Beach House for Rent

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Heather fixed her smile as she opened the door. “Hello, Natalie.”

  Natalie was a beautiful woman in her late thirties. Her blond hair was trimmed in a severely chic haircut that accentuated her sharp cheekbones and slightly tilted blue eyes. Her dress, unlike Heather’s shift, was expertly cut to reveal her toned and tanned body.

  “Hello, Heather,” Natalie replied with equal politeness.

  Heather led Natalie into the living room where she had iced sweet tea and her platter of fruit and cheese waiting. Natalie followed her in, her head turning from side to side as she perused the house. She stepped into the sunroom where Heather’s paintings and sketches covered the walls and were stacked beside the desk. Natalie walked past them all, pausing in front of the birds. They chirped questioningly as they always did when a person stood close.

  “I see you still have your birds,” Natalie said with a tight smile.

  “Of course. Where else would they be?” Heather indicated the sofa, determined not to let Natalie’s smarmy tone get under her skin. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Natalie returned to the living room and lowered herself gracefully into one of the two side chairs, primly crossing her ankles.

  Heather offered her the platter. “Cheese and fruit?”

  “We have dinner reservations at six, don’t we?”

  Heather colored faintly and set the platter back on the table. “Yes. At the Long Island Café. Very close by.”

  “I’ll just have some tea.”

  Heather felt she couldn’t do anything right as she hurried to pour. She handed Natalie a tall glass with a napkin.

  “You’re looking well,” Natalie said. “You have great color.”

  “I’ve been on the beach nearly every morning doing my research.”

  Natalie took a sip of the tea. “How is your stamp project coming along?”

  “Very well, thank you. I’m heading into the final stage. I’m almost finished painting the final four birds. Then I deliver them to the art director. She takes them to the committee, and I await their decision.”

  “And then you’ll be famous, won’t you?”

  “Hardly,” she said modestly. “No one ever knows the name of the person who created the stamp. But I will be proud, yes.” She hated how nervous and false her laugh sounded.

  “Now, don’t be shy,” Natalie said patronizingly. “Surely this accomplishment will open doors for you?” she pressed. “Present opportunities for your career?”

  Heather smiled briefly. “Well, yes. Maybe. . . .”

  Natalie put her glass on a coaster on the table. Moved it an inch to the right. When she straightened, she placed her hands in her lap. “Are you still planning on returning to Charlotte at the end of the month?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But aren’t you happy here? You seem to be doing quite well living on your own. Your father mentions how proud of you he is all the time. We both are.” She gave her a quick smile.

  “Well, thank you,” Heather replied, not quite sure what else to say. “Yes, I’ve been happy here. But my lease is up, so—”

  “Would you like to extend it?” Natalie interrupted. “I’ve talked to your father, and he agreed that if you felt you needed—or wanted—more time, that could be arranged.” She paused.

  “Okay,” Heather said slowly, unclear on where this was going but feeling like she was missing something. “How long do you two lovebirds want me out of your hair?”

  Natalie didn’t smile. “Indefinitely.”

  Heather knitted her brows. “What are you saying?”

  Natalie straightened in her chair and looked at Heather with resolve.

  “You’re my family now. I only want what’s best for you. I hope you know that,” she began in a manner that sounded as if she had rehearsed the lines. “But I also want the best for your father. My husband,” she added with import. “We’ve just begun our life together.” She shifted her weight, her first sign of discomfort. “And if you come back, well . . . it’ll change everything. You don’t want to spoil your father’s newfound happiness, now, do you?”

  The question slammed into her. Heather felt her throat closing up and her heart began pounding while her brain screamed, Run away! “I, uh . . .” she stammered.

  Natalie pushed on, taking advantage of Heather’s frozen state. “I’ve spent my life focused on my career. And I’m proud that I’ve built a successful clothing business. I didn’t expect to fall in love. But I did. I didn’t think I ever wanted to marry. But . . .” She looked away for a moment and her face softened. When she turned back, she leaned forward in her chair, pressing her palms together as she made her point. “Heather, I love your father. Very much.”

  Heather snorted in an unladylike manner.

  Natalie’s eyes narrowed and she leaned back in her chair. Her lips thinned. “I know you think I only married him for his money. Frankly, when he first asked me out, that might have been true. But I fell in love with David, whether you can believe that or not. And your father fell in love with me.” She spread out her palms as though to say, There it is.

  Heather stared at her.

  “Look, I know I have a lot to learn about being married. I may not be the kind of woman your mother was. The perfect homemaker,” she said with a hint of disdain. “I know she was a very special woman. And that you miss her.” She paused. “I’m not trying to take her place. To be honest, I never wanted children.” She shifted her weight and said pointedly, “We’re both grown women, only a few years apart. I’d love to have a relationship with you. But I didn’t sign up for a daughter. And I’m sure you didn’t sign up for a new mommy.”

  Heather was shocked. Insulted. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m your father’s wife.”

  An uncomfortable impasse followed. Heather sat numbly wringing her hands, looking out the window. How could she respond to that? Wife trumped daughter every time.

  “Heather,” Natalie said, drawing Heather’s attention back. “I didn’t come to argue. I’m not known for candy-coating my words,” she added with a hint of pride. “Here’s what I’ve come all this way to say. I know you’re a good girl. Smart, talented. And your father’s a good man. He loves you. He would never do anything to hurt you. I’m not the evil stepmother. But it’s not good for us as a couple if you come back. So I’m asking you. You can move back to Charlotte if you’d like. But don’t move back into our home.”

  “If I came home . . . I wouldn’t bother you.” She hated the squeak in her voice. Her inner voice shouted, Why did you say that? It makes you sound weak. Like a little girl.

  Natalie looked at her as she would a child. “You know you’re not the easiest person to live with.”

  “What?” Heather said on a gasp.

  “You never leave the house! You’re always there. How are we supposed to live our lives as husband and wife if you’re always hanging around watching us? Or worse, competing with me for his attention. Heather, think. It isn’t a good scenario for either of us. Surely you can’t want that either.”

  Heather was truly shocked. She hadn’t seen this coming. She was ashamed to be seen as an inconvenient adult child who still lived at home. Mortified to be in this position. Angry at her father for putting her in this position. Lurking in the back of her mind was the kernel of truth in what Natalie had said. After all, she was a grown woman living with her father.

  She had no words. All Heather could do was nod, silently agreeing with her.

  Natalie released a sigh of relief, then smiled. “Good. That’s settled, then. I knew we could work things out between us. Just us girls.” She sat forward and clapped her hands together. “Now we can start figuring out where you’re going to live.”

  Heather glared at her.

  “Well,” Natalie said, looking at her watch. “We should get going if we’re going to make our reservation.”

  Heather rose to her feet. “Excuse me, please.” She felt light-headed and feared
if she didn’t leave the room she’d faint. Wouldn’t that be the perfect swan song for this debacle? It took all her studied composure to hold her chin high and her back straight as she walked into her bedroom and softly closed the door. She leaned against it for a moment to catch her breath. Tears threatened to choke her and she swallowed them down, trying desperately not to cry. Not to be the little girl she’d just been accused of embodying.

  Then she fell onto her bed and let the tears flow.

  That was when she smelled the scent of jasmine surrounding her.

  CARA STOOD BEHIND her bedroom door, seething. She’d heard every word of the conversation. Or rather, every word that Natalie uttered. Heather had barely made a peep, poor thing.

  Cara strode to her mirror with purpose. She brushed her glossy dark hair, pulling it back into a severe chignon. Then she applied some fresh red lipstick. Her black shift dress was simple, but in such times, simplicity spoke of class. She checked her reflection in the mirror: her dark eyes glittered. This was the look she wanted.

  “Hello,” Cara said in an imperious tone as she strode into the room. “I’m Cara Rutledge. I own this beach house. You must be Heather’s stepmother.”

  Cara was pleased to see the woman visibly cringe at the word stepmother.

  Natalie quickly rose and moved forward to take Cara’s extended hand. “Hello, I’m Natalie Wyatt. I didn’t know Heather had company.”

  Cara let that slide. Natalie obviously didn’t know that she’d moved back into the beach house. She smiled inwardly, realizing that Heather must be pocketing the rent that Cara was paying her. Smart girl, she thought admiringly.

  “Are you one of the Charleston Rutledges?” Natalie asked.

  Cara offered an indulgent smile. “Of course.”

  Natalie seemed impressed. “Such a wonderful family.”

  Cara only tilted her head and smiled politely. She was not going to make this easy on the woman. “You’ve only recently married David Wyatt, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes. We were married in May.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where did you go on your honeymoon?”

  “We took a short trip to Montreal. David loves the city,” she added almost apologetically, as though making excuses for the lack of international glamour in their honeymoon destination. “We plan to take a more extended trip in the winter. To Australia.”

  “That should be exciting.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there. David just didn’t want to do anything extravagant right off the bat, give me a chance to get settled into our new life.”

  “And Heather, of course. For her to get settled into her new life.”

  “Of course,” Natalie said with a tempered smile. “He’s such a sweet man.”

  “Yes,” Cara agreed. “I only met David briefly, but even in that short time it was clear to me that he’s a good man. A family man, devoted to his daughter.”

  Natalie’s face shifted. She looked as if she’d just tasted the lemon in her tea. “He is.”

  “And she to him.”

  “Yes.”

  Cara let a short silence follow. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Heather.”

  Natalie straightened her shoulders. “Yes, well, I thought it went quite well,” she said stiffly.

  “Did David know that you were coming to talk to Heather today?”

  “He’s in Europe,” she replied vaguely, studiously avoiding the question.

  “Ah, I see,” Cara said. “I take that as a no.” She paused. “I didn’t think so. I can’t imagine what he’d think of your suggestion to Heather that she not return home.” She emphasized the word home.

  Natalie narrowed her perfectly made-up eyes and gave Cara a hard look. “I don’t see where this is any business of yours.”

  “Heather is my dear friend,” Cara said in a steely tone. “Everything that concerns her is my business.”

  “I disagree,” Natalie said. “This is a family matter, but, more important, it was two adult women coming to an agreement over something that has nothing to do with you.” She turned and went to grab her purse. “And I don’t intend to continue this conversation with you.”

  “I don’t have much more to say,” Cara said. She caught Natalie’s gaze and held it—a move she’d used often at executive meetings at Leo Burnett. “I don’t believe in candy-coating my words, either. We both know David Wyatt would be very upset if he was to learn what you did and said here today.” She was satisfied to see unease spark in Natalie’s blue eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be the one to tell him. But I suggest that you do. So he’ll understand why his daughter is not returning to Charlotte at the end of the month.”

  Natalie’s face reflected her confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “I happen to agree with you that Heather should not go back to live in your house. It would clearly be a toxic environment, what with you being there. Heather’s made tremendous progress this summer, and I would be very sad to see her slide backward.”

  Cara went to the front door. “Now, why don’t you run along?” she said neutrally. “I’ll make up some excuse for Heather. I trust she’ll be relieved to see that you’ve left.” She opened the door and Natalie walked slowly through, clearly perplexed as to what had just transpired. Natalie turned around at the threshold as if about to speak, but Cara cut her off. “Bye-bye, now,” she said with a false smile, and promptly shut the door in the younger woman’s face.

  HEATHER HEARD A gentle knocking on her door. She groaned inwardly, inhaling deeply and fanning her face, hoping she didn’t look like she’d been crying. She’d left Natalie sitting alone out there for too long. She couldn’t bear to sit through dinner with her. It was time for her to get up, wipe her face, and have it out with her “stepmother.”

  “Heather?”

  Heather shifted to her back, confused. That was Cara’s voice. “Come in.”

  Cara stepped into the room. She looked very chic with her hair pulled back and bright red lips. Heather smoothed her own hair back from her face and pushed up into a sitting position.

  “I know. I should get up,” she said despondently.

  “No, it’s all right. She left.”

  Heather swung her head up. “She left?”

  Cara appeared a bit nervous. “Yes. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. And, well . . .”

  “What did you do?” Heather asked, alert.

  Cara shrugged. “I asked her if your father knew what she’d said to you. It was obvious he did not.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Heather said. “You didn’t threaten to tell him?”

  “Not exactly. I suggested she tell him. Because you weren’t going back home to that toxic environment. Then I asked her to leave.” She looked warily at Heather, gauging her reaction.

  “Why did you do that?” Heather asked, incredulous.

  “Because you’re my friend. And no one talks to my friend like that.”

  Heather saw the fierce loyalty in Cara’s eyes, and a thousand thoughts flew through her mind. She’d lain there thinking of all the things she wanted to tell Natalie. Some of them real zingers. And now she wouldn’t have the chance.

  She cringed. But would she really have said them? Or would she have caved, as she always did with Natalie? Of course she would have. She always ran from confrontation. She liked to think she would have stuck up for herself in the end—but now she would never know. She felt like such a loser. Why couldn’t she be more like Cara? Cara had stood up for her as a friend. And Heather loved her for it. That alone was almost worth all this drama. And the sense of relief that Natalie was gone and she wouldn’t have to go out to dinner with her was so acute she nearly sagged back into her pillows.

  She looked at Cara, suddenly feeling very tired. “Okay,” she said.

  Cara sighed with relief. “Okay,” she repeated. She smiled at her. Then, lifting
her head, she sniffed the air and looked quickly around the room. “Is that jasmine?” She looked at Heather with attention. “Are you wearing my mother’s scent?”

  Heather shook her head and released a small, knowing smile.

  Cara’s eyes widened, and she gasped with understanding. “I smell it, too!” she said with joy. “At last!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE STRUCTURE ROSE among the trees looking like it was part of them. Gazing at it, Bo felt his chest swell. He had never felt prouder of anything he’d made.

  The tree house was a small space, only one room, nestled among the strong branches and foliage of neighboring trees. He’d built in bookshelves, nooks and crannies. Electricity, of course. The wooden walkway from the house’s deck to the tree house was very Swiss Family Robinson. The small space was meant to be an office for the homeowner. Bo thought if it was his, he’d put a bed in there and dream of jungles.

  It was the first tree house he’d built. He’d designed it with his friend, an architect, more than a year earlier. He spent months tweaking the plan, taking his time, until the owner was satisfied. Then he’d gathered a crew of builders he knew were up to the task. Getting the materials to the island required special handling. Finally, after a year of prep and planning, the whole team had come together. The project had been more fun than he’d expected: when it was time to finally construct the tree house, every single guy on his team was excited to see it take shape, as giddy as though they were young boys again watching their dream fortress materialize.

  The first person he wanted to show the tree house to was Heather. In the span of one summer, she’d quickly become the most important person in his world. When he’d described the project—and his fears about it—she’d listened quietly, as was her style. Then she’d looked at him and said, “You’re afraid because this isn’t just another job. This project represents what you really want to do. It’s creative. It’s art. And it’s important. If you succeed”—she smiled—“you’ve proved what you’re capable of, not just to the world, but to yourself. Failing would crush that dream. I have faith in you. But you need to have faith in yourself. This is your baby. Own it.”