by Grace Palmer
Georgia is quietly proud of how many of Willow Beach’s residents turn out for it each time May rolls around. There are celebrations all over town, but dozens of people come to the Willow Beach Inn to eat hot dogs and watch the fireworks with Georgia and her family. She has watched many residents of the town grow up from toddlers to adults this way, scurrying underfoot with mustard stains on their shirts and the world’s biggest smiles plastered on their faces.
The warm evening air licks at Georgia’s exposed arms. The sea is quiet this evening. It froths and hisses gently against the sand. She watches for a moment while the mug of coffee cools on the table.
James and Marilyn Watson, the newlyweds in the Magnolia Suite, are having coffee on the terrace a couple of tables away. Their laughter catches her attention.
“A beautiful day, isn’t it?” Georgia asks.
Marilyn nods fervently. “This place is like heaven. I know you probably get tired of it, but James and I were just saying that we could stay here forever.”
“I never get tired of it,” Georgia offers with a smile. “I grew up here and I’ve traveled all over the world since. I will always return home.”
“With such a beautiful home, it’s no wonder.”
She lets the young couple get back to their conversation, wishing that Richard was outside enjoying the view with her.
She is used to her own company, and in fact even enjoys sitting out in silence working through her thoughts, but Richard has always been her best friend and confidant. He left about half an hour ago to pick up some supplies in town, otherwise she would go in and fetch him now to have that talk she’s been meaning to have. Nothing so serious as that sounds, just the kind of heartfelt check-in that every couple ought to do with each other from time to time.
Tomorrow, she decides. Tomorrow, I will insist that Richard sit outside and enjoy some sunshine with me. We will drink coffee and there will be no shop talk.
Georgia settles into her chair with a small smile. Tomorrow.
She has finished half of her coffee when her cell phone rings. It’s her lifelong best friend, Gwen Powers.
“What’s happening, honey?” Gwen says in her trademark sing-song. She’s got a way of speaking that always puts a smile on Georgia’s face. It’s so familiar and friendly at once, no matter who she’s talking to.
“Oh, just out here feeling a little sorry for myself,” Georgia says, only half joking. “Richard’s been running around doing errands all day, and this’ll be the first Memorial Day in a while when neither Tasha nor Drew will be home. It’s just got me a little sad, is all.”
“What excuses did the rug rats come up with this time?”
“Tasha is stuck out in Los Angeles, working for that horrid movie star. I swear, that woman puts the ‘D’ in ‘diva.’ And Drew told me last week that they’re headed to Texas for a big game. I understand, of course. But a momma can’t help missing her kids.”
“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that, Georgia,” Gwen replies. “Look at it this way, at least that means you’ll save a ton of money on meat. That son of yours has a hollow leg.”
Georgia takes a sip of coffee. “He gets it from his father.”
“That he does. At least he’s doing well.”
Georgia sighs. “You’re right, of course. I was just looking forward to seeing him. I was going to make those smoked salmon pinwheels he likes.”
“You could still make them. I happen to know at least one other person who loves those. Not naming names.”
Georgia chuckles. “I guess you’re right. I may as well serve the menu as planned.”
“What is planned?” Gwen asks. “Give me something to look forward to. I’ve been eating nothing but salad all week. Josh is trying to get his cholesterol down.”
Georgia settles further into her chair and rests her cup of coffee on her knee. “Well, there will be hot dogs, of course. And burgers. And bratwursts. I’m trying out a sticky Korean pork belly recipe one of the guests recommended, and we’ll be doing the usual pork chops and ribs as well. And of course there’s going to be buttery corn on the cob.”
“I am positively drooling.”
“I haven’t even gotten started on the sides yet,” Georgia teases. “Alma’s making her Southwestern potato salad with charred sweet corn and smoked paprika. I’m doing a traditional coleslaw and a cheesy macaroni salad with chunks of ham, and Richard’s making his famous five-bean salad.”
“Ugh,” Gwen groans. “I am so hungry.”
“I’ll stop torturing you now,” Georgia says with a laugh.
“But it’s the kind of torture that hurts so good.”
“Gwen, I highly recommend that you eat a sandwich.”
Gwen laughs. “I just need to keep myself distracted. I’ve been powering through this month’s book for the book club.”
“Oh, right.” Georgia winces. “That, uh, charming piece of literature.”
“You haven’t even started it, have you?”
“I’ve started it!” Georgia defends. “I just haven’t gotten very far. It’s so boring, Gwen. Why do we always pick such boring books?”
Gwen laughs. “You haven’t given it a chance.”
“Maybe not,” Georgia admits. “But it’s just so boring.”
“So you mentioned.”
“And did I tell you that it’s boring?”
“Once or twice.”
The women laugh and Georgia tilts her cup to her lips to drain the dregs of her coffee. The sun has dimmed enough for a chill to return to the air, and Georgia decides it’s time to head inside. She says goodbye to Gwen, promising to take another stab at the book, and retreats into the warmth indoors.
She’s feeling a little bit better than she was when she first sat down, though a little bit aimless now that all her errands for the day are done and Richard has yet to return home. What on earth is taking him so long? Georgia potters around the kitchen for a while, preparing batter for the morning’s muffins, giving the stove top and counters a good scrub, and cleaning out the coffee machine.
Georgia doesn’t know what time Richard will be home but she decides she wants to make him something special for dinner. She still wants to ask him if everything is okay and knows from experience that Richard will be more receptive to an emotional chat if his belly is full of something delicious.
But what to make?
Georgia opens the fridge door and stares into it. Her eyes land on some stewing steak and a six-pack of craft pale ale. She grins as she realizes she has everything she needs to make one of Richard’s favorites—beef and ale stew.
Georgia used to make this dish a lot on cold winter nights before they had the inn. Richard was still working for his family’s construction company at the time, and he would spend most of the day outdoors supervising job sites. When the weather was bad, Georgia would always make sure there was something hot and comforting ready when he got home. Richard’s favorite was this stew.
Drew and Tasha hated stew and would complain bitterly if they saw their mom pulling the ingredients out of the fridge. Drew always wanted pasta and Tasha was more of a chicken-nuggets-and-fries kind of kid. But, even with their complaining, those dark, stormy evenings around the dinner table always made Georgia smile. Richard would watch Drew poke at the food in his bowl with a sour expression and send Georgia a secret smile across the table before proclaiming that the stew was exactly what the doctor ordered.
It’s not the dead of winter, but Richard won’t mind. He never turns down good food.
Georgia grabs the beef, a can of ale, some carrots, and some celery from the fridge, then sets a pot on the stove to heat. She pulls some potatoes and onions from the pantry and sets to work chopping the vegetables into small chunks. A little oil goes into the pot and the vegetables follow, sizzling enticingly. She seasons them with salt, pepper, and rosemary and stirs periodically while she hacks the beef into cubes. The onions and celery soften and begin to caramelize, filling the kitchen with their rich, hear
ty smell.
Georgia adds the beef and a little more salt and pepper. She gives it a few minutes to brown and then sifts in a little flour and tosses in some butter. The butter bubbles and pops. Georgia leaves the mixture to cook for a couple of minutes and then cracks open the beer, pouring it into the pot. She adds a can of crushed tomatoes and a little beef stock, and brings everything to a boil. Finally, she turns the temperature down and sets the lid on the pot. It will need to simmer for a couple of hours.
Georgia cleans the kitchen and checks the time. It’s nearly six thirty and there’s still no sign of Richard. Where is he?
She goes into the living room to wait, supposing she may as well use this time to get caught up on this month’s reading. Maybe Gwen is right. Maybe she didn’t give the book a proper chance.
Between pages of the book, Georgia stares out at the water, zoning out to the rhythmic churning of the waves. Like always, it’s medicine on her soul. The clock ticks on the wall, slowly lulling her into a trance-like state. Everything is quiet. Everything is calm.
She dozes off with the book still lying open in her lap.
7
Tasha
Come over here quick, the text said. I need to talk to you.
Tasha’s heart is racing the entire way to Candace’s house.
She’s been found out. Candace knows what she did and wants to scream at her in person. Perhaps she’s even invited over her agent so he can have a chance to scream as well. Maybe there’s a whole group of them—manager, lawyer, driver, cook—all waiting to ambush her.
How could Tasha have been so stupid? And for what? When she told Chuck she’d put his script in the pile, he didn’t even reply. She still hasn’t seen him since he stormed out last night. He must have spent the night with a friend. Which friend that might’ve been, Tasha’s not sure, but that can of jealous worms is not something she is interested in opening right now. Not with everything else going on.
Now, Tasha is about to get fired. As much as she wishes she could blame it all on Chuck, she is the one who should have known better. She did know better. She just talked herself out of it.
Tasha’s hands are shaking as she parks in front of Candace’s mansion and gets out of the car. It is a beautiful day, with birds singing and the sweet smell of flowers drifting through the air. It is unsettling how perfect it is. That can’t be a good sign.
She lets herself in. The dogs rush her at once. “Hey, cuties,” she greets, giving each of them a stroke. Their happy faces ease some of Tasha’s anxiety, but even puppy cuddles won’t make getting fired any easier.
“Candace?” Tasha calls, walking through the house.
“Outside!” Candace replies.
Tasha follows the sound of her voice. Candace is on the patio, sweating it out on her elliptical machine. Her long hair is tugged back under a baseball cap and with her plain outfit of a tank top and shorts, she looks almost human for once. Rather than facing the gorgeous view of the valley, as most would, Candace prefers to face the house so she can “keep an eye on her form” in the reflection of the plate glass window.
“Finally,” Candace says between huffed breaths. “I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
“Is everything okay?” Tasha asks nervously.
Candace huffs and puffs, lifting her wrist to check her heart rate on her watch before she answers. “No, not really,” she replies finally.
Tasha’s heart sinks. “Listen, Candace—”
“Did I seem—huff—like I was finished talking?”
Tasha glances down. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” She checks her heart rate again. “Something in this house has been triggering my allergies and I need you to fix it.”
“Huh?” Tasha says it without meaning to. Her confusion overrides everything else.
“All-er-gies,” Candace enunciates, rolling her eyes. “Every time I step foot in that house, I start to itch. I don’t know if it’s those filthy dogs or dust mites or what the problem is, but I need you to deal with it.”
“Oh. Right.” Tasha realizes what she would normally do in this situation is take out her phone to start making notes, so she pulls it from her pocket. “And, uh, how would you like me to do that?”
“I don’t know!” Candace’s voice drips with exasperation. “Bathe the dogs. Vacuum the floor and all the furniture. Disinfect everything. Do whatever you have to do to stop me breaking out in hives.” She inspects the long line of her neck in her reflection. “Hives are very not cute.”
This is by far one of the most outlandish things Candace has ever asked Tasha to do, especially given that she would normally farm these jobs out to people who specialize in them, but Tasha’s so relieved that she’s not being fired that she doesn’t care. She doesn’t even care that she will probably do all this only for Candace to realize she’s allergic to whatever new health fad she’s trying this week.
“Have you switched laundry detergents recently?” Tasha asks.
“How the heck would I know? Ask Laura.”
Laura is Candace’s housekeeper. Tasha makes a note to give her a call and ask.
“Was there anything else?” Tasha asks.
Candace frowns. “No. Should there be?”
Tasha shakes her head.
“Good. Get to work.” Candace shoves her earbuds in her ears and waves Tasha away.
First on the list—Augustus and Poncho. The two pooches are known for being difficult customers at the dog groomer’s. Augustus is large and unwieldy, and Poncho just likes to bite. Candace doesn’t have any dog shampoo handy because she normally gets Tasha to drop them off at the groomer’s, so Tasha makes a quick trip to the store to buy some. When she gets back, she unrolls a length of hose in the front driveway, ties her hair into a bun, and goes inside to grab towels. Not Candace’s nice towels, of course. Tasha has no desire to see the meltdown that that would prompt. She opts instead for the slightly less expensive ones Laura is allowed to clean with.
By the time she has everything ready, both dogs have disappeared as though anticipating a bath on the horizon. Tasha pads through the house with their leashes looking for them.
“Augustus,” she calls gently. “Come on, big guy. Baths are fun.”
No response. She tries for Poncho next.
“Poncho! Little Poncho! Where are you?”
After searching the entirety of the building, Tasha realizes the only place she didn’t check was the back patio where Candace is still sweating away on her elliptical. She slides open the door and sure enough, both dogs are huddled in a corner, shooting her distrustful looks.
Candace plucks an earbud from her ear. “I thought I told you to bathe them,” she gripes. “Why are they out here with me? Are you trying to give me hives?”
“Sorry, Candace.” Tasha hooks both dogs onto their leads and guides them back through the house. “You guys are going to get me in trouble,” she mutters to the recalcitrant canines. “Be cool.”
Once outside, Tasha ties both dogs to a lamppost and grabs the hose. Augustus starts trying to pull away and Poncho growls menacingly. She wonders which one will be more difficult and figures that at least Poncho is smaller. Tasha kneels next to Poncho and is rewarded right away with a nip on her finger.
“Come on!” she groans, gently spraying him with the hose. “It’s a scorching hot day. Isn’t this nice?”
The Pomeranian bares his teeth. She supposes that’s her answer.
Poncho glares at her throughout the whole process, snapping at Tasha’s hand anytime it’s close to his face. She rinses him off and sits back with a sigh. The little dog looks like a drowned rat, his normally fluffy mane of fur slicked to his body. He shivers dramatically.
“It’s like eighty degrees out here!” Tasha admonishes. “Stop trying to make me feel bad.”
She moves on to Augustus next. He tackles her to the ground, licking her face enthusiastically as though trying to make her forget her intended activity. She pushes the Great
Dane away and grabs the hose she dropped.
Augustus tolerates about a nanosecond of the hose spray before he tries to make a run for it. Tasha grimaces, hoping that the lamppost will hold. She tries to be as quick as possible, but Augustus doesn’t make it easy. He keeps shaking off every few minutes, splattering her with water, soap, and saliva from his massive jowls. Finally, she manages to rinse him down for the last time and dives out of the way when he shakes the rest of the water off.
Tasha takes a breather on the driveway, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks at the two dogs, pleased with her work. One job down, a bajillion more to go. She checks the time on her phone. If she wants any chance of making it home by a reasonable time, Tasha needs to scoot.
She leaves the dogs to dry in the sun for a bit and heads into the house. Candace comes in from the patio at the same time and grabs a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’m going for a shower and then a nap,” she announces, unscrewing the cap. “Come get me when you’re done. Don’t disturb me before then.”
So Tasha is meant to vacuum and clean the whole house without disturbing Candace? Sure. Easy. Candace leaves the kitchen and Tasha pulls out her phone to call Laura.
When Laura answers, she is surprised that Candace has asked Tasha to do what is ostensibly her job, but they both know better than to question the boss. She directs Tasha to the cleaning supplies under the guest bathroom sink and confirms that she has not changed laundry detergent recently, then wishes Tasha good luck.
Tasha hauls the vacuum out of the storage cupboard and sets to work on the furniture first. She vacuums every square inch of the sofa, love seat, and curtains, then starts to work on the floors. Candace’s house is huge and set over two floors. Tasha is sweating by the time she’s finished. She goes out to check on the dogs, who are both dry and snoozing happily in the sun. They greet her happily when they awake, all sins forgiven.
