Page 2 of Chasing Sunsets

He gives me a nod and turns to leave.

“Pete?” I call after him.

He glances back at me.

“I know some of the people here rent year-round. Is that something I can do?” I ask.

“You can. I have one of the permanent spots opening next week. You want to move over there?” he asks.

“Price?” I ask.

“I charge fifteen hundred a month, but if you’re interested in helping the missus and me manage the park through the busy season, I could give you a discount. Say, eight hundred a month,” he offers.

Living steps from the beach for eight hundred dollars is a great deal. The campground offers twenty sites with full RV hookups, including electricity, water, and sewage. There are ten permanent spots, along with ten spots available for weekly rentals. It also features a bathhouse equipped with showers, a laundry room, and a community bonfire pit with a gathering area, where campers can socialize, enjoy meals together, and play games.

“I’ll take it! I’ll get the money today for the first payment,” I accept, then frown. “But I don’t have a way to move locations.”

He smiles. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll hitch you to my pickup and move you over,” he assures me.

“Thank you again, Pete. Just let me know how I can help around here. I’m willing to do anything you and Freda need,” I tell him.

“You’re welcome, Tabby. I’m glad you’re staying. You’re a ray of sunshine,” he says. “I’ll go get that bike for you.”

He disappears, shutting the door behind him, and I glance around my camper.

It’s a single-axle white-and-turquoise travel trailer—fifteen feet long, seven feet wide, and eight feet tall. We purchased it from a dealer using my money and refurbished it by replacing the aluminum skin and updating the wiring, plumbing, and propane system. We also bought a new refrigerator, painted the interior, and replaced five out of ten windows.

Inside, the trailer features an extra-large twin bed, a kitchenette, a water closet with a toilet and window, and a dinette, equipped with a laminate tabletop and bench seats upholstered in turquoise vinyl. There’s a small porcelain sink, atwo-burner gas stove, a retractable work surface, ivory curtains, and a vintage-style Bluetooth radio.

We were unable to find a hinged door at the junkyard to replace the busted one on the water closet, so I creatively covered the doorway with strings of colorful beads.

The exterior has a ten-gallon fresh-water tank, an eight-gallon black tank, a five-gallon propane tank, mounted on the tongue jack, along with a storage compartment, retractable canvas awning, and pull-down aluminum steps.

I fell in love with it the moment I first saw it. I knew it was meant to be my home. It was quirky and had wheels, ready to whisk me away from my parents’ lofty expectations, the insufferable fiancé they’d hand-picked, the crowded city, and the stuffy old manor where I had grown up. I dreamed that Indigo and I would live in it until we found the perfect place in Florida to settle down and raise a family of our own one day, but I guess he didn’t share that same dream after all.

Shaking off the tears, I open the cabinet under the sink and reach up to feel around until I wrap my fingers around the small plastic container holding the cell phone I powered off the night we left and a velvet box, which I tucked on the interior ledge. I pluck it from its hiding place, open the lid, and take a relieved breath when I see the contents are still there. A diamond tennis bracelet that was a graduation gift from my parents and the antique ruby ring I inherited from my grandmother. The only treasures I brought with me when I left home. I wrap my fist around them and close my eyes.

I can hear my grandmother’s voice clear as a bell.“They’re just material objects, Tabby. It’s okay.”

Anson

The bell on the front door chimes, pulling my attention away from the game on my phone and alerting me that someone is entering the shop.

My mother, Margot, is a master goldsmith and lapidarist. She owns Sea Goddess Jewelers, the only jewelry store on the island. I sometimes help out on my days off from Sebby’s Charters—a charter fishing company—whenever she needs assistance. Today, since Mom has an eye doctor’s appointment, I’m covering the store for a few hours.

I stand up from my spot at Mom’s desk and walk to the counter to greet the customer—a stunning blonde woman. She is wearing white shorts, a multicolored crocheted tank top with a racerback design, and Birkenstock sandals that reveal her teal-tipped toes. She removes her aviator sunglasses, and when her bright blue eyes meet mine, she smiles, revealing deep dimples.

“Hello.” She beams.

“Hi. Are you looking for anything specific?” I ask as she glances at the jewelry pieces displayed in the glass cases lining the sides of the store.

“No, I’m actually looking to sell a few items,” she says as she approaches me. She pulls a box from her crossbody bag and places it on the counter between us. “I’d like to sell them outright. I don’t need a pawn slip or anything.”

Curious, I pick up the box and look inside. It contains a diamond bracelet.

She takes it from me and lays it out on the wooden surface. “This is a seven-inch, ten-carat total weight diamond tennis bracelet in white gold. It was a gift, so I’m not sure of the original cost, but I was hoping to get at least a thousand dollars for it,” she says.

“It’s very nice, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. We aren’t a—” I begin to explain that we don’t buy used jewelry, but she interrupts me.

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