Beach House Reunion

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Cara hurried to her side with Linnea. “Welcome,” she said warmly, leaning forward with Hope in her arms to offer a kiss of greeting.

  Tears filled Julia’s eyes. It seemed as though she’d been holding herself together by a thread and now for the first time she felt she could let go and that one, slender thread tore and released the flood of anguish.

  Cara understood and handed the baby to Linnea. She wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law. “You’re safe now,” she told her softly. “You’re with us.”

  Cara took Hope back in her arms and was guiding the women indoors when they heard the husky sound of John’s voice.

  “Linnea!”

  Turning, they saw John racing around the corner of the house. His hair was tousled, red stubble framed his face, and his green eyes were pinned on Linnea. He took the stairs in two leaps and ran to scoop Linnea into his arms and plant a breath-sucking kiss.

  Emmi hurried around the corner after John and, seeing the two locked in an embrace, stopped short. Then, her face glowing, she fist-pumped the air. Flo followed at a slower pace, blinking up at them in confusion.

  Cara took in the scene, holding Hope close, and leaned against a porch pillar, swamped by a wave of memories of another such day. Another aftermath of a storm. Only that time, it was Brett who had come running. For her. Closing her eyes, she felt again his arms around her, tight and sure and strong. The feel of his lips claiming hers. It was so real she could smell him. Brett’s presence was strong, and her heart ached for him. Hot tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, and she squeezed Hope tight and took a ragged breath to stop them.

  Then she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and two short, reassuring pats. Cara opened her eyes to see Emmi standing beside her.

  “I know,” she said in a low voice.

  She sniffed, bolstered by her friend’s understanding. Emmi remembered, too.

  John’s arms tightened around Linnea. “You didn’t answer your phone!”

  Linnea hiccuped a laugh that sounded more like a cry. “No service,” she choked out.

  He rocked her in his arms, his relief palpable. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “No,” Linnea said, smiling into his face.

  Cara looked to Emmi, a sympathetic smile easing across her face. The old matchmaker was grinning with pleasure. When their eyes met again, Emmi gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Mercy!” Julia exclaimed. “I guess that’s why Linnea calls this the Social Club.”

  “That would be my house,” Emmi said, stepping forward to help with the suitcases. “Next door. I’ve got a mountain of food. Come on, everyone. Let’s eat.”

  EVERYONE FOLLOWED EMMI over to her house. Linnea took Hope along when Cara asked for a few minutes alone.

  She still felt Brett’s presence keenly. He was here with her, she knew it. She went to the pergola and laid her hand against the wood, patting it with appreciation. She thought back on hurricanes past that had ravaged Lovie’s pergola. Each time, Brett had faithfully rebuilt it for her. It had become both a tradition and a family joke.

  This one Brett had built for Cara. He’d chosen the best wood, thick and strong. “Built to last,” he’d declared. Cara looked up and saw that the canes of the roses were twisted and broken. More red petals had drifted down to dot the deck. But this time, Brett’s pergola had persevered.

  “Oh, Brett,” she said, and hugged the pillar of the pergola. This was her sign. “Strong and sure. I know what you’re trying to tell me. And I hear you. No more tears. I’ll weather the storms. I’ll persevere. Live again. Love again. I will treasure each day.”

  She reached up to wipe away the last of her tears. “And each day,” she said, looking out at the endless sea, “I’ll remember you.”

  THE SUN WAS setting on an emotional day. Hope was asleep in her crib. The canary was back in his cage. All the debris had been swept and the windows were free of shutters. Cara felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known since Hurricane Irma threatened the Atlantic.

  The three Rutledge women sat together under the pergola, all in their pajamas, sipping wine, finding comfort in one another’s presence. It was a typical post-storm night. The humidity had blown off and the sky burst with unusual brilliance. Lovie had always claimed it was God’s way of reassuring them that all was well.

  They did what women have done since the days of hunters and gatherers. They shared their stories, their fears and triumphs, finding both solace and support in the process. Julia spoke of the exchange with Palmer in front of the portrait of Stratton. Linnea told Cara of her decision to go to California and how that had sparked her father’s fury. Finally, Cara confessed the depth of her feelings for David. There was laughter amid the tears, too. Especially when Cara described David’s log house in North Carolina.

  “Shades of Pemberley?” Linnea teased.

  So much has happened, Cara thought. It would take days, weeks, to sort things out. Foremost on her mind, however, was her brother. No one had heard from Palmer since he’d rushed out of the house into the storm. The reports of the flooding in Charleston were alarming, but Julia had remained stoic, praying, convinced Palmer was all right. Cara never allowed such things to chance, however. She’d called all the hospitals and the police, but no one had seen him.

  Cara asked, “Julia, have you reached Palmer yet?”

  She nodded pensively. “Finally.”

  “For heaven’s sake! Why didn’t you tell us?” Cara asked, anger rising in her chest. “We’ve all been so worried. Where is he?”

  “Forgive me for not telling you. I only just talked to him, and I’ve been sitting here in a stew, trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. I was going to tell you.”

  “When?” Cara blurted.

  “Mama, tell us now,” Linnea demanded, sitting up in her chair. “Where is he?”

  “He’s at the hospital,” she said in a tone of disbelief.

  Cara felt alarm. “Is he hurt?”

  “No, no,” Julia said in a rush. “In the psych hospital. With Cooper.”

  Cara was astonished.

  “With Cooper?” Linnea asked, worry ringing in her voice. “Is everything okay? Is that good for Cooper?”

  “Yes,” Julia said with reassurance. She swallowed and took a breath. “He went to apologize. He’s been talking with Cooper. Making peace somehow.”

  There followed a stunned silence.

  Cara was much relieved. Then she knew a moment of pride in her brother. It washed over her, sweeping away all the resentment lingering from the last exchange.

  “You see why I needed to digest that before I told you. I needed to know my own mind, my own heart.” Julia spoke levelly, without apology.

  “Mama, I’m so happy,” Linnea said, and came over to the settee to rest her head on Julia’s shoulder.

  Cara was still peeved that Julia hadn’t told them instantly, but that was overcome by her pleasure at the outcome and seeing the new bond established between mother and daughter. She was glad she hadn’t charged off and started a row. Emotions still ran high and they needed to be supportive now, not combative. She thought of her brother, and wondered how he’d managed to fight his way through the raging floodwaters to reach the hospital. His determination was staggering. It gave her hope to contemplate the implications.

  “This is important,” Cara said, sitting up.

  Julia and Linnea, interrupted, looked up.

  “He did it!” Cara said. When the two women stared back at her uncomprehendingly, she added, “He broke the cycle. Thank God.”

  “I couldn’t have stayed under the same circumstances,” said Julia with conviction.

  Cara saw the new strength in Julia’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have either.” Then she smiled. “But look at you! You stood your ground. You can’t know how proud I am of you.”

  “Me?” Julia asked. “I only did what any mother would do.”

  “No,” Cara said, and it near broke her heart to say it. “Not every mother
. My mother didn’t.”

  Julia looked stunned. “Lovie?”

  Linnea lifted her head, listening, her gaze on Cara.

  “You broke a cycle too,” Cara said to Julia.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Cara took a sip of her wine and set the wineglass on the table. She shifted to a comfortable spot and crossed her legs. This story would take strength to tell.

  “I was a little younger than you, Linnea,” she began. “Just eighteen. I was telling my father I wanted to go to Boston University. He said I couldn’t go.” She glanced up at Linnea. “It went very much like what you experienced. Only my father was crueler. Harsher.” She glanced away in shame. “When I close my eyes, I can still see his belt flying in the air, feel the snap of leather like a bullwhip.”

  “He beat you?” Linnea blurted in a shocked whisper.

  Julia’s eyes also widened. This part of the story Cara had never shared.

  “Just that once. But I’ll never forget the humiliation. It’s hard to speak of it even now. But it’s important you know.” She shuddered. “The ghost of that horrible man still lives there, I swear it. That’s why I don’t like to step foot in that house.”

  “I know,” Linnea said in a soft voice. “I felt him too.”

  “Palmer certainly did,” said Julia. “He hated the son of a bitch.” She ducked her head. “Excuse my French.”

  “But that means Daddy is like him,” Linnea said in a quiet voice.

  Cara straightened, unable to let Linnea think that about her brother. “No, he’s not,” she said with conviction. “He proved to you that he’s not at all like him. He was stuck in a family pattern. A bad habitual resolution of his anger and his deep sense of failure.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me,” Cara interrupted. “Don’t you understand what happened? Last night your father broke that cycle!” She paused, trying to find the right words so that Linnea would comprehend the vital truth. “When my father hit me, my mother cowered in the background. I looked to her for help.” Cara swallowed. “But she didn’t come to my rescue.” She released a long sigh. A lot of water had flowed under that bridge.

  “I understand her reasons now, but then I felt abandoned. Alone. But, Julia,” she said, focusing on her sister-in-law. “You intervened! You stood up for your daughter. You said no.” Cara felt her emotion welling up. “I am so proud of you. And of Palmer, too.”

  “Palmer?” asked Julia with indignation.

  “Yes. You not only shamed him. You forced him to see who he was becoming.”

  Julia’s eyes glimmered in understanding. “His father.”

  “Right,” Cara said. “The one man he never wanted to be like. Don’t you see, Linnea, if we didn’t stop this cycle, Cooper would treat women like his father did. He’d become the worst of Palmer.”

  “Not Coop . . .” Linnea said, shaking her head.

  “Yes. That’s the power of the cycle. Honey, you didn’t know Palmer at Cooper’s age. He was every bit as sweet. And conniving . . . Let’s not make Cooper out to be an angel here. He’s made some pretty big mistakes, for himself and for his family. He has to take responsibility for his own actions. And you”—she looked at Linnea and then Julia with a meaningful gaze—“you have to let him fight those battles. And not try to fix things for him.”

  The women went quiet, listening to her.

  “But the work isn’t done yet. We have to help Palmer find the strength to really change.” Cara looked at Linnea with an unwavering eye. “This is the time for understanding. And compassion. And love for your father.” She turned to Julia. “And your husband. I assure you, he doesn’t feel any of those emotions for himself. I wager he feels pretty badly right now. He’s hit rock bottom. And that’s good. That will help motivate him to break the cycle for himself.”

  A gentle breeze wafted through the air, carrying the scent of jasmine. Cara inhaled the sweetness, eyes closed; opening them again, she saw Julia and Linnea, her family. She leaned forward and stretched out her arms to the women. It was impossible to keep the optimism from her voice.

  “Are we in this together?”

  Linnea and Julia reached out to take her offered hands to form a united circle.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thanks to the efforts of experts like Sally Murphy, SCDNR, shrimp boats in the United States and countries that export shrimp to the United States are required by law to use turtle excluder devices (TEDs), trap-like doors on nets that allow turtles to escape. South Carolina was the first state to mandate TEDs.

  HURRICANE IRMA WAS a fading memory. The floodwaters had abated and residents had returned home. Cara stood on the beach where, only a week earlier, rolling dunes draped in golden, cascading sea oats had dominated the border. It was stunning to see them all gone, wiped clean away by the force of the storm. The previous year’s hurricane had leveled the dunes too, but this time there was nothing left. The rippled sand stretched flat, littered with trunks of palm trees and driftwood and gouged by an unusually large number of gullies.

  Cara wrapped her arms around herself and stared out at the wild beauty of the wide open beach, untrammeled by crowds, colored towels, and umbrellas. She could see miles away tonight, the visibility was so clear. The sun had set on another day, leaving the earth blanketed in a soft lavender and purple light. The sea turtles were gone, she thought, looking out at the swells. It had been a good year. Most of the nests had emerged by the time the dunes were swept away. John and Linnea were gone, too. Flown off to San Francisco. That Palmer had shaken John’s hand at the airport spoke volumes. There was no assurance that they would end up together for life, but Cara was hopeful. It was a happy ending to this chapter in their lives, she thought. And, perhaps, the first chapter of what was to come.

  Cooper, too, was turning a page. He’d dropped out of the Citadel and was living at home, enrolled in the College of Charleston. He was also in therapy—as were Palmer and Julia. There were many changes coming for the Rutledge family. Significant transitions.

  Which was where Cara came in.

  She walked the beach for half an hour, all the way to the pier, then turned around and headed back. Her mind was working out questions and seeking solutions. Her heels dug deep half moons in the damp sand, making the effort strenuous. By the time she returned to her beach path, Cara was tired but felt at peace with her decision. Her gaze shifted to the small yellow house in the distance. Her beach house. The light was on, shining like a beacon in the darkening sky. It had withstood many hurricanes and family upheavals. It would, she thought, have to be strong for one more.

  She walked to a particular patch of sand and grass that had once been hidden behind the great dunes, situated on the lot in front of her beach house. It was a sweet place. Bits of seaside fall flowers colored the area—sea lavender, white oxeye, goldenrod, and the yellow primrose for which her cottage had been named. The plateau of sand dipped softly. Still, it was but a remnant of the haven it had once been for Lovie when she had a rendezvous with her great love, Russell Bennett.

  Cara sat on the sand, stretched out her long legs, and leaned back on her elbows. The air smelled delicious. She heard the plaintive cry of an osprey and, looking up, saw the great fish hawk circling overhead. She closed her eyes and let her hands stroke the sand, feeling its coolness slide through her fingers. This spot had been her mother’s favorite place to sit after Russell died. Flo had told Cara how Lovie used to come out here to talk with him, or perhaps to feel closer to him. He’d died in a plane crash out in the ocean not far from here. Lovie liked to think of him out there with the turtles, waiting for her. It made sense to Cara that she’d visit his memory here, where once they’d been so happy.

  After Brett had died, Cara had come to this same spot to find comfort. She had tried to speak to him, but never truly sensed his presence. Not that she’d expected to be visited by him, but she felt the consolation one felt when visiting a grave site.

  Tonight, however,
Cara had come to this spot with a purpose. She needed to communicate with her mother. Although Cara had seen her mother’s ghost the night she arrived, not once since May had she so much as caught scent of her signature jasmine perfume. So Cara had come to Lovie’s dune, at the bewitching hour that Lovie had favored, with the express desire to be heard. She had things to say.

  Cara opened her eyes, brought up her knees, and wrapped her arms around them. She felt the chill of dusk. It was time.

  “Mama!” she whispered. “Please, listen to me. I need you to hear what I have to say. So you’ll understand what I’ve decided to do.” She paused. “Years ago, you told me your secret. And you said no one was ever to find out. You paid a dear price for your secret and trusted me not to tell. I promised I never would. And I haven’t. Mama . . .” Cara took a breath. “I must break that promise now. I’m sorry. I’ve gone over and over this in my head, and each time I come to the same conclusion. I must tell Palmer.”

  There, she’d said it aloud. Her intention was in the universe. She ran her hand through her hair, feeling both relief and a kind of despair. “Mama, secrets are no good for families. They’re destructive and divisive and always come out in the end. But that’s not why I’m breaking my promise. I’m telling Palmer so I can help him. So you can help him. Oh, Mama, he so desperately needs our help. And isn’t that what families do for one another?”

  A sudden breeze swept over her, cool and fresh-smelling. Cara sat bolt upright and sniffed. Then she laughed out loud. It was the unmistakable scent of jasmine.

  “Thank you, Mama!”

  A WEEK LATER the doorbell rang, launching Cara from her chair where she’d been tapping her foot in anxiety. Moutarde began chirping at the bell. She looked at her wristwatch. “Right on time,” she murmured. She tugged at the sleeves of her white silk blouse. She’d deliberately chosen to wear her mother’s sizable pearls at her ears and neck. Today would be an important discussion. She’d said as much to Palmer when she invited him over. She walked briskly across the polished wood floor, clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides. She wanted everything to go just right today. Taking a breath at the door, she swung it open.