“Don’t you have partner meetings coming up? You can’t miss them.”
“I can drive back if I need to—fly out to Seattle if something comes up Todd’s not my boss, Stace. He doesn’t get to dictate the schedule,” Ryan finished, with more vehemence than he’d intended. “As long as we’re meeting the targets in our original contract, we’re fine.”
Ryan was the one partner who had been against accepting outside funding. He had predicted they’d lose control of their company if they let the money guys in, and he’d been right. The changes came even before the ink on the contracts was dry. Now, there didn’t seem to be anything Ryan could do about it. So he’d given up, staying only to look out for the people on his team, to make sure they were taken care of.
A summer at the shore would be a good opportunity to get away and clear his head. Figure out what to do next.
“You sure about this?” Stacy asked again. “The kids have been looking forward to their camps.”
“Trading soccer camp with Chad for time at the shore?” Ryan snorted, feeling as if the weight that had been pressing against his shoulders had lifted, just a bit. “I’m pretty sure the kids’ll be okay with it.”
“My mother wants us to drive down next Saturday. All of us.”
Ryan approached his wife and kissed her forehead. “Fine with me.”
Three
From his armchair in the den, Chase Bennett could hear the hiss of tires on wet pavement as cars traveled down the tree-lined street outside his Princeton home. It had been raining all weekend, beginning shortly after Kaye had left to ready the shore house for the summer, and it had only just started to let up now, on Monday morning. He’d been able to convince her that until the shore house was ready, his time was better spent here, out of her way. His reward had been the Princeton house to himself for four whole days.
As soon as she left, Chase dug out the business reports and newspapers he’d hidden away, industry news Kaye had discouraged him from reading because she said it elevated his blood pressure. He settled in, poured himself a Scotch—another forbidden delicacy—and spread the papers across his desk, just like old times. But he found that jumping back into his profession wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined. The columns of numbers in the reports looked muddled. Simple valuations that he could have calculated on the train into the city just three years ago seemed to take much longer just to understand.
By Saturday afternoon, he’d lowered his expectations considerably. His research was basic—simple internet searches for general industry news that any first-year business-school kid would understand. Even that was challenging.
On Sunday, a wave of apprehension set in, sparked by the idea that he might never find his way back to where he was before. That this was to be his new normal. He scrambled for the phone to call Kaye because for the past three years, she always knew what to say. But then he realized he’d have to disclose what he was reading, explain the business journals he’d been hiding and she wouldn’t understand. So he didn’t call. He spent the afternoon in front of the television, watching the Phillies play the Nationals, completely uninvested in the outcome.
By early Monday morning, he’d convinced himself that what he really needed was a change of location. He’d been cooped up in this house for three years and he was ready to join his wife at the shore. She’d left him a list of tasks to close the Princeton house for the summer, along with a reminder that each task was important. The list was thorough, and if Chase had allowed himself to think about it, he might have felt insulted by the childish level of explanation she’d added.
Turn off the water to the laundry room, in the basement. The valve is beside the washing machine, on the right. It’s blue.
He’d lived in this house just as long as Kaye had. He knew how to turn off the water.
Climbing back up the basement stairs, Chase skimmed the rest of the list. Not including forwarding the mail and cancelling newspaper delivery, which Kaye had already done, it had taken him less than an hour to finish. Nothing on the list was overly complicated; it all seemed a matter of common sense. Idly he wondered if Kaye would have left the same level of detail for anyone else—for Stacy, or for Brad—or if she would have given this list to Chase three years ago, and was disappointed to realize she wouldn’t have. The heart attack he had suffered was severe but it had happened almost three years ago and he was ready to move on.
His wife, it seemed, was not.
That had presented a problem which Chase didn’t quite know how to solve.
Upstairs in the kitchen, Chase pulled the coffee machine from underneath the counter and retrieved a packet of the dark roast he loved. And because he knew Kaye would not have permitted it, he had hidden it, deep in the pantry. After filling the carafe with water, he measured the grounds into the basket and flicked the switch. As the fresh coffee brewed, the rich scent filled the air. He breathed it in as he realized how much he’d missed it. All coffee, even decaf, had been forbidden to him by the cardiologist just after his illness, but Chase’s lab work had been normal for months now, yet Kaye still restricted him to one cup of watery herbal tea a day.
He opened the refrigerator, reached for the carton of cream Kaye had apparently forgotten about and set it on the counter. He imagined adding a generous pour to his coffee and enjoying every bit of it.
While he waited for the coffee to brew, Chase leaned against the kitchen counter and pictured the contents of the upstairs medicine cabinet, another thing that bothered him. Kaye had kept every pill ever prescribed to him, from his initial trip to the emergency room, to his time in the ICU, and from every specialist and general practitioner he’d seen since. Three years of medication he no longer needed. Every time he opened the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, they were there, reminding him of his weakness. The collection of plastic bottles filled the entire bottom shelf, bright orange tombstones that served as souvenirs of how close he’d come to the end of his life.
Of how little time he might have left.
Impulsively, he reached under the sink for a white plastic trash bag and snapped it open. He strode up the stairs to his bathroom and faced the cabinet. Flinging open the door, he reached inside until his fingers touched the back wall, then he cupped his hand and swept everything out. Bottles fell to the countertop with a clatter, skittering onto the floor and bouncing into the sink. There were dozens of them. He gathered every last one of them up and put them where they belonged: into the garbage.
This summer would mark a new beginning for him. Kaye would get the family time she wanted—she deserved at least that—but afterward, Chase would return to work.
Suddenly optimistic, he spent the rest of the morning settled on the leather chair in his office, sipping his heavily creamed coffee and considering his options. He’d given up his share in the business, accepting a payout from his partners because, though the doctors had only suggested it, Kaye had insisted on it. If Chase himself were perfectly honest, he might allow that he wasn’t able to serve clients the way he once did. The hours alone were restrictive, and he seemed to tire easily these days. However, he was confident he could find something equally rewarding in the same field, and he intended to spend the summer researching his options.
The ring of the doorbell startled him.
After folding his newspaper, he rose from his chair and went to open the door.
Tall and wiry, Derrick Cole, his former physical therapist, stood outside on the stoop, smiling broadly. Dressed in a faded blue T-shirt, jeans, and battered Converse sneakers, Derrick was stronger than he looked, stubborn to the core, and one of Chase’s favorite people in the world. But it hadn’t always been that way. When they’d first started working together, Chase had refused to participate. He wouldn’t follow Derrick’s instructions in the office or continue the exercises at home. But Derrick was patient and recognized the frustration of a man used to being in command. Now, two years later, Chase credited Derrick for teaching him how to walk again.
> “Derrick? Come in please.” Chase shook his friend’s hand and moved to the side to let him in, all the while trying to think of a reason for Derrick’s visit. Had Chase forgotten an appointment? No, they’d ended months ago.
“Mr. Bennett, you’re looking well.”
“Thank you. Can I offer you something to drink? I’m afraid there’s not much here because I’m closing up the house for the summer.” He led the way to the kitchen and filled a glass with ice. “The refrigerator still works and I have a few bottles of mineral water left. Would you like one?”
Derrick shifted his gaze to the foyer, then back to Chase. “Where are your suitcases?”
“The train doesn’t leave until four.”
Derrick’s expression cleared, then he laughed. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”
“Tell me what?”
“That you’re coming with me.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against the counter. “I’m on vacation this week, driving down today to visit friends in Seaside. Mrs. Bennett hired me to drive you to Dewberry Beach because it’s on the way. She told me to pick you up at eleven o’clock, to stop for lunch on the way.”
“Dewberry Beach is less than an hour from here on the train.”
Derrick nodded. “It is.”
“My wife hired you to drive me an hour down the Parkway?” Annoyance bloomed in Chase’s chest, but he pushed it away. His argument was not with this man; it was with Kaye and the way she coddled him as if he were an infant or an old man. He was neither.
“She said you needed my help,” Derrick answered. “Wanted me to remind you that you’re not cleared to drive yet.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need your help.” Chase drew himself to his full height. “Since I don’t plan to drive, it’s immaterial if I’m cleared or not.” He slipped his wallet from his pocket and opened it. “I have a car service coming to take me to the station and when the four o’clock pulls out, I plan to be on it.” He withdrew a stack of bills and offered it to Derrick. “But I’d like to pay you for your time anyway. I hope this is enough.”
“Nah.” Derrick shook his head. “I’m good, man. You keep it.”
Chase considered insisting, then didn’t. He’d come to respect this man and would do as he asked. He replaced the money and his wallet, then asked a question as if the answer didn’t matter. “Do you think taking the train is a good idea?”
Derrick lifted his chin as he considered. “You keeping up with your bands?”
“I am. I’m taking them with me to the shore.”
“And you’re walking every day?”
Chase nodded. He was up to almost two miles a day and had come to appreciate the quiet.
“To tell the truth, I’m happy you want to take the train.” Derrick set his glass on the counter. “I know how much you’ve missed your independence and it’s time for you to find it again, even if it looks a little different than before. Got one problem though.”
“What is that?”
“You gotta be the one to tell Mrs. Bennett you’re taking the train. I’m not brave enough to do it.” Derrick shook his head. “Think of it as part of your recovery.”
“Leave Mrs. Bennett to me. It’s about time I reminded her that I’m fully recovered and should be able to do what I want.”
Derrick snorted as he paused at the front door. “Good luck.”
Chase took Derrick’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Thank you, Derrick, for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Derrick nodded. “Come by any time. Even for a visit.”
Chase kept busy until it was time to leave for the train. He packed a few things into the same leather duffel he’d used many times before, expecting his summer wardrobe would be waiting for him at the shore house. He dug his briefcase out of the closet and packed it as if he were going to work, adding the morning newspaper, a few business journals, and a fresh legal pad and pens for notes and ideas he planned to explore.
The car service picked him up right on time and drove him to the station. He boarded the train, found a seat in business class, and spread his work on the table in front of him. There was reassurance in leaning into the routine he’d followed for decades before his illness. And, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine that the past three years had never happened.
So that’s what he did.
As the train pulled out of the station, Chase leaned his head against the glass and listened to the sound of the wheels clattering against the metal rails and found comfort in it.
This would be a great summer.
Four
They left on Sunday afternoon, two days after Stacy’s mother had expected them to arrive, the car stuffed with bags of summer clothes and bathing suits, toys the kids couldn’t leave behind, Stacy’s books, and Ryan’s work. Mail had been stopped, deliveries redirected, and the doorman had been asked to keep an eye on their apartment. With a bit of persuasion, Stacy had managed to get a few deposits returned from the summer camps that had a waiting list, which she considered a minor victory. As Connor’s friend Archie wasn’t attending soccer camp either, plans had been made for him to visit the shore house for a few days later in the summer.
The rain had finally stopped and the ground had begun to dry. Water drained from the streets and fat robins hopped across the lawn, looking for worms. Without apology or excuse, the sun shone bright in a brilliant blue sky, and summer in New Jersey had officially begin.
Tucked into his booster seat in the back, Connor read a children’s book about the lighthouse on Barnegat Bay, one in a stack they’d selected at the bookstore before they left. He’d been delighted at the lighthouse’s nickname— “Old Barney”—and even asked if he could go to see it during the summer. Then, somehow, the discussion had turned to pirates, with Sophie asking about buried treasure as she turned the knobs on her yellow plastic dump truck. She had such a vivid imagination but absolutely no interest in reading. Stacy planned to work on that over the summer.
If her father hadn’t specifically asked for a family summer at the shore house, Stacy wasn’t sure she’d have agreed to come. She loved the house itself, but the truth was that being so close to the ocean made her anxious, for reasons she couldn’t quite place. When she was younger, she had been on the swim team at the pool so she wasn’t afraid of water. Just the ocean.
As Ryan turned on to the Parkway, Stacy closed her eyes and listened to the hum of conversation in the car. The afternoon sun was warm on her face and she let her mind wander to previous summers, car trips down to the shore house when she and her brother were little. She and Brad would come home on the last day of school to find their house strangely empty and still, a row of suitcases by the front door. Their mother had already packed all the clothes they’d need for a summer at the shore: cut-off denim shorts and polo shirts, seersucker dresses and sandals for church and summer parties, tennis whites and Top-Siders for games at the club. Upstairs waiting on their beds would be new canvas totes bought especially for summer. Blue handles for Brad, pink for Stacy. Now officially free from school, they’d shed their uniforms and kick them into the closet, forgotten until September. They’d spend the rest of the day sorting through toys they couldn’t bear to leave behind and fitting them into their one permitted bag.
The drive to the shore house would begin early the following morning, their mother at the wheel. They always stopped twice, though the drive from their home in Princeton to the shore house was barely over an hour. The first stop was at a corner deli close to their house; coffee for their mother and comic books to keep them occupied. The final stop was for pancakes at the Parkway Diner, where Stacy and her brother were allowed to order whatever they wanted.
Summer days at the shore house seemed to fall into a comfortable routine and Stacy looked forward to lazy days where the biggest decision was what to have for lunch or where to stake the beach umbrella.
She must have drifted off because she woke to the motion of the car gently slowing
as it exited the Parkway. The children had fallen asleep in the back seat, Connor’s book open wide on his lap, Sophie’s truck on the floor beneath her feet.
“You have a good nap?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah, I did.” Stacy shifted in her seat and stretched. “How long was I out?”
“Not long. We’re coming up on Parkway Diner—you want to stop for pancakes?”
The Parkway Diner was famous among the shore crowd. On summer weekends the wait for a table could be an hour or more but nobody seemed to mind. The restaurant had wisely provided an outdoor table with a coffee service for customers needing caffeine and a fenced side yard for kids to burn off excited energy while they waited for their turn.
Inside Stacy remembered a comfortable sameness in the way the tables were set. A long row of sticky-handled syrup dispensers lined up across the far side. In the center, a frayed wicker basket filled with small tins of grape or strawberry jelly. A red plastic squeeze-bottle held ketchup that Brad used to draw designs on his serving of scrambled eggs. They’d order the same thing every time: scrambled eggs with a side of pancakes studded with fat blueberries. Looking back, she realized it didn’t matter what kind of pancakes the server brought, because the best part of breakfast at the Parkway Diner for every kid was pouring a bit from each syrup dispenser—marionberry, raspberry, blueberry, huckleberry, and maple—until their plate was flooded, their pancakes completely submerged. She and Brad ate every bit of those pancakes and, predictably, the sugar buzz hit them just as their mother pulled the car into the driveway of the shore house. Thinking about it now, Stacy wondered if that had been part of her mother’s plan. Hopped up on sugar, she and Brad would disappear to chase each other around the neighborhood, leaving their mother in peace to calmly organize the house.
“I’d love to, but I think it’s too late in the day,” Stacy said. “Brad’s supposed to arrive tonight too, and Mom’s probably planned a big dinner. Best to arrive hungry.”
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 5
