Laura Abbot by Belleporte Summer

Haven.
    Setting down her cider, she turned and gazed at the inked caricature of Frank hanging on the wall. The artist had captured his strong chin, high forehead and bushy brows—and the acquisitive gleam in his eyes. Katherine had first seen him at the Belleporte community Fourth of July celebration. He’d been leaning against a tree, a beer in his hand, talking earnestly with her father. After the two had shaken hands, her father had led Frank over to her and made the introduction. She’d immediately responded to the proprietary way Frank suggested a stroll on the beach, then took her by the arm and, in a manner that brooked no argument, led her away from the crowd.
    Katherine sighed. Had it been love at first sight or something else? She was captivated by his take-charge attitude, a relief in the sea of uncertainty generated by her father’s business failures. Until Frank, she’d never realized a girl could literally be swept off her feet. Handsome and witty, he exuded power, and she needed the security he represented. They were engaged by Labor Day, married by Christmas.
    Only in the last few years had she permitted herself to consider the ramifications of that summer. Frank had bought her father’s failing company, Summer Haven had miraculously been saved, and everyone had lived happily ever after. With one painful exception. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about that.
    In the distance, she spotted two figures on the beach, walking toward Summer Haven. As they approached, she spun her tale to its conclusion. Had Frank genuinely loved her, or had she merely been part of a transaction?
    She stood and folded the throw, then approached the window, idly observing the couple on the beach. No matter, she scolded herself. Frank had taken care of her, and she’d always acceded to his wishes like the dutiful wife she’d been brought up to be. Even when it had cost her so dearly. Yet surely he’d loved her, hadn’t he?
    She noticed now that one of the figures below was a petite, dark-haired woman. The other, a lanky teenage boy. The teenager held a colorful kite with a dragon design, while the woman walked backward away from him, unspooling the kite string. Then, with a wave, the woman signaled the boy, who let the wind catch the kite. Off they went, running down the beach, the kite lofting high above the dunes. The sound of their laughter failed to penetrate the pane of glass, but Katherine could read it in their carefree expressions.
    She ached to join them, to throw off her memories and exult in simply being on a windswept beach on an early spring day with nothing more pressing to do than fly a kite.
     

    B EN SAT on the cedar bench Laurel had installed outside the main entrance of The Gift Horse and waited for his brother. He was fuming. The place was locked up tight. No Laurel. No Mike. Was the kid pulling another fast one? He was supposed to be working. Ben checked his watch. Four-thirty. He jerked to his feet and paced up and down the sidewalk.
    Where were they? Mike had been grounded again, this time for coming in past his curfew after a friend’s party, and Ben was keeping close tabs on him.
    Reversing his steps, he returned to the shop and peered inside. Boxes were stacked all over the floor and a few items were clustered on the counter, although some display areas were beginning to take shape. He frowned. Laurel was planning to open for business on April 15, but it looked to him as if she still had a long way to go.
    Which brought him full circle. Why wasn’t she here working? And where was Mike?
    As he pivoted away from the window, he saw them. Mike, his face raw with windburn, strode up the boardwalk from the beach, grinning and holding, of all things, a kite. To keep pace, Laurel literally skipped along beside him, both of them absorbed in an animated conversation.
    What did they think they were doing? This didn’t look like work to him. He didn’t want to react to Laurel, but, he had no choice.