Stillwater Rising

by Steena Holmes

  They sat there, quiet, and Jenn realized it had been a long time since she’d done this with Charity—just be, together. It was nice. Reminiscent of how things used to be, back when . . .

  “How about we make some homemade iced tea and wait for Anne Marie to arrive? Once the Andersons’ basket is ready, we’ll take it to them and maybe afterward go for a walk down to the harbor?”

  Her heart stopped the moment she uttered those words. What was she thinking? They couldn’t do that. Not there. Not now. Not yet. She was about to suggest another idea when Charity grabbed her hand. She glanced up and knew she wouldn’t be able to say anything.

  Charity’s eyes brightened at the suggestion. “Maybe we can get some ice cream. The truck should be there, right?”

  “It’s possible.” She forced those words out. Everything inside of her wanted to lie, to find an excuse not to go to the harbor, but she couldn’t, not after the way Charity’s eyes lit up. “I saw some boats out in the bay earlier, so you never know.”

  Last summer, heading to the small harbor had been one of their favorite things to do. The three of them, Charity, Bobby, and Jenn, would spend hours there, watching the boats come in and out, playing in the sand, and eating ice cream, while they walked along the shoreline that encircled their town.

  She didn’t know how she could do this today. So far she’d avoided a lot of things that would remind her of Bobby.

  “Oh, let’s add some raspberries to the tea.” Charity jumped up and grabbed for Jenn’s hand before pulling her down the stairs. Jenn followed along, her body now chilled.

  The kettle on the stove was boiling by the time Anne Marie arrived. She walked in the door, her arms full of boxes from her bakery, without even knocking. Jenn rushed over to help her with the boxes, inhaling the sweet aroma that came from inside them, while Anne Marie went back out to her vehicle.

  The moment Jenn set the boxes down, Charity was into them, opening each lid and peering inside.

  “Think she’ll mind if I taste test?” Charity asked, her eyes alight with mischief.

  “Why do you think I brought extra?” Anne Marie answered behind her. She held a larger box with its lid opened, and when Jenn looked inside she found some neat baskets.

  “These are adorable,” she said as she lifted a few out. She could tell they were handwoven and knew immediately where Anne Marie had gotten them. Only one weaver in town made baskets like this.

  “Hey, those are Amanda’s mom’s baskets.” Charity grabbed one from the box and turned it over to find the stamp Sandra Sommerlay added to each basket.

  “Sandra came into the bakery this morning and mentioned she had a pile of baskets stacked up and needed them out of the house. I guess with the Treasure Chest being closed, she’s been unable to sell most of her stuff.”

  “Yeah, Mandy and I were talking about setting up an Etsy shop for her mom,” Charity said.

  “That’s a great idea. She’s not the only one in town, though. We really need to get Julia’s shop opened up again.”

  Jenn didn’t say much; she just looked through the baskets.

  “Don’t you agree?” Anne Marie asked.

  “It’s not something I’ve really thought about,” Jenn said. “Using these baskets is a great idea, though. How much do I owe for them?”

  Anne Marie tsked. “Nothing. She just asked that we include her business card, which I said wouldn’t be a problem. Have you thought about asking for more business donations like that? I bet you’d have tons of products for the baskets, and it’s a great way to promote the unique finds in Stillwater.”

  “It is a good idea.”

  “I thought so too. Which is why I already asked around to a couple places. I brought a few items with me that I thought would be nice to add. They’re out in the trunk of my car.”

  While Charity went out to grab them, Jenn sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said to Anne Marie.

  Her sister-in-law only smiled while she rearranged items on the kitchen island.

  “I mean it. Not just for helping with this, but for thinking about how to make them better. I really appreciate it.”

  Anne Marie pulled out a chocolate croissant from a box and handed it to her. “It’s okay to let others help, you know. You don’t have to do everything yourself. In fact, I think you should give yourself a break and let others take care of things for a bit.”

  Jenn thought about that. The idea of not having to do it all, not being responsible for something, sounded really good. She once had thought being a stay-at-home mother would be the highlight of her life, but she was a person who needed to be busy, so as Bobby grew older, she had started to fill her days with more and more volunteer events. Whether it was helping out at the school, or organizing the Welcome Wagon committee, or . . .

  “I wish. I still have the planning committee for the fair next week. That’s not something I can step back from, not at this stage anyways.”

  “Right.” Anne Marie began to assemble a basket together. “But, you can get someone to help man the booth you always do, right?”

  Jenn nodded.

  “I’m glad you agree. Because Shelley is interested in helping. She’s the perfect person to be there to greet people.”

  Times like this reminded Jenn of how much alike sister and brother were. Anne Marie might complain about the way Robert took over, but she did the exact same thing. Any other time Jenn would have said something, but not today.

  “Anne Marie, I think you are my guardian angel.”

  Silence reigned between Charity and Jenn as they exited the house. Anne Marie stood by her vehicle, her arms crossed over her chest, watching them. Jenn could almost feel the glare drilling holes into the back of her head as they walked away. In Jenn’s arms was a basket full of items for the Andersons.

  A basket Anne Marie argued Jenn didn’t need to take.

  But Jenn felt responsible at least for this basket.

  The Andersons were important to Robert. Not only were they their summer neighbors, but Shawn Anderson held a lot of influence, both in this town and in the city. He was a real estate mogul, and Robert needed him as his ally, or so he professed. She knew Robert expected her to take this basket, the one that weighed heavier in her arms with each step she took.

  “You should have let her take it,” Charity muttered beside her.

  Shawn’s wife, Carla, wasn’t known for her tact, and normally by the end of summer, Jenn was happy to see her pack up their family SUV and leave for their home in the city.

  Please let this go well.

  Charity reached for her hand and squeezed, and Jenn realized her daughter probably had the same concerns. Carla had three children, two were twins and Charity’s age, and their youngest used to have regular playdates with Bobby. If this had been a regular summer, Charity would already have been over here to see Reagan.

  “Are you looking forward to seeing Reagan again?”

  Charity shrugged. “Are you going to ring the doorbell?”

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  Charity stared down at her feet. “Things are different now,” she muttered before she leaned forward and rang the doorbell herself.

  The yap of a small dog filled the house the moment the doorbell rang. Jenn and Charity looked at each other in surprise—the dog must be a new addition.

  “Sh. Not so loud, Lily.”

  Jenn took a step back as Carla opened the front door.

  Carla Anderson was one of those women who could star in any housewives’ reality television show. Her husband came from money, and they had no qualms about showing it. They’d bought their summer home five years ago, and in that time they’d transformed it into a picture-perfect beach house that had been featured in at least two home design magazines.

  “Well, hello n
eighbor. I wondered when you would drop by.” She stood in the doorway, her manicured fingers stroking the soft white fur of the yappy dog she held in her arms. “You know, I was saying to the kids that it’s not officially summer until Jenn Crowne pops over with her gorgeous welcome basket.”

  Jenn pasted a fake smile on her face as she reached for the basket Charity held.

  “Welcome home.” She held out the basket and then realized how awkward that looked since there was no way Carla could take it from her, not while she held the dog in her arms. She adjusted her grip on the basket handle instead.

  “I told the kids not to expect it to be waiting for us this year, and I was right. Wasn’t I, Lily?” She leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her dog’s head.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here so soon.” She tried to sound apologetic, but there was something to Carla’s tone that bothered her.

  “Oh, I should have called you, I guess.” Carla readjusted her dog in her arms. “We thought we would come and support the town for the annual parade and festivities, but I guess you-all decided to forgo that this year, which is perfectly understandable. It’s hard to celebrate during such a tragic time.” She shook her head as if saddened by the thought.

  “Oh, we’re still having the parade,” Charity piped up.

  Carla’s brows rose. “You are?” Disbelief flooded her voice. Or was it disdain? Jenn wasn’t sure how to read the woman today.

  “It’s just being postponed to coincide with the July Fourth celebration,” Jenn explained. “We decided to start a new tradition this year.”

  Carla nodded. “Of course, that makes sense.”

  The basket grew heavy in her arms as they stood there.

  “Well.” Jenn cleared her throat. “Welcome home.” She held out the basket, but Carla just stared at her.

  “I’m sorry about Bobby,” she said.

  Jenn just nodded. “Thank you,” she said by rote. That’s all she ever said. Thank you. Not for the first time, she wondered why she said that. Why was she thanking someone for acknowledging that she’d lost her only son?

  “Did you get our flowers?”

  She sent flowers? Jenn glanced over at Charity, who nodded.

  “Yes, that was very kind.” Jenn wondered which arrangement was theirs. Would it be the overly ornate mixed basket that sat on the corner table, or was it one of the many that cluttered their mantel over the fireplace?

  “It was so tragic. I cried when I heard on the news that your son had been shot. How dreadful. But look at you, you look great. I’m not sure how you do it. I’d be an absolute mess if one of my children had been killed like that.”

  Jenn’s stomach filled with acid at Carla’s words. The acid rose up her throat and coated her tongue, and it was all she could do not to spew the hatred and anger that welled up within her onto the woman who dared to judge her.

  “Mom’s been amazing.” Charity stepped up and placed her hand over Jenn’s and took the basket from her. “She’s been my rock through all of this.”

  It took Jenn a moment to hear her daughter’s words. Had Charity actually defended her?

  “Well, I’m just amazed. I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to.” Carla reached over and placed her hand on Jenn’s arm.

  By now, Jenn’s body was stone cold. She had no words, so she just stood there and blinked.

  “Jenn?”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Again with the thanks. “We should do coffee, once you’ve settled in.”

  Last year, things had been very different. Jenn would have left the basket on Carla’s front porch to greet her when they arrived and then would have been over to schedule a lunch at the golf club for the following day. They would have hugged and shared how the past year had been for both of them, and then Carla would have handed Jenn a small gift, normally a scarf or handbag she’d picked up in the city.

  Jenn had a box she normally placed Carla’s gifts in. She made sure to drag that box out in the summer and have the items handy, just in case.

  “Yes, coffee. Let’s do that. I know Reagan has been looking forward to seeing you, Charity, but she’s up having a nap. The poor girl is exhausted, with it being that time of the month and all.” Carla’s dainty shoulder lifted in a shrug.

  “No worries. I’m sure we’ll bump into one another.” Charity kept the smile on her face, but they all heard the false tone in her voice.

  Charity set the basket down on the ground, and it was habit for Jenn to reach down to grab it, intending to place it on the small table by the front door, but Charity stopped her.

  “We really need to get going, Mom,” she said. “Welcome home, Mrs. Anderson.”

  Jenn kept her mouth shut as she allowed Charity to drag her back down the walkway. She couldn’t believe what had just happened back there.

  “Oh. My. God,” Charity spat out in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not having coffee with her.” Charity glared back at the house.

  “It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. They are our neighbors after all.” Robert would no doubt be inviting Shawn over for a beer within the next day or so.

  “They don’t deserve our awesome basket. Not after that.” Charity’s back stiffened as they walked. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to,” she mimicked Carla’s voice perfectly but with added sarcasm.

  “That’s enough, Charity. She means well.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? I’m surprised you didn’t rip a strip off of her. I would have.”

  Jenn stopped in her tracks at her daughter’s words, but Charity didn’t notice.

  “No you wouldn’t. That’s not how we deal with”—she searched for the word—“people like that.”

  Charity’s hands settled on her hips. “No, because that would make you look bad, right? Well, I’m not like you. I wouldn’t have just let her walk all over me like that.”

  “I didn’t.” Jenn bit her lip. Had she?

  “Yes, you did. You’re the one who lost a child. You. Not her.” A look of confusion crossed over Charity’s face. “She . . . she treated you like you were beneath her.” Charity’s hands left her hips and crossed over her chest, and she stared down at her feet. “It should have been the other way around,” she mumbled. Jenn didn’t know what to say or even what to do. “She should have been thanking you for the basket instead of chastising you for being late with it. And being here to support”—her face screwed up as she raised her gaze—“our little town during this time. That’s hogwash. Those flowers she sent? They died two days after we got them.”

  Jenn didn’t pay attention to any of those arrangements, so she just shrugged. “At least she sent them.”

  “We don’t need people like her here to support us. We’ll be fine on our own. Stillwater will be fine.” Confidence filled Charity’s voice while she continued to glare at the Andersons’ home.

  “Really? You sound so sure of that.”

  Charity nodded. “Yep. It’s all under control. Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHARLOTTE

  After a few hours of waffles and shopping for teddy bears, Charlotte had safely dropped off Ellie at Shelley’s bed-and-breakfast for an impromptu tea party with her grandchildren. Ellie had been so excited and couldn’t wait to help decorate and make cucumber sandwiches. Shelley hadn’t minded the intrusion, not when Charlotte mentioned the reason. She’d even suggested keeping Ellie for dinner and doing a slumber party in one of the guest rooms with some of the other girls. Gina had offered to come by and help keep the girls entertained, and Charlotte had promised to return and bring a movie with her. Thankfully, Shelley had ignored Charlotte’s offer to stay the night.

  One could walk from North Beach to South Beach in a matter of fifteen to twenty minutes. North Beach was the most popular amongst their summer families as it led into t
he bay. The beach was sandier, there were more rocks for the teenagers to hang out on, and it was close to the family part of the beach. South Beach had more of a rocky shoreline and was closer to the harbor and was home to the summer cottages.

  The summer cottages were just around the corner from where Shelley’s bed-and-breakfast stood, and it only took a matter of minutes for Charlotte to walk down the sandy path. The cottages were more than what their name implied. While three-quarters of the homes were reserved for the summer tourists or summer workers, a few of the homes were rented out to local families. The cottages were quaint, with wraparound porches and white picket fences, and more often than not, there was quite the waiting list for the summer rentals.

  Charlotte’s heart sank as the sight she’d feared she’d see became evident. The graffiti that marked Julia’s home was brass and ugly. Killer. Murderer. Die.

  The walkway from Julia’s front gate to her door was littered with cartons of broken eggs, broken bags of garbage, and glass.

  Charlotte’s muscles tensed as she was overwhelmed with anger. She sidestepped some of the glass and broken eggs, placed the flower basket on a clean area of the porch, and took stock of what she saw. Julia’s home was visible from Main Street. Surely others had seen this.

  Lacie hadn’t mentioned any of the vandalism.

  Charlotte pulled her phone out of her pocket and called her assistant at home.

  “Sheila, there’s a mess at Julia Berry’s home. Graffiti and garbage. Can you send the crew over here to clean it up?” she barked at her, not bothering to say hello or any other niceties.

  “Again?” Sheila sighed.

  “What do you mean, again?” She picked out a bag that looked the sturdiest and bent down.

  “I send someone over there at least twice a week if not more.”

  This was news to Charlotte. “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “My job is to lighten your load. When I see something I know would bother you, I take care of it. This is just as much my town as yours.” Sheila was an older woman, at least fifteen years older than Charlotte.