Bigfoot Beach Read online

  “Hey, Uncle Howard,” said Gunner. Paul noticed the change in expression when Howie arrived, almost an admiring gleam.

  But he couldn't allow those routine feelings to manifest, especially since it was Howie who'd arranged for them to come here.

  “Hey, Gunner. Been working out?”

  “A little.”

  That wasn't true, unless countless hours of playing Minecraft on his smart phone was exercise.

  Howie nodded as he put Natalie down. “I can tell, getting leaner.”

  “Ha!” said Paul.

  Heads turned to him, all looking upset, so he quickly acted as if he was struggling with a sneeze. “Sorry,” said Paul. “Not used to the air here. Getting my allergies going.”

  “I've got some allergy pills in the shop for four bucks a box,” offered Quint.

  “Thanks, but I'll be okay, I'm sure.”

  “Well, if you change your mind.”

  Howie noticed the 4Runner and put his hands on his holster belt, slipping his thumbs behind the buckle. “What's this, Quint?”

  “Oh, that's Big E's head. Damn thing fell off.”

  “Uh-huh. I told you it wouldn't hold up, didn't I?”

  “Well, yeah, but I thought it would.”

  “It didn't.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Why don't we get it off my brother's truck?”

  “Sounds good, Sheriff.”

  “I can help,” said Paul.

  Howie waved his hand. “No need. We've got this.”

  “I'll help, Uncle Howie,” volunteered Gunner.

  Paul was about to repeat Howie's riposte but Howie said, “Sure, Gunner. That's the kind of help we definitely need.”

  “Cool.” Gunner joined them at the hood, taking the middle as Howie and Quint slid the head towards him.

  I can't even get him to bathe regularly.

  Paul sighed. When he saw his daughter watching them, hands clutched together against her cheek like someone in love, he wanted to scream.

  It took no effort for the three superheroes to lift the head and carry it over to the light post. Paul walked over to his car and surveyed the damage. There wasn't any. Not even a dent. He'd hoped for something to be wrong, but wasn't sure why.

  “How is it?” asked Howie.

  “It's fine,” said Paul.

  “Sure?”

  “Let me double-check.” He stared at it a moment longer. “Still fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Sorry, again, about the mishap,” said Quint.

  “No worries on my end,” said Paul.

  “So,” said Howie, clapping his hands together. “Just getting in?”

  “Yep. Haven't been beyond this point yet.”

  “Ah, so you still haven't seen the house.”

  “Nope. Other than the pictures, we have no idea what the place looks like.”

  “Are you going by GPS?”

  “No, just the roadmap. I think I can find it without the GPS.”

  “Well, just keep in mind when you come to Peanut Lane, you have to stay to the left when it forks. Your place is the last one.”

  In the dead end, Paul remembered.

  “And it's not on the beach?” asked Gunner.

  “Not on it, but not far away at all. You can walk to it in twenty minutes.” He glanced up at the bikes mounted to the rack on the roof. “Quicker with one of those. Just go out the back door, down the path, and it'll lead you right there.”

  “Want us just to follow you?” asked Paul.

  “Huh?”

  “Aren't you heading out there, too?”

  “No, not right now. I'm going to help Quint here get his blasted eyesore put back together.”

  “It's a town treasure!” said Quint.

  “It's something all right.”

  “All right, well we're going to get moving,” said Paul.

  “Good deal. I'll swing by after five, when I'm off duty, and see how you like it.”

  “Sounds great,” said Paul, turning for the 4Runner. Behind him he heard Natalie and Gunner say their byes as if Paul was taking them to be executed.

  The tiny clap of Natalie's sandals on the sidewalk rushed to Paul. He felt his daughter's tiny hand slide into his. He was happy to have it there, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Looking down, he saw Natalie's enormous eyes gazing up at him, loving and full of delight. “Do you think Uncle Howie's ever shot anybody?”

  Paul's mouth dropped open. He could hear Gunner laughing as he got into the back.

  “What kind of talk is that?” asked Paul.

  “D'you see that gun? It was huge!”

  “Little girls shouldn't want to know such things.”

  “Well, I do, mister!”

  “Get in the car you little booger before I knock you one!” He opened the door for her.

  Laughing, Natalie climbed in. Gunner reached over and buckled the safety harness across her booster seat. Once she was settled, Paul shut the door.

  “See you later,” Howie yelled.

  Walking around the front of his vehicle, Paul waved. “Looking forward to it.”

  “I'll bring Trish, and some pizza.”

  Nodding, Paul extended his thumb. “Awesome.”

  He opened his door, then glanced at his brother. Quint was halfway up the ladder while Howie stood below, holding the head in one arm like an infant.

  Sighing, he got into the car.

  2

  Paul found the house just fine. On his second try. The first attempt, he'd neglected Howie's instructions, keeping right instead of merging left. But it wasn't his fault. Left turned into gravel, so he'd mistaken it for a driveway. Had Howie told him just to go left where the road became gravel all would’ve been fine.

  The house looked better than the pictures Howie had sent him. A one level nautical-themed structure erected on stilts, the cottage was on a private lot with two sets of stairs leading to a sundeck. A two-car carport had been built underneath. Clusters of grass sprouted from the sand. Bushes so green and healthy they could have been artificial bordered the property. To Paul, it was like the perfect vacation house, but it had been someone’s actual home before Howie won it at an auction.

  Now it’s our home.

  And his older brother was now his landlord.

  And his boss.

  God, how'd I get here?

  Standing in the compact kitchen, his back against the counter, he stared through the sliding glass doors at the sparkling smear of the ocean far in the distance. It would be impossible for any other person to be sad with such gorgeous scenery all around, but the view deepened Paul's depression. Putting his back to it, he walked to the island in the middle of the kitchen floor. On top were boxes of dishes that needed to be unpacked, washed, and put away.

  Paul groaned.

  Though a dishwasher had been installed under the counter, there wasn't any detergent. He had some dish soap for the sink, and thought he could probably use it in the washer, but he didn't know how much to add. Knowing his luck, he'd put in too much and flood the kitchen with soap suds. So that meant washing the dishes by hand.

  And he was not in the mood for it.

  Maybe get the kids to do it?

  He listened, trying to hear them. A couple faint thumps came through the walls. They were in their rooms, moving around. Gunner had seemed okay with his, although his approval of the room wasn't accompanied by tears like Natalie's had been. She'd twirled circles through the empty space, singing an improvised song on how much she loved it.

  Standing in the doorway of his, Gunner had offered a single nod with an additional, “Cool.”

  Howie had let the movers in yesterday and supervised as they'd separated the boxes to the appropriate rooms. It had been his idea to have them come ahead of Paul and the kids so the stress of waiting for their belongings to arrive would be avoided. Not a bad idea and Paul was glad Howie had suggested it. If only he would've thought to throw in a couple hundred bucks and have them unpack ever
ything.

  Right. With what money?

  Paul had enough in the bank to hold them over until his first day as a Seashell Cove deputy. Any extra expenses would be pushing his luck.

  He looked at the box of dishes again. He exhaled a heavy breath, puffing out his cheeks. They weren't going to put themselves away.

  Paul got to work. He let himself become absorbed with the chore of unpacking, washing, drying, and putting away. Soon he was moving as if he was a robot programmed to do this. His mind was clear, yet focused.

  The doorbell chimed, startling Paul. It was his first time hearing its clamor and he cringed at its bluntness. Sounded more like someone had dropped a stack of pans than a cadence of bells. He checked the clock on the microwave, surprised it was after five.

  Drying his dishwater-pruned hands, he stepped out of the kitchen, catching Natalie as she skipped around towers of boxes on her way to the door. “Be careful,” he pointlessly warned. She had the reflexes and balance of a cat.

  “I will,” she said, then vanished on the other side of the foyer wall. The clacking of the door knob being turned followed. “Uncle Howie!”

  Paul had assumed as much. He tossed the towel behind him, waiting for it to land. When it was snagged by the sprayer on the kitchen sink, he headed into the living room.

  Howie, still in uniform, entered the living room, effortlessly balancing three enormous pizza boxes on his left arm. Trish, Howie's wife, followed. It was hard for Paul to see her due to his daughter wrapped around her body as if she’d crashed partway through her midriff. Laughing, Trish leaned her head back, giving Paul a good view of her gorgeous face.

  He felt the same nervous flutter in his stomach that always came when Trish was around. Not that he would ever try anything with her, but there was something about her that made him jittery and talk way too much and too loud. Paul understood it was his way of trying to show Howie he didn't look at Trish the way every other guy certainly did. But he also understood it made him look like he was trying to hide something.

  Gunner entered from the hallway at the far corner of the living room. “Pizza, all right!”

  “The best,” said Howie. “I swear it.”

  “We have a Krispy Krust in Granite Falls,” said Gunner.

  “Not like this one you don't. The only thing in common is the name.”

  “Hi Gunner,” said Trish, trying to delicately peel Natalie off her body.

  “Hey, Aunt Trish.”

  “Look at you,” she said. “You're almost a man.”

  Blushing, Gunner looked at the floor. “Nahhhh.”

  Seeing the trouble Trish was having, Paul said, “Come on Natalie, you look like a bug on a windshield.”

  Natalie laughed. “I do not!”

  Trish winked at Paul, causing that flutter to turn to a surge. He felt himself sweating and had to strain not to call attention to it by wiping his forehead. Maybe Howie would think it was from the work he'd been doing. Then he had an idea.

  “Let me help you with those,” he said to Howie, reaching for the pizzas.

  “Thanks.”

  Paul took two from the top and hadn't expected them to weigh so much. “What's in here? Wet towels?”

  “That's the extra cheese. It’s as thick as a wet towel.”

  “Ah.”

  “Got any plates?”

  “Just finished washing them.”

  “Great. Anything to drink?”

  “Got some bottles of water. That's about it. Haven't even been to the store to get milk or anything.”

  “That's all right. I brought some. Picked up a few groceries for you too. Take this other pizza and I'll go get them.”

  “Did you pick up a case of Husky's?”

  “Why wouldn't I?”

  Smiling, Paul said, “That's a good man.”

  “I'll never understand how the two of you can drink that,” Trish said through a grimace.

  “It's good stuff,” said Howie.

  “Tastes like old apple juice to me.”

  Howie shook his head as he slid the other pizza box on top of the two already cradled in Paul’s arms. “Women just don't understand quality beer, do they?”

  “Nope.”

  “I'll be right back.” He turned away from Paul. “Gunner, come help an old man carry some things.”

  “Howie,” said Paul. “How much stuff is there to carry in?”

  His older brother glanced over his shoulder. “Not too much.” Then he was walking again. Gunner hurried to catch up.

  Trish managed to get Natalie's feet on the floor. “I’m going to warn you—he went a bit overboard.”

  Sighing, Paul shook his head. “I was afraid of that. He always does.”

  Paul walked into kitchen. As he was putting the boxes on the small dining table, Trish entered with Natalie at her heels.

  “He also bought you some towels and other little things for the house,” said Trish. “It's because he's excited.”

  Turning his head, Paul frowned. “Oh?” He headed for the sink where the clean dishes were drying in the rack.

  “You wouldn't believe how much.”

  “You're right. I wouldn't.”

  “Come on, Paul, you have to know he cares. Look what he did just to get you out here.”

  Paul felt a tight pressure in his chest. Not bothering to count plates, he took a stack from the rack, and turned around. “I know he cares. I've never doubted that. I just feel bad that he had to go through so much trouble.”

  “He didn't have to. He wanted to. It's not like we're well off or anything, so please, don't let pride be an issue.”

  Glancing at Natalie, he saw how she was transfixed on the pizza boxes. Her eyes didn't blink, her mouth frozen in a valuing grin. He doubted she was hearing any of what was being said. “I won't.”

  “Good. He's actually scared of doing anything to help, because he's afraid of making you feel how you already are.”

  “I see what you're saying, and he's right. It's hard for me, you know. Things were okay until the first of the year.”

  “And they'll be fine again.”

  Paul's throat felt tight, hard to swallow. Was he about to cry? In front of Trish? Quickly, he turned around and started setting out the pizza boxes. Hopefully, it wasn't obvious to Trish that he was trying to hide from her. Opening all three boxes, he smiled at the familiarity in Howie's ordering. Just like Dad. One cheese and two sausages. Judging the size of the pies, Paul guessed they were extra-large.

  He heard Trish taking the preparatory breath as she was about to say something else, but the bump of the front door stopped her. So, in one quick gust she said, “Don't tell him I said anything.”

  “No problem there.”

  Trish smiled, then rustled Natalie's hair. His little girl jumped, as if she'd forgotten where she was.

  3

  Though he was stuffed, Paul grabbed another slice of sausage pizza. He couldn’t make himself stop eating. Hopefully it wouldn’t clog him up for days, but he thought it might be worth it. He held the slice up to his mouth. The cheese had cooled, but was still gooey. Biting down on the tip, the sauce burst in his mouth. He chewed. Though only slightly warm, it tasted fantastic. Howie was right—this was the best pizza, way better than the Krispy Krust back home.

  This is our home now.

  Paul wondered if it ever would truly feel like it.

  Trish entered the room from the hallway. “She's asleep now.”

  “Good,” said Paul. “I was beginning to think you might have to wear her home.”

  Laughing, Trish sat down beside Howie on the couch. She sank in the soft cushions. The position angled her hips up, so when she crossed her legs, her smooth, tanned skin looked very bare. They gleamed as if she'd just rubbed them in lotion.

  Howie patted her dusky thigh. Trish looked at him and smiled.

  “Thanks for lying with her until she dozed off,” Paul said. “I'm sure she loved it.”

  “It was my pleasure. After s
o many years with boys, I needed some little girl time.” She raised her leg, slowly brushing her fingers across it.

  Paul quickly looked away, pretending he was trying to see down the hall toward Gunner's room. His son had eaten a few slices of pizza, then withdrew to his room a while ago. He wondered what Gunner was doing to keep himself busy. Couldn't be watching TV because the cable wasn't going to be hooked up until Wednesday.

  Maybe he was on the phone. Paul listened, not hearing the deep tone of Gunner's voice.

  Probably texting a friend about how much he hates it here. And how much he hates his dad for bringing him here.

  Paul decided he didn't want to feel sorry for himself right now, so he chose to assume Gunner had fallen asleep. It had been a long day, and if he was half as tired as Paul, he’d probably conked out.

  Leaning back in the chair, he let the cushions hold him. It really was a comfortable place to sit. Howie and Trish seemed to be enjoying the couch. He'd probably sleep there tonight since his bed hadn't been put together yet.

  He watched Howie's hand stroke Trish's thigh. There was nothing sexual in his actions, just a tender gesture that showed he was there for her. Paul smiled. He used to do things like that with Alisha. Just a soft, skin on skin connection, as a sign of affection. Sometimes it led to other things, others it did not. Either way, it was good knowing someone cared enough about you just to touch you.

  Looking up, he saw Howie was watching him. Heat rushed through Paul. He prayed Howie didn't think he was gawking at his wife's smooth legs, so glossy they seemed to reflect the light in the room like a mirror.

  “You look tired, baby brother.”

  Paul nearly puffed out a relieved breath, but nodded instead. “I am.”

  “Want us to skedaddle?

  Shaking his head, Paul waved a hand. “Nah. You're fine. Unless you want to go.” When they'd first shown up, he'd hoped to rush through the visit so he could have some time alone, a chance to become acquainted with the new house. Now, he didn't want them to leave, dreading even a moment of solitude. He'd had fun catching up with his older brother.