A Stranger on the Beach

He nodded, feeling stung. Why should he care what she thought of him, though? Some rich bitch from the city coming out here on weekends, acting like this town and everybody in it belonged to her. They were all like that. It was nothing to him. Rolled off his back.

“Suit yourself. Give a shout if you need anything, ma’am,” he said.

She didn’t like the “ma’am,” he could tell. Probably worried he thought she looked old. Which, to him, meant she wasn’t as untouchable as she pretended. Aidan sauntered back behind the bar. He felt her watching him from the safety of her table as she sipped her drink. Time passed. He ignored her. She’d look over at him, though, every few minutes, checking him out.

She wasn’t immune.

Wayne Johnson and Mike Castro came in and sat down at one end of the bar. They worked for his brother Tommy.

“Hey, Aidan. Coupla pints,” Mike said, stripping off his police department windbreaker. Water ran off it in rivulets.

“Still raining?” Aidan asked.

“Yeah, it’s getting worse.”

Aidan drew off two pints of Guinness and set them up on the bar. The guys were talking about some warrant they had to serve for the feds. A mobster with a foreign name, wanted by the FBI, holed up in a mansion on Harbor Lane. Aidan listened a little too intently, which made them exchange glances and clam up. They could piss right off. People always had to think the worst. Aidan could sell that information for good money, but that didn’t mean he was going to. He’d been on his best behavior for ten years now, and what did it get him? People still shot him suspicious looks just for walking down the street in broad daylight, minding his own business.

Not long after the guys came in, Caroline stood up and put on her coat. That was fast. He hadn’t really noticed what she was wearing before. Tight jeans, black boots, a sexy top. Had she come in here looking for company? Had he missed his chance? She had a great body for a woman her age. For any age, really. He caught her eyes, raised an eyebrow as if to say, Leaving already? She gave a half smile and a little nod and walked out.

Nancy was busy in the dining room, so Aidan bussed the table. Cocktails were twelve bucks, and the woman had left a twenty. The big tip annoyed him somehow, like she was putting him in his place. He’d offered her a free drink, and then she pulls this? He had half a mind to follow her outside, but she might take that the wrong way. It wasn’t worth getting his boss pissed off, or having people say he was up to his old tricks. He pocketed the money and thought, what the hell, if he wanted to see her, he knew where she lived. Right?

8

On Tuesday, I drove in to the city to meet with the divorce attorney. But at the last minute, I got cold feet, and called to cancel from the street in front of her office. My marriage fell apart so fast that I hadn’t had a moment to think. Was this the right thing? Could we avoid it somehow? Jason and I had been married for twenty years. You don’t throw that away without a fight. Shouldn’t we try counseling first? Okay, he wasn’t exactly giving me that option. He wouldn’t even take my calls. You might say that was all the answer I should need, but I couldn’t accept it. Beneath my every thought was Hannah. Your average kid who’d gone off to college would be upset if their parents split, but they’d take it in stride. Hannah was fragile. And she was a Daddy’s girl. Jason was everything to her. I didn’t want to burden her with our marital problems just as she started college. But I also didn’t want her blaming me for abandoning her beloved father. That’s the truth. That’s why I didn’t meet with the lawyer. It had nothing to do with Aidan. We’d barely spoken at that point.

I canceled the appointment. I went to our apartment in the city, pulled the blinds, drank an entire bottle of red wine, and passed out on the sofa watching Gossip Girl reruns. I was hiding my head in the sand.

At midnight, the shriek of the phone woke me. I grabbed it, hoping it would be Jason. But it was the alarm company calling, to say that a motion sensor had been tripped back at the beach house. The police had been dispatched, and found no evidence of a break-in. The guy thought maybe the system wasn’t calibrated properly, which didn’t surprise me. I’d had it installed the day before, and I’d chased the technician out prematurely, so I could go sob in the bathroom.

But this meant I needed to go back out to the beach. It was raining on Wednesday morning, and traffic on the LIE was a nightmare. But I was grateful to be back in my beautiful house, even if it had been the scene of my recent humiliation. I opened the French doors and sat listening to the rain, waiting for the technician to show up. I’d canceled the appointment with the lawyer, but I was obsessing over the thought of divorce. If we split up, I’d never go back to our apartment in the city. Jason could have it. I wouldn’t want the reminders of our life together, of raising our daughter. This house would be my future. I’d live here full-time. He claimed he wanted to play nice. Fine, then. He could give me a big settlement, one I could live well on. I’d walk on the beach, get a dog, plant a garden. Divorce wouldn’t be the end of the world. I’d survive. That was the Logan in me talking. We’re survivors.

When the alarm company didn’t show, it took me hours to figure out that something was wrong. They’d given me a window of noon to two o’clock for the technician to arrive. When he wasn’t there by three, I called the alarm company and got the runaround from the receptionist. At four I called back and demanded to speak to a manager. At six, the manager finally returned my call.

“I’m afraid we’ve had an issue with the payment, so I can’t dispatch a service provider at this time,” the manager, whose name was Shelley, explained.

“Wait a minute. I was told you accept personal checks. I wrote a check for the installation fee and first year of service.”

“Yes. But that check bounced.”

“It—?”

“It bounced. It was not honored by your bank,” Shelley said loudly.

“I know what ‘bounced’ means.”

Why the hell did the check bounce? As of Monday, when I wrote it, there was plenty of money in the account to cover that payment, and more. I was absolutely certain. This woman had to be wrong.

Right?

“No need to get snippy, ma’am,” Shelley said. “As soon as we receive payment, we’ll reinstate service and dispatch the technician.”

“Reinstate service? You mean the alarm’s not working now?”

“The sensors installed in your home should still function—”

“It wasn’t functioning. It was going off for no reason.”

“It will function to the level of installation.”

“You mean it’s still broken.”

“We’re no longer monitoring your signal, sending alerts or calling alerts in to the police. If your motion sensors get tripped, the alarm will go off in your home, but we won’t respond or relay the signal to the police. I’m sure you understand, we can’t provide service we’re not paid for.”

“Look, I don’t know why the check bounced. It must be an error. Can I pay you some other way?”

“Certainly. I can take a valid credit card over the phone.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Hold on.”

I went to get my wallet, telling myself to stay calm. But as I read off my Amex number and waited for the charge to go through, I had a sick pit of fear in my stomach. I’d logged into the joint checking account Monday, and there was over a hundred grand in there. Jason couldn’t possibly have spent so much in that short a time. For it to disappear, he would’ve had to move it somewhere. He’d told me I could have the money. But men lied to their soon-to-be-ex-wives all the time. They drained bank accounts, hid cash, ran off with mistresses. Was Jason better than other men? I’d thought so. But I was afraid to find out.

“Ma’am?” Shelley said. “I’m sorry, that card was declined.”

I went cold. I handled our household bills, and I saw to it that credit card balances were paid off monthly. No card of mine was ever declined. Something had happened, and Jason had to be behind it.

“I’m so sorry. Would you mind trying a different one?” I said.

We tried three more cards, and all three were declined. By the end, I was crying. When I hung up, it was nearly seven, getting dark, pouring rain, and the windows were all open. I got up to close them; then I sat at the kitchen table and logged onto my laptop in the darkness of the kitchen. My hands were shaking as I went through all the accounts. The brokerage account, the savings account, his IRA, my IRA—gone, gone, gone. He’d left me destitute, completely. Took every penny he could get his hands on, with one exception. He didn’t touch Hannah’s 529 plan. Her college tuition was still there.

At least he had the basic decency not to rob his own child. But he’d robbed me. Jason telling me I could have everything—that was a lie. A ploy so I would let my guard down. I trusted him. I fell for it. I didn’t rush to see the divorce lawyer, or to freeze our joint accounts. I gave him the breathing room he needed to take everything we had.

I called Jason’s phone. Got voicemail. I said a lot of things. I said I was going to kill him, but I didn’t mean it literally. The only person I was in danger of killing in that moment was myself. I could imagine life without my husband, but not if I was destitute. What would I do? How would I survive? My fabulous career as an interior designer existed only in my dreams. In real life, I didn’t have a single client. I didn’t have one red cent except for the money he’d just taken. I couldn’t bear it. I threw the phone down. I screamed. I pulled my own hair. I slapped myself across the face. I looked out the window at the dark waves and imagined walking into them. Imagined the briny water tugging at my clothes, up to my waist, then my chest, then over my head. I would die, and that would show him.

But Hannah.

I couldn’t stay in the house alone for one more second, or I would hurt myself. And I wouldn’t do that to my daughter.

I picked up the phone to call Lynn; then I remembered she was in Florida. I thought of the bar in town, where I’d gone a couple of nights earlier. There would be people there. And a stiff drink. I put a jacket on and got my car keys.

If I thought things were bad, I was about to make them much worse.

9

The bar at the Red Anchor hosted a two-for-one happy hour on Wednesday nights. The place was packed by seven, and Aidan was hustling to keep up when chief of police Tommy Callahan walked in. Even in the midst of the crowd, Tommy was hard to miss, with his bulk, his booming voice, and his ruddy face. The Irish sunburn, they called it. The bar at the front of the Red Anchor restaurant was Tommy’s favorite place to hold court, and if he was here, his men weren’t far behind. They’d sit around for hours, the guys laughing at Tommy’s jokes and generally licking his boots, all of them expecting a couple of rounds on the house. But Aidan knew better than to complain. His big brother had gotten him this job and bailed him out of trouble more times than he could count. Acting like a devoted kid brother was small price to pay for the cover he got from Tommy. He never knew when he might need that cover again.

As Tommy approached, Aidan reached across the bar and clasped his brother’s hand.

“Good to see ya, bro. The usual?” Aidan said, grabbing a beer stein.

“No. I got something to say to you. Outside,” Tommy said, jerking his head toward the door.

“Uh, I’m working here.”

“Don’t backtalk, Aidan. I’m not in the mood.”

The flash of anger was like heat in his blood. But he held his tongue. “All right. Give me a minute.”

He called out to Nancy, the waitress. A huge smile lit up her tired face as she caught sight of Tommy. She hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Chief!” Nancy said.

“Nance, you’re looking fine tonight,” Tommy said, and gave her a hug.

“Aww, thanks,” Nancy said, blushing with pleasure. “We got shepherd’s pie for the special. Want me to grab a plate for you?”

“You know I do.”

“Tommy needs to talk to me outside,” Aidan said. “Cover the bar for a few?”

“No problem,” Nancy said.

Yeah, right. She would’ve screamed bloody murder if Aidan ever asked that for himself.

Aidan followed Tommy out to the parking lot, which backed up onto the ocean. It was a blustery evening, with the tang of salt in the air. Clouds scudded across the dark sky, and gulls cawed around the trash cans. Tommy’s cruiser was parked in front of the restaurant in a spot reserved for the owner, who wasn’t in yet. If he did come in, what the hell, he could find himself another spot.

Tommy leaned against the cruiser and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and offered the pack to Aidan, who shook his head.

“I quit.”

“Yeah? Good for you,” Tommy said, with a cynical half laugh that implied it wouldn’t last.

“What’s up?” Aidan said. “Ma complaining about me again?”

“No. But you really ought to call her.”

“I do call. It’s never enough.”

“You could come for dinner on Sunday.”

“I work Sundays. Some of us don’t make our own hours.”

Tommy shrugged and took a few drags off his cigarette before grinding it out under his shoe. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something. Aidan saw a glitter of gold, and his heart skipped.

“What’s this?” Tommy said, dangling the St. Christopher’s medal so it swung in the breeze.

Aidan took the medal and put it in his pocket. “You know what it is,” he said.

Tommy had given that medal to Aidan when he graduated high school, the year after their dad died. For protection on your journey, the card had read. Trouble was, Aidan’s journey never took him out of this shitty town.

“The clasp is loose. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed,” he said in a defensive tone.

Tommy watched him with cynical eyes.

“Why did I find that on the bluff the other night, when I was checking out an alarm at the new house?” Tommy asked.

They both knew which house he was talking about. The one built on land that had once belonged to their family. Tommy pretended like that didn’t bother him. But Aidan knew better.

“I worked a job there,” Aidan said, gazing out at the oily, black water. Moments like this felt like déjà vu. For good reason. They seemed to come over and over again. Tommy questioning him, acting aggrieved and disappointed, Aidan having to defend himself against the accusations. He was exhausted by it.

“What kind of job?” Tommy asked.

Aidan sighed. Like it or not, he was going to have to explain himself to his brother.

“What do you think, teaching astrophysics? I was tending bar at a party. Remember Brittany Pulaski, Samantha’s sister? She’s the manager for Harbor Gourmet now. She hooked me up with the gig.”

“Brittany Pulaski hooked you up? Why would she do that? She hates you.”

“I was surprised, too. The lady who owns that house threw a big party. Harbor Gourmet was catering. Who knows, they must’ve been short-staffed, because Brittany reached out to me. You don’t believe me, ask her.”

“Look, I believe you were there. I believe you were working. But that doesn’t set my fears to rest. Where was the bar?”

“What?”

“The bar, for this party. Where was it set up? Inside the house, outside?”

“The bar was outside, in a tent on the lawn, next to the pool house.”

“Then explain to me how this medal ended up under the window of the master bedroom around the side of the house.”

“How should I know, Tommy? There must’ve been a hundred people there that night. The medal falls off, somebody picks it up, drops it, drags it on their shoe. Or maybe I have a thing going on with the lady of the house and I dropped it climbing out her bedroom window, so her husband wouldn’t see me.”

“Like she’d ever be interested in you.”

“She likes me. We met before, on the beach. She came looking for me after that.”

“Bullshit. And why the hell were you on her beach?”

“It’s not her beach. It’s public. I got as much right to be there as anybody.”

“Gramps is dead. Let it go already,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie. You’re not making it easy to help you, Aidan.”

“Look, I appreciate everything you do for me. And I work hard to stay on track, so I don’t let you down. Give me some credit. Stop riding me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I can’t stand to see you backslide. That’s all.”

“I’m not backsliding. I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t worry. Please, Tommy,” he said.

“Fine, I’ll back off. But you need to stay away from that woman’s house. You got it?”

A second police cruiser drove up, sparing Aidan from having to answer. Wayne Johnson and Mike Castro got out.

Tommy punched Aidan on the shoulder lightly. “You heard what I said. Now be a good kid, and set up a round for me and the boys, all right?”

For the next hour, Aidan hung around the edges of his brother’s party, keeping the drinks flowing, and basking in the reflected glory. When Tommy was around, Aidan became everybody’s kid brother. He felt almost included, almost like he belonged. But who was he kidding? Tommy’s guys thought he was dirt, and no matter what he did, they always would.

Then she walked in. Second time in two days, and he thought, She’s looking for something. Maybe she’s looking for me. Why else come to this place? Someone like her has got to feel a townie bar is beneath her. But maybe she didn’t. Or else she liked him enough to ignore that. It was possible, given the way she’d looked at him that day on the beach. His luck could still change. All he needed was one good break, and he had a funny feeling that this woman might be it. She hadn’t given him the time of day when she came in here the other night, and he offered to comp her drink. But then again, he hadn’t really tried.

He leaned over to his brother. “That’s her. That’s the woman who owns the house,” he said, under his breath.

“Yeah? So?”

“Watch, you’re gonna see I was telling the truth before. This lady likes me.”

“That rich chick likes you?” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not lying. Watch. You’ll see.”

10

The bar was crowded and noisy, and all the booths were taken. I was lucky to find an empty barstool at the far end, near the bathrooms. The bathroom doors kept opening and closing, letting out powerful blasts of air freshener. The place was a dive, with kitschy beach décor—all anchors and ropes and fake lobster traps. I’d just taken off my coat, and I was already tempted to put it back on and leave. But then the bartender came over. I remembered him from the beach. I remembered thinking he’d seemed dangerous at first, then deciding I was wrong. But that moment was when I noticed him for real. I noticed that he had one of those perfect, lazy smiles that make the world seem warmer and more welcoming. There was even a dimple in one cheek. He was wearing this deep-blue chambray shirt that matched his eyes, and khaki pants. His hair was brushed. He didn’t look thuggish tonight. He looked like a college guy, the one in your dorm that all the girls had a crush on.

“Hey, you. I was hoping you’d come back,” he said.

I practically looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You ran off last time, before we got a chance to talk.”

“Um. Well. Doesn’t look like we’ll get much chance to talk tonight. Busy in here for a Wednesday.”

Stupid line. But I was feeling self-conscious. I’m not generally the sort of woman who goes to bars alone, and to have the hot bartender start flirting me up right away—it threw me.

“We have our two-for-one happy hour on Wednesdays. Everybody likes a cheap drink,” he said.

“I could use a cheap drink myself tonight. I’m Caroline, by the way.”

“I know your name. You told me on the beach, and then I tended bar at your party. I wouldn’t forget a woman like you.”

He had a sexy voice, gravelly, a little rough. I extended my hand. He gripped it for half a second too long, gazing into my eyes. He was extremely handsome. Sandy hair gone blond at the ends, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges from staring into the sun, tall and broad-shouldered, perfect white teeth. Like a surfer from a beach movie, or an underwear model. I should have gotten up and walked out right then. But things were so messed up, and I needed to dull the pain. So instead, I asked his name.

God, was I stupid.

“You forgot my name?”

He actually looked hurt. I told myself he was probably pretending, and anyway, I secretly liked it. His reaction should’ve been a warning sign. Instead, it gave me a cheap thrill.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with names.”

He nodded. “Aidan Callahan. Nice to meet for real this time, Caroline—?”

“Stark.”

“Can I get you a Moscow mule, Caroline Stark?”

“Oh. No. Those were just for the party. I’ll take a vodka and soda, if you don’t mind. That’s my drink.”

“Good to know. Be right back.”

But he didn’t come right back. A lot of the customers seemed to know one another, and they all knew him. I liked that. I like a guy who’s outgoing. Jason’s reserved, even sullen sometimes. I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I watched Aidan glad-handing the cops at the other end of the bar and thought, That’s a simple, down-home, easygoing guy. And easy on the eyes. If only I were ten years younger, or not married, I’d … No. I’d better stop thinking like that, or I’d end up acting on it when I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.

They were teasing him as he poured another round, calling his name. Aidan. Aidan Callahan. An Irishman, obviously; we had that in common.

Aidan came back smiling, carrying two drinks and a dish of mixed nuts.

“Are those both for me? Do I look like that much of a lush?” I said.

I gave him a seductive laugh, and thought, Where the hell did that come from? It had been a long time since I flirted. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, but apparently it was like riding a bicycle. As he slid one of the drinks closer, his hand brushed mine, and I got this thrill. He was looking at me with—I have to say it—lust in his eyes. It was blatant. And I’m thinking, this could be my chance for revenge on Jason. Not to murder him, okay? To sleep with the hot bartender, like any red-blooded betrayed American wife would do in similar circumstances.

“Nope, one of ’em’s for me,” Aidan said. “You don’t mind if I drink with you, do you? Or would you rather not associate with the riffraff?”

“Are you the riffraff in that scenario?”

“The help.”

To be honest, on any other night, I might have been above having a drink with him. Not because I’m a snob, but because it’s pretty low to walk into a bar and start drinking with some random guy you barely know. But that night, I was willing to lower my standards of behavior. That night, I was not proud.

“If you’re the help, then count me in,” I said, and raised my glass.

He clinked his glass against mine.

“Sláinte,” he said.

“Cin cin.”

We both took a swig. He’d made the drink powerful. I liked feeling it burn going down. I liked feeling the room fade away and start swaying. I needed to forget, and this guy was helping me do it.

He leaned down and put his elbows on the slick wooden surface, his face a foot from mine. Even in the dim light, his eyes were very blue.

“Cin cin? That’s Italian, right?” he asked.

“My mom’s side. And boy, did she like to drink. I get that from both sides actually.”