Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1)

by Lowe, T. I.

  My brows pucker because I have not taken this life change into consideration for my husband. He soothes the pucker with his thumb and answers my unspoken concerns. “Don’t worry about it. As long as I have my beautiful wife by my side I’m content with whatever life puts before me.” He looks around. “This place isn’t so bad.”

  I’m still not so sure, so he pulls me closer and places a kiss on my forehead. “Mmm…salty.” He chuckles as he licks his lips before continuing. “Savannah, I can do most of what I need to do for Monroe Enterprise from here.” He has a point. He does most of his work from our condo, so I let it go.

  “Fine,” I say as I release him and peel off the wetsuit. He eyes the turquoise bikini that was hidden underneath.

  “Nice,” he says before pulling me back towards him. I take this opportunity to rid him of his tie and undo the buttons of his shirt. I run my hands along the smooth expanse of his chest. “You’re a bit overdressed,” I whisper as I slide the shirt completely off. I glance back outside and turn to lead Lucas there.

  He abandons his socks and shoes on the deck as we pass by. Once we make it onto the sand, I circle my hands around his neck. “I’ve danced many a dances with demons on this beach in my dreams,” I say as I meet his eyes. “I want to dance with my angel now. I want a better relationship with this beach. Think you can help me out with that, big boy?”

  “Absolutely, love,” he murmurs. With understanding, Lucas gathers me in his arms and we set out on a dance that is achingly sweet. As we dance, I shed what’s left of my demons. I’ve carried them long enough. We circle and let the melody of the sea lull us into our own intimate world. In this moment, I think that maybe, just maybe, I’m going to be okay.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sun is dancing in warm glowing tones so beautifully throughout the room this morning. I can hear the ocean waves kissing the shore good morning just outside. I feel so peaceful and content in this moment, and for the first time the picture of me staying is crystal clear.

  I roll over and watch Lucas sleep for a while. He is stretched out lying on his back and is as always hogging both sides of the bed, with one hand hanging off his side of the bed and the other holding onto my thigh. The man sprawls in his sleep as if he is always seeking me out. I’m confident that I can live anywhere and accomplish anything as long as I have him by my side. I quietly sneak out of the bed and let him catch up on some much-needed rest. My family and I can be pretty exhausting, and I feel bad for Lucas having to deal with it all.

  I get dressed and head down the shore to the Beach Shack to pick up some local breakfast favorites for Lucas. It is just as I have remembered it. It still looks like an old shack about to fall over, and it is already packed at seven in the morning. Several fishermen, already adorned in their fishing bibs, are grabbing large cups of coffee and biscuits to go. I recognize a few of the older ones for they are direct sources for the restaurant. One of the men waves me over. He’s a big, brawny man who looks like a lumberjack in fishing gear, with a red plaid shirt peeping under his bib. He sports a bushy, black beard that goes well with his bushy head of black hair. He looks rough and can act tough, but he is just a big teddy bear.

  “Hey there, sweetheart. It’s a pure shame ‘bout your old man,” Billy says as he pats my shoulder in a condoling manner.

  “I agree,” I say in a low voice. The realization that he is truly gone keeps creeping up on me unexpectedly. It just doesn’t seem right at all.

  “You call me up when you need the market restocked, okay?” he says as the rest of his group starts shuffling towards the door.

  “Sure thing, Billy,” I say and resume my people watching.

  There is a good-sized crowd of sun-worshiping tourists ready to get their day at the beach underway. You can pick up whiffs of sunblock floating faintly through the air as it mingles with the greasy aroma. The tourists are easy to spot. They are the ones that stand before the large menu board with their mouths gaped open and their eyes bouncing around at the choices. They seem at awe over the delectable breakfast options and are having a hard time trying to decide what they want. This is opposite from most locals, who never lift their gaze to the menu board. They normally have a set favorite and order it religiously every time – me included. I have not set eyes on the menu in almost a decade, but I know exactly what I want.

  “Good morning, darlin’. What can I get ya?” the waitress at the counter asks.

  “I know what that young lady wants. Don’t worry her with ordering!” a familiar gruff voice pipes in at the kitchen opening. I look over to find a short, burly man grinning at me from underneath his thick, unruly, grey whiskers. He wipes his hands on his greasy apron as he approaches me. He is a good bit shorter than me, so I have to stoop a bit to receive his hug. I notice he is barefoot as always. Jarrette is the owner of this fine shack and cooks up the greasy yet scrumptious fair.

  “There’s no way you remember my order,” I say.

  “You want an order of the best biscuits and gravy with extra sausage, apple stuffed pancakes, and a large coffee,” he answers proudly with a huge smile. He’s confident he has it right. Of course, he does.

  “Double the order and you’ve got it right, sir. And it’s to go,” I smile back.

  “Comin’ right up,” he says as he heads back into the kitchen. I can’t help but wonder what the food health inspectors think of his bare feet. I shake my head and laugh.

  The waitress hands me a cup of coffee, as is the longstanding tradition of the Beach Shack to give customers with to-go orders a cup of coffee to enjoy while they wait on the food. As I sit at the counter waiting, I look around at the buzz of everyone coming and going. I watch the restaurant staff working in sync with one another and I begin to get excited about my opportunity of running not one but two businesses of my very own. I finally feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

  I admit I love the laidback atmosphere of Bay Creek. That was never the issue. I will just have to stop looking in the past and keep my focus on the present and towards the future. Before I get too far out there daydreaming about my new life ahead, the waitress delivers my food. I pay and head back to the beach house to surprise Lucas with the delicious breakfast. It is all I can do to stay out of the bag until I get back. The aroma makes my mouth water in anticipation. I just know it’s going to be good. The evidence is clearly on the white bag in the form of glorious grease stains.

  I quietly creep upstairs and find Lucas still sprawled out, sleeping away. I wave the bag back and forth close to his nose until he opens one eye at me.

  “Hmm. That smells wonderful.” He stretches a long stretch and gives me a quick kiss before snatching the bag out of my hand. I love how playful he can be first thing in the morning. He is one of those obnoxious morning people. I am not, and this trait of his is annoying if he wakes before me. But since I have been up quite a while, I’m enjoying it. He sits up and begins pulling the food out. I sit here and admire the view of him in his rumpled boxer shorts. His light brown hair looks so boyish with the curls sticking up all over. Those bedroom eyes of his…

  “I think this is for you,” he says as he hands me a note that has been tucked in the bottom of the bag, which forces me out of my lustful thoughts. I pull my eyes off Lucas and read the note. It states in scrawling handwriting that is none other than Jarrette’s, Good luck with the restaurant and market. I know you will do your dad proud.

  “Humph.” It is inspiring to know that people have faith in me.

  We munch on the delicious breakfast and joke about how we probably have gained a good ten pounds apiece in the past few days. Not really, but still. There are just too many good southern cooks living in Bay Creek. We laze around in the bed for a good part of the morning, enjoying the slower pace for a while.

  “I can already tell you we have to replace this queen-sized bed with a king, Mr. Bed Hog,” I laugh as he is scrunched up on my side of the bed as I speak. No matter what size bed we ow
n, it will always be the same—as it should be.

  We laugh my joke off before I start wrestling with some doubt. “Do you really want to give Bay Creek a shot?” I ask. I burrow close into his comforting chest and breathe in the warm, familiar smell of him.

  “Only if you want to,” Lucas says. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer. He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. I love his strength and gentleness all at the same time. We lay in each other’s arms for a while before I begin to try to talk us out of moving.

  “But what about your job? What about our condo? What about your family? Won’t you miss them?” I let out a long list of questions.

  Lucas brushes a light kiss over my lips before looking me in the eyes and says, “We can make this work. Have a little faith.”

  “Easier said than done, Mr. Monroe.” I sigh and give him a long kiss before I climb out of the bed. I need another opinion. I’m not procrastinating, okay. I’m just making sure…

  “Not running away, are you?” he questions as he tries to grab ahold of me.

  I squirm out his grasp, giggling. “No sir. I promise to return.” I grab his Jeep keys and blow him a kiss as I skip out the door.

  I head straight to the one who I know will give it to me straight, whether I want to hear it or not. I pull into her driveway and am about to climb out of the Jeep when the passenger door opens, surprising me. I have no idea where the little lady came from. She’s quicker than I give her credit for.

  “Take me for a ride in this Jeep Wrangler. That way I got plenty to talk about with my great-grandbaby the next time he visits,” She grunts as she tries unsuccessfully to climb up into the tall Jeep. She may be fast, but she can’t climb worth a lick.

  I have to laugh as I walk to her side to give her a boost. “Up you go, old lady,” I laugh some more as I plant her in the passenger seat.

  “It comes in handy to have an unusually tall Thorton child around,” she chuckles herself.

  “I’m not that tall. It’s that you’re unusually short,” I say with a smile.

  “Watch your mouth, young’un,” she says, causing me to laugh some more.

  I climb back in and pull out onto the highway, still laughing at the craziness of the situation.

  “You know, you really shouldn’t talk to old people like you do,” Miss May says with a smirk.

  “I really can’t help I’m a smart-mouthed brat.” I laugh.

  “Good point.” She laughs too. I love this woman more than my teeth, ‘cause she gets me and loves me anyway.

  I drive Miss May down to the pier and along the beach boulevard, while she wears a huge grin on her face. She waves at everyone, whether she knows them or not. I eventually park at a beach access and we gaze out over the crowd already gathered on the sandy shore. It’s gonna be a beautiful day.

  “When we reopening?” she asks as she looks over at me. She is quite a sight sitting there with her hair rollers tucked in neat rows over her silver head, wearing Lucas’s Ray Bans. The sun was giving her eyes a fit, and they are the only shades I could find in the glove box. These are the Wayfarer style that my man can pull off charmingly. Miss May—not so much. She doesn’t seem to mind, so I keep my smart mouth closed for a change.

  “I just don’t know,” I say hesitantly.

  “Well, we both know yo’ procrastinatin’ butt is gonna eventually do it, so just go ahead and decide already. I’m sick of sittin’ home.” She looks at me over the top of the sunglasses. She eyes me until I roll my eyes back at her. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know.”

  “Don’t I know it, and that’s one of my problems. I don’t want to even think about doing any of this without you.” I let the silent understanding of this statement pass between us. I know we don’t know the number of our days, but Miss May’s are clearly becoming limited. I banish this thought—it hurts too much to even think it.

  “You ain’t got to worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cept openin’ back up. Them places run themselves. Besides, I’ve been trainin’ my granddaughter, Vanessa, for the past five years. Another five years and she should be able to handle it on her own.” She slides me a wink over the rim of the sunglasses and smiles.

  “Well, that sounds mighty appealing. Me and Vanessa used to waitress together,” I say as I pull on my ear in thought. We let the subject drop and I drive Miss May around the beach for a while longer.

  Later in the afternoon, I drop Miss May back at her lovely little home.

  “I sure have missed you, old lady,” I say as I give her a long hug after scooping her out of the Jeep and depositing her in the yard. I walk her to the porch.

  “Me too, girl. You ‘bout to see a lot of me, don’t worry. I sure am glad you finally decided to reappear. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she says as I turn to leave.

  “I look forward to it. You have to promise to share your cheesecakes from Julia with me, though,” I wag my finger at her.

  “As long as you and your handsome husband drive me to church every Sunday in one of yo’ fancy cars,” she offers.

  “You have yourself a deal,” I agree.

  I head over to the restaurant for a visit. I push through the door and inhale deeply. My throat catches over the absent aromas of fresh seafood being prepared. It’s an injustice, I know. I walk over to my dad’s and my favorite booth and have a seat. This is the booth we would normally take our late lunch breaks. I sit and inspect the dining hall. It is crisp and fresh with newly painted white walls. There is no evident dust on the giant ocean and beach shore landscape paintings by a local artist, R.H. Ewol. There are three original paintings along the left wall. They have always been a favorite of mine. I scan over them slowly and then look around some more. This place has been so well cared for, I can only hope I’m able to do it justice.

  Tears begin to slide down my cheeks as more forgotten memories pay me a visit. I scoot under the table to make certain that this is the exact same booth. I smile when I see the evidence that it is. Lucas carved our initials on the underside late one night after closing. It was the night he accompanied me back from college to ask my dad for his permission to marry me. I run my fingers along the carving as that memory dances happily.

  Dad took a break long enough to share an appetizer and a glass of sweet tea with us before Lucas bravely asked him. My dad was so thrilled for us that he stood up on the booth bench and announced to the entire restaurant our good news.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to share with you all that my beautiful daughter has been blessed with finding her true love, and he has asked my permission to marry her,” my dad announced proudly. The crowd broke out in applause, and I can still remember my face becoming bright red. “I guess I have no other choice but to agree!” He was crazy about Lucas, as anyone who meets him is. Dad seemed so proud and happy for me that grand day, it was one of my favorite days to spend with him.

  The only way I could ensure my dad giving me away was to have the wedding in Bay Creek, which was perfect for a beach wedding at sunset. It was a breathtaking evening in late August. The warm breeze wasn’t too overpowering, and the ocean was peacefully calm. The stunning landscape served as the wedding decorations. It was more exquisite than any floral bouquet or draped fabric could have ever offered. I’m not one of those frilly types of girls anyway. Out on that beach, I felt free and content without any pressure of putting on some show for the guests. It was a ceremony like one should be, in my opinion.

  The men wore white linen shirts and soft khaki pants with bare feet. The women wore coral sundresses with their feet bare as well. I wore a simple white sundress with my long, dark, wavy hair adorned with a cream and coral–hued hibiscus flower tucked behind my ear. It was a simple service of Lucas and I pledging our love and commitment for one another before our close friends and family, and most importantly, God.

  My parents took care of the reception, to my astonishment. It was held at the restaurant. Jean planned the entire mouthwatering menu. Best of all, M
iss May helped to cook it. My mother also decorated the restaurant very elegantly. Candles served as the main lighting, and simple white floral arrangements with delicate pieces of driftwood tucked in various places cascaded on each table. A section of tables was removed and a portable dance floor was brought in. I’m smart enough to have recognized Jean’s intentions to simply show off her talents, but it didn’t bother me. It was the best day of my life, no matter her intentions. It was one of the very few times where it felt as though she and I waved temporary white flags. We kept our distance from each other most of the day, sure, but I never saw her giving me that you stink look.

  I scoot back into the booth and reminisce for a long while. The good memories are there, I’m beginning to realize. I’ve just buried them so far under the bad ones; it’s a relief comfort to know they are there. All I have to do is hunt for them and stop letting the nightmares blind me. I resolve a few things in this moment and abruptly stand and make my way to my dad’s office. I think I’ve put this off long enough, don’t you?

  Sitting in his chair behind the desk, I pick up the phone and record a new voice message. “On behalf of my family, I, Savannah Monroe, would like to thank you for your outpouring of support during this difficult time. In honor of my dad’s wishes, I will be reopening the market as well as the restaurant within the next week. We will be planning a Patron Appreciation Celebration in memory of my dad. Details of the event will be posted on our website and will be in this Sunday’s paper. Thank you again.” I’m already thinking of some menu specials and maybe offering a free appetizer table for the event as I hang up the phone.

  I eye an extra shirt hanging from a hook on the back of the office door. I smile, knowing that a complete changing of clothes is tucked in the bottom drawer of his desk. I slide the drawer open for confirmation. Sure enough, the stack of clothing sits there folded neatly. Jean demanded this after me and Dad played in the inlet that afternoon. I smile at the memory and grab the shirt off the top of the pile. I bring it to my nose and inhale the faint scent of his cologne.