Dark Beach - By Lauren Ash Page 0,18

diminutive woman, Jenny wondered if she dared ask her a question.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Coggington accepted the glass and took a dainty sip. “I haven’t been out to the house for some time. I’ve been recovering from hip surgery, you see. Quite a painful ordeal. I could barely walk and I can barely walk now, but it is better. I used to sit all day and just work on my knitting, and sometimes I’d read too. Gerry used to come see me, and I would go see her.”

Jenny nodded as the woman watched her, waiting for some verbal recognition.

“And … what was I saying again? Oh yes ... well Gerry, you know… sometimes she’s there and sometimes she isn’t. I see her anyway. If she’s not there, I just read to her. She likes that.”

“Yes. I met her yesterday.”

Mrs. Coggington’s face lit up. “Oh, you did. How was she?”

“She was ... hmm.” Not wanting to answer truthfully, Jenny wiped a few drop of condensation from the apple juice bottle off the kitchen counter instead.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Coggington. “Yes. It hasn’t been good, has it? Last time I saw her she was mumbling about a whale.”

Jenny jerked to attention. “A whale?”

“Yes. She was going on and on about it. I don’t know what she was talking about. There was no whale in the story I was reading her. She eventually stopped, though.”

“Will you excuse me just a moment?” Not waiting for a reply, she escaped instead to the small bathroom across from the kitchen. She flipped on the light, turned on the water, and dowsed her face. Whatever was going on, it was getting slightly out of control. When she opened the door a crack and peeked out, the old woman was still sitting there, chatting to Kip, who had climbed up on a chair beside her.

“I need my pills,” Jenny muttered miserably.

* * *

Jenny tuned out, only vaguely listening to Mrs. Coggington and John chat until a whiff of that weird smell caught her attention again. It was Gerry, she thought—the smell of her lingering, even with fresh air flowing through. How do I get rid of it?

She was used to the doggy smell that tainted her home back in Seattle all those miles away, and it wasn’t really a bother; a quick vacuum and that was better. Cat smell was always worse, but she didn’t like cats anyway. Human odors were different. Jenny watched the two of them and decided to politely interrupt. “John, how long before you are done?”

“Oh, just an hour or so.”

It was getting close to dinnertime. Factoring in plain courtesy, she asked, “Would you both like to stay for dinner?” Not really wanting them to. Was that the right thing to do? she wondered. Yes. It’s a small town, and they do stuff like this—I think.

“That would be wonderful!” Mrs. Coggington said.

John hesitated, but then agreed as well.

“I’ll have to pop down to the store to get something fresh, though. You two don’t mind me stepping out?”

“Oh no. We’ll be fine here.” Mrs. Coggington looked pleased at the newfound trust. Jenny figured they could keep an eye on each other.

“You can leave the little one if you like,” Mrs. Coggington offered. “I’ve had lots of practice with the babies. Had four of my own.” She smiled.

“Thanks.” Jenny felt a tentacle of panic grip her heart. “But no, it’s fine. She’ll enjoy the drive.”

After peeling Kip away from her cartoons, Jenny drove to Ocean’s Market. A blue sign promising FRESH FISH swayed over the entranceway.

“Fresh fish, it is,” she told her daughter once they got inside.

“Fish, yuck.” Kip kicked her legs back and forth in the grocery cart.

“I know. But they’re good for you. How about some fish crackers? I’ll get you some of those, if you like.”

“Yes.” Kip put out her hand.

“I need to buy them first, honey.”

“Fish, yum.”

The fish counter was all the way in the back and was small but packed. She reviewed the selection, assessing their shapes and sizes.

“The sockeye is good.” A male voice rumbled from behind her, and she turned to face it. “But so is the king.” The stranger gave her a warm, inviting grin. “Sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Kurt.” He put out a hand. “I bring a lot of the fish in to market. Just brought a load in; it’s in the back. I can ask Chop to bring you out one fresh.”

“Chop?”

“Chop—the butcher.” Kurt moved behind the counter. At home there, he leaned over, and