They were back to this again. “I believe he’s leaving that up to me.”
“So you can still leave things out?”
Every time Kendall started down this path, Liza grew more curious about Ray’s past. What could possibly be so explosive that this man wanted to keep it out of print? The only reason she didn’t push back now was their hard-won truce, and because she truly believed Kendall’s efforts came from a place of concern for Ray.
“Once I get home and can review all of the information he ends up sharing, I’ll decide what goes in and what can be left out. After all, nine-plus decades is a lot for one book.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “Sounds like a plan. You still want to come see the house?”
After the depressing topic of young men going off to war, Liza needed a mental break. “I do. Just let me run my things upstairs, and I’ll be ready.”
Kendall rose at the same time she did. “I’ll pick you up on your side, then.” With a tap of his leg, he said, “Let’s go, Amos.”
The pair exited the house, and Liza sprinted up the stairs, not wanting to keep them waiting. Or at least she told herself that’s why she was hurrying. Not because she was excited to spend some time with Kendall. She didn’t brush her hair or pinch her cheeks for any particular reason, either.
“He’s shown me around before,” she informed her reflection. “This is nothing new.”
But it was. Liza knew to the tips of her toes that this was definitely something new.
“This is your house?” Liza said, staring up at the blue two-story home with wraparound porches surrounding both floors.
Kendall unhooked the empty box he’d strapped to the back of the cart, ignoring the hitch in his gut at what he was about to do. “Not for much longer.”
“Wait. What?” She caught up to him halfway up the stairs. “You said you live over by the pier at the other end of the island.”
Someone was learning her way around. Kendall pushed the front door open. “That is where I live. This is the house my dad built when we first moved here.” Blocking the doorway with his foot, he said, “Stay out here, Amos.”
The dog whined as Liza followed Kendall inside. “You’re selling your family home?”
He’d never considered the place a family home. Though Dad had built the house in hopes of making his wife happy, Mom had never taken to the remoteness of the island. In fact, other than a few summers when Kendall was small, she’d never lived in the house with them, choosing instead to remain in Charleston.
This meant his parents had lived separate lives, yet his mother had never asked for a divorce or refused Kendall the opportunity to spend time with his father. From a young age, he often felt as if he were choosing one over the other, which created a deep sense of guilt no matter where he stayed. In middle school, some of his classmates had divorced parents whom they saw during scheduled visitations. The kids were told where they were going and when.
That led Kendall to wish his parents would divorce, so that he’d no longer have to choose. But they never did, and at some point in his teens, he’d decided that if he was going to feel bad no matter what, he might as well feel bad in the place he fit the most.
On Haven with his father. In this home.
“It’s just a house,” he replied, carrying the box to the counter and opening the blinds. “I haven’t lived here in more than a decade. It’s been a rental property since Dad died of a heart attack nine years ago.”
“Mom’s been gone eight years as of this past March. Pneumonia complicated by asthma.” Liza’s voice cracked with emotion, and she cleared her throat. Peering out the window over the sink, she said, “This view is amazing. Are you sure you want to part with this place?”
Kendall understood the quick change of topic. He didn’t like to talk about his dad’s death, either. As for her question, he’d spent the last few days convincing himself that he was fine with the sale. And he almost was.
“The deal is in motion now.” Scanning for items to keep, he spotted a piece of light-green sea glass on a table beside the back door. He’d stumbled across the rare treasure the first time his father had taken him fishing on the north side of the island.
“It’s a lovely place,” she said, strolling through the living room. “This is an odd piece, though.” Liza picked up a small jar of sand. “Why keep sand in a jar when you can walk outside and collect as much as you want?”
Surprised his father had kept the souvenir, Kendall took the jar from her grasp. “I sent this back from Baghdad, so Dad could see the difference between desert and beach sand. I didn’t realize he’d kept it.”
“My mom kept a macaroni-covered cross I made in third grade.” She dusted off the top of the jar. “Parents keep everything from their kids.”
He put the jar back on the windowsill. “Like you said, there’s plenty of sand outside.”
Before he could move on, Liza put the jar back in his hand. “I think your dad would want you to keep it.” She retrieved the box from the kitchen. “I’ll carry this while you collect what you want to keep.”
Kendall reached for the box. “You don’t have to follow me around.”
Liza held tight. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a little moral support, Kendall. You gather. I’ll carry.”
Recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw, he gave up arguing and strolled farther into the room. He hadn’t really thought about why he’d brought her with him. Kendall had intended to clean out the house before picking her up, but then he’d pulled into the drive and failed to make himself go inside. Since Larimore wasn’t around to be dragged along, he’d driven to Ray’s house instead.
“I took three friends with me to clean out Mom’s house,” Liza said, close on his heels. “I couldn’t bear to do it alone. We had more than twenty years of memories to go through.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Twenty-three. I graduated college the year before, and though I’d considered moving away from Rochester, something told me to stay.”
Opening the drawer on a side table, Kendall found a pocket tool kit behind some ink pens and a notepad. Images of Christmas afternoons flooded back, when he’d watch his dad assemble whatever new toy or gadget Santa had delivered.
“Was she sick for a long time?” he asked, setting the tools in the box.
“Not at all. From diagnosis to the end was less than a week.” He spun to see her face, but Liza kept her eyes averted.
Death was a ruthless son of a bitch. Christopher James had survived his sudden heart attack, but only long enough for his son to make it home to say goodbye.
Catching the sound of a sniffle, he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
She swiped a hand beneath her nose. “It’s fine. Really.” After clearing her throat, she said, “Tell me your favorite memory from this house. I need a story that’ll make me smile.”
Kendall filed through all the memories he could recall, but only one stood out.
“The summer after I turned nine, Dad made burgers on the grill while Mom peeled potatoes in the kitchen. That morning, I was told there would be a big announcement during supper, so I kept running back and forth, begging them to spill the secret.” Pulling an astronomy book off the shelf, he said, “I wasn’t the most patient nine-year-old.”
“None of us were.”
He set the book inside the box. “I was sure that they’d say we were all going to live together on the island.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t live on the island?”
Kendall had often been confused by the strange arrangement himself. “There was no school on the island—and still isn’t—so my mom and I stayed in a rental in Charleston. Even after more kids moved to the island and a bus started picking them up at the ferry landing over on Isle of Palms, Mom refused to move full-time.”
“That must have been tough, being away from your dad so much.” Liza’s voice grew softer, and Kenda
ll remembered what she’d shared that first night on the island about not growing up with her dad.
“I came over a lot, and Dad traveled over to Charleston for my games and school activities.” Surveying the rest of the bookshelf, he asked, “How often did you get to see your father?”
Liza’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on the box. “Not much. A couple of weeks each summer. Thanksgiving a few times.”
“No Christmases?” That was the one occasion his mother always made sure the family was together.
Except the time she’d taken Kendall with her to New York City to spend the holiday with her family. She’d insisted that his father come, and the conversation had devolved into a yelling match. That was the only Christmas Kendall had ever spent away from his father. At least until he joined the service.
Shaking her head, Liza flashed a crooked smile. “The Tellers are Jewish. I spent a couple of Chanukahs in the city, but as a Catholic-school student, I didn’t understand the language or the rituals. I missed my mom so much that on the second visit, I ended up crying for hours on Christmas Eve until my dad finally agreed to drive me home.” Her fingers trailed through the fringe hanging from an old lampshade. “He was furious and never took me for another Chanukah again.”
Liza’s father didn’t sound like Dad-of-the-Year material.
“Back to your story,” she said, breath hitching as she tried to look unaffected. “What was the big secret?”
Kendall slipped back to the memory. “After dinner, Mom whipped out a pair of pink socks and announced she was having a baby.”
“Oh, a baby,” Liza said, making that weird face women did when minihumans were discussed. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Too late, he realized this story was not going to make her smile. “I don’t. Mom miscarried at six months.”
One slender finger poked him in the chest. “You suck at happy stories.”
“Just because there wasn’t a happy ending doesn’t mean it isn’t a good memory. That was the happiest day we had in this house. I’d never seen Dad so proud or excited about anything, and Mom danced around singing that old ‘Buffalo Gals’ tune.”
Liza broke into song. “Buffalo Gals won’t you come out tonight, and dance by the light of the moon.”
Kendall chuckled as she drew out the last word. “Not bad. You know that one?”
“Anyone who’s seen It’s a Wonderful Life knows that song.”
“Oh yeah.” Kendall moved on to the dining room. “I think they showed that on movie night once.”
She tugged on his arm. “Are you saying you don’t watch It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas? What kind of a monster are you?”
“Not the movie-watching kind.” He took the box and set it on the table. “Your turn. What’s your favorite memory with your parents?” Despite the failed holiday experiment, Kendall assumed there must have been good times at some point.
Liza plucked a dusty apple from the bowl in the center of the table. “I didn’t know they still made rubber fruit.”
“Pretty sure that’s as old as the house.”
Without answering his question, she dropped the fruit back in the bowl and strolled to the far window.
“Don’t be dodging the question, Teller. You started this.”
Breathing in, she pressed a hand to the warm glass. “I don’t have any good memories of the three of us together. They split up when I was two, and on the rare occasions we were ever all in the same room together . . . well, let’s just say, things were tense.”
An experience Kendall knew all too well. “At least yours divorced. Sometimes I wish mine had taken that step.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” she said, spinning around. “Your parents obviously loved each other.”
“Yeah. Enough to make each other miserable. If they’d gone their separate ways, they both might have found people to make them happy.”
“Did they fight a lot?” she asked, dropping her bottom onto the windowsill.
“No.” The fight before the Christmas trip to New York was the only yelling match Kendall could remember. “But Mom resented having to leave her home and family to live down here, while Dad spent years trying to make her happy. He built this house. Then, when she refused to live in it, he finally bought her one over in Charleston and made sure she never wanted for anything.”
“But she wanted to go home,” Liza said, reading between the lines. “Did they ever talk about moving back?”
“Dad wouldn’t leave the island.”
“Why?” She rose off the sill and crossed her arms. “Why would he put this island before his family?”
To answer that required sharing details that weren’t his to share. “He had his reasons.” Kendall scanned the next shelf and opted to change the subject once again. “So what was life like in Rochester? Cold, I imagine.”
“Very cold, but Mom always made things fun.” He looked over in time to catch her eyes soften as her lips curled into a smile. “Like the time we drove to Nantucket Island and stayed at this ancient B&B. The water was freezing, so I kept running in and out while Mom laughed until her sides hurt.” Liza wrapped her arms around herself, grinning as the memory came back. “We ate way too many crab legs, got painfully sunburned, and every night I dozed off curled against her side as she read a book.”
Definitely a happier story than his.
“Sounds nice.” But despite the positive memory, her expression turned sad, and Kendall decided they’d both had enough. “Let’s get out of here.”
Liza looked around. “But you’ve barely taken anything. There’s a whole other floor to go.”
Kendall retrieved the box before leading her back to the kitchen. “I cleaned out Dad’s bedroom after he died, and checking the storage room can happen another time.”
“I don’t mind waiting while you finish.”
“No need.” Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the door. “That’s enough memory lane for today.”
When he dropped her hand to reach for the door handle, she said, “Wait.” Liza dashed back to the dining room and returned with the rubber apple. “This is antique fruit.” Full lips turned up in a mischievous grin. “You don’t want to leave it behind.”
Shaking his head, Kendall held out the box, and she added the dusty apple to his collection. “You’re weird, Teller.”
“Writers usually are.”
Kendall couldn’t help but laugh at her matter-of-fact reply. When he opened the door, Amos leaped off the welcome mat, more excited to see Liza than his owner. The dog stared adoringly as she bent to scratch his chin, thoroughly smitten with his new best friend.
Not that he blamed the fur ball. If Kendall wasn’t careful, he’d find himself smitten as well.
Chapter 12
Holding Kendall’s small box of mementos in her lap, Liza let the salt air soothe her aching heart. She knew better than to talk about her mom. Growing up, it had been the two of them against the world. More than mother and daughter, they’d been best friends who did everything together. Years passed before she stopped picking up the phone, dialing half of the phone number, and realizing the person she needed to talk to would never answer the phone again.
Closing her eyes, she let the wind cool her cheeks, and her spirits rose once more. There really was something magical about this island. A balm that soothed any and all ills.
When she opened her eyes again, they were passing through heavy shadows cast by the intertwining branches above. Kendall brought the cart to a stop in front of a large white door.
“You have a garage?” she asked, letting Kendall take the box. “Why would you need a garage when you can’t have a car?”
“For one,” he replied, stepping to his feet, “I do have a car. A truck, to be exact, parked over at the ferry landing on Isle of Palms. And for two, men use their garages for more than storing a car. Mine is my workshop.”
At least he didn’t call it a man cave.
Liza exit
ed the cart and stared up at the first reasonable-looking house she’d seen. Other than being up on stilts, the charming blue cottage looked nothing like the monstrosities covering Haven Island. Just yesterday she’d spotted one four stories tall. Who needed that much house?
“It’s normal,” she said, feeling like Dorothy must have once she’d returned from Oz.
“What did you expect?” Taking the stairs two at a time, Kendall left the box at the top and snagged a metal bowl off the porch. Returning, he filled it using a hose hanging on the corner of the house. “It looks like any other house around here.”
“Oh no, it doesn’t,” she said incredulously. “You could fit this cute little thing inside most of the other homes, and still have room to spare.”
The water cut off, and he shot her an offended look. “Are you calling my house dinky?”
Liza struggled to keep a straight face. “Do people really use the word dinky anymore?”
Kendall took aim with the hose. “You can’t insult a man’s house and not expect to pay the price.”
He wouldn’t. “Kendall James, don’t you dare spray me with that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a devious look in his eye. “Why would I do that?”
“Amos, come protect me from your owner!” Liza backed away from the stairs, hoping the hose couldn’t reach very far. When the dog barked with excitement, she yelled, “Sic him, boy. Sic him!”
Kendall took one more step before pointing the nozzle straight up. A stream of water arched through the air, and Amos lost his ever-loving mind. Leaping off the ground, the animal attempted to catch the water in his mouth.
When the stream vanished, determined paws stomped in the newly formed puddles, and Liza couldn’t help but laugh at the joyous canine.
“Get it, boy,” Kendall encouraged as he shot quick bursts at the sand. “You’ve gotta catch it.”
The mostly white dog quickly turned brown, rolling in the mud with reckless abandon.
“He’s getting filthy,” Liza said, breathless with laughter.
Ask me to Stay Page 11
