The Summer House

by Lauren K. Denton

  “A note? Where?”

  “On the kitchen counter.”

  “What did it say?” Kitty’s heavily penciled eyebrows arched.

  “That he was sorry and that he couldn’t do it anymore. He’d already filed for divorce. The papers were next to the note.”

  Shirley let out a small cry. “That . . . dirtbag.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “There are a few other, more specific words I think we could use here,” Kitty said. “But dirtbag will suffice. Tell me, how long were you married?” Kitty steepled her fingers together and rested her chin on top.

  The other ladies stared, their faces a mix of pity and suspicion. Lily hated being on the receiving end of either one. “Just a little over a year. I know this sounds crazy, but I’m mostly okay.”

  Shirley retrieved the unused tissue Lily had balled up on the table and dabbed it to her own eyes. “How can you say that?”

  “Lily,” Kitty said loudly, cutting off Shirley’s tears. “A disruption like this in a significant relationship can lead to some difficult consequences if you’re not prepared. What is your support system like? Family? Friends? Who do you have lined up to step in with help as necessary?”

  The table was quiet until Tiny spoke up. “Kitty used to be a psychiatrist. If you can’t tell.”

  “Well, I don’t really have family, and I’m definitely not going back to Worth’s family, so . . . for now I’m here and I’m going to fix your hair. And who knows”—she nodded her head toward the window—“maybe the water will fix me.”

  “You make a joke, but there’s some truth there. We have evidence that water can be healing to both body and mind. In fact, a former colleague recently sent me an article—”

  “But aren’t you lonely?” Shirley broke in. Her voice quivered and her eyes swam with tears yet again.

  In the face of Shirley’s sympathy grief, Lily wished for Rose—the stern set of her jaw, the stubbornness that was almost charming in its refusal to be emotional. Thankfully, the waiter returned then, asking about a second round.

  “None for me,” Kitty replied, holding a hand over her glass. “We need to be clearheaded to help Lily figure this out.”

  “It’s okay,” Lily said. “I . . . I’m figuring things out. On my own.” The need to escape tickled her spine. The ladies meant well, but she had a suspicion that as soon as she walked away, they’d spend the next hour gossiping and discussing her future. Best to leave now and let them get to it. She stood, her chair scraping against the old wooden floor. “Thank you for the drink. And the conversation.”

  “Lily.” Tiny reached out and took Lily’s hand. Tiny’s was small and warm. “You can stay if you want. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

  Lily smiled. “I’m fine. You enjoy your drinks. Maybe I’ll see you ladies in the salon soon?”

  She gently pulled her hand from Tiny’s and made her way out of the café and into the sunshine. Across the street her cottage beckoned with its shaded porch and turquoise front door. It wasn’t home yet, but even still, opening the door and walking inside the cool interior felt a little like a hug from someone she trusted.

  Sixteen

  Rose Carrigan prided herself on her ability to stick to her fixed daily schedule, veering from it only when absolutely necessary. Therefore, every morning, Monday through Friday, Rose unlocked the door to her office at precisely nine o’clock. Clubs and meetings scheduled at the clubhouse didn’t start until at least ten, so she had an hour every morning to begin her work without laughter and conversation interrupting her focus.

  On Monday, however, the back tire of her bicycle was low on air. She spent fifteen sweaty minutes trying to fit the hose of her bike pump over the nozzle on the tire, which put her walking into the office half an hour late. The first of the Bubbas rolled in a few minutes after to set the coffeepot perking, their conversation muted but still intrusive, and from somewhere outside, a lawn mower whined like a gnat in her ear. She hadn’t just lost her rhythm—she’d never grasped it in the first place.

  So when the phone rang just as three more Bubbas burst through the office door, ushering in yet more jovial laughter and the scent of glazed doughnuts, Rose answered it with a rather exasperated tone.

  “Rose, is that you?” Janelle Blackmon’s voice purred through the handset.

  “Yes, Janelle. Who else would be answering here in the office?”

  “I don’t know. You just sounded weird.”

  I feel weird, she thought. “How can I help you, Janelle? I have a lot on my plate today.”

  “I’m here at the hair salon for my ten o’clock appointment with your new girl, but she’s not answering the door.”

  Rose propped her elbow on the desk and rested her forehead in her hand. “Okay, Janelle. Have you tried knocking again? Or louder?” Rose imagined Janelle’s kitten heels perched on Lily’s front step, her freshly manicured nails softly tapping on Lily’s door. “Maybe she didn’t hear you.”

  “I’ve knocked several times and I even tried the door, but it’s locked up tight. Do you think she’s run off before she got started?”

  “That’s ridiculous. She hasn’t run anywhere.” Of course as Rose said the words, her stomach fluttered with dread. Surely not . . .

  “I’ll try calling,” Rose said. “Just . . . keep knocking.”

  Rose dialed the phone in the cottage, and when she got no answer, she tried Lily’s cell, silently fuming that this young woman was further combusting her morning. If Lily was out back and didn’t hear the knock at the door, or God forbid, she was still asleep like some teenager, she had some serious attitude adjustment to do if she wanted to make it past her trial period.

  The phone rang five times before going to voice mail. Rose stared at the receiver as if it would explain the oddness of the morning. With a sigh, she set down the phone and walked outside to her bike.

  As she cruised down Port Place toward the salon, she could see Janelle in her usual cloud of pink, though the woman was doing her best to hide herself on Lily’s front porch. On her head was a swirl of pink chiffon.

  “Janelle, why are you wearing cotton candy on your head?” Rose asked as she leaned her bike against a palm tree in front of Lily’s cottage, noting that Lily’s car was in fact parked in the driveway.

  “It’s my hair-washing morning, and I skipped it today because of my appointment. I thought I’d be able to get in without being seen.” She scanned the street with her eyes, straining to spot any stray neighbor before he or she could behold the sight of Janelle’s elaborate head covering. At least she was true to who she was, even on a bad hair day.

  Rose fished in her pocket for the key to the salon. She was glad she’d stuck to her guns a while back when an HOA member rudely asked her to relinquish the key ring that held a spare key to everyone’s cottage. “It’s an invasion of privacy,” he’d complained.

  “Maybe, but it’s an invasion you’ll be happy to have if you keel over from a heart attack when you’re home alone and someone has to kick in your door. Wouldn’t you rather I let the paramedics in with a key in a civilized fashion?” The silence in the room told her she’d won that argument.

  Inside the salon, all looked shipshape. Towels were folded on the counter, the floor was swept clean, and combs sat in a glass jar ready for the day. Janelle peered over Rose’s shoulder, her breath a fog of peppermint. “At least there hasn’t been a burglary. And there’s her purse.” Janelle pointed to the kitchen table at the back of the cottage. “So she probably hasn’t run off.”

  Rose stepped to the side for some air and gestured for Janelle to take a seat in one of the seats under the window. “I’ll go see what I can find. Wait here.”

  Rose walked through the cottage to the back door and peered through the glass. The backyard was empty, the door locked.

  Rose sighed and turned toward the staircase. Under the window, Janelle was perched on the edge of her seat, her toe tapping up and down on the hardwood floor.
r />   “Lily?” Rose called as she ascended the staircase. “Are you here? I’m coming up.”

  No answer.

  She peered into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, then the spare bedroom that overlooked the marina. Assured that those rooms were empty, she started for Lily’s room, the one that had a view of the bay. The door was cracked, and she reached out to push it open, her heart banging in her chest.

  Lily sat on the edge of the bed with her back to the door and her hands tucked under her thighs. It was the same posture she had the day Rose first showed Lily the salon, just before Lily told Rose she needed a job and a home.

  “Lily?”

  As if coming out of a fog, Lily startled and turned to look over her shoulder.

  “Oh, hi, Rose.”

  “Hi, yourself. What’s going on?”

  Lily took a deep breath. “Is Janelle here yet?”

  “Oh yes. And quite ready for her appointment, I might add.” Rose checked her watch. Ten thirty on the nose. “Do you plan to come downstairs anytime soon?”

  “I’m sorry. I just needed a minute.”

  Rose sighed. So this is how it’s going to be. She hadn’t seen a single client and she was already behind schedule. But something about the curve in Lily’s back and the way her shoulders were bunched up with tension softened Rose’s irritation. She sat on the end of the bed, not too close to Lily, but still within arm’s reach.

  “Has your life ever felt . . . unraveled?” Lily asked.

  “I’m familiar with that feeling, yes.”

  “Really?” Lily turned to look at Rose, her brown eyes earnest and searching.

  Rose nodded. “More than you know.” She swallowed, unaccustomed to saying much about her own life, much less asking someone else about hers. “Is that how your life feels?”

  Lily exhaled. “A little. It’s like my mom’s death pulled a string loose and the years just keep . . . stretching it farther out.”

  “It’s hard to tuck a string back in once it’s out—especially if it’s from a death.”

  Lily sniffed, nodded.

  “And your husband? I bet he gave that string a good yank.”

  Lily gave a quiet laugh. “He did, but you know what? It was a mercy. I think he only married me to get over another woman. But I wasn’t much better. Worth came along at a time when I was completely adrift. We just used each other as life rafts.” She looked at Rose and lifted the corner of her mouth into a sad smile. “Not a promising way to start a marriage.”

  Beginning a marriage as a way to serve a wholly unrelated purpose? Rose was well acquainted with that particular kind of disaster.

  “Is that why you’re up here?”

  Lily laughed, louder this time. “Actually, no. Worth isn’t the cause today, thank goodness.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Downstairs a door opened and Rose heard Janelle greet Patsy Martin.

  “I’m starting over in a salon, just like my mom did after my dad died. And I felt so confident as I was cleaning this place out. Setting out all my brushes and towels and bottles, as if the perfect arrangement of everything could cover up the fact that I’m completely alone.”

  Both women were quiet as a flock of cackling seagulls soared past the window. When Rose had first stepped into Lily’s bedroom, she’d noticed the absence of any photos except for a single silver picture frame next to her bed. Rose glanced at it now. The photo showed a lovely young woman with dark hair, red lips, bobby pins pinched between her lips, and a hairbrush in hand. Her eyes were bright and a little mischievous.

  “You know Kitty?” Lily asked.

  Oh, here we go. “Yes, I know Kitty.”

  “She said I need a support system. People who know me well who can step in and help. But I don’t have that.”

  “I will grant that Kitty Cooper knows a few things about how the mind works, but she can also run her mouth just for the sake of hearing her own intelligence.”

  “She did sound smart.”

  “Yes, well, she succeeded then. And I may not be a fancy doctor, but I do know this: you can’t control Worth, you can’t control the curveballs life throws at you, but you do have say over what happens next. From this minute forward. That’s under your control.” She hesitated, then reached forward and squeezed Lily’s elbow. “And you’re not alone. You have a village full of people, and they’re all pretty nice. Well, most of them at least. You’ve landed in a good place here. I think you’ll like it.” Even as she said the words, she thought of Terry’s email and his offer. She could almost hear the ticking clock in her mind, counting down the minutes until she’d need to give him her decision.

  Lily’s shoulders dropped an inch and she rested her hands in her lap. “Rawlins said the same thing. That I’d like it here.”

  “Did he? Of course he did. He’s a smart boy.”

  “Thank you again for letting me stay in the cottage.”

  “You’re welcome, but I’m not finished. You have a place to live, and you also have two customers sitting downstairs waiting for haircuts.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly.

  Lily took a deep breath and stood, then straightened her clothes—a loose black-and-white top and denim shorts. Her hair was pinned up halfway with a clip, and soft waves fell around her face. She squared her shoulders and looked at the door but didn’t make a move.

  “Do you remember what I told you on the phone the morning you moved here?” Rose asked. “Sometimes the hardest step is the first one. After that it gets easier.”

  Lily nodded, then said, “It sounds like you’ve done this before.”

  “I have a few decades on you. A lot can happen in that much time.”

  Rose followed Lily down the stairs, where Janelle and Patsy were flipping through magazines, deep in conversation. When Janelle saw Lily, she slapped her magazine closed. “My stars, am I glad to see you. My head’s getting hot under all this chiffon.” She picked at the edge of her pink turban with a long fingernail.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Lily said. “These first haircuts are on the house.”

  Patsy’s eyes lit up as they always did when she thought she was getting something for free, or close to it—she was the one who turned up her nose at anything at the thrift store that cost more than fifty cents, then complained about it for days—but Janelle swatted Lily’s shoulder with her manicured hand. “We won’t hear of it. Things happen. But a piece of advice, business owner to business owner? Try to get your ducks in a row before you book any more appointments.”

  Lily nodded and cast a quick glance back to where Rose stood in the kitchen. “I agree. I think the ducks are in order now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Janelle pointed to her head. “Now about this hair.”

  Lily grinned. “Yes, ma’am. Why don’t we start with a wash.” She held out the smock and Janelle took it, slid it over her head, and sat in the chair in front of the deep, white basin sink. She cast a furtive look around the salon—did she think paparazzi were hiding in the corners?—before unwinding the chiffon from her hair, which was indeed in need of a good wash.

  Once settled, she closed her eyes. “Don’t be afraid to crank up the heat. I like it scalding.” Just as Lily was about to wet down her hair, Janelle opened her eyes again. “Oh, and that’s my friend Patsy. She’s the one with the hemorrhoids I was telling you about at the party.”

  Patsy shifted in her seat with a squeak, exposing the edge of a light blue doughnut pillow. “They’re better today.”

  The laughter that burst from Lily’s mouth sounded like relief. Like gratitude. The kind of laugh Rose knew felt good, though it’d been a while since she’d laughed like that.

  With another glance at her watch, Rose turned to leave. She had a job ahead of her, cleaning the doughnut sugar from the top of the clubhouse tables once the Bubbas had vacated the building. At the doorway, she paused.

  “Lily, do you know why this place is called Safe Harbor?”

  Lily paused
in her shampooing of Janelle’s hair and glanced back at Rose. She shook her head. “No idea.”

  “The bay is named Bon Secour. Strictly translated from the French, it means ‘good help,’ but somewhere along the way, the meaning shifted to ‘safe harbor.’”

  “Huh.” Lily resumed her washing, not yet understanding the words, so Rose pressed on.

  “For centuries this area has been a safe harbor to boats and ships out in the gulf. The way the land is scooped out here, captains found this was a good spot to wait out squalls and bad weather.” She paused. “It offered shelter from unexpected storms.”

  Lily looked back at Rose and gave a nod only discernible to the two of them. As Rose turned to leave, Lily called to her, “Let me know when you want to make that appointment, Rose. My schedule is pretty open.”

  Just then Tiny Collins popped her head in the doorway. “Looks like I’m just in time for the party!” She entered the salon and noticed the clipboard on the desk by the door. After signing in, she picked up a People magazine and plopped down in the seat next to Patsy, who shifted again on her doughnut.

  On her way out the door, Rose called behind her, “I don’t think your schedule will be open for long. And my hair is just fine.”

  * * *

  After scraping glazed sugar off the card tables in the clubhouse—how was it that these men couldn’t see the mess they left behind each week? Did they all need new prescriptions in their glasses?—Rose settled down at her desk to begin the day’s work. A potential new resident had submitted his paperwork, and his background check had returned a misdemeanor. It appeared the fellow had been charged with breaking obscenity laws during a protest for women’s rights back in the seventies.

  “Well,” Rose muttered to herself. “There are definitely worse things to be accused of than righteous indignation over inequality for women.” She closed the folder and pulled her email up on the computer. She scanned her inbox for the man’s initial email to her—best to make sure he’d been a protestor for the women rather than against—but all thoughts of misdemeanors and obscenity laws dissolved when she saw the email from Terry.