“Wow,” Linnea said. She couldn’t imagine a dry spell of three years. “I loved Brett like a second father, you know that. And you’ve always been a second mother to me. So this doesn’t come lightly. . . . Cara, I honestly feel Brett would want you to date again. He wouldn’t want you to waste away, pining for him. You’re too vibrant. Too beautiful. Cara, you deserve another chance at love.”
Cara didn’t respond, but she looked at Linnea with a new vulnerability. Linnea felt she was truly listening, as though the tables had turned and now Linnea was the one dispensing advice. For the first time, it felt to her that instead of a mother-daughter relationship, they’d morphed into two women friends.
Cara poured herself another glass of wine, then took a sip. Linnea could see she was already composing herself, reining in her emotions. There would be no tears.
“You can wear one of those new dresses to Emmi’s party,” she said.
“What party?”
“This weekend at her house. A barbecue.”
“There’s another party at the Social Club?”
Cara laughed at Linnea’s nickname for Emmi’s house. “Her son is visiting from California. Well, actually it’s more than visiting. He’s moving in temporarily. Emmi is thrilled and wants us all to meet him.”
“Doesn’t Emmi have two sons?”
“That’s right. James and John.”
“Not very creative with names, was she?” Linnea joked.
“It was something to do with the apostles,” Cara replied, then waved that topic off. “James is married, goodness, four years now. He’s the eldest. Emmi’s very proud of him, and with good reason. He graduated from Duke Medical School and practices somewhere near there. I can’t remember his wife’s name, but they already have a son. I think he’s two already.”
“James is the perfect son,” Linnea quipped.
“So it seems.”
“And what’s the one who’s going to be at dinner like?” Linnea asked with idle curiosity.
“John is the younger son. He’s not an academic. More of a maverick.”
“ ‘Maverick’ as in an unreliable eccentric? Or unconventional?”
Cara chuckled. “The latter. John’s just more laid-back than his brother. When James was in the library, John was out surfing. Emmi tells me John is super smart, but not conventional smart. More entrepreneurial. I remember when Emmi used to complain that the teachers said John didn’t live up to his potential in school.”
“That’s what the teachers always say about Cooper. They’re trying not to say he’s lazy.”
“In John’s case, I suspect he was bored. His report cards were so-so, but he aced his SATs. Near-perfect score. He went to Stanford.”
Linnea set down her glass, impressed. She’d earned all As in high school, but her SAT scores were only average. The tests were the great equalizer.
“That’s impressive. Stanford . . . So what does he do now?”
“He’s into computers. He went to California for college and never came back. I think he lives in San Francisco now. Or did.”
“If he was doing so well, what’s he doing back here?”
“I don’t know. Emmi loves to toot the horn about her sons’ successes. Which is only natural,” she hurried to add. “But she can be very hush-mouthed about any problems. Since I haven’t heard, I’m guessing it’s not good. But,” she said on an upbeat note, “Emmi’s thrilled to have her baby back home and wants to call the clan together.”
“I’m hardly the clan.” Linnea picked up her glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”
“Yes, you have. At that Fourth of July party Lovie held that last summer. We decorated the house with fairy lights, there were mountains of food, and Flo’s mother Miranda went wandering the beach.”
“Oh, yes,” Linnea said, a smile flitting across her face at the recollection of that very special night. “A turtle nest hatched that night. The first I’d ever seen.”
“That’s right.”
“But I don’t remember Emmi’s sons. Cara, I was only, what? Eight years old?”
“Was it that long ago?” Cara asked with a sad shake of her head. A wistful, then sorrowful expression crossed her face. “That was a wonderful night,” she said softly. “I can’t blame you for not remembering. The boys were teenagers with better plans for the Fourth than to come to their mother’s friend’s party. Emmi must’ve twisted their arms. They obliged, stuffed a few burgers in their mouths, and split. But, Linnea, surely you’ve seen them come and go from Emmi’s over the years?”
Linnea shrugged. “If I did, they didn’t make much of an impression.”
“Well, you’ll meet the mysterious John Peterson at the party.”
“Is he good-looking?”
Cara laughed. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“But you said he surfs?”
“He did. Devotedly.”
“That’s on my bucket list this summer. I’ve always wanted to learn, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why I never did. I mean, the ocean’s right out there! My dad taught Cooper, but not me.” She frowned. “It’s that double-standard thing again.”
“Why didn’t you ask Brett to teach you? He loved to surf.”
“I don’t know,” Linnea replied with remorse. “I guess he taught me so much already.”
“He would have enjoyed teaching you. He loved you, you know. Like a daughter.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “So silly,” she said, sniffing. She reached for a napkin. “I was afraid you might burst into tears at the mention of Brett, and here I am, weeping like a baby.”
“Don’t start, or I will.”
“I’m okay. . . .” She wiped her eyes and laughed at herself. “I’m such a crybaby. I cry in movies, reading a book, even watching a Hallmark commercial.”
“I just had a brilliant idea. Come with me,” Cara said, swinging her legs to the ground and rising. “Watch your step.”
She led Linnea down the dark steps to the ground and around the corner to the leeward side of the house. She flicked on the light to illuminate the area under the front porch where they stored the strollers, bicycles, garden equipment, and such.
“There it is,” Cara said, and made her way toward the far corner of the storage space. She had to dodge spiderwebs and move a bicycle. She rested her hand on a long blue and white surfboard, pausing in private thought. Then she turned to Linnea. “This was Brett’s surfboard. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t sell it with his other things. Maybe because he’d had it for such a long time and loved it. And maybe because when I see it, I remember how handsome he looked riding the waves.” She smiled at the memory. “I know he’d want you to have it.”
“I couldn’t . . .” Linnea said, deeply touched.
“Let’s not do that back-and-forth dance,” Cara said. “I want you to have it. Use it! That’s what a surfboard is meant for. It’d make both of us happy.”
“It’s in such good condition.”
“Brett was meticulous about his tools.”
“I’d love to have it. Thank you. I can’t wait to try it out.”
“Maybe John can teach you.”
“What’s to teach? I just take the board out and hop on, right?”
LINNEA ROSE WITH the sun, eager to ride the waves on her new surfboard. She applied a thick coating of high-SPF lotion while looking out at the rosy sky. She slipped into her bikini and a rash guard and flip-flops, then tied her blond hair back with an elastic. She moved quietly, not wanting to stir the sleeping baby.
The house was dimly lit with the first rays of the sun as she creaked across the wooden floors. The house was dear to her, at no time more than in these early hours when the world still slumbered. The toys were neatly stacked, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Hope had them splayed across the floor. Soon the scent of coffee would fill the air, the phone would start ringing, and the day would be off. But for now . . . all lay in wait.
Openi
ng the front door, Linnea stepped out into the morning’s promise. She made her way down the stairs to the storage area under the porch, where the surfboard sat near the entrance. She imagined Brett coming down these same stairs, fetching his board, and going out to the sea. The board was much heavier than she’d imagined and so long that she could hardly manage to carry it along the beach path to the ocean. She felt like a mother sea turtle dragging a heavy shell, stopping frequently along the way to catch her breath.
But at last she made it, and she took great gulps of the fresh breeze as she stared out at the ocean. She felt a surge of exhilaration. It was her favorite time of day on the beach, when the sun cast a rosy tint on the dark water and the sand. For those few precious moments, the effect was otherworldly. There was no time to waste, however. Two surfers were already out in the ocean, bobbing on the waves like pelicans. It was a perfect day to begin surfing.
She’d gone on the Internet to watch a few how-to videos on surfing and felt prepared. The swell was a few feet high, which by South Carolina standards wasn’t too bad. She hoisted the surfboard the final feet to the water’s edge. The air was a bit chilly, which made the water feel cooler. Refreshing, Lovie would call it. Standing with her feet in the water, Linnea felt a sudden rush of doubt. She really didn’t know a thing about surfing other than from a quick Internet search and a lifetime of watching others. This was something she’d always wanted to learn, right? Cooper had learned at the age of ten. How hard could it be?
“Here we go,” she said aloud, and set the board on the water. She clumsily lay down on the board and clung to the sides as it rocked wildly. “Whoa,” she exclaimed, trying not to fall off. Once it settled, she cautiously began to paddle with her arms. At first she seemed to go back more than forward. She put some muscle into the effort, and gradually began inching forward. She was beginning to feel good about her progress out toward where the two other surfers sat on their boards, waiting for a good wave. Each small wave set her back a bit, but she kept going. Then she caught sight of the first wall of blue water. Her eyes widened, and she gripped the sides of the board as the wave slammed into her. She went rolling off the board and was sent spinning in the wave, hurtling toward the shore.
Linnea sputtered to the surface and scrambled to stand in the sand. She caught sight of the two men poised atop their boards, coasting effortlessly, just as another wave slammed into her, knocking her over a second time. Gasping, she staggered to a stand, wiping the hair from her face since the elastic had sailed away. She looked around frantically, searching for her surfboard. She spotted it bobbing in the current, taking off down the shoreline farther away from her. Oh, no, Brett’s board! In a panic, she pushed through the thigh-deep water, swinging her arms to catch it.
A tall man rushed into the surf to grab her board. She waved in acknowledgment, so grateful that he held it for her while she pumped through the water toward him. He was tall, with the deep tan of a surfer. His longish hair was a deep auburn, but the sun had bleached the tips a golden red. The closer she got, she saw that he wasn’t a college kid but a man, maybe late twenties or early thirties, and very good-looking. She reached up to smooth her wet hair from her face.
A crooked grin eased across his face. “I think this belongs to you,” he said as she drew near.
His eyes were a piercing green with whites that contrasted sharply with his tan. She felt the power of them sweep her body and sucked in her stomach.
“Thanks,” she said, taking hold of the traitorous board.
“Major wipeout.”
“Yeah,” she said, and had to laugh. She looked up and wanted to tell him it was her first time out on the board, but he shook his head and laughed.
“See ya,” he said, and walked away with a backward wave.
He was laughing at her, she realized, feeling like a little girl just dismissed. Her blush deepened. Major wipeout. She closed her eyes, unable to imagine how ridiculous she must’ve looked getting knocked down before even making it to the breakers—twice!
She watched as he trotted back to his own board and picked it up from the sand as though it weighed nothing. He waved to the other surfers, then jogged into the sea and slid onto his board like an otter. His strong arms dug deep into the water and made short work of the journey out. She put her hand over her eyes to watch how he seemed to lift himself and the board over the oncoming wave to glide over it and just kept plowing out to where his friends sat on their boards beyond the breakers. It was beautiful to behold.
She looked at the long surfboard and felt again the sting of his laugh. Maybe there was a lot more to learn about surfing than she’d figured. But this morning’s embarrassment and the sting of the surfer’s laugh, rather than discouraging her, only fueled her fire to learn.
Chapter Eleven
Despite living in the ocean, turtles cannot breathe underwater. They are reptiles. Like the mammals dolphins and whales, they have to surface from time to time to breathe.
IT WAS A perfect night for a party. Long tables covered in blue-and-white-checked tablecloths stretched across the flagstone patio. Hurricane lanterns flickered in the dusk. Linnea stood at the gate and heard the low murmur of conversation broken by occasional laughter. Squinting, she scanned the yard to see who was there.
Flo walked around carrying red wine in one hand and white in the other, refreshing everyone’s glasses. Emmi manned the barbecue. The scent of pork ribs wafted in on the breeze. Linnea had been exhausted by parties, but this one promised to be a special evening with women she’d grown up among.
Linnea’s plan was to stop in and say hello to everyone, meet Emmi’s son, then quietly slip out in time to go to a gathering at Jessica’s family’s beach house on Sullivan’s Island. She was wearing the sage-green shirtwaist dress from Lovie’s collection, which showed off her tiny waist and long, slim legs. Her hair was loosely pulled back, and her sun-kissed skin was free of makeup except for her dewy pink lips and a swipe of mascara.
Her game plan set, she scanned the patio for Cara and spied her sitting at a table with Hope in her lap, beside a handsome man with dark gray hair sprinkled with white. Heather walked up to him and handed off Rory. He held the boy high in the air like an airplane before settling him in his lap. He must be Heather’s father, she realized. So he was the man Cara found attractive . . . Linnea looked closer at his dark, bushy brows over beautiful brown eyes, his ruddy tan and outdoorsman appeal, and readily understood Cara’s attraction. He didn’t look like Brett, but he was the same type. At least physically. And unless she was mistaken, there were sparks flying between him and Cara. Linnea walked into the party, her steps a bit wobbly in her strappy sandals as she made her way across the crooked flagstones directly to Cara. With a knowing smile, she was introduced to David Wyatt. He was both charming and handsome; and though fiercely loyal to Brett’s memory, a part of Linnea hoped that Cara might at last end her mourning and find happiness with someone like David.
AS LINNEA MADE her rounds at the party, she caught up with Heather and Bo, who still acted like newlyweds. From the moment she’d met Heather, they had instantly connected. They were almost the same age and she’d sensed a kindred spirit in Heather. They shared a love of nature and wildlife. As they chatted, Linnea was impressed once again by how much Heather knew about birds, both shorebirds and songbirds. When she invited Linnea to come along on a birding expedition at Bulls Bay, she jumped at the chance. They talked for a long time and could’ve talked for hours more, but Heather heard her son fussing across the patio.
“I’d better find Rory and pack up,” Heather said. “We have a ferry ride back to Dewees.”
Linnea thought just getting to know Heather had made the party worthwhile. She glanced at her watch; time to make an exit herself. She was heading toward the gate when she heard male laughter coming from the upstairs back porch. She glanced up. Under the dim yellow light of the outdoor lantern, she caught sight of two men, each with a beer in hand. They were both tall, but the younge
r one was leaner in tight jeans and a black T-shirt that didn’t hide his broad shoulders.
Curious, she grabbed her purse and thought maybe it was wise to go upstairs and fetch a drink before leaving. She quickly applied a fresh coat of lipstick, then climbed the stairs.
The light on the porch was dim, but she could readily see that the older man was Heather’s father. The second man had his back to her. But his hair gave him away. It was a deep red, brushed back from his tanned forehead. She froze.
The younger man suddenly turned his head to look over his shoulder, as though realizing he was being stared at. Their gazes locked. Linnea sucked in her breath.
“You!” she exclaimed.
“You!” he replied, and broke into a wide grin. “The girl who can’t surf.”
She felt her cheeks burn. Her heart beat fast, as if she’d just suffered an electric shock. His eyes . . . they were the most piercing blue-green color. She actually felt shaky. She wasn’t prepared for this kind of jolt tonight. She collected her wits, not wanting to appear—again—like some silly schoolgirl. She couldn’t hold her own fiasco against him.
David cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I want to say good-bye to Heather and Bo.”
Linnea waited until David disappeared down the stairs. She turned to John. “Thank you again for saving my board.”
“Out on the water, we have each other’s backs,” he replied. “I didn’t see you go back out.”
“As you said, it was a major wipeout. And I didn’t want to be a joke.” She pursed her lips and raised a brow.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said. “But it was pretty funny.”
Linnea flushed again, but couldn’t stop her laugh. “It was my first time on the board.”
“Really?” he asked in sarcasm.
Linnea strategically stepped closer to the cooler, opened it, and peered in. She glanced back over her shoulder to find he was still looking at her.
He stepped forward and asked, “Can I get you a drink?”
Beach House Reunion Page 13