Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1

by Thompson, Jan

  Ivan really loved to hear her voice. Lord, is that good or bad?

  Ivan sighed. Probably bad.

  “Monday sounds good.”

  “Glad that works out. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until I get home from Savannah, and then the weeks are pretty much filled up.” Whenever SISO wasn’t playing as a full orchestra, either the SISO Strings or the SISO Brass were. They played in hotel lobbies and restaurant foyers throughout the Christmas and New Year for the tourists.

  “I’ll see you Monday, then,” Brinley said.

  Ivan hoped to see her sooner than that, and he didn’t know why. Somewhere deep in his heart was a longing that he couldn’t place. It couldn’t possibly be for Brinley, could it? He stared at his phone. The call had ended.

  He wanted to talk to her again.

  It seemed silly at first, but he was sure he wanted to hear her voice again. It was pleasant.

  Pleasant.

  Pleasant like springtime and wide open meadows covered with blooms as far as the eyes could see.

  Ivan could hear a new tune in his head. He had to write it down. He swiveled in his chair, faced his laptop, and booted it. The song just came to Ivan, flowing on the keyboard and then onto the music notation software on his laptop. He wrote about thirty measures before he printed out the music sheet, picked up his Vuillaume, and began to play.

  He grabbed a pencil and jotted the title on the top of the page.

  Pleasant Days.

  Then he added more notes to the printout.

  Ivan played some more, bow and string from the violin that the luthier Jean Baptiste Vuillaume had constructed in 1850 bearing witness to his creativity. He closed his eyes to let the sound wash over him, a meadow breeze basking in sunshine.

  Thank You, God, for strings.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu in C Sharp Minor was difficult to play, but Brinley was determined to finish. It was Mom’s and Dad’s favorite opus. They were listening to her and drinking their usual Kona in the adjacent sunroom. Grandpa Brooks’s Steinway grand, now Brinley’s, helped her along, masking her rusty dynamics and her lack of musicality.

  Brinley supposed she was more self-conscious than she ought to be. She hadn’t been home in months, hadn’t practiced the piano for as long, and her fingers were locking up, so to speak. They stretched not. They kept playing andante and largo when she had to go allegro.

  With great effort, Brinley clawed and mangled her way to the last note.

  She heard applause coming through the houseplants behind her. “Thanks, Dad!”

  Dad had always been her unconditional encourager. She could play like a kindergartener, and he’d clap like she had just performed at Carnegie Hall. Brinley didn’t hear Mom in the sunroom. She might have left.

  She moved on to something simpler. Thank you, Sergei Rachmaninoff.

  To her right, the grand stone staircase framed Aunt Ella waltzing down the stairs. She was wearing something in Christmas green, topping it off with bright pink lipstick. Outfit notwithstanding, Brinley thought that Aunt Ella must’ve been quite a beauty in her heyday. She had that Brooks elegance that Brinley had seen in paintings of Damaris Brooks when she was nineteen years old, the same year she was gifted the Stradivarius. As Brinley was thinking that, Aunt Ella continued to descend.

  Brinley half-played Piano Concerto No. 2 and half-watched Aunt Ella tiptoe toward the Christmas trees near her. Aunt Ella reached into the lower branches of a twelve-foot Colorado blue spruce and plucked off ornaments, stuffing them into a plastic bag in her hand.

  Brinley hit a bad note.

  She sprinted to Aunt Ella’s side, thinking her great-aunt was having another episode. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s an ornament exchange party.”

  “A what?”

  “Yun’s Christmas luncheon today. We have to bring ornaments.”

  Brinley had forgotten about it. She glanced at her watch. The party started at 11:30 a.m. They had forty-five minutes to get there.

  Aunt Ella was now holding a Swarovski crystal ball in her hand. Mom’s favorite.

  “Stop, please,” Brinley said.

  “You’re driving me there, aren’t you?” Aunt Ella kept bagging ornaments.

  “Yes, as agreed.” Brinley gently pried the bag away from Aunt Ella and rehung the ornaments. “How many ornaments do you need?”

  “Just one, but I thought I would bring some spares.”

  “If you need ornaments, we can stop at the store.”

  “These are more expensive. More valuable.”

  “Precisely why we need to not steal them from the owner.”

  “Willard owns this house.”

  Owns? Uh-oh. “Grandpa Brooks gave this house to my parents, so everything in it belongs to my parents now.”

  “They’re used ornaments.” Aunt Ella scooted close to the Christmas tree. “They won’t be missed. Your mom has plenty more in boxes in the basement.”

  “Aunt Ella, I don’t think you should give people used ornaments.”

  “New ones cost money.”

  “Come on, Aunt Ella. I’ll pay for them.” Brinley knew Aunt Ella could afford the ornaments herself, but it didn’t matter. These were just things.

  Brinley was happy to know that Cara had been assigned to make sure Aunt Ella took her medications properly. Brinley wished that Aunt Ella’s caregiver would show up, but she understood that she had her own family to return to at Christmas.

  “That’s nice of you.” Aunt Ella backed away. “Will you wrap them up for me?”

  “Of course. Or we could toss them into gift bags. Whichever one is fastest.”

  Aunt Ella seemed satisfied. “We should go to Walmart. There’s always a sale there.”

  “Walmart it is, Aunt Ella. I’ll get my purse and coat.” And a book or ebooks to read in case she had to wait.

  * * *

  Ivan and Brinley arrived at the same time at the Seaside Chapel parking lot. Ivan watched Brinley help her great-aunt—Aunt Ella?—out of the Bugatti at the covered porch entrance to the Fellowship Hall. They looked lost, like they didn’t know what to do or where to go.

  Ivan pulled up behind the sleek Bugatti and stopped his clunky Chevy. He picked up the aluminum walker from the truck bed, opened it up on the sidewalk next to the truck, and helped Grandma Yun get out of the passenger side. Behind him a few more vehicles were coming up, waiting for them to drop off their passengers.

  He waved to Brinley and pointed to a garden bench next to the entranceway. “Why don’t we let the ladies sit there and wait while we park our vehicles? Then we’ll come back and help them get to the Fellowship Hall.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Brinley looked visibly relieved. “Nice truck.”

  “Nice car.”

  Smiles.

  They found parking spaces not too far from each other. Ivan got out first and waited for Brinley to lock her car. Brinley’s charcoal peacoat looked regal over matching indigo jeans. She looked like a million-dollar model while Ivan’s old barn jacket and twice-patched jeans—well, can’t have holes in my pockets—made him look like a poor man living under a bridge.

  “Glad you came by when you did. I didn’t want Aunt Ella to walk across the parking lot, and I didn’t want to leave her there by herself.” Brinley filled him in on what happened Thursday night.

  “We’ll be praying for her safety.”

  At first Brinley didn’t seem to know what to do about that. Then: “Thanks.”

  When they reached the entrance, Grandma Yun and Aunt Ella were chatting away with newly arrived senior adults from Seaside Chapel. They were all decked out in Christmas colors. All were carrying little gift bags or boxes for the ornament exchange.

  Ivan was glad that the Fellowship Hall door was inside a wide hallway. He found two wheelchairs in the coatroom, but both Grandma Yun and Aunt Ella refused them. They wanted to walk on their own volition. So they did, all the way to the Fellowship Hall, where Ivan
could hear “O Come, All Ye Faithful” in the background.

  When Ivan ushered Grandma Yun into the hall, he realized that the music hadn’t come from a CD, but from Seaside Chapel’s youth orchestra. He thought they’d taken a winter break. He hadn’t kept up with them as much as he should.

  “I see a couple of your students in the orchestra, Ivan.” Grandma beamed.

  “Yes. Glad to see they’re keeping it up even when the studio is on break.”

  Ivan saw Brinley put a business card in Aunt Ella’s pocket.

  “Call me if you need anything,” she was saying softly. “I’ll be back in three hours to pick you up.”

  Grandma put her hand on Aunt Ella’s sleeve. “Ella, I want you to meet some of my friends.”

  Ivan didn’t leave because he was watching Brinley watch her great-aunt and Grandma mingle.

  “We can go now, you know,” he finally said.

  “I hope she’ll be okay. Nobody to watch her. Hope she doesn’t wander off.”

  Ivan pointed to people at the doors. “See those volunteers? They’re going to help the seniors get around, cut their food for them, or help them go to the bathroom. So don’t worry. It’s only for three hours.”

  “Your church does take care of its seniors.”

  “We do ministry at the nursing home near here too. You could come along if you like. Some of my SISO friends and I are going to play some Christmas music on Christmas Day.”

  “Christmas Day? Sorry. It’s the only day everyone in my family comes together.”

  “Good for you.” Ivan was turning to leave when he decided to put the question out on a whim. “What are you doing the next three hours while they’re partying here?”

  “I don’t know. Grab lunch, read a book.”

  “I know you’re coming for lunch at our house on Monday, but how about let’s do lunch now, too?”

  Brinley seemed to study him.

  “It’s not a date. We don’t even have to sit at the same table.”

  No response.

  “Or in the same restaurant.”

  Brinley laughed.

  “Made you laugh.”

  “I’m not even hungry,” Brinley said. “I had a late breakfast.”

  “We’ll have a late lunch.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “Persistent.”

  “Well…” Brinley stretched the word. “I don’t know if I should leave Aunt Ella. Uh-oh. Lookee there.”

  Ivan followed Brinley’s line of vision. There was Aunt Ella sitting at a table glancing repeatedly in the direction of several smiling senior gentlemen. Ivan watched Brinley’s eyes widen at the sight of a man in plaid tweed leaving his seat and heading for Aunt Ella, hat and walking stick and all. It took him a while to get from his table to Aunt Ella’s table, but when he arrived he started chatting with Aunt Ella right away. She seemed completely enthralled as she patted the empty seat next to her. With difficulty and slowness of movement, the man sat down.

  “Oh dear,” Brinley said.

  “It’s all right.” Ivan chuckled. “That’s Hiram Jacobs. He’s safe.”

  “Safe as in how?”

  “Safe as in harmless. Hiram’s the perfect gentleman. Lost his wife a few years ago to cancer. Sixty-plus years of marriage.”

  “Okay.”

  “He lives in the Brunswick Senior Living Community down the road here.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Our church is actively involved there. We bring meals, do activities, spend time with the seniors there. It’s safe.” Ivan touched her arm. “Let’s go before you get too worried.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “All right.” Ivan sighed. “You can drive my 1945 Chevy truck.”

  “You have a 1945 Chevy?”

  “Yep.”

  “You should meet my dad—uh, what did I say?”

  “You want me to meet your dad. I gather he’s into antique cars?”

  “Yes—I mean—never mind. So what did you say about your Chevy?”

  “I’ll let you drive it.”

  “To lunch and back?” Brinley’s eyes widened.

  Ivan dangled the car key in front of her eyes.

  “You’re very persuasive, Ivan McMillan.” She grabbed the key from him.

  Chapter Twenty

  In fits and starts, Brinley backed out Ivan’s Chevy truck, cringing that she would probably lose control of it and hit those rows of cars behind them. The stick shift sort of stuck, the weird buttons and old speedometer looked like they shouldn’t be working anymore, the thin steering wheel was a bear to grip and turn, and the bench was uncomfortable. The restored 1945 hunk drove like a tank.

  They barely barreled out of the Seaside Chapel parking lot when Brinley slammed on the brakes.

  “Okay. That was fun.” Brinley was surprised she actually broke a sweat. The tension on her shoulders eased up. She opened the door with great difficulty.

  “What? That’s it?”

  “That’s it, dude. All yours. Thank you.” She came around to the passenger side and climbed in as Ivan, head still shaking, slid over the bench seat to the driver side and reached out to pull the door shut.

  “Maybe I should’ve backed it out first and then let you drive,” Ivan said.

  “You mean let me drive forward only?” Like that’s going to help?

  Ivan shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think it could be hard since I’ve been driving this truck since I was fourteen.”

  “Your grandpa let you drive it then? Underaged?”

  “Up and down the driveway. I got my learner’s at fifteen, so it all worked out.” Ivan joined the traffic on Ocean Boulevard heading toward the pier. “Where would you like to go eat? I’m at your service, ma’am.”

  “Don’t expect me to tip you.”

  “I’m partial to shortbreads.”

  “Ha. That’s what your grandma told me. She saved some for you Friday.”

  “Y’all didn’t have to.”

  “Your grandma is such a considerate person.”

  “That she is. So. What do you want to do? Go to the village and pier and park and walk around?”

  “Sure. We have time. After that, we could grab a quick lunch—or not—and then go back to pick up the party girls.”

  Ivan chuckled. “You should’ve seen your own face when Hiram quickstepped toward Aunt Ella.”

  Brinley rolled her eyes.

  She ran her fingers over the bench seat. It felt like leather.

  “It’s fake leather, if you must know.” Ivan leaned back against the seat as he stopped at a red light.

  Brinley glanced at his long legs and what looked like brawny thighs underneath the tight jeans. “Do you cycle a lot?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” She looked out the clean windshield as Ivan turned into Beachview. The busy Pier Village district came into view, and Ivan slowed down to let jaywalking tourists cross the street.

  “There’s my favorite restaurant.” Brinley pointed at Barbara Jean’s at the end of Beachview.

  “Yours too? How interesting. We should grab lunch there.” Ivan put on his left turn signal. “And over there is Scrolls.”

  “Yes. Argo Perry’s bookstore. My dad plays chess with him.”

  “He has a chess club there. Every Friday morning before the bookstore opens, the Seaside Chapel Men’s Bible Study Group meets in the bookstore.”

  “So you study the Bible every Friday?” Brinley should’ve suspected that Ivan was as religious as his grandma.

  “And at church and at home. I study the Bible everyday.” Ivan coasted down Mallery Street. “It’s my compass. What’s your compass, Brinley?”

  “Myself, I guess.” Brinley pointed to a car leaving a parking spot near the covered pier on top of which a single brown pelican perched. Decades before there would have been many of them. Now they were fewer in spite of their having been delisted as an endangered species.

  After the car left, Ivan parked
the truck. Brinley sprang out of the truck before he could offer to help her.

  “Can you believe this weather? It’s actually warming up.” Brinley took off her peacoat, revealing a raspberry-colored fisherman sweater. She folded the peacoat and placed it neatly on the bench seat. The whole domestic activity didn’t seem to be lost on Ivan. Brinley ignored his stares as she tried not to slam that old door. Any moment now, she expected the passenger door to come right off its hinges.

  When Brinley turned around, she saw that they had parked across the street from her sister-in-law’s gallery two doors down. “The Sandpiper Gallery is just over there.”

  “Something special about it?”

  “Not really. My sister-in-law owns it, but you won’t find her there. She rarely leaves her home since my brother died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How long ago was this?”

  “Five years.”

  “Long time to be grieving.”

  “They say if it’s true love, you never really get over it.”

  “Is that right?” Ivan pocketed the truck keys into his jeans pocket. “What was your brother’s name?”

  “Parker. He drowned in the ocean trying to save his daughter when she fell overboard from their fishing boat. Sadly, they’d both perished.” In fact, the junior high schooler had taken off her life jacket and jumped in, but that wasn’t the cover story the Brooks family wanted disseminated among Mom’s neighbors and friends. So Parker Brooks, thirty-six years old, became a hero and had been so for five years. His other daughter, a witness to the entire traumatic event, had been under psychiatric care ever since.

  “Do you want to check out the gallery?” Ivan seemed relaxed, like they had all the time in the world.

  Brinley hadn’t noticed until now that Ivan was quite tall, at least six one. She supposed that on Thursday night when they both helped his grandma out of the dinner party that they had to lean down as they walked and such. And when he had spoken to her briefly, she was in heels and taller than she really was. Today she was in her usual Keen boots, and her eyes came up to where his lips were—

  Don’t go there!

  They crossed the road and walked down the sidewalk to Sandpiper Gallery. The only person working there was a college-aged girl with hot pink hair working on a laptop. Brinley had never seen her before. She looked up from her keys and greeted them.