Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing both women’s attention as they looked out to sea. No one stayed in the water when lightning approached.
“That’s it for me. I’m done for today,” Linnea admitted.
“Before you go, I want you to meet someone.” Carson looked around and called out, “Pandora!”
Following her gaze, Linnea saw the brown-haired woman she’d noticed on the water earlier. There were far fewer female surfers, so they were easier to remember. She was in conversation with, of all people, Gordon. He had just rolled in from his wave. They both turned toward Carson’s call. Gordon spotted Linnea, and recognition flared. He waved again. She flushed, though she didn’t know why, and smiled.
The woman called Pandora bid him farewell, then walked toward them in a long-legged, confident stride. She wore a full wet suit with a design at the waist that resembled a corset. Her braid was undone and she was raking her hands through her long brown hair as she walked. Linnea noticed that every man she passed had his eyes glued to her, and the woman knew it.
“Linnea, come meet Pandora,” Carson said. “She’s visiting from England. We’re related in a very, very distant way, but decided we’d hang out simply because we like each other.”
Pandora laughed at that odd introduction and held out her hand. “Linnea. Such a pretty name,” she said in her clipped British accent.
“I was named after the Swedish botanist Linnaeus. My mother’s mad for gardening.”
“So is Granny James,” Pandora said. “When she’s here, she’s pining for her garden in England. When in England, she pines for the ocean. So basically, all she does is complain, whichever house she lives in.”
They all laughed, and Linnea felt that immediate sense that she liked Pandora. “How long will you be staying?”
“Indefinitely,” Pandora replied with a blithe shrug of her shoulders.
“Pandora is in the enviable position of not having any commitments tugging at her sleeve.” Carson said this with a genuine smile.
“Sounds heavenly.”
“It’s not as heavenly as it may sound. I’m a ship without a rudder,” Pandora said. “I assume you live here?”
“On Sullivan’s,” Linnea replied.
“Fabulous. That’s where I’m living. With Granny James. We should get together.”
“I’d like that.” She wondered how well Pandora knew Gordon.
“Carson has your number?” Pandora asked, looking at Carson for confirmation.
Carson nodded, then asked Linnea, “You’re not staying with Cara?”
“No, I’m living with my folks. On Sullivan’s. But if you call her, she’ll give you my number.”
Pandora laughed. “It’s all very convoluted when we aren’t carrying our phones. But let’s get in touch. I’ve been here a week and I’m already getting bored. There must be a party in this city somewhere.”
“I just took you to a party,” Carson said with a hint of reproach.
Pandora rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re all married. I’m dying for a good party filled with eligible young men.” She wiggled her brows. “And women. I can’t very well hang out at a bar by myself.” She looked pointedly at Linnea. “You’re not married…?”
“No!” Linnea answered with a short laugh. “Hardly.”
“Excellent. I think we’re going to be fast friends.” Pandora flashed a winning smile. Thunder rumbled again, louder. More people were picking up their boards and heading off the beach. Pandora said, “I must get my board. Carson, are you coming?”
“See you soon, I hope,” Carson said to Linnea. “Now that I know you’re back, we’ll invite you to dinner at Sea Breeze. Harper holds the best gatherings.”
Pandora rolled her eyes again. “Marrieds…”
Linnea laughed, buoyed by the prospect of a new friend. She lifted her board and was heading out when she passed Mickey. He waved her over.
“I saw that shit out there,” he said with a flash of annoyance in his eyes.
“No worries. It happens,” Linnea said. “Great seeing you again, by the way.”
“Don’t be a stranger. How long are you here for this time?”
“I’m back home. Permanently.”
“Really?” Mickey seemed pleased. “You left California?”
“Yeah, it was time.”
* * *
MICKEY SEARCHED HER face but didn’t press. Then his expression changed as he spotted someone in the distance. “Hold on,” he said, then trotted away. Linnea turned and saw that he was heading toward the redheaded woman who had cut her off in the ocean. Squinting, she saw it was Annabelle, the woman she’d gone to school with. A mix of emotions flashed through her—surprise, anger, then apprehension as an angry Mickey reamed her out. Annabelle stood, openmouthed and wide-eyed, as Mickey spoke to her with an angry swipe of his arm. Then he turned his back and walked away, leaving Annabelle staring after him.
“My God, what did you tell her?” Linnea asked as he returned.
His handsome face was flushed with anger. “I told her that this is a friendly beach and we don’t take to kooks. Hell, she’s obviously a beginner out of her depth out there. She shouldn’t be out today. But if she is, she’s got to learn the rules.”
“And you taught her one. Appreciate it.”
He snorted. “My pleasure.”
The wind gusted, tossing sand into the air. They both squinted.
“Time to go!” Mickey called out and bent to pick up his board. “See ya.”
Linnea picked up her backpack and followed at a smart pace as the wind whistled, shaking the sea oats and spraying cold raindrops on her face. By the time she made it to the truck, the neighboring pickup with the two surfers was already gone. She hoisted her board into the back and was turning to rush to the door when she spotted Annabelle trotting her way.
“Linnea,” she called out, jogging closer. She was out of breath and water dripped from her hair down her forehead. Linnea held her breath, waiting for the onslaught of righteous anger.
Annabelle arrived and her face appeared contrite.
“Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I just wanted to tell you… I’m sorry. For cutting you off.”
Linnea was nonplussed by the apology.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it wasn’t. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m not that good”—she frowned—“as you probably figured out. I didn’t know I broke some rule and cut you off. I just blindly took the wave. I’m sorry,” Annabelle said again.
There was none of the self-righteous attitude from earlier, only a sincere apology. Compassion came easily.
“I’m guessing Mickey explained the drop-in rule.”
Annabelle sighed with embarrassment. “Oh yeah. He’s like the big kahuna.”
“It’s his beach,” Linnea said simply.
“I really made a great first impression.” She paused, then asked with a pained expression, “I… Will you teach me the rules?”
Linnea didn’t know what to say.
Annabelle added in a rush, “I mean, I don’t want Mickey yelling at me again.” She made a face, and they both laughed. “And I sure as hell don’t want to be called a kook.”
Thunder cracked overhead, causing both girls to startle.
“Sure. Another day,” Linnea said, looking up at the nasty sky.
Annabelle smiled, and sunshine shone in her eyes. “Cool. I’d like that.”
Both women squealed and ran for their cars as rain burst from the skies in a typical island soaker. Linnea scooped her keys from under the wheel, climbed into the cab of the huge truck, and slammed the door. The rain thundered on the metal roof and water streamed down her face as she reached for the towel. She fired up the mighty engine, flicked on the wipers, and slowly joined the line of traffic heading away from the beach. She was tired, wet, but ebullient.
Let it rain! She’d had a great morning out on the beach, and she’d just met two possible new friends.
>
Chapter Eight
The southeastern United States is one of only two large loggerhead rookeries in the world. The second is Oman in the Arabian Sea. Loggerheads nesting in Georgia and South Carolina and North Carolina make up the Northern Recovery Unit, which is genetically distinct from loggerheads nesting in Florida and other parts of the world.
THE HOUSE THAT Palmer was building sat proudly on the more desirable section of Ocean Boulevard, farther from popular, noisy Front Beach and close to quiet Breach Inlet. The mansions here were bigger and had larger properties, thanks in part to the accretion of sand from the northern end of the island.
The house location was all the more attractive because it bordered the two open lots put into conservation by Russell Bennett years earlier. Instead of manicured lawns, the dunes were bursting with wildflowers: brilliant-orange Indian blanket, pink swamp rose mallow, bright-red coral bean, tickseed Coreopsis, and Cara’s favorite, the sweet yellow primrose for which her mother had named the cottage.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Cara said, her neck craning from left to right. “Inspired.”
“Thanks, sister mine,” Palmer said, tucking his fingertips into the rear pockets of his khakis. “I’ve had a lifetime to prepare for it. All the ideas I’ve had—only the good ones, mind you—are in this house.”
“The turret?” she asked, raising her arms to indicate the two-story turret that housed the home’s entrance and the staircase to the second floor. “Where did that inspiration come from? The Citadel?”
“Especially the turret.” He chuckled, low in his chest. “Do you remember Mama used to say someday she’d build a turret porch on the beach house?”
“No,” Cara said with surprise. “I never knew that. Are you sure?”
“Yep. Just because she didn’t tell you doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he said. “I was the older child, after all. The only son with the great Rutledge name to carry on. And remember, you were gone for a very long time.”
“True enough.” Fascinated by this information about their mother, she pursued it. “Where was she going to put it?”
“Over on the right side of the porch,” Palmer said, pointing. “She said she wanted to sit under a roof, outdoors but out of the sun. She even got some estimates. I reckon they were more than she cared to spend. So she had a pergola built instead.”
Cara took a breath, remembering. “Brett built it.”
“Yes,” Palmer said soberly. Then with a smirk added, “A couple of times, if I recall. The hurricanes like to tear that thing down.”
“Not the last two hurricanes. He built the final one to last.”
Palmer nodded. “Too bad he didn’t live to see it.”
Cara couldn’t reply, feeling the cruelty of that irony. Turning, she walked into the house’s living room where light poured in from a wall of windows facing the ocean. She loved the feel of the room. It felt like hope. She wrapped her arms around herself, tightly, and blinked away the tears as she stared out into the magnificent vista of ocean, as far as she could see.
“I’m going to build a pool out there,” Palmer said, coming to her side. “A raised one, right smack-dab in the middle of the deck.” He put one hand on her shoulder, tenderly, the other arm stretched out against the panorama. “Can’t you see it? The house will border the pool on both sides, like arms cradling a baby. That deck will connect both wings. You’ll see it from every room.”
“It’s perfect,” Cara said softly, and meant it. “I’m so proud of you.” She reached up to hold tight his arm. “You did it. After all those years of dreaming… and scheming.”
“It’s not done yet,” he said.
She dropped his arm and faced him.
“In fact,” Palmer said, “it’s coming in a bit high. Julia’s choices are top-of-the-line. Of course,” he added with furrowed brows. “But they’re right for the house. I can’t go cheap on tile and appliances. The house deserves the best.”
“Don’t go too high,” Cara warned. “You still need to make money on this house.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said.
“You’ll let me know if you run into trouble, won’t you?”
“Sure, sure,” he said with his typical bravado. He looked around the house, his chest expanding with pride. “I think Mama would’ve liked it.”
“I know she would have. It’s both creative and elegant. Who knows, she might have bought it!”
“Mama?” Palmer’s eyes kindled and he shook his head. “Nah. Nothing would’ve pried her loose from that beach house. Besides, she was too cheap. She wouldn’t have spent the money. And after all these years, I found out she was sitting on a small gold mine.”
“You know she wouldn’t touch that money. She would’ve had to tell us where it came from.”
“True, true.”
“All’s for the best.” Cara looked at her brother. He was nattily dressed in pressed slacks and a polo shirt, befitting a real estate maven. His hair was neatly trimmed, his skin tanned and close-shaven. She knew her mother would be proud of him too. “Speaking of the beach house, I could use your advice.”
Palmer’s head tilted and his eyes focused on her. Cara didn’t often ask her brother for advice. “Shoot.”
“David and I were discussing where we should live after we get married. We’re agreed that we’ll stay on either Isle of Palms or Sullivan’s Island.”
Palmer nodded in acknowledgment. “Makes sense.”
“I’d always thought… expected… that we’d live in the beach house. But David thinks it’s too small for us. He wants to find something bigger.”
“No surprise there.”
“But, Palmer, I don’t want to move. You know how I feel about the beach house. I like living there. It’s Mama’s home. It’s… my home.”
“Hell, I’ve been telling you to sell that claptrap of a house for years. You can build another house on the same lot. Hey, I’ll build it for you!”
She saw the excitement of a new job shine in his eyes and was quick to dispel it. “I’ve told you a million times, I’ll never tear it down. I love it.”
“Because of Mama,” he finished for her. Then in a lower voice he leaned closer and asked, “Has she come back? Her ghost, I mean?”
Cara shook her head and felt again the pang of disappointment. “No.” Then she laughed, thinking of Linnea.
“What?”
She told him about the night she’d thought Linnea coming from the beach was the ghost of their mother.
Palmer laughed and stroked his jaw. “Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree with that one.”
“In every way. One of the joys of getting older is watching how the family genes are expressed in the next generation.” She studied her brother’s face. “She looks more like Mama every day.” Then she pointed at her brother and said, “So do you.”
Palmer’s brows rose as he laughed. “Thanks a lot.”
“I meant that as a compliment. You’ve lost weight and your face is thinner.” She poused, studying his clear blue eyes. “You have her eyes,” she said seriously. “So does Linnea.” She paused. “Cooper is all Daddy. In looks,” she clarified.
“Yeah, Julia got the genes right,” he chided.
Cara held back her laugh. She knew he was referring to the age-old complaint that their mother had mixed up the gene distribution: Palmer got the smaller, blond genes from their mother and Cara got the tall, dark genes from their father.
“I haven’t had a visit from Mama since you were with me… what? Two years ago?” Cara said. Seeing her brother nod, she added, “Not even a whiff of her perfume.”
“Then she’s gone to heaven, God rest her soul.” Neither brother nor sister spoke, each lost in their personal thoughts. Then Palmer said, “Cara, Mama doesn’t expect you to keep that house like some sort of shrine.”
Cara didn’t respond.
“What was that she told you?”
Cara blew out a stream of air.
She could still hear her mother’s voice in her ear. “The beach house is a state of mind more than a place.”
“Exactly,” Palmer said. “Honey, I’m done trying to get you to sell it. But at least rent it.”
“That’s what David suggests.”
“Hey, sister, I know,” he said with a light in his eyes. He spread out his arms. “Buy this place!”
Cara let her gaze float across the wide-open airy rooms. The thought of living here was tempting.
“It sure is pretty,” Cara conceded. “But it’s too big. And too expensive. You need to make money on this house. No family discounts.”
“True, that.”
“We’ll find a place.” She assured herself as much as a Palmer. “I’m just not in a hurry.” She walked toward the front door. “Another reason I don’t want to leave is Flo.”
“What’s that ol’ battle-ax got to do with things?”
Cara took no offense. She knew that Palmer loved Flo, perhaps not as much as she did, but enough that he cared.
“It’s her mental health,” she confided. “Her Alzheimer’s is progressing fast now. She can’t be trusted to cook, she needs help with personal care. Her personality is changing too. One minute she seems herself, the next she gets so confused and angry. Emmi can’t leave her alone for long. We’re exploring hiring a nurse temporarily until we find a good memorycare place.”
Palmer rubbed his jaw in thought. “I’m right sorry to hear that. It’s hard for me to think of Florence Prescott as anything but a sharp old bird. She was the only woman I knew, other than you”—he bowed her way—“who could give Daddy what-for. I was a sniveling little coward. That alone earned my undying gratitude. I have to tell you, that woman saved me from some scrapes back in the day.”
“All of us,” Cara agreed.
Palmer scratched his jaw in thought. “Tell you what. I have an old college buddy whose mama had the same situation. You recall Dustin Devon?” he asked, looking at her. “One of the Summerville Devons?”
Cara shook her head. Charleston was more of a small town than a city. Folks grew up in the city and had relatives and friends spread out for miles. It was common to find out where one was from and who one knew. Discovering degrees of separation was both a pleasure and a means of connection.
On Ocean Boulevard Page 9