As the Tide Comes In

by Cindy Woodsmall

  The house echoed with the sound of her voice, but it seemed she heard Sean answer softly, You’re home.

  Tears welled. She’d felt so very lost for days, and now she was home. Although…her circumstances didn’t really add up. Nonetheless she walked through the rooms. Someone had gutted the place. Why? Numerous walls were missing, and only studs were still in place. Light fixtures were gone, and loose wires hung in their stead. Why would anyone tear apart her house?

  She meandered to a set of spiral stairs and climbed them. The loft had a large bed, a full bathroom, and lots of water damage from the hole in the roof. At least the workers had increased the size of Sean’s loft. He’d like that. Even so, the walls were stripped bare. She went back downstairs.

  Her stomach rumbled. She pulled the wet dollar bills from her pants. Three ones. That wasn’t enough to buy dinner. She went into the kitchen. There was a row of five tomatoes on the counter along with a loaf of bread. Just in case this wasn’t her house, she put the three ones on the counter and smoothed them.

  After locating a cutting board, she sliced a tomato. She found mayo and deli cheese in the fridge, so she added that to her sandwich and plopped it on a plate. While eating she meandered again through the house. One antique door was locked. On a stripped wall with a lone nail, she spotted a skeletal key. She tried it, but it didn’t budge. After setting her plate on the floor, she tried again. With a bit of jiggling and a shove of her hip against the door, it finally opened.

  She remained in the doorway. Faint chills ran down her arms. The walls were intact. Moreover, they were covered with framed and unframed pictures and paintings.

  Giggles and laughter filled the room. Love was everywhere—drops of sunlight falling like rain.

  The room had two easels, art supplies, and lots of pictures. It had layers of dust, as though it were a shrine. Where was she? Why did this house feel like home while looking completely unfamiliar? Dusk had settled in, making it a little hard to see. A photograph lay on a paint-stained counter, and she picked it up.

  It was of the St. Simons lighthouse, and it was similar to the one Tara had from her childhood. An older woman and a little girl were side by side, looking at each other. The girl was grinning, and the woman’s eyes held love. The girl had blond hair, and something else about her seemed a bit familiar. Tara flipped the picture and viewed the back.

  Sapphira and her precious Siobhan, 1991

  Loneliness wrapped around Tara anew, and she was envious of the girl whose name she didn’t know how to pronounce. What must it have been like to be loved by someone while growing up? She put the picture back where she’d found it.

  She hadn’t been loved as a child, not by any relative. But she had Sean and Darryl now, and that was enough. They were a family that knew how to be there for one another, how to be a safety net, except she currently couldn’t find them.

  Her imagination beckoned her to forget reality and enjoy the moment. In her mind’s eye she saw the woman showing the little girl how to make certain paint strokes and how to mix colors. The girl giggled. “Like this, Nana?” She swooped a glop of paint across the canvas.

  “You’re a natural.” Nana smiled, but it soon faded. She took the little girl’s hand and crouched beside her. “Our time is running out.”

  “I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me.”

  Tears trailed down the woman’s face, but she smiled. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “I want that too, my sweet Siobhan. I want you here with me.”

  Was that how Siobhan was pronounced—Shivaun?

  The older woman held the girl’s chin. “You’re amazing, Siobhan. You remember that. I’ve prayed for you, and you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. But remember wherever you go, whatever happens, this is your house and your home. Yours. Do you understand me?”

  The girl nodded.

  “What’s the address, Siobhan?”

  The little girl repeated it.

  “That’s right.” The woman kissed her face a dozen times, and Tara could feel it on her skin. “You always remember that. I can’t keep your mama from taking you. I tried. I hired a lawyer, and we did our best. Still, I have no legal right to hinder her plans, but I’ll always be here. This home will always be here for you.”

  The voices faded, and when Tara opened her eyes, her cheeks were wet from the emotion the dreamlike scene had stirred in her.

  Voices broke through her thoughts. Were these real, or were they her imagination playing games with her like Nana’s and Siobhan’s voices?

  Women laughed, and Tara knew they were real.

  “I just need to set this inside, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Inside?

  Tara left the art room, tiptoeing until she was able to peek around a hallway wall so she could see the glass doors.

  The lone unlocked door was open now, and four women were hovering just outside it. “It breaks my heart to tear down Sapphira’s house. She spent more than twenty years holding on to this place, neither moving nor renting it, all in hopes that Siobhan would return.”

  Siobhan? Why would Tara have imagined saying that name right?

  “Oh, honey,” a woman said, “we know all that, but you keep saying it as often as you need to.”

  “Look,” one of the women gasped, and Tara thought she’d been spotted.

  “There’s a purple hydrangea blooming amid the pink ones.”

  “Is that on the same bush?” one asked.

  “Yeah. Look.”

  The women stepped away from the door, and Tara used their distraction to scurry through the living room and kitchen and out the side door, which put her on the driveway. She looked for somewhere to go for cover until they were gone. If the house was sitting empty, she could come back and sleep in it once the women were gone, right? She scanned the nearby properties.

  The garden.

  She hurried across the backyard, slipped between rows of corn, and crouched. Her heart pounded, and as the minutes passed, she sat in the dirt, waiting. Sugar snap peas dangled from the vine in large clusters. She pulled the damp scarf off her neck and tied the ends of it to create a cloth carrier, and as she picked the sugar snaps, she put them in the scarf. She ate one and found it succulent and tender. They would make a nice breakfast.

  After picking about four cups of sugar snaps, she was overwhelmed with tiredness and sank to a comfortable sitting position.

  Who was she? What was she doing stowing away in someone’s garden? She’d been through a lot in life, but she couldn’t recall ever feeling this disconnected. Sleepiness took over, and she rested her head on her hands. Mosquitoes bit and other things too, but she was too sleepy to care.

  Metal banged, and Tara bolted upright. Blackness was everywhere. Where was she, and why was she covered in dirt? She got up, still holding a scarf full of sugar snaps. A light shone from somewhere, illuminating a path, so she followed it.

  Moments later a woman screamed, a bloodcurdling howl, and then she clutched her chest. “What are you…”

  The woman looked behind her, and Tara saw a small house she’d not noticed before. “Thief!” The woman pointed. “Luella. Dell. Sue Beth! Someone’s stealing our crop!”

  Three women came barreling out of the building. “Julep! Are you okay?” someone asked.

  One woman banged something metal against a pot. Another had a flashlight, but she dropped it, and the last…had a gun!

  Tara released the scarf and took off running.

  13

  Luella’s stomach rumbled as a waiter passed her and Charles’s table at Café Frederica. The man balanced a heaping tray of food and headed toward a larger group. Oh, what divine smells! She savored the fragrance of the salty-tangy hollandaise sauce that came on the café’s eggs Benedict, which she’d ordered
. The mouthwatering smell of breakfast—the savory scent of cooked bacon mingling with orange juice, eggs, and fresh-roasted coffee—filled the dining room.

  Charles spilled some sugar while pouring it into his coffee. He almost dropped his spoon while putting it into his mug to stir the coffee. Was he nervous?

  “So what’s the farthest from the island you’ve ever traveled?” He set the spoon on a napkin. “I’ve met a few people here who say they haven’t left Glynn County. But I don’t think that’s you.”

  “Very true.” Luella drummed her fingers against the laminated tablecloth. “Hmm, I think the farthest I’ve been was Prague, when I was in college. It was a study-abroad program.” Flashes of the long-ago trip popped up in her mind—the six-hundred-year-old, multicolor, multiplated astronomical clock and strands of opera music sung by voices that were nothing less than angelic. The trip had changed her perspective on life and her goals. That was the beginning of her longing to travel and understand history. “You?”

  “Actually, until I was employed by Seaside Properties, I’d hardly ventured outside the Northeast. My dad owned a hotel in upstate New York. I worked there while growing up and helped when I could after college. When Dad retired, I took over, and I never really needed to travel for work, and I had responsibilities that kept me close to home. About the time my life had some real freedom, Seaside Properties offered to buy the hotel. I helped broker a deal my dad would accept, and then my dad agreed to sell it. The company hired me to manage properties for them. Since then I’ve traveled some, managing a property for about a year, just until I get things running smoothly. Then someone takes over for me, and I go elsewhere. It’s allowed me to finally see a few new places, and I love it.”

  “So basically you waltz in, straighten out any issues caused by the buyout, and leave?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Had he been single his whole life? Few were. Her own choice to willingly forgo marriage and family life in order to travel and write didn’t work for most people. It would be nice to hear a bit about his story. “Any children?”

  “Two, and good ones. A son and daughter. Do you have kids?”

  “No. Never married, never had children.” She didn’t want to elaborate, but why? Maybe her reasoning would sound pathetic to him. “Where have you traveled to recently?”

  He leaned back, smiling and looking relaxed. “I’ve spent a lot of time in DC helping to reopen a hotel that had been through extensive remodeling. I visited the Smithsonian so many times while I was there that I think even blindfolded I could lead anyone through the museum by this point.”

  “Lots of history there, of course. But I’m afraid the most time I’ve spent at the Smithsonian is a day.”

  Their waiter came back and set two steaming plates on their table. After thanking her, Charles bent his head to bless his food. Luella did as well.

  The food tasted every bit as good as she’d anticipated.

  Charles swallowed a bite of his blueberry-stuffed French toast. “This is tasty. Thanks for the recommendation.”

  “St. Simons doesn’t have a huge variety of restaurant choices if you’re used to a big city. Still, we’ve had lots of growth and new businesses pop up in recent years.” Both a boon and a hassle for Blue Sails. Luella hated the fact that competition had been eating into the store’s profits.

  He speared a blueberry with his fork and gestured to her. “But your shop has been a St. Simons Island landmark, yes?”

  “We’ve been in business a long time, but I don’t know if you’d call it a landmark. And it’s really Julep’s shop. She foots the bills and does the lion’s share of the work. The rest of us pay her a little rent and lend a hand when time allows.”

  “The relationship between you and your friends is like nothing I’ve run into before.” He chuckled. “I’ve heard several interesting and conflicting things about you Glynn Girls from other locals.”

  Was this her opportunity to talk about the property? “And you were left wanting to know more?” She used her knife to cut another bite of the eggs, ham, and English muffin.

  He shrugged, but he was smiling. “My interest is piqued, yeah.”

  She set her utensils down, leaned forward, and held up a finger. “I’d be happy to tell you some of the Glynn Girls’ most humorous and prized secrets. But we’d need to go on a second date somewhere more private.”

  “More private?” His green eyes held an emotion she couldn’t define.

  “Yeah. In return I’d like you to seriously listen to me explain why it’s so important to let us girls have that prime spot for the store.” What could she say to help him warm up to the idea? “If you’ll let us rent that store, I’ll even throw in telling my tour groups that your hotel is most definitely not haunted. Nope. Just a quiet old building. Stay there and you’ll sleep like a baby.”

  Charles studied her. “Is this some sort of a barter system you use, Miss Ward? Trading dates for favors?”

  Realization of what she’d said hit hard and fast. She sat straight up. “Wait.” She splayed her hands toward him, making the table shake. “I-I didn’t mean…”

  He held her gaze. “As tempting as that offer is, a pretty face and interesting conversation can’t sway a business decision.”

  “Oh…that sounded so horrible, didn’t it?” She was too embarrassed to think. “I’m not like that. I mean, I go on dates, but…” She trailed off as she realized he was chuckling through closed lips. “You’re messing with me!”

  “Guilty. Sorry. But add this conversation to the picnic and you Glynn Girls trying to butter up Stan and Rick…Well, I had to harass you a little.”

  Luella laughed. “That picnic plan wasn’t my idea. I went along with it because we’re getting a little desperate. It’s a long, convoluted story that includes Julep losing her husband and debts piling up. Julep needs several things: a shop on a corner so Blue Sails isn’t hidden in a row of stores and more space so the sales floor can be expanded and more space for us girls. Blue Sails could sell more furniture if we carried a larger selection. I’m sorry if I’m being bold, but I can’t stomach you giving the best location on St. Simons Island to someone less deserving than Julep.”

  His smile fell a little. “I admire your loyalty and tenacity, but—”

  “If you would just hear me out, I know it would make a difference.” Luella could feel the door of opportunity closing.

  “Luella, I’ve heard enough. You’re an intelligent, educated woman. You must know it’s never a good idea to allow someone’s personal struggles to sway a business decision. They are separate matters, and they need to stay that way. It would do more harm than good if you share too much about the store’s financials, so let’s just stick to other topics.”

  She wanted to hit the table, but she kept herself in control. Oh, she just had to help him understand! But he was right. She was pouring out emotions about her personal connection to the store owner, and he needed business information. “St. Simons goes through small businesses like an ice cream truck goes through Popsicles in the summertime. But Blue Sails has been profitable and stable from the start. Julep is savvy when it comes to home furnishings and making a steady income. When her husband, Mitch, died, it threw her for a loop and caused a few financial issues. But all we need is a better location to make up for the extra she owes.”

  Charles took a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry losing her husband has been so hard on her.”

  “Yeah, it’s been hard. Both Julep and Mitch had been lifelong smokers, although Julep quit the day Mitch was diagnosed with end-stage lung cancer.”

  He nodded. “My mom was a smoker. It gave her emphysema.”

  Luella fidgeted with her cup. “I’m sorry to hear that. Mitch didn’t know he was sick until it was too late. The doctors gave him only a few months to live. I’ve been close to Julep most of our lives
, but I’d never seen her struggle with anything like she did the news that she would lose Mitch. They’d been in love since they were teens.”

  “I’m sure watching his health decline was a nightmare.” His voice was soft.

  “It would’ve been, but he didn’t die of cancer. At some point along the line, he decided to give people on the island the best New Year’s fireworks display they’d ever seen.”

  Charles cringed a little as if he knew what was coming.

  Luella sighed. “But something went wrong. We’re not sure what. Mitch was in a small, uninsured boat just off a private marina with all the fireworks.” Luella closed her eyes, taking a moment to regroup. “The boat exploded, taking out some of the marina.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Eighteen months, and the event—both the fireworks going off and Mitch’s death—were so over-the-top that the whole county hasn’t stopped talking about either of them. If Mitch had been thinking clearly, he would’ve known better than to set off fireworks without the proper authorization, but I believe his recent diagnosis had him too addled to think. Anyway, the damage was far more than Mitch’s life insurance covered. Julep’s mortgaged her house and pulled equity out of the shop.”

  Charles studied her, both brows raised, and she realized that without meaning to she’d ventured back into emotional territory and shared too much that had nothing to do with good business sense.

  She leaned in. “Okay, so she now owes rent and an equity payment each month, but Julep’s business isn’t a gamble. She’s turned a profit for twenty years.”

  “I’m sure she has.”