Nicole Young - Kiss Me If You Dare

I lingered in the sand awhile, soaking up more vitamin D and deadly solar rays than I got in a week in Michigan. I dusted the grit off my clothes, tied my sneakers, and began the climb to the top of the cliff. Halfway up, I panicked. The task had been so much easier going down. Now, my shoes couldn’t seem to find a hold in the sliding pebbles. The narrow shelf left me clinging to smooth rock, fighting the pull of gravity that threatened to keel me backward onto the sand so far below.

“Crazy flatlander,” I muttered to myself, frozen in place with sweat stinging my eyes.

“Okay, God,” I whispered to the rocks, “this is where we start bargaining. You get me up this cliff and I promise never to do anything this stupid again.”

Behind me came the scream of a gull. Or maybe a vulture. I was too petrified to turn around and look. The crushing din of the water, an occasional passing car on the road above, and the squeaking cries from my throat became the only sounds to register as the minutes passed. A stone bounced down from above, landing in my hair. A cramp crawled up my leg. It gradually occurred to me that God wasn’t going to send a host of angels to airlift me to safety. It seemed the most the winged beings would do was cheer me on while I figured my own way out of the conundrum.

Eyes closed, I spread my arms against the rock, feeling for the slightest indentation. There it was. A small bump to my left, providing my fingertips with just enough leverage to let me hoist myself another twelve inches along the path. Then I found another hold, and another, until my knees were on fragments of asphalt torn from the road next to me. I clung to the guardrail and let my strength return.

Cars honked as they passed, their blaring horns a substitute for the crazy-lady insults the drivers must have been hurling behind closed windows. I dropped to the ground and leaned against the hot metal.

Such a close call. My hands were still shaking. I took a deep breath and stood, reaching for my tote.

Gone.

I dropped to all fours, patting the ground in disbelief. It had been here. Right behind that shrub. I glanced over the drop-off. No black bag in sight. Had someone pulled over and stolen the thing?

I pondered the unlikely thought as I headed up the hill to Cliffhouse. Losing my tote was no big disaster. The project packet, my notebook, and the bus pass had been its only contents. I could always get a copy of the packet from Denton. Celia could probably help me get a new bus pass from Dean Lester. And notebooks weren’t hard to come by.

I entered Cliffhouse through the side porch. Voices came from the kitchen as I passed. I paused, lingering to identify the speakers. Two women. The one with the Irish accent was no doubt Ms. Rigg. But the other?

My stomach growled. I used it as an excuse to snoop. “Hello,” I said, passing through the swinging door into the room.

The visitor stood to attention, shoving her hands in her pockets and wiping a smile off her face. She looked in her late forties. Bright orange hair dye failed to hide the tell-tale gray. A pale blue shirt over jeans and sandals highlighted her tanned, freckled skin.

“It’s Miss Braddock, Jane dear.” Commandant Rigg nearly clicked her heels at the introduction. “Miss Braddock, this is my daughter. She’s visiting from Los Angeles.” Jane offered a hand. I shook it. Behind her on the countertop was my missing tote.

“Oh my goodness. I thought I’d lost that.” I stepped around the Rigg daughter and sifted through the contents. All accounted for. “Where did you find it?” I turned toward the women.

Jane shrugged, hands in her pockets. “I spotted something behind the guardrail when I pulled in. I investigated,” she pointed at the tote, “and that’s what I found.”

I thought about the pebble that dropped on my head and wondered if it hadn’t been Jane who set it loose.

With a sheepish tilt of my head, I explained. “The bottom didn’t look so far down when I was standing at the top, so I thought I’d check out the surf.” An embarrassed titter. “But coming back up was a different story.” I grinned at Jane. “Wasn’t sure I’d make it up alive to claim my tote. Thanks for keeping it safe.”

“No problem, dear.” Jane gave me a condescending city-slicker smile. “Try taking the stairs next time. They’re just down a half mile.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I nodded. “So, what do you do in LA?” She smiled like a baby boomer magazine cover model. “I’m an actress. I’ve worked with De Niro, Streep, and Barrymore.”

“You worked with Lionel Barrymore?” I loved him from my favorite film classics.

Her face turned red. “Please,” she gave a snort, “I’m not that old. I was speaking of Drew Barrymore.”

“Oh, she’s one of my favorites. Which movie were you in with her?”

“The classic Cinderella tale, Ever After .”

“I’ve watched it a million times.” I squinted at Jane’s face. “I don’t remember you offhand. Which character were you?”

“I had a bit part.”

Ms. Rigg could barely restrain her excitement. “She served the prince his supper.” The Irish accent was in high gear. “ ‘Would you care for more wine?’ Jane asked him. It was a beautiful moment. Lovely, she was.”

I shook my head in confusion. “I don’t remember that scene.”

Jane’s glowing smile had simmered to one of annoyance. “Ever hear of the cutting room floor?” She turned to Ms. Rigg. “Please. I can blow my own horn, Mother.” A renewed smile as Jane looked back at me, somehow still in front of the camera. “It won’t be long before I get my starring role. I’m auditioning for a part opposite Crandall this week.”

I hated to tell her I’d never heard of Crandall.

“In the meantime, it’s good that your uncle Denton is a generous provider.” Her voice became sharp. “Though he’s not nearly as generous as his father was.”

Ms. Rigg turned red and her eyes bugged out. “Be careful, Jane. The professor is under no obligation to support you.”

“I see no reason he should support me at all.” Jane’s lips toyed in false thought. “Why, it’s my own inheritance he doles out to me in such very stingy portions.”

I tried to follow along. “Oh? He’s the executor for your estate?” I had a hard time imagining Jane as Denton’s ward.

A twitch of Jane’s eyebrow. “We share the same father,” she said. “Dennie is legit, so he got the money, while I, the illegitimate daughter, was conveniently left out of the will.”

Ms. Rigg’s face spasmed. “Jane, dear. I’ve told you again and again the ambassador was not your father.”

A wave of her hand. “Honestly, Mother. I figured it out by five years old. I’m sure Lenore Braddock did too. That explains why she hated me so much.”

Ms. Rigg’s trembling fingers tapped across her lips. “No, no. She didn’t hate you. She let us stay. She had a million reasons to throw us out, but she never did.”

“My point, exactly. As long as she kept you in her snooty little sight, she knew you wouldn’t go blabbing that the ambassador slept with an Irish barmaid. Nothing but an unspoken form of bribery.” Jane gave a roll of her eyes. “The things the bored and wealthy will do to uphold their reputations.”

An uncomfortable silence descended.

I swung my arms, hoping to get myself moving. “Uhh,” I pointed toward the fridge, “I’m just going to grab a little snack. It was very nice to meet you, Jane.”

I dipped into some cottage cheese as Ms. Rigg and her daughter hightailed it out of the kitchen, Jane laughing like a mischievous seven-year-old as her mother dragged her by the elbow. I leaned against the counter as I ate, detoxing from my crazed climb up the cliff and the equally crazed conversation that followed. Jane dear didn’t strike me as a sugar-and-spice kind of girl. There seemed to be a little more naughty than nice to that woman. I set down my fork and peered through my tote again. The fact that everything was accounted for didn’t ease my suspicions.