Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1

by Thompson, Jan

  Brinley smiled. Early to Cara meant she left the house before midnight.

  “My husband is still sick with the cold and he’s very needy when he’s sick.”

  “I hope he feels better, Cara.”

  “He will be. I made him chicken soup last night. Then he slept like a baby.”

  “There you go,” Brinley said. “What did Dr. Endecott say about Aunt Ella?”

  “She’s disoriented and confused, probably because she’s not taking her medicine properly. Might also be an early onset of dementia.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “We just need to keep an eye on her until her caregiver comes back to get her. Then she can go home to her regular physician and they’ll take care of it.” Cara walked past Brinley. “What are you looking for? Lunch?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you have for breakfast?”

  “Coffee and doughnuts.”

  “Doughnuts!” Cara made a tsk-tsk sound. “How about chicken curry with saffron rice for lunch? Salad on the side. Homemade dressing. And your favorite apple pie, baked from scratch just the way you like it. All organic.”

  Cara had prepared for Brinley’s arrival. “I feel loved.”

  Cara seemed pleased to hear that. “They just opened a new organic grocery store on Demere. It’s a hit.”

  “You bought and cooked me my favorite food. Why are you always so good to me?”

  Cara hadn’t changed. She had always been like that. She had fed the Brooks kids all the time. If not for the high Brooks metabolism, Brinley and her siblings would not have been able to work off the high carbohydrates and sugar. Overall, Cara had cared for the three of them better than Brinley’s parents could ever do with their jet-setting lifestyle. When not running global companies or campaigning for their favorite political candidates, they’d be on vacation.

  Parker, Dillon, Brinley, and Zoe, in that order, grew up with Cara. She had bathed them, driven them to school, helped them with homework, taken them to soccer and swimming and field trips. She had been their surrogate mother.

  To be fair, Brinley’s parents had done the best they could. They loved the kids in their own special way. What they couldn’t provide, Grandpa Brooks had made up for the lack. What Grandpa couldn’t be there for—which was most of the time with his own busy schedule—they had Cara to fall back on. The erstwhile nanny and current housekeeper had always been there for the kids.

  Quietly, Cara took out containers of food. When she turned around, Brinley thought she saw tears in Cara’s eyes.

  It made no sense. Brinley hadn’t been away that long. This year had been the longest but she called home to the cottage every month, and usually ended up talking with Cara since nobody else was around most of the time. Brinley’s parents had often spoken of making the Sea Island home their main residence, but inevitably they’d end up in Europe somewhere.

  “Is everything okay?” Brinley asked.

  Cara looked at Brinley with sorrowful eyes. “Every time I see you, little one, I see Grandpa Brooks. You have his eyes. His chin.”

  Brinley choked up.

  “Someday we’ll see him again.” Cara came over to hug Brinley again.

  “How can we be sure? Did he earn enough good points to get to heaven?”

  Cara went around the island to make a plate of food for Brinley. “Well, your grandpa was a very good man. He did so much philanthropy in the communities up and down coastal Georgia. Restored historic buildings, preserved history, protected the environment, promoted the arts. Future generations will thank him for all those wonderful things he did in his lifetime.”

  “But the one thing he couldn’t do was find the Damaris Brooks Stradivarius.”

  “As expensive as that is, as old as that is, it’s only a thing, you know.” Cara stuck the plate into the microwave. “As we always say, people are more important than things.”

  Brinley sat at the island and ate the reheated food silently.

  “Your grandpa’s death was a loss to all of us, not just to you. But we have to carry on. Like your sister-in-law, Riley, has to carry on after her husband died.”

  And just as Yun McMillan had to carry on alone for many years. She still talked about Otto.

  I guess the memories don’t fade as quickly as some say.

  “If you ever need to talk, little one, come to me, okay? You can tell me anything.”

  Brinley nodded.

  “We all go in different ways,” Cara continued.

  “Do we all end up in the same place, though?” Brinley asked between bites.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After death?”

  Cara looked at Brinley. “I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think that far ahead, Brin. I’ve been busy living in the here and now.”

  “Me too. But if you ever have to think about it—”

  “I don’t.” Cara snapped the lids on the containers and put them back neatly into the refrigerator. “Why worry about it? There’s no certainty, anyway.”

  “That’s the point, Cara. Don’t you want to be certain where you’re going?”

  “This is getting into religion, and you know me. I don’t talk about religion. I tell my entire family to keep it practical.”

  “It’s life and death. I’m just looking for answers.”

  “I don’t even know what your question is.” Cara slid a plate of apple pie in front of Brinley. “Here. Have some pie.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brinley walked around the McMillan family room past the old Steinway upright piano as Yun boiled water in the kitchen nearby. Peeling paint on the wall was somewhat masked by rows and rows of photographs from years gone by. Some were black and white and some were in faded sepia colors. Brinley moved from photo to photo, studying old childhood pictures of Ivan and Quincy and of a girl whom Yun had identified as Ivan’s sister, Willow, who now lived in Atlanta and owned a piano studio. The two boys looked like two happy twins until Quincy outgrew the other.

  Yun had briefly mentioned that her husband, Otto, had been a photographer of some repute. Apparently he couldn’t keep down a job for long, and the entire family—two adults and three grandchildren—had depended primarily on Yun’s music studio to make ends meet.

  Yet while Otto still had his photography equipment he had taken most of these pictures. There were photos of the Frederica Middle School, which Brinley had also attended. She had no recollection of the McMillan brothers. At the bottom of the photograph, Brinley could see Ivan’s name scrawled there—maybe by himself—and the year in faded ink.

  1996.

  Ivan was in middle school then. That would make him about thirty years old now. Four years older than Brinley was.

  She heard the tea kettle whistle, followed by the clicking sounds of cups. Coming out of the kitchen and toward her, Yun was rolling an old cart with a tray on it. The tray had a teapot covered by a frayed quilted cozy, two cups on their saucers, and a small platter of macadamia cookies.

  “Please let me get that.” Brinley took over the cart. She rolled it to where Yun told her, right next to her rocker.

  Brinley took her seat in an old armchair that had seen better days. It was more comfortable than it looked. It faced windows with faded drapes overlooking a patch of grass and the marshes. The afternoon sun illuminated everything in the room, defining the age of the house and the nostalgia on those walls.

  “Nice photos of your family,” Brinley said.

  “The grandkids are my pride and joy.” Yun beamed. “I’m looking forward to meeting my first great-grandchild. I never expected to be a great-grandma, and here I am.”

  Brinley was surprised Yun had brought it up. Not twenty-four hours before, Yun had been visibly shaken by the announcement that one of his grandsons had not only eloped but was going to be a dad. Perhaps she had gotten over the initial shock of it.

  “If only Ivan had children too, but he’s not eager to marry.”

  Does he have a
girlfriend?

  Brinley decided not to ask. Instead she watched Yun pour tea. Brinley reached for her own cup so that Yun didn’t have to get out of her rocker.

  “He’s too busy trying to make ends meet,” Yun continued. “Did you know he was a concert violinist for two years after Juilliard?”

  “Juilliard. He must be very good.” Brinley smelled the fragrance of chai with its spices. Delish.

  “Full scholarship.”

  “Why didn’t he continue being a concert violinist?”

  “My Otto died. Seventy years. I married him when I was only twenty. He had just come home from the war. I was a music teacher in Boston, and I sang in the choir. His first Sunday back at church, he saw me. That was all it took.”

  “I thought love at first sight is a myth.”

  “We didn’t fall in love right away. We went out to the movies and spent time with each other’s families. Our love grew as we got to know each other.”

  “Over time.”

  “Right. Over time. How’s your tea?”

  “Very good. Love loose-leaf tea.”

  “No bags for me either.”

  “Seventy years of marital bliss.” Brinley pondered that over her steamy tea, but she didn’t even know where to begin to think of such a possibility. Could the love between a husband and wife last that long? “Is it possible for that to happen anymore?”

  “Yes, Brinley. It’s possible. It takes a lot of effort, but you have to be determined to make it work.”

  “Did you and Otto ever fight?”

  Yun laughed, stray silver curls on her head bobbing slightly. “Yes, we did. Believe me. We had to learn the hard way to differentiate behavior from personhood.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Sadly, Otto passed away six years ago. We were shopping and he had a heart attack right there in the book aisle. We had so many dreams unfulfilled.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about, Brinley. My Otto is in heaven now, and someday I’ll join him there.”

  Brinley couldn’t finish her tea fast enough. “How do you know Otto is in heaven? How do you know he earned enough points to make it in?”

  “Eternal life in heaven is a free gift that God gives to us through Jesus Christ. My Otto couldn’t earn a single brownie point even if he lived ten thousand years. You should see the mess he made which Ivan and I are still cleaning up. None of us is perfect. That means all of us have sinned.” Yun placed both hands together on her lap. “By believing that Jesus died on the cross to pay the penalty for his sins, and rose again three days later to give him eternal life, Otto was saved. It wasn’t his works that saved him but Jesus Christ. He’s the only ticket to heaven.”

  “So all he did was believe in Jesus?”

  “For the forgiveness of sins, yes. You see, the whole world has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. But God loves us so much that He sent His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, so that anyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life. That’s essentially what John 3:16 says.”

  Yun dug around the side pockets hanging over her rocker arm, pulled out a small business card and handed it to Brinley.

  Brinley read the verse quietly.

  For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

  “Thank you. I’ll keep this in mind.”

  “No need to collect points, Brinley. Simply believe in Jesus, and you will go to heaven.”

  “Then where is Grandpa Brooks now?” Brinley stared at her empty teacup.

  “If he had believed in Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior, he is in heaven today.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Only God knows our hearts, whether we are saved or not.”

  “Saved from what?”

  “Saved from sins, of course. You see, God is holy and cannot fellowship with sinful man. But when Jesus came, he washed all our sins away, and now we can have a relationship with God through Jesus.”

  “Grandpa Brooks used to take us to church.” Brinley poured herself and Yun their second cups. “I was sixteen when he died suddenly. Aneurism.”

  “That can take you quickly. At least, he didn’t suffer.”

  “The doctors didn’t think he even knew it. One moment he was here, the next he was gone.”

  Brinley thought Yun had compassion on her face. “Suffering is part of life. We grieve. And we grieve.”

  Brinley couldn’t hold it in. She reached for the box of tissue paper on the scratched side table between her armchair and Yun’s rocker.

  “When Quincy was eight, Ivan was six, and Willow was five, their mother showed up one rainy day and dropped them off on the front porch. She didn’t come into the house. We never saw her again.”

  “Their father?”

  “The kids—don’t tell Ivan I told you this—had different fathers. Ivan and his sister, Willow, had the same father, some live-in boyfriend who dumped her. Quincy’s dad died in a car wreck some twenty years ago. As for Ivan’s dad, we heard from him once when Ivan graduated from high school. A small card to congratulate him. Nothing since then.”

  “That’s a lot of pain for you to bear,” Brinley said.

  “Well, my daughter is—assuming she’s still alive—an adult. She has to make her own decisions. I can’t make any decision for her. God sees our hearts. We choose a path and we live with the consequences of our choices.”

  “You seem to know a lot about God, Yun.”

  “Everything I need to know about God is in here.” Yun patted the worn-out leather-bound Bible on the side table next to her rocker. “God is patient, Brinley. God will wait patiently until my Jade comes home.”

  “Jade. That’s an interesting name.”

  “You know what’s even more interesting? Do you know the name of Ivan’s tour group of concert musicians?”

  “The one after Juilliard?”

  Yun nodded. “The one that lasted only two years.”

  “Let me guess. Jade something.”

  “Jade Strings. Willow came up with the name. She was the piano accompanist in the group. She suggested the name so that maybe someday Jade would see them in the news and contact them.”

  “She never did.”

  “You guessed it, Brinley.”

  “So we don’t know if she’s dead or alive?”

  “No.”

  “And she goes by Jade McMillan?”

  “Yes. Jade Ji-Yun McMillan.”

  Brinley made a mental note to call Helen Hu, the private investigator who could find anything and anyone. She might have to talk with Yun to get more information so she could find the missing mother. It would take time, but it could bring closure for Yun. She wasn’t getting any younger. She was older than Grandpa Brooks. Any day now, Yun could die. It would be a tragedy for her to die without knowing where her daughter was. The same way it had been a tragedy for Grandpa Brooks to die without ever seeing his quest fulfilled.

  “More tea?” Yun asked.

  “No, thanks. But I’ll have a shortbread.”

  “Oh yes, we forgot about that.” Yun smiled. “Better eat up. That’s Ivan’s favorite and it’ll be gone before you come back next.”

  “I’ve enjoyed tea with you, Yun. It’s nice and quiet out here.”

  “Only now because Ivan’s music studio is on break for two weeks. When it starts back up again, it’s violin and piano music all day long.”

  “Let’s have tea again before I go back to work.” Brinley bit into her shortbread.

  “When is that?”

  “First week of January.”

  “That soon.”

  Too soon indeed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You can’t use that one. It’s broken.”

  Upon hearing the embarrassed voice, Brinley stepped back from the powder room door. “When’s the plumber coming?”

  “Ivan’s going to take car
e of it.”

  “He’s going to fix it himself?”

  “I’m assuming that’s what he meant. Just use mine.” Yun tipped her chin toward a long hallway. There was a bedroom at the end of it.

  All that chai tea she drank made Brinley rush toward where Yun had directed her.

  The entire hallway was covered with more photographs of Yun and her deceased husband when he had been young and in the service, when they married and fed each other wedding cake, and when they held their children in their arms. The gallery was an extension of what was in the family room though going back further in time.

  Yun’s bedroom was another snapshot of the past. Faded curtains, worn bedspread neatly made and tucked into an iron bed frame, a frayed house robe hanging off an antique coat tree. The afternoon sunshine came into the room obliquely today, but Brinley could imagine how bright it must be in the summer time.

  She found the bathroom. A small little one off to one side. She wondered how Yun and Otto had made do with this tiny space where a cast-iron tub took up half the floor. A small pedestal sink, chipped and stained, squeezed in between the tub and a small toilet.

  Brinley flushed it to see if it worked and immediately regretted it as she had to wait a long time for the water to fill up again. A short while later, she turned off all the lights, went down the hallway and found Yun back in her rocker.

  “Yun, I would like to get someone to fix your toilet.” There, she said it.

  “Oh, we should let Ivan handle it.”

  “How long has the commode been broken?”

  “Well, it hasn’t worked right since the last time Ivan tried to fix it.”

  Ha. Ivan the violinist and plumber. “And when was that?”

  “About a couple of months ago, maybe.”

  “Sixty days.”

  “Oh, at least, but really, it just broke again two weeks ago. Not long.” Yun shrugged. “I go to my bedroom, and Ivan goes to his in his bedroom upstairs. Don’t worry.”

  Ivan lives here? In this dump?

  “It’s a long walk for you down the hallway.” Somehow Brinley felt that she had to make it all better for Yun. The poor elderly lady didn’t have to live in a ramshackle house.