Katwalk (26 page)

“I never used to be able to touch my toes. I love that I can touch my toes now. Is that a
silly reason?”
(More laughter)

“When I’m on a packed subway train and hating everyone around me, sometimes I close
my eyes and breathe deeply, and it calms me down. I learned that here, and I love it.”

Katrina heard footsteps approaching her, then felt the soft touch of Shana’s hand on her head. No longer so concerned about what the others would think of her answer, she smiled and spoke directly from her heart.

“Coming to yoga class makes me feel
. . .
strong.”

Shana gave Katrina’s head a gentle squeeze, then returned to the front of the class and pressed her palms together. “Thank you
so
much for sharing those wonderful insights with me and your fellow students. I’m grateful to have you all in my class
and
in my life. Now let’s meet in downward-facing dog.”

After class, which had been more strenuous than any Katrina had attended, she stepped outside and called Deb again while waiting for Shana to get her things together.

“Three calls in one day? You’re starting to scare me,” Deb said. “You hanging in there?”

“I don’t think I should come home.”

Deb laughed. “That’s my girl. Of course you shouldn’t. I told you that like two hours ago. And three hours before that.”

“Well, you were right.”

“Of course I was right. I’m also about to step into a movie theater, so I’ve got to go. Talk soon?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“You love who?” Shana asked as she walked out of the studio.

“Oh, that was my friend Deb from home.”

“The one who was supposed to come here with you?”

Katrina nodded.

“You’re feeling a little homesick?”

“I don’t know if
homesick
is the right word. More
. . .
out of sorts.”

“Well, in my humble opinion, leaving for good isn’t the answer. But maybe leaving for just a couple days wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It might help you clear your head. There are tons of cute places to visit around here.”

Katrina raised her eyebrows. That wasn’t such a bad idea. Having tackled New York, the prospect of a couple of days alone somewhere didn’t faze her a bit.

The realization delighted her.

“Where do you think I should go?”

Shana put a finger on her chin. “Hmm
. . .
maybe the Hamptons? High season is over now, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find a place to stay.”

“You think so? I’ve always heard how swanky the Hamptons are. You don’t think the
y’d
be too flashy for me?”

“East Hampton is sort of glitzy, but not Southampton. It’s super quaint, and even though things will be winding down, there should be a decent number of people still out there. You should totally go.”

“Is it far? Would I need to rent a car?”

Shana shook her head. “Take the Jitney. There’s a stop not too far from our building. It only takes a couple of hours.”

“Take the
what
?”

“The Hampton Jitney.”

“What’s that?”

“A bus.”

“You mean like a Greyhound?”

Shana nodded.

“Why do they call it a jitney?”

“Probably because it sounds fancier. I think they give you snacks and a newspaper. And there’s free Wi-Fi.”

“But otherwise it’s just a bus?”

Shana shrugged. “Pretty much. But you know what they say about the power of good packaging, right?”

“That sounds like something yo
u’d
talk about in one of your classes.”

Shana laughed. “Good idea. I should write that down.” She reached over and gave Katrina’s shoulder a squeeze. “And speaking of my classes, you
are
strong, Kat.”

Chapter Fifteen

There was a light drizzle in the air early the next afternoon when Katrina boarded the Hampton Jitney. It was Monday, and a few weeks into the off-season, so she was surrounded by empty seats as the driver pulled away from the curb. A complimentary
New York Times
on her lap, she pressed her forehead against the window and peered down at the busy sidewalks below. Once they emerged from the Midtown Tunnel and the skyscrapers of Manhattan began to fade into the distance, she finally relaxed and soon was asleep.

When she woke up, the Jitney was rolling quietly along a one-lane road. She glanced at her watch. The
y’d
been traveling for less than an hour and a half, but it looked like the
y’d
reached another planet. After a stretch of farmland, signs of civilization began to appear. A fruit stand here, a vegetable stand there, and multiple sod farms dotted the road. The most unexpected nod to modern times that Katrina noticed—and immediately adored—was a scraggly old man on the side of the road who appeared to be selling hot dogs out of a run-down RV. She hoped the Jitney driver would pull over, curious to find out what a hot dog sold on the side of a road tasted like, as well as what the man selling them would
be
like.

She chastised herself for forgetting to bring a canvas and her paints on the trip. She would have loved to paint the rickety, dusty RV juxtaposed against the swish-looking Hamptons Jitney. For all anyone knew, both vehicles could have been made by the same manufacturer, but everyone knew they would forever operate in different worlds.

After stopping briefly in Manorville, the driver pulled into Southampton. As she stepped off the bus, Katrina immediately understood why people invariably used the word
quaint
to describe the hamlet. The main street—which was actually called
Main Street
—looked as if it had been lifted from another, more genteel era. Lined with leafy trees and antique lampposts, the sidewalks were punctuated by the crisp striped awnings of clothing boutiques, jewelry stores, stationery shops, antique stores, and sandwich places, each one bright and inviting.

Sh
e’d
made a reservation at a small bed-and-breakfast right past Main Street. It hadn’t taken her long to choose the place—she fell for it as soon as she saw the website’s photo of the classic colonial-style yellow house, complete with white plantation shutters, surrounded by a lush green lawn and a white picket fence. It had looked so
. . .
peaceful. As she rolled her carry-on suitcase down the pristine sidewalk toward the inn, she smiled and silently thanked Shana for the suggestion to come here. Though sh
e’d
been in town for only a few minutes, she could already tell Southampton was going to offer her just the respite she needed from the big city.

As the innkeeper handed her the key, she realized she had never stayed in a hotel alone before, and she felt a stirring of pride.

I’m staying in a bed-and-breakfast.

By myself

I’m a grown-up.

With a hint of a smile on her lips, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The room wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. The queen-size bed was covered by a light-yellow canopy and topped by a fluffy down duvet swathed in a crisp white cover. An oak armoire and a dark-green velvet chair occupied one side of the room, and the white wallpaper was dotted with tiny green flowers. The plush, dark-green carpet looked as though it had just been shampooed. Warm afternoon sunlight bathed the entire room in a soft glow. The overall effect was soothing but not fussy. She also noticed how quiet it was. There was a stillness she hadn’t experienced since sh
e’d
arrived in Manhattan.

After unpacking her things, she decided to take a stroll through town. She was just locking her door when she heard her phone chime. It was a text from her mother, who wanted to know if sh
e’d
set up any phone interviews yet.

Katrina deleted the message without responding, then opened the door and tossed the phone on the bed. As she descended the stairs, the innkeeper, a short, pudgy gray-haired woman who Katrina guessed was in her sixties, looked up from her desk with a warm smile.

“Get settled in okay?” she asked. Light jazz played in the background.

Katrina smiled back. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. The room is lovely.”

“You’re in one of my favorites. If you haven’t already, be sure to check out the view of our English garden in the back. It’s just splendid, especially in the early afternoon sunlight.” She spoke with a twinkle in her eye that reminded Katrina of Mrs. Claus.

“I’ll be sure to do that. I was thinking of going for a walk along the beach before dinner. Is there a particular route yo
u’d
recommend I take to get there?”

The innkeeper shook her head and smiled again. “My dear, you can’t go wrong in Southampton. Just see where the wind takes you, and enjoy the scenery along the way.”

The innkeeper hadn’t been exaggerating. Katrina found Southampton downright enchanting, especially when compared to the gritty East Village. Adding to the charm were the picturesque residential blocks surrounding Main Street. The houses were immaculate, the lawns manicured, the leaves raked, the window boxes bursting with bright flowers. She spotted a handful of old-fashioned bikes with wicker baskets propped here and there, as well as a number of people riding bikes or strolling. Most wore cable-knit sweaters tied loosely around their shoulders, and many had tiny dogs in tow. It was hard to believe it was all real—it seemed like a perfectly choreographed stage set.

Every person she saw greeted her with a smile.

She spent nearly an hour wandering the streets and window-shopping, then headed out to Cooper’s Beach, a ten-minute walk from the bed-and-breakfast. She took off her shoes and held them in one hand as she strolled along the shore, enjoying the sensation of warm, soft sand crunching between her toes. Despite California’s reputation for sun, a stroll along its northern beaches typically involved shoes and socks, not to mention a warm coat—and oftentimes a hat. She thought of Half Moon Bay, the closest beach to Mountain View, where the water was so frigid that even die-hard surfers wore wet suits.

The Southampton coastline boasted an imposing lineup of classic country homes, most of which were white brick finished with cedar shakes. Katrina knew that many of them had been passed down through the generations, and she tried to imagine the families gathering for tennis-and-martini-filled summer weekends over the years. Each house was separated from the shore by an iron gate to keep unwelcome gawkers at bay. Despite a few gaudy McMansions—which created a somewhat jarring contrast of old and new money—the overall effect remained undeniably charming.

Turning her gaze to the waves rolling gently onto the beach, Katrina reflected on how much her life had changed in just a few short weeks. Here she was, literally standing on the opposite end of the United States, three thousand miles from the only home sh
e’d
ever known.

In a place where she knew absolutely no one.

And sh
e’d
come here all by herself.

Everything about her life right now was unfamiliar, every experience new. Yet somehow—maybe for the first time ever—she felt comfortable in her own skin.

She felt a breeze swirl up around her, and as she reached inside her purse for a hair tie, she suddenly remembered the windy night sh
e’d
arrived in New York City. Sh
e’d
been so nervous waiting in that taxi line, so afraid she wouldn’t be able to do it without Deb.

Deb, who had convinced her to change her life before it was too late.

Deb, who had pushed her to go to New York on her own.

Deb, who had seen something in her that she wasn’t able to see herself.

Until now.

She wandered another half mile along the beach, savoring the beauty from all sides: the deep-blue water, the white sand, the rolling dunes sprinkled with beach grass, the storybook scenery framed by a towering windmill in the distance. When the sun’s rays began dancing across the waves, marking dusk’s arrival, she could no longer ignore her growling stomach. Reluctantly, she turned around and made her way back to Southampton Village.

Shana had suggested she have dinner at a place that used to be called James On Main but now had a new name she couldn’t remember. “I think everyone still calls it James On Main,” Shana had said. After consulting with a friendly passerby, Katrina discovered it was now officially called Lori Restaurant, but judging from the woman’s reaction, Shana was correct. Apparently everyone still called it James On Main. She wondered what the new owner thought of that.

She wandered down Main Street to number seventy-five, and took a peek inside. The space was much larger than it appeared from the sidewalk, its high ceilings furthering the cavernous effect. It was about half full, mostly of small groups of women, along with a few older couples. The bar was dotted with solo patrons, some of whom were also having dinner. She decided to follow their lead and eat there. Sh
e’d
never felt comfortable dining alone, especially when sh
e’d
forgotten to bring something to read—as she had tonight—but she was starving, and the place looked cozy.

The bartender approached as soon as she took a seat.

“Hello there. What can I get you tonight?”

“A menu would be nice, thank you. And a Sprite, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Seconds later, an attractive man with salt-and-pepper hair walked up and stopped at the bar stool to her right.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Her eyes darted to his left hand. No wedding ring.

He set his drink on the bar, then took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the stool. “First time in Southampton?” he said with a smile.

She laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

“You have that look about you.”

“And what look is that?”

“Wide-eyed, sincere. It’s alluring.”

The bartender reappeared and set down her Sprite, along with a menu. “Let me know if you have any questions. The specials are in the front,” he said before disappearing again.

The man pointed to Katrina’s glass. “That’s all you’re drinking?”

Katrina nodded.

“Can I buy you a real drink
. . .
what’s your name?”

“Kat
. . .
er, Katrina,” she said. “Katrina’s fine.”

“Well, Katrina, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Preston. Now will you indulge me? I hate to drink alone.”

She looked at him for a moment. He looked friendly enough, but something wasn’t right. She wasn’t sure why or how, but something just felt
. . .
off.

“Can I ask you a question, Preston?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“Are you married?”

He looked surprised. “Am I married?”

“It’s not a trick question.”

He hesitated for just a moment.

Just long enough.

“Good-bye,
Preston
.” She picked up her drink and walked to the other side of the bar.

After a deluxe breakfast of scrambled eggs and homemade pumpkin bread early the next morning, Katrina spent nearly an hour reading the newspaper before changing into exercise clothes and heading out on a combination walk/jog around town. She was feeling noticeably stronger and, even more importantly, she was proud of herself for having made the effort.

When she got back to the bed-and-breakfast, the innkeeper was cleaning up the kitchen area.

“Well, hello there. Have a good run?”

Katrina smiled. “Calling it a
run
would be a stretch, but it was nice to get the blood pumping a little bit.”

The woman put her hands on her waist. “You’re in such good shape—I’m jealous.”

Katrina was startled by the woman’s comment. “Thank you. I’m working on it.”
In such good shape?
In her entire life, she had never thought of herself as being in shape.