Lily’s footsteps thumped on the steps and she appeared back in the kitchen. She looked around and inhaled deeply. “I can see the water from the front bedroom. I like that.”
Rose nodded and slid her visor back on her head. “Waking up every day and seeing the water does something to a person. Something good.”
“Mrs. Carrigan—”
“It’s just Rose. Please.”
“Rose. Thank you.”
Rose cleared her throat and pointed out the front window to the cottage across the street. “That’s the café. Roberta makes the best gumbo you’ve ever tasted.”
“It’ll definitely be the best. I’ve never actually tried gumbo.”
“Never?”
Lily shook her head. “I’m not quite sure what all is in it. Isn’t there an oyster at the bottom?” She wrinkled her nose.
Rose raised her eyebrows. “Good grief, girl. You have a lot to learn about living this far south. Now, let’s get you back to the office. I need you to fill out some paperwork so I can make this official.”
“It’s a trial period, though, right?”
Rose waved her hand. “Right, right. But I still like to do things the proper way.”
She ushered Lily outside and locked the door behind them. She looked at the key in her hand. “I’ll just hang on to this for now.” She slipped it back in her pocket. When she turned around, Lily was facing the bay, her head tipped back, the sun bathing her face in gold.
“Welcome to Safe Harbor,” Rose said as she passed Lily with purpose, leading the way back to the office.
The Village Vine
Your Source for Neighborhood News
May 19, 2018
Compiled by Shirley Ferrill
Good day, Safe Harbor Village!
I’m sending out this special weekend edition of The Village Vine to tell you Rose has hired a hairdresser! It all happened very quickly. As you know, Tiny Collins distributed flyers this past Monday, and just yesterday Rose made the decision to hire Lily Bishop, a native of Fox Hill, Georgia, though a more recent resident of Atlanta. She will be moving into the vacated space above the salon as soon as possible.
Lily will start seeing clients as soon as she is settled, so you’re free to book appointments now for future dates. She’ll have her hands full, but she is young and fresh, and I, for one, have full confidence in her abilities! Neighbors, please do all you can to help make Lily feel welcome here in the loveliest village on the bay.
Update from Management
A new rule has been added to the village handbook:
No loud noise—including singing—before 7 a.m.
Update from Recreation
The paddleboats are in! The first tour will be up to Captain’s Chair on Bon Secour River this Friday. If you’re interested, please meet at 9:30 a.m. on Coach’s dock. He suggests you bring bottled water, bug spray, sunscreen, and a camera. He also strictly forbids selfies. (I’m not one to point fingers, but I think that’s how he capsized last time.)
Six
On Monday morning Lily woke up with a chest full of panic. She turned her head toward the empty spot in her bed, the spot where Worth should have been, with his sleep-thick eyes, blond hair sticking up in little-boy cowlicks, and pale scruff that made his chin scratchy. He always woke up with such languid ease, stretching like a cat and curling his arm over her stomach. Lily loved the early mornings the best, those moments before he remembered whatever it was that burdened him during his waking hours. The burdens that made him jumpy and unpredictable. He rarely shared that weight with her, but when she got glimpses of it—little peeks when his guard was down—it was easy to see his mother was at the root of it. Her and the family name and all the various expectations that went along with it.
But his burdens were no longer her trouble. He’d packed them up and taken them with him when he walked out their door. She wondered if another woman—a better wife—would have been able to offer him a different kind of help. The kind that could have made him happy.
Lily threw the covers from her legs and looked at the clock by the bed: 7:27. She stood and crossed the room toward the bathroom. On the way she stepped over boxes of winter clothes she hadn’t unpacked yet and other boxes she’d filled over the weekend. Her life spread out before her in various states of readiness and disorder.
She splashed cold water on her face, the water dripping down her wrists and forearms, making small puddles on the vanity. She turned off the faucet, held a towel to her cheeks, and stared at the pale, thin woman in the mirror. What if Worth came back? What if he decided he’d made a mistake and hurried home from wherever he was, only to find her gone? All the certainty—all the bravery—she’d felt as she drove away from Safe Harbor Village on Friday fizzled, leaving her limp and nervous.
Back in the bedroom, she threw on yesterday’s clothes and walked down the hall to the kitchen. She was just about to pick up the phone to call Rose to—what? Admit to a hefty dose of last-minute panic? Apologize for making promises she couldn’t keep, only to back out?—when someone knocked on the door. Startled, Lily whirled around and smacked her hip into the corner of the kitchen island. The unexpected pain brought tears to her eyes, and she was still blinking them away when she peeked through the window next to the front door.
A man stood on the front stoop, hands in his pockets, eyes turned down toward his feet. Another man stood at the curb next to a long flatbed trailer attached to a pickup. The man on the porch—taller than Lily and not much older than her—checked his watch and shifted his ball cap.
They must’ve been looking for Marie, the lady who lived next door. In the short space of time they’d been living in the house in Pelican Cove, Lily had seen a variety of workers pull up outside and knock on Marie’s door—a yard service, a handyman, a housekeeper, a dog walker. Even a laundry service. Lily often wondered what the woman did all day while her husband was at work.
Lily opened the door a few inches, aware of her just-out-of-bed appearance. “Hello.” She kept one hand on the door and rubbed her sore hip with the other. “Are you looking for Marie DeAngelo? She’s next door.” She pointed to the house. Just as she was about to close the door, the man spoke.
“Actually, I’m looking for Lily Bishop. I’m Rawlins Willett. I’m here to help you move.”
“You’re who?”
“Rawlins.” He stuck out his hand. Caught off guard, Lily just looked at it, and after a second he let it drop. “My aunt was supposed to call you,” he said slowly. “But by the look on your face, I’m guessing she hasn’t.”
Lily shook her head. “No, I—”
Just then her phone rang back in the kitchen. For a moment she didn’t move. When it rang a third time, Rawlins pointed through the doorway. “Are you going to get that?”
“Uh, yes. Can you— I’m going to . . .” He nodded and she closed the door, locking it behind her. She ran into the kitchen, giving the island a wide berth, and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Lily, I’m glad I got you. I’ve asked my nephew Rawlins to come help you get packed up today. Now, I told him the earlier the better, so you might want to go ahead and start looking for him.”
“He’s standing on my porch, Rose. There’re two of them. I wish you’d given me some warning before they showed up.” Lily shifted a little so she could see the men through the window. The one on the porch, Rawlins, had taken off his cap and was tapping it against the side of his leg. His hair was dark and stuck up in a few places where the cap had been. His face was freshly shaven.
“Giving you warning was the purpose of this phone call. He just came a little earlier than I expected. And the other one—is he a big black man, looks like a linebacker?”
“Ah, yeah. That fits.”
“That’s Canaan Halsey. He’s a friend of Rawlins—a friend of everyone, really. I didn’t know he was coming, but he’ll be good help.”
Lily sighed. “Rose, I . . .” She leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes.
What was she doing? It was all too fast. “I don’t know if I can—”
But Rose pushed on. “Now, word of you has gotten out, though I tried to keep it quiet. Coach spilled it to Tiny Collins, who told Shirley, who put it in The Vine, and now everyone knows. I hope you have a sweet tooth.”
“What? Why?” Nothing Rose was saying made any sense.
“Oh, you’ll have some welcome treats showing up soon as you get here. I don’t know how young women eat these days, but if you won’t eat them, I’m sure you can pass them along to Rawlins and Canaan.”
“Okay, but . . . Rose—”
“Good. Now, like I said yesterday, the place needs a little spiffing up, but nothing a wet rag and a sturdy broom can’t handle. Edna offered to do the cleaning for you—she was a housekeeper before she retired—but her hip has been acting up again.”
Lily glanced again toward the front door. Through the window, Rawlins lifted his eyebrows in question. She held up a finger.
“Lily?” Rose asked. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
Silence stretched between them until finally Rose spoke again. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Sometimes the hardest step is the first one. After that, it can only get easier.”
Lily took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose.
“Let Rawlins do the heavy lifting. I’m sure he brought that trailer. It may smell like shrimp, but it’ll do the job. Now, get cracking.”
* * *
“Can I try this again?” he asked when she opened the door. He extended his hand and this time Lily took it. “Rawlins Willett, Rose’s nephew.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “This is my friend Canaan.” Canaan did indeed look like a linebacker—wide shoulders like big boulders and a torso thick with muscle. He wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat that said “Best Hooker in Town” in red letters across the front. Lily’s eyes lingered on the words.
Canaan laughed and pointed to the hat. “It always catches people off guard. I drive a tow truck when I’m not on the boat with this guy.” He nudged his chin toward Rawlins, who rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“I’m sorry about that—he forgets he’s wearing it. I told him to leave it in the truck.”
Lily gave a small laugh, more air than noise.
“If you want us to go, I understand. I told Rose no one would want two total strangers in their house at eight o’clock in the morning. But she insisted, and you know Rose . . .”
“Actually, I don’t know her well. We only just met. But I’m beginning to see that she can be very persuasive.”
“To say the least. My father could come up with a few more choice words, I’m sure.” His eyebrows pulled together. “You just met? And you’re moving in?”
Lily hesitated. “It would seem so.”
He shrugged. “It takes most people weeks of interviews to get a foot in the door at the village, whether you’re looking for a place to live or a job.” Rawlins studied Lily’s face. “She must like you.”
“I don’t know about that. She may just feel sorry for me.”
Rawlins glanced past Lily into the house. “So is your husband helping today or . . .” He stopped when she didn’t fill in with the expected information. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just— I . . .” The words piled up in a jumble in her mouth. “It’s just me.”
He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I’m just here to help you move. If you want the help, that is. If you don’t, we’re out of here and you don’t have to see us again.”
She put her hands on her hips, then reached up to block the sun that had just risen high enough to pierce through the trees with bright, fresh rays.
At the street, Canaan waited with one thick leg propped up on the back of the trailer. Rawlins was watching her, his cap pulled down low, his dark brown hair sticking out around the edges, in need of a good trim. Under the bill of his hat, his eyes were soft as he raised his eyebrows.
Staying or going?
Staying was out of the question. Mr. Pender had already told her that. In a few days someone else would move in and unpack his own family, the new occupants’ fears and worries and hopeful dreams filling the cracks and corners of this house, making it their space, no longer Lily’s. Or Worth’s.
However, going was an even greater unknown. But wasn’t it better than looking backward?
She took a deep breath and summoned the resolve she’d felt a couple of days ago. Finally she met Rawlins’s gaze. “I still have some packing to do.”
He smiled. “Well then, it’s a good thing you have some help, isn’t it?”
* * *
When Lily and Worth moved into the Pelican Cove garden home almost a month ago, they’d unpacked the necessities—some clothes, toiletries, kitchen items, books. Pillows for the couch and chairs. Bedding. But most of their stuff remained in boxes in the back guest room—things like winter jackets, their good china, and Worth’s collection of scrapbooks, eighteen of them in total, each one meticulously crafted by his mother, showing his best and brightest achievements from birth through high school. Lily couldn’t imagine dragging an entire childhood of milestones and triumphs clear into adulthood, as if to remind yourself that all your life’s success had already happened.
Lily had procrastinated in unpacking that back bedroom, not feeling any urgency since, according to Worth, they’d be looking for a new place once he got settled in at the new job and they had a chance to drive around and scope out the neighborhoods and towns up and down Highway 59. Why unpack just to pack it all up again so soon?
Anytime she asked Worth how long he planned for them to stay in the house, he’d say, “I just need a little more time, Lily.” Or “Why don’t you look around on your own? See what you like and come back and tell me. Maybe we can look together this weekend.”
It never happened, though. He kept putting it off, and Lily kept accepting that it was all fine. That there was nothing to worry about. That the move and the new job had been wise, and that their marriage would eventually right itself now that they were out from under Mertha’s thumb. But all that happened was Lily exhausted herself by keeping her thoughts and concerns inside her own head all day, and Worth’s pensive, worried demeanor when he came home each night did nothing to show that things were getting any better.
And now, here she was, finally moving out, but the reality was quite different than she’d imagined. Instead of moving with Worth into a new home they’d chosen together, she was wrapping dinner plates and skillets in newspaper and shoving clothes back into suitcases while two strange men loaded her belongings onto a flatbed trailer that did indeed smell a lot like shrimp.
She’d already packed up most of the den and all of the kitchen, so she asked Rawlins and Canaan to start there while she headed off to strip the sheets off the bed in her room and cram last-minute things into boxes.
Amid the muddled snatches of conversation and the heavy footsteps of the guys carrying boxes from the kitchen and guest room, Lily stood in the doorway to her and Worth’s bedroom and surveyed the space. Bins of Worth’s clothes and shoes sat against one wall. His dresser still held the clothes he’d carefully tucked into the drawers the night they’d moved in. She wondered again what he’d taken with him when he left; she hadn’t yet peeked inside to see what, if anything, was missing.
She pulled a hair tie from her wrist and yanked up her hair into a ponytail, tucking loose pieces behind her ears, then started on the bed. After pulling off the pillows and squeezing them into an empty plastic bin, she stripped off the duvet and sheets and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Down on her hands and knees, she slid out the under-the-bed boxes where she’d packed clothes, picture frames, and shoes when they’d left Georgia. Sitting back on her heels, she noticed a piece of newspaper sticking out from underneath Worth’s nightstand. It was from the Life section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, a page showing a single photo and headl
ine: “Atlanta Native Makes Her Mark in Hollywood.” Next to it were the words, “That’s our girl,” written in Mertha Bishop’s spidery penmanship.
The photo was of Delia Park.
The first time Lily heard Delia’s name was in Mertha’s living room during Lily and Worth’s engagement party. Most of the glowing couples in the Bishops’ social circles had several engagement parties, thrown over the course of their engagement, held at homes of friends and family. Because Worth and Lily’s romance had been a whirlwind and their engagement much shorter than Mertha thought appropriate, they only had one party.
All of Worth’s childhood friends, along with his entire family, had filled the Bishop family’s Buckhead home, laughing and drinking the evening away. After unwrapping all the gifts—monogrammed wine and whiskey glasses, serving pieces in the Bishop family’s Reed & Barton sterling pattern, and four different ice buckets complete with gold and silver ice scoops—conversation swelled and Lily sat back, listening in on all the stories. Later, as fatigue began to manifest itself in a headache behind her eyes and Lily stood to tap Worth on the shoulder, the voice of his friend Patton carried loudly over all the others.
“If only Delia could see him now, right? Look at Worth. Another girl by his side, working his way up the ladder. Delia, man. She missed out.” His wife next to him had tried to shush him, but as the other conversations in the room dimmed and the gaze of almost everyone in the room found her, Lily knew she was not the only one who had heard Patton’s words. And that those words held significance.
Worth squirmed in his seat, shot a death look at his friend, then turned his face up to Lily, who had moved to stand next to him. His eyes, his mouth, the set of his jaw—all of it combined to paint a picture of a man who had lost something. Someone. A man who was making do with the next best thing.
The Summer House Page 6