The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1)

by Heidi Hostetter

  “I will,” Stacy answered as her heart warmed. “Thank you.”

  Where else but Dewberry Beach would the hardware store man know so much about Stacy’s family? It meant something that her father’s name was mentioned at mass and that Mr. Mahoney remembered when she came in with her grandfather. There was a history here, one that spanned generations.

  “So, what can I do for you today, young lady?”

  She nudged the bag with the fire extinguisher out of sight. “I’m not sure that Ryan bought enough sparklers, for the party tomorrow. Do you happen to have any more?”

  “I do.” He snapped to attention, then navigated a cluttered path to a metal rack. “How many boxes would you like?”

  “Three please. No, wait—four. And another bag of sand, I think, just to be safe.”

  “You can’t be too careful.” Mr. Mahoney’s blue eyes twinkled. “Shall I put the charge on your account?”

  “Please.” Stacy waited while he bagged the purchase, wondering how she’d carry an eight-pound bag of sand home, in addition to the other things. “I’ll see you at my mother’s party tomorrow?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The bag crinkled as he rolled it closed. “She makes the best potato salad I’ve ever eaten.”

  As the wooden door shut behind her, Stacy chuckled. Mr. Mahoney was a Dewberry Beach treasure, the best salesman she’d ever encountered.

  Thirteen

  “Have you heard from your brother?” Kaye asked Stacy as she removed the place settings she’d laid out earlier for Iona and Brad.

  “I texted him,” Stacy replied. “He said not to hold dinner for him and Iona.”

  It was probably just as well. Kaye hadn’t mentally recovered from the mess Iona had left in the kitchen and wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again today.

  “Ryan’s bringing the chicken in from the grill.” Stacy set the salad bowl on the table.

  “Would you call your father, please? He’s in the den.”

  The caterers would arrive early the following morning, so Kaye had decided that a simple supper would be best, just grilled chicken and salad. It looked as though she’d made the right choice. Glancing around the table, everyone seemed tired from a full day in the sun. Conversation between adults was subdued and both children fell asleep before the meal was over.

  “We should take the kids to bed.” Stacy pushed away from the table and went to Sophie’s chair.

  Ryan rose to collect Connor, lifting him from his chair and laying him over his shoulder. “I’m going to turn in too. I’m tired.”

  “I think I’ll go up as well, Mom,” Stacy echoed. “Unless you want me to help with the dishes?”

  “No, you go ahead.” Kaye waved them both away. “There’s not much to do here. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  Chase also decided an early bedtime sounded like a good idea, so it was left to Kaye to straighten the kitchen and close the house for the night, but she didn’t mind. She’d come to appreciate the stillness of a quiet house. With the dishes done, Kaye gathered her notes for tomorrow’s party and settled in to wait for her son to come home.

  Kaye heard the car door slam sometime later. Glancing out the window, she saw them approaching the house, both of them stone-faced and angry.

  They were arguing as they entered the house—she could hear Brad’s rumbling voice and Iona’s hissed replies. Although she tried, she couldn’t understand what they were saying, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know. She would have felt obligated to defend her son and that would lead to nothing good.

  Best to let them work it out themselves.

  As they stopped in the mudroom, their voices rose and fell as they snapped at each other. Kaye left the kitchen and crept up the back stairs to her room. Unfortunately, the master bedroom was directly above the kitchen, which was where Brad and Iona chose to settle their differences. Chase slept through it, oddly enough, but Kaye did not. She listened, like a Cold War spy, straining to hear and not at all proud of her curiosity.

  She heard her name mentioned more than once—by that girl. And although Kaye couldn’t understand the words, Iona’s tone made the context very clear.

  After a few more minutes, she heard a bedroom door slam.

  And then silence.

  In the early hours of the following morning, Kaye was woken by the sound of the side door of the house slamming shut. She rose from her bed and crossed the room to the window where she watched Iona drag her suitcases down the driveway and toward the train station.

  So, that was the end of it.

  Of course Kaye was happy to see that girl leave. She wasn’t right for Brad. She was pushy and opinionated, socially immature and entitled. Worst of all, the pictures she took of Brad and put up for everyone to see, and comment on, were exploitative.

  Brad was fortunate to be rid of her. They all were.

  When Iona was out of sight, Kaye returned to her bed. Later, she’d tell Chase what had happened, reminding him that she had nothing to do with Iona leaving. And then she’d wait for him to apologize for his earlier comments.

  A family of redwoods indeed.

  Fourteen

  Ryan descended the deck stairs and made his way across the backyard, the dewy grass cool on his bare feet. The sun was barely above the horizon and he was up and outside. Just moments before he’d been woken abruptly, handed a cup of coffee, and given a mission. Then he’d been firmly pushed out the back door to complete it. Still mostly asleep, he paused in the yard to sip his coffee and gather his thoughts.

  They’d told him Brad was upset and would most likely be in the very corner of the yard, near the firepit. So after another fortifying sip of coffee, that’s where Ryan headed.

  But Brad wasn’t where they said he’d be. Instead, Ryan found a zip-hoodie tossed across the back of one of the Adirondack chairs that circled the firepit and a small cooler with half a dozen empty dark glass bottles tossed carelessly to the side. He opened the cooler to inspect the contents. Inside were three or four dark bottles buried in a bath of melting ice cubes and cold water.

  This was not good. Brad didn’t usually drink. Maybe Stacy and Kaye were right to worry.

  Ryan snapped the lid shut and stood. To his left was the grassy field the family sometimes used as a shortcut to the boatyard. Maybe Brad had gone for a walk to clear his head? Ryan looked closer but dismissed the idea because the dew looked undisturbed, without visible footprints across it. So, he hadn’t gone that way. Ryan turned to the right and started walking. Within a few minutes, he found Brad, fully dressed in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt, in front of the padlocked door of his grandfather’s work shed.

  “Hey, man,” Ryan said.

  “Hey.”

  Ryan’s assessment would have been easier if Brad had turned. Ryan would have at least been able to look into his eyes to see how bloodshot they were. Break-ups were always hard.

  “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” Ryan said finally, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. “But is that really a good idea? The party’s tonight.”

  Brad turned. “Is what a good idea?”

  Ryan gestured to the unopened dark glass bottle tucked into Brad’s front pocket.

  Brad rolled his eyes as he slipped the bottle from his pocket and handed it to Ryan.

  Ryan read the label and laughed. “Dude, this is root beer.”

  “What did you think it was?”

  “Beer-beer,” Ryan said as he twisted the cap off. “That’s why they sent me. They think you’re out here drinking, drowning your sorrows.”

  Brad snorted. “It’s a little early for that.”

  “It’s barely past six.” Ryan took a sip, then a swallow. The sweetness brought back memories. “Oh my gosh, this is delicious.”

  “I know.” Brad’s smile was wide. “Root beer has always been my favorite drink, but Iona would never let me have it. She said too much soda would make me look bloated in the
Instagram pictures.” He shrugged. “Mom bought a case for the party, so after Iona left, I took a bunch and came outside with a cooler of ice.”

  “You been out here all night?”

  “Yeah.” Brad turned his attention back to his work, spraying the rusted padlock and twisting the mechanism. “I had some thinking to do.”

  “You good now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan knew that there would be questions later from Stacy and her mother, which he would be unable to answer. But for now, he thought he’d done a fine job of talking to his brother-in-law.

  Several root beers later, Ryan and Brad were still standing in front of the shed, determined to open it, despite the rusted padlock barring their way. When the stick they were using to pry the lock open broke, they switched to knocking the join with a rock. It took a few tries, but finally the padlock opened, sending a shower of rust flakes to the grass below.

  Ryan looked at the lock, broken in Brad’s hand. “How long has that thing been on there?”

  “Too long.” Brad pushed the door open and Ryan followed him inside.

  “Holy cow.” Ryan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Talk about a ‘man-cave.’”

  As Ryan walked toward the dusty workbench, shafts of sunlight showed dust motes floating in the air. Neatly placed on the workbench’s surface were dozens of glass jam jars of various sizes, filled with washers, bolts, and nails. Hanging from a pegboard fastened on the side was a collection of tools, carefully arranged by size, many of the handles worn smooth with use. Stored in the rafters above were odd-sized pieces of wood, two boat oars, and an old wooden crab trap. A push mower stood next to the side door, the blades dulled and rusty.

  “Did all this stuff belong to your grandfather?”

  “Yeah, it did,” Brad answered, a swell of pride in his voice. “Gramps liked to work with his hands.” He pointed to a dusty stool on the far side of the workbench. “He used to let me sit right there and watch him work.”

  “He sounds like a great guy.”

  “He was.” Brad picked up a broom and swept a veil of cobwebs from the window. “You would have liked him.”

  “What’s under there?” Ryan pointed to a faded blue tarp partly hidden beneath some twisted aluminum chairs and a deflated canvas raft.

  “Oh, that.” Brad pulled the chairs off and set them aside while Ryan removed the raft. Underneath was a lemon-yellow Volkswagen Thing, with black vinyl seats and a faded graduation tassel hanging from the rear-view mirror. “That’s the beach car.”

  “Wow.” Ryan whistled under his breath as he approached the car. “Vintage.” He ran his hand along the edge of the hood. It needed care but it was still in good condition. “Is it yours?”

  “I wish.” Brad snorted. “It’s Stacy’s. We shouldn’t even be looking at it.”

  “Really?” Ryan murmured. “We’ve been together for ten years. You’d think something this awesome would have come up. When did she get it?”

  “She saw an ad for it somewhere—or maybe it was a posted flyer—I don’t remember exactly. It was the summer of her junior year in high school and she’d just learned to drive. She nagged my parents for months until they finally agreed to match whatever money she saved.”

  “She can be persistent.” Ryan knelt down to look at the underside. He brushed his hand against the tire. “Must have been fun to drive.”

  “She never drove it.”

  Ryan look up in surprise. “What?”

  “The car never passed inspection. Transmission was busted, I think. Or the exhaust. I don’t know. Anyway, she didn’t have the money to fix it and Mom and Dad wouldn’t lend it to her. When she went off to college, she left it here.”

  Brad turned back to his grandfather’s workbench and Ryan stepped outside to give him a moment alone. He found a place to sit and wondered what else he didn’t know about his wife.

  “That should do it.”

  “You finished?” Ryan straightened. Brad hadn’t been inside long.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure if Dad would want me in there so I just straightened up a bit.”

  Brad found a dry spot on the grass and they sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up and beginning a new day: the thud of a newspaper hitting a driveway, the hum of cicadas in the trees, the hiss of a sprinkler in a neighbor’s yard.

  “This must have been a great place to grow up,” Ryan said finally.

  “It really was,” Brad agreed. “Especially coming down when Gramps was here. He’s what made the summers fun for me. I didn’t have to try so hard around him, you know?” He reached for a twig and rolled it between his fingers. “Don’t get me wrong, Dad did the best he could, but there was always the expectation I had to be more like him. I’m not, and I think that disappoints him.” Abruptly, Brad scoffed, snapping the twig between his fingers. “Don’t mind me. I’m tired and I think that’s just the root beer talking.”

  “It’s hard being a parent,” Ryan offered. “I make more mistakes than you can imagine, with both my kids. In the end, you just cross your fingers and hope they turn out okay.”

  Brad shrugged.

  “What time do you think it is?” he asked.

  “No idea.” Ryan realized he’d left his cell phone inside, on the charger by his bed, and it surprised him that he wasn’t at all concerned. As Ryan finished his root beer, he let his mind wander. A lawnmower’s engine sputtered to life three houses over and a group of children called to each other as they rode by the house on their bikes. When he and Stacy were first dating, she described her childhood at the shore house in such an idyllic way that he assumed time had softened her memories. But he could see it now. Here, families got together for weekend cookouts, for bike parades, for evening walks. The beach was four blocks to the east, the pool and the boatyard three blocks in the other direction, and in the evenings an ice-cream truck still drove the streets, stopping for any kid waving a dollar.

  What a great place to live.

  “How did you know what you wanted to do?” Brad spoke, pulling Ryan from his thoughts. “As a job, I mean.” He pulled a few blades of grass from the ground. “How did you know computers would be your thing? And how did you know you wanted your own company?”

  “Me?” The question caught Ryan by surprise. “I don’t think any of it was intentional. I saw a puzzle that looked cool and I wanted to see how far I could take it. My roommates eventually saw what I was doing and asked to be a part of it.”

  “What about your company? Stacy says it’s going public next year. That’s got to be great for you, right?”

  Ryan shrugged as he reached for another root beer. “Not as much as you might think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ryan leaned back and sighed. “The fun stuff was all at the beginning—the problem to solve, the right code to address it—seemed like anything was possible then. Now a money guy is in charge and it’s not fun anymore.”

  “So why don’t you leave?”

  The question was obvious, the answer was what Ryan had been struggling to find for the past few months. He supposed that even with Todd the work had been bearable until Jeff disappeared. After that, the balance of power shifted to Sean and Todd, and the company he had started became unrecognizable. Now, Ryan stayed because leaving would feel like giving up and he wasn’t one to surrender.

  “Too many people depending on me,” he said finally.

  “It’s the money,” Brad agreed. “I get it.”

  “Something like that.”

  It wasn’t the money. Brad had misunderstood but Ryan let it go. That wasn’t the reason Ryan stayed. The partnership agreement allowed any of the three founders to leave the company, granting them an immediate payout for stock and bonuses. Even if Ryan left before the company went public, he wouldn’t lose much. He stayed because he started the company and he refused to have it taken from him.

  The sound of approaching footsteps from the yard next door
caught their attention.

  “Excuse me, boys.” Mrs. Ivey emerged from the path between the houses, startling them both.

  “Hello, Mrs. Ivey.” Brad shifted in his chair, resisting the impulse to snap to attention. When Brad was younger, Mrs. Ivey would sit on her front porch, watching him and his summer friends ride bikes or play in the street. Every kid knew to expect a phone call home if they misbehaved and Mrs. Ivey saw it. That was years ago, but Brad still felt the need to be on his best behavior with her. “This is my brother-in-law, Ryan. I don’t think you’ve met before.”

  “We’ve waved to each other a few times, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. How do you do, Ryan?” She straightened, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “I wonder if you boys wouldn’t mind doing me a small favor?”

  “Of course, if we can.”

  “Lovely. Please follow me.” She turned and made her way along the path to her house.

  Ryan and Brad quickly followed, stopping at the front of Mrs. Ivey’s house, shocked at what they saw.

  Brad’s first thought was vandalism. There were at least a dozen plastic bags of cedar bark scattered across her yard, disastrous for her lawn. The heavy plastic would absorb the summer’s heat and redirect it to the grass underneath, suffocating it and turning it yellow in only a few hours. In addition, there was damage to the plants in the front beds—Brad could see that several bags had been tossed against Mrs. Ivey’s hydrangeas, splintering the plant’s woody stems to the ground.

  “What happened? Did you see who did this?”

  “I did see, yes. In fact, I watched them do it.” Mrs. Ivey frowned as she gestured to her yard. “I hired that no-good city landscaper two months ago to mulch my flower beds. I told them that my hydrangeas were drooping in the sun and needed attention. I booked them and even paid them upfront like they wanted. But they didn’t come. Last week, I called again to remind them I was still waiting for their work crew, and this time I’m afraid I was a bit short with them.” Her frown deepened as her blue eyes snapped with fury. “This was their response. You can see that my yard is ruined.”