Summer at Firefly Beach: The perfect feel-good summer romance

by Jenny Hale

  “Your first piece.”

  The beauty of it astounded her. It told such a different story in this form than it had on the little screen of her camera.

  “I haven’t put the paper backing on yet. Would you sign the back of the photograph? I can show you how.” He beamed at her, and she wondered how she’d ever worried about his opinion. He was so kind. “I’d like to put it in the gallery. I’ll give you one hundred percent of the profit if I sell it. Or should I say when I sell it. It’s fantastic. Would I have your permission to do that?”

  “Yes!” she said, practically bursting. “Gavin, it would be such an honor.”

  He broke out into an enormous grin. “Glad to hear that. Now, would you trust me if I told you to grab your camera? We have more work to do.”

  Hallie couldn’t help but wonder if Aunt Clara had a hand in all this, and Hallie wanted to make her proud. She thought about Gavin’s particular photography style, and as he led her down the stone path to the main house, she considered what her own style would be. What did she want people to think when they looked at her pictures? She remembered Aunt Clara’s words: Life is what you make it. That was when it hit her. She wanted her photography to be about life.

  As they walked up the porch steps of Starlight, she lifted her camera to adjust her focus and squatted down to get a new angle of Aunt Clara’s rocking chair, leaning just slightly to the left to allow the sunshine to stretch across the surface of it. She took her shot. Just that tiny adjustment was miles better than the last time she’d shot that chair. Now it actually looked like a place someone would sit, the warm orange glow of sunshine giving it life. She was already imagining how to adjust the light and filters when she got back to Gavin’s, and she had a million different ways she could display it. Large-weave tan and cream blankets, glass bowls of sand and seashells, blue and white striped throw pillows…

  “You read my mind,” Gavin said. “I think you might have a natural ability at taking photos of objects in particular.” He peered over her shoulder at the image she’d just taken. “You know just how to balance the light and dark in them. Each of your photographs takes on a sort of personality. What would you name this one?”

  Hallie pushed the camera away from her to get a focused view of the shot. It was cozy and happy, the way the chair looked in her memory when Aunt Clara was just about to lower herself into it. Her laugh filtered into Hallie’s mind, making her feel a wave of jubilation as if Hallie could reach out and touch her. “I think this one could easily be called ‘Still There’.”

  “Perfect.”

  “What if I did more? What if I took photos of objects that depicted life on the coast? I’m thinking coastal comfort.”

  “You just named your series.” He shook his head, disbelief showing in his grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d do a few prints to put up in the gallery alongside the one I framed.”

  “My series?”

  “Essentially, a series is a grouping of artwork that all fits under one theme. The fire-pit photo in the guesthouse is a perfect piece for Coastal Comfort. And I have a feeling the rocking chair will be as well.”

  “I’d love to do more,” she said, thinking. “What if each piece complemented the others in a color palette?”

  “Very branded. I like it.”

  “So do I,” she said, with new perspective about how to give form to this talent she had. Like a tidal wave, ideas were flowing and she was having trouble turning them off. “I’d like to name the framed photo ‘Beginnings’,” she said. She squared herself at the front door and snapped another photo. “But one series doesn’t make a brand. I don’t have a real brand yet…”

  “You’re getting ahead of me,” Gavin said with a laugh. “Why don’t we take about a hundred shots and then choose the best ones to create your Coastal Comfort series over a bite to eat in town?”

  “Okay.”

  “Great! Then I’d better get to painting the trim before your uncle fires me.”

  “Let’s ask him to go to lunch with us. Maybe that’ll make up for my lateness.”

  * * *

  “Did the doctor’s appointment go okay?” Hallie asked, as she and Gavin helped Uncle Hank sit down at the table at Wes and Maggie’s. Mama had taken him for a follow-up to discuss his lab work, but she’d gotten so preoccupied with taking care of things around the house that Hallie hadn’t heard the results.

  So happy to have Uncle Hank there, Wes had given them the table right by the bar so they could flag him down with their every need. The giant garage doors were open, letting in a delicious breeze that picked up the scent of rum from the mixed drinks Wes was making as it passed over the bar to their table. Soft music played in the background, the sound of steel drums over the light chatter of the tourists like the heartbeat of summer.

  “My bill of health was clean as a whistle,” Uncle Hank said. “The doctor thinks that it’s all in my head. I told him, ‘Of course it is! That’s where I get dizzy.’”

  Gavin grinned at his joke as he set his camera down onto the table.

  When Uncle Hank was settled, Maggie placed a cup of black coffee in front of him. No matter how hot it was outside, it was Uncle Hank’s first request whenever they visited.

  “The doctor wants me to go to grief counseling. He thinks my anxiety over Clara is causing physical problems, and that’s why my balance is off.”

  “It probably isn’t a bad idea,” Hallie offered. She placed her camera bag onto the floor.

  “I don’t buy in to all that mumbo jumbo. My wife died. I miss her. I don’t need to pay someone by the hour to listen to me tell them that.”

  Hallie sat down beside him and picked up the plastic menu but didn’t look at it. “They have strategies to help you manage your feelings.”

  “Well, I don’t know if there’s any good way to manage losing your whole world,” Uncle Hank said.

  Gavin cleared his throat, his face going white. “Excuse me a second,” he said, standing. He walked off toward the bathrooms.

  Uncle Hank’s sorrow over losing Aunt Clara must have brought back painful memories for Gavin. While he and Uncle Hank had shared a few private moments together, this was out in the open, with Hallie present. Her skin prickled with concern as she leaned forward to see if she could catch sight of him, but the bathroom door had already shut. She turned back to Uncle Hank.

  “They’re not saying you can’t be sad,” she said. “But they might help you deal with your sadness… teach you how to be sad without falling down all the time.”

  “What’s the old saying? ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?’”

  “I don’t believe that.” She watched the surf through the open restaurant doors. It was another red-flag day, the waves impatiently foaming onto the powdery sand. “Aunt Clara wouldn’t have wanted to see you this way. She always embraced life, lived it to its fullest. She would be mortified to know that you’ve quit trying.”

  Uncle Hank gritted his teeth.

  More gently, she suddenly wondered aloud, “What did Aunt Clara say in her letter to you?” She was certain that Aunt Clara would’ve told him something similar to what Hallie had just said.

  “I don’t know,” Uncle Hank answered quietly.

  “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t opened her letter.”

  Hallie felt her face crumple with confusion. “Why not?”

  “I’m angry with her for leaving.” He picked up his mug of coffee and put it to his lips with a shaky hand. “I don’t want to know what she has to say.”

  “She didn’t have a choice in the matter.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You need to open the letter. It was important enough for her to write it, and she’s able to speak to you through it. Don’t you want to hear her voice again?”

  A tear formed in the corner of his eye as he stared into his coffee.

  Hallie wished Ben were here to help her talk to Uncle Hank. He’d know just the right things to say
to make Uncle Hank understand. Ben could console him and help him to see her point of view. And what she didn’t want to admit to herself was that she wanted Ben to make her feel better as well. Uncle Hank’s sadness was tearing her apart, and she was working so hard to hold herself together for his benefit.

  “How’s the coffee?” Maggie said, setting glasses of water down for each of them.

  Uncle Hank looked up at her and produced a smile. “It’s as delicious as ever,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it. Where’s your friend Mr. Wilson?”

  Hallie eyed the bathroom—the door was still closed. But then laughter caught her attention outside. That was when she saw Gavin on the deck, his hands spread on the railing, his face toward the gulf.

  “He’s outside,” she answered. “I’ll just go and check on him. Can you give us a few more minutes before we order?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll come back in a bit.”

  Hallie excused herself from the table and walked out into the sunshine, squinting through the bright light to focus on Gavin. She came up behind him. “You okay?” she asked.

  He turned around. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It might be too soon…” He looked weary, uncertain.

  “Too soon?”

  “Too soon to pretend like I’m not so eaten up with fear that I can’t move forward.” He looked past her to their table. “I understand your uncle’s perspective perfectly. We aren’t very different.”

  “You are different,” she said. “You’re actually trying to move forward.”

  “I was right where he was for quite a while.” He looked back out at the sea, over a family that had set up a ring toss on the beach, their jovial laughter contrasting with the situation between the three of them. “There’s a part of me that wants to hold on to that feeling your uncle has right now, because letting it go would allow the possibility that I might forget what we had. But the agony of holding on is exhausting, and sometimes I just want to forget all of it. I’m trying to make a plan for my life. To work to rebuild it. But it feels like I keep mentally falling down whenever I stand up. So I get what your uncle is dealing with.”

  “I think moving on only means that you’re allowing yourself to be okay.” She smiled up at this man she barely knew but felt completely comfortable talking to. “You’ll never forget,” she said, thinking of her love for Aunt Clara. “You’ll find more happiness if you allow yourself to look for it.” She wasn’t sure where that advice had come from. It felt like Aunt Clara was giving her the words to say.

  Gavin kept his eyes on the rippling surf.

  “There’s no rush, though. Right now, we’re here to look at photographs. Why don’t we focus on that? Let’s show Uncle Hank the pictures we took. I’d love to see your shots.”

  Gavin nodded, took in a steadying breath, and put his hand on Hallie’s back to lead her inside. She didn’t mind their closeness at all. It felt kind of nice to be the strong one for once.

  When they got back to the table, Uncle Hank had nearly finished his cup of coffee. Maggie replaced it with another and took their orders. Hallie lightened the mood by mentioning what she and Gavin had been up to at Starlight Cottage.

  She leaned over and turned the screen of her camera toward Uncle Hank. “Tell me the ones you like the best,” she said.

  Uncle Hank’s face lit up when he saw her picture of the front porch rocking chair. But that wasn’t all she had. She’d taken pictures of the lighthouse, the shimmering water as it rushed under the dock, the stone path leading to the guesthouse… Hundreds of shots of the house at Firefly Beach. She had an unusual feeling as she clicked through those images of the place that had changed her in so many ways. It had been the house where she’d seen true love for the first time, between her aunt and uncle; it had been the place that had given her security and happiness when her dad left them; and it had been there to watch her grow into a woman. Now it was changing her again. This was what was meant for her. The idea had bobbed around in her uncertainty for a while, but the more she leaned in to this talent she’d found, the more right it felt and the bigger it got in her head.

  While they talked about her photography, Uncle Hank had life in his eyes, a glimmer of what used to be present all the time. She was glad she’d brought him out today, but one thing had happened that she’d never expected. Hallie had comforted both Gavin and Uncle Hank by herself, without leaning on anyone for support. Hallie was starting to get some of her old strength back.

  SIXTEEN

  Uncle Hank was walking better today. He had a slight spring in his step after their time out yesterday, but Hallie still gave him her arm for support as he headed downstairs at Starlight Cottage. Sydney had gone out with Mama and Robby. They’d taken advantage of Hallie’s offer to stay with Uncle Hank and they’d gone to the park to let Robby play, so the house was empty.

  After Uncle Hank’s nap, having lumbered his way to the first floor on Hallie’s arm, he paused in the entryway to catch his breath from the journey downstairs. The early afternoon sunlight filtered in from the glass-paned front door, reaching across the hardwoods.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  Uncle Hank shook his head, contemplative. “Lunch yesterday was good. I enjoyed it,” he said, allowing himself a small smile.

  “Me too.”

  It seemed like he needed a minute, so they loitered there in the hallway, the silence louder to her than their laughter had been over the years. Uncle Hank sent a quick look through the living room doorway, over to the piano that sat in the corner, the top down, like a neglected family member. The old Steinway had been in the center of so many wonderful memories and now it sat unused, abandoned, the keys hidden from view by the dust-covered fallboard.

  She gave Uncle Hank a look that she knew, despite her attempt to hide it, told him how much she missed hearing him play. To Hallie’s complete surprise, he began to make his way over to it. He sat down slowly on the bench, lifted the fallboard, then lined his fingers up on the keys, resting his right thumb on middle C, which was the only key she remembered from when he’d tried to teach her as a girl.

  Hitting each note individually, intentionally giving space for thought between them, he began a slow, sad song that she didn’t recognize. She sat down beside him while he continued. His fingers seemed bulkier than they used to, but the sound was still fluid as he picked up the pace. As she tried to decipher the tune, he stopped the song right in the middle and shut the fallboard.

  “When I enjoy myself, I forget for a moment that she’s gone,” he said. “In those instances, I feel like myself again, and I haven’t felt like myself since before she got sick. I don’t like it when it happens because it seems like she’s right in the next room, and when I realize she isn’t, it hurts all over again.” His voice broke.

  Hallie put her head on his shoulder. “I think you should read her letter,” she said gently.

  “I can’t just yet.” He leaned on the piano to steady himself and Hallie sat up. “I’m still tired. I’d like to sit down.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Let me help you to a chair.”

  * * *

  I hope the music is coming along, Hallie texted Ben.

  When he didn’t respond, she put her phone in her lap and looked out at the clouds moving in. The air coming off the water was cooler ahead of the storm that was headed their way. Late afternoon rain was one of the things she remembered most about summers at Firefly Beach. Aunt Clara would stay out on the porch until the rain would force her inside. She’d get board games and decks of cards, books and puzzles, spreading them along the floor, the vanilla scent of candles floating through the air as they all giggled and chatted during their games.

  Everyone was still gone, and after a few hours in his chair, Uncle Hank had wanted to rest where he could be more comfortable, so she’d assisted him back upstairs. He’d barely made it to his room—it had taken all of Hallie’s strength to get him to his bed—so Hallie decided to rest, herself. She’d chosen t
o sit outside in the gazebo alone. She didn’t get much respite, however; scanning the coastline every few minutes to make sure she was actually alone. It was really hard to stay positive without Ben there. And she had so much to tell him about her photography and the design ideas she had to accompany the photos. Not to mention, she’d like to know what was going on with the two of them.

  She held her phone up and typed, I miss you.

  Immediately, this time, the bubbles appeared.

  I miss you too, he returned. I’m just super busy.

  She texted back, I hope it’s productive-busy! Call me when you get a chance.

  Okay.

  “The wind is picking up,” Sydney said from down the dock, pulling Hallie’s attention to her sister, who was walking toward her with Robby. He gripped a piece of paper in his little hand as it waved wildly with every gust.

  When they reached Hallie, Robby climbed up onto her lap. “I made this for Ben,” he said. “It’s the two of us playing football.”

  A skinny child, Robby wasn’t built for football, and he’d gotten hurt the first time he’d tried to play in the recreational league, so Sydney had urged him toward baseball, but he still loved the game. Having been a college quarterback, Ben had the skills to teach Robby how to play, but he was also gentle enough to keep him from getting injured. They spent many Saturdays together watching Robby’s favorite teams on television. Ben had taught Robby the names and intricacies of various plays before he’d even learned the entire alphabet. As the team broke from their lineup to execute a play, a player running around the end of the formation, Ben would say, “What’s that?”

  At four years old, Robby jumped up and called out the name of the play: “Jet Sweep!”

  “I was just texting Ben. He’s still really busy. I’ll bet he’d like to see your drawing when he gets back,” Hallie told Robby.

  “He said we’d play, but then he had to leave.” Robby looked up at her with disappointment in his eyes. “I brought my football and everything.”