What the Heart Knows: A Milford-Haven Novel - Book One (29 page)

Susan put away her platform, then picked up her workout bag and announced, “I gotta get a drink of water and change.” Then she exited to the corridor to use the fountain and restroom.

Sally turned her gaze on Miranda. “There’s more, too, Girlfriend. You don’t know the half of it.”

“And neither does Susan,” Miranda reminded. “Maybe you’d like to keep it that way?”

“Hmm.”

‘You might want to change the subject, unless you want Susan broadcasting your business around town.”

“Oh, fiddle! I was gettin’ carried away, wasn’t I?” Sally picked up her step platform and lugged it to the stack where she slid it on top. “Got time for a stretch?”

Miranda nodded. “Yeah, I’d better. Listen, I apologize for not getting back to you yet about doing some painting in your restaurant. I’ve been …distracted. Besides, you said something I didn’t understand, and I thought maybe if I could watch your mouth when you say it, I’d get it.”

Sally burst out laughing. “Watch my mouth? Oh, Miranda, you are too much!” Still chuckling, she asked, “Okay, so what was the word?”

“I’m not sure, ‘tompie’ or something?”

“Oh, yeah,
trompy loil
. They talk about it my magazines.”

“Can you spell it?”

“No sireee, I cannot. But I think it has every single vowel right there in the one word.”

“Uh, can you show me a picture?”

‘Ye-yus, I can, but you know, it’s that kind that looks like it’s real, only it ain’t.”

“Oh!
Tromp-l’oeil!”
Miranda laughed. “Got it! Sure, I can paint that style. In fact, I did one not long ago for my rep, Zelda. Do you know what image you want?”

Sally thought back to the blank wall and the scenes she’d imagined. “I’m not jus’ sure yet, but I think maybe the hills around here, or the trees, or even the ocean … somethin’ like that.”

“Sounds perfect for your place. Okay, I’ll think about it and
maybe do a couple of sketches for you.”

“Really? Oh, Miranda, that’d be
wonderful!”

“Thanks for asking me. It’ll be a fun project. Although I’m not sure exactly how soon I can do it. You don’t need it before the holidays, do you?”

“Oh, I was thinkin’ maybe by next spring, before the next tourist season starts up?”

“That sounds doable.”

Miranda put back her platform and the two women dragged mats out onto the floor. Lying on them, they began extending their arms, then sitting up slowly to bend over their knees and touch their toes. They then rolled down again, vertebra by vertebra, until they lay flat. After a moment of deep breathing, each lifted one bent knee and dropped it slowly across their bodies.

Sally’s back made a popping sound. “Oooh-eee, that felt good,” she said in a breathy voice.

“I’ll say.”

When they’d done the same on their opposite sides, the two women gradually stood and carried their mats to be stacked with the other.

While they did so, Susan came back into the room. “Good class,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in the suddenly quiet room. “I’m gonna pick up some lunch, so maybe I’ll see you at the restaurant, Sally.”

Sally turned toward her. “Okay, the special today is—” She cut herself off, something having captured her attention.

Miranda followed Sally’s gaze toward Susan’s face.

The young woman thrust one hip out and stood defiantly. “What’re you two staring at?”

“Well, moon in the mornin’! You’ve gone and got yourself a nosering, haven’t you?” Sally took a step in her direction for a closer inspection. “Or is that just a fake one for Halloween?”

As Sally’s hand reached out for her, Susan blocked it reflexively. “Don’t touch!”

“Oh, Lordie, is that sore?”

“Not really,” Susan shot back. Grabbing her jacket, slinging her backpack across one shoulder and picking up her workout bag, she added, “You ladies have a nice day.” Susan clomped out, letting the door slam behind her.

Miranda and Sally looked at each other, then were silent as Miranda pulled her bike clothes over her leotard and tights, and Sally hefted her bag.

As they left Burn-It-Off, Miranda remarked, “You had a lot to say today, Sally.”

“You know me, always runnin’ off at the mouth.”

“I don’t know. You can keep your lip zipped pretty well when you want to.” She paused for a moment. “Which is probably more than I can say for myself.”

Sally looked at her. “What d’ you mean, Girl?”

“This started with me, didn’t it? What you overheard at your restaurant?”

“It wasn’t
you
I overheard, Miranda. It was Samantha I heard. And I do
not
give a raccoon’s tooth for that woman.”

“Even so, it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been talking with Sam. It’d help me out if you could make sure it goes no farther.”

Miranda studied her friend, watching her process the request.

“Like I said, this was not your fault Miranda.”

Now that Sally knows what Sam told me in confidence, maybe there’s really nothing I can do about it. Asking her to keep quiet about it may only fan the flames. Best leave that alone. But she did seem to know something else about Jack, too, something that bothered her
. “Was there … was there anything else you wanted to tell me Sally?” Miranda waited.

“Oh. Oh, well, that’s kind, Miranda, but, uh, I reckon I said enough already. I uh, just got some thinkin’ to do.”

Miranda nodded and watched as Sally closed and locked the door. “Thanks for a great workout, Sal.”

“You bet!” her friend said, then the two walked outside, where they headed for their cars.

She knew Sally’d be facing what would surely be another busy lunch hour at her restaurant. Her friend’d done her best to sound cheerful. But a sad note had crept into her voice.

I’m not sure why, but I think she’s a lot more hurt than she’s letting on
. Miranda unlocked her Mustang and slid inside.

Miranda Jones completed the short drive from Burn-It-Off to Main Street and, on an impulse, pulled into an angled parking slot.
I really should get right home to work. But now that I’ve decided to do that painting journal, I want to choose which of her favorite haunts to include
.

Grabbing her backpack and slamming her car door, she began walking down the west side of the street, where she paused a moment to look in the window of By The Book.
Our book club still has to choose the next thing to read
.

Among the books displayed—interspersed with jack-o’-lanterns and colorful construction paper leaves—stood the
recent
New York Times
bestsellers: Doris Lessing’s Love, Again; The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield; and Primary Colors, She wondered whether that book was only famous because it was penned by “Anonymous.”

Miranda stepped back from the plate-glass window to get a better view.
This’ll be a wonderful image for my visual journal … and maybe I’ll want to capture what it’s like inside too, in that reading nook I like
.

Moving along the sidewalk, she continued to make mental notes about the shops: clothing and jewelry, souvenirs and crafts. Reaching the end of the street, she prepared to cross to the other side, when a storefront caught her attention.
Shell Shock. Cute name. I’m sure I’ve never noticed that before. Maybe it’s new?

Reaching the entrance, she walked in, immediately charmed at hearing a delicate chinkle. Sure enough, near the front door, a cascading mobile hung from the ceiling, capiz shells strung in multiple strands, the luminous discs catching the light as well as the breeze.

“Hello there,” a woman’s voice called from the back of the store. “Let me know if you need help!”

“Okay!” Miranda answered.
I hear a trace of accent … maybe South African? Or Australian?
As she began exploring, fascinated, she moved alongside waist-high tables that held box after wooden box of shells, each labeled.
Lambis… limpet… marble cone… I’ve never even heard of most of these! Melon… there’s a shell called “melon”? Murex … olive… strombidae… and over, here triton … turrid… volute…
.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” The woman’s voice was closer now, and Miranda looked up to see an attractive female,
probably in her forties, with a unique sense of style: upswept bob of burgundy hair, a loose, silky maroon blouse over tight leggings, stylish sandals and a massive shell necklace.

“Incredible! Your whole shop is fantastic. Great name, by the way. When did you open?”

“Ta very much! Spent the summer doing renovations, September getting organized, and finally opened just a week ago.”

“Welcome to town. The shells you have … a lot of these I’ve never seen, or never knew the names. Where do they come from?”

“All over,” she replied. “All over the world, I mean. Incidentally, it looks like you started in the middle of the alphabet.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize they were in order.”

“Easiest to find them that way—although sometimes I have to choose between the Latin name and the popular name. Anyway, you might want to try the other wall as well.”

“Okay, I will.” As she turned away, Miranda smiled to herself, enjoying the sense of discovery as well as this woman’s obvious pride and expertise.

So, over here the labeled boxes begin with Auger. I recognize the shell, just never knew that was its name. Maybe it augurs well that I came into this shop today
. Chuckling, she continued to read labels until she came to the “H’s.”

Hebes, cylindrical spiral … hebraeus, round and swirled, with a half-moon opening … hecuba, long and narrow with a slitted opening
…. But she’d missed a box, she realized, one located farther away from her, closer to the wall. Something about the shape of its shells drew her attention.
Wonder what that one is
.
Almost looks like a heart
.

“Heart Cockle, or Cardium Cardissa,”
read the label. “Oh!” Miranda exclaimed.

“That the one, is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, when a customer can’t resist, it’s because they’ve been grabbed. Shells have a way of doing that.”

Miranda laughed. “They do, don’t they? Only for me, it’s always happened on a beach.”

The woman smiled and tossed her head. “That’s how it started for me, too. Then, as you can see,” she added, sweeping her hand through the air, “I got carried away.”

“You’re the owner?”

“Yes. Michelle. And, yes, I
do
go by ‘Shelly.’ Unavoidable, I suppose.”

“Sounds like it was meant to be.”

“Shelly Larrup.”

Miranda held out her hand to shake. “I’m Miranda Jones.”

Shelly’s eyes widened. “You’re the painter? I’ve been admiring your work at Finders.”

Pleased, but suddenly shy, Miranda muttered, “Very kind.”

“Say, maybe you’d do me a favor. If you fancy that shell—the heart cockle—I wonder if I could hire you to do a sketch for me, if I can afford you, that is?”

Miranda thought for a moment. “I imagine we can work out the fee. What would you be using it for?”

“For now, just a flier for the holidays. I thought it could say something like ‘Follow Your Heart to Shell Shock,’ and then it would need an image.”

“I could certainly do a drawing—but how quickly would
you need it?”

“Well, if I had it by, say, the first of December, that’d give me plenty of time to get it printed up.”

“Sure.”

“And of course, please take whichever heart cockle you’d like today as a gift.”

Miranda gazed at the shell in her hand. “I’d love to have one these. And I can get the drawing to you in time. It really does look like a heart, doesn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm. And it’s a bi-valve—two connected halves—so the metaphor continues, as in ‘warm the cockles of—”

“—of my heart—”

“—cockles being the innermost chambers, as it were.”

“Right!”

“So, Miranda, choose the one you like best. Please let me know what you want to charge. And just get the drawing to me when you have time.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

The heart shells seemed to come in several shades from white to yellow. But the most beautiful to her were white as snow.
Like a pure heart, I suppose
. Choosing one with perfect symmetry, she took it the counter, where Shelly wrapped it in tissue paper and placed it in a small bag.

“Lovely,” Miranda complimented. “Thanks, and I’ll be in touch about the drawing.”

“Ace!” Shelly confirmed. “Cheers!” she added.

Miranda left the store, knowing, now, exactly what she’d walked down Main Street to find.

Zack Calvin took a last look around his room at the Belhaven Inn. The carved-wood furniture, the private sitting room and the small fireplace all seemed as inviting as they had when he’d arrived. Yet now they looked familiar.
A lot can happen in three days in this little town
.

He thought back to last evening with Miranda—her skittishness at dinner, her responsiveness later at her home; her near-fury over the killing of whales, her gentleness when caring for the orphaned cat.
She’s a nexus of contrasts … intriguing, beautiful, confusing
.