by Sandra Hill
Mildred had to smile at her friend’s consternation. “Maybe you were a little grumpy with a customer.”
“Who wouldn’t be? Some of them are downright impossible. One man came in yesterday and asked for Christmas lights in blue and white. When I told him he could buy a blue strand and a white strand and intertwine them, he told me, no, he wanted me to go through and change out every other bulb, for the same price. Not that I would do it for any price.”
“Bet I know who it was. Old man Whitmore. He’s still a dyed-in-the-wool Penn State football fan. Practically everything in his house is blue and white.”
“You’re right! Anyhow, you’re the only one I could think of who would understand my upset over being called a grinch. I’ll tell you one thing—if I see anyone voting for me in our shop, I might very well hit him, or her, over the head with a wreath.”
Instead of pointing out that such action might be construed as grinchy, Mildred said, “Thank you again for the wreath.”
“I remember how much you liked Della Robbia decorations. Now you won’t have to go all the way to Nags Head to buy one.”
Mildred blushed at being found out.
“Anyhow, sometimes a person gets a lightbulb moment. They see themselves the way other people do. And it was a rude awakening to me that someone would think of me as a grumpy old lady. And I asked myself, ‘Is this what all your bitterness has made you, Eliza Rutledge?’ I didn’t like the answer.”
Mildred understood. Until she’d invited people into her home—Wendy’s home, she corrected—she’d become bitter, too. “You mentioned two reasons for stopping by today.”
“I heard that Wendy is coming home.”
Mildred stiffened. This was a touchy subject, especially so early in their reconciliation. “Yes, but only for two weeks,” she emphasized.
“I was shocked when I first heard that Wendy joined those female Navy SEALs. She always wanted to be a doctor, like her daddy. Is she happy?”
Mildred shrugged. “She seems content, but then, the fact that she rarely comes home should tell you something. How about Ethan? He was going to be a veterinarian, as I recall. Is he happy?”
“Pff! That boy hasn’t been truly happy for twelve damn years. Oh, he cared about Beth Anne, and he adores his daughter, but . . .” She sighed. “You know how it was with him and Wendy.” Eliza drank the rest of her punch and held out her cup for a refill before looking Mildred in the eye and remarking, “Don’t you think it’s about time we set things right?”
Chapter 4
Some things never change . . .
Wendy drove her rental car onto the Bell Cove Ferry, the last leg of a five-hour journey since she’d left the airport at Norfolk. Getting to the southern end of the Outer Banks was never easy, but, to many, the inaccessibility was an attraction, not a disadvantage. In any case, in another hour, she’d be in her hometown of Bell Cove. Most of her driving time had been spent on Highway 12, the Beach Road, and that included several other ferry rides, two humpbacked bridges, and slow-downs through a dozen or more small towns.
Normally, during the high tourist season, it would take much longer, but there was little traffic at this time of year and day. Many, but not all, of the hotels and shops were closed. She could have cut her time by hitting the bypass for at least part of the trip, but who could resist this more scenic route?
Diane, apparently, Wendy thought, with a smile, as she glanced over at her friend, who was asleep beside her in the passenger seat, having partied all night prior to their red-eye flight from San Diego. At first, Diane had oohed and aahed over the oddly named towns along the OBX, like Kitty Hawk or Kill Devil Hills or Nags Head or Ocracoke, not to mention the scenic lighthouses and signs announcing OBXmas holiday events, such as the Winter Lights at the Elizabethan Gardens, or the town where they sang carols after lighting the municipal Crab Pot Tree. Apparently, some of the towns were attempting to amp up winter tourism.
Wendy, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep if her life depended on it. She was so hyped up she could barely breathe. The closer she got to her destination, the more nervous she became. Her hands on the steering wheel felt clammy. Her heart raced. She could swear she heard bells ringing in her ears, which was impossible, being so far away from the famous bells of her hometown, not to mention the roar of the ferry boat’s motor and the wind which was always strong here on the inlet off of Bell Sound.
It was Ethan, of course, who was causing her distress.
Am I crazy?
That stuff that Geek said last week about SEALs is probably true of WEALS, too. The only reason you’d want to be one is to prove something to yourself, to prove something to someone else, or because you’re just plain crazy. I fit all three.
Path-et-ic!
Ethan probably won’t even be there.
But what if he is?
About time I put old ghosts to rest.
Easier said than done!
I should have asked Aunt Mildred if Ethan ever came back.
After all these years of banning any mention of his name, she would think I still care.
And I don’t.
Really!
That would be crazy!
Aaarrgh!
Wendy parked in the slot indicated, and turned off her engine. She undid her seat belt and turned to Diane. “Hey, Grizz, wanna go outside and get some air?”
Diane shifted in her seat and turned her head without moving the rest of her body. Scarcely opening her lids a crack, she asked, “Are we there?”
“Not yet. We’re on the Bell Cove Ferry.”
“Another ferry!” Diane exclaimed, which caused Wendy to laugh. The first ferry ride had prompted squeals of delight from Diane. The second, not so much. And now, Diane said with a wide yawn, “I’ll pass,” and turned away, scrooching lower in the seat with her head resting on the window. “Wake me up when we get there.”
Wendy got out of the car, and tightened her sixteen-year-old Lands’ End down jacket around her body. The pale blue, puffy coat, a gift from her father on her fourteenth birthday, never wore out. She thought about opening the trunk to get a hat out of her duffel bag, but decided not to bother. She noticed that most folks stayed in their vehicles, not wanting to brave the brisk winds. Plus, they were mostly commuters, accustomed to the scenery, and not lured into the coffee shop by the cheap coffee and stale donuts.
There was a time when Wendy traveled this ferry daily, back and forth to high school, usually with Ethan sitting beside her. Bell Cove had its own elementary/middle school up to eighth grade, but after that students had to go to the consolidated high school that served a number of the towns on the Outer Banks.
More memories!
The temperature wasn’t really that bad today, probably in the fifties, but the wind was fierce, making the chill factor about forty, or lower. The waves lapping against the boat were choppy, but that didn’t bother Wendy. She’d grown up on the waters of the Outer Banks, where she’d become a world-class sailor and diver, not to mention a marathon swimmer, all of which were assets that led to her joining the WEALS.
After taking note of a fishing boat in the distance and a flock of sea birds wheeling overhead, she inhaled deeply of the salt air. In Coronado, where she lived, they had the Pacific Ocean, but somehow the air and the water seemed different here, sweeter, when it came off the Atlantic Ocean and Bell Sound.
She moved around the wheelhouse toward the front of the boat where the only passengers visible were a man and a young girl in a wheelchair. She paused, not wanting to intrude on their privacy.
The girl, probably preteen, wore a pink fake fur coat with a matching earmuff headband. On her feet, propped on the wheelchair footrests, were pink sparkle Uggs. Very tween chic! She appeared to be coaxing her father into something. Tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder in the coquettish manner young girls practiced with their fathers, she made coaxing motions with her fingertips, wheedling, “Please, Dad, please. Just one. Please.” Her father smiled
and shook his head. Once, when he turned to stare out over the waters, the girl wheeled her chair to his other side and proclaimed, “You’re a grinch!” She didn’t say it in an insulting way, though, and her father just laughed. Finally, he pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her. Quickly, before he changed his mind, the girl whipped her wheelchair around expertly and headed toward the coffee shop, yelling over her shoulder, “Thank you, Dad. You’re the best scrooge in the world.”
The man stared fondly after his departing daughter, but then he looked over to the side and did a double take as he noticed Wendy standing there. Frozen in place.
It was Ethan.
Oh, no! No, no, no!
He looked so good. The same, but older, obviously. His dark hair was short. Not military short, but shorter than was the fashion today. Blue eyes were framed with the same incredibly long and sexy lashes that had enthralled her an eon ago. His athlete’s body was tall and still lean, clearly outlined by the wind against his jeans and a lightweight, gray North Face jacket.
Be still my heart! No, no, no! No hearts. Just hormones. Being in the military, surrounded by attractive special ops men all the time, she should be immune to the appeal of a good-looking man. She was. Usually. But not now. Down, hormones, down!
Her first reaction was to turn tail and run. But she couldn’t do that. What kind of “hard-assed, ever-battle-ready” female SEAL was she if she jumped ship and bailed at the first obstacle? Buck up, sailor. You know the drill. Show no fear. “Ethan,” she said, stepping forward.
For a brief blip of a second, he gazed at her with hunger, the expression on his face one she recognized from their old days together. It bespoke not just love, but a forever love, the kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime.
Or until a better opportunity comes up.
His expression immediately changed to one of hostility, or was it hurt? “Wendy! What’s a hotshot Rambo like you doing in little old Bell Cove? Come to favor the small town masses with your presence?”
She almost flinched, barely catching herself. “Whoa! Rude much?” she snapped back. Then in an ultrasweet voice, she went on, “Hello to you, too, Ethan. What’re you doing back in Bell Cove?”
To his credit, he looked a little shame-faced at his impoliteness and revealed, “I live here.”
“Huh? I thought you’d be a practicing vet, like you always planned, living off the island.”
He gave her a strange look. “Yeah, well, plans change.”
Don’t I know it! But you love animals, Ethan. Your dream from the time you rescued that puppy in third grade was to have your own animal hospital.
“Dreams!” he scoffed.
Wendy hadn’t realized that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Her face heated with embarrassment.
“What about your dream to become a doctor and take over your father’s practice?”
“Touché!” She nodded. “So what do you do, if you’re not a vet?”
“Tree farming. I took over Dad’s business when he died ten years ago, but I don’t suppose you knew that, either.”
“But . . .” She frowned, trying to take in what he’d said. “Didn’t you go to vet school?”
“No, Wendy, I did not go to vet school. In fact, I didn’t go to college at all.”
“You were accepted at UNC. Tuition was paid. You were supposed to report for football practice in August.”
“You were accepted, too,” he pointed out.
“I thought . . .” It was clear what she’d thought.
Oh, my God! All these years I’ve been picturing Ethan as a veterinarian, living off the island, with his . . . oh, my God! Tears of sympathy smarted her eyes, not that he would appreciate the sentiment from her, apparently. But, really, Ethan had never shown any interest in tree farming, not the big, fairly prosperous tree farm on the mainland mountain, and absolutely not the small business on the island which grew the infamous Rutledge Tree, which had embarrassed Ethan to no end. She blinked rapidly, pretending that the wind whipping her face was the cause of her tears. There was so much she didn’t understand. She deliberately veered in another direction. “No, I didn’t know about your father,” she admitted. “He must have been only forty or so, if he died ten years ago. So young! What happened?”
“Heart attack.”
The men in the Rutledge family seemed to die young, Wendy mused with what was probably hysterical irrelevance. Ethan’s grandfather had died when she and Ethan had been about eight years old, and he’d been only about fifty, which had seemed old at the time. His death had been due to some kind of lumber accident.
She remembered Samuel Rutledge, a handsome “older” man, and how close he and Ethan’s grandmother had been. Their love had been apparent to everyone. One time she’d seen Eliza Rutledge pinch Samuel Rutledge’s butt in passing when they thought no one was looking. Back then, Wendy had thought that was the yuckiest thing for two old fogies to do, but now, in retrospect, she considered it cool. “Was that your daughter I saw you with earlier?”
At first, it seemed as if he wouldn’t answer. “Yes. Cassie, short for Cassandra.”
“Did she have an accident?”
“You really have no clue what’s been happening in Bell Cove, have you? Didn’t your father, when he was alive, or your aunt Mildred, tell you anything?”
“I warned them not to mention your . . . I mean, anything personal about Bell Cove, or I would cut off contact with them,” she admitted.
“Pff! As if you didn’t cut off contact anyhow! How many times have you come back over the past twelve years? Family ties mean nothing to you.”
Where was all this bitterness coming from? She’d never known Ethan to be snarky. It was as if he blamed her for something, when in fact . . . no, I am not going there! She raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”
“You’re right. You don’t,” he said. Then, staring off into the distance, he answered her earlier question. “No, Cassie didn’t have an accident. Congenital bone disease, affecting her one hip.”
She inhaled sharply. “I am so sorry.” She almost reached out to pat his forearm in sympathy, but caught herself just in time when he backed up a step, as if her touch would be repulsive.
But then he said the oddest thing. “You cut your hair.”
What? My hair? What does that have to do with anything? Suddenly, she recalled how much he had liked her hair long, how he used to twine his fingers in the long tresses when . . . She shook her head to clear it and said, “It was the first thing I did when I left Bell Cove. Chopped it off myself in a gas station bathroom.” What she didn’t say was that she’d been bawling at the time, and had completed her task with cuticle scissors from a pocket manicure set. Even so, she’d revealed more than she should have.
He nodded his understanding and told her, “I burned your letters, the ones you sent from camp each year.”
Was that supposed to match her hair cutting? What could she respond to that? Wendy had been a swimming instructor at a youth fitness camp in Nags Head since ninth grade. That was a lot of letters.
He glanced at something over her shoulder. She turned to see his daughter approaching with a gift bag from the ferry shop on her lap.
She had one more question. “How’s Beth Anne?” Actually, two questions. “Do you have other children?”
He had been passing her to meet his daughter, but he stopped. “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Dead. Beth Anne is dead.”
She gasped.
“And, no, there are no other children.”
Then he walked away.
It was news to him . . .
As Ethan drove off the ferry a half hour later, he was alternately fuming and feeling like an ass.
Okay, I overreacted. Big-time. Now she’ll think I still care.
Which I do not.
But she makes me so damn mad. I have enough stress in my life. Why did she have to come
back now?
She didn’t even know about Beth Anne. Or whether I ever actually had a baby, or multiple babies. Hell, she thought I was a practicing vet somewhere off the Outer Banks. What does that say about how little she cared for me?
I should have just walked away when I first saw her.
She cut off her hair, all that beautiful hair. Not that she doesn’t look good now. Just different.
He pictured her as he’d seen her on the ferry. Black jeans tucked into knee-high boots. That old Lands’ End jacket. Short, mahogany curls cupping her face. Big brown eyes wide with shock. If she wore makeup, he couldn’t tell, though her cheeks had been flushed from the wind, or the sight of me.
She’d chopped off her hair the day she left, that’s what she said. His heart ached at the thought. But damn, he recalled that day, vividly, and her hair wasn’t the only thing she’d sliced and diced. His heart had been chopped out, trampled on, and left for roadkill . . . figuratively speaking.
She was so distraught when I confessed, so disappointed in me. I was disappointed in me. But I never expected that she would skip town. Maybe we could have worked things out. Or else, I should have been the one to leave.
Her father had been alive then. Why hadn’t Doc Alan stopped his only child from making the mistake of her life?
But was it a mistake for Wendy? She finished college, and, although she never went to med school, she’s made a name for herself in that female Navy SEAL program. Which I cannot imagine. Yeah, she was an athlete, a state champ in swimming, and she probably aced the special ops physical training, which is supposed to be grueling, but my Wendy toting a gun, killing people? Impossible!
No, no, no! I have to stop thinking of her as “my Wendy.” She was never mine, apparently, if she could walk out on me the way she did, without ever looking back. And she sure as hell isn’t mine now.
“Dad, you’re talking to yourself,” Cassie said.