She did know. So maybe it was okay to live in a delusion—even if only for a short while. Didn’t she and Jackson deserve a small measure of happiness? Even if it was only temporary . . . or delusional? Jackson deserved a break from his middle-school tormenters—and no one could deny that Wendy was overdue for a vacation. Even her boss acted eager for her to go. “Just be back by December 23rd,” he’d reminded her on Friday. “I’ve planned an important full-day staff conference—a meeting of the minds and a bit of a holiday party. I want you there too.”
That gave them a little more than three weeks—plenty of time to fix up the cottage and place it on the market. Hopefully it wouldn’t even take that long. The bigger question was, how long would it take for Jackson to realize how small and isolated Seaside truly was . . . and how dead and boring it could get when winter set in? A generous dose of disillusionment might be just the ticket to get him to change his mind about becoming a permanent resident there. She could only pray.
two
DESPITE HER RESOLVE not to surrender to childish feelings of delight over her belated return to Seaside, Wendy let out a happy gasp as they reached the outskirts of the small coastal town. The heaviest clouds had continued westward and the sinking sun was now painting the sky in vibrant shades of coral, purple, and amber.
“Oh, my!” She pulled the car onto the road’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get a photo of this gorgeous sunset.” She grabbed up her phone and hopped outside, snapping a couple of good shots.
“Seaside is welcoming us,” Jackson exclaimed.
“Maybe so.” She zoomed her phone’s camera toward the eastern horizon.
“Is that the ocean?” Jackson pointed to the barely visible dark blue strip of water.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s it.”
He let out another happy whoop then swooped her into a big bear hug. “This is so cool, Mom! I think I can smell the ocean.”
She sniffed the air then nodded. “I can smell it too. There’s nothing like the scent of the sea.” She felt herself choking back unexpected tears. Were they tears of joy or sadness? She wasn’t sure, but to distract herself she took a few more photos, then got back in the car.
“Maybe you can paint something from those pictures,” Jackson suggested as she continued driving toward town.
“I probably couldn’t do it justice,” she confessed. “Skies are hard to replicate.”
“WELCOME TO SEASIDE,” Jackson triumphantly read from the sign. “POPULATION 2058.” He laughed. “About to become 2060!”
She grimaced.
“Seaside is more than a hundred times smaller than Cincinnati—and that’s just fine with me.” He pointed to a big gleaming SHELL sign. “Hey, you’re wrong, Mom, they do have a gas station.”
“Well, Seaside is definitely bigger than it was.” She peered at what used to be the outskirts of town, now filled in and built up. “But I’d still call it a one-horse town.”
“One horse is enough for me.” He leaned forward, looking left and right as she slowly cruised down Main Street. Despite being off-season, the town still looked surprisingly sweet and welcoming—and not completely vacated.
“Looks like they’ve done some improvements,” she quietly conceded.
“Oh, Mom, it’s way better than I expected!” He pointed out some highlights—the ice cream shop, the old arcade, the chowder house, a bowling alley that was new to her, and finally the wharf where dozens of boats were bobbing in the water. “This is so cool, Mom. What more could we want in a town?”
“Well, there’s no denying this place has grown and changed some,” she admitted.
“Maybe it’s a two-horse town now.”
“Maybe.” She stopped at the intersection where Main Street and Beach Avenue crossed, looking around. “But, as you can see, not everything is open. That’s how it is in the off-season.” She pointed at the darkened Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant as evidence.
“But it’s a Monday, Mom. Lots of places aren’t open on Mondays—even in the city.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“That’s open.” He pointed to a grocery store on Beach Avenue, also new to her. “You said to remind you to get some groceries.”
She turned into the parking lot. “Yes, we need eggs and milk and a few perishable things. Let’s be quick though. I’d like to make it to the cottage and get everything unloaded before dark.”
“Listen!” Jackson exclaimed as they walked across the parking lot.
“What?” She looked all around.
“I can hear it!”
“What?” She frowned.
“The ocean!”
She stopped walking long enough to listen, and sure enough the low rumble of the surf could be heard. “You’re right,” she whispered. “That’s the ocean. Sounds a little rough out there too. Guess that’s the edge of the storm we just drove through.”
“Wow—that is so cool.” He happy-danced up to the store.
They went inside, hurrying through a surprisingly well-stocked modern grocery store. Nothing like the stores she remembered from her last time here—and that had been in summer. They quickly gathered what they needed for tonight and tomorrow, but as they headed for the checkout, Wendy couldn’t help but notice the colorful displays set up for Thanksgiving, showing off dressing mixes, canned pumpkin, cranberry sauce—as if the town hadn’t evacuated for the off-season. She wondered what she and Jackson would be doing by Thursday—if the cabin was uninhabitable, they might even be on their way back home.
“New to town?” the young cashier asked pleasantly.
“Sort of.” Wendy ran her plastic card through the machine, trying not to obsess over how she’d covered all the expenses of this trip with credit so far. But once the cottage was sold, she would easily pay it all off.
“Mom used to come here as a girl,” Jackson proudly told the cashier.
“My grandparents had a beach cottage, just down the road a ways.” She signed her name.
“But they died,” Jackson declared. “And now it’s our beach house and we’re going to live there.”
“Well then, welcome to Seaside—I’ll look forward to seeing you guys in here again.” The young woman smiled brightly.
“Yeah.” Jackson grinned as he picked up the bag. “We’ll probably be back to get more groceries—a lot. But we gotta hurry to our house before dark.”
Wendy smiled stiffly and thanked the cashier. Somehow she needed to get Jackson to understand their situation better. Maybe later tonight, after they got settled in.
“Does everything look familiar?” Jackson asked as she turned the car back onto Beach Avenue.
“Parts of it are. But that grocery store is new.” Then she pointed to a large three-story structure. “That is definitely new.”
“SEASIDE HOTEL,” Jackson read from the sign. “Looks like a nice place.”
“I guess.” Hopefully they wouldn’t have to return to spend the night here. She knew the beach cottage might be uninhabitable—and perhaps it would be a blessing in disguise since that would force her to just sell the land and head back to Ohio. Relieved to see a VACANCY sign, she continued down the beach road. There were more houses than the last time she’d been here. Much bigger than the old cottages, probably more expensive too. But maybe that was good—perhaps real estate was on the rise.
“Are you excited, Mom?”
“Excited?”
“You know, about being back here? It must be pretty cool after such a long time.”
“Yeah . . .” She sighed. “Pretty cool.” She remembered the feeling when Poppa would drive them down this same road for the first time in summer. It was usually mid-June, shortly after school ended. “When we used to come here, back when I was a girl, we’d usually get here late in the day. We’d all unload the car, and eventually we’d have a late dinner out on the deck, overlooking the ocean. Poppa loved to watch the sunset. Our first day here always felt magical to me.”
“It feels
magical to me too,” Jackson said quietly.
“Gammi had a neighbor friend, Mrs. Campbell, who always knew when to expect us. She’d go over and open up the house for us that morning. She’d air it all out and put out fresh linens—even stock a few things in the fridge. And sometimes, if it was cool, she’d build us a welcoming fire in the fireplace.”
“Pretty nice neighbor. You think she’s still around?”
“Oh, I doubt it. Seemed like she was pretty old back then. She’d probably be about a hundred by now.”
“Are we almost there?”
Wendy poked him in the shoulder.
“Sorry, Mom. It’s just that I’m so excited to see the cottage. It feels kinda like Christmas, you know?”
“I do know.” She also knew they’d be home by Christmas. Hopefully Jackson would be over it by then.
“Don’t tell me when you see it, Mom. I want to guess. Okay?”
“Sure.” She’d already shown him an old photo of the shingle-covered two-story house, with herself as a scrawny preadolescent, standing in her swimsuit on the sagging front porch. But it wasn’t much different than a lot of these summer cottages. When she spotted the house, she was pleasantly surprised—it didn’t look quite as ramshackle as she’d imagined. Even the porch looked straighter and sturdier than she remembered.
“That’s it,” Jackson declared, pointing at the grayed structure with white trim.
“You got it right.” She turned into the driveway.
“What’s that white stuff on the driveway?” he asked.
“Crushed oyster shells,” she explained. “It’s Maine gravel.”
“Cool.”
“Looks like someone fixed the front porch,” she observed as she parked.
“Look, Mom, there’s a light inside. And smoke from the chimney. Think it’s a ghost?”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” Wendy stared at the structure. Was this the wrong house?
“Maybe your grandma’s neighbor is still around.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She felt uneasy as she turned off the engine. What if someone had snuck in and was squatting? She’d heard of vacation cabin break-ins. Was it unsafe to take her son inside? “Hold on,” she told Jackson as he opened the door.
“Why?” He already had one foot out. “This is our house, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t understand what’s going on.” She reached for her phone. “I spoke to Poppa’s attorney last week, telling him we were coming. He told me where the key was hidden, but I wonder if someone found—”
“Who’s that?” Jackson pointed to an elderly woman who had come out of her house and was shuffling toward them in her bedroom slippers and waving with enthusiasm.
“Mrs. Campbell!” Wendy got out of the car and hurried over to greet the old woman. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”
“Wendy!” Mrs. Campbell opened her arms, hugging her warmly. “I’m so happy to see you.” She turned to Jackson. “This must be your son, Jackson. Your grandpa showed me pictures of him, but land sakes, he’s bigger than you.” She patted Jackson on the shoulder. “Almost a full-grown man.”
“I’ll be thirteen in April,” he told her.
“Must be tall for your age.”
“Takes after his dad,” Wendy said.
“Can I go see the beach now?” Jackson begged. “Before it’s too dark?”
“Yes, of course.” Wendy looked out over the dusky dune that dropped down to the surf. “Just don’t wander far. I don’t want you getting lost on your first day here.”
“And there’s no moon tonight,” Mrs. Campbell warned. “It’ll be pitch-black soon.” She pointed out the lamppost by the beach trail, explaining that he could see it from the beach, and then Jackson took off running.
“Did you make a fire for us?” Wendy asked.
“Truth be told, I had help.” Mrs. Campbell linked arms with Wendy, walking up to the front porch with her. “My brother Harvey lives with me. He made the fire.”
“Thank you both! But how did you know we were coming today?”
“Your grandpa’s lawyer phoned me last week.” She glumly shook her head. “I was so sad to hear about his passing last summer. So sorry for your loss, dear.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyhow, the lawyer knew all about me and how your grandpa paid me to look after the house in the off-season. I told him I’d hide my key for you.” She pointed to a flowerpot by the door. “It’s right there.”
Wendy extracted the key, slipping it into the lock.
“Anyhow, we expected you here on Saturday, so Harvey made a fire that morning and I got a few things ready for you, but then you didn’t show. So he made another fire yesterday—and then today.”
“I told the attorney we were leaving on Saturday so he probably assumed we were flying, but I drove. Anyway, it was so kind of you to do that!” Wendy peered at the old woman’s face in the porch light, trying to determine her age. Certainly, not a hundred, but she had to be in her late eighties.
“Good thing too. Place was cold as ice on Saturday. Took two days just to get the chill off, but it oughta stay nice for you. Especially since your grandpa got it insulated a few years ago. I just turned the heaters off—didn’t want to waste electricity since the place was already warm—but you might want to put them back on before you go to bed. And I got Harvey to turn on the water for you too.” She waited for Wendy to open the front door. “Sorry I didn’t get fresh linens on the beds. My arthritis has troubled me something fierce these past few winters. But I did stock you some provisions in the fridge. Not much, mind you, but some of my homemade huckleberry jam and a few other goodies.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Wendy hugged her again. “You’re the best, Mrs. Campbell.”
“I s’pect it was a long trip for you.” She nodded with satisfaction. “I just wanted you to feel welcome.”
“That was so kind.” Wendy glanced around the living room to see the same worn plaid sofa, Gammi’s antique oak rocker, Poppa’s old leather recliner, and numerous other pieces. But the walls looked different. Instead of the old panels of dark wood with exposed studs, they were covered in unpainted beaded board. “Looks like some improvements have been made.”
“Your grandpa’d been fixing the place up some these past few years.” Mrs. Campbell sadly shook her head. “I s’pect he knew he wasn’t long for this world and wanted to make it nicer for you and your boy.” She led Wendy through the house, pointing out various improvements.
“Looks like he thinned a few things out too,” Wendy observed. “Not quite as much clutter as I remember.” She picked up a conch shell. “But I’m relieved to see that the shells are still here.”
“Your grandpa turned that upstairs spare bedroom into a storage room,” Mrs. Campbell told her. “I’m afraid it will be a bear to clean out.”
“That’s okay. I expected to find a ton of work here. I’m pleasantly surprised it’s not far worse.”
“Well, don’t fool yourself. There’s still plenty to do. Harvey claims your bathroom floor is spongy. Hope your toilet don’t fall through.” She shook a warning finger at her. “You just walk softly and call yourself a handyman in the morning. I left a business card from the fellow who used to do work for me before Harvey came to help. I highly recommend Gordon. He’s a good man and being it’s wintertime he shouldn’t be too busy.”
They visited a bit longer. Then, seeing the sky was getting dark, Wendy escorted her elderly neighbor down the porch steps and across the driveway. “Thank you again for all your help.” She glanced at her slippers. “Do you need me to walk you back to—”
“Land sakes, no. I’m just fine on my own.”
Wendy told her good night. Then, relieved to see her son sprinting up the beach trail, she started to extract a box from the back of the car.
“Let me unload the car, Mom,” Jackson said breathlessly.
She stepped back, using the car’s light to take in his windblow
n hair, flushed cheeks, and happy smile. Besides looking almost grown, he wasn’t the same boy from back in Ohio. “But I can carry some—”
“I can do it, Mom.” He flexed a bicep then reached across her to get the box, setting it down on the driveway. “Just let me.”
“So how was the beach?” She watched as he loosened up some of the other things, acting like he had this under control.
“Awesome! I can’t wait to see it in the daylight. I need to check the tide table.”
“This one’s mine.” She reached for her overnight bag, tugging it out. “I’ll take it inside.”
“Okay, but only that one,” he warned. “I’ll get the rest of this.”
“But there’s so much—”
“Just go inside, Mom. Give yourself a break.”
“But I—”
“I want to, Mom.” He gave her a firm nudge. “I’ll bring stuff into the house and you can put it wherever it goes from there.”
“Thanks, Jackson.” There was no denying her son was growing up. Whether it was from his determination to be “the man of the house” like Claire had said, or just something natural and inevitable, it was happening fast—and she doubted there was much she could do to prevent it. But it was bittersweet. Although part of her felt pleased and proud, another bigger part felt like sobbing.
three
THIS PLACE is way cool!” Jackson exclaimed as he carried the last loaded laundry basket inside. “I don’t know why you dissed on it so much, Mom. It looks great to me. And that fireplace is epic—it’s nice and warm in here. You said it’d be freezing cold.”
“Well, it seems Poppa made some improvements since I was last here.” Wendy knocked on a wall. “He even put in insulation.”
“Awesome.” Jackson followed her to the kitchen, pausing by the windowsill to admire the shells lining it. “These seashells are so cool, Mom. They’re all over the house. Did your grandparents really find all of them right here on this beach? Do you think we can find some too?”
A Christmas by the Sea Page 2
