled heartwood too. For one crazy moment, she wanted to dance in the sunlight, and throw up her hands and let out a long scream of joy. She had made it back home.

"Is that you, Wrenna?"

She looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, and a smile broke out on her face. She crossed the room in six long strides and enveloped the old woman in her arms. Dressed in her usual blue denim that had been dried on the line, with a homemade apron over it, Mary McCardle kissed her grand-daughter on the cheek and then stood back to look at her.

"Europe didn’t agree with you much, did it?"

Wrenna burst out laughing. "You’re supposed to say I look great, Nana."

Mrs. McCardle shrugged. "I’d be lying if I did. You look like something the cat dragged in. No colour in your cheeks and no sparkle in your eyes."

Arm in arm the two women crossed the room and went to sit on the window-seat. Here in the sunlight that streamed through the freshly-polished glass, there were memories, but good ones. Several of her grandmother’s patchwork pillows were scattered around. The soft colours of the calico were mingled with trimmings of old cutwork and tatting. But the most wonderful surprise of all was the seat itself, which had been covered with a folded up quilt worked in none other than the Compass Rose pattern.

"I just had it lying around upstairs in my sewing-room,” Mrs. McCardle said in response to Wrenna’s gasp of delight. “I’d clean forgotten all about it."

Wrenna shot her grandmother a doubtful look. "You never forget anything, Nana. Not even things I wish you would forget. I think you made this quilt special. For me. For today."

Mrs. McCardle’s cheeks turned a little pink, but she said nothing more than "There’s coffee ready in the kitchen." She stood up and started across the echoing floor before Wrenna could get another word in edgewise. "I picked us up some muffins at the bakery too on my way over. I got those huge ones you always liked. With the macadamia nuts and chocolate chips. White chocolate...."

"Anything to keep my mouth full so I can’t ask any embarrassing questions!" Wrenna called after her grandmother, and then laughed and sank back against the wall, one of the plump handmade pillows clutched tightly in her arms.

As she sat, warmed up inside and out by the sense of new beginnings that had taken hold of her, she looked out the window at the sea. It was the very same patch of rolling water that she had walked along as a child, holding her father’s hand. She leaned her head against the window and smiled at the memory. What’s on the other side of the water? she had asked him. And he had always answered China. Across the ocean is China, and everyone there is asleep when you are awake. It had been her first glimpse into a world beyond her own. A world where things were different. Maybe that first glimpse had been the seed of her wanderlust. Maybe the imagined Orient had been the dream that had sent her off on the first of her many travels.

Or maybe she had just needed distance.

In the glass of the window she could see her reflection now. She was pale, as her grandmother had so pointedly observed. The curves of her face had been pared down to angles. Her eyes, always large, now seemed almost too big for her face. And the lines at the corners of her mouth – had those been there before?

As a girl, Wrenna had always been the princess in the ivoury tower. Loved from afar but never touched. Never given the gentle kiss of a lover. Never asked for a Saturday film. Oh, the boys had looked at her, longingly, in their jeans with raggedy hems and empty pockets, but not one of them had ever ventured to approach through the prickly briar hedge she had erected around herself. She had been a glamourous wallflower growing up. A girl that everyone dreamed of, but no one ever asked to dance.

"Calla will be coming by any time," her grandmother said, crossing the room again with a tray. Wrenna came back to reality and smiled as she reached out for the coffee-pot. "I told her we had a lot of work to get through before this place will be ready for its Grand Opening."

Even as she spoke, the bell over the door began to tinkle, the clear, sweet sound echoing in the empty room.

"And there she is!"

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla Mallory

Calla Mallory parked her car outside The Compass Rose and marvelled at the courage of her sister to open a seafood restaurant. She could certainly use a little of that courage now and hoped that some of it might rub off on her as the two of them spent more time with each other.

Wren... oh, how she had missed her! Far too many years had passed since the last time they had seen or even spoken to each other, and she felt that there had been good reasons on both sides for this. At one time they had been very close, although very different, and she hoped that neither time nor distance had destroyed that special bond. When her life had fallen apart four months ago, it had been Nana who had pulled her back from the abyss and had lovingly begun mending the pieces of her shattered soul. But, as much as she loved the dear, sweet lady, there were some things that she just couldn’t share with her... she very much needed her sister now.

Bad choices. Everyone makes bad choices sometime in his or her life, but Calla was certain that she had made more than her share. Always a 'nice' girl (and could the Mallory sisters have been any other way?), she, unlike Wren, had always been attracted to the quintessential bad boy.

Somehow along the way she had managed to acquire a college education and had become a rather prolific romance writer, churning out several novels a year. Now, at the age of 34, she doubted that she’d ever write again... at least not that fluff. There’s no such thing as romance, she thought, shaking her head. I can’t believe I could write such drivel!

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she looked at her reflection with a critical eye, wondering whether or not Wren would think the years had been kind to her. Five feet seven inches tall and a little more rounded than she would have liked, she thought her best feature was her long, dark hair which she usually wore up to keep the curls in check. Peering closer and tilting her head, she could see the newest scar, running from her right temple across her cheekbone and down to her jaw. Her green eyes troubled, she pulled a tendril forward and hoped that it would stay in place.

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself mentally for the questions that Wren was sure to ask, she walked up the path to The Compass Rose and cautiously opened the door. The little bell was warm and welcoming, and so was the face of her beloved Nana who smiled at her from across the room.

Stepping inside, and feeling the tears beginning to gather, she held out her arms to her little sister.

 

[photographer]

Harve

Harvey Piscatorious, fisherman, boat owner, supplier of anything, relaxed on the deck of the good ship Nashanabe as it wallowed its way along the coast. Empty, the venerable antique boat was riding high, and indicated her displeasure at being this close to shore by tossing and rolling her ample hull.

Harve glanced up at the headland, noticing with interest that there seemed to be activity at the Compass Rose. There was a car or two parked beside the lovely old building and the doors were open, something that hadn't occured for some considerable time.

"Well look at that, old girl" he muttered, talking, as was his wont, to the boat, "looks like the old Compass Rose is getting a new lease on life. Not before time either. And they've fixed up the old jetty. "

The old boat tossed her bows, in agreement it seemed, as he spoke. Harve laughed out loud, shaking his head as he realised that here he was again, holding conversations with Nashanabe.

"I wonder who has taken it on this time! Been closed for ages. Looks like it's been painted, though ... also about time!"

Nashanabe wallowed as he reduced speed, squinting upwards to watch a woman walking around to the front of the building.

"Hmmmm. Looks good! Maybe we should see if it's deep enough for you by the jetty, old girl, go up and introduce ourselves......"

Nashanabe shuddered, the prow moving from side to side in the cross-swell.

"Aha - well you would disagree, wouldn't you, you jealous old bitch. But you're right. Women are trouble. Except for you, of course, my faithful lovely"

He advanced the throttles and the two big engines rumbled as they powered the boat to a higher speed, heeling as Harve turned her out to sea. He clicked on the auto-pilot and sat back, drink in hand, letting Nashanabe take him to who knows where ......

 

[captainb]

The fire truck was red and huge. It slowly crept down the street, its lights flashing as the helmeted men leaned out of the windows and off the back of the truck, tossing small wrapped candies toward the curb followed by a rush and scramble, the little arms jostling and pushing for the tiny treats. The eager eyes rose as the next truck approached, a tractor pulling a flatbed with some adults waving from haybales.

Willy glanced away, back to the street. One piece of candy had been overlooked. It lay near the center of the roadway, too close to the passing tires for parents to let their kids try for it. Willy looked at the rear of the flatbed and measured how much room there was between it and the next vehicle. A good run and he might be able to make it all the way across, grabbing the candy as he went. Mama wasn’t near, she was talking with Mrs. Beeler and her fat husband. One of the children by the curb looked around and for a moment he and Willy locked eyes. Just for a moment, but enough to register the complete lack of interest in the other’s eyes before he turned away to his friend. That one looked back briefly, sneered, and turned back to the parade. Willy felt his face flush and he looked again at the lone piece of candy. One good rush and he could do it…

Bill lurched right and then left, banging his head off the glass as the bus turned sharply. He scowled through squinting eyes and rubbed his head, peering at the brightly cloudy landscape outside, the remaining tendrils of morning fog rising fast. The bus was chugging in its slow acceleration, following closer to the speed limit now that it had entered the town. The gray-blue line of the ocean flashed between the houses as they passed, some with sheets and shirts flapping on clotheslines, others with brightly colored toys scattered in the yard, most with carefully tended flowerbeds by the door or small vegetable gardens peeking out from more than a few backyards.

Now they were entering what stood for downtown, the small collection of stores and bars that was all this town could really sustain. There were a few new stores, of course; several bookstores and gift shops, and a couple of studios where the local artists combined to sell their wares to tourists. But surprisingly little had changed. The only thing more surprising to Bill was how much of it he remembered.

His father had moved them here when Bill was eleven. Already he’d grown used to being alone. His sister, six years older, had run away the previous summer when the Martlett Cannery had closed, knowing that Papa would be packing up the family again. That’s the way it had always been, a few years here, a few more there. The old man was restless, never happy with the job he had yet unwilling to learn enough to get a better one. The cannery closing was irrelevant; in another year he would have moved them all on anyway. Little Bill was used to not making friends. It was what he preferred, he’d decided. It took too much effort to make new friends, too much embarrassment to explain what his father did. Saying goodbye to friends got to be too familiar.

The time here had been particularly hard. Papa got work on a fishing boat and was gone for weeks at a time. The children in town had lived here all of their lives. They didn’t like letting newcomers into their cliques and were at the age when competition among the sexes was just starting to affect their minds. Old enough to notice, too young to know what to do. Willy had watched the boys play baseball, stood on the sidelines as the last to be chosen for sides during gym class, heard the derisive giggles when the girls walked past on their way home from school. He told himself he didn’t care, and grew to learn the twisting line of rocks along the shore and the trees that hung over the cliff, and explored the sea cave that appeared during low tide. Of course, the other children went there too, but only during the day. He alone went at night with the old flashlight from the toolshed, sitting a few feet inside the cave and watching the phosphorescent waves splash against its walls until the fear grew too strong and he scuttled out along the rocky edge to watch as the sea reclaimed the small opening.

The brakes squealed long as the bus slowed and stopped. Bill blinked and nodded slowly. They were in front of the laundromat, still the gathering place where everyone was equal, if only for an hour. He stood and stretched, pulling down the duffel bag from the overhead rack. Only a couple of the other passengers took note as he left, and none of them followed. He nodded to the bus driver and stepped onto the ground, waiting while the driver yanked his backpack from the baggage compartment underneath. The bus rumbled away in a cloud of diesel. Bill watched it go, and when it rounded the corner two blocks down and its sound abruptly died, he allowed himself to look around. There were more cars than he remembered, a lot more. He inhaled and the salt-tinged air stung his nostrils, an invigorating feeling after the seven hours of bus-stale air. A few townspeople were on the sidewalks, glancing curiously at him as they passed. He knew he was a sight and scratched the stubble on his chin. His fingers stunk and he grimaced as he tasted his teeth.

He remembered a motel close to the edge of town and started walking towards it, his backpack riding high in his shoulders and duffel bag slung through one arm. Maybe it had closed, but it was a decent location. Surely something would have taken its place. He didn’t mind sleeping outdoors, even preferred it usually. But it had been several days since he’d had a bath and he was actually a little disgusted. He was hungry too. Which first, food or bath? Depended on which he ran across first, he decided. What the hell, he wasn’t here to impress anyone. He wasn’t even sure why he was here, aside from a mild curiosity. Twenty years can make anyone nostalgic, even for someplace with a dim memory. He stopped at an intersection and looked at the ocean a few blocks away. It looked a little rough. A few small boats were visible, their bows rising and falling with the rolling tide. He watched for a few minutes, then looked up at the sky. The sun was burning off the last of the fog. He readjusted the pack on his shoulders and continued walking up the street towards the edge of town.

 

[Princess Satana]

Ummmm, Can i add a post or not?

I was just wondering whether or not i could post here, i'm new to the site.

 

[Niamh]

Reminder

OOC: Though I very much appreciate any interest shown in this story by other writers, I must respectfully remind everyone that this thread is closed. No more characters can be accepted at this time.

Additionally, I must request that any questions or comments be made via private message, and not posted into the thread itself.

Thank you.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

They were on their second pot of coffee by the time the talk finally edged around to the grand opening of the Compass Rose. Wrenna took out her notebook and set down her cup.

"So I understand we’ve got all the standard clearances from the City and the Board of Health thanks to Calla’s hard work. And our liquor license was approved last Friday...."

"For wine and beer only," interjected Calla. "The City had some objections to another bar opening on this block. They said it threatened the image of the waterfront as a family friendly zone."

Wrenna nodded. "And Nana, you got us a man for the grill. Who is it?"

Mary gave a triumphant smile. "You are going to be so excited, Wren! I got us a true celebrity!"

Wrenna peered across the table at her grandmother. "What?"

"Well...it’s not Yan Can Cook or the Galloping Gourmet. But he’s a true celebrity locally. There’s a write-up about him in the Spyglass Cove Gazette nearly every week!"

"On the Crimefighters page most likely," whispered Calla into her sister’s ear.

Wrenna took a sip of black coffee and gave her grandmother a look. "Who is it, Nana? Anyone I would know?"

Mary McCardle beamed. "I should say so!! It’s Manolito Mendoza from down at the Buccaneer Barbecue!!"

Wrenna choked and had to be patted on the back by Calla. "You mean..." she gasped, "That guy with the candles braided in his beard? And the pirate costume? You got him ?"

"I figured he would give the place a touch of colour," said Mary. "You know how all the tourists love him."

"The tourists don’t have to put up with him in the kitchen," wailed Wrenna. "I will never forget that time when I was working at Spinnaker’s and he wanted to show me his peg leg!!"

"Why was that bad?"

"Because, Nana, it was in his pants," said Calla. The episode, which had taken place ten years before, was one which had remained vivid in the memory of both sisters. For days after it had occurred they had both been unable to hear the name Manolito without groaning.

"Oh dear," said Mary. "I forgot you used to go out with him, Calla. I guess he does kind of come with some family history attached, doesn’t he?"

There was silence for a long moment.

"Nana, why is Manolito not at the Buccaneer Barbecue anymore?" Wrenna finally asked.

"Well Wrenna, to tell you the truth, I’m not rightly sure. He was passing by the day the painters came, and he asked a lot of questions about what we planned to do with the place. When he heard we were going to follow tradition and open up a seafood bistro, he told me there was not another grillmaster on the coast who could compete with his famous Halibut Hidalgo and that I would be practically ensuring the failure of our new enterprise if I did not hire him on before a competitor snatched him up from right under my nose."

"Oh no," moaned Calla, and gave her sister a look.

"You did not ask for any references, Nana?" Wrenna asked. "You didn’t call Barnacle Joe from the Buccaneer Barbecue to make sure Manolito hadn’t been fired for some wrongdoing?"

"Oh, of course I did, Wrenna," said Mary, looking a little hurt. "I hope you don’t think your old grandmother is naive enough to just hire someone on without doing that."

"And??" asked both Wrenna and Calla at once.

Mary looked down at her plate and her cheeks reddened. "Barnacle Joe told me that there was nothing he would rather see than Manolito Mendoza behind the grill of the Compass Rose. I call that...real generous of him." She shifted her gaze from Wrenna to Calla and back again. "Don’t you?" she said a little doubtfully.

Her two granddaughters hid their heads in their hands.




When Calla and Nana had both left her (with instructions to come by Nana’s house for supper that night) Wrenna once more was left alone in the big empty space that was to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.

Ever since her first cooking course, Wrenna had longed to have her own restaurant. In Europe she had co-owned a bistro with two friends, but that had not been the same thing at all. Fab and Silke (one Italian, one German) had both had very strong personal tastes, and every part of the bistro – from the menu to the music to the decor – had had to be a compromise. What Wrenna longed for was a blank canvas upon which she could paint in her own colours; the colours of her childhood, the colours of the sea. Calla and Nana were helping her, of course, but in the end The Compass Rose was Wrenna’s own. She had made all of the decisions (except for the hiring of Manolito Mendoza, who did, she had to admit, have the reputation of being the best (if most eccentric) grillmaster on the Central Coast!) and the restaurant would sink or swim on the strength of her vision alone.

As she filled the sink in the spotless new kitchen and began to wash their breakfast dishes, Wrenna thought about Calla. No two sisters had ever been closer growing up than the two of them had been. They were only three years apart in age, but something about Calla had always been mysterious and womanly. She had always exuded a kind of sensual confidence that Wren could only dream of. Though there had never been any jealousy between them, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that Calla would succeed brilliantly with men, and Wren would wait at home to hear about her sister's adventures afterwards.

Wild boys in school had given way to wild men on motorcycles later. Calla had always seemed to be having a good time. But sometimes Wren was worried. She suspected that her sister was not always as much in control as everyone thought she was. That maybe she did not always do what was best for herself. That maybe her taste for danger was starting to catch up with her.

The scar on Calla’s face, revealed every so often when a movement of her beautiful head moved the tendril of dark hair so carefully arranged to hide the greenish mark, had given Wrenna a terrible pang in the heart. Who on earth had dared to hit her beloved sister?

There had been no time to ask questions, with Nana blithely going on about Manolito Mendoza and Barnacle Joe, but Wren vowed to seize the earliest opportunity to get Calla alone and find out from her what had been happening in the time during which they had been apart. She lifted her head and looked out at the rolling sea, a shaft of strong sunlight turning her long auburn hair almost to flame. She would ask Calla to go out with her early in the morning, to feed seagulls on the beach. And they would walk hand in hand, gathering shells and polished stones, as once they had done long ago.

Tears sprang unbidden to Wrenna’s eyes as her mind filled with the image of two little girls in gingham sunhats; gap-toothed, sunburned, and with legs as long and thin as the legs of sandpipers.

Oh, dearest Calla, how I have missed you!

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

Waving goodbye to Wren and Nana, Calla slid behind the wheel of her car and headed down the curving road to a spot where the land jutted out into the ocean. She parked and sat looking out at the water for a few moments, mesmerized by the tiny diamonds of light dancing on the waves. I’d forgotten how much I need this, she thought, afraid to blink in case everything turned out to be a dream and she’d awaken only to find herself in a living nightmare again.

Opening the car door, she was greeted by the roaring surf and the raucous screeching of the seagulls circling in a never-ending quest for food. The salt-laden air was chilly, causing her to burrow deeper into her thick green cardigan... but it was a crispness that made her feel exhilarated, made her feel alive.

The visit had been a good one, better than she had expected, with all the warmth and closeness that they had shared in the past. The years had fallen away quickly as memories were uncovered, bringing many smiles and several embarrassed looks to all three faces. Manolito Mendoza! Now there was a ghost from her past! Manolito... with his long, wavy dark hair, thick mustache, and hot Latin blood... had been one of her bad boys, and she grinned ruefully as she remembered recounting her many stories to Wren who always listened in wide-eyed amazement. She wondered if Wren had ever wised up to the fact that her sister had been embellishing most of the tales in an effort to appear more worldly than she was. She had always worried that Wren never seemed interested in dating any of the boys who looked at her with such yearning, but in the end Wren’s decisions were better than the ones that she herself had made.

From her vantage point, she could see The Compass Rose as the boaters would see it... friendly and welcoming and shining brightly in its reincarnated state. As she took in the Rose and its surroundings, she impatiently dialed the veterinarian’s kennel number again, muttering when she heard the recorded message. Damn! I wanted to pick up Blade today! To be fair, she knew that the kennel was officially closed for the day, and she hadn’t been expected back until tomorrow, but she had hoped that someone would answer so that she could pick him up.

Blade, a.k.a. Bladerunner, was a huge, hulking German Shepherd-Samoyed cross, rescued from the pound the day after her arrival back in town four months ago. She really, really wanted him with her before the end of the day because she couldn’t abide the thought of being alone in her little rented house at the edge of town. When she heard the beep, she left her phone number and, as an afterthought, left Nana’s name and number too, keeping her fingers crossed that someone would get back to her soon.

Looking at her watch, she realized how late it was and how much she had yet to do before meeting up with her family for supper. Blowing a kiss across the water to The Compass Rose, she sent a prayer that it would see Wren’s dream fulfilled and would bring her much happiness. Something made her look up into the clear, blue sky just then and she was somewhat startled to see a cloud that looked remarkably like a castle. It disappeared almost immediately with a gust of wind, but Calla considered it a good sign. Anyway, Wren had no need for castles in the air anymore... she had plucked hers out of the heavens and had placed it on a very firm foundation indeed.

Smiling, something she seemed to be doing more and more these days, she settled back into her car and pointed it down the road... perhaps in the direction of her own dreams.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Left alone for a few hours, Wren settled down to work. On the windowseat, cell phone in one hand and notebook in the other, invoices scattered on the floor at her feet, she set about taking care of last minute details. If all went well, she hoped that the Compass Rose would be open within the next two weeks. In fact – she scribbled a note to herself – she would need to get some posters printed up announcing that fact. Maybe even run an ad in The Spyglass Gazette.

By tomorrow, the shell of the building would no longer be bare. Things would start arriving, and Wren looked forward to the deliveries like a child looking forward to Christmas. The first, of course, would be the actual tables and chairs, all crafted for her by a local workshop staffed with retired fishermen. This had been Nana’s idea. Loyalty is mandatory in a good relationship she had said, and Wren had to agree that she was right.

Spyglass Cove was a town with little economic opportunity beyond fishing and tourism. If Wren wanted to succeed there, it was only right that she should help others to succeed as well, by giving them her business.

Every plate, chowder bowl and cup used at the restaurant would bear the Compass Rose motif and name in deep ocean blue. And each piece had been created especially for Wren at a local pottery. Special table linens had been stitched for her by a women’s cooperative. Fresh herbs and produce would all come from small organic growers in the area. Fish would be bought solely from local fishermen. Even the wine had all been chosen from a small vineyard just down the road.

The mid-morning sun, amplified by the glass, baked her pale skin and made her wish she had worn something cooler than her long-sleeved linen blouse and long black skirt. You can take the girl out of Europe, but you sure as hell can’t take Europe out of the girl as Nana had remarked a little tartly. There had been a lot of talk that morning about shopping expeditions to refit her wardrobe. Families in otter sweatshirts don’t like to be greeted at lunch by someone dressed like Edith Piaf. Wrenna stifled a giggle. Edith Piaf indeed.

She rose and opened the door to the patio, stepping outside to stand facing the sea. The cold wind felt wonderful. Awakening. Cleansing. Far in the distance she could make out the trim white shape of a very unusual vessel, gracefully skimming over the waves with the grace of a ballroom dancer. She held onto the railing and leaned forward, the salt wind lifting and tangling her hair. What kind of boat is that? she asked herself silently. It must be a hundred years old!

It had been Nana’s idea to decorate the walls of The Compass Rose with photographs and engravings from the history of Spyglass Cove. Wrenna suspected that the boat she was seeing now would have fit right in with the collection. What an air of romance it had! Smiling to herself, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine the captain of such a ship. Certainly he would be both rugged and sophisticated, used to fine things but accustomed to danger. Probably dressed with military precision in expensive tweeds that smelled of good tobacco, and sporting a well-trimmed beard. Listening to the strains of Schubert or Satie as he remembered some grand amour. Maybe even writing down a scrap of verse on the back of a matchbook. Wrenna sighed. Of course he absolutely had to be someone wonderful. After all, he was sailing away from her!

Smiling, she returned inside and gathered up her things. There was plenty of time to stop in at the Gazette and place an advertisement before supper. It had occurred to her on the drive from San Francisco that live music would be a great asset on opening night. She would need to be quick though, in getting someone for the gig.

But before that.....

Upstairs the loft waited, newly painted and remodeled into a living-space for one. There was a small bath, and even a nook for rudimentary cooking. The rest of it was pure space. Room for everything she would gather as her life began anew.

Oh, there would be a terrible row with Nana over this idea. Probably argument from Calla too. Both of them would protest that Wren should stay with her family for awhile. But she would not buckle in to their good sense. The Compass Rose was the home of her heart now. And that is where she planned to stay.

Wrenna checked her watch. She had just enough time to visit the Gazette before the deliverymen came with her new bed. If she hurried.

But before she descended the stairs she had to have one last look through the great expanse of windows, out to the glittering sea. The boat. And the imagined hero sailing away.

Hold your dreams close to your heart, Wrenna. They are all you will ever have.

 

[captainb]

Bill

The sun splashed brightly between the trees as Bill walked up the road. It wasn’t too far to the outskirts of town, but he was in no hurry to arrive. The kinks in his legs were working themselves out from too many hours in a cramped seat. The backpack and bag, though somewhat heavy, were a welcome weight for his underused muscles. He’d been lazy these past couple of months anyway, ever since the company closed the restaurant. They had offered to keep him at another location, but weren’t willing to up his salary despite the need for him to move to a city. He’d taken their severance happily and driven home, where he spent the next three weeks looking through want ads and wondering what to do. He’d been in restaurant management for ten years, working his way through three national chains and never being really happy. It certainly wasn’t how he’d intended to live his life. “Sure made that psychology degree worthwhile!” he would joke to friends, but in truth he had no idea what he would have done after college anyway. By the time he graduated, the degree was worthless to him except for helping fill out his resume. He had followed some friends to Florida and started a series of meaningless jobs, culminating in an entry-level position in a fast-food chain.

Bill had been good at his work, but never developed a fondness for it. Despite his feelings, however, his employers noticed his work ethic and promoted him, giving him a substantial raise later when another company made an offer for him. It was good to be wanted and appreciated for your work, but he had run across the phrase Quality of Life and grew increasingly dissatisfied with his. The restaurant closing was the best thing he thought could have happened to him. After packing his stuff into storage (it was surprising how little room his possessions took up) and leaving the car with one of his few good friends, Bill picked up an Ameripass and hopped a Greyhound going south. That was five weeks ago.

Walking up the old highway was bringing back memories. They were mostly dim, more like déjà-vu. He was sure he’d walked this road before, only now there were houses lining it, their driveways and lawns making regular breaks in the old forest. Hadn’t he climbed that rocky outcropping? But he remembered it as much higher and with not as many trees. The road curved familiarly ahead and he walked a bit faster. Sure enough, around the bend was a pull-off where the trees were thinner, dropping down to the rocky beach below. There was a lot of garbage strewn over the edge, but he could see a good stretch of the ocean from here. The weather seemed to have cleared nicely, although there was a dark line near the horizon. Bill didn’t know if that meant anything or not. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning. That was all the sea lore he knew, and he had no clue what color the morning had been.

Off to his right the California coast poked a stubby finger into the water. A few docks and boats rimmed it, with various old structures attached to give it some local flavor. Near the far edge the ground had been cleared around a building and a few cars. Didn’t that used to be a hotel or a restaurant or something? He shook his head. He couldn’t expect a thirteen-year-old to notice something like that, especially when a visit to that sort of place was far beyond the family budget. But he did remember how the building had stood alone on the promontory, the thick trees making it nearly an island by itself. Well, whatever it was, there wasn’t too much business there now even with the newer buildings around it. Spyglass Cove had grown, the inevitable slow expansion of its borders absorbing the countryside. No one realized it was even happening until they woke up one day and wondered where the field across from their house had gone.

Bill had three weeks of traveling left before his pass ran out, but he avoided thinking about that except to wonder if he could do it again. He pulled a handful of trail mix from one of his jacket pockets. Wearing an army surplus jacket seemed so retro now, but it was a good warm coat that held a lot of supplies, and Bill liked its comfort. He took a deep drink of water from the plastic jug, tore off a piece of jerky and shouldered his pack again. It shouldn’t be too far now. The houses were bunching up tighter, and he saw some kind of business sign up ahead. There wasn’t much room on the side of the road, so when cars passed he stepped aside and waited them out. Technically he was walking on the wrong side, but he didn’t really care right now. Out of the blue, he thought of the sea cave. He smiled as he walked, remembering green foam and black slippery rock, and wondered idly if he could find it again.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

Calla arrived home after taking care of her few small errands, extremely disappointed that the kennel hadn't returned her call. I guess I'll just have to go it alone tonight, she thought, picturing herself sitting beside the window watching the driveway until the first light of dawn. I've got to get over this insane crippling fear and move on... there's no way Nick could find me. But, if she truly believed that, then she wouldn't be so consumed with the thought that he could very easily do precisely that.

In her heart she knew that she should have rented a house in the village, but at the time of her return she couldn't bear the questioning and pitying looks of the townspeople and had taken the first thing that Nana had been able to find. It was extremely small with just a living room, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms, but it was all that she needed until she got her bearings and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life. There was almost nothing personal in the tiny empty space as most of her material possessions had been left behind in her sudden departure.
Glancing at her watch, she determined that before driving to Nana's there would be enough time for a long hot bath and a short nap. She was just heading into the bedroom when she heard it. The noise. The noise that made goose bumps pop out on her skin and every hair stand up at attention. The noise that made her heart race and dried the moisture inside her mouth. She cowered behind the drapes and peeked out... and what she saw caused all her pent-up breath to be expelled in an audible gasp and sent her stepping cautiously outside.

It was a motorcycle, all right... and a Harley at that... but certainly not one that Nick, even with his criminal connections, could ever afford. Well-versed on what was what in the biking world, Calla could see that this was the crème de la crème... a touring Harley, Ultra Classic Electra Glide. She couldn't determine the rider's identity as he was hidden behind helmet and goggles, but she knew he was a better class of individual than that which had crossed her path during the past few years. What next caught her attention caused her to burst out laughing. The sound was rusty and unfamiliar to her, for there had been no opportunity for laughter in such a long time, but once she started she was unable to stem the tidal wave of emotion that welled up inside her.

Bouncing along in the sidecar, wearing a jaunty red scarf and a pilot's leather helmet resting on top of his head (with appropriate cut-outs for his ears), was Blade. With tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and his big shaggy head swiveling all around, he looked like a caricature of Baron Von Richthoffen coming in for a landing in his World War I Sopwith Camel.

Calla held onto her ribs and collapsed on the lawn in helpless mirth as the motorcycle came to a halt in front of her and was banished into silence. She laughed until her sides hurt, but it was the good kind of hurt…not the kind that followed someone screaming that she was stupid and couldn’t do anything right. The sidecar shook alarmingly as Blade, confined by an animal restraint harness, tried to wag his massive tail. The rider reached over and flicked the release and 120 lbs of pent-up energy erupted in an instant and flew in her direction. She halted him in his tracks with a single word, quietly spoken, and he stood over her trying to determine what the strange sound was that he had heard. His oddly coloured eyes, one bright brown and one glittering blue, were quizzical as he tilted his head first one way and then the other. A rather formidable and perhaps terrifying specter to others, he could harm her only by possibly drowning her in dog slobber.

Gathering the dog to her, she suddenly remembered the rider and glanced up at him, squinting in the sunlight as she tried to focus on his face. He stepped in front of her, and as her pupils dilated she confirmed what she had suspected... it was the vet, but certainly not as she had ever seen him. At his clinic, she had considered him rather dull and unapproachable in his white lab coat and with his holier-than-thou attitude when he looked down his nose at her... but in his leathers and with his long golden hair loose under the helmet he seemed suddenly more attractive. And more like the type of man she should avoid like the plague.

He reached over and retrieved the scarf and leather helmet, politely (and somewhat stiffly) declined her invitation to coffee, straddled his blue and diamond ice steed, and headed back from whence he had come.

And Calla shook her head vigorously in an effort to dislodge the romance novel wording that seemed far too deeply engrained for her liking.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Wrenna’s bed was delivered safely just after noon. The delivery van had been so punctual that she had almost missed it. (Trying to explain to the desk clerk at The Spyglass Cove Gazette that his brother-in-law’s barbershop quartet was not precisely the kind of entertainment that she envisioned for the Compass Rose had been a time-consuming matter.)

With six hours to go before she had to meet Nana and Calla, she had decided to treat herself to an afternoon of getting to know the town of her childhood all over again. She had bought a bag of salt water taffy and a pair of woven leather sandals for the beach. She had caved into familial pressure and exchanged her chic black skirt for one of batiked blue cotton (which she wore knotted at the hip). And, in the jewelry gallery of an artist in metals, she had made the serendipitous discovery of a pair of earrings worked in the shape of the Compass Rose motif. They had been very expensive, but had made her feel very lucky as she bought them. They now dangled from her ears and caught the bright sun of early afternoon as she walked. Everything seemed, for the moment anyway, to be coming together like the many pieces of a quilt.

Bare-legged and barefooted, she picked her way down the rocky hillside to the beach. As the wind lifted the hem of her skirt and sent it floating upwards (making her feel like like some oceanic version of Marilyn Monroe) she realised how white she was. Her legs, she thought, could probably be seen all the way from sea, like a pasty white beacon. Luckily there was no one there to see her. Not even the eccentric little boat that had so caught her imagination earlier. She felt a twinge of disappointment. She would have liked to see that boat again, to indulge her romantic fantasies of the sea captain and his life. One had to have fantasies, didn’t they? Otherwise, how could one survive?

The beach here was made of tiny stones, not sand. When you scooped up a handful, you could pick out all the colours – the crimsons and jade greens and dark golds – that blended together into the tawny brown of the coastline. Like Pointillism, Wrenna thought, as she walked finally along the edge of the sea. Like a painting by Seurat. Light refracted from a million dots of colour. Landscapes that shift and glimmer mirage-like until they become the territory of dreams.

She found a large chunk of driftwood – a whole tree, salt-bleached and sea-polished. Beneath her hands the bark was like satin. She sat there and stared out to sea.

It had been a productive afternoon. She had placed what Nana would disapprovingly call a whimsical notice in The Spyglass Cove Gazette. Unfolding her copy of the transaction and reading it over again, she did not think it was that bad:

Art with Heart.

If music is your craft, and every song a window to your heart, please apply in person to W. Mallory, The Compass Rose, 29 Main Street, Spyglass Cove. Individual performers/bands considered. Celtic, folk or country preferred.

The ad would appear for the first time tomorrow.

She also had the beginnings of a new home. (With more to come tomorrow afternoon!)

And a bathing suit. (Which she would certainly never wear in broad daylight until somehow she got a tan. Which did not work somehow, did it?)

Sandpipers were wading into the surf very gravely, and she watched them until the light that glanced upwards from the sea made her shade her eyes and look away.

It was then that she saw she was not, in fact, completely alone. There was a man making his way along the shoreline towards her. She did not think he had seen her yet. With any luck he would turn around and go back the way he had come. She took a surreptitious glance down at her legs. No, they were just as white as ever. If they had changed colour at all, it was only to go a little pink – like crabmeat. Whatever visions she might have cherished of appearing suddenly like some wind-tossed siren of Gauguin’s went straight out of her mind.

Better not to scare the poor man.

Behind her, if memory served, there was a sea-cave. None of the tourists knew about it, but as a child she had often gone there to think and to dream. As a young woman, too. If she were quick, she was reasonably certain she could make its shelter before the tourist came close enough to see her. Yes! He had disappeared momentarily behind a jutting arm of volcanic rock. Now was her chance.

Quick as a bird she sailed into the cool, briny shadows of the cave. The floor was reasonably dry, and scattered with broken shells. The walls were smooth and black, polished by aeons of rushing waters. It was damp and echoing and smelled of the very heart of the sea. She pressed herself against the rock wall and remembered how it had felt to stand here as a child. Or as a young woman, usually in tears, when all the world had seemed to turn its back on her. I used to think of Tristan here. I used to dream that he would find me and carry me away.

I used to dream here.

Almost without knowing she was doing it, she began to hum. The ebb and flow of the tide drowned out her voice, but she sang anyway. Words came to her, from far across her memory.

The white bird dreams of the aspen tree
with its dying leaves turning gold.
But the white bird just sits in its cage
growing old.

 

[photographer]

Harve

Harve gently turned the wheel and Nashanabe heeled good naturedly as she came up on the new heading.

Dusk had fallen, the sky darkening in that magical way that makes man feel that his soul is not alone.

Lashing the wheel, Harve set the engines to slow and went out onto the stern, glass of wine in one hand, old meershaum pipe clenched between his teeth, impusively grabbing his old Ibanez as he cleared the door. Sitting back, leaning against the bundle of rope and netting, he drew contentedly on the pipe sending tendrils of sweet-smelling smoke into the still night sky.

"Well, old girl, here we are again. Just the two of us. Pleasant. Very damned pleasant"

Nashanabe replied by lifting her head as she rode a swell, causing Harve to laugh out loud delightedly at the notion of his beautiful old boat who not only seemed to understand him, but often replied as well.

"I must be going quietly mad, my dear old girl. But you're the only company I have. But at least you listen to me!"

Nashanabe shuddered, old timbers creaking in the age old rhythm of the sea, water shooshing along her sides, soothing Harve into quietness and a certain moodiness.

He lay back, stars filling the clear night sky.

"Oh Nash, baby - look at that! Man oh man, that is so beautiful. Countless. Infinite!"

He put the pipe down, reached out, and drew his old guitar to him. He sat, looking at it for several long minutes, his hand softly caressing the smooth old wood, gently brushing against the strings.

"What the hell ..... Nashanabe, darling, this is for you ......"

He quickly and expertly tuned the guitar, his fingers beginning to remember as he strummed for a few minutes.

"It's been a long time ........ so don't laugh ....."

His fingers began to move, old memories returning,

Mentally aplogising to the composer, Harve began to sing, softly, quietly, in his distinctively haunting voice:

Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and gray,
Look out on a summer’s day with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills, sketch the trees and daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now, I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen. They did not know how.
Perhaps, they’ll listen now.

Starry, starry night, flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violent haze, reflecting Vincent’s eyes that shine of blue,
Colors changing hue, morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen. They did not know how.
Perhaps, they’ll listen now.

For they could not love you but still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life as lovers often do.
But, I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night, portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls with eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn, the bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen.
They’re not listening still.
Perhaps, they never will.


He sighed deeply, feeling the sadness and the beauty of the song. Nashanabe seemed to shake herself out of a reverie, then plunged on through the gentle sea.

"Yes, old girl, I sang again. Been a while, hasn't it?"

He retrieved the pipe and let out a stream of well contrived nautically themed swearwords as he realised that it was out, and the matches were in the cabin.

Mood broken, he stamped off, annoyed, and disappeared below decks, leaving Nashanabe to wend her way towards the far horizon .......

 

[captainb]

Bill

As the houses grew closer together, Bill found himself walking slower as he peered to his left trying to keep the ocean in sight. He realized that the road was curving away from the shore, and he turned down an unpaved street that headed back towards the water.

At the end of the short street was a steep narrow path leading down an embankment and to the stony beach. The sun was high and his hunger was sated for the moment, so he gingerly slid down the bank until his hiking boots crunched onto the small rocks. The roaring hiss of the falling waves echoed around him, and he stepped from under the overhanging branches and onto the shore. He realized he was smiling. This looked familiar, not that there was much different from a thousand other shores the world over. But something was different here, although he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe just the knowledge that he’d been here as a child served as its own memory. In any case, it felt good.

He thought again of the sea cave and looked north, following the curve of the beach towards the promontory. He walked several paces in that direction and stopped. “I know those rocks!” he suddenly said. A craggy line of black boulders jutted out from the shore about a half-mile away, almost separating the beach into two parts. He nodded. It will be two parts when the tide comes in, he thought. The backpack was suddenly heavy and he looked up and down the craggy coast. No one else was in sight, just the birds skittering ahead of the waves as they searched for their own sea-treasure. He moved to a shelter of trees near the bank and set the pack and bag down in the long grass, then shrugged his coat off. It was warming up, despite the ocean breeze, and it felt good against his t-shirt. Lightened, he set off at a comfortable walk up the beach.

He was wrong; he wasn’t alone. Someone was walking ahead of him on the other side of the rocks, maybe a woman. Someone else just enjoying their time alone next to the water. He slowed and glanced out to sea as he walked. Not many boats out there now. The fishermen would be far out by now, prowling their hunting grounds. A tiny sail appeared and vanished far in the distance, and Bill found himself thinking of his dad out on the waves. He wondered where he was now, if he was out where Bill looked, just beyond the horizon. Bill’s father had left on a boat fifteen years ago and hadn’t come back. Oh, the boat had returned and unloaded its catch and beer-hungry sailors, but whichever direction his father had turned that night, it hadn’t been for home. At the time, Bill hadn’t cared. One less problem to come home to, one less thing to make mama cry.

He reached down for a rock and skimmed it, catching the top of one wave before it plunked straight into the water. The rockline was close now, but the figure had vanished. Maybe she had gone back up top. Once past the rocks, it got pretty hard to navigate along the jagged shore, where the waves beat against the continent the strongest. A wrong step could get you wet or cut. Well, there were probably hidden paths all along the shoreline. He rounded the edge of the rocks and his eyes immediately found the cave opening, hidden as it was out in the open. It just looked like another shadow, certainly not anything inviting enough to want to step into. Not unless you knew it was there.

He grinned and started towards it, then stopped as a faint sound reached his ears. Someone was singing, far away yet very close, coming not from the top of the bank but... from where? He slowly moved closer, turning his head to locate the source, then suddenly stopped and stared at the dark cave entrance. The ghostly voice was coming from inside.

White bird must fly or she will die.

A chill ran down his spine as the voice faded and he thought of the Sirens. He stepped closer and peered at the cave twenty feet away, but all he saw was black shadow, even darker against the sunlight. Then the voice rose again, a woman’s voice, softly singing.

The sunsets come, the sunsets go
The clouds float by, the earth turns slow
And a young bird's eyes do always glow
And she must fly.

Bill took another step and the singing suddenly stopped. Crap, he thought, and turned back towards the ocean. He suddenly felt like an intruder, remembering how the cave had been his own refuge. I know what it’s like to want to be alone. He looked to his right, but the rocks denied him an escape that way. He looked back the way he’d come, knowing he was being watched. A wave rolled onto the shore, leaving a fresh arrangement of pebbly rocks in its wake, and he walked back to the edge of the boulders to sit and unlace his boots. He’d walk back to his gear in the surf, giving his feet a welcome break and leaving the unknown soul to her song.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

By the time Wrenna arrived at Nana’s house, the sun was setting on the glittering breast of the Pacific. She walked slowly up the winding garden path from the wicket gate, carrying a bunch of freesia newly bought from a flower-cart at the end of Main Street. As she lingered in the last rays of sunlight, she thought back to the strange few moments in the sea-cave, when she had felt the presence of another human being.

Time, in that rocky channel carved by the surf, had always taken on a strange and nebulous quality for her. You could hear nothing but the sea and your own heartbeat. It was like being inside some womb of the earth, and often she had huddled there precisely like an embryo unwilling to face the buffeting of the world outside. But always, before, she had been alone in her refuge. Alone to explore the inner soulscape; to hope and to fear and to remember.

But this time a man had entered into the place of her retreat. She had seen him, though not very well in the shadows, with the glare of the sun behind him. What had struck her most about him had been the tentative way in which he had entered, almost as if he had been trying to recall something. There had been a real reverence about his approach. The careful steps with bare feet onto stones already imprinted by her own. The attitude of his body as he looked around him. He had put out a hand to the rock walls; not to steady himself, but to feel the silken surface. To feel the contours of the smooth stone, as if he were a blind man trying to remember a face by touch.

She had been terrified that he would say something to her. Unreasonable fear, certainly; he had hardly looked dangerous. But there was a certain primal mystery to the moment – a man and a woman in a cave – something she felt that by rights ought to be transcribed into a poem or a song. Not interrupted and shattered by a friendly "Where’s a good place for fish 'n' chips?" or even a "Oh, excuse me. I did not know anyone was here."

Wrenna grimaced at the line her thoughts were taking. A man and a woman in a cave. What were we supposed to do next? Discover fire? She gave in to a bubble of laughter (just in time to startle Mrs. Lewis who lived next door, and who was just now brandishing a pair of pruning shears as she looked over the fence.)

"Maybe he was a selkie," Wrenna continued aloud for the benefit of Mrs. Lewis. She smiled as she lifted the freesia flowers to her face and took a deep breath of their freshness. "A man come from the sea, to lure me to my doom. What do you think, Mrs. Lewis?"

"I think, Wren, that you have been in Europe too long. We don’t get selkies round these parts." (Elvira Lewis was not at all perturbed at being so summarily invited into the conversation.)

Wren opened the screen door and smiled. "But of course you do! The rocks are covered with them."

"California sea lions," said Mrs. Lewis with an air of finality. But her eyes twinkled. She and Wrenna had always been pals. No one could build a treehouse like Mrs. Lewis could. She still wore overalls most days, and a hat with a sunflower in it.

Wrenna laughed and went inside.


It was just as she had remembered it. Nana’s cottage, cluttered with quilts in progress, sepia photographs of the family a century ago, cats in every armchair, and so many plants that the parlour was like a rainforest. The Mallory family had come to California in covered wagons, and Nana was very proud of the fact. No family artefact was ever thrown away. Every chair and sofa had been lovingly reupholstered a dozen times. Every table polished weekly with beeswax. Oil lamps were everywhere and so were ingenious old clocks whose intermingled ticking was like the heartbeat of the house.

Nana herself was baking biscuits in the kitchen to the sounds of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

When she heard the screen door open and close she came out to kiss her grand-daughter in greeting, flour-caked hands held stiffly out of the way.

"Oh, you know I just love freesia, Wren! Go and stick those in a jar of water and then sit yourself down at the table. There’s a pot of tea all ready. China rose, just like you girls always liked for your tea-parties under the apple tree."

In the kitchen, Wrenna ducked her head beneath the hanging baskets of geraniums and stretched her hand out for an empty Mason jar, jangling a dozen windchimes as she did so. She was just arranging the freesia in the jar when Nana shoved the pan of biscuits into the oven and came over to sit beside her at the scrubbed kitchen table. Herb in the background was making his way soulfully through The Lonely Bull.

Nana reached for that morning’s copy of The Spyglass Cove Gazette and raised her magnifying glasses from the chain that held them around her neck. “I was reading the most fascinating thing this morning, Wren. Let me see...I think I can find it again. Yes! Here you go. Brought you and Calla right to mind.”

Clearing her throat, the old woman began to read aloud:

Animal Facts

The humble barnacle boasts the world's longest penis for its body size. Really, think about how hard it would be to find a date if you were permanently attached to a surface and couldn't move. So the barnacle relies on its long penis to seek out nearby females and deposit its sperm.

The screen door slammed and suddenly Mrs. Lewis was in the doorway, a brown paper bag of ripe plums in her arms. "Forget it, Mary. I don’t know about Calla. But Wrenna has her eye on the seals."

 

[captainb]

Bill

The walk back through the surf was refreshing. Bill rolled up his pant legs and enjoyed the liquid ground squelching between his toes and the tiny rocks that washed away under his feet as the waves receded only to rush back in with a splash against his calves. He lay on the sand a little higher than the tide mark and closed his eyes, letting the sun begin its bake. The inside of his eyelids glowed red as he waited for his feet to dry, and the buzz and hustle of his thoughts receded into the arrhythmic sounds of the surf and wind and birds.

He sluggishly cracked open his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the clouds and sun. He sat up and stretched, working the kinks out of his face. The sun was farther west and he realized he’d fallen asleep. He rubbed his face, feeling the tightness of the skin, and hoped he hadn’t gotten burnt. He looked at his watch. “Geez,” he said softly. Well, that sure killed the afternoon! He stood and stretched, wiping off the sand as he walked back to his gear to pull his boots back on. Once he was reassembled, he spent a few minutes looking for the path back up, managing to pull himself up the bank and only get mildly muddy. Back on the road, he continued into town, stopping at the first diner to wolf down a cheeseburger and fries, washing it all down with a cold root beer.

“Is there a motel nearby?” he asked the waitress.

She gave him a disinterested once-over. “There’s the Piper, ‘bout three blocks that way,” she said, popping her gum. “They don’t charge much.”

He swirled the ice in his glass. “What about that place out on the point?” Receiving a blank look, he went on, “The old building… restaurant, whatever, out by ocean?” He pointed in the general direction.

She looked at the wall where he pointed. “Oh yeah, that. I guess they’re putting in a restaurant there, but it’s not open yet. Ya want anything else?”

He paid the bill and stood on the sidewalk, feeling the first hint of evening chill. The sky was still clear and he suddenly had no desire at all to spend the night under a roof. Dodging two cars, he crossed the street and started down the lonely dead-end road.

The sign said The Compass Rose. He slowly walked around the building. The cars were gone and the building was closed up tight, but it was obvious that someone had spent time restoring it. Fresh paint, live plants in the windows, lots of crushed boxes and empty paint cans out back by the trash cans. Should be a nice place, he thought, trying to see up to the second floor windows. Seafood and a view, pretty good combination.

An area had been cleared at the far end of the parking lot for a new stairway down to a small dock, starting to float on the incoming tide. Matching new benches sat on top, and a hanging flower planter swung slightly in the gathering breeze. He set his pack off to the side and unrolled his sleeping bag. He lay back and pulled out a ragged paperback. He’d been on a Tom Clancy kick lately, good intricate books that were hard to read fast and so lasted longer than most. For the moment, he set it aside and sat staring out to sea, then down the staircase to the dock below him. He hoped no one pulled up here tonight, remembering an uncomfortable run-in with the local police in San Antonio. Not for the first time, he wished he had a joint. But he’d be crazy to carry stuff like that with him on a trip like this. Even a beer would be good, but he was uncertain about the local open container laws. So he sat cross-legged, palms open on his knees, and breathed deeply, letting his gaze to sea grow unfocused and his thoughts slow to a crawl. The shadows grew and the sun highlighted the ocean with dancing sparks, and he sat in immobile silence as the evening enveloped him.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

Nana’s house is just about perfect, thought Calla, as she wandered around and examined the little cottage after parking her car in the lane. Pulling her red cardigan snugly around her red and white sundress to ward off the chill from the water, she wistfully hugged her dream to herself at the same time. This is what I want... a house that will be a real home and not just a place in which to park my possessions for a short while. Maybe there’s a magical spot in Spyglass Cove that’s just waiting to be discovered... that's waiting just for me.

As she opened the door to the house, she saw Blade make a beeline for the kitchen and studiously avoid the plethora of cats glaring at him with glittering eyes of gold and green. After his few disastrous attempts to make friends with them, they had all come to an understanding of sorts... he wouldn’t look at them, and they wouldn’t erupt like small furry firecrackers with very short fuses!

Calla came through the kitchen door just in time to hear Nana quoting the newspaper article about the barnacle and his rather amazing penis and couldn’t resist adding a comment of her own.

“A male permanently attached to a surface so that he can’t move? Hey, sounds like a plan to me! Now, Nana, I’m sure you know that women don’t really care about size, but if you’re genuinely interested in animal statistics, here’s one you can quote the next time you get together with your friends: the penis of the adult Blue Whale can range in length between 11 and 16 feet. Oh, and a whale penis is called a dork... so be careful how you use that word!”

Three skeptical looks and several raised eyebrows greeted the statement, and Mrs. Lewis visually measured the length of the kitchen and compared it to the length of the whale organ. Good God, she was clearly heard to mutter incredulously.

As usual, Calla was amazed that nothing seemed to faze or embarrass her grandmother, and she recalled the most enlightening discussions the three of them of had when she and Wrenna were teenagers.

She hugged and kissed the sweet old lady, then Wrenna and, finally, Mrs. Lewis. The bearer of plums feigned mock annoyance as Calla plucked the most succulent one from the bag and did a fancy sidestep to avoid a swat on her derrière.

Oh, how I love this room, she thought, as she sat down happily at the table and accepted the cup of tea from Wrenna. The conversation flowing around her warmed her insides more than the hot liquid, and she was content to be just a listener as memories resurfaced of Nana at this very table. Of Nana waiting up for the errant Calla on the many nights she neglected to return before curfew. Of Nana holding her in her arms when her heart was broken after another boy had broken up with her. Of Nana reassuring her when she was frustrated and wanted to quit school. Of Nana telling her that she could be anyone and do anything that she wanted. Poor Nana... what a handful I was, so full of passion and angst!

Mrs. Lewis disappeared soon after so that the small family could enjoy their first meal together in years. The three stuffed themselves with crab, lobster and scallops as they tested a few select recipes for The Compass Rose... all fruits of the sea washed down by more than one bottle of white wine. They laughed so much that they were sore... even Calla’s facial muscles ached, having been unaccustomed for so long to spontaneous smiles and grins.

As she and Wrenna finished washing and drying the dishes, Calla stared out the window at the beautiful night. The full moon cast a brilliant golden path leading into the water and beyond the horizon, and she longed to follow the trail to see where it might lead.

Turning, she held her hand out to her sister, “Let’s go for a walk along the beach like we used to, Wren. There’s no one around... who knows, maybe we’ll go skinny-dipping!”

From the other room, she heard her grandmother give an unladylike snort as she settled in front of the television to watch a favourite movie classic.

“You two always liked to do that, didn’t you? I had a devil of a time getting you to wear bathing suits in the water. Well, go ahead and have fun, whatever you do. Just be careful not to get caught!”

Shaking their heads at Nana’s refusal to be shocked, Calla and Wrenna stepped outside and felt the heart-stopping symphony of the Pacific immediately surround them.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

"I thought you were cold!" said Wrenna as she and Calla scrambled down the hill towards the water. "Why on earth do you want to go skinny-dipping?" She was laughing, and pulling at her sister’s hand, the wine from dinner and Calla’s lecture on whale anatomy having loosened up a whole flood of giggles.

Hand in hand, they slid almost a metre and Calla warned her little sister not to laugh so hard again until they were on level ground.

"I never knew before that the sea was such a hotbed of studly activity," Wren added. "Did you hear Mrs. Lewis about the Fiddler Crab?"

"Stop. STOP, Wren. My footing is precarious as it is. Oh no!!!"

Howling with laughter, the two of them tumbled the last bit of the way down. Calla gave Wren a stern look and rubbed her knee.

"I’m really going to look sexy with black and blue marks all over my body." The words died on her lips. She looked down at her feet, suddenly embarrassed.

Wrenna looked at her sister closely. She stretched out a hand and gently moved the long tendril of hair away from her sister’s forehead. Even in the moonlight, the bruise was visible. Wrenna’s jaw tightened and she looked into Calla’s eyes.

"Who did this to you? Who hit you? I wasn’t going to ask about it in front of Nana, but I want you to tell me what has been going on with you while I’ve been away."

Calla looked out to sea, and Wren could see the inward struggle going on behind her sister’s placid exterior.

"Calla, you had a successful career as a novelist. A beautiful home. A whole life. And you gave it up suddenly to come back here. I want to know what is going on. Please. "

Wren leaned her forehead against Calla’s as they had been used to do as children.

"I want to tell you, Wren. I want to, and I will. But...not tonight. Not in the dark."

She kissed her sister’s cheek and stood, dragging Wren upwards with her. There was a note in her voice that was almost pleading. A tremulousness that meant she was close to tears. "I want us to be happy tonight, Wren. To swim and sing and be silly. It’s been such a beautiful day. Let’s enjoy the brightness a little longer."

Wren watched her sister for a long moment. Calla’s face was strained, even behind her smile. There was something in her eyes that had not been there before, when they were girls. What was it? Fear? Dread? She looked haunted, like someone who was running away from something terrible.

"Because I love you, I won’t push you further than you want to go tonight," Wrenna said slowly. "But Calla, I want you to tell me everything, in your own time, and in your own way. I want to be on your side. To support you. To protect you if I can."

Calla nodded, and started on towards the water. Wrenna saw her again as she had been when still a child. Tall and coltish, with knobbly knees and a missing tooth. Narrow shoulders hunched when she was sad or afraid. Little hands clenched into fists amongst the folds of her sundress. The little girl was still there, hiding inside the woman, Wrenna saw. And the little girl was still afraid.

But when the first wavelet covered Calla’s toes, she turned her head and gazed back over her shoulder at her sister. She was smiling. For the moment the darkness had passed, and there was a playul light in her eyes. Hands thrust into the pockets of her sundress, she climbed back up the beach and gave Wrenna a little push.

"First one in gets the whale, Wren!" She unbuttoned her cardigan and kicked off her shoes, grinning.

"I think I’ll let you get a head start," grumbled Wrenna.

And stepped out of her skirt.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen

The spring rains had washed the sky clean of it’s smog and haze during the previous two days leaving the coast highway’s vista unobscured but for the occasional stand of cypress or redwood along it’s western shoulder. Steep precipices and oncoming traffic were the only obstacles to fully enjoying the view and Maureen Catlin was not about to risk life and limb for a pretty picture right now. Afterall, it was… what was that tired old adage? The first day of the rest of your life. “Right,” she thought wryly as brakelights flashed up ahead. A CalTrans crew had stopped cars in both directions to clean up a rock slide that littered the roadway with granite skree and mud. Maureen knew it would be twenty minutes or more before they reopened a lane to allow vehicles through. Time to take stock again and drink in the view.

She shoved the gearshift into ‘park’ and set the emergency brake. Leaning back against the headrest looking westward at the sparkling Pacific, she closed her eyes for a moment. She'd left San Francisco that morning intent upon putting her past where it rightly belonged. Behind her.

It had been two years since Richard had died. Richard. The name sounded like she was spitting it out even inside her head. Grief and loathing were still the dominant emotions called forth when she thought of him. How the hell could you do it? And why didn’t you protect me? Aaahh! 15 years and, damn you, it’s all gone! The wail was all too familiar. She shook her head to dispell the waves of self-pity and confusion, remembering…

• “Mrs. Catlin? This is Hank at the security desk. I think you’d better come down to the office. There’s a problem.”
  
  “What is it Hank? Oh my God. Is it Richard? Is there something wrong? What’s happened?”
  
  “Calm down, Mrs. Catlin. Please ma’am. Just come downtown. I’ll wait for you at the loading dock.”
  
  Click.
  
  She’d jumped into the XJ6 and raced into the heart of the city’s financial district to the offices of Bergson, Catlin and Margolis without a second thought. The parking garage was eerily quiet as she pulled in and parked. Hank was standing on the steps of the loading dock, beckoning to her.
  
  “Ma’am I sure appreciate your coming. I’m really sorry to drag you out here, but I figured you’d want to know about this first.”
  
  “Hank. Please tell me what’s going on!” she pleaded.
  
  “Well, it’s Mr. C.” His voice shook and he hesitated before continuing. “I think he’s… aw, hell, ma’am. I think he’s dead.”
  
  Not waiting for Hank to say more, she turned and headed for the elevators at full speed, fumble for her purse and the master keys, but the purse wasn’t there. Puffing slightly, the security guard arrived with his passkey and turned on the lift. Together they ascended to the 15th floor and Richard’s office. As soon as the doors slid open, she bolted down the hall.
  
  Richard’s door was wide open. On the sofa was a distraught young woman who Maureen vaguely recognized as his new administrative assistant. Only she’d had more clothes on the last time they’d met. Maureen recalled looking up from the girl’s face into the adjoining room and seeing Richard’s body sprawled out on the top of his desk. Numbly she’d walked through the etched glass doors and put a hand to his throat. There was no pulse. And he hadn’t a stitch on.

That was the beginning of the worst year of her life. She’d buried him the week following his death. The next day she began the painful process of clearing out his offices and negotiating with his partners to sell them his share of the company. Within a matter of weeks, her accountants made a shocking discovery: Richard had embezzled over half a million in investment funds. Suddenly her options became frighteningly limited.

In the end she wound up with next to nothing; some clothes, a few pieces of her mother’s jewelry, her car and a small nest egg that was agreed to in a pre-nup she’d insisted Richard sign. Thank goodness she’d shown a little sense back then. San Francisco quickly became inhospitable with the loss of her financial status; her “friends” all but abandoned her and she had no family to keep her in the City. At the tender age of 41, it was time for a fresh start.

She knew how to live simply and decided a small town on the seaside would suit her, especially if she was able to find a job and pursue her passions – quilting and clothing design. It was with great excitement that she found a classified ad for a small bungalow to let in Spyglass Cove just a few hours down the coast. It sounded perfect!

• 
  Cottage for Rent:
  1 bdrm, gas stove, sitting room, small yard. No dogs. Cats OK. Non-smoker. $500/month. Offered by Tarentino Realty. Call for appointment.

She'd called immediately and was rewarded with the first slot on the calendar. Now all she had to do now was get there before anyone else did – the real estate agent assured her that she’d have first right of refusal… if the owner liked her.

bEEEeep!

The sharp bleat of a horn rudely brought her back to the present. Looking up, she saw that the line of cars was moving and given the impatience of the fellow at her bumper, so should she. With the ocean glistening in the setting sun, she released the emergency brake, slid the shifter into drive and pressed down on the accelerator. ”Spyglass Cove, here I come…”

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

Calla slid the straps of her sundress down and the garment immediately pooled at her feet, not because she was too thin but because these days she had a tendency to wear loose clothing so as not to draw attention to herself.

“Remember the time we were skinny-dipping and that dog ran off with our bathing suits?” she questioned Wren, who responded behind her with an agonized sound.

“Do I?!” Wren laughed as she clutched her blouse to herself and tried to summon up courage to make the dash into the water. “And it was in the middle of the day, too! No matter how loudly we yelled, no one heard us and we had to make it back to the house stark naked. Of course, it didn’t seem to bother you much, but I was really embarrassed and tried to hide behind you all the way. Nana claimed she never heard us, but I still think it was to teach us a lesson!”

“Not that it worked, though,” Calla responded. “After that, we confined our activities to night time! The potential for clothes stealing is the main reason I left Blade inside... also, I didn’t want him rolling in any dead fish. I don’t know why he loves that so much... he did that last week and looked so supremely ecstatic that I considered rolling in some myself! I wonder if it would do any good?”

Splat! Looking down, she could see the remnants of something scaly and slimy clinging to her toes. Well, that certainly didn't do anything for me! It must be strictly a canine thing. Now she was more than eager to lose herself in the ocean.

She dipped a toe experimentally into the water and felt the goosebumps pop out on her skin and saw her nipples harden. Ooooh, this is colder than I thought it would be! She knew from experience that the best thing would be to just jump in and get it over with, so she gave herself a pep talk and moved forward... and hoped that her heart wouldn’t stop from shock.

Giggling and shrieking, she ran in as far as she could and then ducked under the surface and disappeared. Waterproofed before they could walk, the sisters had no fear of the water and could stay under for quite a while. Calla glanced up through the inky blackness and could see the huge moon, the motion of the water making it sway drunkenly. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The line from one of her favourite poems flashed through her mind at the same time she felt that her lungs would explode, and she broke the surface of the water with a loud gasp.

Glancing toward the small beach she could see Wren still standing there, pale and beautiful in the moonlight. Good Lord, she’s whiter than I am! She’ll have to work at getting a tan built up or no one will believe she’s a California girl! “Hurry up, you big chicken, or the sun will be up soon!”

“Chicken?! No way!!!” Wren followed her sister’s lead and dashed into the water in much the same manner. Breaking the water some distance away, she swam back easily and joined Calla with a hug. Flipping onto their backs, hands joined, their long hair tangling together and blending and then separating with the motion of the waves, they floated as they had in childhood... pretending they were raised by Poseidon, or that they were mermaids, or one of The Sirens.

Calla laughed aloud as she imagined how they must look to anyone watching... two heads with four breasts bobbing atop the water like evenly matched balloons, white and round and shimmering with silvered droplets.

“Oh, Wren,” she whispered, knowing well how clearly voices carried upon the water, “this must be my favourite thing... being at one with the sea when the moon is out.” I see the moon, the moon sees me, The moon sees the one I want to see. “I was always a night person, even as a child... often I couldn’t sleep and if papa was still up we’d walk together along the shore and talk. I’m still not much of a day person... people see too much in the day.” Her voice trailed off and she felt Wren’s hand clutch hers more tightly.

She had felt a little mean, not answering any of Wren’s questions when she had asked, but this first day back together was a day she wanted to remember as being filled with Wren’s excitement about her new venture, good memories, laughter and love. There would be time for baring of souls... but at this moment in time she thought her heart would burst from happiness.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Wrenna let go of Calla’s hand and turned over in the water, pointing to a large, flat outcropping of rock some seven or eight metres ahead of them and slightly to the left. During the day, sea lions often lay there, basking in the sun.

"Let’s swim to the rock and see how much like sirens we can really be," she said with a wicked smile, and started off with long, smooth strokes.

The moon silvered her arms and legs as they broke the starred surface of the waves. Droplets of sea-water cascaded like strings of pearls from her fingers. Near the rock, she paused, treading water, and checked to make sure Calla was following her.

She was, her long hair trailing on the surface of the water behind her. Wrenna grinned, and then crossed the remaining distance, pulling herself up easily onto the rock. It was freezing cold in the nightwind. Her skin was pebbled with goosebumps, her nipples painfully hard. Shivering, she drew her legs up close to her body, and rested her cheek on her knees. When Calla finally emerged onto the rock beside her, she pressed close against her for warmth, teeth chattering.

"I don’t th..th...think..." Wren said, "th...this was s...such a gr...gr...great idea!!"

Calla shuddered and started rubbing her arms vigourously with her hands, almost pushing Wren back into the water in her efforts to get warm.

"Stop chattering your teeth like that! It’s not that c...c..c...cold!"

Wrenna hooted with laughter.

"We’ll never get warm, you know. We’ll probably die of hypothermia and be discovered in the morning by the seals."

"Or maybe..." Wrenna got what Calla called her magical princess look and stared upwards at the sky, entranced. “Maybe the king of the selkies will find us...and spirit us away to his palace beneath the waves...and..."

"Good idea! That’s warming me up! Go on, go on!!"

"And call upon his courtiers – all endowed like barnacles, of course –"

"Or whales –"

"Hey! The wind is dropping."

Sitting close together, cheeks touching, they held their breath and listened. The wind was definitely dropping. The evening was suddenly only moderately cool. And, as their skin dried, they stopped shivering.

"We must sing a song of thanks to Zephyrus," Wrenna said gravely, and scrambled to her feet on the rock. "For holding his breath!"

Calla giggled, and grabbed Wren by the foot, almost toppling her back into the sea.

"What are you going to sing, anyway? In the Wake of Poseidon?"

Wren stood on her toes and spread her arms wide, long hair skimming the small of her back, breasts uplifted, two perfect handfuls, nipples hard as pink pearls. She began to sing a song with no real words, just cascades of melody rising from her throat like birds.

Calla listened, smiling. After a few measures of the improvised song she joined in, her own voice slightly huskier...smokier...a warm liquid contralto that bore up Wren’s pure soprano as the sea had borne up their bodies on its breast of billowing silk.

A long while they stood there together, cheeks reddened and eyes sparkling, serenading the wide ocean with open hearts...

...wondering if anyone heard them.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

As the sweet and clear notes faded away over the water, maybe to China! the sisters stood looking out in that direction with their arms around each other, cuddled together in camaraderie and for warmth. The night had been full of magic for them... a night of remembrance, renewal and rebirth... a night they would recall whenever they had need of warm and loving memories.

But even magic cannot tarry forever, and soon the waves became stronger and washed over their feet as they struggled to maintain a grip on the slippery rocks, and the wind joined in and whipped their hair around like silken ropes.

“Brrrr!” Calla shivered violently as she hugged her sister closer, “Okay, now I think it’s definitely time for us to head back! Come on, I’ll race you!”

Giggling, they dove in at precisely the same moment and gave everything they had as they headed to shore, evenly matched for the most part. Wrenna was thinner, but her weight in no way diminished her ability and speed, and they were almost the same height so neither one would be able to protest no fair!

Buffeted by the waves, they struggled to maintain some semblance of smooth and graceful strokes, but Calla feared they must look more like rambunctious puppies frolicking than the sleek dolphins she would prefer. The picture she conjured up in her mind made her laugh outright, causing her to ingest a mouthful of sea water and slowing her progress. Spluttering and gasping, she finally dragged herself to the edge of the shore just in time to see Wren’s naked rear in all its glory as she bent to retrieve her skirt. Calla rolled over and looked at the moon, then back at Wren. Yes, I can definitely see where the word ‘mooning’ comes from... and I do believe that I’ve been royally mooned!

Finally standing, somewhat weakly, she slid her sundress over her dripping body and quickly pulled on her cardigan. Joining Wren for the short walk back up the hill to Nana’s, their arms linked again naturally. It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other, as if they could somehow make up for lost time if they didn’t let themselves get too far apart.

“Calla, why don’t you come back to The Compass Rose and I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” Wren suggested hopefully. “We still have things we need to discuss.”

Calla took a deep breath, which sounded more like a shudder, and turned to look her sister in the eye. “You’re right, Wren,” she admitted, “I don’t want there to be secrets between us any longer.” As an afterthought, she continued, “But I hope you don’t mind if I bring Blade... if I leave him here, he’ll never be able to rest among all those cats and will spend all night cowering on Nana’s bed, trying to climb into her arms!”

Kissing their sleepy Nana goodnight, the sisters drove their cars the short distance over to The Compass Rose and parked them side by side, both pausing to smile at how beautiful and, yes, hopeful the restaurant looked. Wren was going to go around to the back, as was her habit, but changed her mind at the last minute and unlocked the front door instead. Calla called repeatedly for Blade, who insisted on darting around behind the building and whining at something he found fascinating... and it was only when her voice took on a sharp tone that he realized she meant business and scurried in between the sisters to investigate the new surroundings.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen

It was dark when the little blue coupe pulled into the graveled lot in front of the Sand Piper Motel. Maureen squinted against the glare of the floodlights illuminating the front of the building as she peered under the rear-view mirror trying to see if the office was open. There was no tell-tale lamp-glow from the windows. The place looked to be empty. “Great. Just great. Well, I’ll be switched before I spend the night in my car after driving for six hours.”

She sighed deeply and reached behind the passenger seat for her bag, hefted it up and struggled to pull it between the seats. She felt oddly close to tears as the bag resisted her efforts to retrieve it. When it finally came loose, she dug out her wallet and rifled through the bills to recount what she had. A hot trickle ran down one cheek and splattered onto a twenty – she quickly brushed it away knowing that if she didn’t stop now, it would be another hour before she’d be able to face anyone. Thrusting the wallet back into the depths of her purse, Maureen threw the door open and propelled herself up and out of the car, slamming the door behind her. “One… Two… Three…” The silent count hit thirty before the hammering of her heart eased and her sniffles subsided.

She took a deep breath and looked down at her wrinkled slacks and blouse, shaking her head. Maybe the good folk of Spyglass Cove wouldn’t care that she wasn’t perfectly coiffed or didn’t have a razor sharp crease down the front of her trousers. She sure wasn’t wearing the latest fashion that the ladies of San Francisco high society demanded. Thank goodness! It had been one of her greatest peeves about Richard’s circle of friends and business associates – the constant, exhausting effort it had taken to “fit in”. She turned and rested her arms on the roof of the car scanning the row of quaint shops and houses along the main street. If the architecture was any indication, she wouldn’t have to bother putting on airs in this lovely little town. She might even discover who Maureen really was at last.

Slinging the heavy bag over her shoulder, gravel crunching beneath her shoes, Maureen made her way to the office and knocked on the door. Lights flicked on and she heard plodding steps just before the door opened. An elderly gentleman, his owlish eyes blinking behind thick spectacles smiled at her wanly, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Hello. My name is Maureen Catlin. I have a reservation for tonight. I’m awfully sorry to disturb you. I know its late.”

“No, no. No need to apologize, ma’am. I just dozed off in front of the TV again,” he chuckled. “Name’s Hardison. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Just wait until you get to be my age. You’ll see. That’s what happens. You just nod off any old time.” He grinned and said, “Come on in and we’ll get you all set up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hardison. I could sure use some freshening up. I don’t suppose there’s a diner or restaurant in town that’s open this late?”

As she filled out a registration card, Mr. Hardison pointed toward the opposite side of the street indicating there was a small diner a couple of blocks south that served until 11:00 p.m. “They’re food ain’t big on taste, but it’s filling,” he said with a wink. She beamed at him, “Thanks so much, Mr. Hardison.” He was so utterly ingenuous and charming she had difficulty resisting the temptation to plant a kiss on his papery cheek. Instead she extended her hand which he took without hesitation. “You need anything else, Mrs. Catlin, you just holler. Ok?”

Maureen decided to leave most of her luggage in the car, taking only her overnight case to the room. The letdown was starting to set in and her legs felt pretty rubbery by the time she’d opened the door. It was of average run-of-the-mill motel room; neat and clean and just a little shabby. She stowed her bags in the closet and sat down on the bed. Slender fingers splayed out on the faded coverlet, it's pattern vaguely familiar. It’s the same fabric as the one I bought for our first apartment. A ragged sigh forced it’s way past her lips and the tears began to fall. This time she was unable to hold them back.

Rolling over onto her stomach she gave in to the shuddering sobs releasing them, with all the grief and anger they bore, into the soft pillows…

 

[artful]

Michael Jacob Wilson

Pulling alongside the curb at The Buccaneer Barbeque, I got out and entered the small drab establishment. It seemed the cold followed me everywhere I went, as I felt a stiff breeze channel down my upturned collar. Upon learning that Mendoza no longer worked there, I ordered a cup of coffee to go, and sat at an outside patio table, staring at nothing, clutching the small coffee with both hands for warmth.

Where did it all start? Memories raw with emotions, boiled to the surface, unbidden pages of my life danced across my vision. Fifty eight years
seemed like a lot of ground to cover, but never the less, my demented, shrivelled brain made the attempt. The earliest I could recall was perhaps four years old,standing behind the no longer used, one hole wooden outhouse. One Pall Mall red, pinched between two chubby fingers, mocking the same gesture I had seen so many times, of what the BIG people did. Striking the sulphur tipped wooden match across the grey surface of the weatherbeaten oak, the match flaring in a magical burst of fiery flame. Torn between watching the stick burn, or lighting the cigarette, I decided on the cigarette,...THAT was the first mistake I can ever
recall.

Marriage seemed to be something for others. I had tried it 4 times, all 3 good women,but somehow I managed to push them out of my life. Yeah, I married the redhead twice, the hottest fuck I ever had. Family? Yeah,I had'em! Kids strung out over the lower 48, never made it to Alaska, too goddamn old to even want to anymore. Took a few shots at having a 'career', couldn't handle the bullshit that went with it. Hell, I had done practically everything I ever wanted to do...well...within reason.

Home...what the fuck was home? Spyglass Cove was where I had been raised, but hell, uprooted at the tender age of 14, I somehow lost the meaning of home. My father stealing me away from my mother, taking me to California when I was but 4 years old, was the beginning of the end for me. He left Arkansas to not return for 11 years. The emotional pain of his losing my Momma to another man, was etched across his face to carry with him till the day he died. The first time I remembered seeing my mother, I had just turned 15. For many years afterward, my mother and I tried to link up the bond that comes naturally between mother and child, but to no avail. I knew every time I visited her, as soon as I walked out the door,the tears would stream down her cheeks at what we had missed.

By the time I was 15, I had learned to not trust anyone, anyone except Mendoza. Buccaneer Barbeque would not be the same without Mendoza, and neither would I.How we ever became friends was a total mystery to me, even though we went to the same schools, our age difference had quite a gap in between,but I was grateful for the bond with him. Somehow he understood me better than I myself did. The many nights we spent together,refreshing our memories,telling jokes and singing songs, flooded through my thoughts, as the pages of an open book
might be turned by a gusting breeze on the beach. The pages unread, but still there...the story not understood... but still there.

The last ten years I had been a long haul trucker. Somehow, I managed to come out of all my attempted marriages with only 2 bankruptcies, and a retirement nest egg of $40,000.00. It wasn't a plan, it just happened that way. Sometime in the past year or so, the doctors had all told me, I had experienced congestive heart failure.Well, that was the end of trucking for me. 'D.O.T.' was fierce in their enforcements, and regulations were becoming tighter and more restrictive.

Visiting a few friends, before leaving on this trip, I pondered over why I didn't care to visit any of my relatives. I had a ton of them. They were all strangers to me though, on both sides of the fence.

Making my way across the central states, crossing New Mexico, Arizona and into California, Interstate 40 was as familiar as the back of my
hand. I knew a lot of the waitresses at truck stops along this route, and said my goodbyes as I travelled on westward, knowing I would never be back this way again.

My '92 Dodge van purred like a kitten as I intersected highway 101 and headed south. Hearing a loud noise close behind me, I gazed into my rear view mirror and witnessed the tail end of a mudslide covering both lanes completely. "Whew,... Shit," I thought to myself,"5 seconds later, and I would have been swept off the road and plunged down the steep embankment on the west side, or worse yet,covered up."

Stopping briefly to make sure no one had been caught in it, I returned to my van and once more, headed south. Casting suspicious looks at the cliffs and overhangs that had so recently absorbed torrential downpours, I was glad to finally see the familiar, yet strange looking sign pointing to *SCENIC SPYGLASS COVE*. I was anxious to see Mendoza. It had been 6 months since I had to pick up a load of lettuce in Salinas.

I had gone a little out of route to come by and see him then, as always we chatted late into the night. I played my guitar and sang old country songs, while Mendoza drank the beer. When he fell asleep mumbling, I would build him a pallet to lay on, cover him with clean table cloths, and lock the place up on my way out. I figured if anybody in Spyglass Cove could get me a deal on a beach bungalow, Mendoza was the man.

 

[captainb]

Bill

The surf washed in and out, leaving its hissing essence on the black rocks below where he slept. The wind was chilly and the night clear, the moon brightly beaming its reflection in the rippling ocean. Bill slipped in and out of deep sleep, turning restlessly in his mummy sleeping bag.

Moonbeams softly flowed over the water and across the field, rippling in a way no moonbeam could. A distant call of nightbirds accompanied along them, a sensual song without words, of night and nature making love to each other. Something formed within the dancing beam of grey light, reaching out with ephemeral arms to beckon at his still form. A face formed, unsubstantial and featureless, unknown yet familiar. The voice sounded again, carried nearer on the night wind, seeming to pull at him with an almost magical grasp. Powerless, he felt himself start to rise, lulled and soothed by the seductive song...

Gravel crunched and Bill opened his eyes as headlights briefly flashed through the bushes above him. He rolled to his side and peered across the parking lot at the vehicles. Two people got out, women it seemed, and... a dog. A big one. Bill froze as the beast ran out of sight around the building. One woman entered the door and a light came on, but the other stood on the porch and called for the dog. Bade? Blade, that was more likely. He tensed as the dog reappeared, snuffling the ground and drawing near his resting place. It suddenly stopped and whuffed, sniffing hard at the remnants of Bill's trail. The woman's voice grew sharper and the dog looked around, whining for a moment. Then its doggie brain made a decision and it ran back, jumping on the porch and leading the way into the building. Bill breathed deeply as the door closed. Wonder if this will cause trouble in the morning? he thought, then rolled over in resignation. Just have to deal with it then. He stared at the starry sky, snatches of dream-song floating through his mind.