The House At Sunset: SEALed At Sunset - The Beach Renovation (Sunset SEALs Book 5)

by Sharon Hamilton

  “And so you understand.”

  But do I? Do I really understand?

  The assisted living section of the Our Lady of Light residences did feel like a hospital. Aimee felt a slight shortness of breath, and in her gasping, she didn’t finish sentences, and lost her train of thought. So much of her experience walking into this place reminded her of those sad days she came to be by her mother’s side as she lay dying. It was the reason she avoided hospitals altogether.

  Though the company running the facility tried very hard, with the use of pastel colors and soft lighting inside the rooms, it still had a familiar hospital odor that made Aimee begin to clench her teeth and squeeze her palms into fists. They were greeted by a male attendant who showed them to Carmen Hernandez’ room.

  She was dressed in a brightly colored flowered housecoat. Her hair was combed and her makeup was done. Even her nails were freshly painted bright red. Aimee had expected a much older woman, someone with gaunt cheeks sunken in, lips a light purple, with a face emerging from a nest of gray hair.

  This woman before her had graying temples and plenty of streaks of light color, but her haircut was recent and she looked so healthy, Aimee wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. She was fully conscious and gave a wide smile to the two of them as they entered the room.

  “There you are, dear!” Carmen said, clasping her hands together. That’s when Aimee saw the IV attached to the back of her right hand, connected to a hanging bag of clear liquid next to the bed.

  “You look wonderful today. I’m impressed,” said Kornblum. “Whatever they’re doing, you look twenty years younger, Carmen.”

  “Oh, nonsense. A little rouge and lipstick, some foundation and anyone can look more youthful. It’s a trick, Jasper. You know it’s a trick.”

  “But they said—” he began to object.

  “They don’t have anything to do with it. I have good days and bad days. Today is a good day. A special day. Aimee has come to see me at last.”

  “And I’m so sorry it took me so long. I feared I’d made a huge mistake by not coming sooner.”

  “Ah, but it is the magic. The magic of love. You know about this, don’t you, Aimee?” she said with a sweet smile.

  Aimee blushed. It was as if this strange woman knew exactly what her insides were screaming. She felt a real connection to her.

  “The truth is, they have a special cocktail that makes me feel like your age, Aimee. And right after you leave, they’ll whisk me into the shower, and get me back into my hospital gown, and deliver another bag. That one will have all the bad stuff and I’ll be sick for three days, maybe a week. I’m getting very tired of it.”

  Aimee had been told she had Stage IV breast cancer. Unlike her mother, who wasted away and nearly lost all her hair even without any cancer drugs, Carmen Hernandez’s hair was very healthy and thick.

  “Come, pull up this chair and let’s chat. Jasper, did you tell her about the inheritance?”

  While Aimee dragged the armchair closer, Jasper sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I did indeed. Not all the details. Perhaps you’d like to do that yourself, Carmen.”

  Suddenly, her demeanor shifted, and she became distracted, frowning at her lap. “I’m going to be sick. Jasper, call the nurse.”

  While the attorney went in search of help, Carmen whispered to Aimee, “I had to speak to you in private. Forgive me.” She winked.

  Aimee took her outstretched hand and felt familiar coldness there. “I am so grateful for everything you’ve already done, Miss Hernandez. For selling me the house. It truly is a special place. I love the light and—”

  “The magic? You feel the magic too?” Carmen asked, squeezing her hand.

  “Something like that. Tell me what it was like.”

  “Well, I lived there for twenty years, a little more. Hank was only there half that time, unfortunately. But he used to call it his secret weapon. He couldn’t write anywhere else after he had his first few novels published. So, he purchased the home and left it vacant when he wasn’t there. The first time I walked inside, I felt the power of the magic. Good magic. It’s the kind of magic that comes from the heart, Aimee. I think you feel it too.”

  She nodded her agreement and let the older woman continue.

  “It’s something that has to be protected. You must never tear it down or all the power will be gone. I’ve had offers, and I’ve turned down a lot of money to sell to a builder who would tear it down and replace it with something huge, but—”

  Kornblum and a nurse rushed into the room.

  “I’m going to have to ask you two to leave. She cannot tolerate this,” the nurse said, quickly separating their hand-holding and checking her pulse, then her eyes and lastly, the drip on the bag at the side. “Miss Hernandez, you know you have to be careful. Your immune system is running on empty; your iron count is dangerously low, and we are preparing for that emergency iron infusion this afternoon.”

  “I know all that. Just give me a few more minutes,” the older woman objected.

  “Just a few. Five minutes max.” The nurse moved to the other side of the bed, making notes on a whiteboard hanging on the wall. “You want something for the nausea?”

  “No. I’m fine.” She inhaled deeply, and, as if drawing strength. Aimee saw a slight green tint to her color—something the makeup failed to hide. Carmen continued, “All right then,” she sighed. “Just before Hank’s passing, I discovered my love of writing as well. He was delighted. He started editing my work and encouraging me to write more and more. I’d just finished my first rough draft when he suddenly left us.”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek and stared down at her lap.

  “I’ve ordered some of his books, Miss Hernandez. Now I plan on reading all of yours as well.” Aimee was hoping it would cheer her up. “Mr. Kornblum told me about them on the way down here.”

  “Romance. You love romance?”

  “I do.”

  “You believe in the Happily Ever After?” She said it as if it was a strange idol placed on a church mantlepiece.

  “Absolutely I do.”

  Suddenly, Carmen grabbed Aimee’s hand again. “You know what this means?” She searched Aimee’s face, but Aimee wasn’t sure what answer the older woman was looking for.

  “Tell me,” Aimee said, rubbing her thumb over the bony knuckles of Carmen’s left hand.

  “It means I will live forever, that’s what it means. As long as someone is reading my books, I’ll always be there. Hank and I will always be there, at that house at Sunset Beach. But you have to keep reading. Love stories. Forget his science fiction books, read love stories, Aimee.”

  “I will.” She felt hot tears begin to form again at the tops of her cheekbones, and then spill over the ledge and drop onto her lap. The sadness was overwhelming. Aimee wondered if there was some form of dementia developing, perhaps an early stage and wondered which affliction would overtake her first—her cancer or the dementia. She decided to feed the illusion of a dying woman by telling her about her own experience.

  “You are so right, Carmen. The house is magic. Something lives there that you can feel. I completely understand.”

  “Powered by love, Aimee. Don’t forget that.” The older woman’s gaze was unwavering.

  “Of course.”

  The nurse began to roll her eyes and motioned for them to head toward the doorway. “I think she’s had enough.”

  “Oh, not nearly enough. There is never enough love,” Carmen added stubbornly, still seeking Aimee’s attention.

  “We got the message, Carmen,” said Kornblum. “Trust me, Aimee’s not going to forget this. You can tell her more about the magic next time.”

  Carmen leaned forward and whispered to her, “Next time you see me, I’ll be with Hank. I promise. I trust that you will keep us alive.”

  Her comment caused Aimee’s spine to stiffen with the bittersweet notion that life was finite, but that love was eternal. That was the mess
age Carmen had been trying to tell her. Then she thought about Andy, so far away, the part about the finiteness of life striking a huge, gaping wound in her heart. More tears washed down her cheeks. Her eyes were now red and sore.

  “There is more of the story. He’s coming back, Aimee.”

  “Who?” asked Kornblum, his face wrinkled in a scowl.

  “They both are. Hank and Andy. They’re coming back and they’ll never leave us again!”

  Chapter 8

  The Team piled into the bus, along with their three Africacorps “handlers”, which was a nicer way of saying the government spies. Peterson had briefed them on the fact that a thriving oil drilling business was being protected and was the private concern of the new President and several of his top generals. Andy suspected they were also into other concerns, namely drugs and girls.

  So the SEALs were to thread the needle between the government forces aided by their Africacorp and coalition well-equipment troops and the ragtag rebel militia group that had been having their way with villages and animal poaching concerns in Benin, and parts of Nigeria, and were suspected of holding the journalists. The SEALs were only allowed to travel on designated roads in certain areas, just to make sure they didn’t get a glimpse of something Uncle Sam wouldn’t like that might end the partnership with the US Special Forces.

  But everyone expected to see the worst.

  Andy noticed right away that the rear lavatory had been cleaned up overnight, however it still was missing a door. And just before they fired up the engine in the rusty white beast, someone noticed a tire had gone flat. It was an hour before a replacement tire could be located and they could get on their way.

  The driver was going to let them off at the edge of a protected forest, a site being built with UNESCO funds for creation of a nature preserve of endangered species. The region was targeted by a recent IUCN Red List paper, calling out one particular species of blue baboon, well on its way to extinction. It was thought that the militia group also was responsible for poaching various other species as well, for transport to private zoos that illegally purchased the animals as breeding stock. Several old camps had been identified with use of drone footage. The SEALs single focus was for the rescue of the workers and not the animals.

  The two Nigerian guides took the tip of the spear, slashing a wide path for the rest of the team to follow. Dallas and Andy were soon drenched in sweat as the party crossed a tall grassy savannah, heading into a dark jungle forest. They could hear the sounds of screaming and howling monkeys and baboons. The foliage was alive with tiny yellow birds and large black-winged duck-like creatures who were nesting in the trees above and frequently divebombed the group and came quite close to knocking hats off and sending men sprawling onto the jungle floor to avoid contact.

  Andy was glad he’d brought a healthy supply of repellant and knew without it, he’d not get a wink of sleep.

  The guides stopped, using binoculars to search the treetops ahead and consulting one another as to the best route to take. Peterson wasn’t getting any respect from them, and each time their LPO asked for clarification and translation, he was completely ignored.

  It was painful for Andy to watch. Dallas rolled his eyes.

  “If he doesn’t shut up, they’re gonna gag him. I’ve seen it done,” Dallas whispered.

  Two hours into their hike, Andy took a drink of water and shared some with Dallas and Conley Brown, a medic first timer. He poured water on his shemagh and wrapped it around his neck and head, tying it under his chin. Then he replaced his Fresno State Bulldogs baseball cap securely on the wet headdress, the bill facing down his backside. His black gloves were full of stickers, but so far had managed to keep his hands from sustaining little cuts from the stubborn brush.

  The group slowly moved forward while Andy mentally checked his pockets, adjusted the medic pack on his shoulders, and felt the reassuring bulge of his sidearm and KA-BAR. Conley walked beside him as they followed behind Dallas.

  “You’ve been here three or four times, Andy?”

  “Three. Well, I’m not sure I call the Canaries or Cape Verde part of the African continent. Way different terrain, but I’ve been along the coast, seen the villages there. The islands are rocks, old volcanos and really tough hiking. We took on a lot of ankle and knee injuries hiking those hills,” he answered.

  Conley nodded. His light pink baby’s bottom skin was getting cut up and was slightly sunburned. Andy tried not to stare, but he didn’t see that the boy had developed a beard yet. He’d heard about some Team Guys who lied about their age, and Conley looked younger than that even.

  “You best get some sunscreen on those cheeks and lather up your nose. Make you look like a lifeguard and the girls will love it,” Andy mumbled in the kid’s direction.

  “Yeah, I think I wiped it all off.” He stopped, quickly pulling out a Warrior Wipe, which was a repellant and sunscreen all in one, wiping across his forehead, across his cheeks and over his nose.

  “Careful of your eyes. You don’t want to get any stuff in there, or—”

  “Argh.” Conley groaned. “God dammit. Too late. Motherfucker. Every time I do that, I feel like pissing my pants.”

  Andy just nodded and didn’t make much of it.

  “Sonofabitch that stuff stings.”

  “Yeah, but your eyeballs won’t burn now. Thank the SEAL gods for that.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Use your water. I got an irrigator we can use when we stop for tea and crackers.” Andy grinned and wondered if he had bugs stuck in his teeth.

  The sound of a chainsaw and the crack of a falling tree pierced the area, getting the guides excited. They pointed off to where the sound was coming, on the right and their conversation bubbling over as their pace increased.

  Another sound of the chainsaw preceded the sight of a large tree falling very close to where they were walking, followed by the screeching sounds of chimps or baboons being displaced. They could hear multiple tools pounding and chopping wood, or perhaps nailing boards together. A campfire was burning, and the smell of food cooking filled Andy’s nose, making him hungry.

  Several minutes later, they encountered a clearing busy with nearly a dozen local villagers working shirtless in the filtered light of the hot sun. They were building small enclosures for animals, setting up fences and raising crisscrossed beams lashed together that would be covered in canvas or perhaps plastic membrane. A pile of metal corrugated material lay twisted and haphazardly stacked to the side. Several large dormitory-type structures were located on the other side of the clearing, made out of concrete and animal dung blocks, open glassless windows covered with canvas rags.

  Peterson was shaking hands with a European-looking officer. Andy figured he was attached to the UN crew for security.

  Out of one of the buildings walked Sven Tolar, who was washing his hands with a rag, smiling, headed right for Andy.

  “So now my new friend is my enemy,” he said in his clipped Norwegian accent. “Are you responsible for this posting?” He glanced at Peterson and the officer and shook Andy’s glove and sticker-encrusted hand.

  “Guilty as charged. Don’t knock my clock out, Sven. But I have to say I’m really glad to see you.”

  “And I’m very glad to be alive, to be seen!”

  “This here’s Dallas, Conley. Peterson over there is the LPO. Who’s your guy?”

  “That’s Gunnar Fucktard. Former circus performer.”

  Andy must have looked horrified.

  “They building a zoo or breeding ground?” Andy asked.

  “Who knows? They’re protecting the blue baboons here. It’s a humanitarian mission. They’re supposed to be beautiful creatures, near extinct. This place is supposed to be a research center, someday a tourist destination, so they say.”

  Peterson joined them. “You must be Sven Tolar,” he said, extending his hand.

  “At your service, Chief.”

  “You get here today?” he asked.

&
nbsp; “Yesterday. I came in with some supplies and reinforcements and a cook, but we got to travel by truck. How come you guys hiked in? There’s a road just a half click away.”

  Peterson shrugged.

  “See, they’re messing with you, Peterson. They’ve been watching you the whole time,” whispered Sven so others wouldn’t hear.

  “And that’s why Andy here recommended you.”

  Gunnar began shouting orders to the Team to unpack their loads in one of the two block buildings.

  “Chief, don’t let him do that. He works for you, not the other way around.”

  “My men are tired. I’ll dance with him later. Right now, I want to check in with the Headshed and let the guys rest up.”

  “Have you heard anything about the journalists, Sven?” asked Andy. Dallas and Conley eagerly listened for an answer.

  “Some of the crew I came in with said they saw some strangers in town—there’s a small town, called Benot, with a school and some government buildings and shops, a jail and an Africacorps detachment about twenty minutes away by truck. But they could have been hired workers brought in to work on the dam. They’ve been seeing a lot of that lately. So not sure. But they weren’t from here, that’s for sure.”

  “State’s sending a bird overhead tonight. Any armed groups other than the Africacorps?” asked Peterson.

  “Not yet. Gunnar and I are not quite talking that friendly yet. He’s going to try to put your guys to work building latrines and finishing the pens and tree clearing, since your salaries don’t come out of his expenses.”

  Peterson followed the men inside the dorms. Sven pulled Andy aside. “How’s Kyle, and how’s Tucker? He get that lady of his knocked up again?”

  “Kyle’s great. Aimee and I got married.”

  “I heard. Congrats. You sure about this?”

  “Best thing I’ve done so far.”

  “She’s a nice girl. You still working on that house?”

  “Of course. Kind of a money pit. But she’s in love with that place.” Andy continued, “Team 3 went on a training so the guys who were going to come, Kyle included, didn’t make it. I thought perhaps you’d be with them.”