Beach House Reunion

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “You must miss Leslie.”

  “Of course. She’ll always be in my heart. As I’m sure Brett will be in yours.” He paused. “But I’ve had a long time to find peace and acceptance. Heather has too, at last.” He rose to get the pitcher from the table and topped off Cara’s glass. The ice clinked in the silence.

  “Would she have liked this house, do you think?”

  David straightened and paused, pitcher in hand, tilting his head in consideration. “I never thought about it,” he said. “I don’t know if she’d have left her house in Charlotte. She’d designed it, decorated it. It was traditional and comfortable. Lots of curtains and wallpaper. And she loved her gardens. . . .” He looked around at his modern house, lost in thought.

  “I don’t think you could say Natalie was the domestic type.”

  He barked out a short laugh. “No.” He shook his head ruefully. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Do you think you remarried too quickly?”

  David brought the pitcher back to the table and sat in the chair, crossing his legs. He didn’t answer.

  Cara looked at her glass. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

  He placed his hands on his thighs. “No, it’s not that. I don’t know the answer,” he replied honestly.

  “Natalie just seemed so different from how you describe Leslie.”

  “She was.”

  There followed a long silence.

  “You see,” David began again, “you don’t pick up where you left off when your spouse dies. That’s the first thing you learn. Though,” he added, “learning that takes time and quite a few agonizing dates.” They both chuckled. “Anyone you date is going to be a different person, with his or her own likes, dislikes, strengths, flaws. It’s a different relationship. New. I started out looking for a clone of Leslie. It doesn’t take long to figure out it doesn’t work like that. With Natalie, there was a spark. She was very accomplished. Beautiful.” His lips slid into a rueful smile. “She flattered me.” He flipped his palms up. “Who knows?” he said with a shrug. He leaned back, grabbed his glass, and took a drink. “Apparently, I did marry too quickly.”

  “I’m only curious because I’m struggling with the whole starting life over thing,” she told him. “Widowhood is such a limbo. Even the name is horrible. ‘Widow’—makes me think of a deadly spider. It’s been almost three years.” Saying it still gave her pause. There were days she had to think long and hard to recall what it felt like to be with Brett. On other days she still thought he was alive and expected him to walk into the room or make a comment.

  “I’ve made a life for myself . . . without him. The old saying that life goes on isn’t just a cliché. Hope filled a huge hole in my heart. With her, I have purpose again.” She paused. “Being home, though, has flushed out a lot of memories that lay dormant. Little things spark a memory. They come from nowhere and catch me off guard.” She sighed. “But the pain isn’t as sharp. That means something, I suppose.”

  “Sure it does,” he said gently. “Every step forward matters.”

  She knew he wasn’t preaching, but speaking from experience. “I’ll remember that.”

  Cara felt they’d both said more than they felt comfortable sharing and turned to another subject.

  “So,” she said in an upbeat tone. “Now you live on Dewees Island. That’s quite a change. Do you ever feel isolated here, so far from other people?”

  He shook his head. “I take the ferry in several times a week. I often go to Charleston. And I still travel quite a bit. Sometimes it feels like I don’t spend enough time here, enjoying the quiet.”

  “And those other projects you’re involved in. Do they take up much of your time?”

  “As much as I care to give,” David said. “I enjoy managing my investments. It’s rather like playing a game of chess. Both chess players and investors know that strategy is key. Each piece has a role to play. One has to look into the future and calculate the moves, the offense and defense.”

  She raised a brow. “How’s the game going?”

  “So far, I’m winning.”

  Cara thought of David being able to make an offer on this house that the owners couldn’t refuse, of his early retirement, his support of Heather, his world travel, and realized his wealth had to be considerable.

  “You’ll have to give me some tips,” she told him in a wry tone, adding, “Once I have money to invest.” She swirled the ice in her drink. “For now, I’m trying to build up my consult business. If you know of anyone, send them my way.”

  It was a good place to end their conversation. They both turned their heads at the sound of a baby crying. They looked at each other and smiled reluctantly, and suddenly David no longer appeared a successful lawyer, but a younger, freer man.

  A second cry echoed through the cavernous rooms.

  “Back to work,” David said.

  As they headed toward the bedroom to fetch the babies, Cara considered how much they had in common. She wasn’t the same person she’d been three years ago. Nor was he. They’d both lost partners. They’d both been alone, and now fate had designed that they both had a new baby in their lives.

  Although this was a playdate for the children, she was surprised by how much they’d learned about each other.

  And by how much she liked David Wyatt.

  Chapter Nine

  Loggerhead hatchlings are less than three inches long when they emerge, but those that survive to adulthood grow into three-foot-long, three-hundred-plus-pound adults.

  THE BEACH HOUSE had a long history as a haven for women, and Linnea felt their spirit the moment she stepped inside.

  “Welcome!” Cara exclaimed, pulling her indoors. She wrapped her long arms around her, and Linnea caught the scent of limes and flowers in her perfume.

  Pulling back, she looked up into her aunt’s face. At five feet four inches, Linnea was a good four inches shorter than Cara. Her aunt was still quite thin but looked more alive and healthy than the last time she’d seen her. She had the glow of an early tan and a blush of greeting on her face as her eyes danced with joy.

  Linnea dropped her bag on the floor and took a sweeping glance around the beloved house. She felt a flush of gladness sweep through her. It was as though she’d left a dark room and stepped into the sunshine.

  “I’m back!” she said exultantly.

  “You look wonderful.”

  “You look happy.”

  “I am happy,” Cara said with confidence. “Hope and I both. Especially now that you’ve arrived. Come in and make yourself at home.” She grabbed hold of the suitcase.

  “Where’s my girl?”

  “Napping.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I hope. I’ve made such a fuss.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll just bring this to your room. We can duck out. You know what they say about sleeping dogs and children.”

  Linnea followed Cara to the spare room across from Hope’s nursery. She knew the room had once been her daddy’s. Cara, in typical fashion, had redecorated it to be more comfortable for Linnea. She’d brought back her old black-iron bed, the one Linnea had always slept on when she came here. It was covered with fresh white matelassé bedding, and perched on top was a large stuffed turtle that had been Linnea’s in childhood.

  “You still have it?” she exclaimed. When Cara shushed her, she added in a whisper, “How did you keep it all these years?”

  “Your grandmother Lovie never threw anything away. I used to chide her for it. Now I’m happy she didn’t. I’m slowly going through the storage unit and finding all sorts of treasures.”

  “If you find any of her old clothes, let me know.”

  Cara’s gaze swept Linnea’s white shorts and 1940s-style top. On her feet were a great pair of seventies-era sandals she’d found in Columbia.

  “I’d forgotten you love vintage clothing. Oh, honey, I found some really choice items of Lovie’s. Dresses, skirts, even some of her old turtle team shirts. I couldn’t squeeze in them,
but you look to be the same size. I was just going to take them all to Goodwill.”

  “No!” Linnea exclaimed without thinking, immediately cringing and putting her hand over her mouth. They froze while Hope stirred in the next room . . . then smiled when silence returned. She whispered, “Please let me see them?”

  Cara laughed softly. “Of course. Now, let’s sneak out of here. You don’t want to meet cranky Hope.”

  Linnea didn’t think there was such a creature as “cranky Hope.” She soon learned that that was not true.

  LINNEA THOUGHT HOPE was a beguiling girl with her limpid brown eyes and wispy dark brown curls against her light skin. After the baby woke, Cara gave Linnea a tour of Hope’s nursery, where the stash of diapers, clothing, et cetera, were stored, then on to the kitchen to find baby supplies, and finally the living room where she stored the toys.

  “It’ll take a few days for you to really get used to being here and create a routine,” Cara told her. “I suspect you’ll both need a few days to adjust. I thought I’d go out and run a few errands. Give you two some time to get acquainted without me in the way.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Linnea told her, smiling into Hope’s face. “We’re best friends already, aren’t we?”

  Hope stared back at her doubtfully from her mother’s arms. Cara was wearing a long, flowing skirt and a tank top with a chunky necklace and espadrilles. Linnea, on the other hand, was dressed for babysitting in short yoga pants and a T-shirt and was barefoot. She’d pulled her hair back and her face was scrubbed clean.

  When the appointed hour arrived, Cara tried to pass Hope over to her, but Hope began shrieking and clinging to Cara. Linnea felt nervous, wanting to make a good impression. Babies, she quickly learned, didn’t care about impressions.

  “I’m sorry—” Linnea began, frustrated at her own ineptness.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Cara said. “Babies cry when they want something. Either they are hungry, which she isn’t. Wet”—Cara made a quick check of Hope’s diaper—“and she isn’t. Or sleepy, which she isn’t. So it simply means she wants something.”

  “You.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Cara exhaled, thinking. “Maybe if we get her started playing with her toys,” she suggested. “The power of distraction.”

  The two women sat on the floor and began playing with the building blocks and small dolls until Hope grew engrossed. Cara quietly rose to her feet and tried to slip away, but Hope’s radar picked it up. Immediately she swung her head around and called out, “Mama,” abandoned the toys, and began crawling after Cara.

  Linnea desperately tried to distract her. She frantically wiggled the doll in her hand and called Hope’s name, all to no effect.

  They repeated this pattern two more times before Cara, growing exasperated, finally said, “I think we should just tear the Band-Aid off. You take her in your arms and I’ll say a quick good-bye. I’ll go out to do my errands. Eventually she has to learn that Mama has to work and Mama will come back.” She followed her own advice with action, and shortly the door closed behind her.

  Linnea realized in the next few minutes that she really knew nothing about taking care of babies. She’d babysat when she was younger, but the children could walk and talk. Babies were another world. Hope cried and cried and couldn’t be comforted. Linnea tried interesting her in toy after toy, but Hope only grew more frustrated. Her face was pink and tears flowed down her cheeks. Linnea felt helpless. When Hope crawled to her mother’s bedroom door and sat there crying piteously, Linnea’s heart broke.

  She began to wonder, Is there something wrong with me? She’d always thought motherhood would come naturally. She’d had no idea that it could be so agonizingly hard. Or that she’d feel not only frustration but fear. What was she doing wrong? She ran to get her laptop and googled how to handle a baby crying. Scanning the list, she found she’d already tried most of the helpful tips. The one that hit home reassured her to stay calm.

  Linnea thought Hope would self-soothe and tire of crying eventually, but twenty minutes later she was only gaining steam. The walls were closing in on her with Hope’s screams echoing. The canary, of course, thought the crying was marvelous and was singing his heart out. It was mayhem. Linnea was near to bursting into tears herself.

  What would Cara do? Linnea wondered. Then she knew it was time to take charge.

  “Come on, sugar,” she called out in a cheery voice as she made her way through the pile of toys scattered across the floor to Hope, who’d pulled herself up and was standing at her mother’s door. “We’re going outside!”

  She picked up the stiff-legged child and first wiped her face of tears, kissing her frequently. She slipped into sandals, grabbed the beach bag of supplies, and carried Hope out the porch door into the sunlight. It was another in a line of gorgeous summer days on the island. The sun was shining in a clear sky, and it was neither too hot nor too humid. Linnea saw the blue ocean’s soothing, rolling surf, and immediately she felt the tension lessen. The serene, twinkling water stretched out to infinity.

  Then it struck her—Hope had stopped crying! No longer stiff, the child had relaxed comfortably into her arms. Her dark eyes, a bit puffy from crying, were calm now as she looked out toward the sea. A whisper of a breeze ruffled her soft curls and, blinking, Hope smiled at the sensation.

  Linnea’s heart bloomed with love for her. “You’re a kindred spirit, aren’t you?” She squeezed the baby. “Let’s go to the sea. It’s calling us!”

  Linnea put sunscreen all over both of them, then carried Hope along the narrow beach path, pointing out all the wildflowers and grasses on the dunes as they walked by. “There’s yellow primrose. That was your great-grandmama Lovie’s favorite. That’s morning glory, my favorite. And be careful of the prickly sandspurs. They hurt so badly! I’ll tell you a story Lovie told me.

  “There used to live here the most beautiful small parrot called the Carolina parakeet. The sweet, colorful birds ate the nasty sandspur seeds. The seeds were toxic, and cats that ate the parakeets died. So it helped with the wild cat population too. Oh, those parakeets loved the sandspur seeds! But the Carolina parakeet is gone now. Isn’t that sad? There used to be flocks of two to three hundred. Can you imagine such a sight?” She sighed and looked at the sky, imagining a colorful flock. “Hunting, deforestation, and disease destroyed every single bird. They’re all gone. And see the sandspurs everywhere? They are the parakeets’ revenge!”

  She laughed lightly, remembering Lovie’s laugh. Being here again, surrounded by the dunes, the beach, especially during turtle season, Linnea felt Lovie’s presence and was comforted by it.

  Hope began kicking her legs in excitement once they hit the beach. She was saying, “Beesh, beesh.” Linnea laughed again at the child’s precociousness. “You’re saying ‘beach,’ aren’t you? Well, okay. Let’s get to the beach!” She trotted quickly across the sand to where the sparkling sea rolled up to meet the shore.

  It was a glorious morning of dipping in the water, squeezing sand in hands, letting Hope crawl anywhere she wanted, and helping her walk in her unsteady gait. The child was fearless. It was a joy to watch. The freedom and the sea were a tonic for them both. Their spirits soared like the pelicans flying overhead, and Linnea knew that morning beach walks would be paramount in their routine for the summer.

  When at last they returned to the beach house, Linnea found Hope to be sweet and compliant. There wasn’t a mention of “Mama.” She bathed Hope and changed her into clean clothes. She sang nursery songs to her while she prepared lunch, and afterward brought her to the couch to read books. Hope loved books and was eager to learn new words.

  Linnea didn’t remember how many books she read aloud. The last story she remembered was about a bunny in a great green room, a moon, mittens, and kittens. The last words she remembered saying were “Goodnight, noises everywhere.”

  CARA RUSHED HOME, worried that she’d spent too long away. She’d finished her errand
s, then was surprised to receive a phone call from a prospective client. She’d pulled into a coffee shop for an impromptu conversation that resulted in new business. Cara felt like she was soaring on wings all across the Connector to the island. She did worry, however, how the two were faring on their first day alone together. She’d checked her phone a hundred times for any SOS texts from Linnea, but there were none.

  When she entered the beach house, all was quiet. She looked at her watch. It was Hope’s naptime. When she stepped into the living room, she had to stifle the laugh. There on the sofa she saw Linnea fast asleep with Hope cuddled in her arms. Like two peas in a pod.

  And more, Cara breathed in the comforting, heady scent of jasmine.

  AFTER THE BEACH trip, Linnea’s transition into the beach house went seamlessly. In just one week, she and Hope were fast friends. Cara purchased a beach stroller that would allow Linnea to go on turtle team walks with Hope.

  After two weeks, Linnea and Hope had developed a routine. Cara was able to go into her office and work without Hope crying to be with her. Linnea could hear her fingers tapping on the keyboard and the murmur of the occasional business phone call. Everyone felt at ease with the new arrangement. Proof of its success came the afternoon that Hope cried when Linnea left.

  Early one morning Linnea was walking at a brisk pace along the shoreline, pushing Hope in the new stroller. One of her first jobs as a junior turtle team member had been to carry a plastic bag and pick up trash left behind on the beach. It had taught her at an early age to always toss garbage into the containers and never litter. Plastic was a scourge of the oceans. For her morning walks, she continued the tradition and carried a trash bag on the corner of the stroller.

  It was a quiet morning on the beach. Only a few surfers were waiting for a wave in the fairly calm sea. Two spaniels chased balls tossed into the ocean. But she came to a sudden stop when she spied a long trail of tracks scarring the clean sweep of sand from the high-tide line all the way up to the dunes. Turtle tracks! Her heart pumping, she picked up speed. As she neared, she saw the unmistakable pattern the flippers made in the sand. She followed them, climbing the soft incline to a large circular section of disturbed sand at the top of the dune. Looking out again, she could see the outgoing tracks cross the incoming and continue all the way to the shoreline. She’d bet money there were eggs here.