had allowed Polly to move in with them. “I know by the way you talk about Polly that you understand how I feel about Shelly,” she said.
“You must understand why I want to protect her.”
He nodded.
“Of course I do, Daria,” he said.
“But Shelly is very different from Polly. Shelly is still able to analyze a situation and make up her own mind as to what she wants.”
He was right, though only to a degree. She sighed.
“I haven’t succeeded in getting you to change your mind, have I?” she asked, standing up.
“I’ll think about what you said,” he promised, “although I think the decision is ultimately up to Shelly.” He stood up as well and followed her to the stairs. They were quiet as they walked through the cottage.
“Is there a gym around here?” he asked when they neared the front door.
“There’s a health club,” she said.
“A nice one. I go there a few times a week.” She told him where it was located and suggested he check into the summer fees.
They walked onto the porch. “Do you still beach-comb every morning like you did when you were a kid?” Rory asked.
Daria laughed.
“I have to be on the job early in the morning these days,” she said.
“And those mornings I’m not working, I’d rather sleep in.”
She looked through the screen door at the Sea Shanty. It was Shelly who loved the beach at dawn now. Shelly who sifted through the shells and basked in the sunrise, taking her energy from the sea. Daria could not, would not, let Rory or anyone else harm her sister’s world.
Tvory sat on the porch of his cottage, listening to the breakers swell and collapse in a sleep-inducing rhythm as he watched for Shelly to leave the Sea Shanty. He planned to begin his research by talking with her. He felt almost as if he needed Daria’s permission to do so, especially after his conversation with her the day before, but Shelly was twenty-two years old, for heaven’s sake.
A golden retriever sat next to him on the porch, her massive head resting comfortably on Rory’s knee. Rory buried his fingers in the dog’s thick coat, scratching her neck and behind her ears. He didn’t know where the dog had come from she had simply appeared after Rory sat down on the porch but he was glad for her company.
From the porch, he could see the ocean, but not the beach. He knew the beach would be crowded, though, and he knew Zack was part of the crowd. Zack was out there with his new friends. He’d had little to say when Rory questioned him about who he had met and who he was hanging out with. Zack was not about to admit that spending the summer in Kill Devil Hills might not be such a bad idea after all.
Rory thought he saw some movement on the Sea Shanty’s front porch, but no one emerged from the cottage. Since Daria’s visit, he’d considered her concerns, wondering if he should indeed go forward with his exploration of the past. He knew his motivation was mixed. Shelly had felt strongly enough to write to him about the situation, and given his link to her and his memory of the event, he had a personal desire to pursue the story. There was no doubt that the tale of a beautiful foundling would make a great episode on True Life Stories. Plus, the person who left the baby on the beach might finally have to face what she had done. He often wondered about that young woman. Had she just blindly, guiltlessly, gone on with her life? He knew he had a hostile attitude toward her, perhaps too much so. He was not ordinarily a punitive sort of guy, so that feeling surprised him, but the cruelty of her actions seemed unforgivable to him. Especially now that he had met Shelly and knew how close she had come to losing her chance at life. But what if the woman was remorseful and had been able to make a normal, healthy life for herself? What right did he have to disturb that?
Despite Daria’s protestations and his own misgivings, he felt that Shelly had the right to make the final decision. He needed to make sure she understood what she was getting into, though; that’s why he wanted to talk with her today. If Shelly still wanted him to pursue the story, he hoped Daria would eventually come around. He respected Daria and treasured the remnants of the childhood bond they’d shared.
He would hate to spend the summer as her enemy.
The dog spotted Shelly first. The golden retriever lifted her head and stared in the direction of the Sea Shanty, and a few seconds later, Shelly appeared in the side yard. She must have come out the rear door of the cottage, and now she was headed for the beach. Rory stepped off the porch, the dog at his heels, and walked quickly toward her. She was cresting the low dune at the edge of the beach as he neared her.
There was an otherworldly quality about her as she stood there among the sea oats, and he stopped to simply stare at her. She wore a white bikini, set off by her tan. The bikini bottom was covered by a gauzy white skirt wrapped around her waist. The breeze blew her long, pale blond hair away from her face. What a perfectly stunning creature she was. The Foundling.
That’s what he would call the episode on True Life Stories.
“Shelly?” he called, taking a step closer.
She turned and smiled at him.
“Hey, Rory,” she said.
“I see you’ve got one of Linda’s dogs with you.”
Rory looked down at the retriever, now leaning against his leg.
“She seems to have adopted me,” he said. He’d met Linda briefly on the beach the day before. She’d introduced herself to him; he would never have recognized her otherwise. She was now an attractive, big-boned woman with short blond hair and round glasses, and he could not get it through his mind that she was the cul-de- sac’s bashful bookworm from twenty-two years ago.
“Can I join you for a walk on the beach. Shelly?” he asked.
