The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) by Samantha Young Read Free Book Online

for a while and the tension eased.

FIVE

Jessica
    The two-hour drive to Hartwell had taken it out of me, but that wasn’t surprising. I suspected my singular focus on my work had kept my body going for as long as it had. As soon as I’d decided on Hartwell for my vacation I’d felt myself growing more tired, as if just the thought of vacation had caused my mind and body to go,
Hey, thanks a lot; we’ve only been waiting forever for you to notice we’re fucked.
    Two weeks I had to wait for vacation and it had felt like the longest two weeks of my life. Stress could be underlying. Sometimes you didn’t even realize you were as stressed as you were. I should have known that. And as a doctor I should have been taking better care of myself mentally and physically.
    Now was my chance.
    I was at once kind of excited to take some time out, and also to see the town where Sarah had grown up, but also scared that all this vacation was going to do was prove that I didn’t like the life I was living.
    God, I hoped that wasn’t true.
    Those worries drifted away, however, when I began to smell the salt of the sea through the window I had rolled down. The closer my GPS took me to my destination, the stronger the ocean smell grew as I drove through the town of Hartwell. I seemed to be driving through the center—it was all shops, restaurants, and parking lots. The GPS turned me west and that took me into a residentialarea that was interspersed with a few restaurants. I drove slowly down the dark, tree-lined streets, my headlights catching on the white-clad homes with their brightly colored awnings and old-fashioned porches that reminded me a little of the neighborhood where I’d grown up. The smell of the sea got stronger and when my GPS announced I had reached my destination I swung into a nearby parking lot, my headlights catching on a sign that stated
For Hart’s Inn Guests Only
, and relief moved through me that for once my GPS really had led me to my destination.
    I got out of my car, glad for the streetlights that guided me (and my heavy suitcase) straight onto the boards of the boardwalk.
    I stopped.
    Lights lined the boardwalk and when I looked right I could see all along it. It was dark but not late enough for people to have gone inside for the night. Not quite tourist season, yet it didn’t seem to matter. The boardwalk was apparently popular with locals. It wasn’t heaving, but it was busy enough to feel alive with energy. Couples, groups of teenagers, and clusters of friends and family were laughing and talking as they strolled by the hodgepodge of architecturally different buildings. Bright Vegas-style lights glittered in the dark, announcing to the people, and to the ocean beyond, the names of the buildings housed on the boardwalk.
    Waves crashed gently behind me and I turned to look out at the dark sea.
    Was there anything more relaxing in this world than the sound of the surf? My body seemed to melt under its spell and just like that I felt exhaustion hit me.
    It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but I was ready for bed.
    On that thought, I turned left and looked up at Hart’s Inn. It was a large version of the houses I’d passed—white-painted shingle siding, gorgeous wraparound porch, and blue-painted shutters on the windows. I knew from the photos I’d seen on the Internet that there was even a widow’s walk on top of the building.
    Rather than a bright neon sign, there was a beautiful hand-painted sign that rose up by the porch. A light had been attached to it so that it was lit up in the dark.
    Lights glowed from behind the windows and I felt myself drawn to the warmth of them like a clichéd little moth. I was so damn tired.
    I hauled my suitcase up the porch stairs and pushed open one of the beautiful double doors with its stained glass window inset. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above me, announcing my arrival.
    A grand staircase rose ahead of me and a cute waiting area and reception desk lay to