Firefly Beach (7 page)

Chapter 7

Muse

Beth spent the afternoon mixing colors and taking a stab at painting the lighthouse. She was not entirely unpleased with her work, but as the evening wore on, she decided that her fatigue and hunger were handicaps, so she found a stopping point and put the paints away. Later, after dinner, she sat in the clearing and watched as the sunset transformed the bay into a sea of pink and orange. Then twilight embraced land and water with a soothing silver-blue.

Beth returned to her house and took a long, hot shower, attempting to rinse away her growing sense of trepidation. She walked into her bedroom wrapped in a large, blue towel, drying her hair with a small hand towel. The firefly floated silently in the center of the room. Beth screamed. But her fear quickly turned to anger. “Stop it. Stop it!” She stamped her foot like a child. “Get out of my house
now
and
never
come back.”

The light flickered for a moment, then it slowly drifted toward the window, pausing briefly before slipping through the glass. In an instant Beth felt cold and empty, as if a wave of disappointment had washed over the room. In the void left behind, she whispered, “Wait.”

Beth ran to the window, cupped her hand over her eyes, and peered out. The little creature of light was nowhere to be seen. She threw on some clothing and ran downstairs. The full moon was just beginning to rise. Beth looked into the woodland, but she saw only shimmering shadows of trees. She sat on the boulder, glancing around furtively, hoping to catch the glimmer of a dancing light. She waited, restless, for over an hour.

But the firefly never appeared.

* * * *

Before going to bed, Beth set her alarm. Sleep came in unsatisfactory fragments throughout the night. Disturbing moments, interspersed with incongruent scenes of sand and waves, plagued her dreams. The dream-Beth wandered peacefully along a beach, soft waves splashing on the shore. Then the sound of screeching tires caused her to turn in panic. As her head swung around, the headlights of an unrestrained vehicle blinded her. Suddenly she realized she was no longer on the beach but in some kind of forest, entangled in the branches of a tree. She stood on broken twigs and dead leaves, surrounded by mossy rocks, ferns, and a variety of trees. Her bare arms were scratched and bleeding. Then, in a flash, the car spun out of control and she was bombarded with an array of images – her father’s smiling face, a rubber duck, a steering wheel, her father’s face twisted in anguish, another duck, distorted and irregular…and the sound of a woman screaming with fear. Or was that her own voice? Several times throughout the night, Beth awoke in a sweat, breathing quickly. She looked around the room, oriented herself, and took several deep, slow breaths before reluctantly lying down on the pillow to try again. Sometime after 2:00 a.m., she finally reached a peaceful state of unmemorable dreams and gratifying sleep.

She jolted when the alarm blared at 4:00 a.m. A slight uneasiness clouded her spirit, but she shook the feelings and rushed to get ready and over to
The Virginia Point Cove
before sunrise. She glanced out the window. No fog. At 4:39 she headed out the door, her sketching supplies secured in a light brown canvas tote she had purchased in Albany.

She ran to her car, pleased that she had finally gotten her act together in regards to sketching the bed and breakfast. But as she reached the car door, she looked back toward the forest. A faint light appeared on the horizon. Beth froze with her hand on the car door. A moment later she sighed, set down the tote bag, and entered the woodland heading north.

After searching for an hour, checking out every clearing she saw near the rocky edge, she found it – a six-inch arrow made out of stones. She crawled on her stomach and peered over the rim. Radiant in the new light of day, the miniature, private beach greeted Beth. It lengthened with the ebbing tide. It looked even more inviting than it had three evenings before.

Beth tried to remember the path traced by the firefly. She studied the rocks. Once she felt comfortable that she was familiar with the first couple of footholds, she eased herself gently over the edge, feet first. Carefully, feeling for a secure hold with every movement, Beth maneuvered down the twenty-foot cliff step by step. When she reached the bottom, she jumped on the sand, threw her hands in the air, and shouted, “Yes!”

She looked around and all at once a sense of serenity overcame her. She felt completely removed from civilization. It was just the sand, the water, the sun coming up on the horizon, and her. All the apprehension of the previous few days seemed to melt away as she stood mesmerized, her long shadow scaling up the side of the cliff.

After a while, she brushed away a few rocks and sat down on the damp sand. Then she removed her tennis shoes and socks and stretched her toes. How long had it been since she had wiggled her toes in the sand? She could not remember. With all the hustle of the job, the divorce, and the move, she had forgotten what it felt like to come to a complete stop, to take it all in with no agenda whatsoever. For over an hour she sat silently, doing nothing but watching and breathing.

Later that morning, her stomach had its own agenda. Reluctant to leave, she came up with a plan. She returned to the house and gathered the makings a cold breakfast – a bagel, some fruit, and a box of crackers. Then she rummaged through the garage until she found a box marked “camping,” and she pulled out her backpack. It had been years since she had used it last. She packed the lunch, her sketching supplies, a towel, and an ice-cold water bottle. Afterward, she returned to the beach.

She spent the better part of the morning and the early afternoon sketching the islands off the coast and reveling in the tranquility of the secret beach. The tide pushed her into the tip of the horseshoe for about an hour, but it turned back around 12:15 p.m. Just after two, Beth returned to the cottage. She placed her sketches in the studio and admired the work she had accomplished. The beach was an inspiration she had not anticipated.

“I’m sorry, little firefly,” she whispered, remembering her hostility of the previous night. Beth sighed. Her mind reeled. Was she coming to terms with the idea that the firefly was not a figment of her imagination? Could she ever really know for certain? She shrugged and exited the studio, humming softly.

* * * *

Following an afternoon snack, Beth headed into town to visit the jeweler again.
I hope Mr. Van Winkle found his way home.
She chuckled.

When she approached the shop the drawing was gone and an “open” sign was in its place. She entered the store, causing the bells to jangle. Mr. McLeary stood at the file cabinet. He looked up when she entered. No smile was forthcoming, and if he recognized her, his face did not reveal a clue. He slipped silently to the back room and returned with the box. He gently removed her mother’s ring from the silk and placed it on Beth’s left ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

Beth stared at the ring. It looked strangely misplaced on her hand. She removed it and examined it carefully. The refitting was flawless, not a mark or a bulge, as if it had never been touched.

“Oh, this is truly amazing. Thank you so very much.”

Beth smiled broadly and brought her gaze to Kenny’s face. Looking at Kenny McLeary was like staring into a white sheet. Nevertheless, for a brief moment something more animated flashed. Beth quivered. She was not certain if what she saw was benevolent or malevolent. It passed so quickly, it could have been an eerie black or a deep midnight blue. It came and went in an instant. Afterward, the blank, white sheet glanced away. He pulled out a receipt book and began to figure her total.

“You have truly found your calling,” Beth announced.

No response.

“Although you also sketch a mighty fine Rip Van Winkle,” she said, giggling awkwardly. She fumbled with the ring, sliding it back on her finger.

Kenny punched some numbers into a calculator.

“I thought it was pretty funny. I got a good laugh out of it.” Her voice took on an unnatural, clumsy tone. “Yup, I was a little worried you’d run off with my mother’s ring…Then I’d have to go and hunt you down,” Beth stammered nervously. “And that would be a disaster, because I’m a slow climber,” she explained. “Yup. Would probably take me twenty years just to find you, and then you might be—”

“That will be forty-six even,” Kenny said, interrupting her.

“Oh, ah, yes.” Beth paid him cash and he nodded silently, handing her the box and silk wrapping. Beth fumbled with her purse. “Thank you so much…ah…yes, you do beautiful work…Okay. Goodbye then.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kenny said quietly, and he returned to the file cabinet.

“What’s with all the ma’am stuff?” Beth grumbled after she left the store. “Can’t a woman get any respect around here?” She snickered at the irony of her own joke and glanced back toward the jewelry shop. Through the window, she saw her painting glowing proudly on the wall.

At least he’s got taste,
Beth thought.
Even if he is a little creepy.

* * * *

The firefly did not return for several days. Beth set aside the guilt and enjoyed her newfound enthusiasm. Her creative energy flowed continuously. She finished the painting of the lighthouse, finally sketched the bed and breakfast at dawn, and spent many hours on the beach renewing her spirit. She spent some time weeding and planting, and she repaired the dilapidated rock wall that bordered the garden. She began planning an inventory for her upcoming website, and she was no longer overwhelmed by the thought of the effort required to make it all happen.

On Thursday morning, three days before her fortieth birthday, Mary called. Beth ran down the stairs and looked frantically for her cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Beth?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, hello, dear. This is Mary. I’m just checking in on you.”

“Oh, I’m doing fine, thank you.”

“Are you lonely out there at the cottage? Would you like some company?”

Beth hesitated for a moment. She really did not want to be disturbed. Her creative energy was abundant. It seemed a shame to stifle it with a social meeting. On the other hand, Mary had been kind to her in a time of need, and she could be a potential business reference.
The Cove
had dozens of visitors every year. If Beth did not fracture the delicate ties beginning to grow between herself and Mary, she could expect to get many referrals.

“Ah…some company would be…great,” Beth said finally.

“Tell you what. I’ll drop by tomorrow with lunch. I’m making a ridiculously huge pot of chicken soup today. I don’t know what gets into me. I guess I’m accustomed to feeding a horde of Navy boys, even after all these years.”

“If I’m hosting, you really shouldn’t be providing the lun—” Beth began.

“Nonsense,” Mary interrupted. “I just invited myself over. Don’t be silly. What am I going to do with all of this soup? Even if the whole town were sick, I’d never be able to get rid of it.”

Beth grinned, picturing Mary standing in the kitchen with a stained apron, her forehead sweating, surrounded by scraps of chicken and celery. “All right,” she said, surrendering. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Beth was pleased with the arrangement. She would have the rest of the day to be in her own personal space, and she could mentally prepare for gossip and soup when morning came. In addition, Mary’s pending visit inspired Beth to work on the painting of
The Cove.
And so she spent the afternoon in the studio fine-tuning her strokes. Every once and a while, she peered out the window toward the private beach. She was not going to share her secret. It was too precious to disclose, too indulgent to give up. No, it was her beach, she decided. After all, how would she explain how she found it?

She pictured the expression that would appear on Mary’s face if she told her about the firefly – perhaps a look of bewilderment combined with the excitement of acquiring the best nugget of gossip ever divulged. Beth laughed at the thought.

“She’s my little muse,” Beth announced to herself. All of a sudden, it had a gender and a title. “She has not visited since I spent the first day at the beach, so she must be content to know I finally found it.” Beth did not want to acknowledge the fact that she had demanded the light creature leave and never come back. She was too pleased with her achievements to sort through the unpleasant details of their last encounter. What’s more, she was relieved that she no longer considered herself crazy.

At first, the supernatural experience gravely concerned Beth, but as time progressed she convinced herself that it was a normal occurrence. A muse was a perfectly acceptable explanation in her mind. Why not?
Everybody has one,
she told herself as if it were just a matter of fact.

She returned to the studio. “My muse, my beach,” she mumbled as she ascended the stairs.

Chapter 8

The Fissure

That night, as Beth dressed for bed, she noticed the firefly hovering near the edge of the woodland, its radiance subdued by the twilight. No longer dancing in circles, it seemed to quiver, reluctant to approach.

“Oh, silly little thing,” Beth murmured, shaking her head. “I’m not mad anymore,” she called out the window.

The creature did not move. It floated five feet above the ground, waiting patiently, almost hopefully.

“I suppose I must say thank you,” Beth mumbled unenthusiastically, unable to admit to herself that she still found the creature somewhat troubling – muse or no muse. She put on her old jeans and a light windbreaker, grabbed a flashlight, and wandered slowly toward the forest.

As Beth came within five feet of the firefly’s position, it took off with great speed into the forest in the direction of the private beach, zigzagging through the trees.

“Oh, I’m too tired to play games tonight.” Beth sighed.

But she quickened her pace and followed the creature nonetheless. When the firefly reached the clearing, it dropped swiftly over the edge. Beth clipped the flashlight to her belt and followed, hoping that by now her feet knew the way. As she descended, the beam of the flashlight bounced, forming strange shadows amongst the rocks.