“Yes, those Sweet Bay men really ring my bell.”
“It’s a big world out there, that’s all I’m saying.”
“If there’s more outside Sweet Bay, I don’t need it. And I’m done with men. I gave it a go twice, and you see how far that got me. At thirty-three, I’m long past the age of letting myself get swept up by a man, no matter how handsome or charming he may be.”
The words sounded believable—even to me—but I knew my heart. If William had walked onto that beach right then and there, I would have run to him and thrown my arms around him, no questions asked. I probably would have hit him too, but where my heart was concerned, it would always belong to him.
I leaned my head back on the chair. The sun, still strong even in the late afternoon, baked my legs. The searing heat felt good and cleansing. I gave in to the pull of sleep until the rising tide skimmed the backs of my legs. At the same time, Bert’s voice drifted to us from farther up the beach.
“We’re going to have to toss out life preservers if y’all don’t move back,” he called. Jenny trailed behind him, a sand bucket in one hand and a stringy clump of seaweed in the other.
“Come on back to the cabin,” he said. “I have grilled shrimp and West Indies salad waiting on the deck.”
He turned to Jenny and said something we couldn’t hear, then the two of them took off, running back the other way. My sweet girl ran as fast as her legs would carry her, beating Bert to the cabin by a nose. She gave him a high five and climbed the steps to the cabin.
Lord, I love that girl. I tightened my grip on the letter in my hands, the letter that would one day tell Jenny everything she needed to know about her father—nothing more and nothing less.
36
SARA
JULY
I didn’t roll over until ten the next morning. As soon as I did, the pounding started, reminding me why I always stopped with one drink. With the shop to run and clients to please, I didn’t have time to sleep in and nurse hangovers.
My phone was on top of the blanket next to me. I took a deep breath and called Crawford.
“Are you okay?” he asked in place of a greeting.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry for not calling earlier. Allyn came to town, and . . .” It was a limp excuse, but it was all I had. I hadn’t deciphered anything else going on in my head yet.
“I’m glad you got to see him. I’ll back off now that I know you’re okay. I was just worried.”
“Thanks. What do you mean ‘back off’?”
“Look, I know you’ve got a lot going on and you have decisions to make. I want to help you with this, but I understand if you need to do it alone.”
Whether I did it alone or had help, deciding what to do would not be easy. The situation had already tied my stomach in knots.
“And this should go without saying,” he continued, “but if you have second thoughts about us—about me—just be honest.”
“No, I’m not . . .” But was I? Thoughts swirled through my head like a tornado, but I couldn’t put my finger on which ones were about the house and which were about Crawford.
“Come on, Sara. It’s the first time you haven’t taken my calls. This big thing happens—Sammy and his news about the house—and all of a sudden you pull away.”
He’d been nothing but caring and concerned about me, and here I was trying to avoid the hard part, just like Allyn said. What kind of person did that?
“I’m sorry. I’m not having second thoughts about you, or about us. I just feel like the rug was pulled out from under me. Before, everything felt so . . . possible. Now, I don’t know. If I’m not here in Sweet Bay, how would we . . . ?”
He exhaled. “We’ll figure it out, just like we said. Sammy may have pulled the rug out from under you, but I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere. And that will stay the same whether or not Sammy goes through with his plan. Okay?”
I couldn’t speak over the lump in my throat, so I just nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
“Can I come see you?” he asked.
“Yes, please. I don’t want to do this alone.”
After we hung up I turned over to find a glass of water and two Tylenol on the nightstand. As I swallowed them down, the sound of laughter found its way up the stairs and into my room.
Downstairs, Allyn was holding court in the kitchen while Dot, Bert, Major, and Glory all drowned in laughter. Major laughed so hard he spilled his coffee. Allyn grabbed a dish towel and helped him clean up. Bert clapped him on the back. Not the sight I expected to see.
“Good morning,” Dot said to me quietly when I entered. She put her arm around me and I patted her hand.
“Your friend fits right in. Mags would have loved him.”
“You’re right. She never would have let him leave. Can I talk to you for a minute?” I gestured into the adjacent dining room.
“Sure, hon.”
We sat down at the table. In the middle was an arrangement of small vases. I reached over and ran my finger across the thin porcelain lip of a vase with tiny painted flowers.
“Mags loved having fresh flowers in the house.” Dot picked up one of the vases and turned it over in her hand. “I found a box full of these in the mudroom the other day. I was going to add them to our Goodwill pile, but I thought better of it. These happy things deserve to be displayed.” She wiped the dust off the vase with the hem of her shirt. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes.” I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I have some bad news.”
She waited, all the lightheartedness from the kitchen gone from her face.
“Sammy Grosvenor visited me a couple of days ago.”
“Good grief, what does he want now?”
I didn’t want to overwhelm her with details, so I just gave her a brief rundown of Sammy’s plan.
“But I don’t understand,” she said. “He can’t just swoop in and take the house, can he?”
I shrugged. “I’ve already talked to Mr. Bains, and it sounds like my options are slim.”
Dot stared absently out the bay window, her chin propped in her hand. Her bottom lip trembled and I had to look away. Finally, she reached over and took my hand. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s much I can do. I keep asking myself what Mags would do if she were here. How would she deal with Sammy?”
Dot smiled. “Mags always knew just what to do in difficult situations. When it seemed there was no way out, she’d always find one little sliver of daylight and scratch herself out. But I’m not sure even Mags could get out of this one.”
“All this work,” I said, looking around. The room smelled like fresh paint and wood polish, and through the hall I could see a worker in the parlor coiling an extension cord around his arm. The renovations were turning The Hideaway into a pearl instead of a crusty shell.
“Well,” Dot said. “If nothing can be done, this may force Bert and me to grow up after all.” She chuckled. “It’s probably time, anyway. We’ve been talking for ages about needing to make the move down to Florida where his kids are. I know Major and Glory have family back in Georgia. Maybe it’s time for us all to move on.” Her words were confident, but her eyes were sad. She patted my hand again, then rose and walked back to the kitchen. I followed her.
From the doorway, we watched the scene before us. Bert mimed Major struggling to reel in a fish, while Glory narrated for Allyn an episode that included Major falling in the water only to discover it was an alligator on the end of the line. No one had ever seen him swim so fast.
“Y’all go on and laugh,” he said. “But let’s see how fast you swim when a six-footer is snapping at your legs. Ah, there’s Sara, thank the Lord. A diversion.”
“Feeling okay?” Allyn asked with a grin.
“Fine. Thanks for the Tylenol.”
“I’m glad you two had a chance to catch up last night,” Glory said. “You must have missed him. He’s a ho
ot.”
“Come on.” Allyn linked his arm through mine. “Help me pack up. I need to get back to New Orleans and run your shop.”
I trudged back up the front porch steps after seeing Allyn off, but the approach of another vehicle stopped me before I made it to the top. I turned as Crawford’s truck rumbled down the driveway toward me. Tension slipped off my shoulders like silk. He parked, crossed the gravel to the steps, and folded me into his arms. I pressed my cheek into the soft space under his ear and tightened my arms around him. When we pulled away, he smiled. “Better?”
I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Yes. Thanks for coming.”
“I want to be here. We have work to do. I can make some phone calls and see if we can dig up anything that would make Sammy rethink his decision. There has to be something.”
I nodded. Tears threatened to fall, so I turned away.
Crawford tipped my face back toward him. “It’s all going to be okay, whatever happens.”
“It almost feels like everything would have been better if I hadn’t come here. I fixed up the house and got everyone’s hopes up for a great future for the house. Now I’m letting them down.”
“You’re not the one letting them down. It all would’ve happened the same way whether you were here or not. But by coming back, you got to know your grandmother—the real one. And you’ve reconnected with the folks here in the house who love you like you’re their own granddaughter.”
“But the house and all our work . . .”
“Don’t give up on it yet. The Hideaway is a part of you,” he said. “It’s your past regardless of what Sammy tries to do. And who knows, it could even be a part of your future.” I nodded and he took my hand. “Now, let’s get to work.”
37
SARA
JULY
We spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon on the back porch, my laptop practically burning a hole in the cushioned ottoman and both of our cell phones buzzing with activity. While Crawford called friends in town he thought might be able to pull some strings, I researched eminent domain, property laws, and anything else I could think of that might give us a loophole. I even called Mitch.
“This isn’t really my thing,” he said when I told him the situation. “I mean, if you go to trial with it, I’m your guy, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to talk to about saving an old house.”
As he spoke, Crawford paced the back porch with his cell to his ear and a notebook in his hand, scrawling notes as he listened. He’d postponed a morning meeting and canceled plans to attend an important General Contractors Association meeting in Mobile.
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’m sure things here will be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Mitch asked. “I can probably ask around at the office and see if anyone is willing to take it on.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Crawford looked at me when I tossed my cell into the chair next to me.
“Was that a friend?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just someone I thought might be able to help. Dead end.”
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “That’s most of what I’ve gotten too. Don’t worry though, I still have a few people I can talk to.” He looked at his watch. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to run. Missing my morning meeting wasn’t a big deal, but I can’t put off Mrs. Webb. She’ll eat my apologies for dinner.”
I laughed. “You’ve done enough. Thank you.”
I walked him out and returned to my seat on the porch. Although the sun glinted off every shiny surface like a spotlight, without Crawford there to keep the sadness at bay, it crept back in. He seemed buoyed by the possibility of finding just the right loophole to fend off Sammy, but I wasn’t as confident. Sammy may have been harmless years before, but it was only because he’d been busy laying the groundwork for what was happening now. I was glad Mags wasn’t around to see it.
That evening, I found Dot at the dining room table. Bert puttered around in the kitchen behind her, putting away pots and pans from dinner.
“I’m turning in, girls,” he said when he stuck his head in the doorway. He crossed the room to kiss Dot on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, dear. We don’t have to work it all out tonight.”
Bert walked into the hallway and disappeared up the stairs. I looked at Dot.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “We’re just talking about our next steps.” She squeezed my hand. “It’s been a big couple of days for you. It’s a lot to digest.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I think I’ve hit my limit, for sure.”
“You’ll figure out what to do. You’re Mags’s granddaughter. You have spunk running deep in your veins.”
I bet William had some of that too. Maybe it came from both of them, their DNA mixing and marrying, passing on down the line to me.
Dot closed the magazine she’d been flipping through and pushed her chair back from the table. She stopped on her way out of the dining room. “I almost forgot to tell you. Bob Crowe called today.”
I shrugged. “Who?”
“Bob Crowe? The Roving Reporter? Honey, you have been gone too long. He breaks all the big stories. From the Mobile Press-Register?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a big deal for him to call.” She seemed disappointed that I didn’t hold him in the high esteem he obviously deserved. “He said he wanted to talk to you about The Hideaway. I wrote his number down—it’s by the coffeepot in the kitchen. Maybe he can help you with Sammy. That’s what he does—he finds dirt on people that no one knew was there.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of dirt on Sammy, but I don’t see what a reporter can do to fix this mess.”
“Just call him. See what he has to say.”
In lieu of responding, I smiled, which satisfied her.
After she left, I picked up a few stray mugs from the dining room and carried them into the kitchen, the weight of the last couple days bearing down hard on my shoulders. I made my way toward the stairs but stopped when I saw light coming from the reading room in the back of the house. I walked to the doorway and peeked in.
Glory was asleep on the couch, her legs propped up on an ottoman. Her glasses had slipped down her nose, and she held a half-empty mug of tea that tipped precariously. I reached over and took the cup from her hand, careful not to wake her. I picked up the magazine lying facedown on the cushion next to her and saw the title: Georgia Land and Real Estate. She’d underlined several houses for sale and made notes in the margins. Could make this work. Part-time job at the armory?
Everyone in the house was scrambling. I thought of what Crawford said earlier, that The Hideaway was in me—it was my past, maybe even my future. Something clicked and the heaviness in my brain and body receded for a moment.
I grabbed Bob’s phone number off the counter in the kitchen and took it upstairs with me. Before crawling into bed, I called and left a message at his office.
“Mr. Crowe, this is Sara Jenkins from The Hideaway. I’d like to talk.”
38
SARA
AUGUST
I woke a few days later to the sound of excited voices and footsteps in the downstairs hallway. The house didn’t usually have that kind of activity until at least midmorning when Bert would flip through recipes for the evening meal and Major would chide him for whatever choice he made.
I dressed quickly and headed for the noise, but the doorbell rang before I reached the first floor. As I crossed the foyer to the front door, I saw the newspaper lying on the console table. “A Sneaky Deal in Sweet Bay?” the headline blared. I smiled. Mr. Crowe must have done his job.
“I hope you don’t mind that I spoke to that reporter,” Mrs. Busbee said in a rush as soon as I pulled open the door. “I’ve got to get up to the diner, but I just had to talk to you first. When Mr. Crowe told me this place might be torn down because of Sammy, I couldn’t help myself. Who does he think we are? The S
unset Strip?” She shook her head and glanced at her watch. “I’d hate to see anything along this stretch of the bay except The Hideaway. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
Neighbors came by and called throughout the morning, all of them offering their support. Mr. Crocker from the farm up the road shyly approached the house just as I was closing the door behind Norm Hammond, the town barber. Mr. Crocker said Mags had let him and his wife stay at The Hideaway for a long weekend soon after the birth of their fifth child.
“We needed some time away from the demands of the farm, not to mention the kids, but we didn’t have an extra dime in our pockets. The next thing we knew, your grandmother was on our doorstep telling us to pack our bags. She knew we’d had a tough year with the drought and adding an extra mouth to feed, and she wouldn’t accept payment from us. Not in money, anyway. I left her fresh milk and eggs every morning for a month after that. That was forty years ago and I still haven’t forgotten. Your grandmother was a gem and this house was a lifesaver.”
Later, Mr. Grimmerson stopped by and told how after Hurricane Lorraine blew through in the seventies, Mags’s home was one of the only places that didn’t lose power—something about being on a separate power grid. “I had supplies in my store that people needed, but no one could drive anywhere downtown with so many trees down. Your grandmother rode her bicycle all the way to my store, helped me load supplies onto a wagon she pulled behind her bike, and then brought it all back to The Hideaway. This became my temporary outpost. She opened her doors to people who needed a place to stay or just needed batteries and flashlights. She was always helping people in the most unexpected ways.”
During a lull in the action, Crawford pulled down the driveway with sausage biscuits from the diner for everyone in the house. “I figured you’d be busy, being famous and all,” he said to Dot and Glory as they helped him clear the dining room table of newspapers so he could set out the food.
The Hideaway Page 22
