"Have you guys met before?" Erik asked.

Reluctantly, I nodded. I kept my eyes on Josh, as if pleading for him to not say anymore. Just because I'd shown Erik my scars didn't mean I was ready to reveal my abuse under David's hands.

"Yes, in passing," I said. "The Hermosa PD is two blocks away from me, and the library is right there. I - I often go there for story time with Michael."

"How's your hand?" Josh asked, ignoring the look I gave him.

"It's - it's fine," I replied, annoyed that Josh chose to draw attention to how we met.

"What happened to her hand?" Erik asked, his gaze going from one to the other. "I had no idea you guys knew each other."

"We don't," I replied quickly. "At least not personally. My hand was probably in a cast around the time I was taking Michael to the library and he has a tendency to run. Maybe that's how Josh remembers seeing me then. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I remember you with your son and your cast, but you might need to tell Erik how you broke it some time. He's a doctor, you know," Josh said, before turning to face Erik. "Good to see you back here, man. It's been what - five years - since you've been back? Not complaining, mind you."

Erik nodded. "I hope your parents don't mind me dropping by on short notice."

"Mind? They were beyond excited to hear your voice asking for last minute availability!" Josh laughed. "They should be making their way back here soon. Mom wanted to welcome you two in person."

From where Josh entered, a couple came in carrying a basket filled with cut flowers. Silver-haired and tanned, they greeted us, apologizing for not being at the desk when we arrived. Helen Morin was a kind-faced woman with wide blue eyes that Josh clearly inherited. His father, Craig, had light brown eyes and a thin-lipped smile. He was built like a tank, with broad chest and big arms.

After all the introductions, Craig and Helen invited us to lunch on the veranda overlooking their six-acre property. From where I sat close to the balcony railing, I could see the quaint roofs of smaller buildings between trees and pathways. I learned that Craig had worked for the fire department in Manhattan Beach while Helen used to own a travel book shop on the main street. They'd had remained there were it not for Helen inheriting Rosemary Inn from her parents ten years ago, and after commuting every weekend, they decided to retire there and manage the bed and breakfast themselves. Josh, who worked for the Hermosa Police Department, took over the house in Manhattan Beach though he often came up during his days off to help them.

"Olivia is coming up next week," Josh said, grinning. "Her and her Italian contingent."

"Best hand out ear plugs for your guests then," Erik laughed. "I love them, don't get me wrong, but they forget how quiet my neighbors like to be."

"We have them staying at two of the casitas. One for Olivia and Bella and the other for the in-laws," Helen said. "The houses share an herb garden right in front of it. You remember those casitas, don't you, Erik? You and Serena stayed in one of -"

"Aren't you joining them, Erik?" Asked Craig, and I caught the look he gave his wife.

"I work next weekend," Erik said, taking a sip of iced water. He searched for my hand under the table and squeezed it. "Rosemary Inn has four small cottages in the property, called casitas. They offer families or small groups privacy, away from the main building itself."

"How many bedrooms does the inn have?" I asked. "The main building?"

"Six, plus two suites," Helen replied. "So, Sam, what do you do? And how did you two meet?"

"I paint," I said. "Fine art, that sort of thing. Erik and I met through one of my paintings."

Helen's eyes widened. "Oh, really, that's wonderful! I collect paintings - mostly of California landscapes. They're all over the inn."

"Plein aire," I said. "I used to paint landscapes, too."

"What do you paint now?"

I shrugged. "Portraits primarily. But I still do landscapes. It all depends on my mood at the time. And the subject."

"She painted Strands," Erik said. "Remember that huge painting on my wall, Auntie? That one."

It felt strange to have everyone looking at me with wide eyes, telling me how beautiful my work was. I wasn't used to it. David always took my paintings to sell, so the only praise I heard the most, or often criticism, came from him.

You're no good, Sam. Your paintings only sold because I had to build it up. You can never make it out there on your own, not without me. You're only good for one thing, and that's on your-

Erik's hand on my arm brought me back, his big blue eyes filled with pride. I looked down at my feet as I felt him squeeze my arm reassuringly. I had to start getting used to praise, I told myself. If I couldn't allow myself to receive and accept it, how could I raise Michael to do the same?

"That's a huge one," Josh said. "And gorgeous, too."

Craig, who'd been too busy eating to talk, turned to face Erik. "Didn't I tell you that one of my buddies wanted to buy that off you? Offered you a ton of money but you wouldn't budge."

"Not for the world, uncle," Erik grinned, bringing my hand to his lips. "And I have provenance right here."

"Did you have a teacher?" Helen asked.

"Not officially, like a school, if that's what you mean," I replied. I liked Helen and Craig. There was no pretense there. They seemed really interested in what I had to say. "A retired high school art teacher taught me."

"Is that Eunice?" Erik asked.

I nodded. "I used to paint plein aire, out in the open. It was our excuse to get out of the South Bay and spend a few days out of town. San Diego in the south and all the way up to Cambria when we went north."

"Wow, we have two plein aire pieces in the casitas," Helen said. "It's signed Sam, aren't they, Craig?"

Craig nodded. "I remember so, yeah. Wouldn't that be weird if they were Sam's?"

"Not all plein aire pieces are mine, thank goodness," I said, laughing. "I have many favorite artists who excel at them."

"Sam paints at the house now," Erik beamed. "Remember my workout room? It's Sam's studio now, too. It's where she can weave her magic."

"It's not magic," I said, blushing as I chased a runaway cherry tomato around my plate.

"It is to me," Erik said. "All I can probably make would be stick figures, Sam. Like you said, I don't even know how to write."

I giggled. "You're right. But I think I'll treasure those stick figures just the same."

After lunch, Helen and Craig were eager to take us to one of the casitas to see one of the paintings she'd purchased online. She usually purchased them in the many art fairs around Santa Barbara and Ojai, but this time, she said she found one being sold online at an art auction. The guests were due to arrive anytime, she said, but until then, she could show us the painting.

The casita in question had a bohemian flare to it, complete with a hanging queen-sized circular mattress in the middle of the master bedroom. The painting Helen wanted to show us was in the living room and I recognized it right away. The name Samwas scrawled lightly at the bottom right of the painting.

It was a vibrant plein air painting of Mount San Miguel in San Diego, with houses and eucalyptus trees in the foreground and the hills and mount San Miguel in the background, shaded in mist.

"We didn't find anything else to tell us who the painter was," Helen said. "Or is. But it's one of my favorite plein air paintings I've bought so far. The other one is in the house, another plein air of Santa Barbara this time."

Erik was watching me carefully, his arm over my shoulders.

Josh took a step forward and peered at it. "I've seen this before," he said, turning to look at me and Erik. "This was in your house."

This time, Erik turned to look at me, a frown on his face. "Is that true?"

"That's how we really met," I said in a low voice, wanting only Erik to hear me. He had to crane his neck towards me to hear me speak. "Josh and another officer showed up at the house to check on a domestic disturbance complaint from the neighbors. But it was nothing, and they left right after."

But Erik was still frowning.

"Are you telling me this was stolen?" Helen asked. "If it is, I'm so sorry. You can have it back."

"No, no, it wasn't stolen," I lied. "My art rep sold it for me. But if you want to know a bit about the painting, it's one of the last ones I did before Eunice, my mentor, passed away."

I needed to talk about the painting, not about the time Josh had seen it, nor about the domestic disturbance he'd responded to that got him and I to meet.

"We used to drive down to San Diego or up here to Santa Barbara and all the way to Monterey so I could paint, and Eunice would sit in her chair - or wheelchair by that time - and have me tell her what I was seeing." Eunice had developed macular degeneration in both eyes at that time, and was legally blind - a curse for someone who lived for art.

"It was an exercise for me to be able to describe the colors because she knew how much I hated having to describe into words what I was seeing. I mean, why describe something in words when I could just paint it?" I continued. "Anyway, it's one of the paintings my art rep sold. That must be how you got it."

"But it used to be in your house," Erik said.

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I sold it."

But of course, I had never sold it. I would never have sold it. That's why it had always hung behind the couch, where I could see it and remember the last trip Eunice and I took together before she passed away.

But David said the house had been burglarized. He'd sent me to get a massage at Beverly Hot Springs in Orange County just after we got married in Vegas. I was eight months pregnant then and Rosie and I went together. When I got back, the house was a mess, and for a second I thought he'd moved out and taken everything with him.

But he said he'd been out and when he got back, the sliding glass doors leading to the garden were wide open. They'd taken what little jewelry I had, and all the paintings that had hung on the walls. He even filed a claim with the insurance company, keeping most of the money though it wasn't even enough to cover the cost of one painting.

"Well, if this is an original, mom, I'm not comfortable having it here," Josh said.

"It's alright, Josh," Craig said. "We've been really lucky with all the guests. And speaking of guests, we need to get back to the front desk and relieve poor Carmella."

"Oh, that's right!" Helen said, handing a key to Erik. "We had your bags brought to the Pennyroyal Suite, dear. So you don't have to return to the main lobby unless you want to. Oh by the way, did you know we offer massages now? We contract with two wonderful therapists in the area. Let me know if you want to schedule a couples massage for you two."

"That would be great," Erik said, grinning. "Would 9 o'clock be too late?"

"Last appointment's at ten," Helen said. "I'll double-check their availability and leave a message on your voicemail to confirm."

"And I have to get back to Hermosa," Josh said. "Let me go with you guys."

Josh accompanied his parents back to the main building, leaving Erik and I in the casita standing before the painting.

"Would you like it back?" Erik asked. "The painting?"

"How do you even know that I didn't sell it to them?"

"Because you're a terrible liar," Erik said. "And because it's such a beautiful painting, one that holds a lot of memories for you. I don't want you to lose any more than you already have, Sam."

"You make it sound like I hold a monopoly on loss, Erik," I said.

"I know for a fact you don't," Erik said.

"Well, I don't want it back," I said, pulling him towards the door. "It's in a much better place now anyway. I think even Eunice would approve."

I wanted to tell him that I had finally decided that I wanted - needed - to move on from the past. What was done was done, and there was nothing I could do to change the past. David would never have been able to do everything that he did if I hadn't let him, if I hadn't made excuses for everything he did in the first place. I had been so desperate to be loved and accepted then that I didn't see what he was doing.

It didn't mean that I was letting David off the hook for what he'd done. I wasn't going to play victim forever. But I also had to take some responsibility for what happened if I wanted to move on from all this. I had to start somewhere. In the past, I'd relied on Rosie to help me do most everything, at the same time hiding the shame of my abuse from her even though she knew. I didn't want to do the same thing with Erik.

"Can we not talk about painting for the rest of the weekend?" I asked Erik as I stopped beneath a portico of bougainvillea flowers. "Like you said, maybe I could use this trip as inspiration for my next painting, but just - no more talk about it."

Erik came over and kissed me on the forehead, gathering me in an embrace. "You're right, Sam. It's a deal then."

We met Josh along the way towards the main building where the Pennyroyal suite was located on the second floor, with a balcony overlooking the whole property.

"I've got to work tonight so I better start heading back, Erik," Josh said. He turned towards me. "I'm really glad to have met you again, Sam."

"Did you get Collin's invitation for next week?" Erik asked Josh, pulling me alongside him, his arm over my shoulder. "Something about an exhibit in downtown LA?"

Josh nodded. "I did, but I can't make it. I'm going to be here the whole weekend, helping out the folks manage your in-laws. Are you going?"

"I'm doing three straight shifts next weekend," Erik said. "I don't think I'd have the energy to do anything but sleep when it's done."

"Drug program?" Josh asked.

Erik nodded. "Yup. It's my turn next week. Ruben asked if I could fill in for him. He needs to go visit his mother in Texas next week for her birthday."

"What drug program?" I asked.

"Erik's clinic offers these services for addicts wanting to get clean," Josh said.

"They're called harm reduction services," Erik continued. "We offer same week services for anyone wanting to get over their addiction, detox and all that."

"Like giving people addicted to heroin methadone instead?" I asked.

Erik nodded. "Something like that. Instead of methadone, we offer buprenorphine. But we also offer them alternative services to help them out with the cravings that often send them back to the real thing, like acupuncture, massage. Even energy healing."

"Just don't overwork yourself, dude," Josh said. "And be careful. Sometimes those addicts -"

"I'll be fine, Josh," Erik said, grinning. "You worry too much."

"Of course, I do. I'm a cop, remember?" Josh laughed. "Hey, are you guys going on a hike?" Josh asked just before getting into his car.

"Probably," Erik replied.

"Maybe you should take her up on the ridge-" Josh paused. "Well, if you do, don't be surprised if you see flowers up there. It was mom's idea at first but she hasn't been able to make it up there for awhile now ever since her knee problems started."

"Whatever you guys did, I appreciate it," Erik said. "I'll check it out while I'm here."

"Don't forget the labyrinth," Josh said as he finally got into his car and drove away.

"What's the labyrinth?"

"You'll see," Erik said, taking my hand and leading me back into the lobby where it was much cooler. Erik then led me to our suite on the second floor.

The Pennyroyal suite comprised of two large rooms — a living room area with a big screen TV on the wall complete with a breakfast nook overlooking the grounds where I could see hiking trails leading to the hills, and a bedroom with a four poster bed. A patio table and chairs graced part of the balcony.

While Erik moved our weekend bags into the closet, I walked out onto the balcony. I could see people walking along the trails, and in the distance, two people on horses, taking advantage of the beautiful day. When Erik joined me, he wrapped his arms around my waist, and I could feel his chin lightly resting on my shoulder.

"They have beautiful hiking trails here," he said. "Easy and moderate ones, and then there are trails that go up to the top of that ridge over there. A bit challenging because of the uneven terrain but it's still fun."

"I'm in the mood for something more leisurely, so no challenging trails for me," I said.

Erik stifled a yawn, chuckling. "We should head out then. Another minute in here and I'll be in bed catching up on my beauty sleep."

"Heaven forbid you miss out on your beauty sleep," I laughed. "But as long as you don't have any plans for the evening but room service and maybe a home movie or two, then let's go walk off our lunch. I can feel that tiramisu settling around my hips as we speak.

We changed into more comfortable clothes, and I was glad to have brought my running shoes with me instead of just the flip flops I was wearing. It was about two in the afternoon by the time we stepped out into the sunlight, sunscreen lathered on and baseball caps on our heads.

Erik was familiar with the trails and he led most of the way, taking his time to wait for me when I found myself meandering too long, my eyes taking in everything around me, my nose inhaling the smells of the native plants around us. There was the bedstraw and gooseberry, wishbone bush, wedge-leaf ceanothus and the common fiddle-neck. I would not have known their names if not for Erik naming them for me. He was familiar with them because his parents loved staying at Rosemary Inn, he said, and his mother knew all their names.

This was the first time Erik ever talked about his parents like this. All I knew so far was that his parents were immigrants from a small town in Ireland. They bought their first apartment before Erik was born and managed it. One apartment building became two, and two became three. Other than that, I couldn't remember Erik telling me anything else. Maybe it was because I hardly spoke about my own family, I thought.

We stopped at a slight rise where the path curved upwards towards a ridge. Erik took a deep breath, his mouth stretched in a grin though this time, I saw no joy in his eyes. "Want to go up that ridge over there? It has a nice view of the valley."

The trail wasn't a simple one, and soon my thighs were killing me. With the heat bearing down on us, sweat rolled down my face and my neck as I tried to catch up with Erik, but he was too quick on his feet. He definitely knew the terrain much better than I did but at least he didn't go too far ahead for when I found myself slipping, he caught my wrist in a firm grip and pulled me up.

This time, I couldn't stop to admire the blooms around us. A group of hikers were clambering up the hill behind me and I quickened my pace, wanting to stay ahead of them. I was out of breath, but I forced myself to keep on going. While I had been used to running on the Strand, my muscles and lungs weren't used to climbing up steep slopes. I had to work on that, I thought.