The Lights of Sugarberry Cove

by Heather Webber

  A sob stuck in my throat and I swallowed it back. Through my tears I watched as Chenelle pushed the eggs around the pan with a spatula. She glanced at Sadie and said, “Most days, I still can’t believe she’s really gone.”

  “Did you go back to school?”

  She suddenly beamed, breaking through the fog of grief. “Yes, ma’am. I finished up my undergrad at Kennesaw, and I’m in my first year of medical school at MCG. One day, I hope to be a trauma surgeon. It’ll be hard work, but AuntMama showed me it was possible. She showed me how all things are possible. Especially when you give yourself a little grace.”

  The scene cut to the fluffy eggs on a plate, alongside two triangles of toast and a piece of bacon. Then a digital recipe card popped up with the complete recipe for AuntMama’s Buttermilk Scrambled Eggs, ending with a note that said A Southern Hankerin’ had donated $1,000 to the charity of Chenelle’s choice, and I wondered briefly where in the world Sadie found the money to make a donation of that size.

  I used the sheet to wipe the tears from my lashes and tried to keep my sniffling quiet as I processed what I had just watched, oddly feeling like I’d been given a gift. The gift of meeting AuntMama, the gift of meeting Chenelle. Somehow, from a ten-minute video, I knew exactly the kind of women they were—smart, strong, caring, and compassionate. The kind of women I’d love to have as friends. As family.

  I watched a few more videos, and all had the same heartwarming tone. The comments of each video numbered in the hundreds, and I blinked in amazement when I saw that Sadie’s channel had more than three million subscribers. I smiled when I saw that she had a line of merchandise, too, primarily T-shirts and mugs with HEY, Y’ALL and I’VE GOT A HANKERIN’ written on them. All proceeds from those sales, I noted, were donated to a charity dedicated to feeding children, which made the tears start again.

  As I lay in bed, listening to the rain tap the roof, I was filled with such love and pride for my little sister that I was just about fit to burst. I had to admit I still didn’t quite understand her career as a creator, but it didn’t matter much. It was obvious to me that Sadie had found her calling as a storyteller. The world needed to hear these stories of life and love and loss and how food held memories, and how those memories could be passed along to comfort others.

  It was clear now that as much as I loved Sadie and wanted her to stay here in Sugarberry Cove, her life’s work was on the road.

  And I was going to have to let her go.

  Chapter

  21

  Sadie

  I put the squeegee I’d been holding down onto the patio, pulled my phone from the back pocket of my shorts, and clicked through to my notes section. I tapped the microphone icon and said, “Cancellation policies. As cancellations greatly affect our small business, a fifty-dollar service will be charged on any cancellation. The rest of the deposit will be returned if reservation is cancelled two weeks prior to arrival. Half of the remaining deposit will be refunded with notice eight to fourteen days prior to arrival. There will be no refund of the deposit fee if cancellation is made within a week of arrival.”

  I read the note back to myself. It needed a heavy edit for clarity, but the bones were there to build from. I’d been dictating notes to myself all morning, creating what would eventually become Sugarberry Cottage’s house rules. I understood Mama’s innate hospitality warred with the need for stricter cancellation guidelines, but she was hurting only herself by not having procedures in place to protect the cottage’s bottom line.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stole a look through the open sliding door of the guest room Will was working on. He’d shown up early this morning and had been painting since, covering the walls in creamy white paint. Even from here it was easy to see that his repair work was virtually invisible. Future guests would have no idea the lowest foot of the wallboard had been replaced around a good portion of the room. It was impressive, but he’d always been good at everything he did. His chin was bobbing in rhythm to whatever music he was listening to in his earbuds, and the muscles in his arms and back strained as he slid the roller across the wall in a W pattern.

  The chin bobbing made me smile, reminding me of the time he tried to grow my appreciation of old jazz. His parents had a vintage phonograph table, and Will had taken the records from their sleeves with the care of a museum curator handling a rare piece of art. When he lowered the needle onto the record, and the first trumpet notes started, his eyes had drifted shut, and his chin had bobbed to the beat. Eventually, we danced, looking up moves online so we’d get them right, and I treasured every second I had spent in his arms. I had managed to trip over my own feet only twice, with him catching me each time I faltered.

  He continued to chin bob, and it was almost as if I could hear the music in my ears, too. My love of jazz was because of him. Whether it was purely for the music or the sweet memories of that day, I wasn’t entirely sure. I suspected it was both.

  Will turned to dip his roller in the five-gallon paint bucket and caught me watching him. He tipped his head in question, and I raised my hand in a quick wave before picking up the squeegee and the garden hose nozzle, hoping he didn’t notice me blushing.

  Last night’s rain had left water spots on the back porch’s clean windows, and they wouldn’t do after the hard work Leala and I had put in to get the panes sparkling. Spraying the windows with the hose then squeegeeing them quickly returned the shine. It took only a few minutes and was worth the extra work.

  I stepped back to admire my handiwork and saw Uncle Camp and Iona in the reflection of the windows. They were wandering the backyard, choosing flowers for guest room vases. Iona held a basket, and Uncle Camp was gesturing at the roses while holding a pair of garden snippers. She smiled at him, and he grinned back, and I was suddenly taken with the notion of how watching two people fall in love felt a little bit magical.

  Somewhere on the lake behind them were Bree and Teddy, who had awoken early for a yoga lesson only to find out Leala was still sleeping. They’d hid their disappointment well and decided on an early morning kayak excursion instead. They’d yet to return from their exploring, and I hoped they were having fun.

  I heard a soft cough and turned to see Buzzy headed toward me from his yard, a bowl of raspberries in hand. His hair was damp and combed back, clearly fresh from a shower.

  “A peace offering,” he said as he neared, holding out the bowl. He wore navy blue Bermuda shorts and a short-sleeve button-down printed with cheerful flamingoes that didn’t match his somber expression.

  I took a deep breath and accepted the gift—I’d never been mad at him a day in my life before last night, and staying mad at him now was impossible. I set the bowl on the patio table so I could roll up the hose. “Thanks, Buzzy. Your raspberries have become a favorite in the mornings. Did Mama finally kick you out of her room?”

  He smiled as I turned off the spigot and looped the hose around its holder. “Surprisingly, no.”

  It actually was surprising, considering the blowup the other night, not only that Mama hadn’t sent him away, but that he wanted to stay with her.

  Buzzy went on, saying, “I came home to shower and change. I wanted to see you and Leala before I went back. To apologize. Do you two have a moment?”

  “I do, but Leala’s still asleep.”

  Connor and Tuck had come downstairs at six thirty, and Connor had said Leala was sleeping so peacefully that he couldn’t bear waking her. At seven, he still hadn’t woken her—and hadn’t left for work at the same time as he had yesterday. At eight, he made a phone call I couldn’t hear, but I’d watched him pace the driveway while he talked, his steps military precise. When he hung up, he dragged a hand through his unruly hair, and I’d skedaddled back to the kitchen before he noticed me spying on him.

  It was almost nine now and there was still no sign of Leala, and I was honestly starting to worry since it was so unlike her to oversleep. I didn’t think she’d slept past nine a.m. a day in her life.<
br />
  Buzzy glanced at the house with a flicker of worry, as if he, too, realized the enormity of Leala sleeping late. “I’ll talk to her later, then, because I truly want you both to hear what I have to say. Throughout yesterday, Susannah had been reflecting on her life, on how difficult it’s been to keep the cottage running all these years, and how that stress probably hadn’t helped her heart situation. Her ruminations were weighing on my mind when you girls arrived. I want you to know that I’m aware there’s more than one side to the same story and I know that none of you had it easy.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d had it fairly easy. I hadn’t experienced the overwhelming grief that came with my father’s death, simply because I’d been too young. Being the younger child, I hadn’t had the responsibilities Leala shouldered, either. Plus, my personality was similar to my mother’s, so she tended to let my misdeeds slide, most likely seeing herself in me. But I’d been the peacemaker, the buffer between them, and that had taken its toll, because I loved them both so very much.

  “Life is hard, Sadie. It’s messy and full of pain and pitfalls, mistakes and regrets. But it’s also full of hope and happiness and love and faith. It’s kind of like my garden. It needs nurturing and tending and caring. You get out of it what you put into it.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Sometimes relationships are like that, too. You get out of them what you put in.”

  I picked up the bowl from the table. The raspberries still glistened with morning dew. Nestling the bowl against my stomach, I studied him closely. “That’s a nice sentiment, but we both know that it’s not entirely true. You can lovingly water, water, water your tomato plant and next thing you know you’ve got root rot and your plant is on its way to the compost pile.”

  He offered a grim smile. “What I’ve been doing a lousy job of saying is that I think your mother finally sees that her bittersweet garden is a reflection of herself, and that perhaps she’s reaping what she’s sown these past twenty-five years.”

  I straightened and tightened my grip on the bowl. This whole time I thought he’d been talking about his own feelings. Or Leala’s. He’d been talking about Mama’s? “What has she said?”

  “It’s not so much what she said. It’s what she heard.”

  It took a second for me to understand. “She was awake last night when Leala and I were there?”

  He nodded. “And she was mighty quiet after you two left. The quietest I’ve ever seen in all the years I’ve known her.”

  I held his gaze and noticed the way his eyes glinted. “Did you know she was awake when you provoked Leala?”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t trying to provoke Leala. I was provoking you. Leala fights like your mother—with slings and barbs and silent anger. It takes a lot to get you riled up, but when you are, you always say what you mean, and you say it in a way that there’s no disputing it, even if it’s not always what someone wants to hear. The truth hurts. But it often heals as well.”

  With tears in my eyes, I set the bowl down again and threw my arms around him. He hugged me tightly. Last night, I’d wondered what had gotten into him. Now I knew. He had been trying to help heal my family and had somehow known it was an inside job. He understood that if Mama was going to listen to anyone—to actually hear what was being said and not be defensive about it—it would have to be me.

  I pulled back and gently punched his arm. “You sneaky, sneaky man.”

  He cast a look toward the lake, which shimmered in the morning light. “Sometimes you have to do what’s necessary to help people move on. Not just Leala and Susannah, but me, too. There’s been too much living in the past. And I don’t want to rewrite history, either. I want to learn from it. Because I want a life with your mother. I walked away from her, from love, once. I’m not doing it again.”

  The force of the words—and the faith in them—made me smile. “I always thought you two were meant to be.”

  “Thanks, Sadie Bear.” He checked his watch. “I need to be gettin’ to the hospital. We’ll see you and Leala there tonight?”

  I nodded. “Six thirty.”

  I watched him walk back under the arbor, then picked up the bowl of raspberries and glanced at Will once again. Buzzy’s words about not living in the past and not walking away from love again were echoing in my head, along with his love-finds-a-way comment from the other night.

  With those thoughts whirling, I headed into the house. The back porch had been cleaned after breakfast, and Leala’s lilies sat in the middle of the dining table. Iona and Uncle Camp were still outside, drifting closer to Buzzy’s yard, where I had the feeling his flower garden was about to experience some beheadings.

  My eyes adjusted to the change in lighting as I walked into the kitchen, where Connor and Tuck were washing dishes.

  “Boobies!” Tuck exclaimed as he scooped suds from the sink. He stood on a chair next to Connor with Moo at his feet, and looked to be having the time of his life.

  I laughed and walked over to kiss the top of his head. “I hope we never forget the way he said ‘bubbles’ when he was two.”

  Connor dipped his hands into the soapy water, lifted a plate, and wiped it down with a sponge. “I’m sure we’ll remind him of it each and every time we see bubbles. For the rest of his life. He’ll especially love it when he’s a teenager.”

  I glanced at Tuck’s sweet face, unable to picture him in his teens. What would he be like? Would he have Connor’s work ethic? Leala’s perfectionism? Her nurturing heart? Connor’s studiousness? There was a chance he’d have none of it, but it was a slim chance. Nearly an impossible one. For the most part, children were a reflection of their upbringing. I had Mama’s love of people. Leala had her positivity. And we both had some of Mama’s negative traits as well. I didn’t really know my daddy, but I knew we had some of him in us, too. I was a dreamer, just like he was.

  “Everything okay?” Connor asked and motioned toward the window. “With Buzzy? I saw you talking with him.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Really good, actually.”

  “What happened last night at the hospital? I haven’t seen Leala that upset in a long time.”

  “I wash?” Tuck asked, picking up the sponge.

  Connor handed him a fork. “Sure can.”

  I threw a look at the clock. It was a little past nine now and still no Leala. “It’s kind of a long story, but the short of it is that I think our family can finally start healing.”

  “Seriously? That would be…” He paused to search for the right word. “A miracle. That’s what that would be.”

  “Well, if there’s any place for a miracle, it’s here at the lake. They don’t call it lake magic for nothing.”

  “Done,” Tuck pronounced, handing the fork covered in suds back to Connor, who then dipped it into the basin of clean water and put it in a strainer. He handed Tuck his empty sippy cup to wash, and he quickly became distracted collecting water in the cup, then pouring it out again.

  “Lake magic, miracles,” Connor said. “Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It’s been a long time coming.”

  It had. It was too bad that it had taken Mama almost dying for the healing to begin.

  “What’s next with the cottage?” Connor asked, as he picked up a dish towel to start drying. “After dishes?”

  “Guest rooms. Cleaning, dusting, vacuuming. Changing sheets. Doing the wash. Making sure the bikes are clean and tires are pumped up. The porch paint needs finishing. I need to get to the market for groceries, too.” I glanced around, seeing all the little things that needed to be done, like replacing knobs, washing down cabinets, cleaning the stove and microwave, wiping the blades on the ceiling fans. The list was endless, but I was up for the challenge.

  He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder. “I can do any of that. Where should I start?”

  Before I could answer, Will came down the hallway and into the kitchen. There was a smear of paint on his cheek, and I clasped my hands together to re
sist wiping it off.

  “Boobies!” Tuck said, showing Will a cupful of suds.

  Will stopped dead in his tracks, and his eyes widened. His gaze darted from Tuck to me to Connor. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  Connor and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Tuck saw us laughing; then he started laughing, too.

  Amusement filled Will’s voice as he stepped up to the peninsula and said, “I’m guessing he’s not really meaning what he’s saying.”

  I explained Tuck’s pronunciation of bubbles, and he laughed.

  “Poor little man isn’t ever going to live that one down.” His gaze drifted to me, and he hooked his thumb toward the front door. “I was just going to take a quick break. Maybe go get one of those fancy iced coffees down at the Dockside. Do you want to come with me?”

  I had a million reasons to say no. More than a million, possibly. But I really wanted to say yes. I glanced at Connor, who I hoped would remind me of all those things aloud, but he was grinning.

  “Go ahead. Go,” he said. “I’ve got things covered here. And Camp is right outside.”

  “Campy?” Tuck asked, abandoning the cup in the sink. “I see Campy?”

  Connor lifted him off the chair so he could see out the window. “Right over there.”

  “Campy! Noni! I go?”

  “All right. But don’t go near the water.” Connor set him down, and he grabbed Moo and ran with stiff legs onto the porch and slid open the door.

  “Campy!” he yelled as he ran across the patio with Moo flopping about.

  Uncle Camp bent down and held out his arms, and Tuck ran into them, happy as could be. Iona laughed and handed Tuck a rose to hold, but looked to be taking the time to point out the thorns.