Home on Seashell Island

by Brenda Kennedy

  It takes a while for Myra and me to get our food. People are very articulate after church. I figure that since I’ve been talking during the sermon I need to give them a chance to talk now. When we finally take our seat, Dad and Carly are nearly finished with their meal.

  “Sorry about that, it doesn’t usually take that long.”

  I start to cut up Myra’s food when Carly says, “Here, let me do that while you eat.”

  It’s been a long time since someone other than Dad has helped me with my daughter. “Are you sure?”

  She pushes away her nearly empty plate. “Go ahead and eat, I got this.”

  Dad stands and rubs his belly. I’m thankful when he doesn’t unbutton his trousers. I’m afraid one day he’s going to forget he’s not in the privacy of his own home.

  “Shorty, you want some of Mrs. Thomas’ pie?”

  “No, but thank you. I think I’ll have to pass.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He begins to walk away from us toward the dessert table. “Beauregard?”

  “No, Dad. I’m fine.”

  “Myra, you’re not going to let Grandpa eat dessert alone, are you?”

  “Nope, Grandpa. I’ll take a cookie.”

  “That’s my girl. One or two?” Dad knows good and well that Myra’s allowed only one cookie. “I’ll get you two so you can take one home for later.”

  “Yay, Grandpa.”

  “There you go, Myra.” I watch as Carly pushes Myra’s plate in front of her. “Do you guys need something to drink?” she asks.

  “I’ll get it.” I begin to stand.

  “Sit, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  She smiles. “Is water okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  Carly leaves and I look down at my daughter eating her mashed potatoes and noodles.

  “She’s nice, Daddy.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  After lunch and when everything’s cleaned up, I ask Carly if she wants to look for sea glass with me.

  “You’re going now?” she asks.

  “Myra and I need to change first, then we could swing by and pick you up.”

  “Okay. I’d love to go. Thank you.”

  Dad picks up Myra. “You wanna help Grandpa at the market today, Cookie?”

  “Yay,” she says, clapping her hands.

  “Are you sure, Dad?”

  “Yes. When was the last time you helped Grandpa stock the shelves, Myra?”

  “Long time.”

  Kids are like that. An adult would rather collect sea glass, but to a kid, putting cans on shelves in a grocery store is exciting. It’s like young kids ignoring expensive Christmas toys and playing with the boxes the toys came in, or the wrapping paper they were wrapped in.

  “I’ll bring her home when we’re done.” He starts to walk away and says, “Shorty, I’ll see you later.”

  “See you later, Tony. Bye, Myra.”

  Suddenly, this feels like a date. With my daughter there it would just feel like an outing. I’m not sure I’m prepared for a date without my daughter, but I do know I don’t want to stand here and have an internal battle with myself.

  “I can take you home so you can change first, then we can go to my house so I can change. My favorite spot is just down from where Myra and I live.” I try to sound more confident than I feel.

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  “Wonderful.”

  We lock up the church and I follow Carly to her house. Rolling down my window, I say, “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  “Okay, I’ll hurry.”

  It doesn’t take long when I see her walking out of her house carrying a tan beach bag. She’s wearing a black coverup and I can see pink bikini straps hanging out the top of her dress.

  “Temptation’s all around,” I mutter to myself. “If I’m lucky, she won’t remove her coverup today.”

  “I tried to hurry,” she says, climbing into the car.

  “Do you have everything?” I ask before putting the car in reverse.

  “I do.”

  I drive to the other end of the island making a right on Sea Glass Lane.

  “Myra and I just live down at the roundabout.”

  “You live right on the water?” she asks as we drive past some of the largest homes on the island.

  I point to the small beach cottage at the end of the road. “See that little white house with blue shutters? That’s where we live.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “It’s a nice home, but it doesn’t compare to the other homes on this road.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it other than the size?”

  “The house was a fixer-upper. I actually got it at a very good price.”

  We pull into the seashell-paved driveway. I feel proud as I look at what we’ve done with the dilapidated building. It also brings back memories of Myra’s mother.

  “I would love to buy a house and renovate it.”

  “It’s work. But if you ask me, the reward is worth it.” I put the car in park. “Come on in. There’s not a lot to see, but I’ll show you around.”

  The home is an open floor plan with three bedrooms and two baths, kitchen, dining room, den, and a breakfast nook. There’re no curtains on the side of the house facing the sea, and the walls are all painted an eggshell color. It’s light and airy with very little clutter. Simple is the lifestyle I was and still am looking for.

  Once the grand tour is over, I change into a pair of black and white board shorts and a white tee.

  “Ready?”

  She hops off the couch. “Whenever you are.” She tosses her beach bag over her shoulder.

  I get two bottles of water from the fridge before we leave. Together we walk out the back door towards the deep blue.

  She looks around at the surfboard, paddleboard, swingset, and the paddle boat.

  “Are these your toys?”

  “The paddle boat and swing set are Myra’s.”

  “She likes going out in the boat?”

  “She’s a water baby; she loves anything to do with the water. Have you ever gone paddleboarding?”

  “Always wanted to, but never got around to it.”

  “Well, now’s your chance. It’s a perk of living on the water.”

  I carry the paddleboard down to the beach since we’re walking that way anyway.

  “How about we look for sea glass and then we’ll try the paddleboard?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “It’s just a short walk.” We walk in silence until we come to the bend where the sandbar is. “There’s a sandbar right out there and this seems to be the best place on the island to find sea gems.”

  “I didn’t know this place existed.”

  “You wouldn’t. You were just a little girl when you came here with your family.”

  “It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, has it?”

  Carly kicks off her shoes and sets her beach bag down in the sand, then readjusts her sunglasses as she walks to the water’s edge.

  “And when did you graduate?” I ask, walking with her toward the water.

  She doesn’t say when she graduated, but she does say, “That can’t be right. Has it really been that long ago?”

  I don’t answer. She must have been soul searching, too.

  We walk along the water’s edge at low tide and she’s excited as she finds sea glass in white, blues, greens, and a few pinks.

  “This place is loaded.”

  “It’s like this all the time.” I pick up a large green piece and hand it to her. She excitedly places it in her baggy. “I think only the locals know about this place.”

  After an hour, Carly straightens up and stretches her back. “This is back-breaking work.”

  “It can be. Do you wanna head back and try your skills on the paddleboard?”

  Her eyes dance with humor. “Are you going to judge or laugh at me?”

&nb
sp; Smiling, I say, “Never.”

  “I don’t have to remind you of your position in the church, do I?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

  She’s insinuating that I may laugh at her anyway.

  “No, you don’t and I’ll try hard not to laugh or judge.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  When we get back to the house, I ask, “Do you know how this works?”

  “It’s like surfing, right?”

  I instantly hide my laugh. “No, you don’t want waves like you would if you were surfing. With paddleboarding you want still or calm water. You stand on the board and use the paddle to maneuver around in the water.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  I take the paddleboard in the water while Carly slips on a pair of water shoes. I watch from the water as she removes her coverup. I look away but not until after a quick scan of her entire body in her pink bikini. This won’t be good.

  When she reaches me in the water, I remove my tee shirt and hand it to her. “Would you mind wearing this?”

  Her eyes get big and she covers her chest up with her arms before lowering herself into the water. “Oh, My, God. I’m sorry, Beau. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Carly,” I say calmly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” She looks mortified. “It’s me. This shouldn’t be an issue for me, but sadly, I can see it could be.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She slips on the wet tee I offered her. “Better?”

  “Thank you.”

  “I should have told you that while paddleboarders usually wear more than just a swimsuit.”

  “Why is that?” she asks innocently.

  “You’ll see.”

  I give her a crash course on how to get on the board and get into a standing position once she’s on.

  “Be prepared, you’re gonna fall off,” I warn.

  “You sound so sure,” she says, climbing onto the board.

  I am. “Do you want me to steady the board for you?”

  “Nope, I got it. I wouldn’t want to tempt you or anything.” She smiles and it makes me laugh.

  Holding my hands up in surrender, I warn, “Watch the waves and make sure you’re steady before standing.”

  I watch closely as she gets on her hands and knees before standing. I reach out to steady the board for her when a huge wave comes and knocks her off. Quickly, I reach in and help her to the surface.

  She wipes the salt water from her face. “That’s God paying me back for my last comment about tempting you, isn’t it?”

  “Quite possibly could be.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  I watch as she walks toward the beach. “Are you quitting so soon?”

  “No, I’m putting on a pair of shorts. I know why people wear more than just a swimsuit while doing this sport.”

  By the end of the day, Carly was paddleboarding on her own. I suggested that she stay near the edge of the beach and to my surprise, she does. Once the board’s put away, I call Dad to see if he wants me to pick up Myra.

  “She wants to spend the night if that’s all right?”

  “Has she had dinner?”

  “We’re sitting here with full bellies watching Veggie Tales.”

  “Sounds like fun. Can I speak to her?”

  “You’re on speaker phone.”

  “Hi, Daddy,” she says sweetly.

  “I hear you want to stay the night with Grandpa?”

  “Yep, he said he’ll bring me home in the morning.”

  “Okay. Have fun, Cookie.”

  “I will, Daddy.”

  Before I have a chance to tell her I love her, Dad takes me off speakerphone.

  “Dad, make sure she brushes her teeth before bed and if you need me, call me.”

  “Go on and have a good time. Don’t worry about me and Myra. I know what I’m doing.”

  “All right. Good night.”

  I disconnect the call and look at Carly. “Myra’s spending the night with her grandpa. Are you up to dinner?”

  “Not the way I look.”

  I think she looks beautiful, but I don’t say that.

  “I’ll take you home so you can shower and change, and then I’ll pick you back up in an hour or so. How’s that sound?”

  “Sure, an hour works for me.”

  I pick up my car keys as she reaches into her bag for the sea glass. “These are yours,” she says, handing me a bag.

  “You keep them.” I walk toward the front door.

  “You don’t want them?” she asks, following behind me.

  I nod to a hurricane glass filled with sea glass sitting on the entryway table. “No, I think we have enough.”

  “Wow. I guess you do. Thanks.” I watch as she tucks the baggy back into her beach bag.

  Carly

  I quickly shower and apply extra lotion to my sunburned skin. I used sunscreen today, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Since I have only an hour, I braid my hair before applying mascara and lip gloss. I admire the glow of my sun-kissed skin in the mirror. Living on the island has some advantages. Women save money on concealer, foundation, and bronzer.

  I smile to myself at the day I had with Beau. My cheeks hurt and I soon realize it’s from laughing so much today. I can’t remember when I last laughed so much. The day turned out far better than I ever expected.

  When’s the last time I’ve done something spontaneous? I packed up and left Spencer. That was spontaneous. But what about before that? I honestly can’t remember. God, that’s sad.

  I reach for my cellphone to call Sarah when I realize I tossed it into the Atlantic Ocean. I’ll have to e-mail her later to tell her what a great time I’m having with Beau.

  When I hear a car pull up, I peek outside. It’s Beau. I decided to wear a long beach dress and sandals with a white-jean jacket I found in Sarah’s closet.

  When I open the door, Beau’s already standing at the door. He’s wearing tan shorts, a white linen shirt, and tan boat shoes.

  He looks me up and down in appreciation. “Wow!” It’s the only word he says.

  Suddenly I feel a blush rising to my face. I’m thankful that I’m sunburned so I have something to blame the blush on. When’s the last time someone looked at me like that? Never.

  “I thought you looked beautiful when I dropped you off.”

  “Stop it.”

  “But wow. You look like that after only an hour?”

  I decide to play along so I spin around slowly so he can see me from all angles.

  “Carly, you look stunning.”

  Too embarrassed to reply, I say, “Are you ready?”

  “After you.”

  I take a smaller beach bag and walk out the door and then secure it behind me.

  “What are you hungry for?”

  “What are my choices?”

  “Well, let me see?” He pulls out of the driveway. “We have Jo’s Tiki Hut if you want sandwiches or deep-fried seafood platters. Or we have Ferraro’s if you’d like some Italian. Then there’s Myra and Beauregard’s Restaurant if you want the best seafood on the island.”

  “Seafood and not Italian, eh?”

  He looks over with a smile and I’m again reminded of just how devilishly handsome he is. Devilishly? Did I say devilishly? I meant heavenly. I search out the window for a bolt of lightning. I’m sure God’s going to get me sooner or later for my inner thoughts and my spoken ones, too.

  “Normally, I’d say Italian, but since I have some lobsters and crab legs that need to be cooked, tonight it’s only open for seafood.”

  “Well, that sounds promising.”

  “Good, I was hoping you’d say that.”

  When we get to his beach cottage, he tells me to relax while he starts working in the kitchen.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing, I have it under control.”

  I watch as he gracefully maneuvers around his kitchen. He pulls different items from the fridge and pl
aces them in a cooler.

  “Here, let me at least set the table.”

  “Okay. Thank you. The paper products are in the pantry on the top shelf.”

  To most people, eating from plastic or paper plates wouldn’t sound appealing, but for island life, this is always acceptable.

  “I’m assuming you’re cooking and we’ll be eating outside?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “We have an outside kitchen and it’s the best seating in the house.”

  I’m not sure I believe that. His home is open and airy with many sliding glass doors and windows overlooking the large open sea. I would say any seat in this house is the best.

  I gather what I think we’ll need including a roll of paper towels we’ll use as napkins. I forgot how casual island living is. Why have I never considered living here full-time before, and why was I so drawn to New York? Some of my best childhood memories are from my days of living here. Following Beau outside, I wonder if it’s because of Beau that my thinking has changed. He’s a man of God; he could never be interested in someone like me. Not that I’m a bad person, I’m just not as holy as someone he should be with.

  I wipe off the plastic tablecloth and set the small table. “Do you have matches?” I ask.

  “In the drawer in the kitchen.”

  While searching the drawer for matches, I see a snapshot of Beau and a woman. Looking around, I quickly pick up the photo and look at it. Myra’s not in the picture, and I can see that Beau was much younger when the photo was taken. The woman is stunning with dark hair and skin. Maybe her nationality’s Italian since she could pass for Beau’s sister if he had one, or maybe even a cousin.

  “Did you find them?” he calls from outside.

  I quickly drop the photo as if I got caught snooping. “Found them,” I say, closing the drawer and walking outside.

  I light the tiki torches leading down to the water and I also light the few citronella candles he has scattered throughout the patio. Sitting down in one of the seating areas, I watch as Beau places the potatoes and corn on the cob into a large pot of boiling water on the large outdoor grill.

  “I can’t remember when I last had a lobster and crab boil.”

  He takes a seat beside me. His white linen shirt blowing against his firm body with the evening breeze. “It’s lobster season, so Dad, Myra, and I have them as often as I catch them.” He raises his hands.