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Ida frequents this area to play cards with her friends or browse the few remaining antique stores. She says Seaside is a staple in Anchorage Harbor and was once a hotspot for locals. But for as beautiful as the scenery is, there’s no denying it needs a facelift.
The buildings are worn, rusty, and paint-chipped. The street needs repaving, a proper waste system needs to be put in place, and many surrounding businesses have been foreclosed on. Their vacant windows now plastered with Keerah Financial signs.
I briefly try to pinpoint which one my father has his sights set on when Javier says, “Sir, your bags.”
He hands me four paper sacks, filled to the brim with fresh foods, and then offers a parting bow.
“Javier, wait.”
Folding his arms behind his back, he turns. “Yes?”
“I wanted to say thank you for being there earlier.” I nod at the food. “And for doing this for me.”
“Respectfully, sir,” he says, grinning at Penelope, “I did it for her.”
I can’t help but be amused by the effect she has on others.
“I’ll call you once we’ve finished here,” I say.
“I’ll be waiting.” He rounds the front of the Escalade, stopping a moment to add, “Oh, and Mr. Anderson? You’re welcome.”
When I turn toward Pen, she’s smiling at the two of us, impatiently giddy to show me what’s beyond that threshold. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
I take the steps one at a time, inhaling a burst of stale air when I walk through the entrance. My eyes adjust to the dim, flickering light of a wide hall leading to what appears to be an old sitting room. To the left is a split door, which opens to a kitchen, and straight ahead, through another opening, lies a cluttered living room.
“There you are. What took you so—” A middle-aged Topican woman halts in front of the hall.
Her face is round with the kind of worry lines earned with motherhood, and her long, salt and pepper hair is neatly plaited into two braids that hang down the front of her chest.
“Oh, hi!” The woman scrambles to gather misplaced toys and crayons off the floor. There’s a large, patched hole in the far wall, and tarps are balled up beneath it in disarray. “My goodness. You’ll have to excuse our mess. I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”
She straightens the corner of a stained rug with the tips of her toes, shooting an accusatory glare at Penelope.
I smile at the pair, elbowing each other like sisters. “No need to worry. I’m just dropping these off for Miss Vance.”
The woman’s brows fly to her hairline. “Miss Vance, is it?”
Pen laughs so comfortably, it warms the entire room. “Logan, this is Dorthea. She and her husband, Ricardo, run this place.”
A boisterous man rumbles from the kitchen window, which overlooks the sitting room, “For the record, pretty boy, I’m the husband.”
“Cállate, Ricardo,” Dorthea hisses, then to me, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s a pain in my ass on a good day.”
Ricardo winks. “And yet, she still loves me.”
Amused by their bantering, I nod. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Dios mio, where are my manners?” Dorthea takes the bags from my arms. “Here, I’ll get these put away. Carrie was just about to take the kids for a walk on the beach. Maybe you can all go together.”
“Nellie!” Little bare feet slap the scuffed and tattered flooring as a young girl rushes up to us.
“Hey, bug.” The radiance of Penelope’s smile damn near knocks the breath out of me when she squats to wrap her arms around the child. She gestures to me over her shoulder. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Eek! Ohmygosh. You have a boyfriend?” The girl’s eyes widen dreamily as she cranes her head back to look up at me. “He’s so tall, Nellie. How do you kiss him?”
I cock a brow when she nibbles her lip. “Uh, well, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s…”
“A friend,” I finish for her, adoring that ever-present blush coloring her cheeks.
