Home on Seashell Island

by Brenda Kennedy

  “You caught these as in with your bare hands?”

  “I did. Sometimes Dad and I will set pots or traps, but I mostly prefer to get them while I’m diving.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  “I have to admit it’s kind of nice to walk out your back door and catch dinner. Of course, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Sometimes I come home with nothing, and Myra and I will have soup and sandwiches for dinner.”

  “It’s still not a dive wasted, is it?”

  He leans back into the white wicker chair and crosses his hands over his head. “No dive is ever wasted.”

  Beau attends to the grill while I admire the view. Occasionally, I’ll look out at the big open ocean. I have to force myself to keep my eyes above the belt. My sister would be proud. Now I know I’m going to hell. God, please forgive me.

  During dinner, we talk openly about what we’ve been doing the last several years since we last saw each other.

  “I think I told you some of this before. Right out of high school, I moved to New York, started writing romance books, met a man, fell in love, left him a few years later, and here I am.”

  “I see. How many years did it take for all this to happen?” he jokes.

  “Several. You can thank me for giving you the short version.”

  “And the guy just let you walk out of his life just like that?”

  “He did.”

  “He’s probably on his way to the island right now to win you back.” When I don’t reply he says, “You don’t think so?”

  “I called him a couple days ago. You know, I felt bad about the way I left and just wanted to apologize to him.” He watches me as he takes a drink of his water. “A woman answered his phone.”

  “His sister?”

  I shake my head. “He’s an only child.”

  “His mother?”

  “She’s passed away.”

  “Ouch.”

  “It stung. Mom, Pap, and Gram always made me think I was a one-of-a-kind.” I take a sip of my water. “I guess I’m easier to replace than even they suspected.”

  “If he didn’t realize your value, then that’s his loss.”

  I feel a smile form on my lips. “Thank you, Beau.”

  “It’s best you didn’t waste any more time with someone so oblivious to your beauty and kind soul, not to mention your self-worth.”

  He says the kindest things. Thankful for the sunburn on my face so he can’t see me blush, I say, “So, what about you? What’s your story?”

  He cracks open a claw of the lobster. “My story’s a little more complex than yours.” He searches his thoughts. “Where should I start?”

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

  “I’m just not sure what parts will interest you.”

  I’m interested in all of it. “You said once you left the island in search of happiness. Did you find it?”

  “I did, briefly. I left and that’s when I met Myra’s mom. She was from the city and although I believe she tried, she just couldn’t adjust to the island and its relaxed atmosphere.” I remember that he said island life isn’t for everyone. “We married very quickly, and shortly afterward Mom was diagnosed with cancer, so Leslie and I moved back home so I could be closer to Mom and Dad.”

  “I know how close you were with your parents. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. While I was spending my days working and my nights with Mom trying to get her better, I wasn’t spending enough time on my marriage or with my new bride.”

  I don’t want to sound judgmental. “And she didn’t understand that?”

  “She didn’t. She was young and I brought her to a new place where she didn’t know anyone. It was hard for her to adjust.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. Mom died quickly and in a way, it was a blessing. She was suffering.” He finishes his bottle of water. “I was in mourning and angry with God. My dad was depressed, my wife was miserable, and I was upset at the world.” I wait quietly for him to continue. “Then Leslie told me she was pregnant and it changed my world.” This conversation is far deeper than I expected. He’s raising his daughter without her mother, so this story isn’t over and it doesn’t have a happy-ever-after. “I turned to God and decided I wanted to live my life as he would want me to. While I was preparing to be a preacher, my wife was becoming a drug addict.”

  Chapter Five

  Beau

  “NO!”

  I can see the shock in her face. She places her hand over her heart.

  “It was a long pregnancy. I knew in my heart I was doing what God had led me to do. I’m not perfect and God knew that, but he still led me to the church. I guess he had faith in me.”

  “What about Leslie?”

  “She didn’t want help. God knows I tried. Dad tried. Her family also tried to intervene, but she wanted no part of it. Myra was born an addict. It took more than five days for her to detox from the poisons that Leslie had fed her during her pregnancy.”

  Her eyes well up with tears for everything I just confessed to her. “Beau, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I look out into the now dark skies. “Thank God, Myra’s okay now.”

  “Where’s your wife now?”

  I cringe at the word. “Ex-wife. We divorced. She moved back to the city.”

  “Does she see her daughter?”

  “Myra was rushed to NICU right after birth and I went with my daughter. When I returned to Leslie’s room, the nurses said she left against medical advice.”

  Carly falls back into her chair with bewilderment evident on her face. “That’s so sad.”

  “I put my faith in God and focused on the things that I could change and improve. I couldn’t help Leslie; that was made painfully clear. I prayed and stayed with my daughter until she was out of danger. A week or so later, I went to the church and explained about Leslie, and the church members were very forgiving.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure they’d rather not have a preacher who’s divorced or filing for divorce preaching the gospel on the Sabbath in the house of the Lord.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Maybe it’s being an island church made them more forgiving than maybe one of those larger, fancier churches.”

  “Myra’s fine now?”

  “She’s incredible. She’s amazing. She’s beat the odds and I’m forever grateful. If you didn’t know her back story, you would never know that she’s been through so much in her short life.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I didn’t mean for this conversation to take a nosedive. But no matter how you phrase things, it’s still a deep and somber story.” I poke my fork into a potato knowing I won’t eat it.

  Carly sits up straighter in her chair. “You don’t feel guilty about what happened to her, do you?” Before I can answer she says, “None of that was your fault. Leslie was an adult and she knew exactly what she was doing. Sometimes you can help people and sometimes you can’t. At least you knew to move forward and move on. Beau, you don’t know your own worth.”

  I smile as she repeats my same words back to me. It feels good hearing that someone thinks I’m worth something.

  “Thank you.” I look at the table and then out into the night sky. “If I haven’t ruined your evening, do you want to take a walk on the beach with me before I take you home?”

  “You didn’t ruin my evening. I’d love to walk on the beach.”

  I stand and offer her my hand. When she takes it, I swear I feel a charge of energy. Our eyes meet and I think she feels it, too.

  We walk down the beach and stop to watch the dolphins. “Do you know what your plans are while you’re here?”

  “Before I do anything, I need to get another cell phone. Then I’m going to work diligently on my new novel and try to figure out what I should do with my life.”

  I turn to face her. “Oh, did your cell phone break?”

&n
bsp; “It may have broken when I tossed it in the ocean along with Spencer’s engagement ring, but I’m not sure.”

  I smile at her humor. “Lost at sea, huh.”

  She returns my smile. “It is now.”

  We take a seat at the seating area nearest the water. We talk about our childhood and how much fun we had in the summertime on the island.

  “Do you think you’ll ever move away from Seashell Island?” she asks.

  I don’t need to think about my answer. “No, I’m an islander. I had such a great childhood living here that I want Myra to experience the same.”

  “What is it about living here that makes it so wonderful for you?”

  “Everything,” I laugh. “It’s casual living at its finest. It has low crime and breathtaking views.”

  “It’s charming.”

  “It’s also friendly and relaxed. People travel here from around the world to spend a few days in paradise, and we live here.”

  “You make a good point.”

  We stand and I hold her hand as we walk back to my house. The wind starts picking up and she hugs her jacket closer to her body.

  “Let me clean up some of this mess and then I should get you home. It’s getting late.”

  We both work together on cleaning up the table and grill.

  “I just thought of something. It’s Sunday. Don’t you have church service tonight?”

  “No, not at this church. We tried it, but we didn’t get enough involvement to make it work.”

  “I would think one person is enough for a service.”

  “You’re right, it would be. But Myra and I were the only ones there and I knew she didn’t want to hear me preach.”

  Carly’s eyes dance with humor. “You opened up for night service and not one person came?”

  “You think that’s funny?” I say with a smile.

  “No, sir, I don’t. Where should I put these?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “I usually throw the used paper plates in the trash,” I say, nodding with my chin to the kitchen trashcan. “We have service on Sunday morning and then again on Wednesday night after choir practice.”

  “You know, if it works for the community, that’s all that counts.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  Before I take her home, I search the kitchen drawer for my old cell phone. I see an old photo of Leslie and me, and I tuck it beneath the stack of miscellaneous papers in the drawer. I keep it there as a reminder of happier days.

  “Here, Carly, I’m not sure if this will help you, but you’re more than welcome to this.” I hand her the phone still in the box, but she doesn’t accept it.

  “Beau, this is new. I can’t take this.”

  I remove the slightly used phone from the box. “Just because it’s in the box doesn’t mean it’s new.”

  She laughs. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to mean.” She takes the phone from me. “Who saves boxes of items they’re using?”

  “I’m not using it.”

  “You’ve used it, same difference.”

  I suppress my laugh. I can tell this bothers her. “Does it bother you that I save empty boxes?”

  Her eyes gleam with humor. “It does and I have no idea why.”

  “This is good to know that I can drive you crazy later with empty boxes.”

  She’s beautiful when she laughs.

  “I know that I have issues. You don’t pop your gum or snort when you laugh, do you?” she asks more seriously.

  “I don’t chew gum and I hope I don’t snort.”

  “Good.” She carefully looks over the phone. “This is a nice phone. Are you sure you don’t need it?”

  “I have one phone, and that’s all I need.”

  “Great. Thank you. I’ll call my phone provider tomorrow and get it activated.”

  On the drive to her house, she comments on the wind. “Does the wind always change so abruptly here?”

  “I guess I haven’t noticed it that much.”

  “You don’t hear that howling out there?”

  “Howling?” I laugh. “This is a summer breeze compared to the winds we get during a hurricane.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “You’ve never been here for one, have you?”

  “No. That must be one of the reasons that Gram and Pap use this only for a vacation home.”

  When I pull up to her house, I say, “Thank you for today. I had a great time.”

  “Thank you. I can’t remember when I laughed so much.”

  “I do apologize for the somber moments.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s all a part of reconnecting and getting to know each other.”

  “Thank you.” I stare a little too long into her beautiful dark eyes. “Stay here and I’ll get your door for you.”

  Getting out of the car, I try to get my thoughts in order. I’ve never been interested in anyone since I became a preacher. I’m not sure how to handle these feelings. Am I capable of dating someone and not acting on sexual thoughts or feelings? Is it a sin if I do? How would I control those feelings?

  I open her car door and offer her my hand. When she takes it I feel that charge of energy again. Our eyes meet and she smiles and says, “Is it just me or did you feel that, too?”

  “That’s not the first time, I felt that earlier today,” I say, breaking off eye contact. Still holding her hand, I walk her to the front door. The wind has picked up since we left my house.

  I wait as she unlocks the door and walks inside. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I do, but I need to get back.”

  She smiles, but I think I see disappointment on her face. I cup her small face with the palm of my hand never taking my eyes away from hers. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I try to resist but I lean in and kiss her anyway. She tastes and smells like something sweet and delicious. Cookies, maybe? For a minute I get lost in the moment. It isn’t until one or maybe both of us moans that I realize I need to stop. Slowly, because I don’t want it to end, I end the kiss and pull away, not too much, just enough so our lips are no longer touching, but close enough that I can feel her warm breath and hear her labored breathing. With my eyes still closed, I gently stroke her cheek with my thumb.

  “I need to go.” I open my eyes slightly to find hers still closed. I lean in and kiss her quickly on the lips. “Lock up and I’ll see you later,” I murmur.

  Her eyes flutter open. “Good night, Beau.”

  “Good night, Carly. I’ll see you on Wednesday if not before.”

  Carly

  I lock the door behind me and raise my fingers to my still tingly lips. Resting my head against the door, I slowly replay the kiss over in my head. Spencer never kissed me like that. Ever. I’ve never been kissed to the point that I never wanted it to end, until now.

  Sadly, this will never work between us. He’s a man of God and I’ll never be able to be someone who could measure up to be with him. The church would certainly frown upon me and my girl-kissing, cussing-like-a-sailor, dirty-minded sister with an ex-boyfriend who is now gay. Gah. Can you say happily dysfunctional? Still, it doesn’t mean I can’t hope.

  I shower, then sit with my computer, Mean Mac, ready to write. Funny that a little kiss can spark enough romance to get me in the mood… to write, that is.

  I don’t outline my story, I just write in hopes it takes me to someplace special. I normally write about real places, people, and situations, but in this story, I decide to make it all fictional. I don’t need someone on the island reading it and thinking, Oh, she’s talking about Beau. But the feelings and emotions I write about will be sparked from my feelings for him.

  The words flow easily as I write about two old flames reuniting after years of being separated by race. Sadly, racism is still an ongoing issue for many people. I thought long and hard about using religion but decided against that, too. Why can’t two people just fall in love and everyone be happy for them? Why are ther
e so many factors that prevent that? Love is love, no matter who it’s from. Wouldn’t the world be a happier place without all the hate in the world? Just love one another no matter the race, religion, or nationality. This reminds me to not be judgmental of my sister and her kissing shenanigans.

  When I hear the wind howling through the trees in the backyard, I stand to shut the French doors. I can’t believe how quickly the wind picked up this evening.

  I close up Mean Mac and head to bed when I realize it’s just past three in the morning. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so enthralled in a book I’m writing that I lost track of time. It may not work out for Beau and me, but my characters will certainly get their happy-ever-after… sooner or later. Sometimes I put my characters through a lot—A LOT—before the happy-ever-after.

  The next morning, I wake up with a throbbing headache. It could be from lack of sleep from the heavy winds or from writing into the wee early morning hours. I know from experience it’s the kind of headache that no matter how much coffee you drink, it’s not enough to help.

  After two cups of coffee, I decide today is a soup kind of a day. I’m glad I made myself get out of bed; otherwise, it would be a soupçon of a day. I just hope Gram and Pap have the ingredients already in the pantry. I shouldn’t be surprised to find everything I need minus the onion. Although my dad died when I was just a little girl, I was told many times by Mom, Gram, and Pap that he made the best chili soup, and my family still makes it religiously on cold nights and special occasions. Since I have no plans of leaving the house today, I consider this a special occasion.

  Once the chili’s simmering on the stove, I shower and dress in clean sweats. Today will be a day spent writing and eating.

  It isn’t until after five o’clock when I remember about the cell phone Beau gave me. Sadly, it’s now too late to get it activated. It’s not like I had anyone to call anyway. To be honest, at one time I liked the solitude I had when Spencer was at work and the nights he said he was working late. But being here at the vacation home of my family, it just doesn’t seem right. This house wasn’t made for solitary confinement. It was made for large family gatherings, laughter, and fun.

  I put on some music while I eat hoping it’ll liven the place up. It doesn’t. I look outside and it’s still too windy to go anywhere. On Wednesday, I’ll go to church and help out. Sarah said she’ll be back on Friday. I’ll be fine until then. Beau knows where I am, so maybe he’ll stop by to see me. My lips tingle just thinking about him and that kiss.