“Of course,” Cara replied, straightening. She’d kicked off her heels and walked barefoot in her long-legged stride across the room to the kitchen. “I prefer to look out and see the ocean.”
“Like Grandmama Lovie. What was it that she always used to say?”
Cara chuckled as she uncorked a bottle of wine. “She used to say she kept the drapes open because she had to check on her old friend the ocean first thing every morning.” She eased the cork from the bottle. “To see what kind of mood he was in.”
Linnea chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Grab yourself a glass. Just one. I’m not having any.”
“Oh?” Linnea said, a tad disappointed. She never liked drinking alone. Her mother said it was something a lady never did, which seemed old-fashioned and Linnea didn’t believe it, but her mother’s voice was still in her ear.
“I tasted wines all afternoon.” Cara answered the unvoiced question. “But could you grab me a tall glass? What I need is water.”
Like the china, the cottage’s crystal was an assortment of favorites collected from family over the ages. Never a full dozen, usually twos and threes of a pattern. This Baccarat pattern had always been Linnea’s favorite. Cara generously filled it with a Malbec. Linnea took a tentative first sip. It was delicious. Cara never served bad wine.
“Here you go,” Cara said, handing her a plate of crusty, French bread topped with fresh mozzarella, a slice of tomato, and sprigs of fresh basil. “This should tide you over.”
“Yum. It’s perfect.”
“Let’s get comfy and put our legs up,” Cara suggested. She led the way across the hall to the living room where lamps on the tables were lit. Outside the large window, the sky and sea were velvety black.
Linnea studied her aunt as she followed her. Cara always managed a chic look, sophisticated and subtle. Her thick, dark hair, a Rutledge trait, was a tad longer now, reaching her chin and worn in a blunt cut. Linnea admired her aunt. Despite lack of money, Cara had always exhibited excellent taste. Linnea rarely saw her disheveled and never with a fallen hem, a missing button, or a scuffed shoe. Except out on the beach. There she literally and figuratively let her hair down. In most things, her aunt was Linnea’s role model.
“So, tell me,” Cara said, curling up on the sofa like a contented cat. “What brings you home so suddenly? Is everything all right?”
Linnea sat on the opposite side of the sofa, setting her plate on the coffee table and bringing her wineglass near. She swirled the red liquid in her glass, considering Cara’s question.
“I take it you haven’t been talking to my father.”
It wasn’t a question. Cara’s brows rose. “Palmer? We talked just last week.”
Linnea thought about that. “Daddy never mentioned that I’d lost my job?”
“No!” Cara said, and from her tone, Linnea knew this was true. Cara swiveled her legs to the floor and leaned forward, her dark eyes focused. “What happened?”
She looked at Cara and shrugged lightly. “I call it the San Francisco debacle.” She laughed without humor. “First the startup company I was working for closed. Too bad, really. They were smart and motivated, but they couldn’t make a go of it.” She shrugged. “We worried it might happen. A lot of startups fail. But still, it was crushing. We all worked so hard.” She shook her head. “Then I couldn’t find another job.”
“Did you give it enough time?”
“No, probably not,” Linnea admitted. “But I ran out of time.” She was ashamed at the tears that pricked her eyes. She angrily swiped a traitorous tear from her cheek. “John and I split up.” She was looking at her wine when she spoke, but she could hear Cara’s heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cara said with sincerity. After a pause, she asked, “What happened?”
Linnea tried to sum up all the thousands of words she and John had shared in round after round of heated discussions and fights.
“He didn’t want to…” She paused. “Or he wouldn’t commit to us being long-term.”
Cara pursed her lips in thought. “How long have you been together?”
“Two years.”
“You’re young. That’s not a long time, in the scheme of things.”
“Maybe not, but there’s more.” Linnea took a long sip of wine. Cara waited, sitting like a cat on the sofa, her lovely dark eyes watching.
“You see,” Linnea began, “I always knew that commitment was difficult for John. He had a hard time telling me he loved me and asking me to move in with him. I think he was rocked by his parents’ divorce. Maybe it shook his faith in commitment or marriage, or something.…” Linnea shook her head. “Who knows? But he’s also a Peter Pan. He likes his freedom. Hanging out with his bros. John will take off for a few days on a moment’s notice. He always felt bad about leaving me behind because, you know, I had to work. I told him it was okay, but still… it made me feel like a drag on him. Like I was second place. That he’d rather go out with the guys than be with me.”
“Watching you two together, I never got that impression. He seemed to truly enjoy your company. You hung out all the time. I used to see you on the porch, talking and talking.…”
“Yeah.” Linnea sighed and shrugged. “It started out that way. Once we started living together, it seemed the more we were together, the more he needed to carve out his private time. He’d talk about his day to his friend on the phone, while I was sitting next to him.” She shook her head in frustration.
“We were working through that issue. I thought…” She made a tiny movement with her hand. “I can’t be sure anymore. When I lost my job, though, things really got tense. I could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea of supporting me. He kept asking if I’d applied for a job, and where. I was sensitive about it, of course. It was humiliating. I mean, who wants to be a moocher? But his questions were more concern about him supporting me than about me finding the right job. I tried to help out more—clean the house, do errands, pay for groceries, all while looking for a job. But I couldn’t pay rent. I never made that much working for a nonprofit, so I had no savings.” She looked at Cara. “I definitely was not going to ask my father for help.”
Cara, who knew the history, huffed through her nose. “No,” she agreed.
“That’s when we got into heavy discussions about our future. What our relationship was all about. Some of them became arguments.” She snorted. “Pretty heated. And… that’s when it came out that John doesn’t want kids.”
Cara sat back against the cushions. “Oh. Well.”
“Right,” Linnea added with an eye roll.
Cara tilted her head. “Isn’t he young to be making that kind of a decision?”
“Is he? He certainly had a lot of reasons why he didn’t want them. The population. Climate change. The time dedication that having kids brings. He’d obviously given it some thought.” She took another swallow of wine and stared into her glass.
“Learning to live with someone is complicated. Even when love is involved. Maybe especially then. It’s not just about compromise—to succeed, one must actively try to make the other person feel comfortable. Loved. If you’ve lived alone for a long time, it’s all the harder to even recognize when you’re being selfish. I believe that’s why living together before commitment often leads to a breakup. It’s just too hard to stick it out.”
“So, you think I shouldn’t have moved in with him?”
Cara shook her head. “I’m not saying that. Your situation made sense at the time. Only you can decide that.”
“We’d said we were going to try. To see how things went.” She scraped her nail. “I guess we found out. I don’t know if John will ever be ready.”
“And you?”
“I hope so. Maybe not right now. One thing’s for sure: I’m not looking for a man to save me.”
“Good. Because a man can’t save you. You have to save yourself.”
Linnea nodded. Though that was easier said than done.
“I’ve thought long and hard about this. John doesn’t want to get married. He doesn’t want kids. He doesn’t want to live in Charleston.” She spread out her palms, and her chin shook. “What’s left?” she asked in a wavering voice. “Nothing.”
Cara considered this in the silence. “You seem so decided.”
“I am.” Linnea wiped the wetness from her cheeks with her palms.
Cara’s voice softened. “Then why the tears?”
Linnea shook her head, pinching her lips.
“You still love him?”
Linnea wiped her face again, then nodded.
“Does he love you?”
Linnea wiped her nose with her cocktail napkin. “I think so. We shared so much. But is love enough?”
“Oh, Linnea, that’s a question for the ages.”
Linnea took a long, shaky breath. “I made my decision.”
“I am sorry. I like John. I’ve known him for years. He’s the son of my best friend.” Her expression froze. “I fear Emmi will take this harder than all of us put together. She was ready to post the banns.”
“Oh, God…” Linnea groaned.
They shared a commiserating laugh.
Linnea was grateful to Cara for her orderly thinking, her lack of being judgmental. If she had commiserated with her misery, Linnea felt certain she’d end up a puddle of self-pity, the kind of person one pitied yet avoided. Cara’s firm certitude allowed Linnea to believe that eventually her life would return to normal, albeit a life without John. Cara accepted without conjecture that Linnea had been dealt a blow and that, in time and with determination, she’d get over it. She wondered if failure was even in Cara’s vocabulary.
“That’s neither here nor there,” Cara said by way of conclusion. “If John is holding back from a commitment, or unable to make one, better to know now than later.”
“Right you are.” Linnea raised her glass in a toast of agreement.
“But…”
Linnea’s hand froze in midair.
“I can see why you’re not anxious to tell your father.”
Linnea’s arm dropped even as she felt her blood surge. “I know! Right?”
“He’s going to sit back like the cat who ate the canary. There’s nothing Palmer loves more than to be in the right. I can hear what he’s going to say now.”
“I told you so,” they said in unison.
“I’m not sure what I’m more embarrassed about,” Linnea said. “Losing my job or getting dumped by my boyfriend.”
“Well, my dear, you will have to go home and face them. They’re eager to see you.”
“They had some event they had to go to tonight. On the way here, I texted them that my flight was delayed so I could see you first,” she confessed.
Cara offered a sympathetic look. “Even still. It’s getting late, you look exhausted, and I have to catch the last ferry to Dewees.”
“Oh, why didn’t you tell me?” Linnea exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “I’m sorry I kept you.”
“No problem. I texted David and let him know I was coming on the later ferry. All’s good—unless I miss it. Hope will be quite angry with me. She’s getting quite opinionated.” Cara rose in a graceful motion.
Linnea laughed, imagining the little girl she’d once babysat for. “I miss her. I’m sure she’s changed a lot.”
“You have no idea. Come back once you’re settled. Hope will be thrilled to see you. David too.”
“Thanks for lending an ear,” Linnea said as they walked to the door. She pulled out her phone from her purse. “I just needed to get my bearings.”
“Wait,” Cara said, observing Linnea with her phone. “You don’t have a car. Hold on, I’ll grab my keys. I’ll drive you.”
“I can just call a car. You’ll miss the ferry.”
Cara glanced at her watch. “If we hurry, I can make it.”
Linnea helped Cara put away the cheese and wine and after dragging the enormous suitcase into the trunk of the red Volvo, they were off to Sullivan’s Island.
“One more thing,” Cara said as she drove down the darkened streets. “What’s going on with the job front?”
Linnea looked out the window. They were crossing the bridge at Breach Inlet. The water appeared dark and moody in the light of the moon.
“Not much,” she answered truthfully. “Before I left California, I sent query letters to my contacts in town. The usual suspects—the Coastal Conservation League, South Carolina Environmental Law Project, the Audubon Society, the Friends of Coastal South Carolina, Charleston Waterkeeper, and, of course, the South Carolina Aquarium. For starters.”
“I can help you there. Any word?”
“Not a peep. I plan to follow up this week. Do you have any leads?”
“I know a lot of people. I’ll put my ear to the ground. Tap a few shoulders.”
“Thanks. That would be amazing.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Honestly, I don’t think there’s much out there. Environmental science is a popular major here.”
“That was the same story I faced two years ago when I graduated. But hey, now I’ve got experience under my belt. That has to mean something, right?”
“It should,” Cara agreed. “I think you’re an exceptional candidate. You have all the requirements. Plus, you’ve been involved with coastal wildlife your whole life. I don’t remember a summer you didn’t volunteer for one group or another. That will pay off. Memories are long in this community.”
She was glad to hear that. “I was thinking earlier, while walking the beach, that my summers here on the island with Lovie are the best memories of my childhood. Then there were the summers with you and Brett.” She paused, anxiously looking at her aunt’s face, but Cara appeared serene, a faint smile of memory easing her expression. “Growing up, I couldn’t wait to come to the beach house. Lovie always had this big smile on her tanned face, and open arms for a hug. And there were always sugar cookies, and sweet tea in the fridge. But most of all, I remember the turtles.”
“Oh yes. Always sea turtles,” Cara said with a gentle laugh. “I wasn’t so fond of them when I was a child. I think I was jealous of them. They were my mother’s entire focus during the season. I didn’t really like them till I turned forty, when I came back home.”
Linnea knew Cara’s history. She too had lost her job, after more than twenty years of dedicated service to her ad agency.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking this.…”
Cara turned her head from the road briefly. “Go ahead.”
“When you came home, after you’d been fired… were you embarrassed?”
Cara kept her eyes on the road but a look of understanding spread across her face.
“You’re afraid folks here will see you as a failure.”
“Well, yeah. I was feeling pretty cocky nabbing that job in San Francisco and moving across the country. With a boyfriend to boot. I had it all. And now I come home with nothing more than what is in those suitcases. How can anyone see me as anything but a failure?”
Cara reached out to take hold of Linnea’s hand. Her tone shifted from sympathetic to firm. Once again, she quickly looked over to meet Linnea’s gaze.
“I see a young woman who took a daring chance on an exciting new startup company. A woman who wasn’t afraid to go against her family’s wishes and give it a go. A woman who followed her heart. The startup failed. That’s the company’s failure—not yours. As for your personal relationship, that’s your business and no one else’s.”
“But this is a small town. People talk.”
Cara released Linnea. “Then control the narrative.”
Linnea’s attention sharpened. “What?”
“Listen to me,” Cara said. “Perception is reality in the world today. Create the narrative for your own life. Don’t allow other people to do it. Linnea, people could listen to the way you just told me your story and think, Poor Linnea Rutledge. She came slinking home from California. She lost her job and got dum
ped by her boyfriend.”
Linnea put her hand to her face. “That sounds so embarrassing.”
“People listen to your definition of yourself. Words are powerful tools. You learned that in communication classes. Choose your words carefully—use the truth, but spin it.” She thought for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Linnea Rutledge made the decision to leave Charleston. She had a great experience in San Francisco. Now she has experience, a clearer focus, and an impressive résumé. She wouldn’t change a thing.”
Linnea listened, stunned by the difference in the perception. “Even I think I sound pretty good.”
Cara lifted one hand from the wheel and pointed her finger as she spoke. “Linnea, the point is that you chose to return. That’s a strong decision. Not a weak one.” She let her hand return to the wheel and concluded, “Certainly nothing to be ashamed about.”
Linnea felt her respect for her aunt redouble. No wonder she’d shot up the corporate ladder. “Brilliant,” she said. “You’ve taken a weight off my shoulders. Thank you.”
“Good,” Cara said with finality as she pulled into the driveway of Palmer and Julia’s house on Sullivan’s Island. She put the car in park, then turned to fully face Linnea.
“The first person you can practice your narrative with is your father.” She glanced up at the house, then offered a wry smile. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter Four
Barrier islands are designed to protect the mainland from hurricanes, storm surge, and flooding. When we build structures on these islands, we are putting ourselves in the first line of defense against such destructive forces. The cutting back of maritime shrubs and forest leaves residents and their properties even more vulnerable to extreme weather and erosion, and destroys habitat for animals, migrating butterflies, and birds, as well.
THE RUTLEDGE HOME on Sullivan’s Island was a plain, 1950s raised white clapboard house with a dark shingle roof. A single narrow staircase originated from the unremarkable front porch down to a landing from which two shorter staircases descended, one on either side. In front of this was an unadorned gravel driveway. Four tall palms stood like sentries before the façade, and beneath these were rows of forgettable shrubs of the same variety placed before so many other island houses. It was the kind of house passersby didn’t notice.
On Ocean Boulevard Page 4
