Sea Star Legacy

by Carolyn Forrest

  Here it comes, Sandra told herself, trying to prepare her sluggish mind.

  “I wanted to apologize for not coming over and getting my clothes out of your way.” Bernice stared down at her hands resting on top of one another upon the counter and began drumming an invisible rhythm on her other hand. “I a . . . just haven’t felt up to it.”

  Sandra stood momentarily dumb founded by her apology and the implication behind her words. She could certainly understand her wanting to put off coming over to pack. Like Bernice, she too, dreaded going through her dad’s belongings. It would be the final act in laying her father to rest and taking over the life he’d forged without her.

  “Don’t worry about it, Bernice. I haven’t gotten around to cleaning any of the closets or drawers. Somehow it just doesn’t seem my place.” She fell short of telling her the real reason, unable to admit that some part of her didn’t want to put Ben Harris to rest. Now that the paper work had all been signed on the estate, all that was left was moving out his personal items. She supposed she should be thankful his estate had been so easy to handle. Sandra still couldn’t conceive that her father had put everything, right up to the cars, in both of their names. Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she realized she could put her father’s estate in order within a few weeks. Accepting the loss of the father she’d never known would take much longer. It sounded ridiculous to admit. Why should she mourn a man she hadn’t seen since she was seven years old? Perhaps that was the key. Sandra mourned the fact she hadn’t had the opportunity to know her father.

  “Sandra, honey, why don’t I come over tonight? We can take a crack at it together. That is, if you’re not busy.” Bernice met Sandra’s eyes and they shared the unspoken truth between them.

  “Sounds good. About 6:30?”

  “I’ll be here.” Bernice nodded her head, accenting her obvious determination not to let Sandra down a second time. Her large eyes widened with mock dramatization as she looked down at her watch. “I’d better get back to the motel before my cook burns down the kitchen.”

  Sandra laughed at Bernice’s exaggerated antics. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Until then.” Bernice chimed out as she moved across the shop, her low heeled white pumps clopping with her every step. She could understand why the plump, rosy cheeked woman had been special to her father. Maybe they could be friends and help each other through the transition, after all. It had been a long time since Sandra had known anyone she could confide in. Perhaps, Bernice would turn out to be that rare kind of friend despite their previous disagreement.

  Watching the older woman throw open the door in a single movement, Sandra wondered what other surprises the day held in store. Every day had truly turned into an unpredictable adventure since she’d arrived, she thought, as the door jangled its goodbye and the woman in the bright floral print shirt that her father had shared his life with walked out of sight.

  * * *

  A few customers stopped in that afternoon. Each needed a small boat part or some type of miscellaneous boating supply. They generally would let her know they’d known her father and offered their condolences. She wasn’t sure if they needed the items or if they were simply paying a social call. Whatever the case, she didn’t mind putting the purchases into the day’s receipts.

  Once five o’clock rolled around, Sandra went up to the kitchen and fixed herself a sandwich. This made the third sandwich in a row she’d made herself for dinner, she thought, flapping on the last slice of bologna in the package. Having never cared much for fancy meals anyway, it hardly seemed worth the trouble to prepare dinner only for just her.

  Sitting the sandwich and glass of ice tea on the bar, Sandra settled on a stool. She’d finish her meal then start sorting through her father’s things while she waited for Bernice to arrive. What should she go through first? she wondered, taking a bite of sandwich and looking around the living area. There wouldn’t be anything to go through in the kitchen. She intended to keep all the appliances and dishes. At least for the time being, she’d keep the furnishings as they were. That would leave the hall closet, the bedroom closet and the dresser drawers to be cleaned out. She’d start on the hall closet and by the time she got through with it, Bernice should be there to help. They could tackle the bedroom together, she decided, swallowing the last of her sandwich and washing it down with tea.

  After putting the dirty dishes in the dish washer, Sandra went downstairs into the back of the shop to locate some boxes. Finding several that would work, she dragged them up to the living room closet. Her fingers curled around the brass door knob and hesitated. Even folding up his coats for donations suddenly felt too intimate. Sandra forced herself to push the thoughts from her mind and opened the door. Grabbing the first item her hand touched, she could smell a light woodsy cologne embedded in the fabric. She held the garment at arms’ length and examined it. An ankle length London Fog overcoat with detachable wool lining in camel presented itself. Her father had good taste. She’d give him credit for the coat. She tried to imagine the T-shirt clad man in the picture down stairs wearing the dress overcoat. If he owned an overcoat, he probably had a suit or two upstairs, too, she thought, trying to decide whether he would be the sports coat or pinstriped suit type.

  Folding the coat in half, she brought it in to her body and embraced the fabric. He’d most likely worn it a number of times. It smelled of the man himself and yet all these things were alien to her. “I wish I’d known you papa,” she whispered into the coat then folded it into a square and put it in the box.

  Before she knew it, the closet lay bare as she stood enclosed by packed full boxes. Glancing down at her watch, she realized the task had only taken her about forty-five minutes. It felt good to finally be tackling the dreaded task. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she remembered back to when she’d been little and frightened of the dark. Her dad would come in and force her to look under the bed with his flashlight to prove there were no monsters lurking in there, only dust bunnies. She’d immediately feel silly for having been scared and fall right to sleep. The memory surprised her. It had been so long since she’d thought about any of the time they spent together. It was as if the day her father had walked out the door he had taken all her memories and thoughts with him.

  Sandra closed the closet door and pushed a box to the side to allow her to step out of the circle. Did she dare start the bedroom without Bernice? she wondered as she stared up the stairway. Why not? She’d gotten through the closet with flying colors. She could manage the rest, at least until Bernice arrived.

  Entering the bedroom, she stared over at the cedar chest. How could she have forgotten about it? She’d meant to have someone come pick it up and donate to a charity before Bernice came back over. On the other hand, even if she donated it to a charity, she still needed to get rid of the letters and personal items. The thought of some stranger sitting around going through her father’s letters, reading about her and her mother knotted her stomach. No, like it or not, she’d have to go through the chest. If she chose not to read the letters, so be it, but she’d have to dispose of them.

  Sandra stroked the chest’s smooth surface. The smell of cedar wafted about her as she pushed the lid open. It has to be done, she told herself as she lifted the heavy lid higher and peered down into the chest’s belly. Her gaze riveted on the black box that held the pin. Holding her breath, she reached in for it. Her hand shook as she held it in her palm. The damn thing looked like a casket, she thought. Not that it was any different from any of the jewelry boxes she’d opened over the years. Pins, rings, necklaces, it didn’t matter what the occasion. They all came in a square black box. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never understand why they always put jewelry in black boxes.

  Walking over to the bed, she sat down and freed the delicate piece of jewelry from its chamber. Without thought, she pinned the gold starfish onto the lapel of her white cotton blouse and turned to the mirror to examine her image.

 
The pin had to be at least ten years old. Yet, it glistened like new. Running her index finger over the intricate detailing of the pin, she wondered why her father had picked out a starfish for her. She’d never seen a piece like it before. He could have had it specially commissioned for her. What was the significance? she wondered. Glancing around the room she tried to remember if she had seen any other starfish type décor in the house or shop. She couldn’t recall any. It didn’t make sense, she thought with a sigh. Her father had meant for her to have the pin, however. The parcel had been addressed to her. The thought warmed a part of her she hadn’t realized existed. After all these years, she did still care about her dad.

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Sandra swallowed hard to force them back. She hadn’t lost a tear over her father in years. She didn’t plan on starting now. Once she’d understood as a child that her father wouldn’t ever be coming home, she’d vowed not to cry for him. She didn’t intend on changing her resolve now. Tears rarely solved anything. All they were good for was to make you feel sorry for yourself as you wished for things that couldn’t be.

  Sandra swiped at her eyes with her hand and forced her attention back into the trunk. A medium size silver bowl set in the corner next to several stacks of letters. Reaching in, she brought out the bowl. Inscribed on the stand read: First Place, Hobie National Regatta, 2004. What Luke had said about her father being one of the best sailors around had to be true. You didn’t pick up a first place nationals trophy at a pawn shop. Sandra rubbed at the tarnish which had discolored the silver. She’d dig around for some polish later, she decided, placing it on the floor next to her. Her father might have felt self-conscious about displaying his trophies about the shop, but she didn’t. Not only would they make a nice addition to the shop’s sparse décor, they also would help lend an air of reputability. Evidently everyone knew Ben Harris ran a competent sailboat shop, unfortunately no one could say the same thing about her. She hardly had enough expertise to expect the locals to come running to her to solve their boating maintenance problems. She’d have to hire someone who knew more than she did about boats.

  She’d put an advertisement in the paper soon, she told herself peering back into the trunk. A large stack of envelopes set in the corner, curled and yellowed on the edges, drew her attention. They were bundled together with quarter inch twine. Her heart picked up its pace in anticipation as she reached for the letters.

  Holding the bundle in her lap, the musty smell of dust and aged paper hung in the air. The post mark on the letter on top showed it had been sent around the time her father had originally left. Would the letters tell her the real reason her father abandoned them? she wondered as she untied the bow.

  Leafing from one letter to the next, she found that they were all addressed to her mother at her grandparents’ address and they’d all been returned unopened. Lifting the top letter off the pile, she ran her fingers along its edge, wondering if she should open it. Technically it was her mother’s mail. The letter was none of her business. Or was it? How else would she ever know if her father had made an honest attempt to get in touch with her?

  Without further thought, she tugged at the corner of the envelope with her trembling finger tips. After all these years of hating him for leaving them, she had to know the truth. The flap sprung open as the aged glue easily gave way. Unfolding the brittle paper, she began to read her father’s neat cursive. The letter started with him telling her mother how much he missed her and wished she’d came with him. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes and she bit down on her lower lip. If he’d wanted them to go with him, then why hadn’t she? Sandra wondered if she really wanted to know the answer. Her mother had always said he’d just packed up because he couldn’t take working at the mill anymore. She’d never said anything about his trying to get her to leave with him. Had he wanted to keep their marriage alive? A part of her wanted to put the letters back where she’d found them and forget all about it. Another part of her needed to read each and every line written in the fading blue ink, over and over again.

  Numb with indecision, she sat staring at the last paragraph when she realized the down stairs phone was ringing off the hook. On impulse, she dashed down the stairs, the letter still clasped in her hand.

  “Hello, Sea Breeze boat shop,” she chanted into the phone as she fought to regain her breath. Silence rang over the line followed by the familiar click of the caller disconnecting the call. Placing the phone back into the cradle, she stretched the letter on top the counter and looked down on it. Finding the last paragraph, she read on. Her father was begging her mother to set aside their differences and come out to him.

  The sound of light footsteps against the shop’s wooden floor drew Sandra’s attention from the salutation with a sudden start. Staring up, she met Luke’s provocative gaze and sultry smile. She’d forgotten to lock the door again.

  “Have I come at a bad time?” His expression became serious as he studied her face.

  Sandra stuffed the letter into the envelope and ran the back of her hand over her face, swiping away any remaining tears. “How’d you get in here?” she asked, hating that he’d seen her upset. Once a man saw you cry, you were instantly labeled an emotional twit for life.

  “I knocked lightly. When no one answered, I simply opened the door. It was unlocked.”

  Leaning against the counter, she tucked the letter underneath the phone book lying next to her elbow. Clearing her throat, she fought back the caldron of emotions which threatened to irrupt.

  Luke reached across the counter. His eyes seeking out an explanation as he stroked the top of Sandra’s hand with his. Her composure began to slip. She knew she should pull away, but she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

  Studying the pain written on Sandra’s face, Luke’s heart stalled for several beats before he could speak. “What’s wrong? Luke asked, hoping vainly that she wasn’t upset over another man. It was absurd to think she didn’t have a man in her life and yet the thought tore at him. At some point, Luke had claimed her as his own, he realized, extracting his hand from hers and moving around to the other side of the counter.

  “I was just . . . going through some old letters from my father to my mother.”

  Luke turned her towards him. She looked so vulnerable looking up at him through tear stained eyelashes; her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Pulling her into his arms, he could feel her shaking. He felt his own chest seize with pain as he watched her try to contain the sobs she needed to release. Drawing her still tighter into him, her body collapsed against his. Moist tears soaked through his shirt as she buried her head into his chest. His hand ran up to stroke her hair. With each touch, she clung to him more. This head strong, bewildering woman needed him, he thought in amazement. Even more profound was the realization that more and more he found himself wanting to care for her, wanting to protect her, and it certainly wasn’t his friendship to Ben that inspired his feelings.

  Sandra grasped his shoulders, burying her forehead into his chest. Her breast pushed into Luke. After several minutes, she let out a soft sigh. The kind of soft sigh Luke wished he could hear her make next to him while she shared his bed.

  Running his fingers through the silken lengths of her hair, Luke recalled the night that he had pulled her from the bay. How protective and aroused by her subtle beauty he had felt. She conjured up feelings and passions in him to an extreme he couldn’t remember before. He had known his share of beautiful women, but none like Sandra Harris.

  Sandra slowly pulled back from his embrace and wiped at her eyes. Black mascara hung to the lower lids of her eyes, giving her a sultry appearance. He couldn’t help wondering if she would look this wonderful when she woke up rumpled from a night of lovemaking?

  “He sent for us,” Sandra said, in a strained whimper. He really did love me. My mother returned all the letters without ever letting me know that he’d written to me. All those years I didn’t think he cared a bit for me. I thought he’d simply walked away and nev
er turned back.”

  Luke pulled her back against his body and kissed the top of her head. The fragrance of flower filled her hair.

  “Your father loved you very much,” he told her.

  Sandra lifted her chin in interest. “Did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t have to. I was his best friend.”

  Lowering her face, she pressed her cheek into his solid chest as she listened to his deep soothing voice.

  “We spent many an hour and many a day sailing together. Sometimes floating more than sailing; other times hanging on for dear life more than sailing. You get to know someone pretty well under those kinds of circumstances.”

  Sandra breathed in the aroma of his woodsy cologne mixed with the wonderful clean scent of Luke himself. She wanted to know about her father, yet she found it more and more difficult to concentrate on what Luke said with his solid body pressed against hers.

  “We discussed a lot of things, though the one thing he never tired of talking about was his grown daughter. Whether you know it or not, you were all he had.” Luke hesitated as though he didn’t know if he should say more. “I know he called your grandma all the time to see how you and your mother were getting along.”

  Sandra pulled back from Luke and stared at him, the painful truth ripping at her. Like doors springing open to reveal an unknown monster, Sandra knew the truth. It had been her grandmother who had returned her mother’s letter and Sandra’s own mother who had returned the pin. Resentment flushed her cheeks. How could her grandmother have done such a thing to them?

  Sandra’s mind snapped back to her grandma’s words when she had learned of her mother’s intention to file for divorce. She had actually stated they were better off without Ben Harris. Knowing her Grandma Meredith the way she did, Sandra was almost certain that she had been trying to protect her daughter by wrecking her marriage. What about the returned parcel and the other letters, though? Had Sandra’s mother done the same thing to her, trying to save her from what she must have felt as unavoidable grief? she wondered.