Sands of Time Read online

  I stood straight up, fire in my eyes and venom in my mouth.

  “With all due respect, God has taken everything from me that means anything. He took away my racing, my wife, and my children. The only thing I have left is that inn, and when it comes right down to it, I just don’t have the heart for it anymore.”

  My eyes burned through Pastor Paul. But all he did was put his hand on my shoulder. He looked at me with genuine concern.

  “Sam, I know that you feel alone and that you think God has forsaken you.

  He has not. I am not going to force you into anything, but when you’re ready, He will lead you, and I will be here for you.”

  I couldn’t respond; I could only stare, and I wanted to cry.

  “Sam, don’t think you have been forsaken. I have the feeling that God has blessed you more than you think.” He was looking at me a little too carefully.

  “Do you need help getting home?”

  I looked away, then down at the bottle.

  “I’ve got all the help I need.” I glanced back at Pastor Paul, then pushed past him and walked into the night. I looked at the bottle as I stumbled away and decided Jack wasn’t quite done for the night. I finished the bottle and continued to stumble home.

  The inn was quiet when I finally fell into the lobby. I have no idea what time I finally dragged my sorry self onto the carpet and fell onto the couch in the middle of the lobby. I looked up to see Natalie’s sexy little body behind the desk, where she was reading a book. She looked up as I noisily flopped onto the cushion.

  “Sam, everything is quiet. Someone called down with a question about how late the boardwalk was open. I told them that everything closes pretty early in March, but that’s all. That was around midnight, I guess—it’s almost 4 am now.” The she looked at me with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  I think I was actually drooling; I’m so disgusting. “No,” I managed to slur.

  How suave and debonair I was. But I think my inability to keep my head centered on my body gave her the impression that I was lying, so she came over to help anyway. I was a terrible liar, especially when I was this wasted. And I was seriously wasted. I had consumed more Jack then ever before.

  “Sam, it’s okay; I can help you… please let me help you.” She put her arm around my waist, and I wrapped my arm around her tiny shoulders as she helped me up. Her shoulders felt so nice.

  “We’re friends, Sam. I wish you would let me help you. Let me be there for you—I can listen.”

  But I’m not sure if she was actually talking to me. She could have simply been talking out of frustration. She helped me out to the carriage house I lived in just behind the inn, then guided me into my room and sat me on my bed. Wow, I thought, she is really beautiful. Her dark hair and warm chestnut eyes looked so understanding and comfortable and… forgiving. She was looking at me, our faces inches apart—that was because my arms were still around her shoulders.

  “Sam, sit down and I’ll help you into bed.”

  Help me into bed? Sounds like a plan to me. My arms slowly retreated from her soft and delicate shoulders. Her body was thin and fit—apparently, she exercised and took care of herself. Wow, she is beautiful; did I say that already?

  I tend to repeat myself when Jack is around… My hands paused at the small of her back, but my drunken attempt to pull her toward me was clumsily thwarted by my lack of motor skills. My arms fell harmlessly away onto the bed. I looked up at her while she reached down to help me swing my legs up into bed. She didn’t seem to notice that, as she pulled the covers back, her small yet firm breasts brushed my cheek. And I turned and kissed her left breast ever so lightly. She paused… slightly, just for a moment, and then continued. Not saying a word.

  She was trying to help me get into bed slowly, but I really fell into bed at that point. She turned to leave.

  “Nat?”

  “Yes, Sam?”

  “Stay here… with me… tonight, please?”

  “Sam, you know I can’t do that.”

  “Oh, no,” I slurred, “don’t worry; it won’t be a problem, I promise. It won’t be weird or anything… I just…”

  “Sam, someone has to be at the front desk.” She glanced back at me with a smile that was mixed worry with concern. “I have to go.” And she quickly but quietly closed the door. I think I was asleep before the door latched shut. I’m such an ass sometimes.

  Sometimes?

  March 5th

  I have no idea what Natalie thought. I don’t know what I wanted her to think. I don’t even know why I asked her to stay—other than I just didn’t want to be alone. But I’m sure we both know what would have happened if she had stayed. I would have done more than just kiss her breast, and it would have ended badly. She’s too smart and knows better than to put herself in a bad situation like that. You don’t mix love and work, that’s all. What if it’s not love? No… that option seems bad, too.

  And what did the pastor think? Right now, I don’t give a damn what God thinks, but Pastor Paul has always been kind to the family and me. I should call and apologize… but then he would probably give me the whole “God” thing again, and I just can’t listen to it.

  I pulled myself up in the morning and snuck away into my office. Surfed

  the Internet for most of the day. Checked eBay for WWII memorabilia, then read the news on CNN and downloaded Kenny Chesney’s new album from iTunes. You’d think I would have listened to the new album, since I just paid $9.99 for it, but no. Instead, I listened to “I Go Back” over and over again… because I do; I go back every day… every day. To the argument… to her running out the door crying… telling myself that I wasn’t running after her… not this time. Forget it.

  But what if I had…just one more time?

  My phone rang around 10:30, and I let it ring until it went to voicemail.

  When I checked the message, it was Pastor Paul calling to see if I was okay. I really just can’t talk to him right now, I told myself. I guess I just don’t know why.

  Is it because I don’t want to hear about God? Or because I am too embarrassed? Or both? And maybe because I am afraid that he is telling me the truth.

  My phone rang again around 11:00. I decided to answer this time, and it was Stephanie at the front desk. There was a problem with one of the guest’s reservations. Why was she calling me? They all used to come right into my office, without even knocking. They are so put off by me it has come to this: A phone call. So I went to the bathroom, washed my face and straightened myself up, and went to see what was going on.

  A young blonde lady was with Stephanie at the desk. Stephanie was one of our interns from Rutgers business school—she was good with the guests and did a good job overall.

  “Hello, my name is Sam and I am the owner of the inn. How can I help?”

  The fantastically beautiful blonde woman looked at me and smiled. Wow, nice smile. Her green eyes sparkled as she tried not to look annoyed, but I could see a tension there. I had to make an effort not to stare at those deep green eyes. They grabbed me and seemed to not let go. I was afraid of getting lost in them.

  “It seems my reservation is not in the computer. I made it online a few days ago. I even have my e-mail confirmation with me,”—she handed it to me—

  “but the young lady here says I don’t have a reservation. I… I don’t know what to say, really, other than I made the reservation, it’s paid for, and I need somewhere to stay.” I read over her e-mail confirmation:

  Emily Noble

  Guests: 1

  Dates: March 5 through March 10

  Type: Jefferson

  Status: Paid

  Confirmation Number: 12012004J

  “Miss Noble, everything does seem to be in order.” I stepped behind the counter and checked our reservation status for the weekend. “Let me just take a look at our computer.”

  I noticed that the Jefferson was indeed reserved, but it didn’t have anyone’s name or confirmation number o
n it. This happened sometimes with our Internet registration system. I glanced at Emily; she looked like she was going to fall over and I needed to find somewhere for her to land.

  “Here we are.” I handed her the keys to the Jefferson Suite, which was one of our finer suites in the inn. She must be a fairly well-to-do young lady to be staying here alone in that suite. No wedding ring, either. Is she someone’s lover, perhaps, stashed away for a long weekend? No matter, not my business. But sometimes it pleasantly helped pass the time to wonder… and there was something about her. Something that made me want to know.

  “I’ll have one of our staff members help you with your bags, and I will send a complimentary Patriot Basket to your room to try and make up for the inconvenience.”

  She smiled. “No, really, it’s not a problem. I just need my room, that’s all.”

  “Not at all, and here is my card if you need anything while you are here, or even if you have questions or would like to make future reservations here at the Patriot Inn.”

  Or if you wanted to go out sometime and spend a romantic evening by the fire, or perhaps a naked evening in a hot tub… that would be okay, too. At that moment, she looked at me and smiled. Almost like she heard my thoughts and was agreeing to the sordid affair I was playing out in my head.

  Emily started towards her room, and I trudged back to surf the Internet some more… maybe even order that gin we needed for the bar. I checked the stock of Jack Daniels while I was at it—better drunk then sorry.

  Listened to “I Go Back” some more… Hey, this writing thing is helping.

  Yeah, maybe if I keep telling myself that, I won’t need Jack anymore. Oh, yeah, there he is… Come here, old buddy!

  March 6th

  Sandy and I purchased The Patriot Inn ten years ago, after my accident. I had been driving NASCAR for five years and had won quite a few races. I was a promising driver with my whole career in front of me. I was in second place in the points standing when I had the wreck that ended my career. It was a hot day in Indianapolis during the Brickyard 400. The heat had caused me to make a tire change earlier than I would have normally made one. I was running side by side with another car when my right front tire blew out. The investigation showed that the sidewall of the tire was faulty. It pulled me right into the wall, which spun me around and flipped the car. The car began to violently tumble end over end until it finally came to rest in the infield. I couldn’t move or feel anything. I thought I was dead. Lucky me, I had only damaged several vertebrae and was paralyzed.

  Through several operations, a lot of rehab, and the love of a good woman,

  I regained my ability to walk and almost 100% of my physical capacity before the accident. Except for driving. I can’t sit in a car for any length of time. My back begins to hurt, and I get sharp, excruciating pains shooting up my spine. The doctors say it’s all in my head. So is everything else, right?

  The inn is in Point Pleasant Beach, New Jersey, conveniently located about two hours from New York City and Philadelphia. That line is right out of the brochure on the front desk. The inn isn’t on the beach—it’s three blocks away from both the beach and the Manasquan inlet. But from our Jefferson and

  Washington Suites, you can see the ocean and the inlet. Guests can walk to the beach, the inlet, or into town to do some antiquing or eat at one of the many restaurants. We get a lot of guests from the city that love the quiet, beach atmosphere of the inn but still want the proximity to New York, Philadelphia, and

  Atlantic City. I used to love it, too. Sandy and I would daytrip out to Atlantic City and spend the day walking along the boardwalk, grab dinner, and head back home. Those days were some of the best days of my life. We loved those times.

  I don’t think I’ll ever go there again. I miss her so much.

  Tyler and Caitlyn used to like to go to Philadelphia. We’d go to the art museum and or a Phillies game. Caitlyn wasn’t crazy about baseball and Tyler wasn’t into art, but they would compromise and spend half the day doing one and half doing the other without much complaining. After the game, we’d all head over to South Street and get ice cream and coffee. The kids loved looking through the stores and taking carriage rides around Headhouse Square. We had so much fun; they were good kids and loved to laugh and experience what the city had to offer. I wish we could do that again… just one more time. I miss them… I miss them a lot…They were good kids; I just wish I had been a good dad. I need a drink.

  I retired to my office for my nightly ritual of listening to music and drinking with Jack. I was queuing up what I called my “Misery Mix” in iTunes and getting out my favorite drinking glass when the phone rang.

  “Hello, Sam Sheperd.” “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd started up.

  “Mr. Sheperd, this is Emily Noble in the Jefferson Suite. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met earlier.” Remember? I was picturing her in a sexy black lace nightgown right now.

  “Well, hello, Miss Noble. How can I help you this evening?” Perhaps your shirt is stuck on, and you need some help biting it off?

  “I’m having some trouble with the lights in my room, and I didn’t know who else to call. What can I do to get some help?”

  “I’ll be right up to take a look…. Ummm,” I stumbled here, “Is it okay for me to come up now? I mean, are you, aaaa… Are you…?”

  “Dressed?” She laughed, a light and comforting laugh. “Yes, I am. For now. I’d appreciate you coming up.” Was that a little phone flirting I heard?

  “Okay, I’ll be right up, bye.” I didn’t even hear her say goodbye as my face flushed with embarrassment. Could I have sounded a little dumber?

  I went up to the Jefferson Suite and knocked. Emily Noble opened the door, dressed in a stunning little black dress with black stockings on and no shoes. The outfit really enhanced her breasts and her backside very nicely, and I had a hard time not staring, especially as she looked at me. It was her eyes again—they penetrated me. Almost as if she knew every thought I was having, and her smile seemed to say, “I know I look fantastic in this dress. Go ahead, keep looking.”

  “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “The light switch in the bathroom stopped working, and I wanted to take a nice hot bath in your lovely claw-foot tub, but I can’t see anything.”

  I tried it to confirm… switch on, no lights. I checked the bulbs and they looked fine, so I opened up the wall plate and noticed that the wires were loose.

  Odd, but it was quickly fixed, and click… lights on.

  “Oh, wonderful!” She smiled, and I think she even bounced a little. I noticed on the sitting area table and that the Patriot Basket, which consisted of

  Asher’s Chocolates and a bottle of Chaddsford Winery Merlot, was untouched.

  “Is the basket not to your liking, Miss Noble?”

  “Oh, no, it’s lovely. I just haven’t had a chance…” She trailed off. “Just haven’t been… in the mood, I guess.” And her pretty face looked troubled for a moment, but as quickly as it came, the expression went away. Her lover not coming? Perhaps they broke it off. Business deal gone awry? There I go again… none of my business.

  “And please, my name is Emily.”

  “Alright, Emily. I’ll leave you to your bath. Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?” As quickly as it came out, I realized how it sounded. And the look on her face confirmed I’d misspoken. “I mean…”

  Then she laughed. “I know what you meant, Mr. Shepard, and no, I’ll be okay… at least for tonight.” She smiled, and I walked to the door. As I closed it behind me, I said, “Please, it’s Sam. Goodnight, Emily.”

  “Goodnight, Sam.”

  March 8th

  There are just those days and times… moments… evenings… weeks… that you just want to have back. I wish I had that night with Sandy back… I could have made a difference. I could have stopped her, grabbed her and screamed,

  “NO! DON’T GO! YOU WON’T COME BACK!” Sometimes when I think
that, I wonder if she was even going to come back anyway.

  But, yesterday was just one of those days. It started out well enough… I woke up and had a little energy—that is to say, I wasn’t completely hung over. I went down to the lobby hoping to accidentally run into Emily, but she either wasn’t up yet or was already out. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday, after all.

  Most people would want to be outside and enjoying it. I made my way into the pub to make myself an omelet, some coffee, and a glass of orange juice. Emily probably polished off that bottle of wine in her hot, steamy bubble bath… and I missed it.

  Natalie was working the day shift. She always works the day shift on

  Saturdays so she can host her Bible study group on Saturday nights. From what she tells me, it sounds like a good time—they even mix up a pitcher of margaritas. A strange combination, the Bible and margaritas, but who am I to judge? And in true form, I seem to have forgotten about her raise already, damn.

  Note to self: Find money.

  Natalie and I had a brief conversation about a problem with the lighting outside. I have always wanted to rip it all out and upgrade the whole outside lighting system with a state-of-the-art system that I can control from my office. One that looks like real torches and lanterns. I just never took the time. But several of the light fixtures were in a “state of disrepair” now, so it might become an issue that I need to handle sooner rather than later.

  I headed outside to inspect the lights myself. I spent about an hour looking at all the lights and decided that it was finally time to replace the lighting.

  I’d started back to my office when I noticed a lovely young blonde woman sitting

  at the bar, chatting with Curtis. It was Emily, and she was laughing at something Curtis said. He did have quite a charm about him. Curtis had a gruff-looking face with blondish hair that he kept cropped very short. He wore glasses and a goatee but was always clean-shaven beyond that. The guests loved Curtis and he loved the guests. That was always a good combination. I came up behind Emily and lightly cleared my throat for attention.