Free Tainted by Brooke Morgan Page A

half-mile to the house. When they pulled up into her driveway, he let out a small whistle. “I like those gables.”
    â€œThey make for a great attic. Although there’s nothing up in the attic at the moment except for a couple of old beds. Come on, let’s go to the beach.” Holly grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment, got out of the car, turned the beam on. “This way.”
    Jack, hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, followed her.
    â€œSo you inherited your house when your parents died?”
    â€œYes. We used to live in Boston in the winter and come here in the summer. After they died, I moved here year round. OK—we’re going to the left down this little path to the beach. Be careful—there’s poison ivy around.”
    â€œOh, great.”
    As she shone the light, he lifted his feet up in exaggerated steps.
    The stench of low tide mingled with the mist, making it even more powerful a smell, but Holly liked it. It was so clearly a smell of the sea; and on a warm night like this, with the buoys rocking in the canal making gentle ringing sounds, there was a melancholy romanticism in the air, making her think of whaling ships and old schooners plying their trades. Jack was leaning down, untying his shoes; she did the same, following him too when he rolled up his trousers. He strolled to the water, waded in up to his knees.
    â€œThere’s a massive amount of seaweed here.”
    â€œYes.” Holly walked in and stood beside him. “At low tide it’s really seaweedy on the Back Beach. That’s what we call this beach, the one that fronts the canal. The other one, on the bay side of this dike here, is the Front Beach.” She explained about the dike coming into existence when the canal was built, then said, “You can swim in low tide over on the Front Beach. It’s pretty disgusting here.”
    Retreating from the water, they began to walk along the shoreline, toward the lighthouse.
    â€œWhy did you come to America?” she asked.
    â€œA new beginning. A new life. I needed to get away.”
    â€œIt’s the opposite for me; I needed to stay. I wanted to surround myself with memories and the familiar. I knew I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, but I wanted to have my parents around me, so to speak.”
    â€œThere’s a point at which you have to . . .” he paused. “Jettison the past. Otherwise it never lets you go. I think—hang on . . .” He had stumbled and grabbed her arm for balance. “Sorry, I didn’t see that piece of wood. Not a very smooth move.”
    She heard the soft slap of a small series of waves hitting the beach, a subtle undertow from a passing ship. Even noise was quiet on nights like this , she thought. The crickets didn’t chirp as shrilly, the hum of boat motors took on a lower tone. Everything was dampened down by the moisture and darkness .
    â€œSomeone once told me that you can’t move forward if you’re looking over your shoulder at the past. It sounds trite, I know.” Jack took her hand in his. “But trite works sometimes.”
    â€œBut the past can’t help but affect you. At least, I can’t really escape it. I don’t answer the phone any more. When my father had his heart attack, I was the one who answered the phone when the hospital called. And then when my mother had her accident, I answered the phone when the police called. Now I let the answering machine take a message—always. I’ll answer my cellphone, but never the phone at home. Never again. I guess I think if I don’t, nothing bad will happen.” Holly closed her eyes for a second; when she opened them, she said, “I’ve never told anyone that.”
    â€œYou’re full of superstitions, aren’t you, Holly Barrett? Come on.” He stopped walking. “Let’s race.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI challenge