Page 70 of Raine
More tears fall down my face, the chasm in my chest opening up and threatening to swallow me whole. Arrow took a piece of me that I’ll never get back, not that I deserve it after the shit friend I’ve been.
I don’t look back after I leave, and I sure as shit don’t let anymore tears fall. My heart is heavy, and I feel jaded, but it’s done, and there is nothing I can do to fix it. I drive for longer than I’d originally planned, my mind whirling but feeling a little lighter with the distance I’m placing between myself and Dana Point.
Slowing down, I take a turn and head toward the beach, noticing the twinkling stars starting to form in the pinky black sky.
Driving into the parking lot, I switch off the engine and grab my phone to look up accommodations. I didn’t have a chance to look before I left, operating on flight mode and moving on a whim. It was as if I was on autopilot, moving through the motions and knowing what needed to be done.
My body feels heavy, and my head is killing me. The need for drugs claws through my flesh, making me jittery. I scratch absentmindedly across my chest and continue scrolling for accommodation.
After five minutes, I’ve found the perfect place. A little bungalow by the water and a quiet little shop not far to stock up on food or whatever I might need. Pressing the call now button, my knee jumps up and down with shot nerves and the comedown.
A lady answers swiftly and advises me there has been a cancellation, and I can stay for up to two weeks if I really want. I book it in, even though I’m uncertain how long I’ll be away for.
Blinking away the scratchiness under my eyelids, I start the Porsche and drive for another ten minutes until I arrive at the bungalow. There is a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair and a petite body standing on the wraparound porch, a smile on her oval face, and a huge hamper in her hands.
I’m momentarily stunned by her presence and the massive hamper, but when she inclines her head to me and her smile reaches her eyes, I relax, sliding out of the car and grabbing my bags from the back.
“Raine?” she asks, and I nod. “Welcome to Serenity; here’s your complimentary hamper.” She offers it to me and then shakes her head. “Sorry! Look at me being a ditz; your hands are full! Would you like me to walk you through the place, or I can leave it at the front so you can settle in?”
My head is telling me to take the keys and ask her to leave the hamper, but my eyes see her smile, and I don’t want to snuff it out. Arrow’s cocky face comes to mind, but I push it to the back of my mind. There will be time for me to reflect, cry and wish I hadn’t hurt my best friend, but for now, I need to get into this bungalow.
“Sure. I’d love for you to show me around…”
Her gray eyes go wide. “Oh my, I’m so sorry; Sandra, my name is Sandra,” she rushes, balancing the hamper in one hand while trying to shake mine.
I smile and shake her hand, and she starts walking up the sandy path, stepping onto old planks of timber embedded into the white sand.
Sandra places the hamper down on the timber porch and reaches into her jean shorts pocket, pulling out a key. She opens the door and then picks up the basket and switches on lights as she enters.
My mouth falls open as I take in my surroundings, following her through the house. It’s small but perfect. The whitewashed timber floors are rustic, leading into a homey little lounge area with a few sofas, a T.V., a wood burning fireplace, and an old, black timber coffee table in the center. A wall to wall set of French doors look out to the ocean, and I can see a swing chair on the porch, envisioning myself spending a lot of time out there with my nose in my mother’s diary.
We walk through the lounge area, and to my right is an open-plan kitchen that looks into the lounge area and out to the French doors. The appliances are a little on the older side, white, but they fit the aesthetic perfectly with the black wash wooden countertops and country white slated cupboards. The floor in here transforms into natural timber, and I find myself admiring the indentations and marks in the flesh of it. I spin around slowly, taking it in, knowing this house has a heap of stories. If only walls could talk.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It really is. How long have you had it for?”
“It’s been in our family for generations…” she trails off, and I stop my perusal to look at her.
“There’s a but, isn’t there?”
Sandra smiles sadly at me and nods her head. “I might have to give her up soon, not that I want to.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. But anyway, come on, let me show you the master bedroom and the office; they are just down the hall here.”
We walk down a small corridor, and I admire the art on the walls and the pictures of the house through the years. I stop at one, canting my head to the side as I take it in. If walls could talk indeed.
Moving away from the pictures, I stroll into a big bedroom and immediately fall in love. There is a king-size bed in the center, the bed frame seemingly made from massive tree branches. It’s beyond beautiful. Crisp white linen and a collection of pillows make up the bed. On either side are bedside tables, equally looking like they were made from similar timber to the bed.
There is a dresser in the corner next to another set of French doors that Sandra opens up and shows me how close we are to the beach. The sheer curtains billow in the breeze, bringing the brackish scent of the ocean. Releasing an exhale, I dump my bags by the bed and look outside. There is a small table and two comfy cane lounges sitting on the deck, and I can’t wait to lose myself in this house.
Sandra shows me the bathroom, then walks me back through the house and to the front door, and hands me the keys with a smile.
“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“Thank you, Sandra; I appreciate that.”
