by Barbara Lohr
Phoebe Hunicutt, you should be ashamed.
But she wasn’t and that was the problem.
Clutching her sticky paint roller, she continued with the wall, relieved when she’d passed the bed frame. But her eyes drifted back to the bed from time to time. She couldn’t help it, and this was all Ryder’s fault. Why did he have to stop in after she’d sent him that letter? Couldn’t he have phoned? The darn rain kept pounding on the roof. Just thinking of all those disappointed children huddled in the neighboring cottages—well, that’s what made her cry. Really, it was the thought of those poor children who could not enjoy the beach today. Her sympathy for them brought tears.
Sure. Right.
She was pathetic.
After an hour or two, her neck started to hurt. Time for a break. So she stopped to watch two, well, maybe five segments of Days of Our Lives on her DVR. Her customers loved watching the show too so she usually had the TV on in the salon. Would Abigail recover from her surgery? Does Eric have feelings again for Nicole? Grabbing her tissues, she sat riveted to the huge screen her parents gave her last Christmas. Maybe love never worked without a few bumps in the road. Not on TV and not in her life.
Watching TV seriously cut into the painting time. When Memorial Day weekend was over, Phoebe had only finished two walls of the bedroom. That wasn't enough, not by a long shot. She had more paint on her T-shirt and jeans than on the wall, and her arms ached from working that roller. Leaning in the doorway of her bedroom Monday night, Phoebe licked kolache crumbs from her fingers. The pink really perked up the room, well, those two walls at least. But it would need two coats. The outlines of daisies peeked through, looking like yesterday and reminding her of the past. And Phoebe didn’t want to dwell on her yesterdays.
Waking up on Tuesday was so hard. Phoebe burrowed deeper under the quilt. She’d left the windows open to air out the bedroom, but the smell of paint lingered. Paint. Her aching shoulders reminded her. When she pried her eyes open, the pink walls smiled back. Phoebe wore a grin all the way into work. But listening to Jen and Carly chatter with customers about their weekend, she felt cheated.
“How about you, Phoebe?” Jen asked her, scissors snipping at Greta’s perky hair-do. “What did you do this weekend?”
Dabbing color on Alice Kennedy’s gray roots, Phoebe said, “Worked on my project.”
“What kind, Phoebe?” Alice peered at her in the mirror.
“My cottage needs a fresh coat of paint.” Wow, she sounded like she could actually handle that.
“You painted in the rain?” Jen’s scissors stopped.
Swirling her brush in the hair dye, Phoebe shook her head. “Of course not. I painted my bedroom instead.” No need to mention that she hadn’t finished it.
“You be careful up on the ladder,” Alice said, a note of warning in her voice.
“Well, of course, Alice.” Hadn’t she been taking care of herself forever? She’d always been a wild child. How shocked her parents had been when she took off on the back of Ryder’s motorcycle to set up a shop down here.
When their short marriage ended, she had to get used to being alone. That hadn’t been easy. Heart-broken and reeling, she’d been grateful to have Phoebe’s Place. Her parents had tried to get her to come home to Escanaba. But she wasn’t a quitter. She’d built up a nice business and no way was she leaving. Besides, she didn’t want to be pestered with questions. Being unfaithful was unheard of in her family.
Why would Ryder even look at another woman? The only logical answer echoed in her heart. You weren’t good enough.
“Ouch.” Poor Alice jerked. “Phoebe. Really.”
“Sorry, so sorry. My fingers slipped.” And so did my thoughts. She’d given Alice’s hair a sharp yank.
With a twitch of her shoulders, Alice settled back down. “You excited about becoming a grandmother, Alice? Kate seems to get bigger ever day.” Finished at last, Phoebe set the bowl aside and handed Alice the latest Hollywood magazine.
Alice’s daughter was married to Cole Campbell, hot city planner, and they were pregnant. Taking the magazine, Alice chuckled. “I can’t wait to see that baby.”
“I’ll just bet.” Pregnancy must be like a Get Out of Jail free card. For nine months, you could eat anything. Would Phoebe ever have that freedom? Her eyes misted while Alice rattled on.
“Oh, I get so jittery just thinking about Kate having that baby. Of course, Natalie is like my own granddaughter, but I have to share her with Marie McGraw. This baby will be all mine. It’s a boy you know. Sean.” Alice got this dreamy look on her face, the magazine lying unopened in her lap.
When Kate married Cole, he already had an eight-year-old daughter Natalie. In some relationships a stepdaughter might be trouble. But not Natalie. The little girl had even helped Alice recover from a stroke. Oh, Phoebe supposed there were some jealous moments because after all Natalie already had a grandmother. A long-time resident of Gull Harbor, Marie McGraw was the mother of Cole's first wife, Samantha McGraw. But that was another story.
After getting Alice settled, Phoebe dashed to her purse for some aspirin. Her shoulders and her neck were starting to ache. This was going to be a long day.
At least coming to the salon kept her away from that bedroom. Those memories yesterday? They kept replaying in her mind like her favorite movies. The ones that would make her mother faint if she ever knew Phoebe had seen them when she was only twelve.
Chapter 3
Of course at book group that week, all anybody talked about was the wedding. The camping honeymoon also came up. No one could picture Diana in a tent, and they teased her unmercifully.
When they finished discussing the wedding, they moved on to Carolyn’s trip back to Santa Fe. Everyone agreed Carolyn wasn’t going back for her grandmother. Oh no, she wanted to check on the chemistry she’d had with Brody Wolf while visiting with her grandmother in the spring. He may have been her student years ago, but now that Carolyn was thirty-two and Brody, twenty-eight, their chance meeting could lead to something more. At least, they all hoped it would.
After dropping Diana off on the way home, Phoebe felt restless. Maybe it was all that chocolate. When she got home, the sound of waves lapping the shore carried on the night air. Going inside, she plunked her purse on the sofa, grabbed a flashlight and took off for the beach. A walk might work off these jitters.
The lane was dark and silent, its sandy surface shifting underfoot. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted and the pine trees whispered overhead. But night sounds and darkness never bothered her. To a girl who grew up in the woods of the Northern Peninsula, this all felt familiar and comforting.
Although some cottages had their lights on, nobody was around when she reached the beach. With her flashlight lighting the way, she took the steps down to the sand and kicked off her huaraches. Clicking off the flashlight, she left it with her shoes, wanting to disappear into the darkness. What a beautiful night.
When she reached the water, the moon cast a blue light over the lake. Whitecaps formed ruffles that fluttered to the shore, and she welcomed the chilly breeze. The night air might counter the sugar and caffeine in her system. Maybe then she’d be able to sleep tonight.
She hadn’t said anything to the book group about Ryder. Her friends would want to know every detail, and the encounter with her ex had left Phoebe shaken. Although she might talk about her plans for the cottage with Diana or Carolyn, she wasn’t ready to open up with the entire group. The situation felt too private and too unsettling.
Her feet sank into the dry sand, and she jammed her foot on a twig or two before reaching the shoreline. Turning left, she walked toward the lights of Gull Harbor, glittering in the distance. No lights beamed across the dark water. All of the yachts and sailboats were probably snug in their Gull Harbor berths by now.
Feet splashing along in water that still wasn’t swimming temperature, she set a brisk pace. But Phoebe couldn’t outwalk her racing thoughts. Life was moving on for her friends.
Sure, they’d all met setbacks, but couples were forming and families too. Her life wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Every time she talked to her parents, her mother would ask, “Are you dating anyone?”
“Mom, even if I were, I sure as heck wouldn’t tell you. All of Escanaba would know.” They’d laughed together, but it wasn’t funny. In fact, it hurt. Her mom came from a different time. A time when girls married younger and became mothers earlier.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” her dad would ask after Mom had surrendered the phone. Her father wanted to kill Ryder when Phoebe’s “perfect marriage” ended.
The end. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe it. Oh, she didn’t blame her parents for their concern. After all, she was an only child and somehow she blew it. Had they even finished paying for the wedding?
The dark night closed around her. Maybe this walk had been a bad idea. Turning, she headed back. To shake her funky mood, Phoebe broke into one of the beach tunes her parents used to play. They had a great collection and would even dance in the kitchen sometimes. Although she couldn’t recall all the words, the singing sure made her feel better. Pretending she was wearing her scandalous green bikini, she pranced her way up the shore.
Her feet left pockets in the damp sand as she swung her hips. Hadn’t she studied Beyoncé’s dance moves? With a hip here and a provocative glance there, she worked it out. By the time she reached the stairs, she had it just right.
This summer, Phoebe was going to fix her house and her life. And this shoreline? Maybe she’d start right here. Dumping the sand from her shoes, she pulled them on and grabbed her flashlight. Looking back at the sandy stretch, she pictured it full of hot guys who wanted to have fun.
Uh, scratch that. Hadn’t she’d gone that route already? Single and ready to commit. She was only interested in men who wouldn’t fool around on her. One hand on the railing, Phoebe started to climb. If these stairs didn’t shape her up this summer, nothing could. In the past, she’d just paint a mental picture of whatever it was she wanted. From prom dresses to her salon, she saw it in her head before it became a reality in her life.
Except for Ryder. No, she’d never seen him coming.
~.~
Getting ready for Diana’s wedding a couple of days later, Phoebe did a little spin in front of her full-length mirror. The soft ruffles on her pink party dress made her feel fun and flirty. That’s just what she wanted this summer. Slipping into her silver sandals, she tried out a few dance steps. Oh, she doubted that she’d dance today but after this wedding? She had the whole summer before her. Lots of trips down to the beach in her green bikini. That is, in between her sessions painting the cottage.
The parking lot of the Gull Harbor Care Center was packed when she arrived. Her slings sinking into the grass, she hurried to the back of the facility where the ceremony would take place. Scooting down one of the rows of chairs, Phoebe sat next to Carolyn, who squeezed her hand. Today she was surrounded by people who cared about her and it felt good. A June breeze carried the scent of summer, mingled with the smell of the white carnations and roses decorating each row. White streamers fluttered from the gazebo and the opening to the tent where the reception would be held.
Will looked so handsome as he waited for Diana. They made a beautiful couple. When the traditional wedding march began, everyone’s attention swung to the back. The guests smiled when Maisy walked down the aisle with hesitant steps in a long glass green dress. Fifteen and she was still trying to find herself. Hopefully the summer would help. Will and his family could provide the stability the girl needed.
When Diana started the short walk, all whispering stopped. She was a Grace Kelly knockout. Secondhand Rose, the consignment shop along Red Arrow Highway, had produced the dress. The modest scalloped neckline was repeated on the floor length skirt that rustled as she walked toward Will. Although the dress looked sweet in the front, that dip in the back told an entirely different story. That morning Phoebe had styled Diana’s hair. Now the sun gleamed off the long curls cascading from a beaded headpiece.
Chicago people brought their barely-worn designer clothing to Secondhand Rose, so the stock was usually pretty upscale. The shop had been sold recently, and everyone wondered if the new owner would change things. But Phoebe couldn’t worry about that now. Smoothing the ruffles on her own dress, she squeezed Carolyn’s hand and waited for the service to begin.
When the minister stepped forward, the music faded away. Taking a deep breath, Phoebe listened to the couple recite their vows. She tried to stay in the present. Really, she did. But she couldn’t shut out the memory of how handsome Ryder had looked on their wedding day. How certain she’d felt, hearing him promise to love her forever.
After the ceremony the guests congratulated the bride and groom before settling at round tables inside a white tent. The food was wonderful but Phoebe wasn’t hungry. When the dancing started, Phoebe grabbed her handbag. The song was way too romantic. Watching Will guide his bride around the dance floor, Phoebe saw his lips touch Diana’s forehead and a lump formed in her throat. What was wrong with her? Seeing Ryder had stirred up way too many memories. How relieved she was when that first dance ended. “Have a great trip,” Phoebe whispered to Carolyn, passing behind her chair on the way out. “Bring Brody to see us, okay? You know, a longer visit this time.”
“Oh, Phoebe. I will,” Carolyn said.
No more weddings for her this summer. Stopping at Clancy’s, she picked up a quart of chocolate almond ice cream. Once she’d slipped out of her dress and into her cut-offs and a T-shirt, she popped La-la Land into the DVD player. During the first half of the movie, Phoebe polished off two bowls of the ice cream. She allowed no guilt whatsoever.
After all, tomorrow she was going to paint the place pink.
~.~
Spreading Sunday's newspaper under the eaves, Phoebe decided to start at the sample she’d painted earlier. Rooting around in her musty garage, she found the old ladder left by the former owners. Ryder had always talked about taking it to the dump but never got around to it. Man, it was heavy. Maybe she should have considered a new one when she was at the paint shop. Too late now. Straining every muscle in her body, she managed to drag it across grass still damp with morning dew. When she reached the side of the house, she had to stop to catch her breath.
But she was burning daylight, as Ryder used to say. Heaving the ladder upright, she rested it against the gutters. Her arm muscles screamed, and the gutters screeched and dipped under the weight. She sure hoped they’d hold. When it rained they leaked and, clogged with leaves, the downspouts overflowed. Another project for her to-do list. But she wouldn't think about that now.
Then she went into the garage to haul out the paint. It took a while to get everything set up. She’d picked up one of those paint can hooks at Melvin’s. Holding her breath, she inched up the ladder with that gallon can. It took some doing, but eventually she had it hooked securely on a rung where she could reach it. Brush in hand, she began to paint, starting at the top. Since she was going to do the trim later, it didn't matter if paint dripped. Wasn’t that all a part of the creative process?
The sun beamed through the trees, and the soothing sound of waves came in the distance. Soon Chicago people would fill the rental cottages, some docking their boats in the marina. By that time her place would look wonderful, and she’d be ready to enjoy the summer. Maybe she’d buy a new swimsuit, one that was even more daring than her green bikini, if that were possible. This was the summer for shameless.
If Carolyn and Diana could find a man, so could she. Spirits rising, Phoebe wielded her brush. But she could almost hear the dry siding slurping up the paint. Six cans might not do it. She’d worry about that later and kept painting. The faster she worked, the better she felt. At times, the ladder seemed to sag under her weight. No matter. She’d show Ryder. Phoebe was doing this all herself.
Take that, Ryder. Her brush flew, flicking paint back in her face. Thank goodness she was
wearing goggles. Oh, yes. She was a woman who knew what she was doing. If Ryder ever saw the place, he’d be impressed. No more Sweet Cheeks for her. She was a girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it.
Hear that, Ryder? Another vicious swipe.
Holy moly, she leaned back to appreciate her work. This pink paint made the whole place pop. Why hadn’t she done this earlier? Oh right, Ryder had thought the brown was “serviceable.” It would hold up well, whatever that meant. Sometimes she felt glad she had no man in her life. They had their own opinions, and he could just keep his. She was going to girly up the place, no matter what Ryder thought.
But this painting was harder than she expected. The brown kept popping through the pink. Darn it. She’d have to do a second coat, which meant more charges at Melvin’s. But she wouldn’t think about that now. As the morning passed, her arms started to ache and her neck hurt. By the time noon came around, she was wishing she owned a one-floor cottage. How did the place get so big?
Moving the ladder became a major event. Her side hurt. After reading all those magazines at the salon, she figured she either had a hernia or appendicitis. Then her shoulder chimed in. Yep, torn rotator cuff too. She just knew it. Taking a break, she grabbed a can of pop and took a seat on the porch to consult with Fernando. “What do you think? My side is killing me. Appendicitis, right?”
Let’s remember, amiga mia, I’m not your doctor. I’m your therapist.
“Okay, cut the attitude. Sometimes you can be so uppity. Geesh.”
The flamingo’s expression never changed.
Then it was back to work for another hour. Phoebe’s side stopped aching, but her shoulders were killing her. Wielding a paintbrush took a lot more muscle then styling with her scissors and comb. The ground was so spongy from the recent rain that the ladder finally got stuck and wouldn’t budge. Climbing down, she had to think about this.
After stopping for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with two ibuprofen, Phoebe surveyed her progress. This was really going to happen. She would make it happen. Taking the ladder in both hands, she heaved it up and scooted it over. Pumped up with sugar, she tromped up that ladder like a fireman. Picking up her brush, she threw herself back into her project. But when she got to the top, the ladder felt crooked. Throwing her weight to the other side, she tried to balance it.
