Sea Glass Inn Read Online Free PDF Page B

Three
    As soon as Pam was out of the driveway, Mel grabbed her purse and drove to Seaside to find a hardware store. For the first time since she’d arrived in Cannon Beach, she felt a glimmer of hope, and she wanted to seize it before it disappeared and left her floundering again in the depressing state of reality. She had managed to convince Pam to supply her with mosaics. Now she just needed to learn how to hang the damned things. She had spent the morning halfheartedly unpacking items and moving them to different rooms in the house while she noted repairs she needed to make. She had finally written burn down and collect insurance money on the bottom of her long to-do list and tossed it aside before searching in earnest for the toolbox she had bought for the new house. The box seemed so small and inadequate in the face of her mammoth project, but at least it held a hammer and some small nails. She’d feel better once her painting was hung. Who couldn’t do something as simple as hang a picture on the wall?
    Apparently she couldn’t. She had pounded the nail into the wall and then managed to catch it on the strange hook on the frame. Only her quick reflexes had saved the painting from falling and pulling the nail all the way out of the wall. That had been too much to bear. She had followed the painting back to the ocean. Changed her life—and her son’s life—because of what it meant to her. Freedom, independence, self-sufficiency. Hanging the mosaic on the wall of her new home had taken on a sort of symbolic meaning. Nearly dropping it on the floor had suddenly seemed like a very bad sign.
    She had spent years keeping her emotions carefully under control, smoothing over her true feelings and rarely letting them be seen in public. The bent nail had been enough to make her wallow in a rare—and private—moment of self-pity and frustration. Not meant to be witnessed, especially by Pamela Whitford. Mel had imagined their first meeting so many times. She’d be relaxed and gracious in her inn, or witty and charming at an art show, or sexy and windblown on the beach. Never in any of her fantasies was she sitting on the floor sobbing.
    Mel parked in front of the hardware store and mentally prepared to feel foolish again. The only way to get through this renovation was to start asking stupid questions and not stop until she ran out of them. It might take the rest of her life, but she was determined to do whatever it took to not ever feel so completely helpless again.
    Mel walked into the store with what she hoped was a competent air. She had been in hardware stores before, of course, but usually as an observer, not a participant. She wandered up and down the aisles.
    Hammers, screwdrivers, tool belts, drill bits. She touched everything.
    Smooth wood and cold metal. Trying to make the objects seem less foreign, to make herself feel more confident in her ability to use them as she turned her piece of shit—as Pam had so accurately called it—into a home. She stopped in front of a display of power tools and picked up a cordless drill. She hefted it, surprised to feel comfortable with its size and weight in her hand. She could use it. For what, she wasn’t certain, but a motorized tool at least sounded more fun than anything manual.
    Another day. She returned the drill to its shelf and walked down the next aisle. Screws and nails. Exactly what she needed for today’s project. Maybe. She peered into the little drawers, unsure what she was looking for. The sheer variety was overwhelming, from thin slivers of metal to screws thicker than her thumb. Silver, gold, black.
    Galvanized. She picked up one of those because it sounded like it meant business, but it didn’t look much different from the nail she had tried at home. She tossed it back and closed the drawer. She didn’t think a bigger nail was the solution, and she almost wished she hadn’t interrupted Pam when she was about to tell her what to do.
    Almost. But Pam