Down at the Shore

By Karen Cino

Brooke Dascoli is in a relationship that's going nowhere. She moves into the beach house her grandmother left her at the Jersey Shore and forms a friendship with her neighbors, Flo Meadows and Jane Cummings. Flo carries around a huge secret that has haunted her since her first marriage and Jane is having a hard time dealing with a cheating husband who died shortly after their divorce. Together each woman shares their past indiscretions and future dreams, while dealing with loss, renewal and starting over.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Cino
• Release date: Mar 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215816059

Karen Cino

Karen Cino is a multi-published author who has been writing since she was fourteen years old. She started her career by writing poetry, short stories and writing articles for her high school newspaper. After reading Jackie Collin’s Lovers and Gamblers and Jacqueline Susann’s, Valley of the Dolls, Karen found her niche. She wanted to write women’s fiction and wrote her first book during the summer before she started college. Her daily walks down at the boardwalk are what gets her muse going. It clears her mind and helps her find realistic plot ideas and the characters boosting up her muse. Karen loves writing about local places that people can relate to. The late Paul Zindel’s books took place in Staten Island and reading them, especially My Darling My Hamburger, still brings back many memories for her.Karen loves the summer, loves the beach. Her previous books were written and take place in various places across Staten Island. Karen relocated to the New Jersey Shore in 2015. She traded in the Staten Island Boardwalk for the shoreline in Long Beach Island. Her Cookie Cutter Cozy Series takes place in Barnegat, NJ.Karen is a member of Romance Writers of America, Women's Fiction Writing Association and Liberty States Fiction Writers.Karen has two adult children, Michael Giordano who’s a singer, songwriter and producer and Nicole Giordano who works in Retail Management and is also a photographer. In 2014 Karen married John Gatti. Her husband is an actor, teacher and attorney.Currently, Karen is working on a new Cozy Mystery Series and Women’s Fiction Series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Brooke Dascoli turned her key in the lock and paused at the front door, giving herself one last chance to change her mind. Was her decision too rash?  Should she have thought things through more?

No. No more waffling. And besides, the house was sold, so it was too late to back out.

She was just about to pull away from the curb when she looked in the back seat to make sure she had the box with her Eric memorabilia.

It wasn’t there. She must have forgotten and left it on the kitchen counter after she tied it shut with a thick black ribbon.

She rushed back into the house, grabbed the box off the counter, and returned to the car, the box snug in her arms. This was the one thing she should have thrown out, but still needed to help her get through the upcoming months.

She took one more look at her house and the SOLD sign in the front yard before driving to their secret moonlight meeting place for a final farewell to their years together.

Walking up the winding path to the observation deck reminded Brooke of her life. Whenever the path seemed to straighten out, the rocks would fall, making her journey bumpy again. Her decision to call it quits with the one man who gave nothing but love and happiness to her life had been a hard one.

The one major obstacle to their happily ever after? He was married.

These past years were exactly like this path. But the obstacles were that he lied to her and deceived his wife. Repeatedly. She never questioned his love for her, but wondered if he ever had her best interests at heart.

As she strolled up the hill, she spotted him with his back to her, looking toward the Verrazano Bridge, deep in thought. When he peered over his shoulder, he must have seen her, because he waved.

Her chest tightened. She’d practiced what she was going to say to him all morning. At this time in her life there was no turning back. She couldn’t let his charm sway her from her decision. This talk had to happen now, before anymore of her life was frittered away.

Sweetheart! He met her at the end of the path and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leading her to the old park bench that sat on top of the hill. I was getting worried about you. You’re never late.

It’s just been a chaotic morning. I got caught up with a few phone calls.

No need to apologize.

He cradled her face between his hands and gave her a deep, passionate kiss. She knew this was going to be one of their last kisses and longed for it to last forever. But she’d made her decision and there was no turning back.

I went to sleep last night dreaming about this.

You always say that, Eric, yet you leave me every day and go home to the person you claim brings nothing but misery to your life and constantly tell me she’s the reason you’re never home.

He straightened and withdrew his hands. I hope we aren’t going to go through this again. I promised you the day is coming soon, that we’ll be together the way we’re meant to be.

"And I’ve been hearing that for years. Every time I bring it up, there’s one excuse after another about why you can’t just pack your bags and leave."

I don’t want to argue with you about this again. You know how much I love you.

Yes, but not enough to leave her. How many times is she going to be sick or have a manic episode? I’m wondering if you’ve ever even tried to leave.

The last time I tried to discuss my relationship with her, I wound up calling an ambulance and having her stomach pumped. I couldn’t leave her while she was in therapy. He cracked his knuckles and looked away.

And you couldn’t leave her when she lost her job. And then it was her sick aunt. Should I continue? Brooke snapped.

Brooke, please. I love you so much and want to be with you. You just have to have a little more patience with me. Her mental health is good, her job secure. I’m thinking by the end of the summer––

No, she lashed out, leaping off the bench. Do you realize what you’ve taken from me all these years?

Eric ran his fingers through his hair. What are you talking about?

Any chance I had of becoming a mother is gone. For ten years, I’ve begged you to give me a child. But you kept telling me to give you just a little more time. Well, she threw her hands in the air, my time is up.

Eric lowered his head, gazing at the pavement as he shifted from foot to foot. I’m sorry, he whispered.

There’s no being sorry. Time got away from us, and I’ve made the mistake of falling into the same trap repeatedly, believing your endless lies.

That’s not fair. I never lied––

Brooke pointed her finger at him. "Don’t even go there with me. You have kept the truth from me for years. Why didn’t you just tell me you were never going to leave your wife, instead of making countless excuses?"

I’ve told you time and time again it was a marriage of convenience. We agreed that she would take care of everything in the house. The only two things I’m not allowed to do are sleep out or have dinner where someone would see me. She would go along with this arrangement as long as I didn’t embarrass her. I’ve told you this a thousand times, he said, his husky voice thick and unsteady.

Correct me if I’m wrong. You are allowed to go out to dinner with your friends and go away for weekends with them for golf outings.

That’s right.

Then why couldn’t you pay for me to join you? I could have stayed in another room. No one would have known I was there.

You’ve been all right with this setup all along.

Yes, I was. But then I woke up. I want more. I want the whole package. I want to be with you, grow old with you. When you said you needed just a little more time, I put up with the arrangement because I loved you so much.

Brooke took a step back, arms folded. I was willing to wait for you. But as the years continued to trickle by, I finally woke up to the dream world I was living in and realized you aren’t ever going to leave her. If you were going to leave, you would have already done it. Am I right? Because if I’m wrong, please tell me.

Brooke, I love you.

I’ve never doubted that. From the first time we kissed, I knew you were the one. To this day, every time I close my eyes and think back to that night, I still get goose bumps and butterflies in my stomach.

Brooke walked to the railing and leaned her hips against it. She felt her legs getting numb and her eyes beginning to tear up. But I have to think about myself. I need to move on. I can’t wait another year, let alone ten years, for you to either leave her or she passes away.

Don’t do this. Eric reached out, but she stepped out of reach.

I’m sorry, Eric. But as much as I love you, and always will, it’s time for me to move forward. I have already sold my house, and I’m relocating today. Please don’t contact me. If you really love me, you’ll let me go. But do know that I will always love you, and I will never regret the time we spent together. What I regret is that you were never honest with me about your intentions.

Tears rolled down Eric’s face. He gathered her into his arms, a solid embrace, and kissed her tenderly, then gave his passions free rein. I’m so sorry. He took a step closer. I’m sorry I denied you your dream of being a mother. I will never forgive myself for that.

I–– Before she could say a word, Eric’s lips met hers again. And still, every time they kissed, it felt like the first time. Brooke shivered.

She knew this would be the last time she would ever feel this kind of love and physical desire for a man. As they kissed, their tears mixed, scarring her heart.

Brooke was the first to step back. Time for me to go. I’m sorry, but our relationship has come to an end. I need to move on and build a new life for myself. But I do love you, Eric. I always will.

Eric reached into his back pocket and removed an envelope, which he held out to her and she hesitantly accepted. When you get a chance, please read this.

She forced herself not to react. Instead she turned and made her way down the winding path, and this time she heard the birds sing and smelled the newly cut grass on the opposite side of the path.

And now there was one last thing for her to do before she began her new life.

Her last stop was the Staten Island Boardwalk. She took care not to trip on the boards that needed replacing and avoided nails that no longer did their job. She even used the heel of her shoe to hammer one of the nails back into the wood before kicking at the patches of bright orange paint clinging to the corners. The boardwalk was just like her relationship—it had needed fixing for the past ten years.

Brooke leaned against the railing, gazing out at the water. The wind blew off the ocean, leaving behind the taste of salt water. Morning had always been her favorite time of day, especially today. She would miss her morning walks with her boardwalk friends, but it was past the time to make this move. That was why she was here a half hour earlier than the regular walkers, needing this downtime to help her let go of the past. She knew if she didn’t get out of this town immediately, her life would continue to chip and peel, right along with the paint on the railing.

After taking her walk, she was strolling back to her Jeep when she ran into one of the morning walkers, Stephanie, a friend she had walked with for years. Stephanie had at least twenty years on her and had been her confidante for ages.

Brooke? she tapped her wristwatch. What are you doing here so early?

I could ask you the same question.

I have a doctor’s appointment at eleven, and I need to get my walk in and give myself enough time to take a shower.

Typical Stephanie. She turned out to be a good boardwalk friend. But Brooke hadn’t been honest with Stephanie about her move. It was a difficult, private decision that Brooke needed to make on her own without feedback from anyone.

I’m glad I ran into you this morning. There’s something I needed to talk to you about.

What’s wrong? Stephanie asked, unzipping her sweat jacket and putting her white baseball cap on.

Today will be my last day on the boardwalk. I finally decided to move to my grandmother’s house.

You’re kidding. I know you mentioned it a few weeks ago, but I never thought you’d go through with it.

There comes a time when you have to move on. And for me the time is now. I’m finally ready to start my life over.

Stephanie hugged her. I wish you all the best. I know you’ll survive this. And maybe sometime in the future you will return.

Never was what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to leave Stephanie on such a negative note. One never knows what the future will hold. I’m sure I’ll eventually be back to visit, but for the time being I need this time alone to figure things out and find myself.

Good luck, Brooke. Keep in touch.

Brooke held back the tears as she hugged her friend. She and Stephanie had been walking together for years, a boardwalk friendship she’d looked forward to every morning.

Once she was back in her Jeep Patriot, Brooke rummaged around among the heap of bags in the back until she found her handbag and pulled out her cell phone.

She’d called the phone company to request a new number as soon as she left Eric, but ten minutes later called and cancelled the request. She needed to learn to be strong and not answer the phone when he called. Of course she could block his number, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to do that either.

When she sold her house she also sold all her furniture, since her grandmother’s beach house on the Jersey Shore was fully furnished. When the buyer offered to buy her bedroom set, she talked him into purchasing all the furniture, which was why the back seat of the Jeep was packed with clear plastic containers full of her clothes, shoes, boots, and handbags. And nothing else.

She knew all the furniture in her grandmother’s house would be in perfect condition, because her grandmother covered everything with sheets at the end of every summer.

Once she got onto the Garden State Parkway, she took one last look in the rearview mirror, knowing she would never go back to that life. Surprisingly, she felt a little lift of excitement.

The Garden State Parkway’s smooth roads were heaven after having to constantly replace her shock absorbers thanks to the bumpy roads throughout Staten Island. But she hadn’t really minded because of the island’s lack of traffic.

A flickering light on her dashboard caught her attention. Time to get gas! She got off the parkway, pulled into a service station, and spotted a Starbucks sign. A cup of coffee would totally hit the spot right now.

Brooke pressed the button on the dashboard and listened for the gas tank door to open, then got out of the car with her credit card, opened the gas cap, only to be scolded by a middle-aged man with a long ponytail.

You can’t do that. Please get back in your car.

What are you talking about?  I always pump my gas.

Not in New Jersey, you don’t.

I’m sorry, I didn’t know.  Brooke got into the car and rolled down the window. Another perk of moving to Jersey! My hands won’t smell like gas anymore.

Hallelujah. Finally, a New Yorker who understands.

Yeah, right. It looked like she needed to adjust to a little more than she’d expected. She flung her arm out the window. My credit card, she said when he removed the gas hose.

Patience, lady. Things aren’t fast-paced down here. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy life. Everything else works out, he said before handing her back her card.

Brooke nodded as she started the car and pulled over to the food court building. When her cell phone went off, she glanced at the screen. Eric. She looked away, mentally chanting don’t-answer-it, don’t-answer-it, don’t answer it. Finally the phone stopped ringing and he left a message.

Tossing the phone into the empty cup holder in her console, she noticed a car pulling out of the spot right in front and pulled right in. She got out, locked the doors and, after a quick trip to the ladies’ room, got an iced coffee.

On the way out, she spotted a pair of sunglasses at the souvenir stand. She took them off the display, put them on and checked herself out in the mirror.

How much are these? she asked the young girl standing behind the counter, who was preoccupied with her cell phone.

You’ll hafta bring ’em here so I can see the price, she replied in a southern drawl, never taking her eyes off her phone.

Brooke walked over to the counter with the sunglasses still on. The salesgirl, not more than twenty, continued to type away on her phone. Not saying a word, Brooke read her name tag—Christine, Manager—while she waited for the kid to finish her text and finally look up at her.

Sorry about that. She set her phone on the counter. How can I help you?

I love these sunglasses.  Brooke took them off and handed them to her. Can you tell me how much they cost?

Christine took them from her, then blinked at them, dumbfounded. That’s weird. There’s no price tag on these, or a barcode. Show me where you found them.

Brooke led her over to the display where there were other sunglasses like them, but the pair she picked had tiny rhinestones on the side. I don’t see another pair like these.

Hmm. This might be a problem.

Why?

Because I have to make sure I don’t confuse the merchandise for when I have to do inventory.

Listen, Christine, I want these glasses and I don’t have all day to wait. Could you please just ring them up with this UCP code? she asked, handing her a similar pair.

I don’t know...

Also, there isn’t a price tag on any pair of glasses on this display. Will you please just ring this up?

Christine rolled her eyes before charging back to the sunglass display. "I don’t want to have an argument with you. You’re from New York," her voice echoed through the shop.

Yes, I am. But what does that have to do with ringing me up?

She took another pair of sunglasses off the display only after turning it a couple of times, searching for a similar pair, then scanned it. That’ll be forty-six dollars.

Brooke took her American Express card out of her wallet and handed it to her.

We don’t take American Express.

You’re killing me, here, Brooke muttered as she handed her a Visa card.

Within seconds Christine handed Brooke her receipt. No signature required on purchases under fifty dollars.

NO way was Brooke going to thank this lousy excuse for a salesperson. It figures. You have yourself a wonderful day, she said in a heavy New York accent.

She walked back to her car and froze at the sound of her cell phone ringtone. Now she had to decide whether to listen to the message or just press delete. Unlocking the car with the remote, she slid in and set her iced coffee in the holder next to her phone. After staring at the phone for a few minutes, she decided to listen to the message. But as soon as she arrived at her beach house, she was definitely leaving her past behind.

Lifting the phone, she pressed voice mail and clicked on Eric’s first message. Darling, why aren’t you picking up? We need to talk. We can’t leave things the way we did earlier. I want you to know how much I love you and need you. I can’t live without you. Please, just give me a little more time to get my life together on my end. You know we’re meant to be together—forever. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day, I might show up at your house tonight at ten-thirty. I know we can work things out... There was a long pause before he spoke again. I love you.

Brooke lowered the phone and stared at it for the longest time, tears trickling down her cheeks. At one point, Eric had been her whole life.

Finally she swiped away her tears. Her tears for Eric were officially over. She deserved more, she wanted more.

Then why, instead of pressing delete and sending the message into cyberspace, did she press save? She would just keep this, his final message...you know, just in case.

Next, she went into her contacts, pressed on his name, scrolled to the bottom of the screen, and pressed Block this Caller.

There, she did it!

As of eleven thirty-five this morning, her new life had begun.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and traffic-free. At one point she looked down at the speedometer and immediately lifted her foot off the gas pedal.

In all her twenty-seven years of driving, she had never driven eighty-five miles an hour. Today had to be her lucky day, since she hadn’t come across a single state trooper.

At exit sixty-three she got off the highway and followed the road over Barnegat Bay to the main road, Long Beach Island Boulevard.

It was hard to believe she hadn’t gone down to the beach house in three years, but she hadn’t been able to face being there without her grandmother.

As she drove, she noticed that in some neighborhoods many houses were still boarded up five years after Hurricane Sandy. Others had already been rebuilt on stilts. Her father drove down to check on the house after Sandy and called to tell her it had been spared the devastation.

At Ocean Road she made a left, driving down three blocks to the end of the road, where she made another left onto Beach Road. Her grandmother’s house was the first one on the right.

She drove into the rock driveway and was amazed that everything looked exactly the same. When her father told her, Don’t worry about the house, it will still be there when you’re ready to go down, she got the distinct impression he was taking care of things, which was now evident by the manicured flowers on the front porch. She’d bet that her father had the house painted the moment she told him she wanted to move in year-round.

Brooke slid out of the car, taking along her iced coffee, cell phone and handbag, and strolled up the three wooden steps to the front door. When she was a kid, back in the days when no one locked their doors, she always went up the side stairs and through the sliding glass doors. But the last year they were here, the only time the sliding glass doors were left unlocked was when they were home.

Brooke pushed open the front door and hot, musty air hit her right in the face. She dropped her handbag on the sheet-covered couch, set her iced coffee and phone on the covered bamboo cocktail table, opened the front windows—and noticed that all her grandmother’s knickknacks were still intact.

Her grandmother loved the summer and everything beach. She bought the house back in the 1950s, the summer after her husband died, and made it their summer family ritual until the day she died.

Fingers crossed that the electric, water, and cable companies she called yesterday to have the utilities turned on had actually done it, she flicked the light switch up and—voilà!—the ceiling fan began turning.

Next, she called her father and left a voice mail. Dad, I won’t say you shouldn’t have, but I just arrived, and everything looks wonderful! I can see how hard you’ve worked make the beach house welcoming. Thank you so much, and to love you, as always.

She unloaded the car and left her winter things down in the spare room. No sense in driving around