The Summer House

by Lauren K. Denton

  He leaned toward her and spoke in her ear, his voice low. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

  She smiled. “I didn’t. But I do now.”

  An hour and a half later they emerged from the Land sweaty, tired, and full of laughter. The short trip home was mostly silent but the most comfortable silence Rose had ever felt.

  Coach drove to her cottage and put the car in park. He’d cranked the AC, and her damp face had cooled, her heart slowing to its normal pace. Though when Coach crossed in front of his car to open her door, it picked right back up again. Once on her doorstep, he opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

  “John Beaumont.”

  “What . . . Where did that come from?”

  “I’m in charge of this place. I know everyone’s secrets.”

  “My real name isn’t a secret.”

  “I know. But no one calls you that.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I thought maybe I’d start using your real name.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind that at all. In fact, I’d quite like it.” He paused. “I’d also quite like to kiss you right now, although I’m a little afraid of your reaction.”

  She bit her lip, then smiled. “You don’t need to be.” She lifted herself up on her toes and placed one hand on his shoulder. When her face came near his, he closed the space between them, pressing his lips to hers, just once. But it was enough.

  “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” she said when she pulled away from him.

  “Rose, I’ve been here for years. I’ve been right here.”

  “I know. And it’s taken me all this time to see myself so I could really see you.”

  He leaned forward again and she held her breath, but he moved his head to the side and kissed her cheek, then rested his cheek against hers for a brief moment. “The time doesn’t matter, does it? We’re here now.”

  Twenty-Five

  Dear Stella,

  It still pains me that you left this world only knowing your side of the story that affected us all so critically. Well, yours and Jim’s. I never explained my side, the seed of which was planted long before you, me, Jim, and Terry became our tight-knit group of four. Back even to when I was a little girl, never allowed the freedoms I longed for. I felt smothered in Safe Harbor, and by the time I made it to college, I was looking for any way to never have to return here.

  That’s where our story starts. There are so many reasons why I never told you my side. Maybe I thought it wouldn’t matter. Maybe I thought you’d close the door in my face. It’s too late now, but I’m going to fill you in on some things.

  Once the four of us settled into life together, it was obvious you liked Terry. More than that, you loved him. Stella, loving him was probably the only mistake you ever made in your life. You were too sweet for him. Too innocent. The two of you would have been like a lion and a lamb, and I couldn’t let you be undone by him. Couldn’t let you be hardened as I was.

  And then there was the fact that my sweet brother was head over heels in love with you. I know you saw it. His heart was so full of love for you, it was impossible to ignore. As a woman, I knew Jim’s quiet devotion and kindness were no match for Terry’s swagger and charm. But I also sensed that Jim was the man to give you what you really wanted—what you both wanted: stability, children, a family. A good and simple life.

  I loved both of you—Lord help me, I loved all three of you. So when Terry decided, for some reason I still don’t understand, that he wanted to be with me, I agreed. I thought I was doing you and Jim a favor by taking Terry out of the picture, but part of it was my own selfishness, though I didn’t fully realize that until later. I knew Terry was going places and that hitching my wagon to his would keep me away from Safe Harbor. Best of all, he had absolutely nothing to do with shrimping.

  Did I meddle too much? It’s likely. But I consider myself a darn good judge of character, and you have to admit I pegged us all pretty accurately. Terry got the flashy life, I got the crummy husband, and you got the good, simple life you wanted, plus a good, simple man to go with it.

  Whatever my intentions, however pure or impure they may have been, I paid a huge price. I lost you and Jim, the two people most important to me.

  If you were sitting in your house down the road reading this letter, you’d probably rip it to shreds and throw it out. Then again, maybe you’d take a deep breath and remember that my betrayal led you to Jim’s strong arms, where you found safety and love for the rest of your too-short life.

  There’s more—there’s so much more—but I think there’s someone else who needs to hear it more than you. Maybe the exposure will bring some kind of release. For both of us. For all of us.

  Love,

  Rose

  * * *

  Rose was just pulling a lasagna out of the oven when she heard Rawlins’s tap-tap-tap on her front door. Her stomach tangled itself in a knot before she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s time, she reminded herself. Let come what may.

  “I don’t know what it is, but it smells cheesy and delicious,” he said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen from the living room.

  “It’s nothing special, just lasagna. Oh, will you pull the salad out of the fridge?”

  “Anything I don’t have to cook myself is pretty special.” He set the salad bowl on the kitchen table and pulled a pair of tongs from the drawer.

  “I’m always happy to cook for you. And thank you for coming over tonight. I know it’s not our usual night, but I have something I want to talk to you about.” Better to get it out in the open so she couldn’t back out.

  He glanced at her as he put down the tongs. “That sounds ominous. Let’s hear it.”

  She smiled. “Eat first, then we’ll talk.”

  They chatted as they ate, though conversation was forced. The unspoken hung in the air between them, with curiosity written on her nephew’s face and her own heart banging in her chest.

  A little while later Rawlins stood and put his and Rose’s plates in the sink, then turned back to her. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

  She stood and led him into the living room, offering him the couch while she sat in her favorite seat, a blue-and-white pin-striped easy chair she’d found at Mary’s Antiques.

  “You know Willett Fisheries used to be here, right?” She pointed out the window. “Just a few hundred feet that way.”

  Rawlins lifted an eyebrow. “You want to talk to me about work?”

  “No, not work. I just . . . I need to explain some things to you.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. Yes, I know it used to be somewhere around here. Dad told me someone cheated them out of the land. Bought it out from under them or something. So they rebuilt.”

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “That someone was me.”

  He stared, glanced away, then looked at her again. “You— But how could . . .” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand a lot of it either, even now. It all made sense at the time, but time has a way of softening things. Things like pettiness, anger . . .”

  “Who were you mad at? My dad?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “No. Your dad was completely innocent. It was all on me.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “I know. I have to start at the beginning.”

  She told Rawlins about her father, his coldness and stubbornness. She told him about the four of them—Rose, Terry, Stella, and Jim. About how her friendship with his mother was the one bright shining light in her life, other than the love of her brother, Rawlins’s father. How she’d gone to college looking for any way never to have to return to Safe Harbor Island, and how Terry provided her ticket out.

  But being away from the island hadn’t made her hurt go away. Instead, she became angry. She felt she’d missed out on what her life could have been if her dad had looked at her long enough to see her strength. Her fire. Her d
etermination to be good, to do good. She was angry with him for what had been taken from her, and she was angry with her mom for being too weak to stand up to him.

  “Anger never leads you anywhere good,” Rawlins said quietly. He regarded her as if he could already see all the way to the bottom of her, but she continued.

  “After Terry and I married, he started quickly on his plan to buy properties and build neighborhoods and villages. He’d already broken ground on a couple down in Florida and was looking for his next piece of property to purchase when my father died. We came back for the funeral, of course, and crossing the bridge onto these quiet, moss-shaded roads was the first time I’d been on the island in the two years we’d been married. But instead of feeling welcomed by this place I still knew so well, all that anger bubbled back up. And I wanted to do something with it.

  “So I told Terry about our property, the land that had been in our family for generations. Back then the tip of the island, where this village now sits, was mostly empty and had been forever. But Willett Fisheries was close. Much closer than it is now, as you know.”

  Rawlins sighed and took off his cap. He ran a hand roughly over the top of his head, then sat forward on his knees. If she stopped too long, she wouldn’t start again, so she kept going.

  “I suggested to Terry that if he offered a decent amount of money to my mom—who was now in control of the family’s land—she just might sell.

  “To Terry’s credit, he did ask me if I was sure. It was the thing that had surprised me the most—that he’d been the one to question the plan.”

  It’s your family’s business, Rose remembered him saying. I can’t take another man’s livelihood from him. Even if he did just die.

  “But I told him it wouldn’t hurt to try. I rationalized it—I said the money we’d be giving them could allow them to rebuild up the river. A bigger place, room to grow. Honestly, it had sounded just as crazy to me as it did to Terry, but something in me wanted to tear down, to burn bridges. To flaunt my newfound freedom, a freedom I never had while living at home. My dad had always taken from me. Now I was taking from him, and in the way that mattered most.”

  Rose swallowed hard. “The plan worked, obviously, and we built the village. Your dad, who took over the business from your grandmother, had no choice but to rebuild up the river. Terry stuck around here for a few years, and then he and Joan left and I was alone. Well, alone with that first wave of residents.” And she’d realized with crushing clarity that everything she’d done had been out of spite. Once her spite and anger were gone, so was everyone else.

  One night Rose couldn’t take it anymore, and she went to Jim and Stella’s house. As soon as she tried to explain herself, Stella—kind Stella who’d never said a harsh word to anyone—stopped her. You always do the thing that’s good for you, she said. Always the selfish choice. So don’t come in here and try to explain it all away. It’s too late now.

  “Your dad had been standing in the corner of their little kitchen, unsure of who to respond to—his sister in tears or his wife with her fists clenched in fury. Finally he moved toward Stella and put his arms around her. He looked at me . . .” Rose looked down at her hands in her lap. “He told me it was time for me to leave, and I did. Your mom got sick a year or so later. She and I never spoke again.”

  With the story out, Rose’s shoulders sagged. The heavy weight of all she’d carried was gone, but in its place was the pain of realizing how much Rawlins would hurt now, knowing the truth about her.

  She rubbed a tear from the corner of her eye as Rawlins sat with his elbows propped on his knees.

  “Do you know what my dad said to me,” he asked, “when I told him you’d asked me to help out around here?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “He told me he couldn’t tell me to stay away from you, but that I should be careful. You and I hadn’t spent much time around each other before then—now it makes sense why—but when he said that, it stuck with me. When I first started doing odd jobs around here—fixing stuck windows, painting walls, cutting grass—I kept my distance from you.”

  “I remember. I figured it just took you some time to warm up to me.”

  “Well, it did, but it was because of my dad’s caution. But the thing was, you didn’t seem selfish. Not mean, not rude, not angry—not to me, anyway. I didn’t see any reason to stay away.”

  “Now you see why, though?”

  He nodded. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and she gave him time to process. To decide if he’d stay in her life or if her past sins were too big, too much, too final. If that was what he decided, she’d accept it. She deserved nothing more and nothing less.

  When he finally opened his mouth to speak, her breath evaporated in her lungs.

  “Rose . . . you need to talk to my dad.” He looked up at her. “Just talk to him. He needs to hear this. Yes, I know,” he said, speaking over her protests. “I know he knows how it all went down, but that was so long ago. So much has happened since then. You’re both carrying these burdens around alone—why don’t you put them down together?”

  “What will he say?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, but I think he may surprise you. It’s worth a shot anyway.”

  “But you’re not . . .” Her voice broke. “You don’t hate me?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t hate you, Aunt Rose. People make mistakes. All of us.” He stood and reached out a hand to her. When she took it, he gently pulled her from her chair and hugged her. “Thank you for telling me. A lot of things make sense now. But I’m serious about talking to my dad.” He pulled back and looked her in the face. “And you . . . Well, there’s something to be said for forgiving yourself. It’s okay to do that, you know. Not that you need anyone’s permission, but if you do”—he shrugged—“I’m giving it.”

  Later that night, long after Rawlins had left, after she’d cleaned her kitchen and turned off all the lights, Rose stretched out in bed. The sheets were cool against her tired legs, and the ceiling fan coaxed the air into a soft breeze. She exhaled long and deep, and for what felt like the first time in months, maybe even years, her weight was gone. As her mind settled into slumber, she not so much thought as felt the words in her mind: My penance is over.

  The Village Vine

  Your Source for Neighborhood News

  August 15, 2018

  Compiled by Shirley Ferrill

  Good day, Safe Harbor Village!

  From the Café

  Due to complaints regarding the recent Caribbean food experiment, themed meals will no longer be on the menu. Please see the message below from Roberta:

  Dear Villagers,

  I’ll have you know I received a culinary degree with honors from Johnson and Wales, and I’ve cooked under everyone from Wolfgang Puck to Emeril Lagasse. My skills and experience tell me I should be able to choose the menu for my own café. However, due to the volume of distraught phone calls I received in the wake of my experiment, I have decided to suspend the themed meals until further notice. Be assured I will keep the meals as plain as possible so as not to upset your delicate sensibilities.

  Sunrise Café Menu

  August 16–August 21

  Mains: boiled chicken breast, broth and noodle soup, meat loaf

  Veggies: three-bean salad, mashed cauliflower, green pea puree

  Desserts: vanilla pudding, lemon Jell-O, poached apples

  Twenty-Six

  Lily opened her front door to air out the salon—a new village resident had requested a perm, which filled Lily’s whole cottage with the odor of sulfur—just in time to hear Prissy’s high-pitched yips. She glanced toward the road as the small dog darted away from Kitty, who stood just outside the café, and dashed across the street toward the salon, just barely missing a cruising golf cart.

  “Prissy!” Kitty yelled as she bustled across the street after the dog.

  Prissy hopped up Lily’s porch steps and sat, his tiny body quivering from no
se to tail. A second later Kitty scooped him up. “Bad boy, Prissy. You were almost flattened. And by Seymour Eldins, of all people.”

  Lily stood, pushing the door back and forth to encourage fresh airflow into the salon. “Everything okay there?”

  “Oh, we’re fine. Prissy’s been feeling a little frisky since I switched his medicine.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and put her hand over Prissy’s tiny ears. “He has hypoglycemia, but don’t let him hear you talk about it. He gets embarrassed.” She pulled her hand away and kissed his nose. His eyes were wide as saucers.

  “Okay. Well, take good care of him. I need to check Belinda’s perm . . .” She stepped back toward the door, but Kitty didn’t budge.

  “While I have you, I wanted to see if you have plans for Saturday. The ladies and I are taking my pontoon up to Pirate’s Cove for lunch. We’d love for you to come with us.”

  “What’s Pirate’s Cove?”

  Kitty’s eyes widened, mimicking Prissy’s. “Are you kidding me? You’ve never been to Pirate’s Cove?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Well, that settles it. You’re coming.”

  “But . . . well, okay. Who all is coming?”

  “Let’s see—it’s me and Shirley, Edna, and Tiny. And now you.”

  “Do you mind if Rose comes too?”

  “Rose?” Kitty leaned down and set Prissy on the ground. “Riding on a boat and eating a cheeseburger in paradise isn’t exactly Rose’s scene, you have to admit. Even if she does have a nice new haircut.”

  Lily shrugged. “What do you say we try anyway?”

  Kitty waved her hand. “Suit yourself. You can ask her. Her burger’s on me if she says yes. Meet us on my dock at eleven on Saturday.” She turned to leave and called over her shoulder, “Wear your suit and bring a towel.”

  * * *

  “Whose idea was it to ask me?” Rose asked when Lily called her after her last client of the day on Friday.