Sandcastles Read online

  Sandcastles

  By Suzie Carr

  Copyright Suzie Carr 2015.

  Published by Sunny Bee Books, LLC at Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For you, my friend.

  Sandcastles are temporary. Trying to build them into permanent structures is an impossible dream. They fall down quickly, with little warning. The comfort comes when one realizes that when they crumble and fall back into the sea, they become the foundation for something else in the waiting.

  Acknowledgements

  I have so many people to thank for helping me to write this book. With your guidance, I learned a lot of valuable lessons in writing and in life. Dorina, my beautiful twin soul, your feedback fueled my creativity and drove me to seek truths. Alak, your knowledge in Ayurveda Medicine helped teach me how to take charge of my own health and gave lift to the many lessons found in Sandcastles. Susan Duggan, I am eternally humbled to have met you, and am grateful to you for making my acupuncture journey a powerful, life-changing one. Dr. Rao, your dedication to functional medicine and educating patients on proactive approach is so inspiring. I will forever be indebted to you for the gift of empowerment. Diane Marina, Angela, Bethany, and Felicia, thank you for your insights and honesty. You give me confidence to share my writing with others, and I cherish you for this. To my better half, thank you for having patience with me while I dove into character mode each and every day. Your support gives me the freedom to soar. And to Pat, thank you for sharing your insights with us while you were here. I hope you know how much we miss you.

  Chapter One

  Lia

  I ran out of the flea market like my life depended on it. I tripped over the ramp leading out to the parking lot, and coins, along with my favorite lipstick, spilled out of my pocketbook. I kept running, past the security guard with the dropped jaw and the crying kid with orange hair and freckles.

  I dashed out in front of a car, carrying my portable air compressor like a running back in a football game. The driver honked his horn and yelled something out of his window in Spanish. With no time to apologize, I flew through the parking lot, kicking up stones and dirt along the way.

  I stopped at the edge of the lot and stared at the line of traffic coming toward me on Pulaski Boulevard. I peeked over my shoulder and saw my assistant, Dean, and that blast from my past, Willow, in the entranceway, bending down to collect my stuff.

  With no time to waste, I flung an arm up in the air and commanded the traffic to stop. A minivan screeched to a halt. I offered a nod and crossed out in front of it only to be faced with a line of cars barreling down the opposite lane. With traffic stopped in my lane, I waited for a clear path so I could dash toward my truck and arrive in time.

  Two Hours Earlier

  I stood in front of my window and stared out at the crowded street below, wishing I didn’t have to go out there.

  My father would only turn sixty once in his lifetime, and he wanted that damned air compressor from his good friend, Ernie, at the flea market in Bellingham. I skived flea markets ever since I found a cockroach in a bar of taffy I bought with my allowance when I was just eleven years old. My father, despite that, loved them and befriended vendors.

  The trip would require support, and so I called out to Dean.

  My door flew open. “What’s up, boss?”

  I continued to stare out to the street below, watching a delivery truck narrowly miss side-swiping a Volkswagen Beetle. “I need to run an errand.” I turned to face him. “Want to take a ride?”

  He leaned against the doorframe, twisting his mouth. “Why do I have the feeling saying yes to this is going to end in some sort of regret?”

  “I’m not taking you to Six Flags again. I promise.” I walked over to my desk and undocked my laptop. “Trust me, that excursion pained me far more than it did you.” My eardrums still hadn’t fully recovered from his screams at the top of the double loop coaster. “I’ll even treat you to lunch.”

  He tapped his chin with a pen. “As much as it pains me to miss out on the fun of a potential adventure, I have to respectfully decline.” His face contorted into a wince. “Maybe next time.” He darted out of the doorframe. His black hair swayed in the wake.

  “Hey, hang on.” I brushed past my chair. “Why do you always assume I’m going to pull the rug out from under your feet?”

  He stopped, turned, and faced me. He lifted his chin and looked down at me under the rim of his Calvin Klein mahogany frames. “Because, Lia, you’ve literally pulled the rug out from under my feet before.”

  I nodded, and a smile crept onto my face.

  He remained stoic even in the foreshadowing of my impending tease.

  “I sense an eminent assault of laughter aimed at me,” he said. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to the five foot pile of paperwork you tossed on my desk yesterday morning. After all, that is why I’m here on a Saturday morning when the rest of the office staff is probably enjoying a beautiful, sunny day free of marketing jargon.” He bowed, tipped an imaginary hat, and whisked away.

  “Come on now,” I said, catching up to him and spinning him around on a quick tug. “Admit it. You’re the one who set yourself up for that rug pulling.”

  He didn’t flinch at my mocking, something I admired about him and incessantly needed to test. “You asked me to sample carpet remnants under my chair. I didn’t think I’d have to take out an insurance policy for my safety.”

  “It’s not my fault that you’re extremely gullible.” I patted his upper arm. “Let’s go. We’ll go to your favorite spot and get Indian buffet.” Nothing riled him up like Naan and curry.

  “No.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Well, that’s an order.”

  He tilted his head back and scanned the drop ceiling above, taking in every nook and cranny on the tiles. A smile emerged as he lowered back to meet my gaze. “I want the Indian buffet on Hope Street or you’ve got no deal.”

  I dropped my arms. “Fine. Let me get my laptop and close up my office.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You do plan to come back and work, right?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Do I need to?”

  “We’ve got to go over the project timeline for Monday morning’s meeting still.”

  “I’ve got to get to my parents right after I drop you back off. Just copy what we did for Shine Salon and change the header to say Chic Spot.”

  He stared at me like I had ten heads.

  “That’ll work, right?”

  “Copy? We don’t copy here. We’re unique. That’s your motto.”

  “I don’t have time to be unique today.” I couldn’t skip the party. My mother planned it for weeks. “Can you work your magic? Please?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I searched his gaze for a hint of understanding, waiting for him to acknowledge that I was a serious business owner. Life had just served me another dodgeball I had to deal with.

  “I suspect you’d get along just fine.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  I arched my eyebrow, then headed back to my office. “I’ll just be a moment.”

  A few minutes later, laptop in hand, Dean opened the door for me. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “To get my dad a birthday gift.” I mar
ched toward the elevator. Taking him to a flea market was going to be like taking a child to a penny candy store. He’d get overexcited and embarrass himself for sure.

  I’d keep my sanity for as long as possible by keeping our destination a surprise.

  The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Dean stood in the doorframe to keep them open. “Why do I need to come?”

  “Can’t I just simply ask you to come along because I enjoy your company? Does there have to be a reason?”

  The elevator closed and for twenty long seconds we rode down to the first floor on silent mode, something Dean required after that one time he got stuck for three hours on the elevator during Rhode Island’s one and only noticeable earthquake.

  The elevator chimed again, and the door opened up to the office building’s sunny foyer. “With you,” he said, waving me off the elevator as he straddled the frame, “there’s always a reason.”

  I pushed through the front door. The fragrant fresh blooms of lilacs woke me up. I inhaled the spring air, savoring it as I led us to my brand new silver Tacoma four door, long bed pickup truck. “If I tell you why, then you’ll know where we’re going, and that’ll just ruin the surprise.”

  “And that would be a shame because I live for surprises.” His sarcasm dripped in sweet, reliable rhythmic beats, a sound I’d grown fond of over the past two years.

  We drove to the Bellingham Flea Market and fought about what to listen to the entire time. I wanted lite seventies and he kept changing it to heavy metal. When we arrived, we still hadn’t listened to a full song of either genre.

  “I love flea markets,” Dean said, sticking his nose against the window.

  “The place is packed.” My heart tightened. I drove past the parking lot entrance, thankful he agreed to come along.

  “You just missed that spot right up front.” He pointed to a spot in between two beat up old sedans.

  “No way. Not with my brand new truck.” I stopped and let a couple wearing colorful ponchos cross the street. “It won’t hurt us to walk a little.”

  I parked my brand new truck along a remote edge of Pulaski Boulevard, removed from the threat of other cars and inconsiderate people.

  We hiked to the entrance, me shouldering my pocketbook and Dean smearing a stupid smile clear across his youthful face. One would’ve thought we entered Disney World the way his eyes opened wide in delight at the chaos that presented itself to us upon entering the crammed building.

  I pushed us through the crowd, detangling from their clumsy arms and feet with each step. “The tools are in the back,” I yelled over my shoulder to Dean.

  He clung to the back of my shirt, smiling in his goofy wide-toothed way as he scanned the scene.

  I cleared our path with more determined strokes. We passed a man with wiry white hair and a fruit stained t-shirt. He held up a bag of mangos. “Get yours now. Only a dollar. Get them while they’re fresh.”

  Dean stopped me. “We have to get some.”

  I grabbed his wrist and led him away. “We’re not here to buy soggy mangos.”

  The man continued his chant. “Get yours now. Only a dollar. Get them while they’re fresh.”

  Dean stopped again. “This is snack time, Lia. I’m getting mangos.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. “Shall I get you some too?”

  The man grinned, exposing a wad of chewing tobacco. My stomach rolled. “That would be a big no.”

  I turned away and headed over to a table of cleaning products. A young teenaged girl popped up from a chair. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m just looking.”

  She nodded and plopped down again, sitting on her hands. Poor kid looked about ready to cry.

  “Maybe I’ll get this bottle of Windex.”

  She popped up again. “That’ll be six dollars, please.” She folded her hands in front of her, squeezing them until they turned white.

  “For Windex?”

  She shrugged and her bottom lip trembled.

  “I’ll give you three dollars.” I took the bills out of my pocketbook and offered them to her. “Six is ridiculous. You should tell your parents a customer said so.”

  She reached out with shaky hands for my dollars. “Okay.”

  Dean stepped up to an adjacent table, plucking up a terry cloth hand towel. “I need these.” He picked up a pack of white ones, then yellow, and continued scanning the table. “Oh look, they come in red, too.” He shoved those under his arm. “What color do you want for the kitchen at the office?”

  The young girl and I shared a goofy smile before I turned from her and removed the white pack from under his arm, placing it back in its rightful spot. “Pace yourself.”

  He dragged me around that flea market as if on a treasure hunt for the world’s most rare and valuable items. Everywhere my eyes landed, I saw nothing but junk. His eyes grew larger by the second. He had to touch everything. Every bottle of disinfectant, every piece of fabric, every picture frame and knick-knack.

  I had brought Dean to the ultimate paradise for someone obsessed with secondhand junk. Table after table housed the most hideous, most random items known to mankind. Who the hell in his right mind would walk into that place, pick up a pair of white and orange striped tube socks and travel back home a happy person?

  Dean would.

  His arms overflowed as we headed to the tool section.

  The place stunk. It smelled like mothballs, leather, and aftershave. People laughed and smiled, shoving loads of faded blue jeans, underwear without packaging, and used toys under their arms as if they were uncovering mega deals at Ozzy World’s semi-annual sale.

  They bumped into me without apology, shoving past us as if we didn’t exist. One older lady with a random curler on her forehead even stole the last bottle of Avon’s Skin-So-Soft right out of Dean’s hands. Instead of fighting back for it, he shrugged it off and moved on to the next exciting item, a tube of extra-soft, strawberry scented, hand lotion.

  I grabbed his arm. “You’re just going to let her take the Skin-So-Soft?

  “She needs it more than me, surely.”

  I stared at the lady, hobbling as she inched her way down a table of cosmetics whose lids were missing and labels half-scratched off. I would have wrestled her for the bottle had I not been in Dean’s company. A tiff would’ve charged me and caused my skin to prickle. The scrapper inside of me would’ve danced to a new beat and wanted to find more tiffs. I wanted a fight ever since talking with my mother earlier that morning about my father’s gift. Your father wants an air compressor, but only from his loyal customer Ernie. You’ve got to get it from him. I’ve already called him up and told him to put one aside for you.

  I dragged Dean away from the cosmetics. “Come on. We’ve got an air compressor to buy.”

  He stopped at a grandfather clock, tracing his finger along its botched up wooden surface. “You’re getting your father an air compressor?” He squinted his eyes and examined the gold-plated hands of the clock.

  “Yes. He wants one.” I tried to nudge him forward, but he remained firm.

  “Did you know at one time in history only the nobility owned grandfather clocks? Owning one symbolized wealth.” He over pronounced the end of the word like a snob.

  “And here it sits in the middle of junk heaven.” I gazed out over the sea of junk in search of Ernie’s booth. “Come on. This place creeps me out with all its old smells. It reminds me of summers at my aunt’s house when she didn’t have air conditioning and kept her windows sealed shut.”

  “You were afraid to come here by yourself.” His voice rose up in a challenge. “That’s why you asked me to tag along.”

  “Let’s just get the compressor and get out of here.” I brushed past him, snaking my way through the blockades of people browsing the junk. I traveled halfway through the cluttered room before realizing I had been dragging one of those terry cloths under my feet.

  A satisfied grin sat on Dean’s face as he offered me his shou
lder. “You look ridiculous. Better get that off your foot before you embarrass yourself.”

  I peeled it off my shoe. “That’s disgusting.” I flung it to the sticky concrete.

  “No,” he said, wiping the grin from his face. “That’s fucking hysterical.”

  “That coming from a man who enjoys eating soggy mangos in a baggy and buying up a lifetime supply of terry cloth hand towels.” I waved him ahead of me. “After you.”

  He marched past me with his head high and took his sweet time browsing car radios as if fascinated with such devices.

  I waited patiently, with my hand gripping my hip and my teeth biting down on the inside of my cheek. I looked up past the radios and noticed an odd looking lady standing beside a pub style table. She wore a rainbow-colored jumpsuit that puffed out as if inflated with helium. Her eyes, shadowed in sparkly blue, flickered when she caught my eye, and a chill coursed through me.

  She stared at me. I snapped away and focused back on Dean. He stuck his nose in some megaphone attached to a turntable. “Fascinating.” His voice echoed.

  The lady’s eyes bore into me with magnetic force. I struggled to keep my grounding.

  “Let’s go.” I yanked him.

  Dean didn’t resist. He followed in step beside me. Then, in his typical curious fashion, he locked eyes with the lady. “I’ve always wanted to get a palm reading.”

  She continued to stare at me, looking right past the crowds who passed in front of us and right into my eyes. The faint sound of theatrical music drifted in and out. My head clouded with a euphoric sense. The space between me and the lady shrank, forming a tunnel where Dean’s excitable jibber jabber and the chatter of hundreds of flea marketers quieted. Even though a good fifteen feet of distance separated me from that lady with mysterious eyes, wearing earrings far too large for the saggy earlobes she carried around on her raisin head, her energy gripped me.

  The little hairs on my arm rose.