Message in the Sand

by Hannah McKinnon

  Really, this child was too much. Roberta chuckled. “You’re giving me a condition?”

  “I am. I will call this Jamie Aldeen. But I want to be able to talk to you, too. As, like, a consultant.”

  Roberta considered. It would get this girl out of her living room for the moment, if not entirely out of her hair. Besides, once Julia met with Jamie, she could sink her teeth into Jamie, who would know how to handle her. Roberta couldn’t blame Julia for being so bold, if uninvited and sitting here in her living room; the girl’s life did depend on it. “Very well. I will take your calls. If,” she emphasized, “you use the phone first and don’t just pop by.”

  Julia found this amusing. “You don’t like people popping by.”

  “I do not.”

  “My mother used to say that the things we don’t like are often the very things we need.”

  Roberta raised her eyebrows. “Like broccoli?”

  “Not exactly what I meant.” Julia laughed. “But yeah. Broccoli works.”

  After Julia left, Roberta found she could not go back to her book. Nor could she sip the cold tea. Rather, she sat, feeling a change of energy about the room. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to think of anything to do with the law. Or family courts. But something about her unexpected visitor had filled her with an odd sensation. Odd but familiar. Eventually, Roberta did return to her book. And she spent the rest of the day the way she always did: cooking, walking Maisey, watching Jeopardy! after dinner. But later, when the sky was growing dark and the first stars began to twinkle overhead, Roberta picked up the phone.

  Wendell answered right away.

  “I met a friend of yours today.”

  “Oh?” He sounded wary. “Who was it?”

  “A real piece of work.” She smiled, recalling the meeting. “Julia Lancaster.”

  Wendell sounded as surprised as she’d been. After hearing the whole story, he grew quiet. “She’s a good girl, Bertie. I know you’ve put that part of your life behind you, but this kid has been through a lot. If there’s anything you can do to help, she deserves it.”

  Roberta did not object, at least not out loud. “I’ve heard you out,” was all she would say.

  Wendell was not one for the phone, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem to want to rush off. “Remember Ginny Feldman?”

  It had been years since she’d heard that name. Oh, there were times she’d wanted to bring it up, but she hadn’t dared. “Of course,” she said, trying to keep the flutter of curiosity out of her voice.

  “Apparently, she’s home for the summer. We ran into each other at Audrey’s Café.”

  “Well, that is a turn of events.” To her relief, Wendell did not seem shaken by Ginny’s surprise return. But she knew it must affect him on some level. “Maybe you should give her a call. Ask her to come visit.”

  Wendell was quiet for a long while, and she feared she’d offended him. Oh, she was so good at being so bad at conversations!

  Finally, he spoke. He sounded tired, but there was a playful lilt to his tone. “Maybe you should focus on the visit you just had. Sounds like she got to you.”

  Roberta dismissed this. “I’ve got zero desire to get involved,” she reminded him. “I referred Julia to an attorney over in Litchfield.”

  “And yet you’re on the phone with me. Let me ask you something, Bertie. When was the last time you called me?”

  She thought a minute. Once a month, they had breakfast at the café. Sometimes he stopped on the road to chat if he caught her in the yard. But they never called each other up. Ever. “I don’t recall,” she said, growing frustrated.

  “Like I said.”

  “Good night, Wendell.”

  Before she hung up, she could swear she heard him laugh.

  Nineteen Ginny

  To Ginny’s surprise, the agency pitch for Candace Lancaster had frayed her nerves. Working at her old firm, she routinely courted big-name contractors and developers in the city. Whether it was a dinner meeting at a swanky downtown wine bar with investors or a precarious mid-construction tour on the top floor of a high-rise in hard hats, Ginny got deals done. Well versed in the back-door politics that dominated the commercial market and used to juggling the competing needs of tight budgets and big dreams, she could recall very few times when she felt rattled. She was a pro. But she was unprepared for the likes of Candace Lancaster.

  It wasn’t like she went in unrehearsed. By the time they met, she’d reviewed all the comps in the area and had designed a glossy mockup of a property brochure, along with a marketing plan for Web and print media. The night before her appointment, she’d even done a dry run in her parents’ living room. Her father was out of bed and sounding much more like himself, she was relieved to see. “Your mother kept this listing from me all week!” he boomed as soon as she arrived. “Why the two of you think you need to protect me, I’ll never know. I’m strong as an ox.”

  Her mother had rolled her eyes. “You want to know why? Just listen to yourself. Settle down, Irv. You’ll get your ticker worked up.”

  “Bah.” He waved his hand and sat down irritably, if gently, on the couch and was fairly well behaved until Ginny finished. “Perfection!” he shouted afterward. “You’re going to nail this listing down, I know it. Our agency will be back on its feet.”

  Her mother seemed quite pleased, too, if more reserved. “Irving, don’t put pressure on her. She’s got enough to worry about.”

  Ginny had laughed it off. Sure, the competition was stiff. Sotheby’s, in particular, put a lot of money into their marketing and had widespread clientele networks. But what Feldman Agency may have lacked in size and clout, it more than accomplished in local savvy and personal attention. As soon as they settled her father with the remote control and a bowl of cantaloupe and cottage cheese (after a protest for ice cream), she and Nina sat down in the kitchen. As her mother reviewed comps, Ginny took notes of all the big estates Saybrook had been known for and sold off over the years. Nina Feldman was like a vault: she remembered every detail of every listing, and Ginny incorporated it into her presentation. “You’ve got this,” her mother told her as she kissed her goodbye on the way out. “I promise not to call you tomorrow. Let us know how it goes.” She crossed her fingers on both hands, and Ginny felt a pang. What if it didn’t work out? This was about so much more than landing a listing.

  The next day, as she drove out of White Pines after the presentation, she was sure of one thing: there was no way Candace Lancaster was going to sign them.

  From the beginning, Ginny struggled to get a read on her. All the woman wanted to discuss was money and timeline. “My goal to is develop the property,” she announced the moment Ginny walked in, after giving her a firm once-over. “What I need is a broker to assist in the sales. Do you believe a developer is the way to go, or would you suggest individual building lots sold separately?”

  From that moment, it was clear Ginny needed to dive in. She tried to steer the meeting, referring to the comps her mother had shared when Candace asked about listing price. Showing her the marketing plan when Candace inquired about procuring sales. But it all came down to the dollar.

  “What is your marketing budget?” Candace asked.

  Ginny hedged. In no way could Feldman Agency compete with the money that other firms poured into advertising. “The size of the budget is not as important as how that money is spent,” Ginny declared. She spent the next thirty minutes explaining her ideas. A subdivision would garner the highest income, assuming they could procure a developer soon. Candace remained quiet, interjecting little, showing even less emotion. By the time they exchanged a curt handshake goodbye, Ginny was sure she’d been crossed off the list.

  Now, driving home, all she wanted was to kick off her red sling-back heels and have a drink on the deck. She left a message with her parents, relieved when her call went to voicemail. The last thing she wanted to do was rehash the meeting.

  No sooner had she pushed open the
door to the cottage than her phone rang from inside her purse. She’d left the lakeside windows wide open, and a brisk lake breeze wafted through the house as she hurried to the couch. There was a new bottle of Riesling in the turquoise fridge, and she glanced at the fridge longingly as she slung her bag on the table and searched for her phone. She loved the rattan summer tote, but she really needed to get something smaller; it was an abyss. By the time she retrieved her phone, it had gone to voicemail. But the name on the screen caused her to catch her breath: “WC.”

  Ginny poured herself a glass of wine and stepped out onto the deck before she listened to the message. The water was a deep green-blue in the afternoon light, and she was tempted to walk down the hillside to the rocky beach below and dip her toes in. But there was that message. All these years, and she’d kept Wendell on her contact list. And he’d apparently kept her number.

  The sound of Wendell’s voice took her back. She’d always loved its gentle tone. “Hey, Ginny, it’s me. Wendell.” He paused. “It was good to see you the other day.” Another pause. “Look, I’m not sure if you’d be interested in getting together, but I wanted to ask you over. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  Ginny replayed the message three times and refilled her glass once. What was Wendell asking? It had been good to see him. Better than she wanted to admit, in fact. But was he asking her out? Or was this the call of an old friend? Most curious was what he’d ended the call with: “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  One thing was sure. She’d had a rotten afternoon at White Pines, and she was pretty sure she’d lost the one gig her parents’ agency really could’ve used. She needed a distraction. Fifteen minutes later, she’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt and texted him back. “How’s now?”

  * * *

  When she pulled into his driveway, Wendell was waiting on the front porch of the farmhouse. He stood and came down the steps to meet her. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “I was happy to.” Ginny smiled, unsure whether she should hug him; before she knew it, he’d wrapped an arm around her and drew her hesitantly against him. For a moment, her nose was pressed to his neck, and she inhaled: the scent of soap and pine, and something else, was a jolt of recognition. She pulled back quickly. “So what’s the big mystery?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the red barn behind the house. “Would you like something to eat? A beer?”

  She could tell it had something to do with that barn, and he seemed pulled to it. “Why don’t you show me whatever it is first, and then I’ll take you up on the beer.”

  He grinned. “Sounds good to me. Come on.” It felt strange being back at the Combs’ farmhouse all these years later. And yet nothing had changed. They passed the front porch they’d spent so much time sitting on back then. And his mother’s perennial garden behind the house, by the patio. All of it was surreal, like stepping back in time.

  “So the place is all yours now.”

  Wendell was walking just slightly ahead of her, and she had to hurry to keep up. He looked back at her. “It is. Dad left it to me, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it at first. It’s a big house for one.”

  She glanced back at the house. It was the stuff of a New England bed-and-breakfast brochure. “You’ve kept it up beautifully,” she said. “I think it’s nice you stayed.”

  They’d climbed the slope of backyard to the small red barn in the rear. Wendell stopped at the sliding door and turned to face her. “You’re the first person I’m sharing this with,” he said. Then added, “The only person, actually.”

  “Okay.”

  But there was more. “You know I work at White Pines. And you know about the accident. There were two little girls left behind.”

  Ginny nodded. “Yes, I heard.”

  “Their aunt, Candace Lancaster, has flown in from London, and she’s not exactly a good match. For the children or the property. It’s all kind of a mess.”

  Oh, she knew. She was about to tell him she’d just met Candace that very same afternoon, but something in Wendell’s expression stopped her. He went on, “I don’t like to mix business with my personal life. In fact, I don’t really have much of a personal life anymore.”

  An uncomfortable feeling fell between them. Years ago, she had been part of that personal life. “I know,” she said, averting her gaze.

  “Candace has made a lot of changes since she arrived. She’s selling the place and moving the kids to London. It’s been hard to watch, let alone difficult to work with. But the other day, I couldn’t stay out of it anymore.”

  Intrigued, Ginny met his gaze. “What happened?”

  “I got personally involved.”

  With that, Wendell slid the barn door ajar and stepped to the side. Ginny hesitated in the doorway. Dust motes rose up around them, reflecting in the sunlight. Hesitantly, she stepped inside the barn. There, in the corner, was a horse.

  She spun around to look at Wendell. “You have a horse?”

  He shrugged sheepishly.

  Ginny shook her head. “You have a horse.” The horse nickered at them, and she went to pat it. “Hey, girl.”

  “Boy,” Wendell said. “His name is Radcliffe.”

  “Radcliffe,” Ginny repeated, running her palm down his silky forehead. None of this made sense. But the horse was beautiful, a deep red chestnut with a broad white blaze down his forehead. His coat was shiny with good health and his body muscled from training. Someone loved him. Ginny saw a bale of hay on the floor, and she pulled out a handful and fed it to the horse. Radcliffe snatched it gently from her fingers and bobbed his head as if begging for more. She laughed and turned to Wendell. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  * * *

  They barbecued steaks on the back patio, where they had a view of Radcliffe in the small makeshift pen Wendell had erected with electric wire. He explained the whole story to her, from the fact that the horse had been a gift from Julia’s now deceased parents to how she’d collapsed against him in the driveway and then turned on him for not stopping the aunt.

  “It’s heartbreaking,” Ginny allowed. “But now what? You can’t keep him in that forever,” she said, nodding toward the small enclosure that the horse stood in.

  “It’s just temporary.”

  “And then?” She’d never had a horse of her own, but she’d ached for one as a child and knew enough about them, having grown up in Saybrook.

  Wendell flipped the steaks and shrugged. “Then I’ll enlarge the area and build a proper fence for him.”

  “What about Julia? If you tell her that he’s here, I imagine she’ll want him back. And in the meantime, you’re stuck with a horse.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking or what to do now. All I know is that Alan gave her that horse,” Wendell said. “And seeing her watch the trailer pull away… I had to do something.”

  Ginny sighed. Wendell Combs was still the Wendell she’d always known, even if he’d tried to put up walls. “I understand.”

  He pulled the steaks off the grill and looked at her. “I hope it’s okay I called you. As nice as it was to bump into you the other day, I had no plan to reach out to you again afterward. But then this happened. And there was no way around it: you were the first person I thought to talk to.”

  Ginny was touched. And more. If she were honest, she was secretly elated to hear those words come out of his mouth. Even with all the years apart and the terrible way he’d pulled away from her after Wesley died and he came back from Afghanistan, here they were. “I’m glad you called,” she said, taking the plate of steaks. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  They took their old places on the front porch, in the same rocking chairs, and held their plates on their laps as the sun set. At first it felt so easy and so good. Ginny’s senses flooded. From the rosy hues of the skyline to the cold beer in the bottle at her feet. Wendell’s knee, adjacent to hers, brushing each time either one of them moved.

  “Are these zucchini from t
he garden?” she asked, spearing a forkful.

  Wendell nodded. “You remember.”

  What she thought was: No matter how hard I tried to forget. Instead, she popped the squash in her mouth and said, “Delicious.”

  * * *

  When dinner was done, they sat quietly and watched the sun go down. But each passing moment filled her with questions: old questions that wound their way to the surface despite the years she’d hoped would cover them up. Why had he pushed her away back then? Did he regret it?

  She glanced sideways at Wendell, and it was as if they were almost back there. His dark hair was still thick, though speckled here and there with silver. His lake-blue eyes still so earnest, if the corners were creased. It was possible Wendell was more handsome than before, a grown-up who’d retained the boyish smile but the posture and confidence of a man.

  “I heard you were engaged,” he said, eyes on the horizon.

  So he had known. She looked at him. “I was. But I’m not now.”

  It was his turn to look at her. “How does that feel?”

  She shrugged. “We were together a long time. Thomas was a great guy: smart, kind, hardworking. But I guess it turns out he wasn’t my guy.”

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,” Wendell said.

  “I’m not. It’s hard thinking about starting over, and honestly, sometimes it can be downright paralyzing. But it forced me to take stock of where I was, and I realized I wasn’t happy.” She’d said this many times to friends and her parents. But here on Wendell’s porch, for the first time, it felt true.

  “So you’re back home for now.”

  “If this still counts as home, then yes.” Then she added, “For now.”

  He nodded. “Does it still feel like home?”

  Ginny was sure it did for him. Aside from college, and then the National Guard, he’d never really had the chance to leave. And after… well, he’d no longer wanted to. “I don’t know if it does,” she said truthfully. “I guess I’m figuring that out.”