When the Rolls Royce came to a stop, the dream she had been dreaming vanished like fog after sunrise. She was finally here. Back in Somerston, Rhode Island, parked in front of Ocean Point, the place where it happened. Her nerves were showing themselves, but her excitement was more present than her fear.
As the haze of sleep disappeared she looked out the window of the car. There he was, Christopher, unloading suitcases from the trunk of his Mercedes. She couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been. Where they’d been. She wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings that washed over her when she saw him. She thought it would be nothing but anger, but after 10 years she was surprised to find remnants of love mixed in with the anger. It was anger that made her upper lip curl in disgust, that knotted in the pit of her stomach; but was it love that made her heart beat a little faster? Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Whatever it was, Bethany was not prepared for any other feeling but anger. She had a plan and she had to stick to it. There could be no thinking with her heart, only with her head.
She had seen enough. She asked her driver to take her to the inn once Christopher was inside the house and couldn’t see the car drive away. She didn’t need to see him anymore and she certainly didn’t need to see Ivy. Seeing Ivy might make her retch in the back seat of the car. Ivy Ashfield was the woman that Christopher has married after her “death.” Ivy, it could be said, was the person Christopher had “killed” her for.
“Beautiful socialite Ivy Claire Ashfield weds Christopher David Wakehurst in a garden ceremony on the grounds of the Wakehurst Estate, Ocean Point.” It was hard for Bethany to remember a time when that headline wasn’t burned into her brain.
The headline and all the pain connected with it suddenly became less important when she arrived at the inn. She had been missing and presumed dead for the last 10 years. She made her reservation under an assumed name. In keeping with the anonymity and secrecy, she wore a large hat and sunglasses. None of that changed the fact that she was back in the town where she’d grown up and “died.” She knew most everyone and they knew her. Keeping her time there a secret was going to be difficult and she knew it.
Ten years isn’t really that long when you think about it. Things hadn’t changed that much. She recognized the voice of the owner of the inn when she made the reservation. Mrs. Mayfield had owned the Mayfield Inn for at least 20 years. Returning to her hometown was painful enough. Without her parents to turn to, the Mayfield Inn was the closest thing to a home she could think of.
She wasn’t sure how anyone in Somerston would feel to see her again. She wasn’t sure that anyone would even recognize her. She hoped they wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter though. She didn’t need their love, respect, or approval. What she wanted was revenge…
©2010 Michael Rohrer