by Sandra Hill
“Welcome, welcome!” Aunt Mil gave Diane a hug, too, then mentioned to Wendy, “I thought you were bringing some fellas with you.”
“They’ll arrive tomorrow. And another female friend might show up here later this week.”
“Good, good,” Aunt Mildred said, and then with a decided nervousness, she began to introduce her around the room. The lady with the walker was Gloria Solomon, who had been the town librarian for many years; she’d shushed Wendy more than once for talking during “silent time.” And the man polishing silver was Harry Carder, a widower, who had been a financial consultant or something with the bank; his wife, Julia Carder, had been Wendy’s dentist growing up. Aunt Mildred whispered to her that Gloria and Harry were supposed to have departed, at least for the holidays, but plans changed suddenly which she would explain later.
The dancing lady was a new arrival to Wendy’s house, Claudette Deveraux from New Orleans. How and why she was here would also be explained later.
A short, pudgy man in khakis with red suspenders over a red-and-green plaid flannel shirt came bopping down the stairs, having heard the commotion. He was bald as a cue ball. No surprise that he introduced himself as Elmer Judd. “No, not Elmer Fudd, Judd. J. U. D. D.” He rubbed his bald head and said with a laugh, “You could say I fulfilled the expectations of my birth name.” Elmer was a former veterinarian from Hatteras. Which accounted for the mixed-breed dog the size of a pony which came bounding down the steps after him, followed by a bulldog and a Pekinese. They all decided to sniff various body parts on the new arrivals.
“You promised to keep the dogs out of the way, Elmer,” Wendy’s aunt chastised the little man.
“Sorry. I didn’t think Wicked Wendy was coming till tomorrow,” he said, then winked at Wendy. “Just kidding. Mildred has been ordering us about all week because the house had to be perfect for Wendy. Anyways, meet my family—Duke, Prince, and Earline.”
“I never, ever called you wicked,” her aunt said.
Wendy just laughed. “I never thought you did.”
Then the last introduction took place. “Wendy, this is my close friend Raul Arias, from Spain. Raul, this is my precious niece, Wendy.”
A man of medium height, maybe five ten, with perfectly groomed, white, wavy hair stepped forward. “Senorita,” he said with a deep Spanish accent, kissing her hand. “You are as beautiful as your aunt said.”
He kissed Diane’s hand, as well, and to her, declared, “Ah, a blonde. I am, what you say . . . a sucker, for blonde women.” He gazed adoringly at her aunt’s reddish-blonde locks.
Wendy and Diane rolled their eyes at each other, after which they took their duffel bags upstairs where Wendy settled her friend in the bedroom next to hers. While Diane went off to shower, after which she planned a walk to explore the town, Wendy went back downstairs to talk with her aunt. Even though she hadn’t had much sleep in the past twenty-four hours, she was too amped up to take a nap.
The house was built in a sort of modified Colonial Revival style, very symmetrical in appearance with six-over-six windows, often paired together, giving the interior a light airy atmosphere. A wide center hall divided all three floors, what would be considered wasted space in today’s home designs, but a blessing for ventilation during the hot summers. Downstairs there were two large parlors and a dining room on one side, and, on the other, what used to be her father’s waiting room, consulting room, and examination room, behind which was her mother’s small sewing room which had been converted to a sickroom when her illness progressed. The kitchen and a breakfast nook occupied the entire back of the house. French doors in the dining room and kitchen led to the wide porch that covered three sides of the house. It was a home made for families, which the original owner, Ephraim Thompson, had in spades—eight children in all. But unfortunately her mom and dad were unable to have more than one, which they later discovered was due to her illness.
Wendy found Aunt Mildred in the kitchen, thankfully alone. Probably deliberately so, to give them a little privacy.
Her aunt smiled warmly at her and said, “I have ginger tea made. Would you like a cup?”
“Sure.”
Aunt Mildred had introduced her to ginger chai tea when she moved in after her sister-in-law’s death. She used to travel to Durham to obtain the special tea in one of the Asian markets, but nowadays it was available everywhere, even in tea bags. When Wendy was feeling lonely or homesick back in Coronado, she often made herself a cup of the soothing brew.
Wendy sat in the chair of the alcove facing the bay. There wasn’t much of a beach here, and the view was limited by the dunes, but she loved it nonetheless. Home.
Aunt Mildred carried a tray to the table holding a china teapot, two cups and saucers, all in the Royal Albert Scottish bone china pattern of dogwood flowers, and a plate of raspberry shortbread cookies. Without asking, she placed the latter in front of Wendy and began to pour the tea into the two cups, adding a spoonful of honey and one cube of sugar in each, no milk.
Taking a bite, Wendy pretended to swoon. “Um, my favorite!”
“I know. They were your daddy’s favorite, too. Our mother used to make them at Christmastime every year, when we were in Scotland, then later when we immigrated to the United States, and settled in Kearny, New Jersey, where there was an enclave of Scottish immigrants. I was only five years old and your father was seven. Mama made shortbread throughout the year, but the raspberry ones were reserved for holiday treats. Your daddy used to sneak some from the cookie jar to take to his room. I suspect Mama knew but never said anything.”
Wendy had heard this and many other stories of their childhood together, countless times, but she never tired of hearing them. “You miss Daddy, don’t you?” she asked, reaching a hand across the table to squeeze her aunt’s hand.
“I do. It got to be unbearably lonely here in this big house without him and . . .” She glanced pointedly at Wendy. “. . . and you.”
“Oh, Aunt Mil, I’m sorry that I haven’t come back more often. It was selfish of me. Especially when Daddy was alive, I should have—”
“No,” her aunt interrupted her. “You have your own life. I didn’t mention that to make you feel guilty. It was more to answer the question that I know is foremost in your mind. What is that old lady doing with all these people in my house?”
“Aunt Mil! This is your house, too. I’ve told you repeatedly to think of it as your home. I don’t begrudge you any guests. I do wonder, though, about . . . well, why so many, and why they live here and not in their own places. None of them are indigent, as far as I can tell.” She shrugged. “I mean, do you need money? Have you done this out of financial necessity?”
“Not even close! I have my pension and social security benefits. Plus, I have an impressive nest egg. No, money isn’t a problem. And before you ask, I’m not losing my mind, either.” She sighed deeply and began to explain. “If you’ve never lived alone, you can’t understand how lonely a person can be, even in the middle of a crowd, even in the middle of a small town with so many caring people.”
Or in college when your heart is broken. Or in the Navy in the midst of boot camp. Or WEALS where teammates are like sisters. Even on dates with one man after another, never any real relationships. The loneliness never goes away. No, Aunt Mil, don’t think for one second that I don’t understand.
Sensing her thoughts, her aunt smiled sadly and continued, “It started about two years ago. Joy Lowry was my first housemate.”
“The bookstore lady? Why would she move in here? She lives in that big blue oceanfront mansion with the widow’s watch cupola on top that resembles an ice cream cone.”
“Lived, not lives,” her aunt corrected. “Joy’s husband, Bill Lowry—remember him, the insurance agent, who always drove the latest model red Mercedes—ran off with his twenty-year-old secretary. Can you imagine? Joy was left to prowl around alone in that big house, which she wanted to sell, but she didn’t want to leave Bell Cove.”
“So, you invited her to move in here with you.”
“Yes. A temporary arrangement. Later, she married the new vicar of St. Pete’s over in Nags Head. In fact, lots of my housemates have found love while living here. Which of course has caused some of the busybodies in this town to think we have shady doings going on here.” She arched her brows at Wendy as if wondering if she’d heard those rumors.
Wendy admitted nothing. “How many housemates have you had over these two years?”
“About fifteen, but never more than three or four at once, and usually they leave in a few months. I do apologize for there being so many here now. Gloria was supposed to go into one of those assisted-living places, but there was no room available at the last minute. And Harry—poor soul—should be at his son’s place in Seattle for the holidays, but the ungrateful boy decided to spend Christmas skiing in Aspen with his family. They didn’t invite Harry to accompany them, not that he would have wanted to go, being in a wheelchair and all.
“Claudette is our latest addition. I don’t know a lot about her background, just that she arrived in town in the fall, driving a fancy old car with Louisiana plates. It’s parked over at Gus’s garage because we don’t have room here. It’s a big 1960s Mercedes convertible that Raul says is worth about fifty thousand dollars. She was staying at the Bell Breakers Motel for more than a month when it closed for the season. Then, three days ago, she showed up here, asking if we had room. As long as she blends in, I figure she’s all right.” Her aunt looked to her for approval. Which she did not need.
“How do you manage the sleeping arrangements? The stairs must be an issue for some of them, like Mr. Carder in his wheelchair.”
“Actually, it’s not a problem. Gloria is in your mother’s sickroom converted to a guest room on this floor, for when her legs are weak. Most often, she’s okay with walking unaided. Plus, I’ve pushed some of the furniture in your daddy’s office to one side and installed a cot for Harry. Eventually, he’ll move in with his son, I’m sure. But don’t worry, I haven’t gotten rid of any of Alan’s medical things. I’ve left them there for you.”
“I really should clear out those rooms.”
“Your father wanted everything to stay the same until you came back and . . .” Aunt Mildred fumbled for the right words, then raised her chin and finished, “. . . and took over his practice.”
“Oh, Aunt Mil, it’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late,” her aunt protested. “It was always your dream. Do you like being in WEALS as much as you would being a doctor? I mean, do you intend to stay in the Navy forever?”
“Probably not, but, even with my four years of pre-med, it would mean another six years at least of medical school and internships and residencies. I’m thirty years old.”
“Thirty years young,” her aunt insisted. “If you really want it, you could still do it.”
She was right. And Wendy was getting burned out by some of the missions she’d been on lately. As recently as last week, she’d been considering a change. But medicine? “No, medicine is no longer an option for me. Besides, I like what I’m doing, and I’m good at it, Aunt Mil. Really good. My current contract is up in June, at which time I will probably re-up for at least another year or two. Whatever I decide to do in the future, it will probably be related to the skills I’ve learned in the Navy.”
“But you always wanted . . . if it were not for . . . oh, sweetheart, I hate that all your dreams were ruined.”
Wendy shook her head. “Don’t feel bad, Aunt Mil. I’ve come to realize that medicine was just a girlhood dream, one I fell into, more to please Daddy than myself. Of all the regrets in my life, that isn’t one of them.”
“You mean, like, one door closed, another door opened?”
“In a way.” Feeling the need to change the subject, Wendy said, “Back to your housemates . . . how about Raul? Where does he fit into this mix you’ve described?”
“Forefront,” Aunt Mildred said without hesitation, but blushing. “I’ve only known him for a few months, but he’s added so much to my life . . . to many of the lives around here. He has a joy of life that’s infectious. In his love of dancing, but in so many other ways, too. He’s working on a book that will probably take him back to Spain sooner than later, but in the meantime . . .” She shrugged. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Go you!” Wendy said. “Wish I could say the same.”
“Oh, sweetie, I had hoped that you’d found someone special by now. Is it . . .” She paused, as if hesitant to say what was on her mind. “Is it still Ethan?”
“Definitely not,” Wendy said, probably too quickly, “but the scars run deep.” She was the one who hesitated now before revealing, “I met him on the ferry this afternoon.”
“You did? Yikes! That must have been a shock for you, after all these years of avoiding any mention of him.”
“It was, and it would seem I’ve missed some important details by insisting on that rule. Poor Dad. I can’t tell you how many times he seemed to bite his tongue for fear of saying the wrong thing.”
“Like what?”
“Like Beth Anne having died.”
“Yes. Very sad,” her aunt said.
“What happened?”
“MS. They discovered she had it while she was pregnant, and it just got progressively worse after that.”
“Oh, my God! And her daughter? Does she have the same thing? I wondered about the little girl in the wheelchair, but I never suspected anything like this.”
“You mean Cassie? No, she doesn’t have MS. Just some kind of congenital hip problem that will eventually be handled with a hip replacement. They don’t like to do those on children until they’re sixteen or something. Growing bones and all that.”
Wendy tried to imagine how Ethan would have handled all these issues at the time. And since then.
“So, Cassie was in a wheelchair today? That’s not usually the case. More often she uses crutches, or just limps along. I believe she was scheduled for some rehab at the hospital in Hatteras today. They must have worked her especially hard and wanted her to stay off her feet for the rest of the day.”
Wendy was not surprised that her aunt knew all these details. It was a small town, after all. Everyone knew everyone’s business, and not always in a bad way. Her aunt, and others in the community, had probably been over there offering to help wherever they could.
“Did you say that you talked to Ethan?”
“Not exactly talked, more like we snarled at each other. I’m still floored about what you’ve told me about Beth Anne and the child. I hesitate to ask what else I’ve missed over the years.”
“Well, you have two weeks to catch up, honey.”
“One more thing. What’s with that billboard on the edge of town? ‘GET GRINCHED! WELCOME TO BELL COVE!’”
Aunt Mildred laughed. “It’s the funniest thing. The town was a little short of money for street lighting, and someone suggested a novel method for raising funds. Ironically, they’re raking in cash like crazy as everyone votes against someone else to avoid being the winner themselves. And I must say, I never saw so many cheerful people, not even at Christmastime. Sickeningly sweet, some of them are.” She went on to explain the details of the competition.
Wendy was smiling as her aunt finished. “And Ethan is on this list?”
“At the top.”
As Wendy finally agreed to rest for an hour or so—dinner wouldn’t be served until six thirty . . . clam chowder with corn biscuits—she imagined Ethan as a grinchy man. That’s not the way she remembered him, but then he’d been a boy of eighteen back then. The man she’d met on the boat today . . . was he grinchy?
Absolutely.
Wendy suddenly sensed a bit of grinch in herself. She knew where she was going to be spending twenty dollars tomorrow . . . for a good cause. Maybe fifty.
Chapter 6
A what kind of love? . . .
Ethan was eating a big fisherman’s breakfast—two
eggs, bacon, corned beef hash, home fries, four slices of toast, and coffee, lots of coffee—when his grandmother started in on him. He rarely ate lunch once he was on the go, and his work was strenuous, especially this time of the year. Food was energy. But he wasn’t sure his digestion could take all this intrusion into his private space.
It was a sign of how buzzed the old lady was over the latest bee in her bonnet (her expression, not his) that she didn’t even object when Harvey came sneaking into the kitchen from the sunporch where he’d been banned for punishment. He’d gotten loose yesterday and hightailed it (literally) next door to “visit” the neighbor’s poodle. The neighbors were not happy, having already suffered the consequences of one of Harvey’s previous visits, him being of mixed breed and a big galumph of a beast, at that. Being a responsible pet owner, he’d had the old boy fixed since then, but apparently neutering doesn’t completely wipe out the sex drive in some cases. Besides, there can be non-sexual reasons for males to hump, his veterinarian, Jake Mellot, liked to tell him, always with an annoying grin, daring him to explain. Ethan couldn’t imagine what reasons and refused to ask.
His grandmother also hadn’t mentioned the two cats in the kitchen, one on top of the fridge, and the other shedding hair all over the rug in front of the sink. The rescue rabbits in the hutch out back were a sore point with her, too, but nothing she could complain about since he and Cassie handled their care.
Ethan loved animals, as did his daughter. Not so much his grandmother.
“Wendy is back in town. It’s time you mended fences,” she pointed out, not for the first time since he’d entered the room or numerous times over the past few days.
After twelve years of Wendy’s name being taboo in this house, suddenly I’m being bombarded. Ever since she made peace with Mildred Patterson. Wendy this. Wendy that. Mildred said that Wendy . . . I wonder if Wendy . . . Bet Wendy looks different now that . . . blah, blah, blah. If she wasn’t my grandmother, and if I didn’t owe her big-time for all she does for me and Cassie, and, yeah, if I didn’t love the old bat, I would tell her to fuck off. Instead, he remarked, “What fences? I don’t have any fences.”