“I’m pretty sure half this paper is plagiarized.” Tom groaned as he glanced at his watch, noticing it was nearing half past five. Times flies when you’re….grading grad papers on early 19th century literature. Wasn’t that the saying? Sam grunted from where he was standing, leaning against the door of Tom’s tiny office. More like a closet with a desk, computer and half a window.
“Run it through the Paper Watch program. Are you almost ready to go? I’m gonna pull my hair out if I have to listen to one more half assed audition.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. His dark hair stuck out in clumpy curls, and Tom smiled, knowing Sam probably was pulling out his hair.
“Yes. I’m ready. I’m losing it as well.” He stood up, stretching his legs and gathering his things. Thursdays were always tough. Thursdays were back to back classes all day, and the nearly 8 hours of lecturing was draining. Two of his classes were general credits, so the students enrolled weren’t always the most enthusiastic. There were times when getting a response, or any sort of answer, was more like pulling teeth.
“Are you heading over Rosie’s? Or do you want me to drop you off at your house?” Sam asked, waiting for Tom to finish packing up. Tom hummed softly, thinking of what he needed to do that night. He needed to do a lot more grading, but he could almost hear Gemma babbling away in the sunroom at Rosie’s, or begging him to color with her. Lately, she refused to color anything but superhero coloring books, and she more often than not would only use the color red. Her artwork usually turned out looking a bit like a massacre, but who was Tom to judge? He was an English professor, not an art critic. She was going through her red phase. All good artists did.
“Actually, can you drop me at Corner Shop? I need to get some sweets for Gems or she’ll riot. I can walk home from there.” Tom said, remembering he’d promised her the special cat shaped cookies from the tiny bakery about two blocks from the house.
Sam followed Tom out of the room as Tom threw his bag across his chest, and locked up the small office.
“I can wait for you, it’s not a problem.” Sam shrugged. They usually carpooled on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when they both worked similar long hours. It wasn’t a far drive, about 20 minutes from the houses.
They had met here, at the local college, a little less than four years ago. It was a small institution, which fed in from most of the state’s high schools. Sussex Community College consisted of quite a few campuses, spread through the state. Tom met Sam when he’d gotten the job at the Eastern campus. Tom worked in the English department, Sam in the Music department—two buildings that were mere steps away from each other. They had met one afternoon when Tom had stopped to listen to Sam playing guitar and harmonica on the campus grounds.
“I think I need the walk.” Tom said with a short laugh. Sam nodded, understanding. Sam was the same at Tom—the fresh air, the exertion, it was all good for clearing the mind. Tom had a lot on his mind, so he fit in a run or a walk whenever he could. Plus, the bakery was only a few minutes away from the house. He had a hunch that once he stopped by Rosie’s for dinner, and to drop off the cat cookies, he wouldn’t make it back to his house until after Gemma was tucked into bed. It usually happened that way, though that was how he liked it. He spent most of his free time at Rosie’s. Even when he was at home, alone in the quiet, he’d almost always give in. Tom would take the five minute trek down the beach and almost immediately end up in a pillow and couch cushion fort with Gemma.
“Are you at the bar tomorrow night?” Sam asked as they climbed into his jeep. He’d removed the side doors for the summer, and every time Tom got into it, it made him think of some teen summer movie. All they were missing were surfboards and girls in bikinis in the back.
“Yeah, but just for a bit. Paperwork and stuff.” He shrugged as Sam sped through the nearly deserted streets.
“You think you’ll have to stay there much longer?” Sam glanced at Tom, his dark hair ruffled in the wind. Tom took a deep breath, looking out as buildings, cars, lights, passed by in a blur. The air smelled so familiar—salty, clean and a bit sharp with the undercurrent that came with the bay. Tom had gotten used to it as the smell of home.
“Yes. I think so. Unless Sussex gives me tenure. Or I don’t know, I win the lottery.” Tom said with a soft laugh, shifting in his seat. Sam laughed along, but they both knew it was the truth. Being a community college, the pay wasn’t all that great. Sam had been given tenure about a year and a half ago, and that had been a huge deal. It didn’t happen often anymore, especially since it was cheaper and easier for the college just to keep hiring adjunct professors. Sam was the head of his department though, and was a vital part of their music program.
Tom thought of the bar where he worked whenever he could fit in a shift. Usually it was evenings, after he taught or on the weekends. It was one of the only bars in town, and was aptly named “The Bar.” He enjoyed it for the most part. It was a complete departure from his work at the college. He could relax a bit there, and he’d been able to get to know a lot of people in the town. Somehow, during some of the rougher months when he’d landed in Lewes, it had sort of kept him from becoming one of the regular patrons. If you were the bartender, it was often looked down upon to also be imbibing.
But would he rather be home? Of course. Working two jobs, in a desperate attempt to keep up with bills, could be stressful, and Tom felt that stress more now than ever. Especially now that Gemma was his. All of this was for her, and now it was official. He wouldn’t let her down.
“You should consider a bigger place, man. I know you could work in Baltimore, or maybe DC? They’re not that far from us. You’ve got…what is it? A double major from Cambridge?” Sam sighed and glanced at his friend, who was lost in his own thoughts.
“Hm.” Tom grunted softly. They’d had this conversation before. They both knew Tom’s mind and talents were somewhat wasted where he was now. He could be teaching at a huge university, he could be lecturing in big halls. Not that the community college wasn’t important, but he was somewhat overqualified for what they had to offer him. Gen Ed English credits, and one Honors 19th century literature class.
“I can’t leave, Sam. I can’t do that to Rosie. Or Gemma. Even if I took her with me. It wouldn’t be fair.” Tom answered softly, as they pulled around to the Corner Shop. It was a small place, just off the main drag.
Tom hadn’t told Sam that he had applied for a job opening in Baltimore. Two in fact. One at Johns Hopkins, and one at Loyola—two prominent institutions that had a lot to offer. Hopkins had a standing invitation to him to come teach there, but he just hadn’t been able to commit to the move
“I know, man. I just wish I could help.” Sam looked at Tom, his brow furrowed.
“I’m doing fine. Don’t worry. Believe me. I’m on top of the world right now.” Tom grinned at Sam, which made him smile as well. They laughed, and Sam smacked Tom happily on the shoulder, dragging him into a hug.
“Right. You’ve got a point. Hey, let’s plan that party soon, alright? Rach wants to make Gemma a cake.” Sam exclaimed as Tom grabbed his things and got out of the jeep.
“Yup. Sounds good. Thanks for the ride.” Tom waved as Sam pulled away. Sam and Rachel were really great friends. They were part of the reason why Tom stayed. A support system was hard to find, but Tom had honestly lucked out the day he met Sam. They were like family to him, even in such a short amount of time. Four years, and Tom didn’t think there was a day that went by that he didn’t talk to one of them.
****
Tom smiled to himself as he made his way into the bakery. It was brightly lit inside, all pastel colors and white trim. He breathed in the scent of fresh baked goods, and felt a giddy, childish rush of happiness when he saw the display plate of the cat sugar cookies that Gemma adored.
“Evening, Tom.” The man behind the counter looked up, smiling. The shop was mostly deserted, though Tom noticed a woman near the back bakery case, and a couple perusing fresh baked bread. Pretty typical for a weekday night.
“Hi Robby. I’m here for the weekly fix. She’ll throw an absolute fit if I don’t bring some home tonight.” Tom leaned against the counter, watching as the older man started delicately pulling the cookies from the tray and placing them into a flat, pink polka dotted paper box.
“That one, she does rule with an iron fist!” Robby laughed as he arranged the cookies. “Do you want a half dozen? Or a dozen?” He looked up at Tom, a bushy gray eyebrow raised. Tom pressed his lips together and let out a sigh.
“Dozen.” He nodded. Robby nodded astutely, and finished packing up the cookies. There was quite a show which included baker’s parchment paper, to keep them from shifting around on the way home, and then a big, lavender fabric bow that got tied around the frilly box. Tom chatted with Robby, watching with delight as the treats were packed. He was pretty sure Gemma liked unwrapping the box as much as she liked eating the cookies.
“Alrighty, sir.” Robby set the box in a paper bag and slid it gently across the counter. Tom reached for his wallet, knowing that the cookies were an absolute frivolity that he couldn’t necessarily afford. But it was a tradition, and one he would happily continue.
“I’ve got that.” A voice from somewhere behind his shoulder said. Tom frowned, knowing that voice—that very distinct voice from somewhere between blurry reality and a hazy dream. He turned around, recognition hitting him as he moved. That voice didn’t belong in a pastel colored bakery. That voice belonged in the middle of the sea, among rushing, swelling waves. It should be enticing and luring sailors out to their ultimate, happy demise.
“Hi.” She stood behind Tom, looking slightly less like the mermaid he remembered and quite more like a healthy, not hungover, regular woman. Still, she had a sort of sea worn, world weary look to her. She was tiny like he remembered—her white silver head just barely making it to his shoulder. Her hair was in a thick, messy braid that was swung over her shoulder. She was dressed warmly in a hooded sweatshirt and cut off jean shorts, a few rips and holes in them for added effect.
“Hello.” Tom managed, momentarily speechless. He hadn’t expected to see her. In fact, he hadn’t been altogether sure she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination since he’d nearly tripped over her about four days ago.
She blinked at him, a small smile on her lips, her pale skin flushed from perhaps embarrassment, or maybe just from being wind blown.
“Billie, right?” Tom asked, finding his voice. She paused, looking unsure for a moment and then she laughed softly, tilting her head to the side. Her laugh was surprising to him—a bit like music in itself. Soft, unassuming, and strangely, not all that joyful.
“No one has called me that in awhile. I see you’ve been talking to my sister.” Billie set a bottle of water on the counter for Robby to ring up, along with a prepackaged baked good that Tom was almost certain was a cinnamon bun. She gave him a quick smile when she saw him looking at what she was getting.
“Actually, I was talking to your brother in law.” Tom took a step aside, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t going to let her pay for the cat cookies.
“All this together, please.” Billie moved forward, leaning up against the counter. She smiled warmly at Robby, who happily added her things to the bill. “I love this bakery. I remember it from when I was little. It hasn’t changed.” She sighed softly. Tom wasn’t sure who she was talking to—if she was talking to him, Robby or no one at all. He stayed quiet, not able to keep his eyes off of her.
“That’ll be $36.25, miss.” Robby said with a smile. Billie nodded and quietly handed him a credit card she pulled from her shorts pocket.
“Oh, wait!” Tom stepped forward, holding out a hand. Billie turned quickly, holding a small delicate hand up and raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. He froze. She may be small, but she was fierce.
“Please. I threw up all over your shoes. It’s the least I can do.”
Tom tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help himself. “Thank you,” he gave in, nodding toward her and taking the paper bag from the counter. Billie scrunched her nose up slightly, smiling and then reached for her things. They said goodbye to Robby, and started walking simultaneously toward the front door.
“See you again, soon, Tom. Say ‘hi’ to the missus for me.” Robby tipped an invisible hat at Tom.
“Will do, Robby.” Tom grinned. “Are you heading home?” He asked, turning to Billie.
“I am. I walked.” She responded, slipping the water bottle into the big cross body bag she had slung over her shoulder and across her chest.
“Me too.” He opened the door, holding it for her. “Care to walk together?” Billie gave him a little smile and nodded, then led the way out the door.
“Thank you.” She said softly. They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything. Asking her if she’d like to walk home together had been an impulse of Tom’s, and he wasn’t totally sure why he’d said it. He didn’t know her. She’d thrown up on his shoes, and that was about all they had in common. It was nice of her to buy his cookies, but he wasn’t really sure what to say to her now. The last few years of his life had been spent staying afloat, and trying to keep things tied together. Suddenly, since his news the other day, things had changed. He hadn’t quite found his new rhythm.
“I have to admit…” Billie broke the silence, and Tom looked at her, glad for the conversation. “I have to say that I’m somewhat mortified by how we met. I may not be able to live down the embarrassment.” She said over her shoulder. Tom walked in step with her, the evening weather warm and balmy. The sun was setting, turning the sky a warm mix of colors. He couldn’t help but notice the way her light hair picked up the color, turning it red and orange, her skin glowing under the same light.
“Do you ever have an embarrassing moment and like…days or weeks or even years later, you think back to it and you physically cringe? Like, your whole body reacts thinking about it?” She asked, her face lighting up as she spoke. Tom took a deep breath, letting out a sharp laugh.
“Yes. I know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, meeting you was sort of like that.” She laughed loudly then, her voice bouncing off the surrounding beach houses. Tom laughed as well, finding her voice infectious.
“That’s harsh.” He grinned, pressing a hand against his stomach as if he’d been mortally wounded. Billie giggled softly, a hand going up to her mouth as she did.
“No, I’m sorry…see, fuck! I’ve done it again.” She shook her head, and Tom watched as a slow, red blush creeped up the side of her neck and to her cheeks. It spread in delicate blotches across her fair skin, and Tom suddenly wondered how far down below the neckline of her hoodie the red flush went. He looked away, quickly, clearing his throat.
“It’s okay, I know what you meant. And please, stop worrying. We’ve all…had nights like that. It’s just a good story, at this point.” He shrugged. They walked at a leisurely pace, Tom deliberately slowing his pace to match her smaller strides. Billie didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry.
“You frightened me, actually. I had no idea who you were, or what happened when I first walked onto the deck.” He chuckled, stealing a glance at her.
She was looking down at the wrapped pastry in her hand, a small smile sliding onto her lips as she started to peel away the paper. After a second, she pulled off a piece and put it in her mouth, sucking gently at her fingertips. Tom watched Billie close her eyes for a brief second, looking as if she’d never tasted anything so sweet, and then quickly, the moment was over.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t in a great mind set the night before.” Billie tilted her head, looking over at him. Tom watched her, somewhat mesmerized. He’d met a lot of women. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women. But there was something about her—something that was different. He looked away, quickly, feeling something harsh and sharp fill and nearly burst somewhere deep in his chest. A warning, perhaps.
“How did you feel that morning?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood, more for himself than her. Billie smiled and shrugged.
“Like I’d slept on a deck in the rain all night, after drinking way too much liquor.” She laughed then, and Tom felt his jaw clench, without meaning to. His physical reaction to her—after hearing the smoky way her voice filtered through the air—it was something he could barely control.
“Ah,” he managed, nodding. Billie held out her pastry to him, offering him a bite. He looked at it for a second, recognizing the metaphor, and then shook his head.
They walked away from the street, and made the slow walk down over the dunes toward the beach. Neither of them had suggested going this way, but it had felt natural—the pull toward the sea. Tom stopped at the top of the dune, reaching down and pulling off his shoes. Billie was wearing strappy flip flops, and she kicked them off and tucked them into her back pocket.
“Do you…” She started but then stopped, shaking her head as if she could shake away what she’d said. Tom frowned, and then smiled.
“Do I what?” He urged her on. The beach was nearly deserted, though it wasn’t that late. But it was dinner time, and most families and vacationers were tired from a day in the sun. Although it was summer, and the peak time for tourists in town, Tom had barely even noticed the change in crowds. The influx of visitors, and traffic on the streets. He’d been too busy lately with his summer classes, and keeping up with Carol and all the legal business. He had noticed The Bar had been busier, but not by much.
“It’s silly, really. But do you think we could start over? I don’t like starting out…meeting someone by completely mortifying myself, and disgusting them. I know you’re Sam’s best friend, so I suppose I’ll be seeing you around a lot.” She pulled a piece of her cinnamon bun off, popping it into her mouth. She turned to him then, waiting quietly as her blue eyes searched his.
Tom stopped as well. She was interesting, he’d give her that. A strange mix between this easy, carefree innocence, and then something else he couldn’t put his finger on. An anxiousness? A worry… Something lurking under her eyes when she looked at him.
“I suppose we will be seeing each other around.” He replied gently. “And if only so when you think of me, you don’t have to cringe…” He teased. Billie smiled and he could see in the way she was shifting weight on her feet and digging her toes in the sand, that she was anxious.
“My name’s Tom. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned, facing her and held out a hand. She looked at him, as if trying to gauge whether he was being sincere or not. After a split second, she smiled, and then slipped her smaller hand into his. Her hand was warm, solid and to Tom, it felt a bit like a memory, a dream, and something intangible, all rolled into one. He was glad when she spoke, as it pulled him back to earth.
“Thank you. I’m Billie. It’s nice to meet you. In such a civilized and non-vomity way.” She scoffed softly.
“Nice to meet you too, Billie.” He nodded.
They turned then, and kept walking down the beach. Tom could almost make out his house, though he was planning on stopping by Rosie’s and then walking Billie home if she wanted the company. Billie finished her cinnamon bun, tucking the paper wrapped into the pocket of her shorts. They walked in silence for a moment, before Tom motioned up toward the small, well kept bungalow behind the dunes.
“That’s me, up there.” He tilted his head. Billie followed his movement, and smiled as she saw his house.
“I love that house. It’s so tiny and charming. That used to be the Miller’s house. They moved to a big house up on the golf course.” She rolled her eyes.
“Not big on golf?” Tom asked.
“Why move to a golf course when you’ve got this beautiful beach?” She held out her hands for a second and then shrugged. They kept walking, passing the dune crossing that would have gone up to Tom’s.
“Don’t you…need to go home?” Billie frowned. “Your wife isn’t waiting?”
Tom paused, his eyebrows raised.
“I have to stop by Rosie’s, which is the next house down.” He shook his head.
“I love Rosie! She’s lived in that house for ages.” Billie turned then, and they kept walking. “So, your wife won’t be upset about waiting for those cat cookies, then?” She glanced over at him. Tom noticed the way she pulled her lower lip—slightly fuller than her top lip, into her mouth and between her teeth. He swallowed.
“Well, I suppose not. I’d have to have a wife for her to miss these cookies.” He grinned. Billie pressed her lips together, hard, and then groaned.
“Sorry. I just…heard Robby mention a lady…” She shook her head, looking embarrassed again. Tom shook her head, his hand reaching out and taking her gently by the forearm. It was instinctual, he hadn’t thought to do it, but it had happened.
“It’s fine. These are for a lady, indeed. But she’s five.” He shrugged helplessly. Billie broke into a grin then, one that lit up her whole face, and made Tom smile just for seeing it. She looked young, helplessly so. And perhaps happy for the first real time since he’d met her.
“Well, then. What a gentleman.” She blushed. Good lord, she blushed. And not from embarrassment, for once. Tom looked away, and they kept walking. They were almost to Rosie’s house, when he broke the silence.
“I have to admit,” Tom paused, not sure if he should actually admit what he was about to say. Something about her though—the quiet, patient way she looked at him, made him want to tell her.
“Hmm?” Billie smiled, her teeth white against the sunset sky colors on her face.
“I asked Sam about you.” He looked up at her as he tilted his head down, feeling strangely nervous. Not in an anxious way, but almost in an excited way. He talked to, and met, new people quite often—between both of his jobs, but they rarely ever spiked his interest quite like she had.
“Did you?”
“I did. I was intrigued, I’ll admit. And perhaps a bit worried.” He laughed and followed Billie as she started walking closer to where the water was breaking. The waves were small that evening, despite it being high tide.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking that night.” She said sincerely, but then looked away, out to the horizon. Tom had a feeling that she knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She’d been thinking that she would get completely wasted, forget her troubles, and then decide a deck was a good enough place to sleep. He’d been there before. And it wasn’t an entirely good place to be. Good thoughts weren’t usually what were occupying your mind at a time like that.
“I don’t mean to pry.” He shrugged, and watched as Billie did a quick little dance, narrowly avoided a wave as it broke and rushed toward their feet.
“I would pry too. If I found a passed out woman on my friend’s deck.” She glanced at him, and then stopped abruptly and turned toward him. Tom stopped walking as well, surprised. He could see the path to Rosie’s house just over her shoulder. A tiny bit of her roof, peaking out through a clearing in the trees, as if keeping an eye on them. Billie licked her lips, looking to the side for a moment but then back at Tom.
“I’ve had a really shitty month. I don’t know you, Tom, but you seem honest…and real.” She stared at him, as if waiting for him to challenge her. He didn’t. “Rachel always tells me I’m an oversharer—word vomit, if you will. She says I need to stop. And honestly, oversharing is what has gotten me in trouble lately… But I just feel like telling someone. If I don’t tell someone, I might burst and for some reason I really feel like telling you.” She took a deep breath, waiting.
Tom blinked. He pulled his shoulders up and then nodded, urging her on.
“I made some stupid decisions. Some really hurtful decisions. And I can tell by the way you…you look at me, and the way you speak to me, that you’ve no idea what they are.” She flushed then. Tom frowned, confused. He knew that Billie was famous. Rather famous. But to be honest, he’d been living under a rock for the past few years. His life had consisted of work, Gemma, and bits of sleep when he could find it.
“I suppose you’re right.” He said, his voice barely audible above the waves.
“It’s nice, to have someone look at you, and not think you’re a terrible person.” She whispered. Tom frowned, his brow furrowing as Billie took a deep breath.
“Anyway, so I’ve run away from them. From the consequences of what I’ve done. And that’s why I’m here. Why I’m sleeping in my sister’s spare room, and puttering around the town I grew up in. I can’t face what I’ve become.” Tom watched as Billie spoke, her face a series of emotions as she did. She spoke loudly, passionately, and he could almost feel the energy radiating off of her. What she was saying wasn’t very positive, but there was an energy about her that was intoxicating.
“Well.” He managed, and taken aback but not turned off by her sudden confession.
“Thank you for listening. I suspect this will be another moment I look back and cringe on.” She said breathlessly. Tom leaned forward.
“Are you going to tell me what you did that was so terrible?” He asked.
“No. No. I think it’s best if you don’t know. I like how friendly your eyes are. It’s been awhile since I saw eyes that friendly.” She whispered softly, seeming slightly deflated. Tom felt a tug in his chest, the sharpness from earlier changing. He didn’t know this woman’s story, and it seemed everyone else did. But he did know she was interesting, and she’d caught his attention. He felt a strange protectiveness of her.
“Do you want to come up and say Hi to Rosie? Stay for a cuppa?” He asked softly, his eyes meeting hers. Billie looked surprised for a moment, and then her face broke into a small smile.
“Yes. Sure.” She nodded. Tom tucked his hands into his pockets, the bag of cookies hanging off his wrist, and he turned and followed Billie up toward Rosie’s house. Just as they reached the pathway, down through the patch of trees, Billie turned to him and smiled.
“You’ve got a story too. I can tell, with that accent of yours. You’re more than meets the eyes. When are you going to spill the beans?” She looked at him, as if they were two thieves, in it together. Tom shook his head, looking down to hide a brief smile. He felt the sharp stab in his chest, and then his stomach rolled slightly.
“I’m not quite as good at the word vomit as you are, Billie.”
“Ah, but vomit is what got us here in the first place!” She grinned and then turned back toward the path.