Sea Glass Inn Read Free Page B

the ocean of her daydreams, the setting she had chosen for her new life, was real and tangible and perfect. She felt a renewed surge of hope. She would hang Whitford’s seascape in this room, across from this magnificent view and over the space where the guest bed would eventually be.
    One easy job, one step toward recreating her life in this beautiful place. Mel trotted down the steps to hunt through her boxes for a hammer and nail.

    ❖

    Pam drove to the old Lighthouse Inn and parked behind a mud-spattered blue Honda. During an emergency trip to Cannon Beach’s tiny—and expensive—grocery store, she had been flagged down by another local gallery owner, the head of the town’s art commission.
    Pam usually shopped at the Safeway in Seaside where she could shop in anonymity, less likely to be forced into conversation with an acquaintance, but she had picked a particularly bad day to run out of cigarettes. She had no polite way to avoid talking to Tia Bell, so she had forced a smile on her face and obediently crossed the quiet street to the art gallery. Instead of asking the usual intrusive questions about Pam’s painting, however, Tia had only wanted to chat about the foolish woman who was attempting to start a new B and B in town. The entrepreneurs who descended on the town every year were alternately a joke and a source of irritation to locals. Each year there were a few new ones who came into town and provided entertaining stories of spectacular failures. Pam had done her share of joking and complaining about the fly-by-night ventures, but she was always aware of the undercurrent of concern shared by the local business owners and the nervousness they all felt when empty storefronts and out-of-business signs marred the small town’s prosperous and utopian image, intruding on the attempt to shield happy vacationers from the realities and failure.
    In a town with good reason to be wary of newcomers, Pam had been accepted as a local right from the beginning. Thanks to Tia. Tia was instrumental in raising Cannon Beach’s art scene to a national level, attracting tourists from across the States to the events and shows she planned. She had talked up Pam’s reputation when she first opened her gallery, and the rest of the business owners had accepted Tia’s endorsement of her as gospel. Pam had made her gallery a success, and no one seemed to mind that she hadn’t lived up to her reputation as a productive artist. Except Tia. She regularly scolded and cajoled in her attempts to make Pam paint, seemingly undeterred by the months or years between Pam’s works.
    Their styles couldn’t be more different, Pam mused. As much as she tried to fade into the background, Tia forced her way front and center with her garish clothes and loud comments. Still, as different as Tia was, Pam couldn’t help but respect her contribution to local art and feel grateful for her support in the community. Pam wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she usually enjoyed small doses of Tia’s flamboyant conversation. But today Tia had seemed prepared to discuss Melinda’s impending failure for a long time, so Pam had finally lit one of her cigarettes. Tia hated the smoke, and Pam felt only a little guilty using that as a way to escape her company.
    Pam stubbed out a second cigarette in her ashtray and stepped out of her car. She had no intention of accepting Melinda’s commission for more of her sea glass paintings, and her first inclination had been to call her and decline the offer. After talking to Tia, though, Pam wanted to check out the old house herself. If the needed repairs were as extensive as Tia claimed, maybe Pam could warn Melinda in time to save her some money and useless effort.
    The former Lighthouse Inn was one of the landmarks of Pam’s childhood, but it had been empty and in disrepair so long she could barely remember how it used to look. She had never seen the inside of the old building, so she decided to make a rare