The lights were on inside, but Linnea didn’t see anyone beyond the windows. She set her luggage at the foot of the stairs, then climbed up and let herself in, using the keypad she’d convinced her mother to install before she’d left. She and Cooper were forever losing their keys and now that it was the family’s full-time home, who knew whether previous renters might have kept the key? Back in the day, Linnea remembered how they used to leave the door unlocked, old-school. Sadly, times had changed everywhere. Even in sleepy island towns.
She closed the door quietly, then stood in the foyer and looked around, her mouth agape. While the outside of the house was woefully bland, the interior was very different, its sophisticated, bright, and utterly charming décor all the more surprising by contrast. This was all her mother’s doing. Once they’d moved in, Julia had transformed the rabbit warren of rooms into a spacious, open floor plan. The creamy shiplap walls, polished heart-pine floors, and expansive, white marble and wood kitchen made one feel welcome and instantly at home. As in Lovie’s beach house, a great expanse of French windows was opposite the door and, when the sun shone, allowed a breathtaking view of the maritime shrubs and a peek at the great ocean beyond. Now, the night acted as a black cloth over the windows.
Linnea’s mother loved splashes of color. She’d decorated this house mostly in white, but the red oriental rugs popped, and the art, like Lovie’s, was local. Over the fireplace hung a large painting, its orbs of color revealing Tradd Street in Charleston—and the family house. Linnea remembered that Julia had been ridiculously excited to see the Rutledge House in the artwork and bought it on the spot.
Julia had been a fixture in Charleston’s social scene, a member of many important committees. Of course, she could stay on some if she chose, but Linnea wondered how the change of address was changing her mother’s involvement with the city, and how she was coping with it.
Julia had loved the Charleston house, doted on it. The beach house had always been just the family’s vacation place, one that was usually rented. Now it was home. Well, Linnea thought as she looked around the beautifully redecorated beach house, clearly her mother had put her stamp on this project. She’d brought her favorite pieces, but kept the spirit of the island rather than try to make it an annex of Charleston. But Linnea knew that decorating a house was not the same as loving it. Only a home spoke to you. It was a private conversation, with no reference to monetary value or importance of address. It was more intuition, even instinct. Like falling in love.
Unhurried, Linnea made her way across the living room, noting the photographs, none of them recent, housed in silver frames sitting proudly on the fireplace mantel of herself, Cooper, Palmer, Lovie, and Julia’s parents. Her grandfather, Stratton Rutledge, was conspicuously absent. Fresh flowers sat on a table beside a spotless crystal bowl filled with shells, and everywhere was the gleam of polish.
Her parents’ bedroom door was open. She heard the television, then saw the gray and white flickering of light in the hall. She approached the door and peeked in.
Her mother and father were propped up with pillows in bed, watching the television. Her father was wearing glasses that were slipping down his nose. He looked tan, slimmer in his madras pajamas, his hair a bit thinner at the top; she was glad to see him looking healthy.
Her mother, in a pale-blue silk nightgown with cap sleeves, was more engrossed in the magazine on her lap than the television. Her hair was in the same style she’d worn for as long as Linnea could remember, blond, curved under to just touching the shoulders. The helmet, Cooper called it. Unlike Palmer, Julia was not tan, and Linnea wondered if this was because she always wore a broad-brimmed hat in the sun, or if she was not going outdoors as she once did to work in her garden.
“Hello?” Linnea called out as she stepped into the room.
Her parents’ heads swung her way and each face bore an expression of surprise mingled with delight.
“There she is!” Palmer exclaimed in a booming voice. He pushed back the blanket to rise.
“Linnea!” Julia exclaimed at the same time.
“No, don’t get up,” Linnea said, putting her hand out. “I just wanted to pop in and tell you I made it home. I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“Heavens, nothing to be sorry for. We were waiting up,” Julia said.
Linnea came to her mother’s side of the bed, bending to kiss her cheek. She caught the scent of her floral perfume.
“Goodness gracious, what are you wearing?”
Linnea opened her arms to show off the navy-and-white-striped shirt with a bow and her high-waisted navy pants. “Vintage nineteen-forties. You don’t recognize them?”
She heard her father bark out a laugh.
“That’s before my time,” Julia said archly.
“Not by much, darlin’,” Palmer chided.
Her mother waved the comment away and let her gaze linger on her daughter, her face soft with love. “Long trip?” When Linnea nodded, Julia tapped the side of her mattress. “You must be tired.”
Linnea came to sit on the bed beside her like old times. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d hopped into bed with her parents to share what had happened during her day, or even after a date.
“Yeah, I am. But don’t forget we’re three hours earlier in California.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Linnea assured her mother. “I mostly want a shower.” Linnea almost added, “And a glass of wine,” but remembering her father’s sobriety, caught herself in time.
“Hold on now,” her father said, reducing the volume on the television. “Don’t go rushing off. You just got here. Tell us how you are.”
Linnea sighed inwardly and felt her toes curl in a crunch. She took a breath and began to create her narrative.
“I’m great,” she said with emphasis. “I had a wonderful time in San Francisco. I experienced so much, learned so much. I’m really glad I went.”
Her father appeared doubtful. “Then why’d you come home? If you loved it so much.”
Linnea shrugged. “It was time.”
“Uh-huh,” Palmer drawled. “And… you broke up with this John fella.”
Linnea saw her mother’s attention sharpen at the mention of John, could almost feel her radiating tension.
She trod carefully. Her father had been furious that she’d left town to live with a man, much less a man he didn’t think worthy of her. Even after two years, the way he said “this John fella” revealed what he thought of him.
“Yes, Daddy, you know we broke up,” she said with exaggeration. Then, more sincerely, “It was hard, I’m not going to lie. John’s a great guy. I’ll always care for him. But we decided we’re better off as friends.”
Her father snorted derisively. “That man was no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond. You’re better off.”
“Friends?” Julia said doubtfully. “How do you remain friends with someone you lived with after you break up? Isn’t that like a divorce? Aren’t there hard feelings? Things to sort out?”
Linnea squelched her hurt, remembering the night John had told her that he didn’t want to get married. Maybe not ever.
“Of course there are. At first we tried to work through them. She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant when, in fact, the discussion was bruising. Most everything was his at the condo,” she continued, “so there wasn’t any splitting up of property or anything like that. It was a clean split, as breakups go. But the point is,” she said more firmly, “that I knew it was over and I wanted to come home. I missed Charleston. I missed you,” she told her mother and dad. She saw their worry flee, replaced by affection.
“And we missed you, honey,” her father said, his eyes misting. “Come here, darlin’.”
Linnea hurried around the bed to enter his open arms. She felt her daddy’s arms around her, strong again and safe.
“We’re glad you came to your senses and came home,” he said. “Where you belong.”
&n
bsp; “Yes,” her mother echoed, nodding. “I never felt good about you being clear across the country. In California…” She said the words as though it were Siberia.
Linnea sat back, holding on to her composure by a thin thread. “I’m here now, Mama.” She looked at her father and changed the subject. “Oh, Daddy, I saw the house you’re building on Isle of Palms. It’s wonderful! Really beautiful.”
He scrunched up his face. “You saw the house? When?”
Linnea realized she’d just put her foot in her mouth. “Oh, on the way here,” she said. “The Uber driver took the Isle of Palms exit. We were driving along Palm Boulevard and I realized I was just blocks from Aunt Cara’s, so I directed the driver there. I stopped in to say hello.”
Julia tilted her head and asked in a wounded tone, “You stopped at Cara’s before you came home?”
“Mama, you weren’t even home. You were out, remember? Like I said, I was driving right by.”
“How is my little sister?” asked Palmer.
Linnea smiled. “She looks great. Happy. Planning the wedding and all.” She paused. Now it was her turn to look at him askance. “Seems weird you haven’t seen her. I mean, you’re asking me? I just arrived from California.”
He straightened against the pillows. “We talk and all. On the phone. You know how it is. You can live right next door to someone and not see them all that often. We’re all busy.”
“But aren’t you building that house together? I’d think you’d be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Nah,” he replied, shaking his head. “She put up the land. I’m doing all the construction. It’s better we don’t have too many cooks in the kitchen.”
“I think she should be more involved,” Julia said. Her glance lifted from her hands to meet Palmer’s eyes. “After all, she has a lot invested in this project.”
Palmer’s eyes flashed at Julia before he said with condescension, “Cara’s got plenty on her plate with this wedding. She doesn’t need to bother with the construction.”
“You better not tell her not to worry her pretty little head over business,” Linnea warned. “Not if you intend to keep yours.”
Palmer rubbed his jaw to hide his smile. “You’re right about that. My sister can be a ballbuster.” He moved his hand to point at her. “And you’re growing up to be just like her.”
“Why, thank you,” Linnea quipped.
Palmer guffawed, shaking his head. “Rutledge women. I love ’em, but I’m not sure I can live with ’em.”
“Thank you very much,” Julia piped in.
“Not you, honey. You’re made from a different piece of cloth,” he said, patting her thigh.
Julia made a face, as though unsure if she was pleased with that comment.
“Don’t you worry about Cara,” Palmer said. “She’s going to do good with her investment. Real good. I’ll see to that. Besides, she’s not going to have to worry about money, what with marrying ol’ Mr. Deep Pockets.”
“What?” Linnea asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, I knew he was well-to-do.…”
“Honey, there’s rich,” Palmer said with eyebrows lifted, “and then there’s rich.”
“Don’t be crude,” Julia said. “We don’t talk about other people’s money.”
A low laugh rumbled in Palmer’s chest. “The hell we don’t.”
Catching the tone of this exchange, Linnea was suddenly eager to retreat to her room. She had a strong instinct for self-preservation. “Well, what little I’ve seen of the house looks beautiful. I’m proud of you, Daddy. I hope you’ll walk me through it.”
“Course I will,” Palmer said proudly. “Anytime. I’m real pleased with the way it is turning out. It’s going to be a showplace.”
“It’d better be,” Julia said under her breath.
Palmer cast her a look of irritation.
“Well,” Linnea said, rising to her feet. “It’s late and I think we’re all ready for sleep. Let’s catch up in the morning. I just want you to know how much I love you, and how happy I am to be home.”
“Good night, baby,” Palmer said when Linnea bent to kiss his cheek.
She was relieved to smell the soap on his skin and the faint scent of toothpaste—no alcohol. She rose and scooted around the bed to her mother’s open arms.
“Aw, good night, precious,” her mother said, lifting her face to receive Linnea’s kiss.
“Now, tomorrow,” her father called after her, in that fatherly tone that implied he was the man of the house and going to take charge, “we can talk about what you have in mind for a job. I have a few ideas to share with you.”
Linnea did not react as she had years earlier. She and her father had gone a few rounds, volleying arguments, whenever she took a stand that countered his. Most of the time, he’d won. Which had made her insistence on moving to California such an epic move. Tonight, she reminded herself, the goal was not to fight but to control the narrative.
“That’s great, Daddy. I’ve already sent out feelers to several firms and nonprofits in the area that I’m interested in. My plan is to spend one day to unpack and catch my breath. Then I’m going to begin follow-up calls. I’m confident I’ll get something soon. You’ll see. I’ve got it all under control,” she added in an upbeat tone.
Palmer stared back at her, somewhat dazed by her gung-ho bravado. “Good,” he said. “Real good.”
“Take some time to call your friends,” her mother advised. “I’m sure they’ve missed you too.”
“I will. Good night,” Linnea sang out as she walked to the door. She closed the door softly behind her, and paused, counting slowly to ten. She felt as if she’d just walked off a stage and was waiting for her next cue.
She crossed the living room to the front door to retrieve her bags. She put her hands on her hips and exhaled, then kicked off her heels. With her father in bed, she had no choice but to lug that damn suitcase up the long flight of stairs herself. Again.
Chapter Five
Dewees Island is a picturesque barrier island off of Charleston accessible only by boat. The island is private, consisting of just residential properties and a wildlife preserve. No cars or stores are allowed on this pristine, protected island.
CARA AWOKE TO the sound of laughing. Sunshine filtered through the linen drapes at the tall windows as she pried open her eyes. Blinking in the light, she followed the sound to the bedroom floor. Sitting on the blue Persian rug, in shafts of morning light, were David and Hope. David was stretched out, his long legs in a straight line, his head cradled in one palm. Hope was perched on her knees across from him, her palms flat on the rug as she leaned forward to better see the flash card he was holding up.
“D!” Hope said with enthusiasm.
“That’s right,” David replied, then turned the card. “And what’s this word?”
“Dog,” Hope exclaimed.
“Very good! What does the dog say?”
“Arf-arf!”
David clapped, while Hope gigged with pleasure.
“More, Daddy!”
Cara felt as though her heart would melt. This was the first time she’d heard Hope call David “Daddy.” And he was her daddy. She looked forward to the day they made it legal and he adopted her. David was so good with Hope. Cara knew she was blessed to find a man who loved not only her, but her child as well.
She’d never expected to be a mother. She hadn’t found love until she was forty. She’d left a corporate job in a big city to settle on Isle of Palms with a lowcountry man—Brett Beauchamps—a life change, but a welcome one. They’d joked that they’d both taken a long time to grow up, or that they’d waited for each other.
After they married, they both wanted children. They’d tried for years, spending their savings on fertility treatments. When at last they’d conceded they’d never conceive a child of their own, Cara wanted to adopt.
Brett did not. He was atypically stubborn about his decision. It had been the single largest obstacle in their marr
iage. Brett had been a doting uncle to Linnea and Cooper and a second father to Toy Legare’s daughter, Lovie. In general, he was a warm, loving man. Cara had wrestled in agony with why this kindly man refused to adopt and love a child of their own.
Yet Cara was a realist. She couldn’t pretend that he’d fall in love with an adopted child simply because she wanted him to. Her therapist had advised her to let it go. She’d explained that a man who went into a relationship with children expecting not to like fatherhood probably never would. And, an agency wouldn’t place a child in a home where that child might feel his or her rejection on a daily basis—and such a child wouldn’t grow to love Brett, and would likely grow angry with Cara as well.
When Brett died, Cara’s dream of having a child had died with him. So, years later, Hope’s arrival came all the more as a surprise. Her given name was Esperanza—Hope in Spanish—and it was appropriate. Hope had been her miracle. Cara didn’t expect another.
She wasn’t looking for love. As a new mother, Cara had told herself that even if she’d found a man she thought attractive, he wouldn’t be interested in taking on a child who wasn’t his own. Most men her age had already raised children and were ready to retire, relax, travel. The last thing they wanted to do was change diapers and babysit.
Sometimes, however, love finds you when you are not even looking for it.
David was Cara’s second miracle. Not only did he love her, he loved Hope. He had only one child, Heather. He’d confessed to Cara that he’d spent most of his time as a father growing his law practice and little of it with his daughter. His first wife, Leslie, had borne that responsibility joyfully. Yet he’d always felt he’d missed out. Being a grandfather to Rory, and now to infant Leslie, was an unexpected joy late in his life. The prospect of having Hope as a daughter was his second chance.
Cara lay on the bed a moment longer, watching the two people she loved most in the world interact with each other. “Good morning,” she called out. “Is that a private game or can anyone play?”
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