by Grace Palmer
Sometimes it seems like Alma has been a Willow Beach fixture since the very beginning, though that’s not quite true. Before Alma’s arrival ten years ago, Georgia’s truest friend was Gwen Powers, who is currently wringing rain from her curly gray hair and shaking off her umbrella in the corner.
“What a mess,” Gwen is saying.
“Ain’t that the truth!” Alma laughs. “Real toad-choker out there.”
Alma is as big in stature as her voice would suggest. She’s taller than most men and big-boned, though if you asked her, she’d call it her “extra padding” with a wink and a wry grin. She’s a snappy dresser, too, down to the flower she wears in her hair every day. Today’s choice is a hot pink magnolia that looks bright and vibrant against her ruddy cheeks and thick brown hair.
“It’s certainly coming down hard,” Georgia murmurs.
“Well, shoot, darlin’,” Alma purrs with a frown when she sees Georgia’s exhausted expression, “why don’t you save an egg and crack a smile? Life’s short, baby, way too short to be lookin’ lower than a bowlegged caterpillar!”
Georgia smiles. Or at least, she tries to. It means the world to her that her friends have come to the rescue at a moment’s notice, and she really does want them to know just how grateful she is. But the wound of Richard leaving is so fresh. She hasn’t said much more than that to them—he left, I don’t think he’s coming back, I need help—and to their eternal credit, neither Gwen nor Alma has said a word about it since then. No follow-up questions or anything. They know her, and Georgia is thankful. It’s good to know that her world hasn’t fallen apart completely. She’s still got her friends.
“Hi, hon,” Gwen says, coming up to give Georgia a tight hug. She holds her at arm’s length. “This is the last thing you needed, eh?”
“Well, it was not very high on my wish list, that’s for certain,” Georgia laughs. “But I’m already feeling a lot better having you here.”
A peal of thunder ripples by outside. The three women all look up, a little nervous but doing their best not to show it.
“So we drawin’ straws or what?” Alma jokes wryly. “’Cause I ain’t got the kind of death wish it would require to drag my old behind up on that tin roof during a lightning storm. Isn’t that what men are for, anyhow?”
“Well, I just woke Drew up to help us out, so hopefully he’ll know what to do. And Tasha ought to be back soon as well. To be perfectly honest, I need you ladies to fix me more than the roof. It has been one heck of a day.”
As though summoned from the grave, Drew staggers into the reception area. There are dark bags under his eyes and his ginger hair is stuck up on one side.
“But who the hay is gonna fix Drew?” Alma queries. “Son, you look like ten miles of bad road.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Miss Alma,” Drew mumbles, scratching his head. The older woman pulls him in for a tight hug.
“I’m with Alma on this one,” Gwen pipes up. “I’m not so sure you’re fit to fix a roof.”
“Is one of you ladies going to climb up there then?” Drew leans against the wall and flashes them a dazzling smile.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell, darlin’,” Alma answers at once. “But you oughta finagle a little pick-me-up before you go riskin’ life and limb. Georgia, why don’t we make him a little coffee right quick?”
Laughing, Georgia leads her friends to the kitchen and starts grinding beans while they all gather around the kitchen island.
“So what time did you get in last night?” Georgia asks Drew as she measures the coffee grounds into the machine.
“Late enough,” he replies.
“Crazy night?”
“Yeah, but not how you’re thinking. I, uh … I met someone. Well, ran into her. Literally, actually.”
“A girl?” Alma injects.
“Who is she?” Gwen adds. “I might know her parents.”
“She’s not from around here,” Drew says. “She’s just on vacation.”
“Maybe she’ll meet a nice boy and decides she wants to stay,” Alma posits.
Drew frowns and looks to his mother. “You told them what happened, didn’t you?”
Georgia pauses in filling the coffee pot with water. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”
“It’s not,” Drew says with a sigh. “I guess I just wish it wasn’t reality.”
Alma pats him on the back. “Everything happens for a reason, kiddo. Our Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Thanks, Miss Alma.”
A few minutes later, Georgia slides a cup of steaming black coffee across to Drew. She roots around in the fridge for milk and is just turning back to the island when Tasha walks through the door. Her clothes are soaked through and her hair is slicked to her face. She looks even more miserable than when she left.
“Tasha!” Alma cries, wrapping her in a Texas-sized hug. “For crying out loud, girlie. You look like a drowned rat. You and your brother make quite the pair.”
Tasha grabs a tea towel from the cupboard and scrubs it over her face. “In case anyone didn’t know, it’s raining.”
“Oh we know,” Georgia says, disappearing into the hall quickly and returning with a full-sized towel. She wraps it around Tasha’s shoulders. “Drew is about to fix a leak in the roof.”
“I’d like to see that.” Tasha’s mouth turns slightly up at the corners and it is the happiest Georgia has seen her since she came home.
“It’s so great to have you home,” says Gwen, patting Tasha on the arm. “I can still remember you putting on all those little concerts for us when you were a kid. When are we going to get to come see you perform for real?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on those memories for a little longer,” Tasha says, smiling tightly. “Stardom has remained elusive thus far.”
“You’ll get there,” Alma says. “You’ve got talent out the wazoo and you’re darn pretty to boot.”
It’s Tasha’s turn to blush and say, “Thanks, Miss Alma.”
“So what’s the plan?” Tasha asks, glancing up at the roof overhead as if it might blow away at any minute.
“We’ve just got a ladder and a man willing to climb it,” Gwen says.
“And some tools,” Alma adds. “Don’t forget that.”
“Thankfully, the rain is dying down a bit,” Tasha says. “I don’t like Drew’s odds, looking like he does.”
The ladies all laugh, though Drew is pouting. “Why do you all keep saying that?” he protests. “I’m fine. I’ve done much harder things feeling much worse.”
Drew finishes his coffee and they make their way outside together, gathering everything Drew might need and setting it against the side of the inn with the ladder. While Drew searches the internet for videos on how to fix a roof and bickers with his sister, Alma, Gwen, and Georgia huddle off to the side under the awning to watch.
“This is a bad idea,” Georgia says. “But I don’t know what else to do. Richard would normally take care of this sort of thing.”
“Drew’ll be fine,” Alma says. “He was always pretty handy.”
“Was he?” Gwen asks. “Because I remember receiving a particularly horrid lamp he made in woodshop one year as a Christmas gift.”
A car pulls into the driveway and the three ladies turn to see who it is—Georgia hoping that it’s not another needy guest. She doesn’t know how much more she can take today.
Her heart warms when she sees it’s Joel. He waves as he gets out of his car and jogs toward them, taking shelter under the awning.
“Hello,” Joel says. “What are you all doing outside?”
“Joel, these are my friends Alma and Gwen,” Georgia introduces. “Joel is one of the guests.”
They all exchange friendly greetings.
“To answer your question, we’re outside because my son is about to climb up that ladder and somebody needs to catch him when he plummets to his death.”
Joel squints up at the ladder. “Ah I see. And why is
he doing that?”
“There’s a leak in the roof,” Georgia explains. “It’s in one of the guest rooms and we’re full, so I can’t move them. We’ve got a bucket set up, but the leak is right over the bed. If I can’t get it fixed now, I’m hooped.”
Joel smiles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “A leaky roof is easy enough. If you are rather attached to your son, I would be more than happy to have a look at it.”
“Do you mean that?” Georgia asks, eyebrows shooting toward the umbrella. “Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much to ask?”
“Not at all. It will not take long.”
Joel salutes the ladies and sets off for Drew and Tasha. They confer for a moment, and then Joel straps the tool belt on and heads up the ladder while Drew holds it in place.
“Georgia, I do declare that you have been hiding things from us,” Alma says, a sly grin on her face.
“He’s a guest,” Georgia hisses. “And we’re just friends.”
Joel gets the roof fixed quicker than Georgia expected—certainly faster than Drew would have done—but when they all reenter the inn, they find the power has gone out.
“Oh no,” Georgia groans. “It really is just one thing after another today.”
The six of them work together to set the guests up with candles, and when they are done Alma and Gwen decide to head home and Drew and Tasha retreat to their rooms, both of them cold and wet.
Georgia doesn’t mind—Joel is easy to talk to, and after his heroic exploits on her roof today, he is forever in her good graces.
“Thank you again for your help today,” Georgia says, watching as Joel’s face flickers in the buttery candlelight. The sun is still out somewhere, but it is dark in Willow Beach under the thick gray clouds.
“It was my pleasure,” Joel replies. “You’ve been through so much and yet you’ve managed to be a gracious host through it all. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
Georgia offers him a glass of wine, and he accepts, so the two of them sit on the stools at the kitchen island and stare out the window at the shadowy, stormy beach.
“I like your friends,” Joel says.
Georgia chuckles. “They can be a lot sometimes, especially Alma, but they’re the best people in the world.”
“They care a lot about you.” Joel takes a sip of his wine. “I think one of the hardest parts of being all the way out in Antarctica was the isolation. Good friends can make all the difference in the world.”
Georgia smiles, thinking of her friends and children, and it is her first happy moment since Richard left.
“When you put it like that, everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she says.
Joel nods, lips quirked at the edges. “It is, Georgia. If I am certain of one thing in life, it is that.”
18
Tasha
Tasha helps her mom with breakfast again the next morning. Conscious of being about as useful as a chocolate teapot the day before (and as cheery as one, too), Tasha tries to make it up by attacking each task with vigor and swallowing every potential complaint. She feels bad that she abandoned Georgia to go for a walk and her mom ended up getting so overwhelmed that she had to call in the cavalry. Not today, Tasha vows. Sure, she’s still miserable, but there’s no reason she can’t be helpful while she’s at it.
Between the two of them, they get all the cleaning done before noon. It helps that there is nobody checking out, and since nobody is checking in, either, Georgia announces that she is carving some time out of her afternoon to spend with her girls.
At first, the plan is to just meet Melanie on her lunch hour, but Melanie moves her afternoon appointments around so she can spend a few hours out on the town, which Tasha thinks is very sweet of her.
The girls go for brunch at a local café where the walls are covered in vinyl records and the tables are made from old shipping pallets.
“This is very modern,” Georgia comments as they take their seats.
“This is what everywhere in LA is like,” Tasha says. “Except it would be full of hipsters on laptops, writing screenplays that will never make it to the screen.”
She is thinking of Chuck specifically, of course. She can just picture him sitting at one of the central tables, sipping something ridiculous like a beetroot latte while stealing furtive glances around the room to make sure everyone has noticed that there is a writer in their midst. She scowls.
“What’s a hipster?” Georgia asks.
Melanie and Tasha exchange a look and giggle.
“Don’t mock me, ladies,” Georgia snaps, though she’s got a smile twinkling in her eyes. “You know I’m never up to date with you young people’s vernacular.”
“We can tell,” Tasha says, laughing. “First off, you use the word ‘vernacular.’”
Both girls snicker and Georgia narrows her eyes, though she’s still smiling. “You know, I think I liked it better back before you two started teaming up on me.”
Since Tasha and Melanie are only a year apart, it always felt like they were in competition with each other as they grew up. Melanie was the quiet, more studious one, whereas Tasha was loud and demanded attention wherever she went. In high school, Tasha was vice president of the drama club, and she and her friends roamed around campus like a pack of laughing hyenas.
Melanie, on the other hand, could always be found tucked away in a corner somewhere studying. Tasha suspects that her older sister was always a little jealous of how easily Tasha could gel with other people, and how she glowed in the spotlight. She would never admit it, of course. Back in those days, Melanie was vocal about her disdain for Tasha’s freewheeling attitude toward school and life in general.
Meanwhile, Tasha made it plain she thought Melanie was an intellectual snob who wouldn’t know a good time if it hit her in the face. In secret, though, she wished she had her sister’s brains.
“Those were the days,” Tasha says fondly. “Mel, do you remember when you made Eric Priestley cry?”
“I still can’t believe you told him it would be a good idea to ask me to prom,” Melanie says sadly.
“He was already going to ask you to prom,” Tasha defends. “I just told him you’d be more likely to say yes if he did it in front of everyone and made a big scene. I just wanted to embarrass you. I didn’t realize you’d walk away halfway through his sonnet.”
“That wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as the time you and your friends staged a surprise performance of Summer Nights in the cafeteria during lunch. A Thunderbird stepped in my mac and cheese.”
Tasha sticks her tongue out. “Philistine.”
The sisters both laugh. They haven’t fought like teenagers since they were, well, teenagers, but they don’t talk much as adults, either. Tasha wonders why that is. Is it that they don’t have much in common? Or is it just because after so many years of being at each other’s throats, they have gotten used to the distance?
“Eric Priestley.” Georgia hums. “I think he manages the hardware store next to Good Stuff Cupcakes now.”
“Does he really?” Tasha asks. “And did his heart ever mend?”
“Actually, if I’m remembering correctly, he married Ginny Brown. She was a friend of yours, wasn’t she, Tasha?”
“My gosh, I haven’t spoken to her in years!” Tasha exclaims. “And she’s gone and married Weepy Priestley. I hope they have many tears—I mean years!—together.”
Melanie laughs so suddenly she snorts and her hand flies to her mouth to smother it.
Tasha feels her spirits lift higher and higher with every minute they’re there. It feels good to chat to her mom and sister. It brings her back to a simpler time, before Candace and Chuck and the blinding lights of Hollywood.
The waiter comes around to take their order, and while they wait for their food, the trio continue to reminisce about days long past.
The more they talk about high school—Melanie’s awards, Tasha’s performances, where everyone they knew ended up—the more Tasha beg
ins to wonder just happened to her. Her mom and sister have this image of her as a cheeky extrovert who could charm anyone she set her eyes on. She was loud and brash and the world was her stage.
Tasha doesn’t know who that girl is anymore. Over the past few years, she has become nothing more than a dog-walking doormat who only says “Yes, and …” when it’s followed by “… what else can I do for you?”
Tasha picks up the bill for brunch with money she doesn’t have, and then the girls head to the nail salon down the street for pedicures, courtesy of Melanie. Neither sister is mentioning it but they have both overheard about their dad taking most of the cash from their parent’s shared bank account. Tasha still hasn’t processed everything fully, but she can’t see herself ever finding his actions to be anything less than deplorable.
“I’ve got a date tonight,” Melanie announces once they’re seated in the massage chairs, feet soaking.
Tasha gasps. “Really? With who? Is it anyone I know?”
“Why is that everyone’s first question?” Melanie says, voice flat.
“Because you live in a small town where everyone knows each other’s business,” Tasha says. “Speaking of your business, spill it.”
“His name is Colin,” Melanie says. “He just moved here. He’s an architect.”
“And how did you meet?” Georgia asks.
Melanie winces. “He sort of hit a dog with his truck,” she says, adding quickly, “though the dog is fine.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Georgia says, “but will this be the first date you’ve been on since Derek left?”
“What?” Tasha exclaims, startling the stranger to her left. “You haven’t been on a date since Derek left?”
Melanie shakes her head, and her cheeks tinge a little. “I’m just so … busy, you know?”
Tasha narrows her eyes. “You’re not that busy.”
