by J D Worth
“Sorry for the short notice. Is the cottage ready for my stay? Otherwise, I could remain at the resort,” I offer.
“No, please, you don’t have to stay at the resort. The cottage is in perfect condition. I have an employee who oversees housekeeping. Martha can give you a hand with the cleaning.”
“I can handle the place just fine. Thank you.”
“Good to hear.” There’s a long pause and shuffling of papers on his end. “Why don’t you swing by my office and grab the key? I could stop by later and go over everything in the cottage for you.”
“How far are you from the cottage?” I wince, wishing I had my vehicle.
“We’re ’bout five miles. Turn left when you hit the main road. We’re in a small office at the end of Main Street, the center of town. You can’t miss us.”
“I won’t have access to my car until later. Is there any way the key can be dropped off?” I press my lips together, hoping he doesn’t think I’m asking too much.
“I have an out-of-state client on his way to meet with me now. I don’t want you to wait all day, so I’ll send my son over. He’s at another site up the coast and may take a while to reach you. Hold tight. If you need anything, Audrey, please holler. I’ll take care of any problems that arise.” My linguistics-loving brain soaks up his rich Southern accent, replaying each of his drawn out words.
“Thanks, Martin, that’s very kind. I don’t mind waiting. All I had planned for today was to enjoy the beach anyway. I’m looking forward to seeing how my mother transformed her beloved family cottage.”
He clears his throat and shares, “My firm helped with the refurbishment.”
“I’m not surprised she used a local contractor.”
“I enjoyed the process of working alongside your momma, accomplishing her wishes. Miss Charlotte talked ’bout you often. I’m glad you get to enjoy the cottage yourself. I know that was your momma’s intention.”
“I will. Thank you again, Martin.”
“Audrey, it was nice to meet you, even by way of phone. The key is on the way.”
Now I have to figure out how to get my car from the garage. When I called earlier, no one picked up. I’m assuming in a small town, the mechanic is too busy fixing vehicles to answer every phone call.
I grab my white sun hat and my e-reader and follow the worn path down to the beach. The blue ocean and the graceful ebb and flow of the tide swishing against the sand, lures me forward. I spin around, soaking in the tranquility of the cove. A wide smile spans my face. I imagine my Grandfather Jonathan had the same reaction when he laid eyes upon this special place as I explore the area.
Overlooking Haven Cove, two Adirondack chairs rest at the end of the yard with a huge umbrella that provides plenty of shade. The private cove forms a large semi-circle of pristine beach frontage. The cottages are nestled in even spacing around the property. The first cottage is closest to the berm in the terrain, which forced all the storm surge of Hurricane Oswald towards the cottages, destroying all of their interiors.
Bell Peninsula is named for its distinct bell shape. Haven rests at the bottom of the peninsula almost in the center. The larger town of Hearth claims most of the marshy left side of the peninsula while the charismatic coastline and sandy beaches of Harbor Bay takes up the right side. My property is actually one of the bell curves, so Haven Cove meets Harbor Bay, separated by a long rocky bluff. The grassy terrain of my yard has a gentle slope down to the beach.
I ease in one of the chairs, taking in the beach, the vast ocean, and the overall peacefulness this place exudes. No wonder my grandfather scooped this cove up and made this his permanent residence. My smile widens. Visualizing my uncle and mother playing on the beach, I bury my toes into the soft warm sand. Covering up with sunblock and sunglasses, I waste no time enjoying the beach.
I flip open my Kindle case and lift up the mysterious postcard of Haven Cove that I received only a week ago in New York. I hold the photo against the matching landscape. The postcard didn’t lie about the beauty of the cove. On the backside, my name and address are typed out with an ancient typewriter that has an offset letter o. The postcard came from an online print shop, so anyone could have created the custom mailing. The stamp is a seashell and the postmark is from Hearth. I run my finger over the smudged black ink that simply reads: Welcome home.
8
“Audrey?”
My eyes slowly focus in the blazing sun. I reach up, shading my sunglasses. A large figure dominates my sight. As the figure nears, I realize my grandmother did hire Cal as my bodyguard. His impressive size casts a huge shadow over me. I have to tilt my head back to take all of him in.
“My goodness, are all you Southern boys this big?”
He laughs. “You’re cuter than a box of puppies.”
“I’m cute? I probably have sunstroke after falling asleep in the sun. I’m closer to dorky than not. Please ignore all of my poor social graces. Fair warning: there will be many. I shouldn’t have insinuated your size was out of the ordinary. The pretty boys back in the city are closer to my height and wimpy, sad little boys.” When a grin sweeps across his face, I take that as a cue to shut up. “I’m rambling again. Got it.”
“Maybe you’re goofier than I first thought, but still cute as hell.” He motions to my cottage. “You’re really staying here, huh?”
I spring up, almost dizzy from my time in the sun. Pain rips through my body. “Cal, if I’m not mistaken, you were there the other night on the beach. Sorry I crashed your party, by the way. I’m Audrey, but you already know that.” I want to bury my head in the sand for looking so foolish. He was a witness to my after terror, and he’ll probably be by my side day and night for the next month. My nerves flares, landing me in a flustered state. “I see Mrs. Aster hired you for my personal security detail. Did she lead you to believe I was staying at the resort?” I ask, offering my hand for a formal handshake. “Or worse, did she give you a room at my cottage without my permission?”
His eyes stick to my stiff extended hand. He tries to hide a smile while swallowing up my hand with his large grip. I scramble by saying, “Perhaps a handshake is too formal down here for people our age, and I likely come off as too straightforward.” A nervous laugh escapes me as I ramble on.
“Yeah, I’m Cal, but I’m not here as security. I’m here on my pop’s behalf, Kingfield Properties.” He taps the Kingfield Properties logo on the pocket of his gray polo. “I help him out with construction and what not. I only work at the resort part-time.”
“Oh!” I thump my hand hard against my chest in relief. “You have the magic key. I cannot tell you how eager I am to see the place. I’ll be staying here while my father honeymoons for the next month. Did you also help with the cottage?” I’m almost bouncing on my toes, learning I’m free of Lilith. I was positive she’d have someone keeping an eye on me.
“Yeah, I’ll show you through the cottage. Make sure everything’s in proper order for your stay.” He nods toward the path as we make our way over.
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
Cal looks at me as he did before on the beach. “Wow, you really do take after your momma.”
“Yes, my resemblance to my mother must be shocking. I get that a lot.” With so much direct attention, I’m glad I wore the long-sleeved cotton shirt that hides the bruises from the other night.
“Last I knew this was still your cottage. How come you don’t have a key?”
“The key is with my car keys at the town garage.”
He breaks out into a loud laugh. “Does your car happen to be a silver Benz AMG S 65 Coupé?”
“Yes. Why do you know this?” I ask, skidding to an abrupt stop.
“Small town for you.” Cal shrugs, tapping his phone on. “Heads up, Doc, I heard the owner of the Benz is on a war path. We’re talking Civil War here, so you best prepare for the fallout at your garage. From where I’m standing all hell is gonna break loose!” I pop op
en my mouth and Cal chuckles. “You better make sure that car is in perfect working condition.” Cal winks at me as I shake my head like a mad woman. “Listen, genius, you’re the mechanic, so stop your lollygagging and get the job done.” He ends the call on a smile.
“You informed the local mechanic that I’m ‘angry’ with him.”
Cal crosses his arms. “Well, I’m fit to be tied.”
“I’m not sure what that means when you’re crossing your arms and grinning wildly at the same time.”
“Doc is a real bastard of a mechanic, so I’m pissed at him. No worries, I’m always pissed at that fucker for something.”
“You put me on the spot here. What if he puts sugar in the gas tank now?” I say. Cal breaks into a huge smile. “Something is wrong with my vehicle. Am I going to contend with more problems after he makes things worse? You don’t seem too fond of Northerners down here!”
“We call ’em Yankees, you goof, and he won’t put sugar in your gas tank.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah. That’d be an insult to his skill set.” Cal keeps on grinning. I don’t know the locals around here, so this must be an inside joke. “When we’re done with the cottage, I’ll show you where everything in town is located. I’ll drop you at Doc’s after. If that ole fool gets his act together, your car should be ready by then.” His grin magnifies.
Cal opens the door. The buzz of excitement starts low in my belly and rushes forth. I want to flutter around the cottage like a happy little bumble bee exploring everything. I step into a warm and modern open space. He brings my luggage in and heads over to the kitchen, pulling out the fridge effortlessly. My eyes widen. He shrugs his shoulders as if that’s not a big deal, plugging the cord in before pushing the appliance back in place. “Prevents mold.”
“Is mold a problem?” I ask, pulling the blinds up in the kitchen and pushing the cute café curtains aside. Cal shakes his head no as he scurries around the rooms, opening all the drapes and blinds, letting the sun in. The welcoming design has an understated Pottery Barn comfort. The kitchen is filled with nice stainless steel appliances and beautiful granite counters that match the color of the sand on the beach. The cabinets are a light, semitransparent gray stain reminiscent of driftwood, and the tiled floors have a similar color to the counters. The soft apricot wall color mirrors the sunsets down here. It’s clear my mother used the natural surroundings as her inspiration for the interior.
Childhood memories of homemade cookies flood my head when I find my grandmother’s set of glazed kitchen canisters on the counter.
“This is amazing,” I say, tracing the painted blue hydrangeas with my finger across the largest canister used for flour. “I always wondered what happened to my grandmother’s things. When my mother died, I tried to set aside special family items before Lilith trashed them.
“Wait. You’re saying Lilith threw away your momma’s belongings?”
“Sentimental things aren’t important to her.”
“Then what is?”
“Money. Power. Your soul…” I glance back at him. “The usual for Wall Street wolves.”
“Shouldn’t family be number one?”
“Aster Holdings is.”
“But that’s a company.”
“To Lilith it’s the same thing. I didn’t find too many of my Grandmother Beth’s treasures. She died when I was seven, so this is a pleasant surprise to see her kitchen collections here.” I run my other hand over a shelf containing all of her old cookbooks.
“Pardon me saying so, but Lilith is full of it. Family always comes first.” I cover my smile with my hand. “I recall your momma saying those canisters were made by a local potter way back. Probably from the time when your grandparents first built this cottage. Your momma said they used locals to furnish as well. North Carolina is full of famous furniture makers. Miss Charlotte worked with several, ordering items for the cottage too. The counters are more upscale than what we usually do.” Cal runs his hand over the exquisite granite countertops.
“My grandparents loved the laid-back Southern way of life. My mother’s updated version feels like a home instead of a mere dwelling.”
We pass the simple dining area with watercolor prints and a trestle table for six. One side of the living room is decorated with a large sand-colored sectional with lots of soft pillows and an ottoman in buttery soft brown leather that acts as a coffee table. I want to drop onto the soft pillows and curl up with a great book. Across the room, my mother decorated the built-in shelves on each side of the entertainment center and fireplace with old books, driftwood, and vases filled with shells. She chose white sailcloth for the curtains to let as much natural light into the room as possible. The walls are a warm shade of aqua blue filled with white-framed vintage illustrations of seashells. I can’t wait to settle into the elegant, yet casual space.
The main hallway splits off to the left where two bedrooms share a nice bathroom. Cal shows me the washer and dryer in the linen closet. The first bedroom has all white Jenny Lind spool-turned furniture. The look is vintage, not the typical rounded edges I saw while spending time with my mother at her design firm. I touch the high posts on the queen bed.
“Your momma searched every flea market up and down the coast for this furniture. Oswald pretty much destroyed everything in the cottages. She said she had a Jenny Lind set growing up and wanted the same for you. She got lucky and found this set. There’s a matching crib in the shed. You might want them someday for your own young’uns.”
I smile, but change the subject. “I didn’t know they made these beds with high posts.”
“She said it’s a Southern style. I’m not much for interior design, but Miss Charlotte sure knew what she was doing.” Cal glances around my room with appreciation in his eyes. I nod in agreement.
Grasping that this bedroom is for me, my mother added artistic photographs of black and white horses. She placed a dainty wicker rocker in the corner by an antique armoire. The aqua and teal tones are still my favorites, even if she outfitted this room for me several years ago. This space is almost too painful to take in. The décor reflects the sweetness and innocence of the girl my mother knew. I’m not that same person anymore, so I close the door to the past.
“I was in elementary school when my Grandmother Beth died. My mother had the time, so she began her own career. She sold off her parents’ New York estate and purchased a small building for her own design firm. She restored the place and opened Haven Interiors in honor of her family’s cottage here. She had a short, yet brilliant career.”
The next room contains a queen-sized bed and is nautical-themed with navy and other tonal shades of blue. Tan rounds out the curtains and bedding. Cal shows me to the master bedroom at the end of the main hall. My mother crafted another beautiful space, melding older furniture pieces mixed with sophisticated modern décor. Turquoise, yellow, and grays blend in with the large space.
I run my hand across my grandmother’s pale yellow quilt folded on the end of the wrought iron bed. “I searched for this same quilt when I packed up my mother’s belongings. This quilt was always on the end of her bed when I was younger. The last time I recall seeing the quilt was right before my mother sent me off to Italy for an immersion program.” I press the quilt to my nose, hoping to catch a hint of my mother. The freshness of a dryer sheet surfaces instead. The quilt drops from my hands. “She claimed the boarding school was to save me from Lilith. In the aftermath of the hurricane, my mother would be busy with the cottages, and she was afraid Lilith would try to send me to a reform type school. Or so she said.” I fling the closet door open and run my hand over empty hangers, causing a hollow rattling sound. I’m chasing ghosts, but she’s gone from here as well. Disappointment leaches into my fragile psyche.
Cal says, “Reform school sure sounds like something that stiff grandmomma of yours would do. I didn’t get the pleasure of dealing with Mrs. Aster personally, but I heard plenty.”
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“Yes, it all sounded perfectly reasonable when my mother said it. I flew to Italy and spent the winter and spring at the fancy boarding school my mother chose. Our housing consisted of our own villa with a live-in teaching staff. In the summer months, we toured European museums and visited all of the great architectural landmarks.” I turn from the closet to my mother’s nightstand, sliding open the drawer. “When I came home at the beginning of September for high school, I learned the real reason she sent me abroad.” I reach inside the drawer and pull out an empty bottle of morphine and several unused syringes. “She was battling cancer and losing.”
Cal’s face turns white as he steps forward and removes them from my hand, dropping the items into the nearby trashcan. “Sorry ’bout that. I guess Martha forgot to check the drawer. You should see the master bath. Charlotte went all out.” Cal almost mows me over as he scoots ahead. “There’s a full sauna function and fancy shower massager.”
