Beach House

by Mary Monroe

  “I counted every one of them.”

  “Then tell me why?”

  “It’s not for you to know, Palmer.”

  He looked hurt, then his gaze cooled. “So, there it is. I’m not to know anything. But I’ll wager Cara does. I don’t know what’s going on, but ever since Cara came home, things have been different.”

  She thought to herself how true that was but for reasons entirely different than he was envisioning. “Palmer, you must stop all dreams of developing this property. I also saw Ashton Etheridge. I had him draw up the legal papers. It’s all done. Primrose Cottage will go to Cara when I die. Regardless of our problematic history, she is my daughter and it is only fair and right that I leave this place to her.”

  A strange light came into Palmer’s eyes.

  “I know you think I don’t appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years,” Lovie said. “I do. I recognize that you work hard and are a good provider for your family. But, Palmer, there is more to life than material possessions. These meaningless things cannot bring you happiness. My darling, think of what your father left you when he passed on. How meaningful was it? Is that the same legacy you want to leave your children?”

  She began to cough, long and hard, unable to calm the spasm. Palmer gripped the sides of his rocker, his eyes betraying terror at seeing his mother ill. When the coughing finally subsided, she wiped her mouth with the tissues she kept near and straightened in her chair, catching her breath.

  “Mama, I—”

  “Shhh…it’s all right,” she hushed as her heart gradually came back to a normal pace. She took a last, long shuddering breath. “Don’t waste your time worrying about an old woman. Your children are out there, at the beach. Go on out and play with them. They need you, Palmer. They are your real treasures. And you need them.”

  “What I need is a drink.”

  He got up from the rocker to go fix one but turned on his heel and paced the floor instead. He seemed so distraught that Lovie wanted to rise and get the drink for him, to somehow soothe his ruffled feathers. But she could see a barrage coming and steeled herself.

  “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Mama. This is one whoppin’ Fourth of July party you’re having. You sure know how to bring on the fireworks.” He whistled sharply, bringing her back up.

  “What’s next on the agenda? Are we all gonna sit down at the table like some great, big happy family?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by the sound of a man’s throaty baritone at the front door. She recognized it as Brett’s.

  “Coming!” she called out in a cheery voice. She gave Palmer a silencing look that closed his mouth, then slowly rose and hurried out to answer the door.

  “Happy Fourth of July, Miss Lovie,” Brett exclaimed. His arms strained to carry a large pot of steamed crabs.

  “More food? My goodness, Brett, but we’ve already got more than those tables can hold. The legs are going to give out. I hope you’re hungry!”

  “Don’t you worry. I’ve been out on the boat all morning talking till I’m blue in the face. All I intend to use my mouth for tonight is eating.” He set the crabs down on the kitchen counter and, looking up, caught sight of Palmer. His ruddy, tanned face broke into a wider grin of genuine pleasure. “Hey there, Palmer!” he said, sticking out his hand.

  To her relief, Palmer brought an amiable smile to his face and shook the hand offered. He was very good at turning on the charm when called for. Lovie stepped back, enjoying the sight of two handsome men catching up. Brett was taller, his auburn hair windblown. He’d cleaned up for the party but was still in an island attire of khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt worn open over a T-shirt. In contrast, Palmer’s blond hair was neatly trimmed and he was conservatively dressed in an expensive polo shirt and pressed trousers. She saw the way Palmer’s sharp eyes studied Brett, too, now knowing how things were between Brett and Cara. They chatted for a few minutes before Brett looked her way.

  “It’s awfully quiet around here. Where is everyone?”

  “They’re all down at the beach. I was just telling Palmer that he should go on down and join them. The children are having such a good time. Why don’t you two go on?”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t,” Palmer replied in a formal tone. “I’ve got to make a few more rounds before the night is over. You go on down, Brett. Maybe I’ll catch you a little later.” He turned to place a perfunctory kiss on his mother’s cheek.

  Lovie closed her eyes tight against the bitter disappointment she felt in her heart. When she opened them again Palmer was already leaving the house. She quickly followed him out to the porch. “Dinner will be at six,” she called to his back.

  “Don’t wait on me. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Palmer!”

  He turned at the stairs to face her again, all traces of his joviality gone.

  Her heart strained against her chest. “You mustn’t miss dinner. The children will be so disappointed.”

  “They might as well get used to it. I had to.”

  She reached out to him but he turned his back for the last time. Lovie stood on the front porch and watched her son walk away, the sound of each footfall causing her to wince.

  The hatchlings remain quiet during the heat of the day, but at night, they scrape with their flippers, plowing through broken shells and compact sand, working as a team. This causes the floor of the nest to slowly rise to the surface.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been one of those dazzling, perfect summer days that Cara knew she would keep tucked away in her memories forever. The sun shone high in a cloudless sky, the ocean was refreshingly cool and the onshore breezes kept the bugs at bay. They stayed out for the whole glorious day, catching their second wind when Brett showed up with a long-tailed kite that looped joyously overhead. The tide was high and, holding hands, Cara, Brett, Linnea and Cooper ran into the surf, squealing. They had great piggyback wars, she with Linnea on her shoulders and Brett with Cooper perched high and crowing on his. When the children grew sleepy, they joined Toy and Julia under the umbrellas to stretch out on towels. The warm air breezes gently dried them while the murmurings of the surf lulled the children to nap.

  As the sun began its downward descent, it seemed as though all the people on the beach decided in unison that they were hungry and eager for the holiday feasts and fireworks to come. Folks stood and began folding up their beach chairs and shaking out their towels, calling children in from the water. Toy and Julia scuttled away early to help get the food laid out for dinner. Brett and Cara stayed behind with the children to gather the beach paraphernalia. Cooper ran back to the surf to rinse off his feet only to find them just as sandy by the time he returned to the group. When he made too much of a fuss and kicked the sand in frustration, Cara worried that she’d kept the children out too long and that they would fade out before the fireworks. She looked up to catch Brett’s eye. They exchanged a long look, smiled, then, by unspoken signal, agreed to ignore the child’s outburst.

  Linnea stood alone a few feet off, patiently waiting to go home. Her towel was wrapped around her slender shoulders and her teeth were chattering. Cara’s heart lurched at the sight of her. She was in that tender age before hormones kicked in where girls floated somewhere between child and teen. Her white-blond hair was a sharp contrast to her pinkened skin. Cara had discovered today that Linnea was keen to see the baby turtles and she’d extracted a promise from her aunt that she could come out to Primrose Cottage for an extended visit to help baby-sit the nests. Cara looked forward to spending the time together and discovering more about her niece.

  “I’m starving,” Cooper said with a pout, leaning against Cara’s leg. She looked down at the scowling tanned face.

  “Are you?” she asked with a pouting expression of her own. He nodded seriously and she could feel the scrape of sand against her thigh. The poor little fellow was coated from neck to toe with salt and sand. Her heart pumped with aff
ection. With their dark, wet hair sleeked back, their deeply tanned skin and their brown eyes fixed on one another, Cara thought someone might pass and think they were mother and son, the resemblance was so strong.

  “I’m starving, too,” Brett said to the boy, coming up to rub the top of Cooper’s head with his hand. He rested it atop Cara’s shoulder. Cooper turned his head to squint up at the tall man as though trying to figure things out.

  Cara felt part of a strange tableau, one that depicted a typical American family celebrating an American holiday. She hadn’t believed in such visions, or the feelings of sweetness and contentment that were running through her at the moment.

  “Okeydokey,” Cara replied to both her guys. “We have a mountain of food waiting for you up at the house. If everyone will just grab something to carry, we’ll head up for hot showers, clean clothes and a feast. Linnea, are you ready, honey? Cooper, you can take the lead.”

  By the time they’d showered and changed into clean clothes, the tables were overflowing with fried chicken, steamed crabs and shrimp, corn on the cob, pickles, all kinds of greens and salads, biscuits, four pies and two cakes. Lovie lorded over the feast attending to every detail and decoration. Her wispy hair was pinned back from her face and she’d carefully applied her favorite red lipstick, which perfectly complemented her red dress.

  In the twinkling fairy lights she appeared to Cara as the charming, vibrant hostess she once was. Cara thought back on all the times she’d watched her mother at the many parties her parents had given at the Charleston house. Caterers in black carried trays of delicious-smelling appetizers and champagne while her mother glided through the rooms chatting with her guests, making introductions, then whirling back into the kitchen to supervise the staff. The huge parties had been an enormous amount of work. But even though she knew her mother was exhausted, Lovie had made it appear effortless.

  James and John Peterson, Emmi’s sons, arrived just as they were ready to serve. Cara greeted them warmly, trying to make them feel at ease, but they stepped into the house like condemned men. Their awkward, stiff movements spoke clearly of their eagerness to do their duty for their mother’s sake, then leave as quickly as possible. Emmi’s boys were tall like her and had her red hair, rangy build and green eyes. James, the eldest, was more conservative in dress and manner. He obviously spent more time in the library than on the beach because he was as bright red as a cooked lobster. In contrast, John’s skin was as tanned as shoe leather and his soft hair frizzed out like an aura of spun gold.

  “There you are!” Emmi called as she hurried to greet them with hugs and kisses that embarrassed them. “Toy, come on over here. There’s some fellas your age I want you to meet,” she called out, waving her hand to draw Toy over.

  Cara felt for the girl as she ducked her head, cheeks aflame, and dragged her feet over to meet them. The boys rocked on their heels, nodded their heads curtly and mumbled their nice-to-meet-yous but their eyes glazed over. Toy kept her eyes averted and mumbled some barely audible hello.

  Didn’t they see how pretty she was? Cara wondered as Emmi strained to keep up the conversation. Without those bangs in her eyes, anyone who looked could see that, when she smiled, sweetness shimmered in them like the sun in an azure sky. But the two boys couldn’t see beyond the bulge of her belly. They kept their gazes on the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but on Toy as she stood with her shoulders slumped and her nervous fingers plucking at her gauzy dress as though trying to conceal the obvious swelling of her belly beneath it.

  Cara flashed back to a memory of being Toy’s age and feeling awkward and overlooked by handsome boys like James and John—boys like Brett. The pain was still acute just to witness. She wished she could whisper in Toy’s ear that it was okay, that someday it would all be different. Except she knew Toy wouldn’t believe her. The sprinklers whirred in the background, emphasizing the silence that dragged on after they’d exhausted the topic of fireworks displays.

  “I think it’s time we all eat,” Lovie announced with a loud voice, mercifully ending the torturous exchange.

  Cara led the boys to the tables, away from Toy, where she removed lids and Saran Wrap and placed serving spoons in all the dishes. Once their plates were filled, the two made a beeline out of the house to the front porch where they proceeded to shovel mass amounts into their mouths as quickly as they could.

  Gazing around the room she spotted Toy and Linnea sitting together on the rear porch steps—as far away from the boys as they could get. She said a mental thank you to her niece, impressed that she had sensed a wounded spirit and had the kindness of heart to keep Toy company.

  Florence, Lovie and Miranda sat together on the front porch. Brett chatted with them for a while, then found his way back to Cara’s side to join Emmi and Julia around the outdoor table.

  As predicted, the boys left soon after eating. A cheerful, relaxed mood returned to the small group, even though everyone was aware that Palmer was absent from the family gathering. No one mentioned it, but Cara thought Lovie felt it most intensely. Something had transpired between them during his visit and she was anxious to learn what. When they’d returned from the beach she had found Lovie sitting on the porch, just staring out at the sea. Though she rallied when she saw them and made a great fuss over the children, Cara had been alarmed to see that her eyes were rimmed red, as though she’d been crying.

  Julia, on the other hand, seemed to barely notice or care that Palmer wasn’t around. “Oh, he’s always gone,” she said airily when Cara asked her about it. Linnea didn’t seem to care one way or the other and Cooper didn’t even ask where his father was. He sat himself down next to Brett and allowed only this big, tall man to help him crack his crab claws. The little boy was obviously seeking a male role model. Cara wondered if Palmer had any clue as to what he was missing.

  Or did Brett?

  Emmi, Julia and Cara were wrapping up the last of the food and bringing out the coffee when Florence came in from the porch, her face strained with worry.

  “Has anyone seen my mother?”

  Cara’s gaze flew about the room. “Wasn’t she out on the porch with you?”

  “I thought she came inside a little while ago.” With a frown, she hurried down the hall to the bedrooms calling, “Mother?”

  Everyone began to look for Miranda but it didn’t take long to figure out she wasn’t in the house. Cara felt the tension shoot skyward as everyone realized that the old woman might have wandered off in the dark somewhere. Miranda wasn’t senile, but she sometimes was a bit confused.

  “I’ll go check my house,” Flo called out as she headed for the door. “She probably just went home.”

  Brett went with her, but in a few minutes they returned, not even trying to conceal their worry.

  “She’s not there!” Flo exclaimed. “Are you sure she’s not here? Have you checked everywhere?”

  “I checked the grounds with the children. She’s not here,” replied Cara.

  “Maybe we should call the police,” said Emmi.

  Cara heard a gasp and looked at the children’s faces. The mention of the word police had their eyes as round as the moon. “Wait, let’s just think a moment,” she said, interjecting a dose of calmness. “When was the last time anyone remembers seeing her?”

  “About thirty minutes ago. We were watching the sunset,” answered Flo.

  “Yes, she was talking about the hatchlings,” Lovie added. “I remember her going on about how they like to come out an hour after the sun goes down.”

  “What next?”

  “We came inside to get coffee,” replied Flo. “I was talking with her about whether the caffeine would get her too jazzed but she wanted some so she’d stay awake for the fireworks. Both Lovie and I came in the kitchen and chatted with you a few minutes while the coffee perked—gee, not long. When we came back out to the porch with her cup, she wasn’t there.”

  “So you didn’t see her come into the house?” asked Cara.

  �
��Isn’t the first nest due to hatch any day now?” Emmi asked. “She always likes to go down and check the nests.”

  Relief flooded Flo’s face. “That’s got to be where she went. I could bean her for not telling anyone. Lord, I just hope she doesn’t get lost on the way.” She turned on her heel and trotted back toward the door.

  “Which street is it, 6th or 27th?” Emmi asked, following her.

  “She only cares about the nests on her stretch of beach, so it must be 6th,” Lovie replied as she followed them out the door.

  Cara hurried out to the porch to catch up. “Mama, are you sure you’re up to going out again? It’s been a full day and you were pretty tired.”

  “You bet I’m sure,” she declared, her eyes dancing. “Miranda has a sixth sense about these things. If she took off like a bird dog for the nest, then I’ll wager there’ll be a boil tonight. Nothing can keep me away! I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.” The screen door slammed as she followed them down the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

  In the house, Julia grabbed hold of her children.

  “Oh no, you don’t. Not without your sweatshirts. Those mosquitoes will eat you alive.” When they opened their mouths to argue, she said firmly, “No sweatshirts, no go.”

  They weren’t about to waste time arguing. They tugged their sweatshirts from the knapsacks, then ran out the door with Julia in hot pursuit.

  Cara heard the swish and slam of the doors and felt a shiver of excitement at the prospect of the first hatching tonight. She hurried to the porch to grab a couple of beach blankets, her cap and the trusty red bucket of supplies. “You coming, Toy?” she called out.