“Now is fine, if you’re sure.”
“I’ll be here.”
She was committed. No turning back.
The Winters’ home, for all that it was a simple, brick house, felt imposing, like a wall to be breached, or a trespass about to happen. Either way, it would be an action she couldn’t take back. Frannie held her purse tightly, all too conscious of the documents and the secrets securely tucked inside.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I have a question for you. It’s personal.” She shrugged. “It’s delicate. I don’t know a good way to ask this. But it’s important. It has to do with my mother.”
Juli led her out to the deck and motioned toward the cushioned wicker chairs. They sat. Juli leaned over and patted Frannie on the arm.
“You’re so pale. Can I get you something to drink?”
Frannie shook her head. “No, please. You are so kind to me, and I hope you’ll still feel that way after this conversation.”
Her expression closed, becoming a bit wary. “I can’t believe it’s anything so awful. You know, Fran, sometimes saying something out loud has a way of defusing it, of taking away its power.” She sighed loudly and with a rueful grin on her face, she said, “You didn’t know me before. It took me a long time to learn to trust other people, to find value in trusting them even though they will surely let you down. They aren’t perfect.”
Frannie drew in a deep breath and then let the words out, “Can you tell me about your mother and father?”
Juli stared, but Frannie couldn’t read her face. She put her hands together and gripped her fingers tightly. She hardly dared to breathe, afraid that Juli would change her mind, would reject the question. After all, who was she to ask such a thing?
“Her name was Frances. I don’t know who my father was. Mama left that space on the birth certificate blank.” She shook her head.
“Did you know her maiden name? Did you ever hear the name, Edward Denman?”
“Maiden name? I don’t know. I presume it was Cooke since that was the name on the certificate.” Her eyes looked beyond sad and her voice was colorless. “I don’t know anyone named Denman, or didn’t until I met your uncle.”
“I am so sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? No, it’s just that I’ve never been curious. I was glad to be fed and warm.” Juli closed her eyes. “I was five when they took me away. I don’t remember much, but enough to prevent wasted sentimentality.”
Juli pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I have a headache. It came out of nowhere. Will you excuse me while I go take something for it?”
Frannie nodded and Juli went into the house.
The visit felt over.
Her purse was on the deck next to her chair. She wouldn’t be unzipping that bag today. With Juli unwell, it was better to wait.
Maybe Brian was right. Maybe what she wanted wasn’t good for anyone else. Was it worth the angst? The risk of losing these new friendships? No one was going to thank her for upsetting Juli. Everyone loved Juli.
It wasn’t too late. She stood, gathering her things. She turned. Juli was standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” Juli’s eyes were red.
“I’m leaving. We can chat another time.”
Juli stepped toward her. “You said this was important.”
“Only to me, I think.”
“Please.” She took Frannie’s hand. “Forgive me for getting emotional. I never was before, but since Danny was born…to be honest, even before that. I cried about the least little things during the pregnancy.”
Juli sat, which effectively mandated that Frannie sit, too, or be rude.
“I meant what I said about mama, but now, having my own child gives me a different perspective on it.” She hugged her arms. “Maybe that’s why the memory has the power to overwhelm me.”
She stared at the baby monitor with its bright blue light.
“He’ll sleep a while longer. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
“My mother’s name, my birth mother, was also named Frances. Frances Anne. That’s who I’m named for. She married Edward Denman, my father.”
Juli’s lips curved in an unexpected, unsuspecting smile.
Frannie had a panicked thought, Did she already know and hadn’t cared enough to say. But that was silly. She drew the envelope from her bag. She removed the copy of her birth notice, which was photocopied on the larger piece of paper. She handed it, along with the envelope, to Juli.
“Please take a look at this.”
Juli held the envelope in one hand while she read the copy of the newspaper clipping. “Frances C. and Edward Denman. Your parents? Frances Anne Denman, that’s you, right?” She smiled at Frannie.
“It’s a small world isn’t it? I have ‘Anne’ in my name, too. My name is actually Julianne.”
She opened the envelope to put the paper inside and found the certificate. She slid it out, unfolded it, and the smile froze on her lips. “What’s this all about? Another Frances Cooke? She married Edward Denman? The Frances C. in your birth announcement?” She continued staring at the paper. “Why did you give me your birth notice?”
Juli’s hands dropped to her lap, but she continued holding the paper. “What is this about?”
Her lips were frozen. Silently, she cursed the confidence that had brought her this far and then deserted her.
Juli persisted. “Your Frances, your mother, is dead, isn’t she? Your father remarried that woman. What’s her name?”
“Laurel,” she gasped the word. “Yes, she did and he did.”
“When did she die? You were young, I think.”
“I was seven.”
“I see.” She refolded the paper and slipped it back inside the envelope.
The paper rustled. Juli was shaking though the movement was barely perceptible.
Suddenly anxious to spill it all while she had the chance, Frannie opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped by a slamming door and a crying baby.
“Luke.” Juli stood as Luke appeared at the screen door.
“I’m sorry. Looks like I woke Danny. Shall I get him?”
“No, I’ll take care of him.” She turned to Frannie. “We’ll get together another time, very soon. Okay?”
“Sure. No problem.” She turned her back before her face could betray her.
“Frannie.” Luke walked with her to the front door. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” Her face felt as if smiling might break it. “Time for me to get home.”
****
She sat on the porch and rocked, focusing on the creak of the chair’s treads and on the tall, ugly weeds growing atop the dunes. She wanted to think about anything, everything except her conversation with Juli, and she wanted to do it alone. Sometimes misery doesn’t love company.
It had been the right thing to do.
That might be true, but what about the expression of desperation on Juli’s face?
She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the rocker and listened to the swish of the weeds as they brushed against each other in the warmish breeze. The soft noises were faint against the backdrop of the ocean.
She sighed. “I’ve done it. I’ve really done it now. Messed everything up.”
“Did you say something?”
Frannie’s eyes flew open and she sat up, grasping the armrests. “Megan?”
“That’s me.” She tilted her head to one side. “Did you say something was messed up?” She plopped down into the other rocker.
How could she hide her deep disappointment from this child? She didn’t know how to rearrange her expression, much less repair her heart. Where was Laurel’s armor when she needed it? If Megan was here, then Brian wasn’t far behind. He’d know by looking at her face that she’d done exactly what he’d advised against.
The child pulled some tangled yarn from a tote bag.
“What are you doing?”
/> “I learned to crochet. I have to practice.”
Random chance—that was life. She’d screwed it all up, everything good she had going on here at Emerald Isle, and a young girl she hadn’t known a few short weeks ago was sitting on her porch with a snarl of tangled yarn.
Megan shook the yarn as if that would fix the mess.
“Here. Hand it over.”
Megan gave it up.
“Now, hold your hands like this. We’ll fix this.”
Random? How random was it to feel a bubble of something positive in her chest? Not only because of this child, but maybe the bubble included the child’s father, too.
“Megan, are you an angel?”
Megan gaped and then giggled. “Mom and Dad don’t think so.”
“Definitely not an angel.” Brian stepped up onto the porch. He was holding a white gift bag. “It’s a perfect day.”
“Almost perfect.” She continued unwinding the yarn, rewinding it around Megan’s two small hands. “I never cared much for the ocean, but I’ve changed, at least in that respect. The ocean, the sand, even the scents, mean something different to me now.”
“Almost perfect?”
She laughed softly. “Except for those weeds growing on the dunes. I’d love to take a mower, well, maybe not a mower, but a scythe, to it. Still, while they’re not pretty, I suppose even the weeds have a sort of wild charm. Sometimes they sing when the wind blows.”
“Hold that thought.” Brian walked over and stopped the yarn winding. “Megan, give us a minute. Fran, come with me.”
She looked at Megan. “Be right back? Okay, Brian.”
He took her hand and led her down the crossover, nearly to its end and to the bench where the view of the strand was all encompassing, like being in a panoramic photo. He was still holding the small white bag. “This is for you.”
“From you?” She accepted the bag. More tea? No, it was too light.
“From me, yes, but Megan helped. She helped choose the color, so you know.”
Frannie peeked inside, looked at Brian again and then pulled out the turquoise scarf. It was long and lightweight and seemed to keep coming.
“I know you’re not much for bright colors.”
“Oh, no. This is perfect.” She meant it. “I have some new favorite colors.”
“Those beachy colors?” Brian lifted the scarf from her hands and placed it around her neck.
She stroked the silky, crinkled fabric.
“Perfect.” Brian touched her shoulders. “A moment ago you were saying something about the dunes and grasses being less than perfect.”
“Like an eyesore, maybe?”
“Yeah. That.” He used gentle pressure on her shoulders to turn her toward the railing. “Look at them.”
“I see a paper cup discarded down there. I see tall weedy grass.”
“Things are not always what they seem. You probably know that these dunes are important. Vital barriers. They protect what’s beyond. The houses, et cetera. You know that, right?”
“Sure, the dunes protect the shoreline.”
“The dune grasses you see are critical to the stability of the dune. Did you know that the growth of those grasses is the best indication of the health of the dune?”
“Those grasses don’t look like much.”
He took her hand, but waved his other arm to encompass all of their surroundings. “They are one part of this whole scene—one part—yet without them, the rest of this is nothing. It’s only one big wave away from a big mess.”
Maybe it was the viewing angle, maybe it was Brian’s voice praising them, or maybe it was just getting to know them and to appreciate their purpose, but the grasses did look better.
“I understand what you’re saying.” She nodded. “One piece is dependent upon the other.” She continued staring at the grasses, at the dunes, and her eyes strayed beyond to take in the strand and the waves rushing ashore. For a moment, it was winter again and the glass of the sliding door was between her and the scene, the living ocean. She almost reached out to touch the remembered door and then pulled her hand back.
It had changed. This had changed. Her perceptions had changed. Had she truly changed? A short time ago she’d discovered that Brian had met with Laurel behind her back, but she’d forgiven him in an instant. Her heart felt light.
Brian reclaimed her hand. “Without the grasses, the rest doesn’t stand a chance.”
“I won’t call them ugly anymore.”
He touched her chin and turned her face toward him. “I was going to add that, without you, the rest of us—me especially—don’t stand a chance.”
Her chest hurt. She thought the pressure might crush her heart. How could happiness hurt so much? She gasped for air. Brian slid his arm around her.
“Are you okay, Fran?”
She nodded. She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. “I have a question for you.”
“What?”
“Not saying I mind, but I’m curious. You are the only one who calls me Fran. Why?”
“Why don’t I call you Frannie? Do you want me to?”
“Not really.”
“Then I’ll tell you.” He dropped his arm away. He turned and leaned back against the rail with her, hip to hip. “Frannie. When I hear it I get a picture in my head. A girl who is polite, who does the right things. Someone sweet. With curls and dimples.”
“I’m not sweet? Polite? Is that what you’re saying?” She felt a little ticked off. He needed to explain this better.
Brian ignored her question. He grinned with a smug, satisfied attitude. “But then there’s Fran. Fran is bolder. Not in a brash way, but she thinks for herself. She likes a good fight. Sometimes she’s too stubborn, but she also doesn’t give up. If she wants something, she keeps coming back until she gets it.”
“That’s me? I mean is that how you see me?” Wow, was he wide of the mark, but then, some of what he said resonated with her. The rest she might have to work on.
She reached out and touched his face. Gently, she guided his face toward hers and pressed her lips to his.
Voices came from the beach area. Suddenly, self-conscious and remembering they were in full view of anyone who might be nearby, like Megan, she looked over at the rockers, but Megan wasn’t there. The yarn was hanging on the top knob of one of the rockers, blowing in the breeze, and the front door was wide open.
Had they upset Megan with their private conversation and the public embrace?
At the same moment that she whispered, “Megan,” the wind rustled the grasses, a gust that grew in strength and slammed through the open doorway. It caught the vertical blinds, twisting them, trying to rip them from their fastenings.
Frannie ran.
Megan was in the living room, her face distressed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Papers had blown off the counter and flown around the room. Even the seascapes had gone cockeyed on the wall. A vase had crashed and glass shards littered the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
“No worries, Megan.” Frannie knelt and put her arms around the girl.
“I didn’t mean to break anything. I only came in to go to the bathroom.”
Frannie smiled. “You weren’t upset?”
“Upset? About what?”
Impulsively, Frannie planted a kiss on Megan’s cheek. “No harm done. Let’s get this cleaned up.”
She picked up the broken bits of glass. Megan gathered the loose papers. Brian straightened the paintings remarking on the quality of the picture-hanging workmanship that had prevented them from going airborne, too.
Megan asked, “Can I have this stamp?”
“What stamp?” Brian asked.
“This one. It looks old.”
She handed the envelope to her father. He looked at it, frowned, and offered it to Frannie.
“What’s this?”
The envelope was addressed to Will Denman. It looked modern and the postmark was relatively
recent, only about a year ago, but a slip of paper and another envelope inside had slipped partway out. Will must have read it, then put it back together and stuck it in with his bills and correspondence, or at least someplace where the wind had found it.
Frannie pulled out the interior envelope. This one was older and had the stamp that had caught Megan’s eye. The postmark was smeared. Folded around the envelope was a piece of lined paper. The spidery script read:
Brother—I found this in Mother’s things yesterday. You can see it arrived after Marshall and Anne’s deaths. So many years ago. I guess Mother meant to open it, but never did. I don’t know what to make of it, but maybe you will. The note was signed, Penny.
Frannie held the envelope, addressed long ago to her grandparents, with a return address in Edenton—but, as Penny stated, opened only recently.
She didn’t yet know what the letter said or who had written it, but her hands trembled. Her surroundings faded. Even Brian and Megan had fallen away. She didn’t know why her hands shook, but her heart knew.
She held the letter close to her chest and breathed a silent prayer, then opened it and removed the paper. There were few words.
Mr. and Mrs. Denman—Edward doesn’t know and I can’t go near that house again, not with the new wife, but I did something I shouldn’t have. Now I’m sick. I have another child, your grandchild. She’s a sweet little one. Her name is Julianne. If you care at all, contact me at this address. Frances.
Did Frances ever realize that the letter hadn’t arrived in time? That her former in-laws were already gone? Or did she go to her grave believing they hadn’t cared enough to respond?
Brian cleared his throat. Frannie looked up at him.
“This is how Will knew. His sister, Penny, sent this to him.” She handed it to Brian.
He whistled, low and soft.
She nodded. “Now what?”
His eyes were grave. “You have to make that choice, Fran.”
“I already spoke to Juli earlier today. It didn’t go well.”
He frowned. “How so?”
“I tried to tell her, but she didn’t want to hear it. As soon as an opportunity arose, she left me sitting there and,” her voice dropped, “I gave up and left.”
Beach Winds Page 23
