Longing for Home

Dashiell hit the gas and peeled out of the parking lot. Those fancy, high-and-mighty city women got on his nerves faster than a dog with fleas. He'd had his fill of them to last a lifetime. He grumbled and slouched into the worn seat.

Every middle-aged man and woman seemed to want to set him up with those kind of trophy she-cat housewives. Even his younger sister, Bethany, had joined the crusade a few months back, bringing in her old college buddies to try and get him hitched.

Just because the big four-oh was looming didn't mean he was in the market for a wife.

His mind returned to the auburn-haired woman from the city he had just dropped off. She was peering down at him, assuming he was just a local island boy, as if Azure Bay Island didn't meet her fancy standards.

He muttered to himself with a grunt, "City women like her, always looking down on island folks. Let her keep thinking of me that way."

His cynical grin twisted at the corners of his lips, a sardonic curve that showed his amusement at the situation.

He leaned in closer, rested his arms on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, and let out a scornful snort. People often wondered why he'd never tied the knot. Well, this was why. He had no interest in that kind of nonsense. He was perfectly content living the single life. Besides, he'd already had his shot at love, and it didn't end well.

His growling stomach drew his attention to the dashboard clock. It was almost dinner time, and he was running late, all thanks to that encounter with the snobby woman from Florida. Gwen Hoover, the older woman who had practically been like a mother to him while his last visit here, would be concerned. He'd grown up learning not to be tardy, especially when Gwen was preparing one of her delicious meals. Moreover, weho would refuse the kindness of an angel?

He pressed down on the gas pedal with a plan in mind. He would visit Gwen later, after he had checked into the motel. Once he'd freshened up, he'd come back to town for dinner.

A few minutes later, Dashiell pulled up in front of the modest motel he always opted for when visiting Azure Bay Island. It was one of a handful of buildings in the area. The place might have been on the smaller side, but at least it offered some privacy.

He shut the truck door with a firm thud, took in a deep breath of the fresh rain-washed air, and released it with a contented sigh. There was nothing quite like returning to this place after a long, strenuous day of work. Manual labor had a way of helping him unwind, even though his current visit involved dealing with infrastructure issues.

***

As Trisha walked into X-O Hardware Store, a bell above her head made a clanging sound. The place smelled like old coffee, which wasn't pleasant. She shivered, feeling the dampness of her rain-soaked jacket, and had to give her eyes a moment to get used to the dim lighting inside the vintage shop.

To her left, the well-worn wooden floors led to a bunch of gardening tools, paint supplies, and bins full of screws and nails. On the right side, there was a smaller section with snacks, candy, and canned goods on the shelves, and an old soda cooler nearby.

Near the middle of the store, by the checkout counter, a group of guys were hanging out, talking loudly and laughing. Their conversation faded as she got closer, the floor making a creaking sound under her feet. They all shifted away from her, staring as if she was a ghost who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

She gave the guy behind the counter her friendliest smile. "Hey there, could you tell me where the restroom is?" Her voice trembled a bit as she pictured the possibility of a filthy communal outhouse.

The guy didn't say anything, just stared at her with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Finally, he pointed to a door in the back left corner of the store, all the while keeping his eyes locked on her. It was as if she'd grown something weird on her nose. She was still shivering from the cold rain as she walked to the back, feeling the awkward silence follow her.

The restroom was small and dimly lit with just one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It wasn't much to write home about, but at least it seemed clean. Trisha closed the creaky old wooden door, secured the latch, and then walked over to the mirror.

One look at her reflection made her let out a startled gasp. Her hair was a tangled mess, like a clump of overcooked noodles, and her mascara had smudged under her eyes, giving her a panda-like appearance. No wonder the guys in the store had been staring at her comically, and the cashier seemed like he was about to burst into laughter.

Trisha yanked a paper towel from the old dispenser and twisted the ancient tap, determined to salvage her appearance. She couldn't afford to look like a circus act on her first visit to the island. She got to work hard, vigorously scrubbing at the offensive black circles under her eyes. After a good scrubbing session, she took a step back to assess the damage.

Meaningless. She tried using her fingertips to rearrange her wet hair, but it was a lost cause. She looked more like a drowned rat than anything else.

Her stomach churned as she let go of the door and walked back to the counter. She didn't give a hoot if they kept on staring or whipped out their phones for taking her ugly pictures if they dared.

As she stood there, well aware that her cellphone was about as useful as a chocolate teapot in that remote spot, she remembered that landline phones, the kind folks around here used for local calls, could occasionally work even in places where cell signals went MIA. That was because they played on a different network, so to speak.

She straightened up, trying to keep a bit of pride intact. "Mind if I borrow your phone and phone book?"

"Is this local calls?" The guy drawled out his words slowly with a hint of humor in his voice.

She clenched her fists tightly. Suppressing the urge to say she was calling the President, she took a deep breath and replied with a calm tone, "Yep, it's just a local call. My car ran out of gas, so I must let my folks know I'm still kicking."

One of the guys chimed in, "Well, miss, we'd be downright thrilled to fetch your car for you."

Yeah, right. Like she'd hand over her car keys to a bunch of strangers from the sticks. "Thanks, but I'll handle my wheels later. For now, I just want to give my folks a call."

The guy at the counter shoved the phone and phonebook over the worn, chipped Formica counter. Meanwhile, the guys to her left exchanged nods and hushed comments. The greeting squad on Azure Bay Island had a lot to learn about some etiquette lessons.

She held the phone to her ear, found her staff's number, and dialed. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the keypad.

"Hello?"

She let out a sigh of relief. "Jeremy Mitchell, it's me, Trisha."

"Thank goodness! You all right, miss?" His voice crackled on the line.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Well, it was nice to know someone gave a darn. She twirled the phone cord around her finger and turned her back to the guys who were staring at her intently. "Sorry to worry you, but my car ran out of gas. I tried to call on my cell, but couldn't get a signal." 

"Geez, how'd you make it to town?"

"I walked part of the way, and then a guy gave me a lift. Wanna guess who?"

"Who's that?"

"Dashiell. He claims he's the big cheese at the Azure Bay Resort. He's got a real attitude problem, you know. Instead of dropping me off at the staff house, he left me stranded in this damned place."

The other end of the line went quiet.

"Where are you at right now?"

She shot a glance over her shoulder at the nosy staring dudes. "I'm holed up at a place called X-O Hardware Store."

"Alright, here's what you can do. There's a bunch of fellas..."

A puzzled look crossed her face. How on earth did he find out? Is this spot some kind of nutty fellas' party pad?

"...just explain what went wrong, and they'll sort out your car. I'll come get you in a little bit."

"I told you. She's probably Jer-Bear's supervisor," said the man wearing the stretched-out orange t-shirt.

Trisha moved the phone away from her ear. Jer-Bear? Why on earth did they call him Jer-Bear? She hung up the phone and stared at them curiously.