Dark Beach

Authors: Lauren Ash

Dark Beach

A Novel

by Lauren Ash

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover by Daren Challman

Edited by Karin Cox

I would like to dedicate this book to my husband.

There once was a beach and it was dark, very dark. . .

ONE

“No bedbugs. Check.” Ron flopped the mattress back down.

It was a necessary habit, although he still itched in the night whenever he traveled. A previous run-in with the critters had left him covered in red, scabby welts and had resulted in a midnight check-out, with nothing but a “sorry, we didn’t know”
sad response.

He pulled open the squeaky drawer of the nightstand and removed a pair of neatly folded jeans and a blue T-shirt, also folded precisely, from his suitcase.
They smell like Jenny
, he thought—that fabric softener scent he always associated with her before she began to smell faintly of antiseptic and disease, of death even.
I shouldn’t have left her
, he thought. Shaking his head, he remembered the cold sea air on the coast.
She’ll be fine,
he told himself, not really believing it.

* * *

One other woman sat across from Jenny in the small waiting room. Try as she might not to watch her, Jenny couldn’t help it. The magazines in front of her were all out of date, and boring, so she stared.

Crap!
Jenny thought, getting caught and then looking away as quickly as possible. Surreptitiously, Jenny looked back. The woman gave a half-smile; Jenny forced one back at her.

Now that the woman knew, she couldn’t watch, but Jenny still peeked at her, in between staring at the permanent scratch on her red shoe, or at the clock.
They shouldn’t put clocks in waiting rooms,
she decided.
It makes every minute that much longer.

A petite brunette woman in navy scrubs interrupted her misery
. “Jenny?”

She stood.
Only ten minutes late this time,
she thought.

“My name is Sarah. I’m your nurse today. This way, please. Let me get your blood pressure and your weight.”

Jenny obliged.

“You’ve only gained a pound?”

Jenny placed a protective hand on her belly. “Well, I’ve had quite a bit of morning sickness.”

“Saltines might help.”

“I’ve tried them, and everything else. I’m just getting on with it. Fruit smoothies are all I can keep down.”

Sarah asked her the routine pregnancy questions and Jenny answered robotically.

“Dr. Smith will be in soon,” Sarah said, and left the room.

Jenny nodded, not particularly believing that statement.
The room’s silence was broken only by the ticking of yet another clock, and then by a knock.

“Jenny, good afternoon. I’m Dr. Smith. I’ll be taking care of you during your pregnancy.” He shook her hand. “How are you feeling? I hear you’re having morning sickness?”

“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll need anything.”

“Right. If you do, I can get you something. Your chart says you went off your medication?”

“Yes.”

The doctor hesitated. “And you’re feeling okay with that?”

“Yes, perfect. No symptoms.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear. Lie down, please. I’m going to check you.”

Jenny climbed on the table, adjusted her blonde hair behind and lifted her white tunic.

“We should be able to see a heartbeat on the ultrasound. No bleeding or anything?”

“No.”

He squeezed warm gel on her belly, and Jenny tensed.

“Relax,” the doctor said, moving the ultrasound probe around to find the heartbeat. It pulsed away loudly and flashed on the screen above the foot of the bed. Jenny watched, smiling.

“Looks normal,” Dr. Smith said.

“That’s a relief. Just seeing it makes me feel better.”

“I know. You’re still in the first trimester, but you can tell your husband the good news.”

Jenny’s smile faded.

“Something wrong?”

Jenny glanced up at Dr. Smith. “He doesn’t know.” She redirected her gaze to her belly. “My husband’s been gone the last few weeks, traveling for work.”

“In your own time then. It’s good to get as much support as you can. He’ll be back soon?” He wiped the gel off her belly and pulled her shirt down.

“He’s home now. We’re leaving on a trip tomorrow.”

“Well, that sounds like a good time. Everything looks and sounds healthy.”

“Thank you, Dr. Smith.”

* * *

Chaos—that was how these trips always started.

“Honeeeeey, where’s my blue shirt? Have you seen it? I thought I left it on the bed, and where are my sunglasses?”

Jenny listened, but did not respond. She leaned in close to the mirror, noticing her first fine line: right there, under her left eye. It had appeared overnight, as if she had gone to bed and woken up with it. How did that happen?

“And the sunscreen? Did you pack it, or are we out?”

In her peripheral vision, Jenny noticed Ron’s head pop into the bathroom. She stayed focused on the wrinkle.

“Have you heard anything I said?” Ron asked, coming up behind her and squinting at his own reflection.

Jenny’s dark eyes moved over her husband’s face, examining his clean-cut blond hair, perfect chiseled features, and gleaming brown eyes. He was younger than she, and slightly taller—and, she noticed, he had a distinct lack of wrinkles. She frowned at her reflection again. “Huh? Oh, blue shirt in the dryer, sunglasses on the dresser, and I have the sunscreen,” she finally answered.

“What’s wrong?” he rubbed his hands up and down her
pale arms.

“Nothing. Just getting ready.”

“Don’t forget your pills,” he said, as he wandered away.

Razor-sharp teeth flashed again in her mind
, an image that had been plaguing her for months now. She stood still a minute, struggling to forget. Three bottles of pills sat on the counter. She shoved them into her black toiletry bag.

“Charlie’s escaped again,” Ron shouted.

“Maaaaaa. Ma.”

Jenny felt a tug on the hem of her short white nightgown
. “Yes, my lovely.”

“Charlie’s outside.”

“Again? Oh!” On autopilot, she dropped her concealer, pushed past her daughter and her husband in the bedroom, and crashed down the wooden steps and out the front door.

“Charlie? Chaaaaaarlieeeeee!” she called.

“Honey, the neighbors will see you.” Ron stood on the front steps.

Jenny ignored him.

“Ouch! These rocks are sharp.” She looked down at her bleeding big toe. “My toe. Ron, I need an … ah!”

“Mommy has an owie?”

There was no sign of the little black dachshund.

“Here.” Ron handed her a bandage. “Come in. He’ll turn up.”

“I hope so. Should we cancel the trip?”

“God, no. We need this. I have been working so much lately. Don’t worry. Come inside. You finish packing. I’ll come out and look for him.” Ron headed back out in his sweats and well-worn slippers.

Jenny limped into the shower, holding her foot out to rinse off the blood and watching a drop fall to the floor and streak down the drain. Then she dried her foot and carefully placed the bandage.

The rest of the packing went smoothly, although there was still no sign of the dog.

“Into the car, Kip. Come on. It’s time to go.” She ushered their daughter into the backseat, finally feeling the first pangs of excitement.

“We’re going to the beach.” Kip sang.

“Are you excited?”

“Ya.” Kip climbed into the toddler car seat, and Jenny strapped her in tight and patted her soft blonde curls. “Charlie
?” Kip asked.

“He’s lost, but Daddy told the neighbors, and they are going to keep an eye out for him. He always comes home.”

“You have the directions?” Ron asked from the back as he finished loading the last of their bags.

“Try the sat-nav.” Jenny pointed to the dash as she climbed into the passenger side of their black SUV.

“I hate that thing.” Ron grimaced buckling up. “It’s only right most of the time.”

“Most of the time? All of the time, for me. Anyway, I have my cell phone if it screws up.”

“Turn right,” a perfect female voice instructed as Ron eased the car out of the drive and then abruptly slammed on the brakes.

“God, Ron! What is this—whiplash?” Jenny grabbed her neck.

“Look!”

“Charlie! There you are, you silly doggie. Come on. Come in.” Jenny opened the car door.

Charlie, happy as pie, leaped into her lap and licked her face.

“I missed you, fella. Where’ve you been?”

Charlie just wagged his tail.

Jenny smiled as the car pulled away. Autumn leaves from her favorite tree were starting to carpet the ground outside their yellow seventies-style home, she noticed, even though it was only early fall. Already she could detect a slight change in the air in the mornings, a breeze that was just that much cooler.

“It’s all good,” Jenny said, as Ron turned on the car stereo.

* * *

“They found what?” Carl’s southern accent was still thick, even though he’d been away from home for years. He stood on the hot deck of the old World War II destroyer, a white hard hat on his head, yellow safety glasses covering his eyes, and with his hands on the spare tire that encircled his hips.

“Munitions. Old munitions,” the young welder yelled above the noise of the drilling.

“We need to get that garbage the hell off. Now!” shouted Carl, shaking his head. “That’s all Ah need right now. You hear me—
now
!” Carl punched the buttons on his worn-out cell phone. “Yeah, get me the Admiral … wait … wait … never mind.”

* * *

The freeway was stop and go.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” said Jenny.

Ron checked the clock. “Let’s stop and get a quick bite.” He changed lanes, slowed down.

“Burgers?” Jenny asked, thinking only of meat.

“Sure, my rear needs a break, and I forgot to tell you earlier...”

“What?” Jenny asked.

“...I have to make a conference call.” Ron’s tone was neutral.

“Conference call? But you’re on vacation!”

“I have to. There’s something going on.”

“Can’t someone else handle it?”