Read Breaking Josephine Online
Authors: Marie Stewart
“So, don’t take
this the wrong way,” I said, interrupting the stillness, “but you basically
have more money than you know what to do with, right?”
Dex laughed,
“Well, yes, I guess so.”
“And you run a
huge company, right?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t
exactly run it, I have people for that. But I own it and I take in interest in
various projects the company is working on. If I ran it, I’d never see
you—I’d be working as hard as the people I pay exceptionally well to do
that for me,” Dex said, taking a bite of garlic bread.
“Okay, well
whatever your role is in the business, you own it and you’re rich. So why do
you seem so normal?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
Dex laughed even
harder. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” I said, “we
spend most of our time either here or at my place, you cook, we order Chinese. You
drive exceptionally nice cars but don’t really flaunt what you have. I’ve never
even been out to dinner with you. You don’t have any of the pretentiousness I’d
expect from someone in your position.”
“Are you upset I
haven’t taken you out? Do you want me to show you off?” Dex asked, looking at
me.
Now I laughed. “No,
that’s not it at all. It’s the opposite, actually. That’s what I would have
expected you to do, and what I would have hated. That you don’t, that you’re
comfortable having me here, being in your house, being so … so intimate, is
unexpected and wonderful all at the same time.” I paused, trying to put my
feelings into words. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. In a good way.”
Dex smiled at me
as he took a sip of wine. “Well, I guess that’s a compliment of sorts. Look,
Jo,” he said, becoming serious and leaning into the table, “if you haven’t been
able to figure it out yet, I’m an exceptionally private person. I’m the most
comfortable and the most at peace at home. I guess that’s why I like having you
here.”
He leaned back in
his chair, took a sip of wine, and looked at me. I took a drink as well and
gathered the courage to ask Dex a question that had been on my mind. “So if
that’s true, why are there so many pictures of you in the tabloids with random
women in restaurants and clubs all over the country?”
Dex put his wine
down and looked out at the ocean. He sat there for a few minutes before
answering. Finally when he turned to me and opened his mouth to speak, I could
see the pain in his eyes and feel the emotion behind his words.
“Because before I
met you, Jo, I never connected with anyone on more than a superficial level. In
all honesty, I’ve never had a problem finding women to spend money on, or women
to sleep with. But that’s all they ever were. I never felt connected to any of
them, and they were all interchangeable, like cardboard cut outs I could just
stand up next to me at a party or at a dinner table. After my dad died and I
met with the family banker and the board of Hartley Industries, I appreciated
just how much of a fortune the family had thanks to my father’s hard work. I
had more money than I knew what to do with and I was determined to bury my pain
the only way I thought I could: with money, women, and alcohol. So I hired
executives to run the business and I partied. Hard. And while I was clubbing,
or sleeping with some random girl, I could forget my pain and forget how alone
I really felt inside.”
Dex paused and I
could see his pain in his face, I could see how he never really dealt with the
loss of his parents, and instead just numbed himself over the years. Dex turned
to face the ocean again and I knew he was thinking of his parents and how his
life unraveled when they were gone. He motioned to the house and our
surroundings and said, “I came out here, back to Hartley Manor because I’d
burned out. I felt empty and I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.
I thought I’d just retreat into the house and into my grief and bury myself in
it. But then you were here, in my house, like a figment of my imagination. Only
you were real. I touched you that night, tucking your hair behind your ear, and
I felt something. I felt a spark, felt this energy running between us, and I
knew you were different somehow. I can’t explain it, but I feel like you saved
me Jo, you saved me from all the ghosts that have been haunting me for years.”
I got up from the
table and came over to him, running my fingers through his hair, wanting to
comfort him, to take away his pain and ease his internal burdens. He took my
hand, kissing my palm, and holding me there. I stood by his side, my hand
pressed to his lips, as the sun set behind the edge of the ocean.
I stayed the night
at Hartley Manor on Tuesday, Dex and I wrapped up in each other’s arms in his
giant bed. I laid there, listening to his breathing as he fell asleep, holding
him and wishing I could take away his grief with my touch. After having a
casual breakfast together of coffee and bagels, Dex dropped me off at work early
Wednesday morning and headed into Portland for several days of meetings about the
business. He’d tried to explain to me exactly what he was doing, but I waved
him off. I wasn’t ready to hear just how successful Hartley Industries had been
and exactly how wealthy the man I couldn’t get out of my head actually was. I knew
I would miss him, but I didn’t mind since it gave me time to myself, time away
from Dex to regroup, and left me free in the afternoons post-work to relax at
home and get in a few runs.
As soon as my
shift ended Wednesday, I headed home, ending up at the front porch to Eileen’s
house just as a light rain started to fall. Eileen waived to me from her
rocking chair and motioned for me to come up out of the rain. I climbed up the
steps as she rocked gently in the chair, sipping her iced tea.
“How are you today
my dear?” Eileen asked.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I
said. “How are you doing this rainy afternoon?”
“Oh, just lovely. So
what has you so busy these days?” Eileen asked with a grandmotherly smile on
her face.
I sat down in the
rocking chair next to her and leaned back, closing my eyes. “Dex Hartley,
mostly. If you can believe it, we’re actually dating,” I said.
“Oh, well, that’s
wonderful. Little Declan was a wonderful child and I’m sure he’s turned into
quite the young man. You tell him to stop by and see me one of these days, I’d
love to chat with him and reminisce.” Eileen smiled, taking another sip of tea.
“I’ll do that,” I
said. As we sat there rocking our chairs, enjoying the sound of the rain
falling and the smell of it in the air, my thoughts drifted back to Diane and
her strange questions the previous day. “Eileen, you’ve lived here your whole
life, right?”
“Of course my
dear. I grew up right here in this very house. My father built it just before I
was born. Why?”
“Well,” I said, “I
had a very strange conversation with Mrs. Daugherty yesterday. She seemed to
think I must have a connection to Cannon Beach. But as far as I know, I only
ever came here once on vacation years ago. But I don’t really know much about
my family. Do you ever remember any Sinclairs living in Cannon Beach? Or
Cunninghams? That was my father’s last name.” I looked at Eileen, hopeful a
lifetime local would remember something.
“Hmm….” Eileen
said, thinking, “Sinclair or Cunningham? No, no, I don’t remember either of
those last names. But I’ve never known everyone in town.”
I frowned. Maybe
the answer to Diane’s questions really was no, that I had no connection to
Cannon Beach, but she seemed so sure, that I felt there had to be something
more. “How about Rebecca or Jacob? My mom’s name was Rebecca and my father’s
name was Jacob.”
Eileen looked up
to the ceiling, thinking, then answered, “I don’t remember a Jacob who would be
your father’s age, but Rebecca’s a pretty common name. I think there was at
least one Rebecca here back then.”
“Any Rebeccas that
looked like me? I look a lot like my mom. Here, take a look.” I pulled my
ponytail out of my hair, and flipped my head over, shaking my hair out. Then I
flipped it back over and pulled half of it up on top of my head. “Do I look
familiar at all?” I thought if I pulled my hair up like I wore it for the
social, when I realized how much I looked like my mother, it might help.
Eileen looked at
me for a long time. “I don’t remember a Rebecca who looked like you, no. I’m
sorry. The only Rebecca that comes to mind was blonde and had a heart-shaped
face, not an oval face like yours. She was the daughter of a local here in town
and I think she’s married and lives in Seattle now with her kids.”
I leaned back and
closed my eyes again, frustrated by coming up empty. I stood up, ready to go
inside, shower, and try and forget all of this nonsense when Eileen interrupted
my train of thought.
“But I do remember
a young girl. Put your hair up like that again.” She waived generally at my
head and I complied, pulling half of my hair off my face.
“Yes, I do
remember a young lady who looked quite a bit like you now that I think about
it. Now, what was her name? She was a local, a waitress here in town…. I think
she worked at the diner that used to be next to Jack’s before it closed. She
had the same dark chestnut hair you have, quite lovely it was, and she wore it
like that—half up, half down—all the time. Let me see, now, what
was her name….”
I stood there,
holding my breath, waiting and hoping Eileen would remember. “Becca,” she said
finally, “I think her name was Becca. I only remember because that was the
Hartley’s favorite restaurant. We went at least once a week—me, little
Declan, and his parents—for years. It closed years ago, when Dex must
have been five, maybe 6. But she waited on us all the time and always had kind
words for Declan, giving him crayons and coloring pages when he got antsy. I
enjoyed eating in her section since she always helped me with Dex while his
parents were busy talking to each other.”
I felt the ground
spinning beneath me and reached out to the porch column for support. I tried to
tell myself it couldn’t have been my mom, that my mom’s name was Rebecca, not
Becca, that she’d never gone by Becca as a nickname—insisted to everyone
she met that she be called Rebecca, in fact. But the similarities were too
great to ignore.
“How old was she
back then?” I asked, hoping the ages wouldn’t match up.
“Oh, gosh, let me
think,” Eileen said, closing her eyes. “That must have been at least twenty
years ago by now. She was young, I think a teenager when we started going, and
when it closed, well … she couldn’t have been older than you are now, maybe
twenty? She still had that radiating beauty of youth. I do remember she was
always polite and on time, a lovely waitress.”
“Can you remember
anything else about her?” I almost pleaded with Eileen, “Anything at all?” If
this Becca woman was my mother, I wanted to know everything Eileen could tell
me about her.
“Well, let me
think…. Do I remember anything else?” Eileen sat there, quietly, eyes closed
and thinking back at least twenty years while I waiting in agitated
anticipation for anything she could give me. She was quiet for so long, I
thought maybe she had fallen asleep. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me.
“You know, she may
have been dating someone, one of the summer boys here in town. I think she
might have gone to a Daugherty social back then. But I don’t remember seeing
her after the restaurant closed. She may have been here, but I just don’t
remember.”
I looked at Eileen,
confused. Her timeline didn’t make any sense to me. “So Macy’s mom was throwing
socials twenty years ago? I didn’t think she was that old.”
“Oh, my dear, she
must be at least fifty-five by now.” I raised my eyebrows at her as she
continued. “Macy is her only child and she had her quite a few years after she
was married to Mr. Daugherty if I remember right. When the Daughertys built
their summer house here, they were newly married, and Diane had just come into
her family’s money. She couldn’t have even been thirty. And she started
throwing her parties soon thereafter. I think she saw it as a way to get to
know everyone in town and be accepted by the in-crowd, if you know what I mean.
So I think there’s been a Daugherty social of some form for at least twenty or
twenty-five years, I’d say.”
All of this
information had my head spinning. If Macy’s mom threw her lavish parties before
I was even born, and met my mom there, or at least someone who looked a lot
like me, that might explain all her questions yesterday and the strange looks
she gave me at the social. And it might explain the other women Diane’s age who
gave me the same frowning stares that night. But why would it matter if I
looked like a local from twenty years ago? And why wouldn’t she just come out
and say it and tell me why she was so interested in my past? I felt more
confused than ever.
I thanked Eileen
for her trip down memory lane, and decided I would start digging into my past
and the history of Cannon Beach. I needed to figure out what connection I had
to the town, if any, and whether my mother had hidden a huge part of her past
from me before she died.