On Ocean Boulevard

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “Hope looked precious sprinkling the flower petals, didn’t she? So serious.”

  David nodded. “I think she felt as special in her fancy dress as Emmi did.”

  Cara laughed, remembering. Someday, she hoped, Emmi would find love again too.

  “I have to admit,” he said, “while I thought I wanted the grand wedding, I don’t think any wedding could have surpassed this one. Palmer did us up proud.”

  “And think, no one could have jumped in the pool at Lowndes Grove,” she said, thinking how Bo had jumped in, fully dressed, on a dare.

  “At least he waited until after the ceremony,” David quipped.

  Images of the wedding played through her mind like a movie—the simple ceremony under the arch of flowers officiated by their friend Captain Robert… a trio of musicians playing as Palmer walked her down the makeshift aisle… her bouquet of white roses, the tiered wedding cake, a house full of white and blue hydrangeas. Julia had quietly informed her that all the hydrangeas were going into the garden after the wedding.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Cara shook her head. “Not really. Tired…”

  David rose. “I’ll be right back.”

  Hearing the porch door open a moment later, Cara turned her head to see David cross the deck. In his hand he carried a small blue Tiffany box. She caught her breath. She had no gift for him. David stood before her, looking at the box thoughtfully, then handed it to her.

  “This is my wedding gift to you,” he said with some import. “I didn’t know I’d be giving it to you today.… The wedding was truly a surprise. But I had this gift, well, arranged. Anyway, this is the right moment to give it to you.”

  She took the box in her hand, saw the pretty white Tiffany bow, and looked up into his eyes. “I don’t have a gift for you.”

  He shook his head. “No matter. Open it,” he told her, his eyes full of anticipation. “I’ll explain.”

  Cara gingerly tugged at the ribbon and watched the soft bow slide apart and fall to the ground. The box was bigger than a ring box, too small for a necklace. A bracelet, perhaps? A brooch? She couldn’t imagine what it could be. She lifted off the top and handed it to David. Then, with her fingertips, she lifted the crisp white tissue paper. Nestled inside was a single key. Not a fancy golden facsimile of a key that she would wear around her neck. But a real key. The kind she’d get at any hardware store. Picking it up, she saw that it had the name Schlage on it.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “It’s the key to my heart,” David said.

  She chuckled and closed her fingers around it. “David, you old romantic!”

  His eyes kindled and he took her hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He led her back into the house. They crossed the living room, past the large fireplace, to the entrance hall that was the turret. It had a high ceiling with wood gables that arched dramatically overhead. He went to the front door and opened it. Night had fallen and the sky outside was as dark as black velvet.

  “Where are we going?” she repeated.

  “I think that depends on you,” he said. Reaching to the wall, he flicked on the porch lights. She saw the six rocking chairs of hunter green, the hanging pots of fern, and her favorite red geraniums in big black iron urns by the front door.

  “Do you have the key?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She opened her palm, revealing the metal key.

  “See if it fits.”

  She gave him a questioning glance.

  He didn’t reply.

  Cara bent closer to the door handle and slipped the key into it. The key fit perfectly. When she turned it to the right, the dead bolt came forth.

  “This is the key to the house,” she said, feeling a bit dazed.

  “Yes.”

  She slowly straightened and stared at him, unsure what to say.

  David stood at the open door, his face solemn, his expression hopeful. “I bought this house for you, with no strings attached. It’s yours to do with as you wish. If you want to live here, we will. If you want to sell it, you can. It’s your gift. It’s your choice.”

  “You bought the house?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Last month, Palmer called me. He wasn’t trying to sell me the house,” he hastened to add. “He was in a jam and was asking my advice, friend to friend. He had to put the house on the market, as you well know. We talked about the market, the economy, stocks. He wanted to make the right decision at the right time.”

  Cara listened quietly.

  David reached up to scratch his head. “Now, I knew you liked this house. A lot. You’d said so every time you looked at it—how pretty it was, how much you liked the design.”

  Cara couldn’t deny it. She felt her heart beat faster in anticipation.

  “So, I came to see it with an inspector I know. One of the best in the business. We took a good, hard look. For me, it had to be a solid investment. I have to say, this house is built like a rock. Palmer knows what he’s doing. He was careful, made good choices. And what really sold me, he installed up-to-date hurricane protection.” He looked at her. Neither of them had to remark that, for Cara, who was terrified of hurricanes, that was a salient point. “In my mind, this house was a good investment. There aren’t many lots left on Isle of Palms, and some of the houses have been built so flimsily, the first hard storm will blow them down.”

  “You were the buyer?” Cara asked again, breathless.

  “Yes. But, Cara, I don’t want you to think that I was doing it solely to be Mr. Fix-It again. I’m not forcing the decision on you. If you don’t want it, just say so and we will sell it.” He stepped closer and slipped his arm around her waist. “But frankly, I admit I am hoping you’d like to live here. I fell in love with it the first time I walked through it. I can see living here with you. Raising Hope here. Having family parties. Growing old together. And look,” he added, turning to point to the beach house across the road. “Your beach house is right there. You don’t have to sell it. You shouldn’t. I know that cottage means everything to you. And Emmi is right across the street too. And Flo. You can be near them.”

  She swallowed hard. It was all too perfect.

  “Keep the beach house. Or rent it. Whatever you want. And maybe, when Hope grows up, she’d like to live there.”

  He was warming to the topic. If only he knew she was already swooning.

  “Just think,” he continued, “we can sit on this front porch here and maybe someday watch our children living across the street. And when we get very old and want to downsize, we’ll switch houses, and we can live in the beach house and sit on the porch and watch our grandchildren in this house.” He stretched out his hand, pointing. “I thought I’d extend the pergola to go all the way to the road. Then continue it to the beach house porch. We’d be connected. Two houses, the beach house and this one, side by side on Ocean Boulevard.”

  She was utterly and completely beguiled. She raised her fingers to his lips. “Stop! Yes! I want to live here. You had me at the key.”

  He stood blinking, unsure of his victory. “You want the house?”

  “I do.” She smiled. “Seems I’m saying that a lot today.”

  He took her hand and kissed the ring. “There are still a lot of decisions to make. It’s only a shell. The colors, the drapes, the furniture, of course. All the furniture in here now is rented for staging. It disappears in the morning.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “Except for the bed.”

  She followed his gaze to the hall leading to the master bedroom. “The four-poster?”

  “I bought that. For us.”

  She laughed and shook her head in amazement. “Husband, are we spending the night in this house?”

  “We can.”

  “How did you know I’d say yes?”

  “I didn’t. I hoped.”

  She brought his hand to her mouth and gently kissed his knuckles.
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  “Yes.”

  He took her hand. “Shall we try out our new bed, Mrs. Rutledge-Wyatt?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Loggerhead nests are trending upward, with 2019 being a record year. The nesting females are believed to have been born in the 1980s when stringent nest protection was underway. The number of females suggests even more nests for the future. Obstacles remain, but hope springs eternal.

  CARA LAY IN the big four-poster and watched the morning sun create a prism of color in her diamond. She heard the thump of the plumbing and gush of water as the shower turned on. She sighed, thinking how from this morning forward, listening to her husband dressing would become part of her morning routine.

  She rose and walked to the closet. Her friends had thought of everything. Last night she’d found a lovely white negligee, toiletries, and a change of clothes waiting for her. She slipped on the silk robe and walked at a leisurely pace from the bedroom into the great entrance hall. Sun poured into the house and she looked about as one in a dream. This was her new home, she realized, and felt a giddiness like a child.

  Hurrying to the kitchen, she found fresh ground coffee and orange juice in the fridge. Blessing her friends, she started a pot of drip coffee and poured two glasses of juice. She thought of adding champagne for mimosas, but decided against it. Neither she nor David was a heavy drinker, and she’d had so much champagne the night before.

  Carrying her coffee into the living room, she stood at the breadth of windows and looked out at the brilliance of a morning sky over the ocean. To think she could wake up to this every morning! Suddenly, she spotted a large truck pulling into the driveway bearing the name of the equipment rental company. Behind it was another truck, this one the caterer. She returned to the bedroom to find David drying his hair with a towel.

  “Good morning, wife!”

  “Good morning, husband,” she exclaimed. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. And orange juice.” She gave him a quick kiss but escaped from his grasp. She went to her closet and began stepping into white shorts.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “The caterers are pulling in.”

  He leaned over to peer out the window. “So they are.”

  Cara slipped a shirt over her head, stepped into her sandals, and went out into the hall, raking her hair with her fingertips. She opened the door to the crew. They filed in and David stepped out of the bedroom, freshly shaven and dressed. He took over directing them.

  “Honey, I’m going to run over to the beach house and grab a few things.”

  “Don’t be long,” he said. He reeled her in for a quick kiss and said sotto voce, “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  The sky was crystalline, and she felt the freshness in the morning air that she’d missed during the beastly days of July and August. It was a quick walk across Ocean Boulevard to the beach house. Seeing it with new eyes, she recognized that regardless of how precious it was, the house was small. David would be happier in their new home. But she wouldn’t have sold the beach house. She never could, never would. This sweet cottage was the heart of her mother’s legacy. It carried in its walls the memories of the past, and with them, lessons for the future for all who lived here.

  She climbed up the deck steps, catching the scent of the roses as she approached the door. Opening it a crack, she called out, “Hello?”

  There was no response, save for the immediate chirping of her canary.

  “Hello, sweet boy,” she called to Moutarde on the porch. She spent a few minutes changing his seed and water, talking to him as she did so.

  “Wait till you see your new house,” she told the bird. “You are going to love it. So much sunshine I might have to get you a friend.”

  Feathers floated to the floor as Moutarde jumped from perch to perch, chirping. The canary was in the final days of his molt. He looked silly with his tail feathers missing. She’d have to find the perfect spot for him in the new house.

  She walked toward her bedroom and stopped short. In the air, she caught the scent of jasmine. Her mother’s perfume.

  Cara sucked in her breath. It had been years since she’d felt her mother’s presence. Not since that night two years ago, when she’d reconciled with Palmer. Her mother had never returned, though Cara had waited. Hoped. She thought perhaps her mother rested easy now, and had at last gone to the other side, knowing her children were at peace.

  But now… She inhaled again. The scent was unmistakable. It was her mother’s perfume.

  She stepped into the bedroom doorway and peered in. Hearing a noise, she turned, then put her hand to her throat. From the dim light of the bathroom she saw a figure approach—a woman, small and delicate. As Cara stared, she saw the woman stop.

  Suddenly the lights went on. Cara saw Linnea standing, frozen, her arm outstretched and her hand over the light switch.

  “Oh, my God, you scared me!” Linnea exclaimed, bringing her hands to cover her mouth.

  “Linnea!” Cara put her hand to her heart and began laughing. “I called out.…”

  “I was in the shower. I didn’t hear you.”

  “You gave me a scare too.”

  Linnea giggled. “Let me guess. You thought I was Lovie.…”

  Cara shrugged, her cheeks coloring. “In my defense, the scent of jasmine was overpowering.”

  Linnea came forward to kiss Cara’s cheek. “I hope you don’t mind my staying here last night. You told me I could, anytime… I wanted to give my parents some space. Plus”—she looked around—“I love it here.”

  “You’re always welcome.”

  “What a night!” Linnea said. “A surprise wedding. I can’t believe my parents pulled it off. There were so many times I thought for sure you’d guess. It may have been the best wedding I’ve ever been to. I suppose it’s the first of many coming up.”

  “Are you in the running?”

  “Me?” Linnea shook her head. “No. Not yet. Besides,” she said smugly, “I love my job.” She shrugged impishly. “Who knows? I may never get married.”

  “Stranger things have happened. Look at me. Married twice!” Cara made a face that sent Linnea giggling. “A piece of advice, my dear. Never say never.”

  “I won’t.” Linnea hoisted her towel. “I’d better get dressed. Gordon’s coming by.”

  “Before you rush off,” Cara said, “I should tell you. David and I have bought the new house.”

  Linnea’s face lit up. “Daddy’s house?”

  “The very one. I mean, we have to, right? It’s the site of our wedding. The scene of the crime.”

  Linnea lurched forward to hug her in a girlish squeeze. “I’m so happy for you. It’s perfect! I’m glad we’re keeping the house in the family.” She stepped back, grabbing hold of her towel as it loosened.

  “Speaking of keeping houses in the family…” Cara began. “I’m keeping the beach house. I want to rent it. You wouldn’t know of anyone who’d be interested? I think we can arrange for a very reasonable rent.”

  Linnea’s face went still. “You’re not serious. You mean… I can rent it?”

  “I understand you’re gainfully employed now?”

  Linnea squealed like a little girl, jumping up and down, saying, “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Cara had to laugh. “Get dressed before that towel falls off again,” she chided Linnea. “I’m going to grab a few things from the kitchen and duck out. My husband is waiting for me.” She turned, and then said, “I couldn’t be happier you want to live here. It’s perfect.”

  Linnea placed another kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Aunt Cara.”

  “I know, sweet girl.”

  Cara filled a bag with eggs, cheese, and bread, then quickly exited before Gordon arrived. As she crossed Ocean Boulevard, she was filled with a sense of satisfaction at seeing all the pieces of a puzzle fall neatly into place. She walked up the drive of what was now her new home. David was right, it was so convenient. She imagined in the years to come family running from one
house to the other, an open-door policy.

  She looked with a sense of ownership at the imposing house as she approached. It would be, she hoped, the last house she’d move into. She wanted to settle down. To watch her daughter grow up in this house. To mark the doorframe with notches of her height. Maybe they’d get a dog. Or two. A swing set.

  She climbed the flight of stairs to the front porch, then turned to look out at Ocean Boulevard. From this vantage point, she could see Emmi’s house, the beach path that led along Russell’s property, the dune where her mother and Russell’s love story began. So many memories, so much history. She let her gaze settle on Primrose Cottage. It was partially obscured by the waving golden sea oats at full height. The glass sparkled in the sunlight and the riot of red roses over the pergola contrasted sharply with the blue sky.

  She spotted Gordon and Linnea stepping out on the back porch. Linnea was wearing one of Lovie’s vintage dresses, a lovely creamy shirtwaist dress with floral embroidery and a red patent belt that showed off her tiny waist. It had been one of her mother’s favorites. The resemblance to her mother was uncanny, Cara thought, and laughed at her folly in thinking—once again—that Linnea was her mother’s ghost. In fact, she realized, Linnea was her mother’s clone: bright, eager, graceful, creative, interested in turtles, and most of all, she had a good heart. Cara wasn’t worried about her niece’s future. Linnea would find her way. It was the right thing to do to offer her the beach house to live in. There were few times in one’s life when things dovetailed. One could almost hear the click of all the pieces coming together. This was one of those moments.

  And Gordon… There was something about him that had tugged at her memory from the first time she’d met him. She couldn’t put her finger on it—she was certain she’d never met him before. But there was something so familiar.… And now, seeing him at the beach house, walking hand in hand with Linnea, suddenly she saw it clearly.

  Russell Bennett. Not so much in his features or his coloring—Russell Bennett had been blond; Gordon Carr was a redhead. But the similarities were there in his lean, taut build, his thoughtful eyes, the high cheekbones, the shape of his head. And the quiet elegance of manner. She had looked at Russell Bennett’s photograph so many times in the past, wondering about the man who was the great love of her mother’s life. Trying to imagine how her mother had endured all those lonely years, keeping her secret with nothing but his memory to hold close. Could a love like that ever die? And how ironic that Gordon researched marine animals, just as Russell Bennett had. The only thing Gordon didn’t do was fly a plane. Thank heavens.