Beach Rental

by Greene, Grace

  “If I dare ask him, is that right?”

  “That’s about it.”

  Maia sat up straighter. “Did Ben know? Did he change his…, no, scratch that. Four months pregnant now, so you couldn’t have known at the time he died.” She slouched and put her hands back to her face. “I’m sorry. I’m such a klutz. This must be awful for you. A dreadful strain on you and in your condition and here I am reminding you.” She reached out and grasped both of Juli’s hands in hers. “Tell me what I can do to help. How can I make amends for being so insensitive?”

  Juli switched her hands around so that she was now grasping Maia’s. “No, you’re fine. I’ve had a couple of months to get used to the idea, but it wasn’t something I wanted to run out and tell anyone. It felt so complicated. But then, after I told Luke—actually said the words out loud to another human being—it changed. Now, I see it’s very simple.”

  “Simple? It’s not simple at all. Do you have a doctor? What will you do about a nursery? What about proper maternity clothing? Can I go with you? I enjoy looking at the baby things and the maternity clothing, but more and more I’m thinking I’ll never have a reason to choose my own. Can I help you?”

  Juli was speechless. Maia’s generous spirit overwhelmed her and Juli suddenly burst into tears. She tried to brush them away.

  “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my. I’ll get some tissues.” Maia ran to the kitchen, found no tissue, then to the bathroom where she grabbed some toilet paper from the roll. She raced back to Juli with the tissue bunched up in her hand. “Here you go.”

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Juli said between sobs. Maia looked alarmed at the tears and her reaction struck Juli as funny. She started laughing and crying at the same time.

  “Calm down, Juli. It’ll be okay.”

  Was she hysterical? Juli tried to rein in her wildly swinging emotions. “I’m fine, really. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “Hormones. Must be hormones. I remember when my older sister was expecting.” She patted Juli’s arm.

  “Probably,” but she punctuated it with both a sob and a laugh. “Do you feel like a walk?”

  “It’s chilly out there.” Maia shivered and rubbed her arms to emphasize it.

  “I’ve missed walking on the beach. I used to walk in the early morning, but now it’s too cold at dawn.” The sobs were revving up again. “I need some fresh air and exercise.”

  “At dawn? That’s crazy. You need sunshine. I suppose if it’s too brisk we can come back in.” Maia picked up her jacket from the chair. “Where’s your coat?”

  Juli waved her hand. “I’ll get it.”

  Maia hovered near Juli as she walked to the closet.

  “I’m fine, really. I don’t know what happened. Hormones? You must be right.”

  They didn’t walk far, but far enough. Juli felt calmer, even with the onshore wind whipping up the sand. Maia looked miserable, so they turned around and walked back, briskly. Inside the house, with her cheeks bright red from the cold, Maia said, “I want to know exactly what you’ve done and what you need to do to prepare. I insist.”

  ****

  Two weeks later and it was almost Christmas. Some days were mild, some were wintry. Not only did the weather change according to season, it was also true of her life. In the past month Juli had made major changes, from getting an obstetrician to earning her GED. She framed the certificate and hung it in the study next to her drawing of Ben, where she’d see them when she sat at the desk. She’d made almost no changes in the study or in most of the rooms on the main floor.

  Maia yelled down from upstairs, “Where’s those paper towels? I’ve got to catch some drips.”

  Juli grabbed a partial roll from the holder affixed to the cabinet. “Coming.”

  Maia had insisted Juli couldn’t paint the nursery in her condition. It seemed extreme to Juli, but she was glad of the companionship and of the help, so she didn’t argue.

  Thank goodness for Maia. She was heaven-sent.

  Juli had never asked Maia much about her personal life. She’d been wrapped up in her own drama, she hadn’t noticed how one-sided their relationship was. They were true friends now.

  To Maia’s dismay, Juli had refused to make a final decision on the baby furniture and limited her purchases to a few items of maternity clothing.

  “Why not choose the furniture now?”

  Juli shook her head. “I’m not superstitious, I’m not. But it's too soon. It’s not time to buy the furniture and other things yet.”

  Juli held firm about the furniture but gave in to Maia about the painting.

  She carried the paper towels up to the nursery-to-be. She had to edge around a night stand Maia had pushed out of the way.

  Juli said, “I’ve arranged for people to come and move this furniture out. I’ll have it stored in the street-side bedroom for now. There’s plenty of time. No need to rush.”

  Maia dipped the brush in the paint can and smoothed the excess off on the rim as she withdrew it. She applied the soft yellow, edging around the door trim which would be left white. She’d already rolled two of the walls. “There’s never as much time as you think.”

  ****

  Maia urged Juli to celebrate Christmas with her family—her parents, her sister’s family, some aunts, uncles and cousins. They lived north of Beaufort. Her dad was a retired marine.

  “I’m sure they’re lovely, but I’d like to stay here.”

  “It will be too quiet for you.”

  “I like quiet.”

  “You were alone for Thanksgiving. Shame on me for not thinking of you then.”

  “No, Maia. Anna invited me for turkey dinner, but I passed on it. I was in a solitary mood. I’ve had a lot to think about.”

  “I understand, but if you change your mind at the last minute, my parents live less than an hour away. I’ll come get you in a heartbeat.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Christmas morning was overcast with drips of rain and occasional snowflakes. By noon, the sky had cleared. It was a hard, brilliant blue, the way it can only look in winter. Juli put on her coat, scarf and gloves. The coat was cut full and still roomy.

  She stepped out onto the porch and saw a box wrapped in cheerful Christmas wrapping paper and topped with a huge red bow.

  There was no one else in the duplex. The package—the present—couldn’t be for anyone but her.

  Was it from Maia? No, not Maia. They had exchanged gifts the day before Christmas Eve, before she left for her parents’ home.

  Juli stepped to the porch rail and looked up one way and down the other. Not another soul was in sight.

  The box was about the size of a coat box. She picked it up gingerly. It wasn’t heavy. She twisted it this way and that, looking for a card. No card.

  Juli carried her gift inside.

  She removed the bow carefully and then picked at the paper. Paper off, she broke the tape that secured the box top to the box bottom.

  Oh.

  Her eyes prickled with inevitable tears. She’d produced more tears in the last two weeks than in her whole life.

  She touched soft, plush velvety fabric, the color of vanilla ice cream. She ran her fingers lightly under the collar, then lifted the whole thing out. A robe. Had she ever seen a garment this soft and luxurious? Never. She shed her coat, slipped her arms into the robe, and pulled it on right over her clothing.

  The other garment was a white cashmere sweater with three pearl buttons on the bodice and gathered full below. She held it in front of her. Seed pearls garnished the upper bodice area and the sleeves were different, a kimono shape. Extravagance was the only word she could summon. She held it to her face and felt the light tickle of the fine filaments.

  Was it maternity? No, she didn’t think so. It would work though, at least until the last months.

  Beneath the sweater was a perfectly silly pair of slippers, thick and soft with bunny ears and a pink nose.

  Juli pushed the tissue wrapping
aside searching for a card. Nothing.

  She folded the sweater carefully and put it back in the box. Without the robe, the box looked empty. She took off the robe and folded it, too. She placed the bunny slippers on top. Juli slid the box under the boughs of her Christmas tree. Her tiny tree, courtesy of Maia, was situated on the table by the front window. If the gift box was stood on end, it would be taller than the tree. Luke? Not likely. Adela. Definitely not. Frankie? She shivered. No.

  If Ben had still been alive, it would have been his style.

  She could pretend. In the absence of knowing, she could pretend the gift had come from her husband and her baby’s father. Could pretend he had only stepped out for a while.

  If not Ben, then from someone who cared about her? That was almost as good.

  She plugged in the little tree and its miniature white lights glowed. She returned her coat to the closet. She had her own little bit of Christmas, after all.

  The phone rang. Now, she would have her answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Juli. How’s your Christmas Day? Not too lonely, I hope. Will you join us for Christmas dinner?”

  “No, I’m good. Wonderful, in fact.” She threw out a feeler. “Thanks for my lovely gift.”

  “What? That tiny tree? You should see the one Dad bought this year. It’s huge and already dropping needles everywhere. Or did you mean the baby book? I’m glad you like it, but it’s not so very special.”

  Not Maia. “More special than you can know.”

  “Sure you don’t want to join us?”

  “Positive. Go enjoy your family.”

  But when she hung up the phone, she did feel alone. A huge tree dropping needles everywhere might be fun. It would certainly smell Christmassy.

  The night before, Juli had flipped through Ben’s Bible looking for the Christmas story. She had a vague memory of it from family number one, but with several children in the family, their house had seemed a whirlwind of activity to little Juli. They’d gone to church and someone had read the verses and little kids were dressed up in angel wings and such. Yesterday evening, she had tried to read through the New Testament passages, but so many ancient memories were called up, she found it more distressing than comforting.

  The memories of her last Christmas at home were even sketchier. She remembered a tree. Being alone and hungry. Strangers, the child services people, told her she was going with them. A woman’s voice, a neighbor, was in the background talking about how she’d called them, until the strident sound of her faded into the distance.

  Little Juli had wondered if mama would come for her. Juli liked having a full belly, clean clothes and other people around. Mama didn’t come. Finally, Juli relaxed and settled in.

  Mama’s name was Frances. That’s all Juli remembered and all she wanted to remember.

  Today, Christmas Day, with the mini-lights glowing and a scrumptious present under the tree, she felt a promise for better memories to be made.

  Tomorrow she might start with a visit to Pastor Herrin and his flock in the morning.

  ****

  On Sunday morning, she sat in her car, waiting, watching the digital clock on the dashboard. A minute before the service was scheduled to begin, she went through the doors. She snagged a bulletin from the usher and slipped quietly, discreetly, into a back pew. A few people looked at her. Some of them might remember her from when she’d come with Ben. She didn’t want greetings. She didn’t want commiserations.

  She stood with a hymnal when the others sang, and bowed her head when they prayed. A stranger was in the pulpit. A guest preacher.

  What was she trying to prove? That she could do this?

  She slipped out during the closing prayer, dashed to her car and left the parking lot, wondering where this would lead. Where did she want it to lead?

  During the week between Christmas and New Year’s, Juli focused on her artwork. Her easel was set up in the tower room near the glass doors where the light was best. She tried to paint the ocean, but she couldn’t capture the quality of the light, translucent and constantly shifting. The task was ambitious, but she kept at it. Another day she focused on the shades of tan in the sand and dry sea oats. The tower room was too high above the beach to get a close view, so she brought some of both upstairs and laid them out on a plastic tablecloth.

  She liked pushing her limits without the pressure of expectations she couldn’t meet. She dabbled and played in acrylic, then knelt on the floor beside Ben’s goody box and pulled out the oil paints.

  ****

  On New Year’s Day, Juli cuddled in her robe until nearly noon, watching TV. Finally, she went up and showered and dressed, thinking Maia might drop by now that the holidays were almost over. She hoped Maia would drop by. She’d like some good company.

  Her jeans hadn’t met across the middle for two months, but her maternity pants were too large. She stood in front of the dresser mirror and held the waistband out in front of her and marveled she would fill it out one day in the not too distant future. She settled on navy leggings and a smocked top.

  When she returned downstairs, someone was standing on the crossover. She’d gotten used to seeing almost no one day in and day out, especially since she, herself, rarely went out except for walks. Luke had warned her to expect it to be lonely and he’d been right. The person was standing at the far end, turned toward the ocean. When he pushed back and turned to face the house, she recognized Frankie.

  Breathe, relax. You don’t have to protect Ben any longer.

  It was stupid to ever think he needed to be shielded. Ben would’ve known what to do.

  She was smart and resourceful. She should know what to do now, but scraps of ideas and fears chased each other around in her brain. She couldn’t pull out anything coherent.

  Had she been protecting Ben? If so, this should be simple, now.

  Protecting Ben didn’t apply anymore. She’d been protecting her own ego.

  He couldn’t have seen her through the windows from so far away. As he came closer to the house, she backed up onto the first step of the stairs, past the corner and out of sight even if he pressed his face to the glass in the door.

  Suppose he forced the door? Would the slide bolt hold?

  Foolish girl. Living alone, with the dearest bulge growing daily, she couldn’t risk confronting him. Where had her toughness gone?

  She had too much to lose now.

  After a few minutes, she peeked around the corner. Had he left or just moved out of sight? She fought the urge to run and close the blinds. If she did, she’d be telegraphing she was here and afraid. It wasn't smart to show fear to people like Frankie. The phone upstairs was available to her without risk of being seen. Could she call the police? Frankie hadn’t actually done anything to her.

  Was he still out there? Maybe down below, underneath the house where her car was parked? Or on the stairway below the front porch?

  He came from behind the partition on the other side of the porch and leaned against the end of it, looking at her side of the house, her windows and her door. The door was more glass than anything else.

  She wouldn’t live in fear. Stupid fear. Foolish fear. Get some backbone, Juli. You used to have more grit than was good for you.

  Forcing herself to breathe evenly and slowly, she took her coat out of the closet. It was cut full and still buttoned in the mid-section. Frankie wouldn’t be able to see she was pregnant. She put the cell phone in her pocket and kept her hand in there with it. She opened the front door, stepped boldly outside and closed the door behind her.

  “Jules. Hey, there.” Frankie grinned and stood straighter.

  “What’s up, Frankie?”

  He frowned. “You act like I’ve done something wrong, like you’ve got something against me, but I haven’t. I’ve always been a friend to you.”

  Frankie paused, either to intimidate her or to draw her into a conversation. Juli didn’t know which, but she kept her mouth shut and didn’t give him
either.

  “Not even when you refused to invite me in, or introduce me to your friend, and my feelings were hurt, you know? You sent that guy to tell me to stay away.” He moved slowly toward her. “Did I get angry? Did I try to get even?” He stopped. “No, Jules, I didn’t. I was good enough to be your friend when you needed a ride somewhere or wanted some other favor, but not when you’re living easy.”

  It was true enough, although she wouldn’t have called him a friend, but more of a neighbor and sometimes a co-worker. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Frankie. I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I heard he died. I felt real bad for you. Wanted to know if you needed anything. Figured I’d drop by and ask.”

  “How did you know he died?”

  “Mrs. White told me. She saw it in the obits. I was gone for a while or I would’ve been around sooner to see you. Offer sympathy and all that.”

  “Thanks, Frankie. I appreciate it, but I’m good.”

  “I’ll say. Got yourself a nice place here.” He looked around at the house and scenery.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re still not going to invite me in, are you?” He looked disbelieving.

  She shook her head no.

  He tried again. “It’s lonely out here. Cold, too.” He exaggerated a shiver.

  He’d kept his hands shoved in his jacket pockets the entire time. It was cold, but Juli had one hand in her pocket, too, and it wasn’t due to cold. They were crossing some sort of invisible barrier where she would say “leave” and he wouldn’t. Then what? He could continue to act good-natured and keep telling Juli what a good friend he was the whole time he was buffaloing her back into the house and forcing his way in. She’d lost her edge and her nerve. She shivered for real.

  “Cold out here for you, too. How about one cup of coffee, Jules?” He moved a few steps forward. “A few minutes to shake off the chill and I’ll be on my way. Plus, there’s a little matter of something that belongs to me.”

  “Juli, are you up there?” Maia came up the stairs from the parking area below, the stairs leading up the crossover where it met the porch. “Oh, you have a visitor?”