A Stone in Time Read online

  She headed back, now feverish to explore the pools, but as she reached the path that forked to the left, a noise made her pause. She tilted her head to the side and heard it again. A low creaking sound came from her right, where the path led down to a dock floating in a small bay. When the inn had been open, guests had used the dock to enjoy a good meal or splurge on the comforts of land for a night or two. But it now lay abandoned, lost to time and the elements.

  Curiosity pulled her to the right. Leaving the tidal pools behind, she wove her way down to the dock. Fog nestled into the bay and swirled around, the warming sun unable to dissipate it. By the time she had traveled halfway down the path, the dock all but disappeared, nothing left but a vague outline, false images from her hundreds of visits over the years. Her skin crawled. It reminded her of the fog from her last climb, how quickly it had moved in, how the temperature hadn’t dropped with the fog, and, as dense as it was, the lack of moisture.

  Focused on the faded skeleton of the dock, AJ waited for the next sound. Instead, something materialized out of the fog. At first, she couldn’t make sense of what she saw and stepped back, the object much larger than the dock. A low sound, different from before, urged her forward, her steps tentative, her arms pulled around her as if warding off a chill. She recognized the sound of slow, lazy waves slapping against the hull of a boat. She assumed a small boat, but what appeared, drifting in and out of the fog, wasn’t any sailboat, at least not the size she would have expected.

  The ghostly image of an immense ship emerged through the dense mist. A tall wooden mast rose high into the sky, its sails tucked neatly away. Dozens of ropes dangled from the mast, disappearing into the fog. The mast rocked back and forth, each small movement rolling in and out of focus. Then it vanished.

  AJ rubbed her eyes and considered pinching herself. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, or maybe it was the stress from work. But no, she could still hear the faint creaking, the waves lapping against the hull. A stronger smell of the sea overtook her, and she tasted salt on her lips. She stared at the spot at which she had last seen the image, straining to force it back by sheer will, but the fog grew denser. Thick white tentacles of mist swirled around her, and the air grew quiet. She blinked. She strained to hear the sounds of the ship again, but she heard nothing. No waves, no birds, just silence.

  Her interest piqued, a small shiver of apprehension tickled her. She crept toward the dock. The thickness of the mist wrapped itself around her, making the ground invisible. She called upon her rusty memory to stay on the path. Enveloped by a sense of disconnection, AJ’s desire to see what was there overrode any sense of good judgment or concern for her safety. The soft lilt of the waves brushed the dock, and its worn old timbers came into view.

  As if the fog itself had been a fabrication, the mist dissolved into the warm spring air, the sun once again taking ownership of the day. In mere seconds, the dock rematerialized and the sun sparkled on the water, casting bright reflections off the incoming waves. The sounds of squawking gulls returned. A slight breeze rustled her curls, cold against her skin as she stared at nothing. No ship. No masts. Just an empty dock.

  AJ gazed at the dock and the open ocean for several long moments, then whipped around, expecting the ship to be behind her. Nothing.

  She couldn’t explain what had happened, but this ship looked just like the one she had seen on her climb. The day the fog had come from nowhere. Just like today. With no clear answer to her questions, the desire to explore the tidal pools vanished. AJ trudged back to her car, her attempt to restore herself shattered. A hysterical laugh bubbled up. Her quest for inspiration had turned her mad.

  “The windows need cleaning.”

  Joseph’s voice whispered in Helen’s ear as she surveyed the backyard from the large picture window. A soft sigh escaped her. She would have to change the gardener’s seasonal schedule. At times, the number of chores daunted her to the point of guilt. Perhaps she spent too much time with her friends. Quite capable of performing most of the household tasks, she should carve out time for them. But having promised Adam to lighten her chores, and to keep the peace, she hired others to perform the larger household duties Joseph and she had once tackled on their own.

  She finished her tea and, as she she rinsed her cup, a melancholy smile appeared. Joseph’s soft voice murmured in her memory, and his warm breath skimmed along her neck, laughing at her idea to make a list for spring cleaning. Each year, bit by bit, it didn’t get any easier.

  A knock sounded at the door as Helen marched to retrieve a pad of paper. A deep jolt pierced her, a sorrowful memory of the day he died. She hesitated, then slowly released her breath.

  A familiar voice called out.

  “Mom, it’s me.”

  When Helen entered the living room, AJ stood in the foyer, bouncing on her toes and tucking curls behind her ears. Her daughter’s eyes darted around the room, a habit of Adam’s rarely seen in AJ.

  “What are you doing here so early? Is everything all right?”

  AJ’s eyes flashed to her mother’s, and she stopped bouncing. “I’m sorry. I should have called first.”

  Helen smiled and gazed into her daughter’s soft brown eyes, the same color as her own. Joseph always spoke of their eyes. Warm and friendly, he said, except when they got a fire under them. Then small slivers of gold would flash, striking terror through him, and he would laugh.

  “It’s okay. It never seems to go away.”

  AJ removed her sweater, dropping it next to her bag. “I thought you were going to keep your doors locked during the day.”

  Helen relaxed with her daughter’s admonishment. Everything was okay; no one was dead. “I never seem to remember. I’ll start a pot of coffee. I could use a break.” Helen turned back toward the kitchen, one hand fingering the pearls at her neck, the heels of her pumps clicking on the floor. “I was starting to make a list.”

  “A list? That’s new.” AJ followed her mother to the kitchen, finding her usual spot at the counter, moving the stool to face the yard now bursting to life with spring.

  They fell into a natural silence. Helen finished the coffee and set out the accoutrements, keeping an eye on her daughter. AJ’s shoulders seemed to relax from the tension that moments ago had wrapped around her, holding her like the casing of a moth trying to fly free. Helen poured the coffee and settled on a stool.

  AJ poured the cream, turning the coffee a rich caramel color, and took a few sips of the concoction, drumming her fingers on her cup. “Have you been out to the old inn recently?”

  Helen’s eyes widened. AJ had often visited the place, a haven to calm her raging spirits, and she hoped something hadn’t happened to change that. “It’s been a few months since I’ve visited. The place never belonged to me, unlike you. I prefer the point by the lighthouse.”

  AJ looked out to the garden. “It was strange weather today. A dense fogbank settled in, then it just disappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I don’t remember the weather report mentioning anything strange. I would have heard something on the coastal report.” Helen stirred her coffee. Stiffness returned to AJ’s shoulders.

  “It was pretty quick. Maybe it didn’t show up long enough for anyone to report it.” AJ turned from the window. “Why are you making a list?”

  Helen grinned. “It seems I took for granted all the work Joseph did around the house.” Pensive, she added cream to her coffee and continued to stir. “All I can remember are the road trips, the hunt for antiques, or your father burying himself in his study, exploring some new book he found.”

  “I thought it was Adam who didn’t enjoy the road trips.”

  “Oh, it was. But it’s what comes to mind when I think of your father. The best of times. He loved sharing his passion with you. He was so delighted when it became your own. The road trips were mine. I loved seeking out new places, just for a different reason than your father’s. It’s too bad Adam never found any interest in it.” />
  “Well, Adam always had you.” AJ slid a glance to her mother, an apology ready.

  “He was a geek, wasn’t he?” Helen shook her head. “Mothers and sons.”

  AJ laughed. “I didn’t think you knew what a geek was.” She turned her attention back to the yard, letting the silence blanket them. “Have you ever seen things through the fog that you knew were there but weren’t?”

  Helen’s face lit up with a small chuckle. “I used to always see things and point them out to your father. He would laugh and shake his head at me. No, he’d say, that’s not it at all, look closer. He was always right, of course. If I studied the spot a little longer, the shape would turn into something entirely different.” She took her first sip of coffee. “After a few years, your father stopped saying no and would let me ramble, describing in detail what I thought I was seeing. I believe he enjoyed listening to my little fantasies.”

  AJ pushed back in her chair. “He had a way of making everyone feel like the most important person in the room. I remember how patient he was, letting me follow him around the dusty old antique shops, asking a million questions. He always listened to the childish stories I’d make up about some object I found. What I remember most is how his eyes twinkled when he found some treasure in a stack of moldy books.”

  Both women smiled, comfortable with each other, lost in their own memories.

  Breaking the moment, AJ took her cup to the sink. “I need to get to the office.” AJ gave her mother a quick hug and strode out to the living room.

  Helen followed. “Are you okay, honey?”

  AJ kept her back to Helen as she put on her sweater. “Sure. Thanks for the coffee.” Pausing, she picked up her bag and turned back, a small grin on her face. “We should do this more often.”

  Helen watched AJ drive away. Deciding her daughter had worked through her problem, she turned back to the kitchen to start her list.

  Driving away, AJ let the tears flow, allowing them to run their course. It had been right to go home. She meant what she said about stopping by more frequently, repeating her resolve to be a better daughter. But when the tears dried, other thoughts crept in—a foggy vision materializing into a large sailing vessel before dissipating into the mist.

  5

  The rain pounded after AJ as she ran from her car to the newspaper office. She treasured the bustle of mornings, the busiest time for the small staff. But her continuing drought of inspiration made walking through the door each morning a struggle. The decibel level of the office assaulted her senses, and she longed for the balm it had provided her just a few short weeks ago. Even the smell of the printing presses, leaking through the walls from the back room, couldn’t raise her spirits. These were rare days when AJ longed for a quieter atmosphere and a drab gray cubicle to hide in.

  AJ greeted her fellow staffers with a perfunctory smile and squirreled herself away at her desk, sighing when she saw the bright green sticky note next to the keyboard. She refused to admit relief at the list of tasks given to her for the day, even though it meant she wouldn’t have to find her own.

  Newspapers in large urban areas dwindled across the country, whereas many small-town papers still ran strong. The success of the Baywood Herald lay at the feet of its owner and editor, Samuel Taylor, who had a flair for blending national and local news with colorful feature articles. His favorite stories, and one of the attractions that brought AJ to the paper, were the in-depth historical accounts of the town and local communities.

  AJ barely lived on the salary, but she couldn’t have found a better place to work. Most days. Being the feature editor of the historical column gave her a large scope to research, which, until recently, seemed to be fertile ground. But these days, everything became rote, and she couldn’t see a way to spark life into her choice of articles.

  “I wish you’d tell me what you’re working on.”

  AJ groaned when Samuel peered over her shoulder. “I thought you were gone.” AJ pointed to the sticky note. “I see I have my list of activities.”

  “I was. Forgot something. Just wanted to see what you have on your story. You’ve been mysterious.”

  “Oh, this one will be worth it.” AJ turned to her computer. If only he would take the hint.

  “Well, they always have been. I’ll leave you to it.” Samuel scratched at the thin white hair that trailed over his balding head like gossamer webs. After a few seconds, he patted AJ on her shoulder. “But I really need those other items done too.”

  “Okay.” AJ read the note Samuel left for her. His list of tasks left little time for her own assignments. Samuel knew how to run the business, but he disappeared frequently these days, leaving AJ long lists of his own stories for her to research. Blowing out her breath, she scooted up to the keyboard. She should consider these tasks a blessing—they might spark some overdue inspiration.

  At the noon hour, AJ settled back into her chair and propped her feet on a neighboring chair, giving her neck a break from the computer. Her fingers drummed against a cup of freshly brewed tea as she mentally checked off her small list of accomplishments. She rubbed her temple. There had been no spark to motivate her next story. Her inventory of filler pieces would dry up if she didn’t find an angle soon.

  She sipped her tea, then inwardly cringed. Staying busy allowed her to ignore her looming appointment with Adam’s mysterious friend. She lowered her cup and leaned her head back. “Appointment” seemed the wrong word, but “date” seemed worse. AJ banished Ethan to a small corner of her mind, compartmentalizing him to a blip in her day.

  Five minutes later, she jerked awake to find the last of her tea dribbled on her jeans. Cursing, she sneaked a peek to catch any witnesses, but the office was empty. Damn it. Clara and Robert never seemed to run out of stories, as they were lucky enough to cover current events. She rolled her shoulders and slid the green sticky note under the keypad. AJ abandoned Samuel’s list in favor of reviewing some of her more recent articles, a last-ditch effort to find a spark for the dry tinder she called a brain, her afternoon appointment easily forgotten.

  The coffeehouse occupied a small corner of an old, three-story brick building and shared space with a local bank. Customers of the neighboring businesses and local residents kept the small café hopping with social activity. This afternoon didn’t seem any different to AJ when she entered the café from a small side door.

  The din of chattering people and the humming espresso machines confirmed AJ’s suspicions that finding a seat would be difficult. Entering by the side door kept most of the café hidden from view, allowing her to observe the patrons without being spotted herself.

  She’d forced herself from the office to keep this appointment. But she had reached a stalemate staring at her computer, and she desired a change of scenery, even this one. The heady aroma of fresh coffee pierced her senses and cleared the fog settling over her. She should carry a purse-sized baggie of freshly roasted coffee beans—one quick sniff every hour would do the trick.

  She turned the corner and searched the main room. Books, newspapers, and computers occupied most of the tables. A few couches held small groups of people who preferred the personal connection of talking with others, albeit with the help of handheld devices.

  Her smile turned to a grimace when she spotted Ethan watching her. He sat at one of the high tables next to the window, his dark hair immaculately in place, augmenting the severity of his face. The tallness of the table emphasized his height, accentuating his almost princely appearance. His gaze seared her, just like their first meeting, but his small smile offset the intensity. Something interesting hid beneath that smile, and AJ forced herself to pick her way through the crowd to the grinning Ethan.

  AJ dropped her handbag on the table. “Sorry I’m late. The place is busier than normal. I’m surprised you were able to find a table. I don’t remember it being this busy so late in the day.” Good grief! Stop blabbering.

  Ethan’s smile widened. He held a large cup of coffee, most of
it already gone. “I’ve been here for a while.” His voice, deep and rich, held a trace of what AJ now recognized as an English accent. “I had an early day and decided to walk around town. It’s given me time to watch people, something I do a great deal of in my line of work.”

  Ah yes, the security business. She relaxed against her chair, her fatigue dissipating. “Of course, that makes sense. When most of us people-watch, we think of what they could be planning for their day. Shopping, going to an appointment, plans for dinner. Are they going to meet a clandestine lover? You’re wondering if they’re planning on robbing a bank.” AJ meant it as a joke, but the statement fell flat.

  Ethan didn’t seem bothered. “You’d be amazed at the devious nature of most people. Smiling at you, while all the time wanting to slit your neck from ear to ear.” He studied her reaction, his response calm.

  AJ stared back. “I guess you security types do see a monster behind every face. I suppose it makes us safer, but I wouldn’t think it does much for your willingness to trust anyone.” She removed her sweater and prepared herself for the next volley of words.

  Instead, he surprised her by standing. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Black, a touch of cream.”

  He glided among the patrons to the counter to order their drinks. Even with his height, he seemed to meld with the crowd. But it had to be an illusion, an act for him, a practiced style he could turn off and on.

  Ethan returned with their coffee, and his gaze swept the room. “So tell me about your favorite era.”

  Her eyes widened, and a flush of adrenaline seized her. “I have to admit it’s the Renaissance of Europe, but I’m also intrigued by the turn of the century and the Industrial Revolution.”

  She leaned in, swept up by the hands of a master. He questioned her about the time periods she chose, extracting the information like a practiced investigator.