Home on Seashell Island

by Brenda Kennedy

  The island is busier than I remember for this time of year. It looks like more people are calling it their permanent home rather than just a vacation spot. It’s definitely built up since I was here last.

  After the groceries are put away, I make a late lunch and sit outside by the pool. When my skin starts to feel tight, I decide the sun would be better in small doses; I’ve had enough for one day. After I put fresh linens on the bed, I decide to do a little work. I’m a romance author and I write under a pen name. I don’t even think Spencer knew what I did for a living. He never asked, and I never told him. He knew I worked from home and he knew I had a steady income, but that’s all he cared about.

  It’s undeniably best that I ended this relationship with him when I did. It would never have worked between us. I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize that. Spencer may be hurt now, but he’ll also realize that this is what’s best for both of us.

  I pour myself a glass of wine and then open my laptop while sitting outside under the large covered porch. I decide to start a new book. This will help take my mind off my problems. Maybe I can write about a character with problems similar to mine and give her a happily-ever-after.

  Drumming my fingers on the keypad, I run into trouble right away. My mind stalls at the beginning paragraph. I listen to the sounds around me, the smell of flowers, fruit trees, and the salty sea air. The leaves rustle in the trees as the wind blows. White fluffy clouds decorate the nearly clear blue sky. Nothing. It isn’t until I hear organ music and singing coming from the church that I decide to give up for the day. I’ve never had writer’s block, and I hope this isn’t what is happening.

  I walk in the direction of the singing to the only church on the island. The doors and windows are open and the sound of gospel music is soothing and comforting. I can’t remember the last time I was in a church. Maybe at my last family vacation. Gram and Pap always made us go every Sunday. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure they made us, but we always knew we were expected to be there. It was automatic. Every Sunday morning, we would dress in our Sunday clothes and walk the short distance to this very church. When did I lose faith in God? Have I lost faith? I pray and I believe in a higher power so why don’t I attend church?

  Looking up at the big white church with stained-glass windows that sits on the corner of the street, I don’t need to wonder if I’m welcome here. The open doors reassure me that I am welcome, that we all are welcome in the house of the Lord.

  I walk into the church. When I don’t see anyone, I take a hymnal from the podium and take a seat in the back of the room. The choir conductor instructs everyone on what to sing next. It must be dress rehearsal because everyone is wearing white choir robes. They look like angels. Thankful that I’m unnoticed, I close my eyes and enjoy the beautiful melody. I don’t need the hymnal to know the lyrics to “Amazing Grace.” It’s a favorite song in my family.

  I’m startled when someone says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think you could give me a hand?” Opening my eyes, I see a man standing in front of me. He’s dressed in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a black tie. “I’m the preacher here. Could you please come with me? It’ll just take a moment.”

  Without saying a word, I stand and follow the man down the small hallway. He’s tall with dark wavy hair, and very handsome. When we come to a room where I hear giggling, he says, “The woman who runs the childcare on Wednesday had an accident. I have an important conference call, and I just need you to sit with the children until I’m done.” Children? I don’t know anything about children. When he sees the look on my face, he pleads, “Please, I’m desperate.”

  He’s a man of God and he’s pleading for help. “Yes, of course. I’ll be happy to help.” Should I tell him I have no idea what I’m doing? No, I can’t say that. It’s what, like eight- and nine-year-olds? Preschoolers? How bad can it be? I’m bigger than they are. But wait, I’ll be outnumbered.

  “My office is right across the hall. If you need me, I’m just an earshot away. I’ll even leave the door open.”

  If I need you? Don’t you mean when I need you? He leaves before I can say anything. Inhaling, I take a deep breath and walk into the carpeted pre-school learning center. They’re kids. I can do this, right? I sure hope so.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the room full of three- and four-year-olds running around, chasing each other, and screaming. I stand in the open doorway and watch in amazement as they run around laughing and giggling. If it wasn’t for fear of me wondering how I was going to get these kids under control, I might have enjoyed their playfulness. Looking behind me, I see that the preacher did indeed leave his office door open. He’s watching me as he talks on the phone. I hurry into the room and leave the door slightly ajar.

  The sound of me walking into the room and my presence among the preschoolers didn’t interrupt them. I clear my throat and they continue their game of tag. Searching the room, I decide to walk over to the piano. It’s been months since I played, but I hope it’s like riding a bicycle: Once you learn, you never forget how, although you might be rusty.

  Sitting on the stool, I thumb through the music sheets for the perfect song while still being ignored by the kids. When I find one from my own childhood, I begin to play it. As I begin to play and sing, the kids start to gather around the piano. The “Obedience” song turned out to be the right choice. I say a silent prayer that the kids are starting to calm down. They sing loudly as I continue to play. I knew music was calming to savage beasts, but I was only hoping it would have the same effect on children.

  When that song is done, someone asks, “Can you play ’You Can’t Get to Heaven’?”

  Although I never heard of this song before, if there’s a music sheet and it’s a fairly simple song, I can play it. I hurriedly skim through the sheets of music until I find the song. “Are you ready?”

  “Yay,” the kids say in unison.

  I play and they all sing along. It’s a cute song and I can see why it’s a favorite. Despite the title, it’s a Sunday School song, not a Black Sabbath song. Of course, the lyrics make that clear.

  I don’t have kids of my own and I’m surprised to see how animated they are. I sing along to help keep them on track, although I don’t need to. They know the words and the movements to the song by heart. I clap at the ending because they’ve done a great job. The girls bow and the boys stand there making funny faces.

  “I didn’t know there was so much talent in the room,” I say.

  “What’s talent?” a little girl asks.

  “It’s when someone can do something really well.”

  “Like sing?” someone else asks.

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you our new teacher?” a little boy in the back asks.

  “No, I’m just here today helping out. Do you want to sing another song?”

  “Do you know ’This Little Light of Mine’?”

  “I do know that song.” It’s another favorite song from my childhood.

  “It’s my favorite song. My mommy used to sing it with me.”

  I decide not to ask about her mother since she said she used to sing it with her. I play it and they sing along happily.

  I stand from the piano and look around the room when I see a corner of the room with art supplies. “Do you want to make some crafts?”

  A little boy asks, “Can we use glue?”

  Can they use glue? Do I want little kids using glue? “You can use a little glue,” I say.

  “And paint?” he asks, walking over to the craft supplies.

  “No, Jimmy can’t have paint, ’cause he eats it,” a little girl says to me.

  Thanks for the heads-up. Now I wonder if he eats glue. “No paint, but we can use crayons.” Oh, great. I bet he eats crayons, too. I make it a point to keep this little girl close. She seems to know a lot about little Jimmy.

  I was expecting an argument over the paint, but they all seem content with playing with the glu
e and crayons. I make a mental note to watch little Jimmy with the art supplies, mainly the paint. There will be no eating glue, paint, or crayons on my watch.

  I keep watching the door expecting to see the man from earlier walk into the room so I can leave. After a while, I give up. I decide his conference call took longer than he expected. He’s a man of God, and if he needs help and I’m available, the least I can do is help out.

  Just as the craft ends, the preacher walks back into the room.

  “Daddy,” the little girl who knows a lot about Jimmy squeals.

  She runs into his open arms. I watch as he lovingly picks her up and kisses her.

  He walks over to me and immediately apologizes. “The call took longer than expected. I’m sorry to leave you here with the children for so long.”

  “No, please, don’t apologize. It’s fine. It’s not like I had anything else to do.” I soon realize how pathetic I must sound.

  “You don’t remember me, do you, Carly?”

  I look at him amazed that he knows my name. I can’t place him. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “It’s been a long time.” He sets his daughter down and she joins in with the other kids cleaning up the craft table. “My dad told me I best be getting the repairs done on your grandparents’ house before you arrive.”

  “Beau?”

  He smiles, revealing a beautiful smile.

  “It’s been a while. How have you been?” he asks.

  I lean into him for a hug. Smiling, I say, “I’m good. It has been a very long time. How are you?”

  “I can’t complain.” He walks over and helps the children with the cleanup.

  “Is this your church?” I ask while also helping.

  “It is. I was quite surprised to see you here today. I knew I’d run into you, but I didn’t expect it to be here.”

  “I heard the music from home so I followed it to here.”

  “The choir sounds amazing,” he admits. “I’m not even sure why they practice.”

  “They do sound incredible,” I admit honestly. “I just left your dad’s store. He looks well.”

  “He does. He’s pretty content running the business. I told him he should hire someone to help him, but he refuses to listen. He likes the social time he has with the tourists and the regulars.

  I remember how chatty he was with everyone in the checkout line. Then I remember Pap and Gram telling me about Tony’s wife’s passing.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

  “Thank you, Carly. I appreciate that. Dad took it hard.” His eyes scan the room. “We all did.”

  “There’s no preparing for something like that.”

  “No, there sure isn’t. Mom fought cancer, but it wasn’t enough. We knew she was dying, but it was still very hard on all of us. Dad still struggles with it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. We rejoice in knowing she’s in a better place.”

  “So how long have you been here?”

  “In the church?”

  “Yes.”

  “I always came here for church services, but after Myra was born, that’s when I turned to the church even more.”

  Myra must be his daughter. That was also about the time his mother passed away.

  “I hope the children behaved for you,” he says, changing the subject.

  “They did. Your daughter was a big help.”

  “I take it Myra told you about Jimmy?”

  “She did. Remind me to thank her later.”

  “We no longer have paint in the building. In fact, I don’t think Dad carries it in the market either.”

  “If Jimmy eats paint, I’m sure it’s for the best there’s no paint in the building.”

  I pick up the rest of the craft supplies and begin wiping off the table with the disinfectant wipes I found above the sink.

  “Pastor Beau, can we have snack time now?”

  “You sure can. Go ahead and take your seat while I get the snacks together.”

  “Daddy, you want me to help?”

  I watch as he looks down at the little girl with dark hair wearing the yellow dress.

  “No, Myra. Daddy’s got it.”

  He walks over to the small kitchenette.

  “Thank you for your help with the kids.”

  I feel like he’s dismissing me. “You’re welcome.” I watch as he opens the refrigerator and removes the cut-up fruit and raw vegetables. “Thank you for your help with the shutters.”

  “I’m glad to help. I’ll be over in a few days to cut the grass.”

  “Do you also do the upkeep on the pool?”

  “I do.”

  “When do you find the time?”

  He laughs as he gathers the paper plates from the cabinet. “I like to stay busy.”

  I tell the children and Beau bye before I turn to leave. As I walk down the lonely road home, I see a blond-haired girl sitting on the front porch. A smile spreads across my face when I realize it’s my sister, Sarah. I haven’t seen my sister in nearly three years.

  She stands when she sees me and her smile matches mine.

  “Did Gram and Pap tell you I was here?”

  She walks off the porch to hug me. “No, I swear.” She pulls back and looks at me. “I asked them if I could come over for a few days and they said as long as I didn’t mind spending time with you.”

  “You mean this is a coincidence?”

  “Don’t tell Pap that. You know he thinks everything happens for a reason and there’s no such thing as an accidental encounter.”

  I hug her again. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  “Me, too. You ran off to the big city, met some rich guy, and forgot all about the little people.”

  Is that what it looked like I did? “I was trying to find myself. I didn’t mean to exclude my family from my life. I swear.”

  “Well, Carly, did you ever find yourself?”

  “No, I can’t say I did.”

  We both laugh as we walk into the beach house.

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “The church. I walked up to hear the choir practice.”

  “I heard them from here. They sounded wonderful.”

  I can’t get my mind off how different Beau looks. “Hey, have you seen Beauregard lately?”

  “You mean little Beau with the pop bottle glasses? Tony and Maria’s son?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Can’t say I have, why?”

  Do I tell her how much he’s changed or how incredibly handsome he is? No, I shouldn’t. “I just wondered. I went to the market earlier and Tony was there.”

  “I still feel bad for not attending Maria’s funeral. We should have been here for that. I’m so ashamed that I wasn’t here.”

  “I feel the same way. Gram, Mom, and Pap taught us better than that.” My mind thinks back to hearing the news of her passing. “Sadly, I can’t remember what was so important that I couldn’t be here.”

  “I can’t remember either. It probably had something to do with a guy.”

  Chapter Two

  Carly

  “Have you been here long?”

  “No, I just got here,” Sarah says.

  “I arrived earlier today and I washed the sheets and blankets on the bed. You should wash the sheets and blankets on your bed, too.”

  “The house and the yard look great.”

  “I know. I didn’t know Gram and Pap hired a landscaper all year round.”

  “We wouldn’t know. I haven’t been here for three years, maybe four.”

  “It’s sad, isn’t it, Sarah?”

  “Yeah, it is. But we’re here now, and we should open a bottle of wine to celebrate.”

  “I don’t think we have any wine here,” I lie. I love wine, but my sister likes it more than I do. If I tell her I bought two bottles, she’ll drink them both, leaving me without. She doesn’t know the meaning of pacing herself.

  She places her hand o
ver her heart and says, “Be still, my heart. No wine? Say it’s not so.”

  I try to stifle a laugh. “When did you become so dramatic?”

  “You know, from those drama classes I insisted on taking in college?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “Well, they’re finally paying off.”

  “I can see that. Gram and Pap would be proud.”

  “I know they would,” she says sarcastically. “Seriously, though, no wine?”

  “I may have bought two bottles while at the market earlier.”

  “Look at you holding out on your sister.”

  “I feel bad about that.” Should I tell her I lied because I didn’t want her drinking it all and leaving me without? Nah, that makes her sound like a lush. I think for a second. Or does it make me sound like a lush?

  “Don’t feel bad. I’m not sure two bottles will be enough.” She walks into her bedroom. “Let me wash the musty sheets and quilt, then we can head to the market.”

  I watch as Sarah happily strips the sheets from her bed and puts the sheets in the washer and airs the quilt out on the clothesline. Her hair is blond with large curls, her eyes are crystal blue, her eyelashes are thick and curly, and her skin is pale and flawless. She looks radiant.

  “You never said what brings you down here today.”

  She starts the washer and looks over at me. “You remember my boyfriend Slade, don’t you?”

  “How can I forget?” She went on and on about how perfect he was, how he couldn’t do any wrong, and how I needed to find a man just like him.

  “Yeah, well, he cheated on me.”

  “What?” Did I hear her right?

  “Yeah, he was sleeping with Chris while I was working.” She watches my expression. “I know. It’s shocking, right?”

  “Yeah, it is.” I know Sarah has two friends named Chris. One is a girl she lives with, and the other is a guy she went to college with. “How could she do that to you? What are you going to do for a roommate now?”

  We walk out into the family room.

  “Not roommate Chris, College Chris.”

  “What? Male Chris? Slade’s gay? How did you find out?” I don’t give her time to answer. My head is still trying to process this.