Lying in bed inside her cottage, Lily closed her eyes and imagined she was high on that cliff. Behind her everything was covered in thorns and briars, all poised to pierce and hurt and bruise, and ahead was nothing but the great wide open—birds flying in lazy loops, high white clouds in a blue sky, a distant echo. It was remote and scary, and below were dark depths, but this spot was warm and comforting. A soft place to land if she could just keep her eyes focused on all that open air.
* * *
The next morning Lily awoke as soon as daylight pricked the edges of the blinds and spilled into the crevices of her bedroom. On the kitchen counter in the back of the cottage she found the coffeepot and the few mugs she’d nestled into a box and brought with her. She plugged in the coffee maker, found her bag of coffee in a box on the stairs, and pressed the Start button. With her bare feet chilly on the old parquet floor, she stood by the counter and waited for the scent to rise.
An hour later Lily was elbow-deep in the kitchen sink, the basin full of hot, soapy water. While drinking her second cup of coffee on the front porch, she’d decided everything she’d brought into the cottage—everything she’d shoved into a box or a reusable grocery bag—needed a good cleaning. Utensils, plates, laundry, life. It would all start over fresh.
When she finished washing, she wiped her hands on a damp dish towel hanging from the oven door and surveyed the rest of the cottage. There was much to do.
She worked for the rest of the morning—dusting, sweeping, and mopping the floors. She opened the windows to let in fresh air and arranged and rearranged the sparse furniture they’d brought in the day before. At some point she stopped to eat a corn bread muffin with homemade butter a neighbor had brought by, and she turned on some music on her phone when her energy lagged. The sun had popped out, and by noon she was singing along to the Avett Brothers as she went around the room on her hands and knees, wiping the baseboards with damp rags.
Just as the song ended, someone knocked on the open door. Lily swiveled her head and saw Rose standing in the doorway holding two small, lidded containers.
Lily stood and wiped her hands on the sides of her shorts as she walked to the door. Behind Rose, a handful of people milled around the café across the street, casting curious looks in their direction.
“Good morning.” Rose glanced at her watch. “Afternoon now. I heard your music from the street. Sounded like a party in here.” She leaned her head in and peered around. “You’ve been hard at work.”
“Yes, ma’am. I figured I’d go ahead and start getting things straightened up so I’m ready for customers soon. I’m not sure when people are expecting me to be up and running . . .”
“Maybe take this week, and then start on Monday. Everyone knows you’re here, so take any longer and my phone will start ringing with complaints. The minute you say you’re open, you’ll have a string of ladies lined up at the door, I have no doubt.”
“What about you? Will you need a haircut? As the boss, you could skip to the front of the line.”
She expected a smile, but Rose pressed her lips together. Rose gave off the appearance of severity—gray-streaked hair pulled back into a bun with a visor low over her eyes, practical khaki shorts, white tennis shoes—but something in her face suggested a gentle beauty, though she tried her best to snuff it out with sternness.
“You just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll spread the word. I assume you’ll need to make some purchases. Shampoos and . . .” She shrugged. “Other necessities?”
Lily nodded as a breeze lifted tendrils of the climbing vine growing up the corner post of the porch. “There’s a beauty supply store in town. I should be able to get most of what I need there.”
“Good.” As if remembering what she held in her hands, she thrust the Tupperware containers toward Lily. “I made some spaghetti. It’s nothing special. And there’s some cucumber salad too.”
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”
Rose shrugged. She looked past Lily into the house again.
“I still have some work to do,” Lily said when Rose remained silent. “I want it to feel comfortable for people.”
Rose looked at her, one eyebrow cocked. “It’s a hair salon, not a spa. People just need a wash and trim, right?”
“Well, yes. That’s true. But it doesn’t hurt for the place to feel a little special, right?”
“I suppose. I’ve never given much thought to how a trip to the hairdresser is supposed to feel.”
“I’d say it should make you feel like a new man,” boomed a deep voice. Together the women turned to see a man strolling toward them from the cottage next door, a shop called the Pink Pearl. “Or a new woman, in your case,” he said to Rose with a grin.
Lily recognized him as the man from the golf cart, the one who’d brought her fried chicken. Coach. His dark gray hair was windblown, like he’d just gotten off a boat, and he wore a sky-blue fishing shirt with the top couple of buttons undone. On his feet were leather flip-flops. His appearance and general ease made Lily smile, but Rose cocked a skeptical eyebrow.
“A new man? You get all that from a haircut?” Rose asked.
“Oh yes. A hot towel on my face, a shave with a straight razor, and an inch of cold whiskey in a glass next to me.” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“For Pete’s sake,” Rose muttered. Small splotches of pink rose in her cheeks. “I don’t think Lily will be serving whiskey in her salon.” She eyed Lily. “Will you?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry to say I’ve never shaved anyone with a straight razor. But I have cut men’s hair.”
“Good to hear, although I don’t actually get haircuts that often.” He put a hand to his hair and ruffled it a bit. “Makes me a little nervous to go under the scissors.”
Rose rolled her eyes, but Lily laughed. “I understand. I’ll be open soon if you want to swing by. I promise not to do anything dangerous.”
He laughed. “Have you been to the pool yet? It’s a good day for a swim.”
“No, not yet. Honestly, I’m not even sure where my bathing suit is at the moment.”
“It’s just as well,” Rose said. “Tiny’s grandkids are here for a couple days. I saw them at the pool on my way here.”
Coach chuckled. “Rose is right. Best to steer clear while they’re around. The granddaughter is fine, but you have to watch out for the little boy. The rascal punched his sister’s tooth out last summer. Of course he said it was an accident.”
“How do you accidentally punch someone’s tooth out?”
“The tooth was already loose,” Rose said. “And he swore he was trying to brush a yellow jacket off her head. But you know boys.”
Coach winked. “Boys are always up to no good.” He turned and headed for the street where his golf cart was parked in front of the café. Sitting on the front seat like a passenger was a pink plastic pelican with a lei around its neck. “I’ll see you ladies later.” He paused in the grass. “You’re coming to the party Saturday, aren’t you, Lily?”
“Party?” She looked at Rose, who sighed.
“It’s the Summer Kickoff picnic. But don’t feel obligated to come if you don’t want to.”
“Are you kidding?” Coach boomed. “Lily, you won’t want to miss it. It’s the party of the year.”
“You just say that because everyone compliments your barbecue.”
“And my ribs are reason enough to come, even if Lily didn’t have a whole village of people to meet. There’s food, music, swimming. Games set up on the grass. You name it. And you’re coming if I have to come pick you up in my golf cart myself.”
Lily smiled and shrugged. “I guess I’ll come. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nothing but an appetite.”
Lily looked at Rose. “You’re coming too?”
“No, I don’t usually—”
“Nod your head, Rose,” Coach instructed. “Yes, she’ll be there.” He tapped two fingers to his fore
head in a salute. “Ladies. Until we meet again. Oh, and, Lily, even if you don’t want to go swimming, the pool deck is especially nice as the sun sets.” He crossed the street, whistling some tune Lily faintly recognized, and climbed in his golf cart.
Rose patted her hands along her head, though no hair was out of place, and straightened her shirt. “If you go, follow the road that way,” Rose said, pointing. “You can’t miss the pool. It overlooks the bay. Keep your eyes peeled—when my nephew is working a night shift, he usually heads out around sunset.”
“On the shrimp boat, right? He mentioned it yesterday.”
Rose’s eyebrows lifted and she nodded. “That’s right. Shrimping is our . . . Well, it’s his business. His and his father’s, actually. It’s the family business.”
“He just said he worked on a boat. He didn’t say anything about a business.”
“He wouldn’t. He’s about as humble as they come. Willett Fisheries. It’s down the river a ways. My family has owned it since the early 1900s. Rawlins is a third-generation shrimper.” Lily heard the pride in Rose’s voice, though her face gave nothing away.
“You can’t miss his boat. It has a bright green stripe down the side.” Rose glanced back toward the road and cleared her throat. “I have some work to do in the office. Things will be busy this week until we get past this party”—she said the word like it tasted bad—“But I’ll be by later on to check on you and see how you’re getting along.”
“That sounds good. Thank you.”
Without a goodbye, she turned and walked out the way she had come.
Eleven
Lily’s mother was the strongest, most generous woman—person, really—Lily had ever known. Lillian Chapman never turned down anyone who desired a trim, color, or curl-and-set, or even just a chance to sit down and chat in a comfortable place, often working on a bartering system. Women would bring fresh-baked bread or a crate of apples they’d just picked, or they’d offer to wash and fold the towels Lillian used by the basketful. Lily’s mother saw her job as more than just cutting and styling hair—it was a way to lighten the load of the women around her, even if the work often increased the load on her own shoulders.
Cutting hair didn’t bring in much money, so Lillian cleaned houses on the side. What her mother made—and Lily too, once she started working in the salon full-time—went toward paying bills, putting food on the table, and keeping up the necessary stock of shampoos, dyes, curlers, and combs. Lillian was never one to splurge on anything, other than perhaps a new shampoo when a regular customer mentioned that the scent of lemons always made her happy.
When Lillian died at the age of forty-eight from complications of pneumonia, Lily recovered from the shock as well as she could, then began going through her mother’s things with the intention of deciding what to keep for herself and what to donate or give away to customers or neighbors. The last thing she expected to find was money. Jars and tins at the top of her bedroom closet, envelopes slid under the mattress, pouches in her dresser drawers that should have held makeup or toiletries—Lillian had crammed money everywhere, and Lily never had a clue.
Lily checked every possible place her mother might have stashed money, then set it out in piles on the living room floor and counted it. When she wrote down the total, she threw down the pen and put her face in her hands. She knew the house like she knew her own reflection, yet her mother had been able to stash away just under ten thousand dollars, right under Lily’s nose.
She and her mother had lived together in Lily’s small childhood home with the peeling blue paint and the sign out front directing customers to park under the hickory tree. All Lily could think about was how her mother had worn the same dresses and pants over and over until they grew soft and threadbare. She never dressed up in anything fancy and had only one pair of “good shoes” she wore to church and the occasional wedding or funeral. Her sole extravagance for herself was buying chocolate ice cream. How could a woman like that manage to put away so much money? And in such a way that Lily had never felt its absence?
Sitting on the floor of their small living room, surrounded by memories, scents, and visions of her mother, she wondered if she had it wrong. Maybe the money wasn’t hers, maybe Lillian had stored it away for someone else. Maybe it was all a mistake.
Then, as clear as a blue winter sky, she heard her mother’s soft voice. I did it all for you.
Maybe Lily imagined it. Any sane person would tell her she conjured her mother’s voice out of thin air. Even so, it was a comfort. Lily took the words to heart and saved the money, knowing it was hers, for whatever she needed.
She kept up her mother’s work—cleaning houses and running the salon—for as long as she could, but after three years without Lillian’s experience and encouragement, Lily ran out of steam. She considered dipping into the money her mom had left her, but she knew she’d run through it quickly keeping the bills paid and the lights on, so she wished her customers well, flipped the Closed sign around for the last time, and put a For Sale sign in the front yard.
When she met Worth, she’d been living in Atlanta for three months, staying in the garage apartment that belonged to a client’s niece, and by the time she married him a short while later, she still hadn’t touched a dime of Lillian’s money. The money she got from the sale of her house in Fox Hill became their money—hers and Worth’s—but she kept her mother’s hard-earned sacrifice a secret from Worth. Ten thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for a family like the Bishops, but to her it meant much more. It meant love and provision and a mother’s selfless gift.
Today, as she pulled out the envelope with the stacks of neatly folded bills inside, she was thankful she’d kept the money close rather than sink it into her and Worth’s seemingly bottomless bank account. No reason to call the bank, no messy transfers of money, no need to get Worth involved.
Here she was, years after her mother had hidden away her last secret dollar, finally having a reason to dig into that money. She needed shampoos, conditioners, a supply of foils and dyes, a new curling iron and hair dryer, and an assortment of new brushes, combs, and fluffy towels. She felt good about it, like she was honoring her mom by using her savings to set up a hair salon, even if it was a sudden job in what amounted to a retirement village on the Gulf Coast. She sensed her mother whispering to her, You could do much worse, my child. Then, You can also do better. And in those last words, she knew Lillian wasn’t talking about the village.
* * *
Lily spent the rest of the week scrubbing, dusting, scouring, and disinfecting. After purchasing everything she needed to get the salon up and running, she wiped, soaked, and rinsed a little more.
Finally she looked around the salon and realized it was ready. The place sparkled and smelled of lemons and pine. She’d set up a small check-in desk near the front door and hung green-and-white checked café curtains in the windows. She situated the waiting chairs in the sunlight that poured in from the big front window. She’d even cut some vines of clematis from the front porch and stuck them in glass jars she found in the back of the kitchen pantry, scattering them on every flat surface. This salon didn’t have the same atmosphere that Lillian’s did, with the back room that sweltered in the summer heat, sheltered in the winter, and always overflowed with the warmth of Lillian’s smile. Lily used to imagine that the women’s conversation and laughter, their joys and sadness, all tangled together and became part of the hazy steam that floated out of the half-propped windows and carried out over the mountain passes.
Lily’s salon was different. It was open, airy, the land around it flat, tropical, and tinged with salt and coconut. The hardwood floor was scrubbed to a shine, and the chairs held out their arms for willing customers. Lily turned the ceiling fans on high and relished the breeze that lifted her hair and tickled her cheeks. She smiled, thinking her mom would love the feel of the place.
That evening Lily made her way to the pool for the first time, and just as the sun was going down,
as Coach had suggested. As soon as she came out from under the shade of the live oaks that lined Port Place with low-hanging arms, the sky before her exploded in vivid swaths of pink and orange. The cottages she passed all reflected the sky’s splendor. A handful of other residents were out for a similar evening excursion. Whether walking or riding in golf carts, all eyes were on the riot of color in the western sky.
As she neared the wooden walkway that led to the pool, a string of folks in bathing suits and wrapped in beach towels was heading out the gate and toward the road. Leading the way was Tiny, the woman in purple she’d met at the grocery store.
“Hello, Lily,” Tiny called, wiggling her fingers in a wave. She wore a white swim cap and a terry cloth swimsuit cover-up. “You should have come a little earlier. We just finished water aerobics.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I’m not wearing my suit. I just came to look around.”
“Well.” Tiny was breathing hard, as if she’d expended all her energy in underwater leg lifts and squats. “Next time then. Cricket’s a doozy of a teacher. She’ll whip us all into shape. Even you, Humphrey,” she called to a portly man waddling down the steps behind her, clutching a yellow pool noodle under his arm.
When everyone had passed through the gate and she’d said goodbye to Tiny, Lily walked through the gate herself. The wide pool deck and chairs were empty, except for a pair of pink sparkly goggles on the ground next to the diving board and a striped towel folded on the far side of the pool with a pair of flip-flops on top. A single swimmer glided through the water with long, steady strokes. Lily sat in a lounge chair facing the bay as the swimmer, a woman in a turquoise swim cap, finished her last lap and stood in the shallow end.
“Hi there. I didn’t see you come in,” the woman said, wiping water from her tanned face. “I wanted to get a few laps in before I left. Water aerobics doesn’t do quite enough to get my heart pumping like I need it to.”
“You must have done something right. I think you got everyone else’s hearts racing.”
The Summer House Page 10
