Page 3 of Kissing the Beach Town Fire Chief
Ami
I step off the airport transit bus with my backpack slinging over one shoulder. My sigh probably echoes all the way back to the city where I left my job for the summer to come back to my childhood home.
Sea-broooook, I’m back. Yeah. After a couple of years’ break, I’m finally coming back to the beach to see what answers it’ll bring me.
Spending the next three months in this town seems like a daunting idea, but I’ll do whatever I think might help me get past my writer's block.
Even spending a month at that so-called ‘intense writing training course’ didn’t help me much.
What do I have to show for it? A notebook full of doodles, a head full of half-baked ideas, and nothing significant that can help with my ‘writer's block.’ Add to that a Master’s in English Lit, a part-time job that barely pays my bills, and dark circlesunder my eyes so deep that they could be mistaken for a fashion statement. All the credit to insomnia.
Summertime promises a crowded beach and tourist influx. The air in Seabrook smells like salt and memories, heavy with the sea's promise of calm. But right now, all I want is a bed.
I drag my feet across the gravelly parking lot with my sneakers kicking up small dust clouds. The town’s streets are basically deserted. It's spooky enough to make you believe in haunted tales. Or maybe that's just my overactive imagination talking because of my ability to spin tales in almost every situation.
Then I see the smoke. It’s billowing up from the end of Main Street. It’s too far away to be my house or Aunt Maggie’s bookstore, thankfully. But whatever is on fire is on fire BIG TIME. I’m drawn to the crowd and when I realize it’s the bakery that’s engulfed in flames I begin to pray for Clara.
She’s a town legend and very dear to me. I can’t count the number of days I spent helping frost cookies at her table as a kid. I’m pretty sure those ended up as throwaways for her business, but she lovingly let me keep company on those long days summer days. I only had Aunt Maggie by then, so she was like another family member to me.
As I stand across the street from the flames, I finally see a fireman coming out holding Clara. I’m so thankful I almost go to my knees. As the guy removes his helmet and face gear, I realize it’s Ethan, my childhood friend, or at least my childhood nemesis.
He looks toward me, and we exchange nods. I get the feeling from his demeanor that he doesn’t know who I am.Strange, I haven’t been gone that long. But then, my hair is a lot longer and I have shades and a sunhat on.
I begin to walk toward home as the rest of the crowd begins to disperse. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow to see if Clara is okay. But now I just want to get home and fall on my bed.
Finally, I swing open the creaky wooden gate of my front yard to the familiar whine, and there it is—the old, weather-beaten cottage that has been in my family for generations. It's where I used to live and where I’ve spent countless summers.
My great-great-grandfather built this place, and it's been handed down through the family like a precious heirloom, or maybe you can better call it an “old, reliable hand-me-down.”
Being an only child, I inherited the house after my parents’ tragic, stormy night crash. Their car had slipped down a hill, and that was that. Since then, my Aunt Maggie has been the one looking after me, even as I got older and would come only during the summers. She would pester me to visit her every year, just like this summer, so I know that she’s been missing me.
I fumble with the key, cursing under my breath. The door finally gives way with a haunting voice, and I stumble inside, flicking the light switch.
The room looks just like I left it. The main room is cozy with an overstuffed sofa in that old-fashioned tapestry look. The two side chairs are my additions. I found them at an estate sale a few summers ago and they seemed to fit the room perfectly. The small kitchen is sparkling clean, no doubt due to Aunt Maggie’s oversight.
Opening the door to my bedroom – one of two in the house – shows off the real me, I’m sorry to say. The bed is half made, clothes are strewn everywhere, and a pile of books on a rickety stand threatens to collapse. It may be messy but it’s me.Maybe I should be ashamed of how I left it several years ago. Nah.
Aunt Maggie lives next door on my right. She cares for my house while I’m gone, which, of course, is most of the time. It’s my second home, but not my permanent residence. My first home is in California.
It’s literally 2 a.m. so banging on Auntie’s door is not a great idea. She told me to inform her as soon as I arrived, so I sent her a text letting her know I’m here.
I dump my backpack on the floor, take off my shoes, and flop face-first onto the bed.
Ah… Bliss!
The sheets smell faintly of lavender. It's a comfort I didn’t know I missed until now.
I lay there for a while, listening to the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore and the wind whispering through the trees.
My eyes start to droop, exhaustion finally winning the battle. Just as I am about to drift off, my phone buzzes.
I groan, reaching blindly for it on the nightstand. It’s a text from my childhood best friend, Lyla.
Welcome back! How was the journey?
I snort, thumbs flying over the screen.
More like a nightmare. But hey, at least I am back in paradise.
