Beach Winds

by Greene, Grace

  “Is she looking for shells?”

  “Yeah. We were taking a walk on the beach.” He laughed and rubbed his thigh. “Or, she wanted to take the walk and dragged me along.”

  Frannie leaned back against the railing. “From coats and scarves to spring. I can’t believe I brought my boots back with me.”

  “No worries. It isn’t spring yet. There may be more winter yet to come.”

  “Is your leg bothering you? Before, you mentioned an old injury. What happened? If this is too personal, please forget I asked.”

  His mood clouded, but only briefly and he shook it off.

  “About a year ago. A bike accident.” He brushed a hand over his thigh. “It’s recovered pretty well, but gives me trouble from time to time.”

  He shook his leg as if to prove it and then felt stupid.

  She smiled, “Good to hear.”

  “You seem a little happier today.” In fact, he noticed those vertical lines between her brows were almost gone. Remembering how he’d thought of smoothing out those lines with his thumb, he made a fist, perhaps afraid he might, after all, be tempted to help her get rid of the remaining trace.

  She shrugged. “I went to see my mother. I’m glad I’m back in time to enjoy a bit of this gorgeous weather.”

  “It’s supposed to be nice for the next few days. You should take advantage of it. Spend some time out here instead of hidden away in the house.”

  “I’m here to take care of business—Uncle Will’s business. It’s off-season now, so there’s time, but I’d like to have it all done and the house ready to go on the market at whatever point it’s necessary.”

  There was a long silence. It drew out and she turned toward him. “What?”

  “What’s the rush? You don’t know what’s going to happen. He could recover.”

  “You’re protective of him. That’s nice, but when it comes down to it, I’m his protector, at least of his property. I don’t want to be the disposer of his property. I want to believe he’ll be able to come back home.”

  “He’ll come home.”

  She stared down at the railing. “Do you really think so? I’ve spoken to his doctor. He hopes for more improvement, but how much?” She pushed her hair behind her ear and watched him from the corner of her eye. “Do you have reason to believe differently?”

  His shoulders moved in a funny kind of hitch and shrug. “No, but anything’s possible.”

  She turned to face him fully. “Well, I hope you’re right. I’d like nothing better than to welcome him home.”

  He liked the words and the way she stood and returned his look without blinking. Seemed like he should say something to her, but he didn’t know what. He focused beyond her, searching for the missing thought, and his attention shifted when he saw the empty beach.

  “Where’s Megan?”

  Frannie turned quickly and scanned the beach. “I think that might be her up that way, near those other children.”

  “I told her to stay nearby. She’s in trouble.” He raised a hand, but she wasn’t looking this way. “Interested in a walk?

  “To catch up to Megan?”

  “That too.”

  He watched her face. Her expression seemed to brighten, but there were shadows under those eyes. “It will do you good and it’s a crime not to appreciate a day like this.”

  “Thanks, but I came straight out here.” She waved toward the porch. “I dumped my stuff by the door and there’s more in the car.”

  “It’s not going anywhere.”

  She looked doubtful.

  “When we’re ready to leave, I’ll carry your stuff up.”

  She smiled broadly. “It’s a deal.”

  She started down the stairs. He gestured at her to stop.

  “Leave your shoes there. You don’t need them.”

  Dubious, she frowned, but stepped back up and slid her shoes off.

  From his vantage point a few steps down, he said, “You’re wearing hose or nylons or something. Get rid of them.”

  She raised her eyebrows, but cooperated, hiking up her pants legs. She slid off the trouser-socks.

  “Those aren’t allowed at the beach at any time.”

  “Beachcombers are now determining what’s acceptable to wear? I don’t think so.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was serious or just wanting to start another one of those word jousts. “When in Rome….”

  “Touché.”

  “Roll up the pants legs.”

  She was making a mess of it, so he stepped up and reached over. She stood passively while he folded the fabric up to below her knees. “There.”

  Stiffly, formally, with her hands on her hips, she asked, “Am I now acceptably dressed for a walk on the beach?”

  “No, but don’t worry, we’ll work on it.” He extended his hand. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He had a lot of nerve putting her through all that ‘dressing right for the beach walk’ stuff, and then fretting over how she rolled up her pants legs. Nonsense.

  Rolling up her pants legs hadn’t mattered anyway. When she stopped to look at a shell embedded in the wet sand, and didn’t move fast enough, those pants got soaked to above her knees. And what did he do? He laughed. She did, too. It was a lovely antidote to the hours spent with Laurel.

  Frannie rubbed her arms. “It’s getting late. Sun sets early this time of year and takes the warmth with it.”

  Brian called his daughter and she came willingly enough which was a testament to the chill that was setting in. Watching Megan running through the sand toward them, Frannie suddenly realized how odd this would seem to Megan’s mom, and Brian’s wife, if Megan mentioned their walk on the beach.

  She struggled to find something to say that would be friendly, yet helpful in forestalling misperceptions.

  She smiled at Megan and said, “How’s your mom? Maybe when the weather’s nicer you can bring her, too, and we can all have a picnic.”

  Why did the child’s smile crumple? In her eyes, and in Brian’s, too, Frannie saw such pain. What had she done?

  Brian spoke softly, “Megan’s mom and I are divorced.”

  Megan huffed and scrambled down the outside stairs. Her dad yelled, “Megan!”

  She threw back, “I’ll wait by the road.”

  Her voice was so short, so terse, like quick little knife slices. Brian flinched.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  He shook his head. “Not your fault. It’s hard on her. She blames me.” He added, “She’ll get over it. I’d better catch her before she takes off on her own—which she’d do if she could reach the gas pedal from the seat.” He actually laughed a bit and shook his head. “Give me your keys and I’ll get your gear.”

  “No, forget it. Go take care of your daughter.”

  “I take care of my daughter.”

  She’d done it again.

  He added, “I also keep my promises.”

  “Bringing in my ‘gear’ wasn’t exactly what I call a promise. I can manage.”

  “Keys please.” He extended his palm. “I have my reasons.”

  Reasons? She pulled the key ring from her pocket. It was damp and sandy.

  Brian accepted the keys and brushed the sand off. “Proper beach attire is essential.”

  “Wait. I forgot that the door is locked.”

  “At your command.” He paused to unlock the front door and then disappeared down the steps.

  She went in through the front door, out the side door, and down the steps to help. Brian had her suitcase. Megan was behind him. She was staring at her feet and holding a grocery bag.

  “Carry it inside.” He nodded at Megan.

  “I can get it.” She reached forward and Brian said, “Nope. Megan’s got it. Get up the stairs, Meg.” He nodded at Frannie. “After you.”

  She preceded him up the stairs because she didn’t know what else to do. At the top, Megan scooted past her without meeting her eyes. As
soon as she and Brian stepped inside, Frannie started to apologize again.

  “No. Hold it right there. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He put her suitcase on the floor and put her keys on the counter.

  “This exercise was for Megan. Let’s call it a small attitude adjustment.” He added a yellow plastic bag to the mix. “These are Will’s papers from the van.”

  He pulled the door closed behind him.

  An attitude adjustment.

  She was such a klutz. Never an athlete, but maybe a contortionist because she could put her foot in her mouth just fine. When it came to words, the simple act of opening her mouth and allowing verbalizations to emerge often wrought havoc. Why?

  You could change your clothes, but you couldn’t change your nature. That person, the true you, was still inside. Always saying the wrong things.

  Then again, screwing up wasn’t the same as instability.

  Take that, Laurel.

  She sank down on the sofa. Her delight at the beauty of the weather and the beach had evaporated. It was winter again and even the fresh color on the walls faded as the night came on.

  ****

  She was in that dark place. Her own high tower in a castle under an evil spell. Maybe she should call that the ‘Frances’ place now. What was the truth about her mother?

  Her dad should’ve told her while he could. She should’ve heard about Frances from someone who’d loved the poor woman, if only briefly.

  She stayed in that dark place, all motivation gone, through Saturday morning. Saturday afternoon, she forced herself back to Will’s desk. There was still work to do there. Top side drawer, office stuff. Pencil, pens, staples. Middle drawer, neatly ordered envelopes containing bills and receipts. She stacked those on the counter to compare against the spreadsheet ledger she was already keeping.

  The bottom drawer was more of a jumble. She sorted through an assortment of flyers and coupons. Nothing seemed important. There were a few odds and ends she wasn’t sure about and she set those aside.

  The shelves in the hutch held books and dust. There were a few stale novels from the dollar bin at the local grocery store and some books about the mechanics and history of sailing. The Bible. Next to it was Uncle Will’s book about the USS North Carolina. That slip of paper peeked out above the top.

  Jonah. Belly of hell, hadn’t it said? She knew a little about that herself.

  She picked up the church bulletin. She’d found it, along with his Sunday school book in his desk. Not unlike what she was used to in her own church. She looked through the church bulletin. The date was shortly before Uncle Will had his stroke.

  The church was on the island. The line drawing on the front depicted a small building with steeples. There was a prayer list inside and the hours of services.

  The pastor was named Heron. Sounded like the seabird. Or was that a fresh water bird? Whichever, it sounded friendly.

  Frannie reached out and touched the Book, then brushed the edge of that paper with her fingers.

  Tomorrow she was going to scrape herself up off the floor of this black depression. In fact, she was already feeling better. She got up and turned on the television. She channel surfed looking for one of those soft, sweet movies, or an oldie, but goodie. She settled on one and then went to check in the fridge for a likely meal.

  She left the front blinds up. The stars were so bright over the ocean. She curled up on the couch with her steaming microwave fettuccine, with the blanket over her legs, and watched her movie in the near dark lit only by the television and by starlight.

  ****

  What to do? Her improved mood threatened to crumble again. It was that dream. She wished she were a jogger. A good run to clear her head would be excellent medicine. Oh, wait. Not this time of year. Unless today was going to be another beauty.

  It might be. The thought perked her mood back up a little until she looked outside. The day was overcast and thick with a mist that looked like it had sunk its claws in and was here to stay.

  She brewed her tea.

  The fact was that her uncle, a retired sailor, kept his items in good order. Brian was handling the painting. Until she knew whether to move forward with clearing the house or putting it on the market, or not, she was suspended in limbo land. She could go visit her uncle again. Her gaze shifted around the room and landed on the church bulletin.

  She looked at the clock. Had she actually planned to go? Yes, there was time. And after, she’d go by a restaurant. Take herself out for lunch. Not really for companionship, but to be in the midst of people for a little while.

  ****

  The sanctuary was smallish and simple. She chose an open pew about halfway up and removed her coat and laid it on the cushioned bench beside her. The sanctuary was about half full. The first few pews were occupied and then folks had chosen more sparse spacing. She met the eyes with a woman seated nearby and exchanged a polite smile and nod.

  After the opening prayer, as everyone stood, their hymnals open, a small group near the front caught her eye. The woman turned briefly to the man next to her and spoke a few words. Maia’s friend. Had to be. The man was tall and slim. Tanned. She watched them as she sang along with a hymn she knew well. Judging solely from the partial side view, he was good looking. Maybe distinguished looking. No doubt he would be. A woman like Juli had everything. She was probably really nice, too. She’d been pleasant that day in Beaufort. She wouldn’t know that Frannie had purchased her painting unless Maia had told her.

  She tried to listen to the pastor’s sermon, but thoughts and images kept intruding. His sermon was about forgiveness, but it kept mixing in with remembering, and inevitably took her back to Raleigh and the perfect lawn and crepe myrtles.

  It hadn’t been her father’s house for fifteen years.

  It belonged to her. Her father had left her the house, but he’d known she and Laurel would live there.

  She’d moved away when she graduated from college. First apartment. Living on her own. All that. The man she’d fallen in love with and to whom she’d been engaged changed his mind and went away. She never understood why, but it nearly killed her because it was too much like what had happened with her first love in college. That relationship had been good until it wasn’t and then it was over and she was left wondering what she’d done or hadn’t done. Then things really got crazy. Strange things happened. She hadn’t been able to sleep. Couldn’t rest. Finally, she lost her job.

  Suffice it to say, she’d ended back up in Laurel’s house.

  The pastor’s sermon was based on Ecclesiastes. These were some of her favorite verses, and her father’s. The words fell on her ears like sweet, familiar music. They lifted her. Held her. And she felt steadied.

  One thing she’d learned in the last few years was that some things just were. There were no answers; there was only getting along.

  She stood with the others for the closing prayer and then walked out to the vestibule. She paused to shake hands with the pastor.

  “I’m Will Denman’s niece. I believe he’s a member of your congregation?”

  He clasped her hand in both of his. “Indeed. I was so very sorry about the stroke. We’ve had him on our prayer list.”

  “I’m here to help with his business affairs while he’s recovering.”

  “I’m so glad you joined us this morning. I hope you’ll come back. How is your uncle doing?”

  She shrugged and pulled her hand back. “He’s at the Harris Rehabilitation home in Morehead City. You’re welcome to visit him. I’m sure he’d like that.”

  He released her hand and touched her shoulder. “I have. We prayed and I hope, as he does, for a recovery.” He cleared his throat and said, “If you need anything, any help, please let me know.”

  She started her car, but sat. She’d been petty. She’d assumed, hadn’t she? Jumped to the conclusion that he had neglected Will.

  A small group exiting the church caught her eye. Juli with the man and her baby. The man held the b
aby on his hip while Juli shuffled a diaper bag and purse.

  Frannie turned off the engine and reached to open the door. As she paused, Juli looked up and laughed and the man looked down and said something, then turned to the baby and, smiling, said more words.

  She laid her head back and let out a long sigh. She gripped the steering wheel.

  A sweet, tender family moment. Had it ever been like that for her dad and Frances? Had she been that treasured child balanced on her daddy’s hip? Had Frances shared gentle touches and hugs, and smiled on her little family with love?

  Did it matter? How much? She dabbed at a tear and laughed at herself. It worked both ways, didn’t it? She had information now about something that was totally unknown to her a short time ago, including the information that her father had turned his back on Frances when she’d needed him.

  ****

  Monday meant another call with her uncle’s primary care doctor. Small progress, he said. He was still hopeful. Then she received a call from Maia inviting her to lunch. No telling what Maia wanted, but Frannie was looking forward to it. In the meantime, she tackled the closets and boxes that served as Will’s storage. She’d expected Brian to show up, but he didn’t.

  Hadn’t he said he’d be back on Monday? She was a little sheepish anyway after her foot-in-mouth moment down by the beach. How was she supposed to know his marital state? He’d never mentioned it. She’d assumed he was single until she met Megan.

  A quick glance at the clock. It was time to get herself together. She was hungry.

  ****

  “Thanks for driving over here to Beaufort.”

  “Happy to.”

  “Can’t travel too far on my lunch hour.” Maia smiled. “Plus this place is one of my favorites. It has the best sweet tea in the world.”

  “In the world?” Sweet tea. Big deal.

  “In my world.”

  Frannie knew she’d sounded critical. She hadn’t intended to. She added, “I think this place is charming. The view of the marina and water is wonderful.” She looked down to read the menu. “What’s good here?”

  “Everything.”

  The waitress asked, “Do you know what you want? Need a few minutes?”