Summer Shadows Read Free

his voice the idea that she had asked a foolish question? “Oh. I just thought you might know, living here and all.”
    He answered with icy cool. “I bought this house three monthsago. I have lived here a total of one week thus far.”
    “Oh.” She watched the gentle surf roll onto the sand, a covey of quick-footed sandpipers darting just ahead of the advancing waves, then dashing back to search for food before the next comber came. The gloriously radiant sun bathed the scene, making her squint against the glare in spite of her sunglasses. It was all she could do not to hug herself with delight in spite of her grouchy landlord.
    A place at the shore, right on the beach in the southern part of the island that was Seaside. When she’d driven over the Thirty-fourth Street Bridge onto the island just a few miles south of Atlantic City, she’d greedily inhaled the tangy, salty air. She felt like she was coming home though she’d never before been in Seaside longer than two weeks at a time. Still, the feeling of rightness reinforced her belief that she’d made the correct decision in deciding to settle here.
    From the top of the bridge she looked down on Egg Harbor Bay. In the marshes she saw a great white heron standing still as a statue, its plumage brilliant against the deep green of the swaying grasses. On a slim strip of beach outlining an islet of shrubs and grasses sat at least ten cormorants, their snaky necks stretched to the sun, their wings spread wide to dry.
    Then she’d driven into Seaside, turned right on Central Avenue, and found 4311. Her new home. Her new porch with nothing between her and the sea but the wide strand of soft, golden sand.
    When she and her parents had come to Seaside through the years for vacations, they had always rented the first floor of a house that stood three blocks back from the beach. Financial considerations had forced that rental.
    As a child, she had thought everyone lugged chairs, umbrellas, towels, toys, rafts, and bottle upon bottle of suntan lotion to the beach every day only to tote it all back every evening, all sandy and sticky, tired and grumpy. One day it dawned on her that people actually lived in the houses that lined the beach. These fortunate few got up each morning, had breakfast on their big, wide porches, and stepped off their decks right onto the sand. They went back to their houses for gritless lunches, then walked back onto the sand for the rest of the afternoon. They even played onthe beach in the evenings after the lifeguards went off duty or sat on their porches and watched the waves.
    Nothing was more thrilling than watching the waves, nothing, and it was like they belonged to the people who lived right on the beach. They could watch no matter the weather. Even on a wild, rain-soaked day, they could sit inside all dry and cozy, observing the temperamental sea slapping the sand, waves crashing in fury, spume flying.
    Now here she was with her own porch right on the beach. She could eat breakfast on her own deck to the music of the purling sea. She could sit beneath her own awning and watch the sun jewels dance on the ceaseless motion of the water until she was glutted on the sight. If she wanted to, she could lie on her chaise and listen to the waves sigh and break all night long. When the weather turned, she could enjoy the ferocity, the violence, from behind her floor-to-ceiling windows. And she had only to step from the walk beside the house onto the sand, then cross the lovely cream expanse to stand in the cool green water.
    Three cheers for insurance settlements.
    “Let me show you around the apartment.” Marsh gestured toward the door just behind him on the landing.
    Abby glanced at him. “That’s okay. You needn’t bother.”
    She knew she sounded less than gracious, but he hadn’t exactly been the warm and welcoming host. Besides, she wanted nothing more than to be alone. She was bone tired. She ached from head to foot, and she needed the