At Wave's End: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  Staring into the gray-blue water, she panicked at the speed with which it carried them from shore. “What if I can’t get back?”

  “You’ll get back. You’re doing great,” David encouraged her from behind. “Now, just stand all the way up. It’s all about the weight transfer. Press your feet into the board and pull yourself up from your center.”

  “Easy for you to say. And I can’t see you, by the way.” Anxious, Faith fell onto her knees again.

  She heard the slap of David dropping to his board, then saw him paddle into view.

  “It’s no use. I can’t do it.” Frustrated, Faith ripped the strap from her ankle and flung it into the water.

  “Yes, you can.” Calmly, David retrieved the cuff and handed it to her to reattach. “Try again. Like this.” He repeated the motions he had just shown her. “Now, focus on the shoreline,” he said once upright. “That’ll help your balance.”

  “‘Focus on the shoreline,’” she mimicked, glaring at him.

  “Come on, Faith. Give it another shot. You don’t strike me as a quitter.”

  “I’m not. I did everything you told me. And I can’t do it.”

  “You can, if you stop trying to control the situation and just go with it.”

  “Right. So we’re back to the control-freak thing.”

  “We’re not. Just stay in the moment. Surfing is about looking where you want to go. Trust me.”

  I’ll trust you, all right, you damn yogi with all your feel-good bullcrap. Gritting her teeth, Faith tugged down the sleeves of the wetsuit, certain David had designed this exercise expressly to punish her for leaving.

  I will do it this time if it kills me. Slowly, shakily, she rose up on her knees again, then, squinting at the beach, planted her feet and hauled herself halfway to standing, trying hard not to think about her rear end sticking out behind her, only a few feet from David.

  “Just a little more. You’ve almost got it,” he encouraged.

  Overhead, seagulls circled and squawked.

  “Don’t rush me,” she protested. Calling on every one of her core muscles, she willed herself upright. “Look! I did it! I’m surfing!” she cried, stretching her arms wide. David was right: having a focal point did limit the wobbling. Where was he, anyway? Faith glanced over her shoulder, anxious for his approval. The ill-timed movement knocked her off balance, however, and Faith tumbled backward into the water, where she felt the reproving yank of her leg rope. Now that apparatus made sense.

  Surfacing, Faith spun in search of David, who lounged on his board a few yards away. “I did it. Did you see me? I stood up!” Faith punched the air in triumph.

  “Yes, I did. Good job, Gidget.” He splashed her playfully. “Not bad for your first time.”

  “First of many. I’m hooked. Now show me the rest.” Repositioning her board, she hauled herself onto it and paddled toward him.

  “Now do you see what I’m talking about?” he asked.

  “I do see.” She got to her knees. “And I’m psyched to try again. Let’s go!”

  In response, David turned his board toward shore and rode the next wave onto the beach.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” she yelled. Faith paddled furiously, hopping off in waist-high water and carrying her board the rest of the way. “I don’t get it,” she said, yanking off her hood. “I finally get the hang of it and you’re done?” She shook out her hair, spraying David with seawater.

  “Yeah, I’m done.” David stood, cradling his board under his arm.

  “You realize I’m leaving for Miami tomorrow. We won’t have another chance until spring.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I accomplished my goal,” he said, unzipping his wetsuit.

  “Your goal.” Faith dropped the board and crossed her arms. “And what might that be?”

  “To whet your appetite enough to leave you wanting more.”

  89

  David insisted on taking Faith to the station, where she would catch her train to the airport. Doubt had racked her ever since David’s surfing lesson, the tantalizing primer that provided another satisfying window into his psyche—a window he had abruptly slammed shut.

  Had Faith opted to stay in Wave’s End over the next few months, she might have had the chance to pry it open again. But she had already made her decision: her plane for Miami left in a few hours.

  “I’m coming back. I promise,” she said again. “At that point, we’ll still have plenty of time to get things ready for the season.”

  To further convince him, she devoted long hours in the days leading up to her departure to going over the Blue Osprey’s menu from top to bottom. The two stayed up late in the inn’s kitchen to prepare the favorites he insisted should remain on the menu for the locals. Though it wasn’t the moment for Faith to suggest some signature plates of her own, she did share a few ideas.

  They arrived at the station a few minutes before her train would arrive. “I have something to show you,” she said. She extracted a sheaf of papers from her purse and handed it to David. “There’s a mock-up of the new menu for you to review. Trying out some new fonts. I’ve left all the favorites like we agreed, and added one or two dishes of my own. Placeholders,” she emphasized, leaning over his shoulder to review the pages with him. “Tell me which ones you like and I’ll send you recipes to try. And feel free to tweak them with more secret Caribbean ingredients,” she teased, trying to lighten the moment.

  Ignoring the levity, he shuffled through her papers, pausing at the last one. “What have we here?”

  “Just another refinement I thought of.”

  He stroked his chin. “That’s a pretty major refinement.”

  “I know. I just wanted to put it out there. You only have the chance to do these things once. I hope you’ll think about it while I’m gone.”

  “Right. Think about it.” As David fiddled with the brim of his baseball cap, a faint whistle blew in the distance.

  “Yikes. That’s my train.” Faith planted a breezy, intentionally platonic kiss on David’s cheek. Then she scrambled out of the car, grabbing her bags before he could assist her, and strode toward the knot of people boarding the airport express train. Feeling David’s eyes on her, Faith turned and waved from the platform; once seated, she stared out of the window until the tracks wound out of Wave’s End and turned David into a distant dot that eventually disappeared.

  90

  Tanned but tired outside Newark Airport, Faith dodged returning snowbirds while searching for her ride. The four punishing months at Huracán, Xander’s ironically monikered South Beach eatery, had sapped her, and she savored the temperate May air on her cheeks. The sweltering sorcery of the Magic City had failed to cast its spell over her. By the time the art deco destination had emptied of its winter residents, Faith ached for the Northeast’s comparative torpor. She left her boss to manage the waning days of his lucrative pop-up, whose profits would help resurrect Piquant.

  “Will I see you again in New York?” Xander had asked Faith that morning over farewell mimosas at a Miami Airport bar. He faced a good six months of renovations before he might bring his seaport restaurant back to life, he estimated.

  “I honestly can’t say right now. I promised David I’d be in Wave’s End for the summer season.”

  “David, David, David. What’s that man got that I don’t?” Xander teased.

  “I’ll say this much: you two couldn’t be more different.”

  “Well, I hope you bring him good luck, as you did me. You’re like ‘The Opener,’ Faith: sweeping in to get a restaurant off the ground, then disappearing. Maybe there’s a reality show in there somewhere.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen that one. My true reality is that I’m allergic to commitment.”

  “Then I’m especially glad you stuck with me.” He slid a check across the table toward her. “It’s not everything, but it’s a start. I’ll get you the rest as soo
n as I can.”

  “I know you will.” Her glass empty, Faith slipped off the bar stool to hug Xander. “Promise me you’ll try to make it down to The Blue Osprey for a meal this summer. I know a cute bed-and-breakfast where you can stay—and I’ll get you a friends-and-family discount!”

  “Faith! Over here!”

  Faith would have walked right by the pewter minivan, were it not for the arresting magnetic sign affixed to its side:

  DISCOVER THE RICHES OF

  THE MERMAID’S PURSE AT THE JERSEY SHORE.

  OUR DOORS ARE OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

  “Please tell me you didn’t get rid of Maeve’s station wagon,” Faith said, embracing her mother.

  “Of course not. Bruce just thought a van would be more practical and fuel efficient for future guests.”

  Apparently, Bruce still wielded his influence, even as Maeve’s role receded, Faith thought as she got in the car. How ironic: less than a year ago, Faith had retrieved her mother from the airport, bent on talking her out of her prize. Today, Connie would deliver her to a new beachside business.

  “What do you think of our uniforms?” Connie proudly tapped the embroidered black shell logo on the pocket of her polo, with the words The Mermaid’s Purse stitched beneath it.

  “Bruce’s idea, as well?” Faith asked.

  “No. Mine,” Connie chided. “With some input from Roxanne. There’s one for you, too, even though I’m guessing you’ll be too busy at The Blue Osprey to wear it.”

  “You’re probably right. But thank you for thinking of me.”

  “And I know you were expecting David,” Connie continued as they exited the airport. “He said something came up at the restaurant at the last minute.”

  “I know. A wine vendor. He texted me.” David’s tepid excuse had disappointed her. Despite her draining work schedule, she’d devoted many a Miami midnight and dawn to their collaboration, and couldn’t wait to see David and their redesigned restaurant in person. And yes: after four months of soul-searching, she could freely admit that she had sorely missed the surfer chef, he of the crumpled brown bag of Caribbean spices.

  Today Faith would learn whether David’s feelings mirrored hers. Perhaps he hadn’t forgiven her for decamping to Miami. Or maybe he’d moved on to someone else.

  Faith turned to her mother. “So, how’s Roxanne working out?”

  “Fantastically. That woman is a natural in the kitchen. With a little hand-holding from David, of course.”

  “Hand-holding?”

  Connie glanced sideways at her daughter. “I didn’t mean that literally. Anyway, what did you expect, after you left the poor guy high and dry?”

  “I didn’t leave him—”

  “And by the way, The Mermaid’s Purse hasn’t been the same without you two canoodling.”

  “Canoodling? Who canoodled? And who says that, anyway?”

  “Plenty of people. And you don’t have to worry, Faith. Roxanne’s mind is on other things.” Having finally filed for divorce, Gage’s mother had secured a winter rental in Wave’s End starting in September. “She’ll still be working for us, but those two really need a place of their own.” Roxanne also would commence a culinary program at the county college after the summer season. “Tanya is helping her line up some financial aid.”

  “I guess we’re lucky I bumped into Tanya on the bus that night,” Faith said.

  “And you’ll be bumping into her a lot more, I imagine,” Connie said as they exited the parkway. Faith already knew Tanya’s aunt Hilda had moved into The Mermaid’s Purse shortly after Faith’s departure. With plenty of money of her own, Hilda refused Grace’s charity and insisted on paying her own rent so that another storm survivor could benefit.

  And after Tanya tracked down the ne’er-do-well contractor, Hilda launched a post-Nadine referrals hotline to steer survivors toward reputable services.

  Other new arrivals since Faith left for Miami included a young couple with an infant, and a middle-aged husband and wife who had taken Merrill and Grace’s room (Faith thought it sweet her mother still referred to the sisters’ accommodations that way) while they figured out what to do about their Wave’s End home.

  With little traffic on this weekday and all their catching up, the ride passed quickly, and mother and daughter soon found themselves on the town outskirts. “Do we have time to drive by the water before Merrill gets here for lunch?”

  Connie glanced at her watch. “I guess so, if we’re fast. I’m so glad you were able to talk her into that dedication service for Grace.”

  Faith had been working with Merrill to determine the most fitting way to commemorate the late midwife’s generosity. At first, Merrill balked at any recognition, insisting Grace preferred her gift remain anonymous. There would be no plaques inside the inn bearing her sister’s name, she said.

  After thinking about it for a while, an idea had come to Faith, and she had gotten Merrill on the phone late one night from Miami to discuss it.

  “What do you think about a birdbath?” Faith suggested. “After all, Grace worried so much about the storm displacing the birds. That they might not find their way back home to the beach afterward.”

  As Merrill pondered the idea, it occurred to Faith that each of them had been displaced—if not physically by Hurricane Nadine, then by the random nature of life’s circumstances.

  And somehow, the timeworn Mermaid’s Purse had evolved into exactly the sort of dependable home base each desperately needed: a comfortable, protective nest while everyone found their feet and spread their wings.

  That home base, that nest, would endure, all thanks to Grace.

  A birdbath in the garden would be the perfect tribute, Merrill agreed.

  The birdbath was the reason for Merrill’s visit to Wave’s End today. After lunch, she and Connie planned to scour area gardening centers for the perfect terracotta birdbath.

  Faith rolled down the window, gulping lungfuls of salted Jersey air scorched with the tang of hot tar from ongoing roadwork. Contractors’ trucks and vans crowded many blocks, and the whine of electric saws filled the air in a cacophony of revival—the sound of a community of survivors returning to daily living, one piece of Sheetrock at a time.

  “So much progress since I left Wave’s End,” Faith commented.

  “Yes, but still so much to be done.” Promised government recovery funds arrived in trickles, Connie reported. Her new boarders had shared horror stories of lost paperwork and wildly inconsistent insurance settlements.

  “Thank goodness for the volunteers. Like them.” Slowing the van, her mother pointed to a team of young adults in orange shirts. Their equipment trailer read DOVES MISSIONS: DEDICATING OUR VALUES EVERY SECOND. “That group came all the way from Ohio with their own equipment. They sleep in the church basement. And refuse to accept a dime. That gives you hope, doesn’t it?”

  Back at The Mermaid’s Purse, her mother parked the van next to Maeve’s trusty station wagon. “Go on in,” she urged. “I’ll catch up.”

  Outside, Faith took in the inn’s new roof and freshly painted shutters, the clipped shrubbery, the porch steps that no longer groaned under her weight—all thanks to the improvement loans Tanya had told her about. After these nominal enhancements, The Mermaid’s Purse appeared to stand a little taller, a little more welcoming, on the main road in Wave’s End.

  No sooner had Faith opened the door into Maeve’s comforting kitchen than an aproned Roxanne came around from the dining room, with Tucker trailing her.

  “It’s so good to see you,” said Roxanne, giving Faith a hug. “Taking over for you has been quite the adjustment.”

  “Not as much of an adjustment as a new baby, I’ll bet,” called someone from inside the kitchen.

  91

  Fully expecting to meet the new boarders Connie had mentioned, Faith was stunned to find Ellie in the kitchen, patting the back of the infant on her shoulder.

  “Greyson, meet your aunt Faith.” Ellie spoke softly as she handed
over the baby. “And if you wake him up, I will cheerfully kill you. Your godson is not the greatest sleeper.”

  “Who cares? He’s gorgeous,” Faith whispered back. None of Ellie’s social media updates had done her son justice. Smoothing the baby’s chestnut sheen of hair, she nuzzled his scalp, inhaling his tantalizing olio of talcum and Ellie’s Coco Mademoiselle. “Mom, come here and look at delicious Greyson,” she whispered.

  “I love how you did that, Ellie.” Connie joined them in the kitchen, slipping a finger inside Greyson’s fist.

  “You mean his name? How could we not? Grace touched our hearts. And, Faith, when I heard Merrill was coming the same day you were getting back, I couldn’t resist coming. Not to mention I get a little stir-crazy by myself in the apartment all day.”

  Ellie and Dennis had refused Ellie’s parents’ offer of a nanny, Faith had been surprised to learn from her friend.

  “Look, he’s out like a light now. I’ll put him down.” Ellie expertly snapped open the stroller that had been leaning against the kitchen counter, then took her son from Faith and laid him down.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” said Faith.

  “I have to be honest,” said Ellie. “This isn’t just a social visit. I heard about Grace’s dedication, and I wanted to be in on the planning. I have an idea.”

  “You should know Merrill really doesn’t want a fuss,” said Connie. “She’s very happy with the birdbath alone.”

  “I know. And I respect that. At the same time, I hope she’ll at least listen to what I have to say.”

  Ellie waited to explain her proposal to Merrill until after the women had finished lunch, rocking the just-fed Greyson in her arms.

  “Dennis and I feel that both Grace and The Mermaid’s Purse are very special to us. If it wouldn’t take away from Grace’s ceremony, we’d love to exchange vows here in the garden that same day, with just a small group of family and friends. If that’s okay.” Ellie sat back in her chair, watching Merrill intently.