To the Beach and Back

Chapter 10

I blame the cocktails.

Surely they're the reason why I accepted a date with a man I hardly know. I mean, honestly. What was I thinking? I came to Ocean City for a reason: to get Haven ready to sell, because the sooner that happens, the sooner I can stop worrying about my retirement every single day of my life. I did NOT come here to go on dates with eccentric bar owners who make it a habit of kissing younger, prettier girls.

A dull headache wakes me early on Sunday. I should spend the morning researching local plumbing, electrical, and drywall contractors. And I need to talk with Nick about our equity line and renovation budget. Or I could at least work on Celeste's photo album and be productive with my time.

Anything but think about the date I should have said no to.

Exfoliation.

For some reason, I feel a sudden desire to exfoliate. So after making coffee and taking care of Sadie, I spend an hour in the bathroom, soaking in the tub and scrubbing with a Turkish mitt that makes my skin feel like silk. I then lather myself in heavy moisturizer and coat my dry hair with coconut oil.

I primp. I prune. I prime.

No amount of grooming makes me feel less nauseous, though, so I give up and wander downstairs to find Allyse at the dining room table, sorting Celeste's photos in neat piles.

"Good morning, did you sleep—" She squints at my hair that's coiled in a greasy bun and sniffs. "What's that smell ... coconut?"

I shrug. "Coconut oil. My hair needed a treatment."

Everything needed treatment.

She grins, raising her eyebrows up and down suggestively. "Ahhh, getting oiled up for your date, eh?"

So not funny.

I refill my coffee cup and sit on Ryan's cushy white sofa beside a snoozing Sadie, careful not to get any oil on the back cushion. Allyse scoops out another handful of Celeste's vintage photographs, her bohemian-style maxi dress flowing around her ankles each time she moves. "I hope you don't mind me sorting these out ... it's just so fascinating, like putting the puzzle pieces together of someone's life."

"Not at all, I'm thankful for the help!"

Which is true. And if anything, it's comforting having someone else understand my passion for this project, and how gratifying it to turn haphazardly saved momentums into a beautiful celebration of someone's life. Nick never did. He chastised me for not charging enough considering the amount of work each project required.

Allyse gasps. "I found another wedding photo!"

She hustles to the love seat, leaning over the back with a dreamy expression and holding out the sepia-toned photo for me to see. God, Celeste was beautiful. Still is. And despite the stilted poses, I can tell her husband loved her deeply by the way he kept his eyes on her and not the camera. My wedding photos haven't aged as well, due to my trendy taffeta dress with puffy sleeves the size of bowling balls and my bangs jacked to Jesus with a can of White Rain hair spray.

My marriage certainly didn't age well, either.

"I wonder if these are her parents." I point to the older couple standing off to the side. "They don't seem as happy about the wedding."

Allyse takes the photo back and studies it hard. "No, they don't." Her dreamy expression fades to sadness. "But then again, parents rarely are happy about their children's choices, are they?"

As she goes back to the table, my heart tightens. Is she talking about me with Wesley? I've always been supportive of Wesley's choices, like how he decided to switch his college major from applied mathematics to geography. And even though I didn't like it, I supported his decision to move to North Carolina where the weather was warmer and there was a job opening as a county planner with great growth potential.