Midnight Cove

Chapter Four: Liar Liar

The morning was cool. An offshore breeze blew, bringing with it a depressing cloud cover that reflected my mood. I assailed poor Terry with questions that morning before he could make it to his car. He stood with his surfboard under one arm and his wetsuit only halfway on, exposing his round belly covered in a mat of white, curly hair. He was kind enough not to laugh at me, and listened as I told him about the strange young man in the garden last night, but he had never heard of my Cove.

"Sorry, sweet Coral," Terry said shaking his head. "But I don't know. I've never heard of 'em. Maybe you were just having weird dreams from the concussion you got? You shoulda called me kiddo, I would've picked you up from school."

I hung my head devastated that Terry was a dead end. I knew that what he said was true, not just about getting a ride home either. I could have easily dreamt all of it.

"Yeah, I'm okay Terry. I didn't want to bother you," I admitted. My mood was now completely dejected.

"You're never a bother Sugar," he said and placed his large heavy hand on my shoulder. Terry was a great friend to have and he always smelled of salt and surfboard wax. It was better than any cologne.

"Thanks. I wish I could say the same for my bike though. It got thrashed," I said, and my shoulders slumped just at the thought.

"Ah, no worries. I have a couple extra bikes in the garage from my younger days," he said, with a small chuckle. "You can have whatever one you want. Take your pick. Gotta warn you though some are pretty old."

"Oh, wow!" I said. "You're the best, Terry!" I jumped up and wrapped my arms around the old surfer's wide frame.

"For sure!" he said. He was a little taken aback by my sudden outburst but took it with good humor. "You gotta have wheels, don't 'cha?" he teased.

"Thanks, buddy." I smiled warmly at the old surfer.

"Yeah, yeah. Now, if we're done? I gotta hit the waves, Honey." I nodded. He smiled and headed off. He was eager to make it to his beloved beach.

Under the staircase that led to my studio, was a door that opened into the back of a huge garage. I had never been in the garage before. It was Terry's space. On the walls were framed posters of surfers riding waves that must've been at least forty feet tall. There were signed headshots of guys with sandy colored hair and sun damaged skin and pictures of exotic beauties in string bikinis. There were tools on one of the counters and hanging from nails. They were covered in dust. It didn't look as though anyone had used them in quite awhile. There were boxes in various areas against the walls with all sorts of bric-a-brac, I didn't look too closely. Just because I was allowed in there didn't mean I was allowed to pry.

I saw Terry's 1956 Chevy Bel Air parked in the center. It was a classic. The exterior of the car was two-tone with white and turquoise and shiny chrome everywhere. The interior was all white leather. I bet the vehicle drove as smooth as butter; it looked smooth just sitting there. I walked around the rear of it to the other side and found what I was looking for. There were about half a dozen bicycles clustered together. A couple were really cool looking, but too rusty for me to bother with. I wasn't much when it came to fixing or restoring things. I saw one that looked brand new, but I didn't want to take that one; too afraid to take something that Terry might still be using. Instead, I grabbed an older looking bike that had hardly any rust. The paint job was still decent. The red hadn't flaked off in too many places. There were stars on the gears and that got me thinking about last night. I grabbed the bike and walked out of the garage while the smile was still forming on my lips.

I parked the bike under the stairwell to ask again later if Terry was sure I could have this bike and turned around to close the garage door. Thinking about what Terry had said started to grate on my nerves. I wasn't mad at Terry because he was right about Cove being a figment of my imagination, but that had me peeved at myself. I should have realized that my brain wasn't functioning normally after the accident yesterday, the dream about Anna was a dead give away. A guy that perfect could never exist.