Sea Scope

by Debbie De Louise

  As she passed her and Glens' rooms, Sarah saw notes sticking under the two doors across the hall, the Gold Room that Aunt Julie occupied and the Garden Room that was their parents'. She tiptoed toward the doors, knelt down, and began to gather the notes.

  She'd already pocketed the one by Aunt Julie's door when the one next to it opened. Her mother stood in the doorway in a robe, her short blonde hair unbrushed. “Good morning, Sarah. What are you doing out in the hall? Where's Glen?” She glanced down at the paper by her foot and picked it up. “Don't tell me he's at it again with these stupid crayon notes.” She rolled the paper into a ball and handed it to Sarah without reading it. “Go throw this away and tell Glen that if he doesn't behave today, he's not going to the fireworks.”

  “I've already told him that, Mom. Is Dad up?”

  “He's been up for hours. He said he was going for his morning jog around the lighthouse, but he should be back in time for breakfast. I'll be down in a few minutes. Why don't you give Ms. Wilson a hand in the kitchen?”

  “Sure. I'll do that.” Sarah left her mother and headed downstairs. In her rush, she almost collided with the statue next to the stairway. It was one of a dozen or so scattered around the inn that her grandparents collected and that Aunt Julie proudly displayed. Glen had broken one once, but luckily their father had found a sculptor who could repair it. All of them were nautical in theme. The one by the stairs was a mermaid etched in marble, her fish tail intricately carved.

  Sarah still had Glen's crumpled note in her hand. She took the matching paper and tossed both of them in the trash bin discretely hidden downstairs behind a potted plant. As she walked toward the dining area, she smelled the aroma of coffee brewing and eggs frying. She also heard Ms. Wilson humming a southern tune. Wendy's mother sang in the church choir. She had a lovely, lilting voice that her daughter inherited.

  When Sarah entered the adjoining kitchen, Ms. Wilson called to her. “Good morning, young lady. You're the first one up.”

  “No. I'm not. Mom's getting dressed, and Glen's on his way. Dad went to the lighthouse, but he should be back soon.”

  “Then you're in time to help me set the table.” Ms. Wilson took a stack of plates from the shelf above the stove and placed them on the counter. “Can you reach these? Be careful, only take a few at a time.”

  Sarah was used to helping in the kitchen. “Where's Wendy?” she asked, picking up the plates.

  “She's outside in the garden gathering flowers for the guest tables. She'll be in soon. Do you think you can handle a hot dish, too?”

  “Yes, Ma'am.” Sarah enjoyed being helpful. After placing the dishes around the dining tables, she went back into the kitchen for the plate of fried eggs that Ms. Wilson handed her with a pot holder while she carried out the hash browns. They went back one last time for the jug of fresh orange juice and the coffee pot.

  “There,” Ms. Wilson said, looking over the table when they were done. “All ready for our guests. Now let me fetch Wendy. She might need a hand with the flowers.”

  Right after Ms. Wilson went outside, Aunt Julie and Glen came into the dining room. “Hi, Sarah,” she greeted. “Look who I caught sneaking around the West Wing.” She held two of Glen's notes in her hands. “I was straightening out the unoccupied rooms in case we have guests checking in for the Fourth. Although we don't have reservations, we might get drop-ins.”

  “Please, Aunt Julie,” Glen began again in his whiny voice, “Don't tell Mom or Dad. I really want to see the fireworks tonight.”

  Aunt Julie crumpled the papers into a ball. “I'll get rid of these, but you're still being punished. I have chores you can help me with later. I also need to know what you left in Mr. Gamboski's room.”

  Glen took a minute to answer. “It was a seashell that I picked up at the beach last week. It's very pretty. I even cleaned off the sand. I think he'll like it.”

  “That's not the point.” Aunt Julie's voice had grown stern, but they both knew she had a soft side. “You shouldn't be going into guest rooms. I've warned you about that many times.”

  “But Michael isn't really a guest. He's a friend.” Sarah knew Glen admired Michael and even looked up to him like he would an older brother.

  “Just because Mr. Gamboski is with us all summer, doesn't mean you shouldn't treat him like our other guests. I'll get the shell when he's out of his room. Where exactly did you leave it?”

  “On his bureau. He has cool stuff up there and lots of library books he took out to help with that big paper he's writing.”

  “That's called a thesis,” Aunt Julie explained. “It's a report that college students write. It takes a lot of time and research.”

  “I don't think the shell would bother him.”

  Aunt Julie sighed. “I'm sure it won't either, Glen, but it's the idea that you put it there without asking.”

  “But that's part of the game, Aunt Julie.”

  She sighed louder. “I don't have time for this. I'm getting rid of these notes and will do something about the seashell later. Be prepared to work for me this afternoon, young man.”

  As she was about to leave, Michael arrived. He surveyed the room through the thick lenses of his glasses. “Would you all be talking about this, by any chance?” He held out a pearly, cone-shaped seashell.

  Glen looked embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Michael. I put it there. It was for the crayon clue game. I won't do it again. I know I shouldn't go in people's rooms without asking.”

  A crooked smile touched the corners of Michael's mouth. He came over and ruffled Glen's hair. “Don't worry about it, pal. In fact, I think I'd like to keep it as a paperweight for all my notes.” He turned to Aunt Julie. “No harm done, but your aunt's right that you need to ask permission before entering a room. I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone hiding things in yours while you're sleeping.”

  Glen looked over at Sarah. “My sister barges in on me all the time.”

  “I do not,” said Sarah. “I always knock. You're the one who walks in on me all the time.”

  “Children,” Aunt Julie raised her voice. “Quiet down and sit at the table. I'll be right back. I want to see what's keeping everyone.” She left before Sarah could explain that their father was out, Wanda was in the garden with Wendy, and their mother was taking her usual long time putting herself together to face the day.

  Chapter Ten

  Cape Bretton, South Carolina: Present day

  On the last leg of our trip to Sea Scope, the skies let loose and heavy rain descended on us. We'd made several stops before crossing into South Carolina, and I'd taken over the driving the last hour despite Carolyn's assurance she could handle it. I could tell by her drooping eyelids that she was nearing her exhaustion point, and we were still many miles from the inn. Neither of us had brought up Derek or the baby again. We'd driven mostly in silence and only spoken briefly about general topics when we'd had lunch and an early dinner at two of the rest stops.

  I knew Carolyn was giving me time to think, and I'd come to a few decisions along the way. I wouldn't spend the whole summer at Sea Scope. I would return to Long Island with Carolyn after my aunt's birthday and attempt to salvage my marriage. I wouldn't beg Derek or throw the news of the baby in his face, but I'd confront him in a non-threatening way and ask exactly how deep his feelings were for the student with whom he was having an affair. If it was just a fling, I would forgive him and take responsibility for my part in what led him to seek a lover. If, however, it turned out that he fancied he was in love with this girl, I'd have to accept it and go on with my life. My aunt was a great role model, an independent woman who, while enjoying men, had no difficulty surviving without a husband. Mother, on the other hand, fell apart after my father died. To be honest, she'd never been strong to begin with. At eleven, I had been faced with raising my brother while my mother sunk deeper into the bottle. Although caring for a newborn was much different than overseeing a nine-year-old boy who was mature for his age, it was a wonder both we grew up normal w
ithout seeking the solace of drugs or committing any crimes. Glen's alcoholism didn't start until college, and he considered it social drinking even after he graduated with his psychology degree.

  “How far is it now, Sarah?” Carolyn asked from beside me. “Are you sure you don't want me to drive? It's pretty nasty out now, and it's getting dark. I know you don't like driving at night.”

  “I'm fine. You relax. You've been driving all day. We'll be there soon.” I was no longer looking forward to arriving at Sea Scope. I would call Derek, as I'd promised, but I'd keep the conversation short just to let him know I'd arrived safely. The serious discussion would be done in person when I returned. Even though my mind had mostly focused on the female voice that answered at my house, I also thought about the text message I'd received the previous day. I still hadn't had the opportunity to investigate it, but I meant to do that once I was alone in my room at the inn. Aunt Julie said she was giving me the Violet Room again. She would likely place Carolyn next door in what used to be Glen's room. I wondered who else had been invited to Sea Scope for this preview opening and if they were already there.

  When we crossed the bridge to Bretton Island, Carolyn exclaimed, “I wish my first view of Cape Bretton wasn't in the pouring rain. It still looks lovely. I can see the lighthouse in the distance.”

  I'd noticed it, too, but tried to ignore the emotions that welled up in me at its sight. We followed the one-lane road to Sea Scope next to dripping Spanish moss. The road wasn't well lit. I had to concentrate to find the turns that led to the inn, relying on my memory more than the car's GPS instructions which were often inaccurate.

  “It's coming up,” I notified Carolyn as we took another twisting turn, the wipers furiously swishing against the windshield in a futile attempt to clear it of the downpour.

  “Thank God,” she said. “Be careful, Sarah. I can hardly see the road.”

  The tires felt like they were rolling in mud as I accelerated so the car could crest the hill up to the inn. I finally came to a stop a few feet from Sea Scope's door next to two cars, one I recognized as my aunt's Honda. I wondered who the green Fordbelonged to.

  “This is it,” I told Carolyn who was already gathering her purse and overnight bag. “I think we can make it inside without using an umbrella if we run for cover under the porch.”

  Carolyn looked ahead at the house. It was not as large as I remembered, but things always appear bigger to children. I could tell, even in the dark, that it needed upkeep. The bushes out front were overgrown and, although I couldn't see the back garden, I assumed it also needed tending.

  “It's absolutely beautiful,” Carolyn said with her hand on the car door. “I love these types of Victorian sea homes. It looks like the houses I saw when I visited Cape May years ago. The view of the water and lighthouse must be amazing in good weather. I can't wait to see the inside.”

  “I'm glad you approve. It looks a little unkempt to me and not as large as I remember, but it still exudes that Southern charm of which my aunt and father were proud. C'mon, let's make a run for it. It looks like one of the other guests is already here. No need to drag along our suitcases. The overnight bags we used in the motel should be fine. We can get the other stuff tomorrow.”

  Carolyn nodded, throwing open the passenger door to the onslaught of rain. I ran up the porch steps behind her. When I got there, I tapped the anchor doorknocker even though I saw there was now also a bell.

  “Welcome to Sea Scope,” I said, taking a deep breath as I waited for an answer.

  From the notes of Michael Gamboski

  Boston Lighthouse, circa 1716 (Wikipedia)

  The first lighthouse built in America was Boston Lighthouse in 1716 on Little Brewster Island. It was destroyed during the American Revolutionary War and rebuilt in 1783.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sea Scope, Twenty years ago

  Right after Michael came to breakfast, Martin Brewster came through the parlor door. He had his gray sweatpants on and a Bretton Island t-shirt that was dripping with sweat. Sea Scope didn't have air conditioning, but ceiling fans kept it tolerable during the Southern summers.

  “It must be close to ninety already,” he said, wiping his dark hair back from his face.

  “How was the lighthouse?” Aunt Julie asked.

  “It's all set for tonight. We should go there early to get the best view.” Every year Cape Bretton's town committee held a fireworks show on Bretton Island. The best location was practically right on Sea Scope's front lawn by the lighthouse.

  “I hope it isn't too noisy,” Jennifer Brewster said, entering the kitchen. Her hair still looked unbrushed, and her green-flowered peasant blouse clashed with capri-length orange pants. Sarah was secretly glad she hadn't inherited her mother's fashion sense. Her love of art and color had come directly from her aunt.

  “Put in ear plugs like you usually do, and you'll be fine,” her husband told her.

  Wanda came back with Wendy and, as they entered the kitchen, Mr. Donovan and Russell finally showed up.

  Julie and Glen were excited to see the other two children. Aunt Julie had already promised that Russell could sleep over with Glen the whole weekend and, not to make Sarah jealous, Wendy could stay with her until Sunday.

  When everyone was seated, talk continued about the evening's events. Everyone was looking forward to them except Sarah and Glen's mother. Sarah noticed Bart Donovan showing Michael a book. She figured it was one of the books Mr. Donovan had written about lighthouses and made a note to ask Russell about it when they went to the beach after breakfast.

  Glen and Russell had big appetites and wiped their plates clean to the delight of Ms. Wilson, but Sarah was too eager to get outside. She mushed the hashed browns and eggs together and drank a quick sip of orange juice.

  “What's wrong, Sarah?” her mother asked. She hadn't eaten much herself but had drunk several mimosas that Ms. Wilson had added to the table for the adults.

  “I can't wait to get down to the beach. Can all of us go?” She looked at Wendy next to her with her napkin in her lap and her long braids pushed back, and Glen who was talking to Russell about his science experiment.

  “After you help Ms. Wilson clean up.”

  As people began to leave the table, Sarah and Wendy stacked the dirty plates and brought them to the sink where they helped Ms. Wilson wash them. The boys continued talking.

  “Shouldn't they be helping, too?” Sarah asked.

  “Don't worry. I'll give them chores later,” Aunt Julie said, wiping a few dishes. “Your brother owes me an hour's work today, so don't let him stay at the beach too long. I want him to pay up before we leave for the show.”

  When the dishes were done and Sarah and Wendy had also wiped down the tablecloth, Sarah beckoned her brother and Russell to get their beach stuff so they could leave. The children went upstairs to their rooms and then met outside on the porch with their backpacks. Russell and Glen wore their swim trunks and a t-shirt. Sarah and Wendy both had one-piece bathing suits under tank tops and shorts. The girls were the same age and about the same height and weight. Russell, the oldest, was also the tallest while Glen, the youngest, was the shortest.

  “Is the science museum open today?” Glen asked as they began their walk toward the beach.

  “I doubt it,” Sarah replied. “It's a holiday. The shops may be open, though. We can get candy and ice cream after we swim.”

  “I want to go up to the top of the lighthouse,” Russell said. “My dad showed me photos of lighthouses all over the country. I'd like to compare them to yours. I even brought along my camera to take pictures.”

  The four of them were walking in two rows, the girls in front and the boys behind. Sarah looked back at Russell. She was amazed at how much he looked like his father with his deep blue eyes and sandy curls. She'd never seen Russell's mother. Sarah was told she'd died shortly after Russell was born. It must've been hard on Russell, but he was always happy. “Is that the book your dad was showing Michae
l this morning?” she asked.

  His face lit up. “Yep. It's an amazing book. I'll show it to you if you'd like, Sarah.” He sounded so proud of his father.

  “That would be cool. Thank you, Russ.” Sarah loved talking to Russell about lighthouses and the history of Cape Bretton that his father had been recording for years. Most people knew that Cape Bretton had been named for a marine killed in action during World War I but not that the young man's father had the lighthouse built in his memory.

  “Does the book have anything about science in it?” Glen asked.

  Russell shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

  Glen pouted. “Then show it to Sarah. I'm not interested in history.”

  “How come?”

  “It's dumb. That's all.”

  The lighthouse was on their right and straight ahead were the small group of stores known as the dock shops and the changing rooms for the beach. The science museum was set back by itself.

  “History isn't dumb,” Russell told Glen. “It's very important to know about our past and the people who lived before us.”

  Sarah could tell Glen was ignoring him. He'd already spotted his favorite place. “Can we check to see if it's open?”

  “It's Fourth of July, Glen, but go ahead. We'll meet you over there.”

  Glen took off like a bullet, and Sarah found herself walking between Wendy and Russell. She could see their shadows in front of her—Wendy's moving with her swinging braids; Russell's looming over both of them, a tall shadow of his father.

  Sarah could imagine Wendy felt like a third wheel when she and Russell began talking about lighthouses on their way toward the museum. She felt sorry for Wendy, but the girl was rather shy and wasn't much of a talker. Sarah felt she had less in common with her than with Mr. Donovan's son even though Wendy practically lived at the inn, while Russell only came by with his father. Lately, the two of them had been visiting more often, and she was happy about that.