“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, gripping the wheel.
Bo looked at her sideways, his eyes crinkling in what appeared to be amusement. “It’s supposed to be fun, not torture.”
“I-I get nervous behind the wheel. I d-don’t like to drive,” she managed to explain.
“You do have a license, though, right?” he asked in a half-joking manner.
Heather nodded. “Yes. But it’s been a while.”
“It’ll come back to you,” Bo said confidently. “Driving a golf cart is way easier than driving a car, anyway.” He clapped his hands together to drum up enthusiasm. “See that key? Fire her up.”
She did. When she stepped on the gas the cart lurched, and she braked hard. They both jerked forward.
“I’m sorry!” she blurted out, and flushed. She couldn’t even get into gear. She must look like the biggest loser on the planet.
“At least we know the seat belts work.”
She turned to see Bo smiling, and immediately they both laughed.
“Let’s try that again,” Bo said.
With that, he began teaching her the rudimentary skills of driving a golf cart. Even with a street-legal one, it was pretty easy to learn. He didn’t rush her and gave her ample time to ask questions. She felt more relaxed after they did the requisite backward and forward moves till she got a feel for it.
“Let’s take her out for a real spin,” Bo said.
Heather felt a sudden shiver of anxiety at the prospect of driving in the street. She’d need to venture out for supplies for herself eventually—FreshDirect hadn’t quite made it to the barrier island. Yet her heart began pounding as if on command, and all she wanted to do was park the cart and go inside and hide.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said. “I think I’ll just park it and try again tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
“Hey, no problem.” Bo slid from the cart with ease. The cart was sitting beside the porch. He went to look under the porch at the wide-open space provided by the raised house.
“You know,” he said, “I could clear all this crap out of here, lay some gravel, and it would make a perfect parking spot for that golf cart.”
Heather’s face lit up. “Really? Will it fit under there?”
“Yep. Once I get all the grass out. I remember Miss Lovie used to park her VW bug under here. So that golf cart will fit, no problem.”
“I saw Cara driving a gold VW. Was that it?”
“Yep. ‘The Gold Bug,’ it’s called. From that story by Edgar Allan Poe. Everyone knew when they saw that gold bug drive by it was Miss Lovie. All us kids used to go wild for it. Cara’s got a new model, but she drives it just like her mama did.”
“I’ll help you clean that space out. And buy the gravel. Of course,” she quickly added, not wanting him to feel she would expect Cara to pay for it. “Cara has enough on her mind. I don’t want to bother her with this. You don’t think she’ll mind?”
“Mind? She’ll be thrilled. She’s always complaining about Brett never throwing things out.” Bo’s face suddenly went still when he realized what he’d just said. He added sadly, “It’s hard to remember that Brett isn’t still alive. I expect him to drive up here any minute and check on how things are going on the deck.”
She looked at his averted face, his long forehead, the way his blond hair fell over it in tousled waves, as free and relaxed as the man himself. She thought how Bo always seemed so ready to help her, not just because he’d been hired by Brett to finish the deck. That had nothing to do with her. Rather, and this was hard for her to believe, Bo seemed to genuinely enjoy her company. She wasn’t imagining the way he looked at her with a spark of attraction in his eyes. It was very flattering, especially since she was discovering that the feeling was mutual.
How awkward could it be to go for a ride with him? They’d set off, remark lamely on the weather and the scenery they passed. He’d be sure to fill the dead air with interesting comments about what was happening on the island. They’d chat, they’d laugh. It was no big deal. Just friends. Then she sighed, not wanting to stick Bo into the friend zone.
“You know what,” Heather said gathering her courage. “I was actually hoping to get something to send to Cara. Is there a flower shop on the island?” She shrugged. “Or candy?”
Bo shook his head. “Not on the island. Though you could get flowers at the grocer. We could drop them off on the way back. She lives right close to the grocery store.”
“Drop them off ? Oh, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Heather said, backtracking. “I heard Flo saying that Cara wasn’t up to seeing anyone. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me just stopping by.”
“Emmi’s there,” Bo said all-knowingly.
“Who’s Emmi?”
“Her best friend. They’ve been friends since they were both in diapers. Her family used to have one of the old cottages on the island near here, but they up and sold it a while back. Now Emmi lives with Flo.”
“Emmi’s my neighbor?” Heather remembered the woman she’d seen through the window. “Does she by any chance have red hair?”
“That’ll be her. She’s a fiery personality, too. I swear, I can’t figure out how she and Flo can live together.”
“Are they . . .” Heather paused. “Together?”
Bo looked at her as if she’d grown another head. “Like a couple?” He laughed and shook his head. “If you knew their personalities, you’d see why I laughed. No, Emmi moved in after her divorce. I reckon they’re more like mother and daughter. Flo’s been the maiden aunt for both Emmi and Cara all their lives. I reckon she’ll take you under her wing next.”
Heather thought she might like being taken under Flo’s wing.
“Anyway, Emmi’s accepting all offerings for Cara. It won’t be a problem. We’ll just drop them off and go.”
“I suppose I have to get comfortable driving the golf cart, and I don’t feel quite ready to go it alone.” She laughed in a self-deprecating way. “I don’t even know how to get there.”
His eyes gleamed with pleasure. “It’s actually a little tricky crossing Palm Boulevard to the store,” he said. “Golf carts aren’t allowed to drive on Palm. Are you ready to go now?”
She reached back and patted her backpack and gave him as confident a smile as she could muster. “Sure. Why not?”
Heather felt a little light-headed as she walked toward the golf cart. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She climbed behind the wheel of the golf cart and held her breath as he climbed in beside her. His arm brushed against hers as he turned the ignition to start.
“Let’s go.”
HEATHER WAS DRIVING slower than a Sunday afternoon. Bo glanced at her for the hundredth time as she drove the golf cart at a painstakingly slow fifteen miles per hour. He’d tell her the cart could go as fast as twenty-five, but he didn’t want the journey to end any sooner. Bo was glad that he was wearing his sunglasses. He didn’t want her to see how much he was enjoying himself. The wind gently tousled her long blond hair, and she was smiling.
“You’re getting the feel of it,” he said. “Do you like it?”
She nodded and looked at him for a moment, her face aglow. When she smiled at him like that, he felt sucker-punched.
“I do,” she said with gusto. “I like feeling closer to the outdoors than in a car. I feel more a part of the island. You know? And the golf cart feels less threatening than a car.”
Bo propped one arm up to rest along the roof and let the breeze blow back his hair as they drove along Ocean Boulevard.
“This is what we call Front Beach,” he told her.
“I know,” she said, slowing as they entered the busy section of the island. “I read about it in the guidebook.”
“Well, hell,” he drawled. “That’s my job, to show you around.”
Heather laughed. He loved to hear her laugh. She always had such a serious expression. Almost
fearful or worried. It gave him pleasure to see it changed to a smile. She had the prettiest smile. . . .
Bo pointed out a local shop that had a live parrot inside where she could buy a hermit crab, Coconut Joe’s for eating lunch while viewing the beach, and the mural by Gretta Kruesi that displayed magnificent sea turtles and dolphins. Heather appreciated seeing art proudly portrayed on civic buildings. It might not have been the official beginning of summer on the calendar, but here on the island it certainly was. Everywhere people meandered on the walkways in beachwear, soaking up the sun, laughing and talking, buying souvenirs, licking ice-cream cones.
Bo carefully guided her along the route beside Palm Boulevard, through the parking lot to the one crosswalk where it was safe for a golf cart to cross four lanes of traffic to the grocery store.
Suddenly nervous, Heather clenched the steering wheel. “Maybe you better cross.”
“No, you’re doing good. You have to do it someday. Might as well be a baptism by fire. Just take your time and wait for a break in traffic.”
“I-I didn’t realize how many people crowded onto the island in the summer.”
“Yeah. You don’t want to leave the island between four and six on weekend afternoons. Okay . . . all clear!”
She pressed the pedal, and successfully maneuvered the cart across the lanes of traffic into the parking lot.
She laid her head against her hands on the steering wheel. “Oh, my God.”
“Good job,” he told her and placed a hand on her back. “I told you you could do it.”
She turned her head against her hands and her expressive blue eyes met his. He was suddenly aware he was touching her and smiled back.
“Thanks,” she said in a soft voice. “For having faith.”
Now his stomach clenched as her vulnerability struck him again. He unbuckled his seat belt. “Let’s go shopping.”
Heather and Bo got a cart and walked together through the aisles to the flowers. Heather bent to inspect a few bouquets, a frown on her face.
“These all look pretty tired,” she said with a worried brow. “Cara brought me the most beautiful flowers. She has such good taste. I just can’t give her blue and pink carnations.”
“Cara’s not uppity. It’s the thought that counts.”
She looked around the store, eyes scanning the signs and shelves. “Maybe some food is the right thing after all. Though I’m sure it’s like coals to Newcastle.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Coals to Newcastle? Well, Newcastle was a coal-mining town. It means bringing something to someone who doesn’t need it.”
“My daddy used to say it’s like bringing water to the sea.”
She laughed softly. “That’s better here.” She began walking toward the deli section. “I think lasagna for one seems unbearably depressing.”
“How about cheese?” he asked. “Everyone likes cheese.”
Heather’s eyes brightened. “Bo, that’s brilliant. Perfect!”
He was pleased, but didn’t say anything. He watched as she carefully picked out a selection of cheeses without even looking at the prices, filling her basket. And most of them were from France. He wondered just how much money her family had. Not just anyone could rent a beach house on Isle of Palms for the entire summer, or give a fancy, street-legal golf cart as a surprise gift just because. He wondered in that moment if her father would like him.
CARA AND BRETT’S home was a hidden gem on the river side of Isle of Palms. It was quite small, no bigger, Heather thought, than the beach house. But it was very stylish, as she expected based on what she’d seen of Cara thus far. She drove the cart between two gray brick posts with black carriage lamps, and past an enormous live oak that dominated the front and practically hid the house from street view. Like the beach house, this one was freshly painted and tidy, with cheery red geraniums at the front door. It did not appear to be a house of mourning.
“Should we just leave it on the front porch?” Heather asked.
Bo shook his head. “Let’s knock. Emmi’s there. That’s her car.”
The knocker was a polished brass anchor. She gave it three good raps and waited. Soon the door swung open, revealing a woman with red hair loosely pulled away from her face. She was dressed in a pale green tunic top and black leggings with flip-flops, a paper towel in her hands. Her face broke into a huge grin when she spotted Bo.
“Well, hey, Bo!” she exclaimed.
“Nice to see you, Miss Emmi.” He looked at Heather. “This is Heather Wyatt, the lady who’s renting the beach house from Cara. She heard about Brett and wanted to bring something over.” He raised the bags weighing down his hands.
Even though Emmi’s green eyes had shaded circles of fatigue beneath them, Heather felt the force of them studying her. “So that makes you my new neighbor. Nice to meet you, Heather. I’ve always liked that name. Maybe because I’m Scottish and anything to do with heather . . .” She let a slight shrug finish the sentence. “Do you want to come in?”
“I don’t want to intrude,” Heather answered quickly. “I just wanted to bring something by for Cara. I was so sorry to hear about . . . Brett. I’m sorry not to have been at the funeral, but I didn’t know.” Even as she said it, Heather felt her cheeks burn. What would she have been doing at the funeral anyway? It was a dumb thing to say.
But Emmi seemed touched by her words. “How could you? You only just got here. It was a very nice service. People came from all over and spoke so highly of him. I never saw so many people.” She paused in reflection, then shook her head, coming back. “He will be deeply missed.”
“I didn’t have the opportunity to meet him,” Heather said.
“Right, you’d just arrived. I think that’s what’s so hard for Cara. There was no warning, it all happened so quickly. Cara’s not receiving visitors,” she added apologetically. “But can I offer you something to drink?”
“No, really,” Heather said, stepping back. “We just wanted to drop this off. It’s some cheeses and fruit. I thought that way she could nibble on them whenever she wants. Nothing to heat up.” She glanced quickly up at Bo, a signal that it was time to leave. “Thank you, Emmi.”
“Nice to see you again, Miss Emmi,” Bo said. “Give Cara my love.”
“I’ll tell her you were here.” Emmi looked at Heather. “Both of you. I’ll come by and say a proper hello when things settle down here. Thank you again for coming by. I know it will mean a lot to Cara.”
Bo was lost in his own thoughts and uncharacteristically silent on the way back. The reality of Cara’s loss lay like a heavy pall around them. Though they hadn’t seen Cara, the grief permeating the house was palpable.
Driving along on the bouncy golf cart, Heather let her senses take in her surroundings in an effort to lift her now-dismal mood. It was early afternoon on a sunny day. The air smelled of salt and jasmine. The temperature was balmy— in the eighties and not too humid. It was perfect beach weather. They passed young couples tugging wagons filled with toys and children, an older couple holding hands, a few teenage girls in bikinis brazenly strolling in the street, a large dog dragging his walker—all holding colorful towels, all heading for the sea.
Despite the sadness of death, life went on, Heather thought. She pushed a shock of hair from her face in the breeze. She had to remind herself of that every day, find strength, even courage, in that knowledge. When her mother had passed, she’d thought she’d never get past her grief. Guilt was a terrible burden to bear. But she was slowly learning to do just that. Just one week here had opened the window to what was possible. As the beach house that was fast starting to feel like home came into view, she prayed now for Cara. She had to learn this painful lesson. And quickly. If you let it, grief could swallow you whole.
Chapter Ten
NO MATTER HOW prepared she thought she was for death, Cara couldn’t have anticipated the depths of the loss she felt.
Her grief was all-encompassing. With her mother’s pas
sing, Cara had felt sorrow, of course. She still missed her mother deeply. But Brett’s death was akin to dying herself. Her world had ended. She grieved her past, present, and future.
She’d lost her faith in God: Cara couldn’t pray to a being that would take her husband away. She’d planned the funeral in a daze. She was confused, disoriented, flooded with waves of guilt and anger. A funeral was nothing they’d ever talked about. Funerals were something they’d plan much later in their lives. When they were older. They were still young, or so they’d thought. Yet now, in the space of two weeks, Cara felt very, very old.
Cara lay on her bed with her arm covering her eyes, even though no light pierced the darkness save for what leaked through the slits of the closed drapes. She felt lifeless. No energy, no desire to rise out of bed. All she wanted to do was sleep and hide from everyone. She grew aware of the sound of knocking on her bedroom door.
The knocking continued, more insistent. “Cara?”
“Go away, Emmi. Please.” Her voice was low and rusty.
“It’s not just Emmi. I’m here, too. Open up, darlin’.”
That was Flo’s voice. Dear Flo . . . But still, Cara couldn’t bear to talk to anyone.
“I’m sleeping.”
“You’ve been sleeping day and night for two weeks.” The door pushed open. Cara removed her arm from her eyes and peered over, squinting in the dim light. She saw Flo leading the charge with Emmi right behind her.
Cara groaned and put her arm back over her head. “I have a terrible headache.”
“No, you don’t,” Flo said as if she were speaking to a recalcitrant child. She sat on the mattress beside Cara while Emmi went to open the drapes. Immediately the room was drenched in sunlight. She reached out and, taking Cara’s hand, moved her arm from her eyes. Cara resisted, but Flo was firm. She continued holding Cara’s hand in a motherly manner, peering into her face.
Cara reluctantly opened her eyes.
Flo smiled and squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Hello, precious,” she said with great warmth.
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