Sea Glass Inn Read Free Page A

the door. Mel had turned on as few lights as possible and had torn the protective plastic off her mattress and dropped it on the living-room floor so she had someplace to sleep. Now she wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over her head and pretend she was safely back in her old life, but the relentless and unexpected sunlight streaming through the curtainless windows forced her to get up.
    Boxes and furniture spilled out of the foyer and into the living and dining areas of the house. Barely enough to furnish one or two of the guest rooms, but quite enough to be annoyingly in the way. Mel squeezed past a bed frame and two mismatched end tables and found her overnight bag where she had left it next to the front door. She suspected most of the unwanted residents of her new house—the mice and spiders she was certain occupied the abandoned building—would congregate in the downstairs suite that would be her private part of the house, so she decided to use one of the upstairs guest rooms for her shower.
    Faded strips of green wallpaper curled off the wall, exposing dingy yellow paper underneath. The fixtures were coated with grime, and hard-water marks stained the sink and tub. But the shower worked and the toilet flushed. She was thankful for the small gift of functional plumbing as she stood under the spray of hot water and tried not to touch the sides of the shower stall. A wave of resentment rose like a fist in her throat, no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down.
    She hadn’t been overly happy in her Salem home, but at least she had had something there. A routine, a role that had defined her. Here she had nothing but an endless list of impossible chores. Nothing but a life wiped clean and demanding to be rewritten in every detail, from where she did her grocery shopping, put gas in her car, or got her hair cut to how she organized the rhythm of her days. Here she was alone.
    Mel dried off with a towel she had luckily thought to bring. She took a carefully folded and coordinated pastel-colored outfit from her small suitcase and shook out the wrinkles before she put it on. She had packed for an afternoon of shopping and brunch, not a day full of dusty, dirty work. She sighed at the naiveté she had still possessed less than twenty-four hours ago. When she had first walked through the house, she had been full of dreams of the future. Now all she could think of was the past. From where she stood, overwhelmed and unprepared, the loveless but predictable life she had left suddenly looked safe and appealing.
    Then she walked out of the bathroom and stopped short, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips as she really noticed her surroundings for the first time. Sunlight, even though autumn weak and diffused by clouds, streamed into the large corner bedroom. The two west-facing windows showed an expanse of ocean beach. Mel stepped closer. Haystack Rock was to her right, buffeted by the spray of waves. A steep staircase of weathered wood led from her backyard to the beach, winding between two small ocean cottages that were low enough so they didn’t obstruct her view. A lone woman, bundled in a heavy coat and with her long hair blowing free in the wind, walked along the sand and occasionally stopped to throw a piece of driftwood for her dog. The relentless sound of the surf finally reached past Mel’s daydreams and regrets and brought her back to the present with the constancy of a heartbeat.
    Mel struggled with the rusty clasp and tugged until the reluctant window opened. Just a few inches, but it was enough. The ocean breeze brushed her skin with a hint of moisture, of salt. The briny smell of seaweed, strewn across the damp sand in lacy patterns, chased away the musty smell of the long-enclosed room. Mel smiled when a seagull took off noisily from the beach, scolding the dog that ran past it in search of its stick. Yes, she had been deluding herself about the state of the house and her ability to restore it. But