She rubbed the dog between the ears and dug out a container of hand wipes, one of the last things that she’d taken from Beth’s apartment. She plucked out one and slowly rubbed the damp cloth around her hands, savoring the scent and imagining the way Beth used to clean her hands when she was a child. Beth had always had a thing for wipes. They might have lived in a one-room apartment in East Nashville, but her hands were always clean.
She crushed the wipe in her hand, reached for the key in the ignition, and twisted. The engine turned, groaned, and stopped. On the second attempt it sputtered and coughed. She glanced at Dolly, who stared at Lucy as if she expected her to make something happen.
She leaned into the wheel, willing life into the engine. “Jeep, don’t screw with me now.” She turned the key. It didn’t fire. The universe had sent her enough bad breaks lately, and by Lucy’s way of thinking, it was time for some good, at least for a little while. A safe harbor waited for her, and she wasn’t changing course.
The third time, the engine caught and rumbled and rattled. For a moment she didn’t breathe or move, fearing it would sputter off. When it held steady, she turned the heat up, and both she and Dolly leaned forward to take in the warm air.
She shifted into reverse. “Onward and upward.”
The dog perked up her ears. Her tail wagged.
Lucy pressed the accelerator and turned north on Route 13, the main road on the peninsula. At first she saw only a few marks of civilization, and then a motel appeared with ten cabin-style rooms and a red VACANCY sign blinking in one of the cottage windows. Beyond the motel were several broken-down tractors with FOR SALE signs hanging on them. Her first sight of a human was an old man in camouflage pants and a jacket, picking up a newspaper. And then she passed a tiny strip mall with several boarded-up stores.
She slowed when she saw the sign CAPE HUDSON, 8 MILES and thought about the blog posts she’d read about the town. It had been settled in the late nineteenth century as a railroad depot serving Norfolk and the northeast; however, there were land grants dating back to the time of King George I and records of indentured servants brought to the Virginia colony in the mid-1600s. Ruins of old plantations and hunt clubs stood watch over the waters of the Chesapeake.
The summers here were fairly busy, but there weren’t enough hotels and cottages to make it a big vacation destination. The town’s population of ten thousand tripled at the end of each November with the annual five-day oyster festival. In January, nothing happened in town. The streets, one blogger wrote, were “just about rolled up.” Another called it “a land of untapped potential.”
She slowed and followed the directional signs that took her down an even smaller road toward town.
According to the map on her phone, two streets ran east and west, while another two ran north and south. The buildings were brick, one or two stories tall, and hearkened back to a time when the town had been a moderately successful hunting destination and railroad town.
There were businesses that catered to tourists, and many bore signs reading CLOSED UNTIL MARCH.
At the end of the main drag she spotted a diner in a brick building. It already had several cars out front, and it was the first sign of real life. She parked alongside them. The sign out front read ARLENE’S.
A few early risers passed by her bright-yellow Jeep, glancing at her and then at her plates before disappearing into the diner. She shut off the engine. “Wait here, girl. I’ll get a to-go box.”
She ran to the front door, then pushed it open to the sound of bells jingling over her head. Warmth, heavy with the smells of bacon and pancakes, greeted her. God, it felt good.
Standing behind the counter was a woman in her late forties. Her hair was a bright red, and she wore an oversize black T-shirt that read OYSTER ROAST VOLUNTEER. Her name tag read ARLENE.
Lucy caught her attention instantly. “Morning. Could I get something to go? My dog’s in the Jeep, and I don’t have enough gas to keep the heat running.”
The woman stared at her for a second or two, blinked, and then grinned. “Baby doll, just bring that puppy right inside. It’s the off-season, so it’s just the regulars and you today.”
“Are you sure? She’s pretty big.”
“Folks, you mind if this little girl brings in her pup?”
Almost in unison, the regulars raised their coffee mugs in approval. Arlene picked up a coffeepot and a stone mug. “I’ll pour while you get your dog.”
“Thanks.”
Lucy dashed outside to find Dolly staring at her through the driver’s window. Her ears were down, and her eyes looked as if she thought she’d been put in a time-out.
Lucy opened the door. “They’re letting us both in. We can sit at a real table and enjoy a real meal.” She hooked a leash on Dolly’s collar, and the dog climbed out.
“How about a bacon biscuit?” she said to Dolly.
Dolly wagged her tail.
They pushed through the diner door. The bells jingled as Lucy again savored the rush of warmth that swept over them. She didn’t realize how much she’d been craving food other than powdered doughnuts, fast-food hamburgers, or overcooked eggs on English muffins. And God, she needed coffee.
She kept Dolly close and beelined for the table in the corner outfitted with hot coffee and a bowl of water on the floor. She sat, wrapped her fingers around the hot mug, and took a sip of the rich coffee, feeling herself coming back to life. Dolly lapped up the water.
The diner was long and narrow. A chrome breakfast bar lined the wall to the right, and across from it eight booths nestled against a wall filled with dozens of framed black-and-white pictures depicting the area through the decades.
Arlene came around and refilled her cup. “Tennessee is a long way from here.”
“Fourteen hours.”
She leaned down and rubbed Dolly’s head. “What brings you two out this way? If you’re here for the oysters, you’re a little late or a lot early. And you don’t look like duck hunters.”
“We’re here to see Henry Garrison.”
Nodding, Arlene glanced out the diner’s front window toward a brick building across the street. “Well, his lights aren’t on yet, so there’s no rush. And by the way, everybody calls him Hank.”
“I knew we were early, but we’re hungry.”
“Menus are in the holder on the wall. Let me know what you’d like.”
Lucy looked up and, for the first time in months, beamed. “Thanks.”
The woman hesitated, head cocked with a question. “Do I know you?”
“I’ve never been here before.”
She stared as if recalling an old memory boxed away for decades. “But I know you.”
“I’m Lucy Kincaid. This is Dolly. My mother tells me she was from this town. Beth Kincaid.” She hoped Beth’s name would ring some kind of bell that validated this trip.
Arlene shook her head, puzzling over information that wouldn’t reconcile. “Haven’t heard of the Kincaids. You got any other names I might recognize?”
“What about Jessup?”
Arlene laughed and rolled her eyes at the obvious staring her right in the face. “Your mother was Beth Jessup, wasn’t she?”
Lucy set her cup down, tapping a nervous finger on the side. “She was.”
Arlene studied Lucy like she was looking at an old friend. “I thought of Beth Jessup the second you stepped in here. We went to high school together. Tore this town up from time to time.” A rediscovered youthfulness sparked in her brown eyes. “Good Lord, I’ve missed that gal. What the heck is your mama up to these days?”
The coffee cup stilled inches from Lucy’s lips. “She died two weeks ago.”
The smile, triggered by memories of Beth, crumpled. “I’m so sorry to hear that, honey.”
Lucy sat a little straighter, still not comfortable with the words herself. “She had brain cancer. She asked Dolly and me to visit her home. Bring her ashes.”
Arlene cleared her throat. “Bless your he
art. Good Lord, in my mind Beth’s still a wild teenager. And now she’s gone. I really am sorry.”
Sadness she’d done her best to ignore crept up beside her. “Thanks.”
The creases between Arlene’s brow deepened. “I suppose you’re here about Winter Cottage?”
News traveled fast. “Mr. Garrison mentioned something about a cottage. Where is it?”
“It’s just outside of town near the lighthouse.”
“I have no idea what I’m getting into.”
Arlene swatted her concern away with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry. Hank will take good care of you. By the time you eat breakfast, he’ll be at his desk. He’s an early riser. So what can I get for you two?”
“I’ll take the pancakes,” Lucy said. “And extra bacon for Dolly.”
“Sure thing. I’ll get your order started right away.”
“Thanks.”
The woman’s grin was warm, genuine. “My word, it sure is nice to have Beth’s daughter in town.”
Beth had only been in her teens when she’d had Lucy. She’d never once mentioned Cape Hudson, but the locals might shed some light on her mother’s life before she moved to Nashville.
As she waited for her order, more people arrived for breakfast. Several older men now sat at the bar, eating and talking in hushed tones. An older couple took a booth adjoining hers. She caught more than a few inquisitive glances in her direction.
The pancakes and bacon arrived, and she fed several strips to Dolly before she took her first bite. The pancakes were soft and buttery, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat at a table and eaten. Most meals were grabbed in the kitchen behind the bar, and at Beth’s there’d been no tables. Beth hadn’t been a fan, opting always to sit on the floor and eat out of a bowl.
The door to the diner opened again several more times, bringing with it gusts of cold air. The diner was almost full.
Arlene approached her and set down a white to-go container. “Extra bacon. Good to see you girls have real appetites. By the way, your check’s been paid.”
“Who?” Lucy asked.
“Consider it a welcome gift.”
Arlene had a warm smile and she’d known Beth, prompting Lucy to ask, “My mom never talked about this place. Do you know why she left?”
“No one knew the answer to that. One day she was here, but then the day before graduation, she was gone. I was sure she’d be back. We used to share a beer on the beach each Friday after the football games all through high school. I must have kept those Fridays open for a year before I finally figured out she wasn’t coming back.” A customer called Arlene, and she shook her head. “I missed that girl something fierce.”
Arlene turned to her other customer, who spoke in quiet tones, occasionally glancing at Lucy.
“We’re the talk of the town,” Lucy whispered to Dolly.
The two ate in silence for nearly twenty minutes, aware of more glances. For every bite Lucy took, she fed two to Dolly, and soon her plate was empty. She dug a few dollars out of her pocket for Arlene and tucked them under the salt and pepper shakers.
Again, she could feel folks watching as she and Dolly left. The lights in Mr. Garrison’s office were still off, so turning up the collar of her coat, she led Dolly down Main Street, and they crossed the dunes to the beach. A stroll on the sand, in theory, was a nice idea, but the cold wind cut across the water, through her jacket, and into her bones.
Back up Main Street, she realized the lights in Mr. Garrison’s office were on. “Ready or not.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lucy
January 15, 2018
Lucy and Dolly climbed the three stone steps leading to the entrance of the two-story blue building on Main Street across from the diner. She glanced briefly at the sign GARRISON & ASSOCIATES, LLC and found the door unlocked.
The entry office was furnished with a rich oriental rug, walls painted a deep hunter green, and four large paintings that depicted the bay in the different seasons. There was a receptionist’s desk, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. She reached down and dusted the sand off Dolly’s paws as she wiped her own feet on the mat.
“Hello?” she said, closing the door behind her. When she didn’t get a response, she moved toward the stairs and shouted, “Mr. Garrison?”
Footsteps sounded on the second floor and then upon the stairs. The man who appeared was lean, easily over six feet, and in his early thirties. Short dark hair, still damp from a shower, was brushed off stark, angled features. He was dressed in khakis with sharp creases as hard as his eyes and a crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. If Beth were here now, she’d have said he had the aura of an old soul.
He stared at her, as if searching for meaning that explained the songbird tattoo on her inner wrist, the streak of blue in her blonde hair, and the band of red-and-blue beads that wrapped around her other wrist. “You’re Lucy Kincaid.”
“Arlene called ahead from the diner, didn’t she?”
“Yes. Welcome, I’m Hank Garrison. When did you get in from Nashville?”
“Last night.”
“Where’d you stay?” Dolly walked up to him, and he extended his hand and allowed her to sniff his fingers.
“In my Jeep.”
He shook his head, frowning. “It was cold last night.” Dolly licked his fingers and settled onto the expensive rug.
“Yes, it was. Do you mind if the dog stays? It’s cold.”
“Sure, she’s fine.” He drew in a breath, still studying her, and then said with genuine sadness, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
For some reason, the simple statement added to her loss. “Thanks.”
“How are you two holding up?”
“I ditched the grief at the Bay Bridge–Tunnel last night.” Beth wouldn’t have wanted her to hold on to sorrow, and Dolly didn’t need the bad energy. Now all she had to do was find a way to really wrestle free of it.
Garrison cleared his throat. “Did you bring the papers I requested?”
He’d been up front on the phone that she’d have to produce proof of identification before he could speak to her. She hadn’t been able to find her birth certificate, so she’d gotten a copy when she went to the department of vital statistics for Beth’s death certificate. It listed Elizabeth Kincaid Jessup as her mother. Unknown for her father.
Lucy dug into her satchel and pulled out a stack of papers. “Here are the certificates as well as the letters you sent.”
“Good. I thought after all the times your mother ignored me, you’d do the same.” He studied the papers, but especially her birth certificate.
“My mother never said a word to me about this place or you. But maybe you could fill me in. I could also use help with that Unknown father on my birth certificate.”
“Come on into my office.” They crossed the small lobby to the adjoining office, and he opened the door and flipped on lights. Dolly and Lucy entered, and he motioned for her to sit while he settled behind the desk. Dolly drifted off to sleep by Lucy’s chair.
The furnishings were tasteful. The solid-mahogany desk looked old, as did the tall leather chair behind it and two smaller chairs for visitors. There was an undergraduate degree in political science from the University of Richmond and another picture of Garrison and three men about his age, all dressed in marine uniforms.
“You were in the marines?” she asked.
“I was.”
“Can’t be a bartender in a Nashville honky-tonk and not know the branches of the service. Tips rise when you can belt out the right armed-services fight song. I can sing the marine hymn right now, if it would break the ice?”
A small smile twitched. “Thanks, not necessary.”
“Too bad. I’m pretty good at it. Semper fi.”
The last time she had been in an office like this, she’d been dealing with Beth’s landlord, who’d sued her for six months’ back rent. As a cosigner on Beth’s lease, she’d been liable and forced t
o pony up the last of her savings to avoid a lawsuit.
“So about your father’s identity. Your mother never told you about the will set up by Mrs. Catherine Buchanan?”
“The first time my mom mentioned Cape Hudson was a few days before she died. I’d have pressed her for details, but she slipped into a coma.”
“I want to go home, Lucy. To Virginia.”
“Why Virginia? Nashville is your home.”
“No. Virginia.”
The weight of those words had tipped the first domino.
“Beth always told me she’d been born in Nashville. Tennessean through and through, she used to say. Honestly, I’m still not convinced you found the right Beth Kincaid.”
“Jessup,” he added without hesitation.
“A name she never used. She was always Beth Kincaid.”
“Except on your birth certificate, Lucy.”
“You know more about me than I do. Got to say, Mr. Garrison, it’s unsettling.”
Again, studious eyes searched for depth and meaning as a muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Elizabeth Kincaid Jessup grew up in Cape Hudson. Her father lived by Winter Cottage the last years of his life.”
“Her father?”
“Samuel Jessup. He married Donna Kincaid, your grandmother, in 1968.”
She sat back, tapping a ringed finger on the mahogany arm of the chair while calmly trying to take it all in.
“Your grandfather passed away last year, which is what prompted me to reach out to your mother.”
Hearing about Samuel and Donna, blood kin and total strangers, poked a hole in her heart. She threaded her fingers through her hair, not sure if she was grateful to finally fill in these pieces of her life or if she was pissed that Beth had lied to her. She opted for pissed because it hurt less to be mad than sad. “Did my mother have any brothers or sisters?”
“Your grandparents had an infant son born before your mother, but he passed when he was a couple of months old. Donna Kincaid Jessup died in 1984 when your mother was about fourteen.”
“Did my grandparents have siblings? Are there at least extended cousins?”
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