“That’s a good idea,” said one camper clad in a rainbow colored muumuu, her hair wrapped in a matching tie-dyed bandana. “Anything we can do? Who’s going to light the bonfire and serve s’mores?”
The bonfire! She hadn’t thought about it because she hadn’t planned to go. Fay and Virgil headed up the weekly tradition, still going at Pine Breezes.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. I can do it. Please, if anyone asks, let them know it’s still going on.” It was nearly seven-thirty. The bonfire usually started around eight-thirty.
“Or maybe we should cancel it?” the muumuu-clad woman asked.
“We’ll go on as planned,” Karyn replied, as the others murmured around them. “I know Virgil and Fay appreciate everyone’s thoughts and prayers, and I also know they don’t want you to worry. Please, anyone who’d like to, come to the bonfire. I know they want the activities to continue as planned.”
Everyone agreed, and Karyn headed back inside Virgil and Fay’s house. She’d intended to spend the evening looking for job leads and revising her resume’—yet again—but that would need to wait, for now. And, if she was busy away from her cottage, it would be easier to delay calling her parents to hear them convince her yet again to move to Western Maryland, away from the coast.
She entered the pantry and found the boxes of graham crackers, bags of marshmallows, along with the chocolate bars. She found the long slender skewers, perfect for roasting marshmallows. As far as the wood and fuel went, Virgil had probably already stacked the wood at the bonfire site, and had the fuel and igniter outside the back door of the main house.
Not twenty minutes after pulling everything together for the bonfire, Karyn’s phone rang.
“They’ve decided to send him to Salisbury instead of transporting him by ambulance. So I’m driving up there. I don’t think we’ll be home tonight. They ran an EKG, and there’s an irregularity, or something. They’ve called for a Medivac to meet them at the medical center parking lot.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Don’t worry about anything here. I’ve got the bonfire covered.”
“Good, good, good. I got a call from Pastor. He and Nadine are meeting me here, and they’re going to drive me up to Salisbury.” Fay sounded calm, yet worried.
“Okay. Well, like I said, don’t worry about anything here.”
“I’ve asked Brodie to stop by. Virgil has a planner, on his desk, for the day. Brodie said he’ll pitch in, too.”
“All right.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Karyn. You’re a real Godsend right now.”
Karyn’s throat caught as she tried to respond. “I’m glad I could be here for you both.”
Fay ended the call, and Karyn pulled her attention back to the evening’s activity. Families had come for some relaxation at the coast, and she’d be there to help ensure they enjoyed themselves, despite of whatever was happening with Uncle Virgil right now.
It would probably take at least an hour for Fay to get to the hospital, but a good thing they were sending him by helicopter to get there even faster. Karyn thanked God for people like Brodie, who had the nerves to help with a clear mind at a moment’s notice.
She thought of her own encounter with first responders years ago. Did any of them remember helping her, and Megan? Probably. A few of them she’d seen around town, the saltwater cowboys worked regular jobs by day, but helped keep an eye on the wild ponies and round them up for the auction each year, and would drop what they were doing to help people in danger. Even foolish teenage girls who’d snuck off to a party. She didn’t know if they’d recognize her now.
Maybe it had been a horrible idea, to come back here and face the past headlong. She’d dealt with it, but it was far easier to do hundreds of miles away. Up here, in her face, well, it was harder to get away from. Maybe being here would be the best way for her to overcome it once and for all.
Chapter 5
By the time Brodie arrived at his parents' house, he was on his second cup of coffee after dinner at The Cove. Nearly nine p.m. after seeing Virgil Thomas was safely en route to the hospital in Salisbury. He tried not to yawn.
He wasn't so late home, not for a date with Jenny, but something niggled in the pit of his stomach, a not-quite-rightness. He pulled up in front of the farmhouse, renovated and added to over the years by his family.
As soon as he opened the door of the truck, he could hear wailing coming through the open screen windows. The porch light glowed, as if in welcome.
“I—want—to—go—oh.” Trista's hiccup rang out, punctuating her staccato sentence.
He schooled his features, not allowing the exasperation bubbling up inside take over. What now? Lord, there are nights where I feel too tired to deal with this. I don't know enough. What if Jenny's right? What if Trista needs something that I can't do for her?
He decided then and there to get a referral, when school started again, for testing.
Brodie pulled open the screen door. “Hello, looking for my Trista!”
She came flying around the corner, from the kitchen and into the living room. “Daddy—Gramma says I can't come to the gallery tomorrow. But I want to!”
Sure enough, his mother followed not far behind. “Now, Trista. I'm not prepared to have you there tomorrow. We have a—”
“But it's Sunday. I always get to go on Sunday. I help.” Trista pouted and stomped one of her feet. She wore the same sandals Brodie had bought for her the day after school got out, and she'd insisted on wearing them every day since.
“Son, please explain to her. I have a meeting for the summer festival committee. We're having an art walk during Pony Penning and I can't focus on her and the committee at the same time. Tomorrow afternoon is the only time we can meet.” She held up her hands in surrender.
“Trista, please don't interrupt your grandmother like that again. And she's right, you can't go to the gallery tomorrow. But I am going to need your help tomorrow at Pine Breezes.”
“You're going to Pine Breezes?” Trista's eyes lit up. “Yes, yes. I want to go. Can I go swimming, too? In the pool.”
“We'll see. Miss Fay is going to need extra help right now.” He hadn't received an update on Virgil. Too early for that.
“Is something wrong with Virgil?” Mom glanced over her shoulder, as Dad joined them.
“We got a call to the campground, right as Jenny and I were finishing up dinner. Virgil was having chest pains, so we ran an EKG. Looks like a heart attack. Not sure yet how bad it is.”
“Oh, goodness.” His mother frowned. “We must do something for Fay. Please, let us know how we can help. Meals, you name it.”
He nodded. “I promised I'd stop by tomorrow. Karyn Lewis is here for the summer—”
“Karyn Lewis?” Mom shook her head. “Why is she here? I thought she'd left, never to come back.”
“A job with Fay and Virgil. Not sure why here, and not back with her parents.” He didn't feel the need to explain. Karyn had been a sore spot that never had quite gone away. He'd been angry with her. They all had. But then Megan had been partly responsible for the tragedy.
“Does she know about. . .?” His mother gestured toward Trista.
“She does now, Mom.”
“Now, Camille,” Dad began.
“Well, if it wasn't for her—”
“Camille.”
His mother fell silent, shrugged, then strode back toward the kitchen.
Brodie looked at his father and shook his head. “Dad.”
Trista wrapped her arms around his waist. “Can we go home now?
“Yes, I think that's a good idea.”
His father stepped closer to them. “It's been a long time, but your mother keeps hanging on. . .”
“I know. Dad, I can't go back.” He tugged on Trista's ponytail, making her giggle. “Only forward. With my beautiful daughter.”
“Oh, Daddy.”
“What's that, Triss?”
“I can't wait till tomorrow.”
“Well, head to bed when we get home and it'll be morning before you know it.”
“Good night, Son.” His father saw them to the door. “How long do you think Karyn will be here?”
“Not sure.” He wasn't sure, either, how he felt about Karyn being here. But the timing, if a bit sudden for him and others, was definitely a Godsend for the Thomases.
“I haven't talked to Bill Lewis in years, not since they moved. He was a good friend, once. Did she talk about her parents?”
“Not much.”
His father nodded. “So, about the gallery and Trista. . .”
“Grandma doesn't want me there.” Trista frowned again. “And it's Sunday.”
His father laid his hand gently on Trista's head. “It's not that Grandma doesn't want you there. Maybe you can be a helper for Miss Fay while Mister Virgil is sick”
“That's right.” Brodie opened the screen door. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sure, Son. We'll see you soon.”
They descended the front steps, and Trista skipped ahead of him toward the truck. Maybe this was a giant baby step, changing her routine a little. But tomorrow held the novelty and excitement of helping out at the campground. Well, Brodie would take the diversion if it caused some peace.
Soon they traveled down the street, in the direction of the house. He'd bought a few acres in a short sale a few years back, and had moved an old shotgun shack to the property. Some thought he was crazy for doing it, but a farmer's family was selling off the family land and wanted the house removed. Brodie saved it from demolition and became the proud owner of the 700-odd square feet structure for the cost of moving the house to his own vacant lot.
He relished the silence as Trista watched the world outside the truck window. And then, the silence was over.
“I want a pony. I already picked one out.”
“Oh, a pony, do you?” He had no idea where they'd put a pony, let alone feed it and pay for the vet bills. Megan's family had an account set aside for Trista, but Brodie had never touched it. That would be for her college, or vocational training, whichever she decided to do after high school.
He refocused his attention on her.
“. . .and that's when I knew, I want Nugget.”
Nugget, a young Chincoteague pony with palomino features, was old enough to be sold at the auction at the end of the month.
“When did you see Nugget?”
“When I went to the island, with Brianna and her family.”
“Oh, that's right.” Her friend from church who bore Trista's changing moods had invited her for a sleepover. Brianna's parents assured him Trista would be fine. The couple, about his age, had moved to the area at the beginning of last school year and the two girls had become fast friends.
“Well, can we get her?”
“We'll have to see. A pony is a lot of responsibility.”
“I can be responsible. And our yard is big enough, too. Brianna's dad said it should be and since we are outside town, we can keep her.”
“You've got this all figured out, don't you?”
“Yes. I'm not a baby. Not anymore. I can figure things out.” She grinned at him.
No, she wasn't a baby. Brodie tried not to sigh even as he returned the grin. Maybe part of the problem was the way he and his parents treated her as if she were a fragile doll. Maybe they'd done so much for her, she hadn't learned to do much for herself.
Tonight, instead of talking to Jenny, he wished he could call Karyn, and hear her voice. Talk about Virgil, plans for taking care of the campground. Maybe have dinner—including Trista, of course. Just the three of them. He wanted Trista to know her mother's best friend.
“I like that new lady at the campground. She's nice,” Trista observed. Funny how a child's randomness could seem to home in on his musings.
“You mean Karyn?”
“Yup. I like how she listened to me. Sometimes I feel like grownups don't listen to me.”
“I'm sorry you feel that way. So, why do you think we don't listen sometimes?” Was it the fact she couldn't have her own way, or was it the fact people truly didn't listen?
“I tell people what I think I should do, and nobody hears me. Like Ms. Gunter at school. I'm glad school is over and I don't have to go back to her class.”
Ah, Ms. Gunter. She was one of the ones who'd recommended testing for Trista. Brodie wasn't sure if it was truly a developmental problem with his daughter, or if it was more of a personality conflict. Trista, like many kids, wasn't so good at thinking first before speaking. But then, plenty of adults were like that.
“Well, sometimes it's all right to speak up for what you'd like to do, and other times, even though we want to do something, that doesn't mean it's the right thing for us to do. I guess that depends on what that something is. And, it depends on the way we ask.”
“I guess so.”
They'd arrived at the house, draped in darkness. He hadn't thought about leaving the front light on. Pine trees swayed, tall and slender dark forms at the edge of the property.
“It's dark, dark.” Trista shuddered as Brodie got out of the truck.
“It'll be light soon enough. I'll hold your hand all the way to the house.”
He circled around the vehicle and opened the door for his daughter, who hopped down from her seat in the cab. She clutched his hand all the way until they stood at the side door to the house. He made her let go while he fumbled with his keys.
“There,” he said, opening the kitchen door and flicking on the light. “I told you it would be light soon enough.”
“I try not to be scared. But I can't help it.”
“You are brave with lots of other things. Like bugs and leggy critters and creepy crawlers.”
“And snakes. I wasn't afraid to touch the one at school during the assembly.”
“No, you weren't.” She'd talked about that adventure for nearly a week after the fact.
“All right, time to get ready for bed. We have a big day at the campground tomorrow.”
“All righty-dighty, Daddy. Do I have to take a bath tonight? Can I take one tomorrow night instead?”
“Tomorrow morning before church is fine, Stinky.” He grinned at her, chuckled.
“Very funny. I don't stink.” She hummed as she skipped off toward her bedroom.
He might as well have another cup of coffee. He switched the pot on and waited for the water to warm up in the single-serve dispenser. Nights like this, he felt the loneliness in the quiet. But he had blessings in his life, and he'd used his faith to fill the emptiness after losing Megan years ago. They'd been so young. He'd been so angry. Not angry anymore.
She and Karyn, joyriding on the back roads on the way home from a party. He hadn't known she was pregnant. She'd kept that from him. That same night, he'd been planning to break up with her. The revelation of the 21-week fighter in the NICU changed his world forever.
Now, the biggest reminder of Megan was brushing her teeth in the tiny bathroom he'd remodeled himself.
Nope, life sure didn't turn out like they all imagined. Brodie left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom. Trista, wearing her favorite Disney movie nightshirt, was brushing her hair.
“I hope Mister Virgil will be all right,” she said.
“We'll say a prayer for him tonight.”
“I think that's a good idea.” She surprised him by tossing the brush into the pedestal sink and hugging him. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Daddy.”
He wanted to say, “Nothing will,” but knew there were no guarantees about that.
# #
Karyn kept a slow stride along the sand, away from the figures roasting hot dogs. Brodie and his little sidekick had things well in hand with the beachfront hot dog supper. Campers clustered around the bonfire, chattering and laughing. One last evening of fun before some of them checked out on Monday morning.
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from the pocket she'd sewn into her sarong.
; Heard from the managing editor. She liked your portfolio, said she'll keep your contact info if they need freelance work. No staff positions right now. Sorry.
Figures. It hadn't taken long for fellow writer Betsy Chen to respond to her query about a staff job for High Style Monthly, a bimonthly, glossy magazine put out by the New York Courier, a daily newspaper in Manhattan. It was worth a try.
She couldn't even get freelance work. Yes, writing involved pounding the pavement. But she couldn't pound the pavement if she didn't have anywhere to live up there. She'd contemplated couch surfing at Betsy's, but her friend had seemed reluctant about the idea.
“I'm getting married in August. I've got a lot of things going on, so. . .”
So. Here she was. Maybe she ought to explore writing possibilities in the local area, while she was in Virginia.
Karyn let out a deep breath slipped her phone back into the pocket. The breeze picked up, making her bare arms prickle with goosebumps. She probably should have brought a T-shirt to slip over her bathing suit's tank top.
“Hey, Karyn.” Mrs. Wetherford approached. Today's muumuu, flowing shades of turquoise and teal, billowed around her. “I noticed your pretty sarong has a phone pocket. Did you make that yourself?”
“Not the sarong, but I did add the pocket. There's not much room to store anything with summer wear.” She smiled at the older woman.
“If I could find a sarong that fits me, could you put in a pocket, too?”
“Sure, I'd be glad to. It would only take a few minutes.”
“Well, if I find the fabric could you make me a whole sarong with a pocket? I'd pay you, of course. Let me know what you think is a fair price.”
“Yes, I can do that.” Karyn hadn't planned on borrowing Fay's sewing machine, but the sweet woman told Karyn to have the run of the main house while she was with Virgil in the hospital. The extra money would come in handy, even as Fay wrote out a check for her that afternoon before heading back to the hospital with changes of clothing for both herself and Virgil.
Time And Tide: A Summertime Novella Page 4