“Now, honey, you were knocked down, good and hard. There’s no denying it. But you’ll get up again. When you’re ready. You always do.”
“I don’t know. Maybe not this time.” Cara straightened and wiped her eyes with her hands. Palmer dipped into his pocket and pulled out a pressed handkerchief. He had always maintained the old-world ways of Charleston. Cara blew her nose gratefully and twisted the delicate linen in her hands, then folded it into a smaller and smaller square as she forced herself to find the words to tell Palmer what had happened.
“It’s more than just Brett being gone,” she confessed. “My life is a mess.” She looked up at him. It was her style to be blunt when necessary, and there was no sugarcoating this. “I’m in serious financial trouble.”
His blue eyes sharpened. “Oh?”
Cara quickly brought her brother up to speed on her financial situation, sparing no details.
“In a word, I’m broke,” she finished helplessly.
“I had no idea,” Palmer said in a hushed voice. He shook his head. “I loved Brett like a brother. But right now, I’d like to kick his butt.”
Cara chuckled, glad he could freely voice his feelings with her. “Yeah, but we both know he wasn’t the best at finances. But it’s done, and now I have to move forward. Palmer, I’m not angry. I’m scared.”
“What are you going to do with the business?”
Cara set her mouth in a firm line, the way she used to when she needed to ream out a wayward employee at the ad agency or bring an account back into line. “I have to sell it.”
“Is Robert interested?”
“I think he is, yes. Whether he can come up with the money, I don’t know. I only know I can’t keep it going. And honestly, I don’t want to. The ecotour business was Brett’s passion, not mine. Selling it might not even be enough.” She gestured vaguely around her. “I might need to let the house go, too.”
Palmer looked mildly alarmed at that. “But if you sell this house, where will you move?”
“I’m still working that out. Palmer,” she said, raising her eyes from the handkerchief she was still twisting in her hands to meet his gaze. “I need your advice. John said I’m going to have to sell something to pay back the loan. Right away. How long will it take for this house to sell?”
Palmer considered the question, then shrugged. “I don’t have a crystal ball. But we’re smack in the summer season and, you’ve got the advantage of having a modest-size house on a deepwater lot. There are only so many of those around. I’d be surprised if it didn’t go quick. In fact, I may know of someone who’s been looking for just such a place. He might just jump on it.”
“Then would you put it up for sale? Just get me the best price you can as fast as you can.”
“Sure I will, but let’s just talk this through a minute. This is your home. The one you lived in with Brett. You can sell the beach house, too, you know.”
“I could, but I can’t do anything until Heather moves out. And I’m not sure I want to sell it. You know how I feel about Primrose. Palmer, I simply cannot live here because I’m surrounded by memories. This was Brett’s house.” She paused. “I . . . I think I might want to live in the beach house for a while. It’s my home. I need to feel safe.”
“Sure, honey, I can understand that.”
“So, you’ll take care of it for me?”
“Of course. And of course there’ll be no commission.”
“Thank you.” It was heartfelt.
He seemed taken aback by her gratitude. “Honey, of course I wouldn’t charge you commission. You’re my sister!”
“That’s not what I was thanking you for.”
“No? For what, then?”
She shrugged. “For understanding. And for not badgering me to sell Mama’s house like you did earlier this spring.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t sold either of them yet. Like I always say, you never know.”
Cara sighed, pressing her palms together. “Time’s the one thing I don’t have right now. Mortgages are due, payroll has to be met.” She turned to him. “I hate to ask you, and I wouldn’t except I’m desperate, but . . .” She swallowed. “Could you float me a loan? Just until I figure out what to do? John and I worked out a realistic financial plan, but as you said, we can’t control how long it will take for this house to sell, for the business to sell, and for me to find somewhere else I can afford to live.”
Palmer’s face grew troubled and he rubbed his jaw in thought. “Cara, I’d love to be able to lend you money. I would. But truth be told, I’m pressed for cash. Remember that deal I told you about? It’s in the works, and I’ve had to invest heavily. I just don’t have it to give at the moment. I’m sorry.” He paused. “Why don’t you come stay with me and Julia and the kids for a while? Just until you sell the house and get your feet back under you. It’ll be no trouble at all. We’d be delighted to have you.”
Cara hadn’t expected that. In the back of her mind, her brother was always in the wings, ready and willing to bail her out. Now all she had was the prospect of living with him and his family—which, while she appreciated the spirit in which it was intended, wasn’t something she even wanted to think about.
“That’s the kindest offer. Really. And I appreciate it. But . . .” Cara’s façade of control broke. She hated the tears that sprang with a sudden urgency ever since Brett’s death. A scent, a comment, a memory—anything could set her off.
Palmer reached for her hand. “You’ve done a lot in a short time. More than most of us could do in the best of times. And you had to do it all in the worst of times. You’re exhausted. You try to be so strong, Cara. Always did.” He leaned back. “Now, I admire it, sure. But damn it, sometimes you just have to let us help you out.”
“Then help me sell this place. I need that the most.”
“Consider it done.”
She released a heavy sigh and patted his hand by way of thanks. “As for the rest . . . I’m a big girl. I can figure out where I’ll go from here.”
“Cara!” Julia called from the kitchen in a voice that was iron coated with syrup. “Bring your sweet self in here for some lunch. Hurry now, you don’t want it to get cold. You, too, Palmer. Come on, now, hear?”
Palmer looked at Cara, and suddenly they were both children again being called to dinner by their mother. Cara leaned into her brother again as they both broke out in laughter. It had been so long that she’d forgotten how healing a good laugh could be.
Part Three
HEALING
Barbara J. Bergwerf
SEMIPALMATED SANDPIPER
These birds are small and stocky with short necks, moderately long bills, dark gray-brown plumage, and lightly marked chests. The name “semipalmated” refers to slight webbing between the toes. Important because of their large numbers, they are long-distance migrants who nest in arctic tundra and winter in South America. Often called “peeps,” they are frequently seen chasing waves on their short legs as they feed.
Conservation status: High Concern
Chapter Fourteen
BO PULLED INTO the parking lot on the northern end of Sullivan’s Island by the bridge. He grabbed his Ducks Unlimited ball cap and slapped it on his head. Then he met Heather’s gaze. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Let’s go!”
Bo jumped from the truck and came around the back to open her door, but Heather had already climbed out. He spotted her standing at the border of the parking lot, one hand holding on to her straw hat, the other over her eyes as she peered out over Breach Inlet. She appeared more relaxed and confident than ever before, as though she’d set down a heavy burden and was free of its weight. She looked sporty in her jean shorts, tennis shoes, and white T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
Bo leaned against the gate of his truck and stared at the vision of Heather against the blue sea and sky. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Truth was, he’d been smitten from the first moment he saw her dancing
to Johnny Cash. Who wouldn’t be? She was gorgeous. But seeing her sitting on the floor struggling with the pieces of the birdcages had cinched it. He was caught—hook, line, and sinker.
He still couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to land a job where he could see her every day. He’d never won anything—not a contest or the lottery. But meeting Heather felt like he’d won the jackpot. He’d known lots of other pretty women. But all of them were just that—pretty. There was no substance. No passion. No there there. The better he got to know Heather, the more he saw how much more there was to her than her physical beauty. She was shy, that was obvious. And vulnerable. But she had real depth. He’d seen the sharp intelligence behind those brilliant blue eyes. The class in her demeanor. Her anxiety could make her clumsy socially, which might’ve turned off some guys. But it brought out the chivalry in him, learned at his daddy’s knee. He’d been rebuffed by some of the other girls he’d dated when he tried to open a door or order for them both on a date, as if his manners somehow belittled their power. Those dates usually were one-offs. But with Heather . . . He smiled. Bo found her shyness beguiling, her slanted glances flirtatious. Each bloom of a blush on her pale cheek bowled him over. It just made him want to do more for her.
Every morning on the drive over to the beach house, he had prepared what story he’d tell her that day. He’d knock on the screen door and she’d let him in with a tentative hello, but he could tell she’d been waiting for him. He could smell the coffee brewing, and he’d listen for what music she’d selected to play that morning. It clued him in to her mood. Then, while he sipped his coffee, he’d talk to her and she’d feed her canaries. He loved watching her with her birds. She moved like a dancer from cage to cage, cooing to them and singing out their names: Moutarde, Poseidon, Pavarotti. And they responded, singing their hearts out to her in return.
He smiled, thinking of Heather and her music. She was surrounded by song. She might have anxiety and spend much of her time alone and indoors—but had he ever met someone so alive? He could tell her mood by the music that was playing—opera when she was soaring, classical when she was drawing, country music when she was cooking or puttering about, Bruno Mars when cleaning the house.
He’d sung to Heather, too, in his own way, with his stories. He’d dug deep for every and any snippet of folklore and history, some amusing story, just so he could buy more time with her. So he could see the look of wonder spread across her face as she forgot her reservations and fell under the spell of the tale he was weaving. Heather’s beautiful face, her luminous blue eyes, could conceal nothing. He was challenged to coax a smile or a laugh out of her. Each one felt like a gift because they were so infrequent and difficult to come by.
So when she’d refused to go out to dinner with him, he’d been crushed. He’d felt like a fool. To his mind, when she’d shown him the door on his last day working on the deck and told him good-bye, she was telling him she’d found him entertaining and now she was done, thank you very much. It had hurt. Bad. Just remembering that moment, he felt again the ache in the pit of his stomach.
He’d stayed away. With the job done, there was no reason for him to return. It was a miserable week. Then, on an ordinary day, he’d answered the call from the birds of prey center and there she was, hovering close to the injured pelican, looking at him with an expression every bit as fragile as the hurt bird. He’d put up his guard. Yet somehow she’d found the courage to explain to him why she’d refused his invitation. She’d humbled herself to be honest about her anxiety, and in response, he was humbled by her trust in him.
And here they were. Together again. Like peas and carrots, his grandmother would say. And as before, they didn’t feel any awkwardness with each other. Bo felt a surge of happiness that tasted as fresh and full of hope as the early-morning air. With energy he reached in and hoisted the cooler from the back of the truck, then tossed a blanket over his shoulder.
“Hey, pretty lady!” he called out. “Stop gawking like a tourist and grab the rods. We going to fish or not?”
Heather turned and, upon seeing him, her smile brightened her face to rival the sunny sky. She hurried over to his side.
“I was watching a line of pelicans flying overhead in formation. They remind me of bombardiers on patrol. Made me wonder, how’s our wounded pelican?”
“They think it turned the corner and is going to make it. For a couple of days it wouldn’t eat, now it won’t stop eating.” He chuckled. “Apparently they’ve got to do physical therapy on its injured wing. To keep it mobile. If a bird can’t fly, it can’t survive.”
“Can we see him?”
“Sure, I’ll take you up again and we can check on the little fella.” He paused to look up as another three pelicans flew overhead in V formation. “I’m always glad when they pull through. Lots of them don’t. The ones we find injured we can bring in and hopefully help. Most of them, though, we don’t see, and they just die out there.” He glanced back at her and smiled. “Right, then. Let’s grab the gear.”
Heather reached far into the back of the truck to the rods, offering him a pretty view of her rounded backside. He felt a stirring and looked out at the churning waters of the inlet.
“Got ’em,” she called out triumphantly.
Hefting the heavy cooler, he jerked his chin toward the beach. “Great. Follow me.”
Bo led her down the slope to the small stretch of beach from the Hunley Bridge to a rocky edge. It was not a pretty beach. The bits of sand were patchy and rocky, and no swimming was allowed due to the deathly currents in Breach Inlet. This made it a good place to fish.
“Look, Bo,” Heather said as they reached the beach. “The tide’s out and there’s so much sand. You could walk to Isle of Palms.”
“Don’t ever try it,” he warned, setting down the cooler with a thud. “See that?” He pointed to the large NO SWIMMING sign. “That’s for real. No fooling around. Every year some tourists who don’t understand the tides see all the sand and try to walk across, or just see how far out they can go. Few things scare me more than driving over the bridge and seeing some nice family out there, looking for seashells. Naïve. They don’t have a clue how fast and furious the tide can rush back in. It’s a force of nature. And then there’s the guy who comes to fish and just wants to go in the water a little bit to cool off. He never intends to go swimming. Just a toe in . . .” Bo shook his head. “People have stood in the shallows, and damn if the sand didn’t give way and they got caught in the currents. Folks use to call it Breach Inlet Quicksand. And that doesn’t even cover the sharks.”
“Sharks?”
Bo looked at her with his brows raised. “Honey, you do know there are sharks in the ocean?”
Heather blushed. “Of course. I’m not stupid. But they’re out there, right?” she said, pointing far out to sea. “Not close in.” She grimaced. “Not a lot of them, anyway?”
“They’re all over. I can’t even count how many I’ve bumped into when I’ve been out surfing.” Bo gestured toward the inlet. “But they really love it in Breach Inlet. It’s a favorite feeding place for sharks. In fact, the largest shark I ever saw was right down there.” He pointed to the shoreline. “It had to be twelve feet long. I was just standing there fishing and it swam right by me, so close I could’ve touched it. Course, I’m not that kind of fool.” He laughed. “Dolphins love it here, too, for the same reasons. Mama dolphins like to bring their young here to teach them how to hunt. It’s a feeding ground in there, with currents as crazy as a pot of boiling soup, and bloodthirsty sharks to boot—nope, no one should try to swim in Breach Inlet.” He cocked his head and winked. “But it makes for great fishing.”
He looked up at the sky to see large gray clouds gathered over the northwest, but the sky above the ocean where they stood was still blue with white clouds, and the wind was light.
“I don’t like the looks of those clouds. Let’s get started before they move any closer.” He bent to pick up the cooler again with a gr
unt. “Just a little farther,” he said, leading the way to a far corner of the beach where rocks gathered at the base of the slope. He set the cooler down while she spread out the blanket, anchoring it with the cooler and rocks. They gathered the gear and began hooking the bait.
“This here’s shrimp. It’s still alive. We want them dancing on the line. Live bait is the ticket.” He held back a smile, observing Heather’s intense concentration as she watched him demonstrate how to place the hook through the tail of the shrimp. “Do you think you can do it?” he asked.
She reached out to touch it tentatively. Her long fingers inched closer and at last barely touched the tip of the shrimp’s fan tail; when it twitched, she yelped and jumped back. Bo laughed, but not too loudly.
Heather laughed at herself, a blush staining her cheeks. “Maybe I should watch you awhile first?”
“Your rod, ma’am.”
Heather accepted the fishing rod from Bo without squeamishness. She held it in front of her with a determined gleam in her eye.
After he baited his own rod, he reached out and took her hand. He was pleased she didn’t resist. Her hand felt slim and small in his. “Careful, now. These rocks can be slippery. On some of these I’ve paid the price of admission.” He guided her up the rocks to reach a small flat bit of sand, a perfect perch for fishing. “This is my secret spot.”
“Secret, huh?” she teased. “Every car that crosses the bridge can see us.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t looking at us. And even if they were, they can’t see we’re standing on sand. Besides, from where they’re looking, they think we’re just fools standing on the rocks looking for dolphins. Which, by the way . . .” He pointed toward the bridge.
Heather squealed with joy when she spotted the pair of dolphins arcing in the water under the bridge. The dorsal fins eased in and out of the water with enviable grace, heading their way.
“They’re so lovely,” she breathed, peering out over the water. “I’ve never seen a dolphin before. It’s so incredible to watch them.”
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