On Ocean Boulevard

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Cara raked her memory and relinquished that she didn’t know him.

  “Anyway, his mama was in a bad way. Like Flo. Dustin seems pretty content with the place they found for her up there. She’s doing real good, or so he tells me. They visit her as often as they can, though it’s a shame—I don’t think she recognizes them anymore. I swear, I hope you shoot me if I get to that point.”

  “Sure. No problem,” Cara replied with a wry grin. “I’ll have to get in line.”

  “Anywayyy,” he said with exaggeration, “I’ll get you some names.”

  “I’d appreciate it, brother dear. And thanks for showing me the house.” She let her eyes travel the breadth of the windows that overlooked the ocean a last time before turning to open the front door. The warmth of the summer day descended on them. Cara looked out and saw the beach house directly across the boulevard, sitting daintily atop the dunes. The road curved, lined by one house more gorgeous than the last, widening at the dead end.

  “A house on Ocean Boulevard,” Cara said wistfully. “Someone is going to be very happy here.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW weeks passed at a turtle’s pace.

  Linnea tidied her bedroom, unpacked her suitcase, ironed her shirts and skirts and dresses. She went out on two interviews, made dozens of follow-up calls, but in the end didn’t score a job. Her bank account was dangerously low. Soon she’d become even more dependent on her parents than she already was. That was demoralizing for a twenty-five-year-old woman. Keeping up the brave front for her parents was becoming harder to manage and it felt more of a sham. Her father was becoming suspicious. On the occasional morning when there were decent waves and she went surfing, she’d return home to find her father in the kitchen, dressed for work, gulping coffee. He’d look at his watch and ask, “When’s your vacation going to end?”

  Looking at the cluttered paper by her computer, she saw the handwritten notations she’d made beside the company names: Follow up next month or No openings or just NO, underlined multiple times. The men and women she’d talked to were polite, even kind, when they told her there just wasn’t anything available. Linnea heard the hint of pity embedded in the message.

  After her last rejection on the phone, Linnea had sat at the small wooden desk in her bedroom and watched animal rescue videos. Dogs and puppies. Cats. Rabbits. Even goats. One after the other for more than an hour. It was numbing.

  A polite knock on her door was followed by an immediate swoosh as the door opened. Linnea jerked her head up to see her mother carrying two glasses of wine. Linnea furtively swiped her cheeks.

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere!” Julia chimed out as she marched across the room and offered Linnea a glass. She was dressed in pale-blue cutoffs and a white blouse that tied at the waist. At fifty-five, her mother still had a slim figure, thanks to her rigid self-control. She ate like a bird and never missed a yoga class. Around her neck was a slender strand of her ever-present pearls. Watching her waltz into the room, Linnea knew that, for Julia, taking the time to present herself well-dressed and composed was not merely a social act, but a means of survival. Styled hair, makeup, pearls, manicured nails were a uniform that said to the world that she was in control. It sometimes seemed to Linnea that the deeper Julia’s distress, the more composed she appeared.

  “Mom, it’s five o’clock here,” Linnea said morosely.

  “All the better.”

  “What do you want?” She knew the question was rude, but she didn’t care.

  “I don’t want anything. I’m just bringing you a glass of cheer.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Julia paused, then moved closer. Her tone of voice changed. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Linnea was holding on to her composure by a thin thread. Unlike her mother, she was wearing sweatpants and a torn Gamecocks T-shirt. Her hair was unbrushed, nails unpolished. Two empty coffee cups and an empty plate cluttered the small wood desk. She hadn’t left the room all day except to raid the refrigerator. She was beyond chitchat.

  “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  Julia put the wineglass in front of Linnea’s face.

  Linnea sighed and took the glass. A chilled rosé just might do the trick after all.

  Julia sat down on the bed beside Linnea. She took a sip of the wine, then reached out to set her glass on the desk. Then she removed the glass from Linnea’s hand and put this on the desk as well. She took both her daughter’s hands and, after a gentle shake, looked her in the eyes.

  “Tell me,” said Julia.

  All the defenses she’d set up, the carefully orchestrated narrative, her straight shoulders, crumbled. Right now, Linnea was just a girl who wanted her mother. Tears filled her eyes and, at last, she let them flow.

  Julia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I knew something was wrong.”

  “I’m such a failure,” Linnea choked out, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “A failure? You’re not a failure,” Julia said.

  “Oh, Mama,” Linnea cried. “I’ve been lying. Pretending that all was great. That I had everything under control. But I don’t.”

  Julia patted her shoulder. “I know.”

  Linnea drew back and stared at her mother. “You knew?”

  “Of course.” Julia reached up to wipe a tendril from Linnea’s face. “You forget I’ve known you since you were born. I know you. I’ve seen your moods change. Honey, lately there’s been a cloud of gloom hanging over you. You’re spending more and more time alone in this room. You haven’t called your friends. You don’t go out.” She paused and said archly, “And you’re getting snippy.”

  “Snippy? I’ve been trying to be upbeat.”

  “Uh-huh, well… you’ve fooled your father.”

  Linnea barked out a short laugh. “That’s because he wants to believe it.”

  “Believe you got a job?” Julia asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, no job, I take it?”

  Shamefaced, Linnea shook her head. Her voice changed to frustration. “I’ve been calling, interviewing, downright lobbying for a position—any job I could get—everywhere I could think of. I’ve looked at corporations, and endowments.… Anytime someone showed me a lead, I followed up.” She shook her head. “The simple truth is, there’s nothing out there.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” said Julia. “You can’t find a job in your area of expertise. Honey, maybe it’s time to start looking elsewhere.”

  “Out of state? But you and Daddy were all bent out of shape when I went to California.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean, get any job,” she added firmly.

  “You mean, even if I ask if they want fries with that?”

  “Even if.”

  Linnea sighed heavily in defeat. “That’s harsh.”

  “I know you’re right.

  “Life can be harsh,” Julia replied. “It’s how you respond that builds character.”

  “It’s time. I will.” She looked up. “But I’m not working with Daddy.”

  “Palmer?” Julia laughed lightly and shook her head. “That ship has sailed. He can’t afford to hire you.”

  This caught Linnea up short. “Are things bad again?”

  “Again?” Julia looked at her askance. “Darling, he was a step away from bankruptcy. It’s all uphill from there.” She adjusted her seat, then looked at Linnea with more sternness and less sympathy. “But our finances are materially different now. Thank heaven we didn’t have to endure the public embarrassment of bankruptcy. As it was, we could tell people that Palmer wanted to change gears, start a new career. We explained that our move to the island was because that’s where he wanted to build houses.”

  Linnea said, “You were creating your own narrative.”

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  “Spinning the story. Making the public hear the story you want them to believ
e.” She paused, realizing it was time for honesty. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Telling you everything is wonderful, great, perfect. When in fact, it isn’t.”

  Julia’s eyes softened, grateful, perhaps even moved by the confession.

  “Then, yes,” she said. “That’s what we did. What people have done for years,” she said. “Whatever the current jargon might be. I don’t know if it worked. But we’ll never really know. We moved here to the island, and our lives have dramatically changed.”

  Linnea saw for the first time the crack in her mother’s veneer. She asked softly, “How are you doing, Mama?”

  Julia adjusted her seat and collected herself. “Let’s not change the subject. We’re talking about you. Sweetheart, please don’t ever feel you have to put on a false front for me. I’m your mother. It’s that unconditional love thing.”

  “I won’t. It was too hard to pretend.”

  Now Julia laughed. “I know!”

  “You trained me well.”

  “Perhaps I did,” Julia said with a hint of pride. “My darling daughter, you’ve never been a disappointment to me. True, I didn’t always agree with your choices—”

  “California.”

  “Yes. But when you stood up to your father, spoke your mind. I admired your strength and courage. More than I’d ever had.”

  “That’s not true. Your claws came out when Cooper got sick. You stood up for me. And you stuck with Daddy and helped him back to sobriety. And then the move… I’d say you are the strongest woman I know.”

  Julia stared at her daughter; her pupils moved as she listened.

  “Yes, it was a hard couple of years,” she finally conceded. She reached out to take her wineglass, lifted it in a silent toast, and took a sip.

  Linnea watched her mother carefully regain her composure and thought of all the years she’d observed her mother initiate this ritual.

  “I admit,” Julia continued, “there were days I didn’t think I’d manage. Palmer has been so engrossed with the new house project that he’s living in his own world. He just assumes I’ll be calm and carry on. And I do,” she said with pride.

  “Are you happy?”

  Julia smiled briefly. “Happiness is hard to measure.”

  “I don’t think it is. You know in your heart. Mama, it’s a yes-or-no answer.”

  “You’re naïve,” Julia said without malice. “Happiness means joy and pleasure. But happiness also implies contentment. Feeling satisfied that something has been done right.”

  “As in acceptance? Or resignation?” Linnea challenged.

  “At the very least. Contentment is realizing one’s good fortune. We are fortunate, Linnea. We hit hard times, but we had a lot to fall back on. Not everyone does.” She looked around the room. “We have this house. I have a husband who loves me. Two wonderful children. A second chance. Not everyone is that lucky. And when I remember that, when I count my blessings, then yes,” she said with a nod. “I am happy.”

  “I want more. I want that joy. Did you ever have that?”

  “Of course I have! The day you were born was one of those times.”

  Linnea half-smiled at the tender comment. “With you, it’s sometimes hard to tell if you’re happy or not. You keep up a pretty good façade. That’s hard work. I’ve learned.”

  “Keeping up a façade is hard,” Julia admitted. “But necessary. I’ve stopped seeing most of my old Charleston friends because I don’t want to betray the image that Palmer is doing well. Plus, I can’t keep up financially with what I used to do. I’ve left all the charity committees I was on in the city. One is expected to make donations that I no longer could. We dropped our club memberships, and that was my lifeline. We’re the first Rutledges in our line to leave the club. You have to remember that for all intents and purposes, we’ve lost everything.”

  Linnea watched myriad emotions flutter across her face. Her mother’s life had been upended. “But, Mama, you’re not gardening. That surprises me. You always loved that. That isn’t expensive.”

  Julia shook her head. “That was the greatest heartbreak, I think. Leaving my garden in Charleston. I put all I had into that bit of land. I was so proud to keep the house on the Charleston House and Garden Tour. That was Lovie’s tradition, you know. I didn’t want to let her down, and later it became my pride and joy. But out here…” She looked out the window at the expanse of scrubby lawn that stretched out to the maritime shrubs, and the beach beyond. She tossed up her hands in frustration. “There’s just no soil!”

  “If anyone could create a garden here, you could.”

  “I’m not sure that I want to.” She smirked. “And you think it’s not expensive?” She laughed shortly at her daughter’s naivete then shook her head. “No, my darling girl. I think, perhaps, that part of my life is over.”

  Whenever Linnea thought of her mother, she would be in her garden. Sensing her mother’s shift in mood toward melancholy, Linnea rallied. “Well, you did an amazing makeover of this house.”

  “Thank you,” Julia said smoothly.

  “Let’s be honest, it was kind of a dump before. Did you hire an architect?”

  Julia laughed lightly. “No.…”

  “You did all this?”

  “Your shock is mildly insulting, my dear. Of course, it was me. I couldn’t afford to hire anyone else.”

  “Mama, I thought the architect who designed the house that Dad is building must have had a hand in this.”

  “Is it so hard to believe I might have some talent?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean that. I’m proud of your aesthetics. But gutting a house is pretty major.” She looked at her mother with new eyes. “Mama, you took down frigging walls!”

  Julia smiled with pleasure. “That,” she said with meaning, “I admit took courage. Linnea, I’ve always had a passion for design, textiles, color. And it’s not my first project, you know that. You probably don’t remember what the house on Tradd Street looked like when your daddy inherited it. I’m not saying Lovie didn’t have good taste. Let’s just say it was… dated, bless her heart. I also helped friends with their houses from time to time. They liked my taste and asked me to decorate their homes.”

  “You decorated Cara’s house, right?”

  “Why, yes. Did she tell you?”

  “I guessed. You have a look, and that’s real talent.”

  “I enjoyed that project,” Julia said wistfully. “Oh, that poor kitchen…” She lifted her hands.

  “Mama, you’re really good. Maybe interior design can be your new passion?”

  “Hardly new.”

  “I mean, to do it seriously. Have you ever thought about starting an interior decorating company?”

  “A company? Linnea,” she scoffed, “I don’t have the training.”

  “Yes, you do,” she argued, inching closer. She didn’t want her mother to do her typical backstep, thinking she wasn’t skilled enough, or qualified enough. “You’ve got your degree in art and you’ve been taking classes on interior design for years.”

  “I’d need a degree in interior design. I’d need to get a license to get in the showrooms. I’m not a professional.”

  “But you could be,” Linnea urged. “You don’t need a degree to work as an interior decorator. Honestly, Mother, the Internet has changed everything. There’s access to anything you want.”

  “I do go to a lot of Instagram sites. And Pinterest.” She shook her head. “I spend far too much time on the computer these days, looking at different design fabrics, furniture.…”

  “Careful you don’t slide down that rabbit hole. But that’s what I mean. Seriously, all you need are clients. And, Mama, you have a lot of friends who will give you a chance. The difference now, however, is they’d have to pay you.” She could see the idea taking root in her mother’s mind and pressed on. “The first thing you need to do is take some pictures of projects you’ve done.”

  “Oh, I’ve already got those. I always love to show
the before-and-after pictures.”

  “Look at you!” Linnea scooted forward on her seat. “I have a friend who can help you put together a portfolio. And another who can get you set up on social media.” When she saw her mother’s confusion she explained, “A website, Instagram, Facebook. You can start posting photos of your design work. Everyone does it. Even people who are not designers.”

  Julia pinched her face in worry. “I don’t want to be one of those clichés of a woman down on her luck suddenly becoming a decorator.”

  Linnea laughed. “Forget that. There are women my age, without degrees, writing books about decorating! You’ve done your apprenticeship for free for years. Now it’s time to be paid for your work.” She could see her mother’s doubt lingering in her furrowed brow. “Mama, you’re a smart woman. You can get set up with a tax ID. Form an LLC. All you need to think of is a name.”

  Julia brushed her skirt and said nervously, “Oh, I’ve already got one. Sort of. I’ve written the name on paper a million times.”

  “What is it?”

  Julia paused, a bit embarrassed, then said, “Rutledge House Interiors.”

  “I love it. It’s elegant, historic—and, hey, you might as well fall back on the laurels of the Rutledge name.”

  Julia smiled in wonder. “I came in here to cheer you up, and you’ve turned the tables and cheered me up instead.”

  “Mission accomplished, Mama. I’m feeling much happier. It was fun to brainstorm with you about your career. And, honestly, it feels so much better to be open with you.”

  “No more façades. We’ll only tell each other the truth. Agreed?” said Julia.

  Linnea reached over to grab the two glasses of wine. She handed one to her mother, then raised hers in a toast. “To the truth!”

  They clinked glasses and took a sip. Linnea smiled into her mother’s eyes.

  Then Julia pointed her finger at Linnea.

  “But don’t tell your father.”

  Chapter Nine