The Summer House

by Lauren K. Denton

  As sunlight flooded through the windows of her salon, she relished the zip of energy, of purpose, in her body and her heart. Just a handful of weeks before, she’d been staring at a slip of paper that held words that upended her life. Again. And now, here she stood. Not much had changed—her life was still tangled and a little off course—but a seed of hope had planted itself somewhere inside, and that was good enough for her.

  Nineteen

  It was nearly five o’clock on a hot Friday afternoon when Lily heard a knock at the door. At this point most customers walked right into the salon when they arrived, immediately making themselves at home with a magazine and a glass of whatever Lily had set out in a pitcher on the little table by the waiting chairs. When she heard the knock, she was adjusting the dryer hood over Roberta’s curls as Roberta and Shirley carried on an in-depth conversation about the correct way to make deviled eggs.

  “If you don’t start with Duke’s mayonnaise, you’ve ruined the whole batch,” Roberta said, talking over Shirley who was just as vigorously arguing that any mayo would do. “Don’t tell me you’re a secret Yankee, Shirley Ferrill.”

  Laughing, Lily peered over her shoulder and was surprised to see Rawlins standing at the door. He smiled and pointed toward the end of her porch. “You can’t cheat with Hellmann’s, or worse, Kraft,” Roberta continued. “It’s not the real thing. Lily, please tell me you don’t use Miracle Whip when you make your deviled eggs.”

  “Hmm?” Flustered, Lily straightened up from Roberta’s dryer and pushed her own hair away from her face. “I don’t . . . I’ve never actually made deviled eggs.”

  Roberta stared at her. “But you like them, right?”

  “Oh yes. I do. Can you . . . give me just a second?”

  Without skipping a beat, Roberta continued her tirade against inferior mayonnaise, much to Shirley’s dismay, as Lily opened the front door.

  Rawlins stood at the opposite end of the porch, inspecting the clematis that climbed the porch rail and all the way up a post to the eaves. Behind him, Hazel took a running start and jumped up on the porch swing.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Rose asked me to stop by and check this vine. She was worried it would damage the gutter up there.” He leaned over the rail and peered toward the roof.

  “Hi,” Hazel chirped from the swing. “I came with my daddy. He took the day off and we’ve been playing. We had a milkshake before lunch.”

  Lily smiled. “That sounds like a very special day.” She glanced back at Rawlins. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. It looks pretty good to me, but I may run some fishing line along the ceiling here to reroute some of these newer vines. It’ll keep them off the eaves. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sounds good. Whatever Rose says.”

  On the swing, Hazel leaned her head back, her orange-red curls splayed against the turquoise-painted wood. Her cheeks were pink with the slightest of sunburns, making the smattering of freckles across her nose pop.

  “Looks like you’re wiped out,” Lily said with a smile. “Must have been a full day.”

  “It was. We went fishing this morning and I caught four fish, but I threw them back. We had cheeseburgers for lunch, and then I practiced riding my bike.” She hopped off the swing and ran to the grassy yard. “I’ve been practicing my cartwheels too.” Planting her hands on the grass, she kicked her legs up in the air, then rolled onto her side. “I’ve almost got it.”

  Rawlins rubbed the top of his head. “I’m out of my element with the cartwheels.”

  Lily called to Hazel, “I might be able to help you with those.”

  Hazel’s eyes lit up. “Right now?”

  “Well, I can’t right now, but soon. How about that?”

  Hazel nodded and tried another cartwheel.

  “Sounds like your day off wasn’t exactly off,” Lily said to Rawlins, her voice quiet so Hazel wouldn’t overhear.

  He smiled. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. Playing around with her is better than sitting at home with my feet kicked up.”

  “Something tells me you don’t spend too much time with your feet kicked up.”

  “Daddy, watch!” Hazel yelled before hurling herself into another cartwheel.

  “Awesome, kiddo,” he called to Hazel, then turned back to Lily. “You’ve got me there. But I like to be busy. Then again, I am pretty beat. I’ll take it easy tonight.”

  A burst of laughter came from inside, reminding Lily she had two customers in various stages of hair disarray.

  “Sounds like your clients are happy,” he said.

  “Lily?” Roberta called just then. “I’m getting a little overcooked under this dryer.”

  “I need to . . .” She gestured back inside.

  “Yep. I won’t be long out here. We’ll stay out of your way.”

  “You’re not in my way. When you finish, y’all can come on in. I can get you something cold to drink.”

  “Maybe we’ll do that.”

  Twenty minutes later, Lily swept loose hair into a pile as Roberta and Shirley pulled their purses from the hooks on the wall. Roberta handed Lily a few bills from her wallet. As Lily took them, Roberta raised her eyebrows and nodded her head toward the doorway, where Rawlins stood with his hands in his pockets.

  “He’s back,” Roberta whispered.

  “I can see that.”

  “He’s a handy fella, I’ll give him that. Now, I told Shirley I’m going to make a batch of deviled eggs tomorrow. Come on over early and get some before she realizes how much better they are with Duke’s and eats every last one.”

  Shirley patted Lily’s arm on her way out. “I was so worked up I could barely sleep the other night after hearing about your . . . well, you know.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The dirtbag.”

  Lily held back her laughter. “Thanks, Shirley. I appreciate your concern.”

  “You’ve had a rough go of it, dear. It’s about time for something good to come your way, if you ask me.”

  Rawlins had been watching them from the doorway, but at Shirley’s words, he dropped his gaze. As the women breezed out of the salon, he stepped back and held the door open for them. “Ladies.”

  Shirley paused on the porch. “Rawlins, honey, the next time you’re here, would you mind stopping by and checking the latch on my back fence? Something’s jammed it and I can’t get it to close right. Louis the Sixteenth keeps getting out and tinkling on Edna’s hibiscus.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll stop by early next week, if that’s okay.”

  “That’ll be just fine. Come around midday and I’ll have lunch for you.”

  She shuffled out behind Roberta, who was still patting her curls, as if questioning the hold of her hair spray.

  Rawlins waited until they stepped off the porch and waved goodbye to Hazel before he exhaled.

  “Sounds like you have a lunch date.” Lily smiled toward him, standing the broom up in the corner of the salon.

  “I guess so. She always has a table full of food when I come by, and I’ve run out of excuses for not eating.”

  “I thought you said you like it when they pay you with food.”

  “Some more than others. Shirley has a heavy hand on the salt. I’m up half the night guzzling water after the force-feeding.”

  Lily laughed. “I won’t try to feed you, but I can get you a drink. I have lemonade and I think there’s a Sprite around here somewhere.”

  “Just some water would be great.”

  As she filled a glass with ice and water, the cottage fell silent, a contrast to the laughter and conversation previously filling the salon. When she walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of water, she found Rawlins in front of the window. Outside, Hazel knelt in the grass next to Kitty’s Chihuahua, Prissy. Kitty stood nearby holding on to the end of the rhinestone leash with both hands as if Prissy, all three pounds of him, might take off at any minute.

  “Hazel is dying for a puppy,” he s
aid. “Playing with that little thing’s just going to start up her begging all over again.”

  She handed him the glass. “You don’t like dogs?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . I’m in and out a lot, and Hazel goes back and forth between me and her mom. It’d be hard to fit a new puppy into the chaos.”

  Lily looked out the window to where the clematis vines were now draped across the clear filament line Rawlins had stretched between the porch posts. “The vines look good. Thanks for taking care of them.”

  “No problem.” He straightened the cap on his head and took a sip of his water. “Shirley said you’ve had a rough time.”

  The abrupt change of topic caught her off guard. “Yeah, I . . . Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean . . . I’m not asking you to tell me. I just . . .” He chewed the edge of his lip, and it seemed he was trying to decide what to say. Or how to say it. “I’m just sorry it’s been rough.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “It’s been a little crazy lately. But things are looking up.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Rawlins set his water glass on an end table and moved toward the door. “Thanks for the drink. I need to get out there and rescue Prissy.”

  Prissy was currently captured in Hazel’s tight embrace. His tiny eyes were open even wider than normal.

  At the door, Rawlins paused with a hand on the doorframe. “If you don’t have plans tonight, my buddy Canaan’s son is playing at the Land around eight.”

  “What’s the Land?”

  “It’s a . . .” He paused and scratched his head. “A roadhouse? Or maybe a dive bar?” He laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve tried to explain it to someone. You kind of have to see it for yourself. Elijah’s band plays there some and . . . well, he’s really good. You may already have plans though . . .”

  “Plans? My social calendar’s pretty empty these days.”

  “If you’d like to come”—he shrugged—“I’d love the company.”

  There were at least a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t say yes, but before she could gather her thoughts, she heard herself saying, “I think it sounds like fun.”

  His face brightened. “Really? Great. Should I come—or should you . . .”

  “Why don’t I just meet you there?” she said. “You said it starts at eight?”

  “Technically. Things never start on time, but I’ll be there at eight. I’ll look for you.”

  He stepped out on the porch just as Hazel ran up the steps and flung herself around his leg. “Daddy, can we go swimming? I have a swimsuit at Aunt Rosie’s house.”

  “Sorry, baby. I need to get you home to meet your mom. She’ll be there soon to pick you up.”

  Hazel stuck out her bottom lip. “I don’t want to leave. Can I stay with you?”

  Rawlins looked back at Lily, then reached down to pull Hazel’s arms from his legs. “Let’s get going, Haze.”

  Lily watched them from the porch as they made their way back to Rawlins’s truck. Before he could close Hazel’s door, she stuck out her head. “Will you still help me with my cartwheels?”

  Lily nodded. “I promise. Next time I see you.”

  Rawlins crossed to the driver’s side and climbed inside, then rolled down his window. “When you head out tonight, take a left at the gate and follow the road around the island. You can’t miss the Land. And you’ll hear it before you see it.”

  * * *

  Lily was dressed and ready before all the reasons she shouldn’t go to a bar with Rawlins Willett flooded her mind. Sitting on the edge of the bed with one sandal on, she leaned forward over her thighs and held her left hand out in front of her where her ring glittered on her fourth finger.

  I’m married, she reminded herself. At least technically.

  The ring had always been a little loose, and now she twisted it round and round with her thumb until her skin felt raw.

  The silence of her cottage wrapped itself around her, lifting her, bolstering her courage, and she stilled her worried fidgeting. Worth was off somewhere chasing a dream or fabrication in his mind, doing whatever it was he thought he needed to do to make things better. And so was Lily. The pieces of her life had been scattered, but she was slowly pulling them back together.

  A new energy bolted through her body, and before she could second-guess her impulse, she pulled the ring from her finger and set it in the drawer of her nightstand, right next to his note and the divorce papers bearing both their signatures. She hadn’t mailed them back to Mertha like she’d said she would, but she would do it. Soon.

  Lily put on her other sandal and grabbed her purse, ran downstairs, and locked the door behind her.

  * * *

  The farther away she drove from the village, the darker the road became, snaking through tall pines and swaying moss. Through gaps in the branches, moonlight shimmered on the bay. Or maybe it was the river. With the relative hubbub of the village and the nearby businesses behind her, the dense trees and murky darkness felt secluded, almost thick with mystery. Instead of feeling nervous, she was enchanted. Eager.

  Just as Rawlins had said, she heard a cacophony of jangly noise as she rounded a bend and approached what must have been the back side of the island. Lights glowed from a shack along the road ahead, and as she drove closer, the sounds and vision clarified. It was no longer just noise, but a slide guitar, a steady drumbeat, and notes from a harmonica floating high above it all. And instead of a shack, it was several buildings, if they could even be called buildings. They looked more like haphazard structures held in place with wood, scrap metal, and blinking neon signs. Above it all a banner flapped in the breeze, proclaiming it the Land of Milk and Honey.

  People milled on both sides of the road, trickling across the street from a dirt parking lot opposite the Land and gathering in small clusters outside the buildings. One of the structures appeared to be someone’s home, with a tin roof, a pot of flowers by the door, and an orange cat sitting on a metal chair watching the crowd. Another looked like a garage with its sliding door up, but instead of cars, the space was crammed with beer kegs. The third building—the most ramshackle of the three—was the source of the music. Twinkle lights lined the windows, orange ends of cigarettes glowed from the makeshift patio, and a tangle of folks stood near the door, slowly filing inside.

  Lily found a sliver of a parking space and climbed out of her car. Another group of people was just leaving the lot and crossing the road, and she followed them to the door of the bar. As she waited for the man sitting on a stool at the door to shine his flashlight on everyone’s ID, she tried to peer through the crowd to spot Rawlins.

  “First time here?” the man on the stool asked as she handed him her ID. His name tag said Dizzy.

  She nodded. “How could you tell?”

  “Most new people walk in here with eyes as big as silver dollars. You have the look.” He handed back her license and pointed inside. “Bar’s to the left. You’ll have to fight your way to the front if you want a drink, although women tend to be served quicker than the men.” He pointed to the other side. “Tables are to the right. It looks packed, but a lot of those people are just waiting for the bar. You may get lucky and find an open seat.”

  She followed his direction and squeezed through the warm, close bodies in front of the bar and made her way to the right. Straight ahead, the band was set up on a short wooden platform—not elevated more than four or five inches, but just enough to make the band members easier to see. The harmonica player was a woman shimmying in a tight red dress. The drummer at the back had wild black hair that tumbled over his shoulders, an old man playing the keyboard sat to the side, and up front stood Elijah, the young man she recognized from the Sunrise. His eyes were closed as the ring finger of his left hand, encased in a glass slide, slid effortlessly up and down the guitar strings.

  Finally she broke free of the jumble and spotted the tables Dizzy had mentioned. Rawlins sat at
one with his arm draped over the back of the only free chair in the whole place.

  She exhaled when she saw him, a familiar face in a sea of strangers. She approached the table and stopped just short of his chair. “The Land of Milk and Honey, huh?”

  He turned and tipped his face up. “Hey. You made it.”

  “I did. Sorry I’m late, though.”

  He pulled his arm from around the chair. “I thought you might have had second thoughts.”

  “I did.” She paused. “But I’m glad I’m here.”

  “Me too.” He stood as she squeezed past him to the open chair, then hung her bag from the back and sat. She took a deep breath and looked around the room. License plates from all around the country covered most of the walls, and on the other side of a sheet of heavy clear plastic hanging on the far wall, an adjoining room held a few couches and a sagging bookshelf. Two men sat at a card table in the middle playing what appeared to be chess.

  “I can see why it was hard to explain. How long has this place been here?”

  Rawlins sat back and exhaled. “It’s hard to say. The owner lives in the house next door, but before him, it was his mother, Desiree. They were always inviting local bands to come play in the garage out behind the house. When the crowds got too big, they built this thing. Word around the island is that Desiree got Louis Armstrong to play here before he moved up to Chicago.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “It may just be a rumor, but people swear it’s true.”

  “That guy at the door—is he the owner?”

  “Dizzy? That’s the owner’s son. Dilbert’s the owner. For now. One day it’ll all belong to Dizzy.”

  A few minutes later, Elijah announced from the stage that the band was getting thirsty. “We’ll play one more song, then take a short break. Any requests?”