Beach House for Rent

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Her eyes widened with surprise, then myriad emotions flickered: joy, exuberance, and, at last—and Bo gloried in the surety of this expression—love.

  “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  READY OR NOT, here we come!”

  Flo’s voice boomed through the sunroom as she slid back the glass doors. It was a hot day in late July and all the windows were closed to let the air-conditioning do its work. Heather came from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Flo’s snowy white head was poking through the doors, her bright blue eyes searching the room. In her arms she carried a large brown box filled with goodies.

  “Y’all are early! Welcome!”

  “Early? You said six o’clock, didn’t you?” Emmi said, closing the sliding glass door behind her with one hand, balancing a pie in the other. Emmi was wearing a lilac-print sundress and her hair was pulled back in a purple clasp. She even had lilac cloisonné earrings in her ears. Flo was dressed in bright red capris and a white linen shirt, large turtle earrings dangling from her lobes.

  “Six thirty, but who’s counting?” Heather replied with a light laugh, even though any company arriving—especially early—gave her a jolt of nervousness. But this isn’t company, these are friends, she reminded herself sternly.

  Immediately the canaries started chirping, excited by the sound of voices. Moutarde began singing first, as usual.

  “I’m sorry you had to close up your doors and windows. I miss hearing your birds. They cheer me up,” Flo said, walking across the room. Her head turned from left to right as she scanned the room, curious. She stopped in front of Heather and handed over the box, her bright eyes sweeping over her like searchlights. “Don’t you look nice.”

  Heather looked down at her pink Lilly Pulitzer dress. “Thanks. It’s cool on a hot night.”

  “Amen! It’s hotter than Hades out there.”

  Emmi dabbed at her brow with a tissue. “Just walking from our house to yours worked up a sweat.”

  “I know,” Heather said, accepting the box filled with offerings. “Even at dawn.”

  “Climate change,” Flo declared in her matter-of-fact tone.

  “Goodness, what all did you bring?” Heather asked, returning to the kitchen. Setting the box on the counter, she pulled out a loaf of Flo’s homemade honey wheat bread, a jar of honey from her bees, two jars of her homemade strawberry jam, and two bottles of wine. She carried the wine out to the table. “You’re spoiling us,” she chided Flo.

  “I’ve got to give it to someone. How much honey can a woman eat? Blueberries will be coming in soon. I’ll bring you some jam from that, too. And don’t worry—I won’t put too much sugar in it. I know you don’t like it.”

  Heather grinned, grateful. “You’re too generous. That bread you brought last week was heaven. Thank you.”

  Flo lifted her hand. “No thanks necessary.”

  Emmi stepped forward with the pie. “This I made,” she said with pride. “Flo’s not the only one who can bake. When she lets me have a turn at the oven.”

  Heather took the pie and made a show of peeking under the aluminum foil. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

  “It’s strawberry rhubarb. Made from scratch,” she added, with a smug smile directed at Flo.

  “If you’re done talking about pies,” Flo interjected. “I’m as dry as the desert. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink?” She looked pointedly at the bottles of wine on the table.

  “Bubble water or plain?” Heather asked, heading toward the kitchen.

  Flo scrunched up her face. “It’s after five o’clock. How about white or red?”

  “Flo, give the girl a chance,” Emmi scolded her.

  Heather set the pie on the counter and paused, feeling her cheeks flame. Of course they wanted wine. What sort of hostess didn’t offer wine instantly to her dinner guests? She poked her head out the kitchen entrance, smiling self-consciously. “I’m sorry. I’m not very practiced at being a hostess yet. Red or white?”

  “Oh, you’re just fine,” Flo said with a wave of her hand. “Most people don’t have to deal with an opinionated, brassy old woman for their first dinner party. But since you’re asking . . .” She walked to the table and picked up a bottle. “I’ll have some of this red I brought. I drink only red these days. Hear it’s good for my heart. At my age, you’ve got to try everything.”

  “If you’re pouring,” Emmi chimed in. “I’ll take white. Whatever you have that’s chilled. The Chardonnay I brought isn’t cold. Here, darlin’, you might want to stick it in the fridge.” She handed Heather the bottle of white as well.

  Heather stuck her head in the well-stocked fridge and peered around. “All I have chilled is Pinot Grigio,” she called out to Emmi.

  “Even better. Need any help in there?”

  “No, thanks,” Heather responded. She poured, and carried the two glasses of wine out to her guests.

  “Where’s Cara?” asked Emmi, looking around. “Please say she’s not in bed.”

  “She’s fine. She’s still getting ready,” Heather replied. “She made the tabouli salad from scratch. It’s delicious. She’ll be out in a minute.” She leaned in and spoke in a softer voice. “So we have a minute to chat.”

  Flo and Emmi gathered closer.

  Heather pressed her palms together. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Explain what?” asked Emmi, leaning forward, brows knitted.

  “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn.”

  “Of course not. We’re her best friends. What?”

  Heather took a breath and pushed on. “Sometimes I see her walking around the house . . . and her lips are moving. As if she’s talking to someone.”

  Flo and Emmi exchanged a worried glance.

  “Maybe she’s talking to Brett,” Emmi suggested. “You know, part of the mourning process.” She looked to Flo for confirmation.

  “It’s not all that unusual,” said Flo. “No big psychological meaning. When you’re used to sharing your life with someone for years, it’s only natural.”

  “Except,” Heather continued. “I’m not sure it’s Brett she’s talking to. I hear her say ‘Mama.’ And almost every night she goes out to sit on the dune outside. She sits there for at least an hour. Just staring out.”

  “That dune right out there?” Flo asked, pointing out back. When Heather nodded, her eyes flashed in understanding. “That’s Lovie’s dune. Lovie used to sit out there, too. It’s a long, sad story.”

  “Not just sad,” interjected Emmi. “It’s beautiful, too. Romantic.”

  “Maybe,” conceded Flo.

  “Tell me?” asked Heather.

  Flo took a sip of wine. “Back when she was a young woman, Lovie fell in love. Problem was, the man she loved wasn’t her husband. She ended it, as she had to back then. There wasn’t any support for women back in the day, and for a woman of her position to get a divorce would’ve caused the biggest scandal. She wouldn’t do that to her children. It near killed her, though. This beach house was her sanctuary. Her salvation, even. Then sometime later we learned that Russell, the man she was in love with, had died in a plane crash. He was flying along the beaches on a survey and his plane went down.” She turned and pointed to the ocean. “Right out there.”

  “That is sad,” said Heather, hanging on Flo’s every word.

  “Tragic is what it was. Anyway,” she continued after a breath, “Lovie used to sit on that there dune and remember him. Talk to him, too, if I recall. It was her special place.”

  Heather understood all. “And that’s why Cara’s there. To talk to her mother.”

  “And to Brett,” Emmi added.

  Flo took a gulp of her wine. “Cara said you’ve had dreams of her mother? Lovie?”

  Heather nodded. “Not often. A few.”

  “And you smelled her perfume?”

  “I smell jasmine,” Heather said. “But that could be coming from outside.”

  “Could,”
Flo agreed, then skewered Heather with a look. “But Cara thinks it’s her mama. From all you say, I think she’s trying to get in touch with Lovie.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I wouldn’t mention your dreams if you get any more. Leastwise, not till she feels better.”

  “Cara’s going to be fine,” Emmi said in a bolstering tone. “We’ll get her back to her old self.”

  “Honey,” Flo said sadly, “Cara’s never going to be her old self. Her life has changed. But we’ll help her be the Cara she’s meant to be now.”

  “I hope our plan works,” Heather said. She’d invited Flo and Emmi over under the ruse of a simple dinner party, but the three women intended to use the opportunity to lay out a plan they hoped Cara would approve of for getting her outside and back into her life.

  “Of course it will work,” Flo said sotto voce. “It’s got to. I have to hand it to you, Heather. You came up with the idea of luring her out of the house with places and things she loves while the rest of us were just wringing our hands.”

  “It’ll be fun for us, too,” added Emmi. “Cara and I talk all the time about places we want to go, things we want to see, but we always seem to be too busy. This gives me a purpose.”

  “It’s a shame we need a purpose just to have a nice time,” Flo admitted. “Sad state of affairs.”

  “As long as we get her out,” Emmi said. “Okay, I’m taking her to Bowens Island for dinner tomorrow night. She and Brett used to go there all the time back when—well, you know.”

  “That’s real nice, dear,” Flo said. “It’ll bring back pleasant memories for her. Next week I’ll take her to Middleton Place. She’s been yammering for years about wanting to go back to see the gardens.”

  They looked at Heather expectantly.

  “Cara told me she fell in love with Brett on Capers Island. It was their place. So Bo said he’d take us there in his boat.”

  Emmi’s face softened. “Oh, what a good idea! Capers is so romantic. That was their first time out together, even before they started dating. Then later . . .” Emmi looked to the ceiling and laughed. “Unless, of course, you want to know where they really fell in love. You’d have to find Brett’s secret hammock.” She raised her brows knowingly. “It was where he took all his girlfriends, I heard. But I doubt even Cara could find it on her own. He was pretty closemouthed about that place.”

  “Don’t listen to her. Capers is perfect,” Flo said with an amused roll of her eyes.

  “I wasn’t sure if we should go on the ecotour boat,” said Heather. “I thought that might hit a bit too close to home.”

  “Good decision,” Emmi said.

  “The point is that we take her to places that have good memories of time she spent with Brett. And just get her outside.” Heather sighed. “It’s so strange for me to see Cara holed up inside when that person is usually me.”

  “We won’t let that happen,” said Emmi, and raised her glass. “Here’s to the plan.”

  “Wait a minute!” Heather exclaimed. “It’s bad luck to toast if I don’t have a glass.” She ran to the kitchen and returned with a glass of white wine. The three women clinked glasses.

  “Starting without me!” Cara’s voice sang out as she entered the room.

  Startled, the women swung around, each hoping Cara hadn’t heard their discussion. She was wearing her black shift dress again, and it hung like a sack on her skinny body. But her hair was washed and hung down to her shoulders in a thick, luxurious mass. Her dark eyes glittered at seeing her friends gathered together, the first sign of real life Heather had seen in her since she’d moved back into Primrose.

  Emmi and Flo took turns hugging Cara and exclaiming how wonderful she looked. Heather took the moment to slip into the kitchen and pour a glass of white wine for Cara. Returning, she basked in the sight of the three women, heads bent toward one another, talking away. The love and attachment they shared was obvious.

  When Heather had gone to Emmi and Flo’s house earlier in the week to ask for their help, the women had come on board with boundless enthusiasm. They’d sat on Flo’s back porch overlooking the ocean and sipped sweet tea while they came up with ideas.

  It was then that Emmi had shared how Cara had been her rock during her heartbreaking divorce from her husband and the subsequent sale of her family beach house. Flo told the story of how Cara had saved her from having to sell her family home by arranging for Emmi to come in and buy it with the money from her divorce settlement. Flo stayed on as a roommate. Sharing the house had meant neither of them had to live alone or leave the beach where they both had spent their lives. The three women had been lifelong friends and had been through thick and thin together. Cara had always been there for them. And it was crystal clear to Heather that both Emmi and Flo would go to the moon and back for Cara.

  Heather stepped forward and offered Cara a glass of wine, happy to see her more animated among her friends. Cara’s husky laugh was music to her ears. They pulled together to bring dinner to the table—Greek lamb, tabouli, and a green salad. They lit the candles, turned on music—Heather had selected Ingrid Michaelson for the evening—poured more wine, and settled in for some good old vintage girl talk.

  It wasn’t long before they came to their favorite topic—sea turtles.

  “It’s busy out there,” Emmi said with a gusty sigh. “We’re having one of our best seasons in ages, but we’re having a hard time keeping up. And that’s with a full team. Now you’re gone and I don’t know what we’ll do when Tee goes to Thailand next month. We’ll be down two team members just as the nests start to hatch.” She looked to Cara.

  Cara looked down at her plate.

  Flo picked up the baton. “Well, I’m getting too old to run around to multiple nests in the morning, and my eyesight isn’t good enough at night to help y’all much. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Mornings with the new nests and nights with the hatching nests. . . .” Flo shook her head. “Cara,” she said, looking Cara in the eyes. “I know it’s still soon after Brett’s passing, but coming outside to the beach, getting involved again—that’ll be good for you. Take your mind off your grief and give you something positive to do. Not to mention”—her blue eyes shone with appeal—“we really need you out there.”

  Cara ran her hand through her hair, her face agonized. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “Sure you are. And I’ll help. I’ll keep doing the paperwork until you say so. Does that make a difference?”

  Cara looked up at her friends. “Tee’s leaving?”

  Hearing her wavering, Emmi nodded vigorously. “For a month. And next to you, she’s our eagle eye for finding the eggs. Please, Cara. The turtle team needs you.”

  “Oh, all right,” Cara said with a defeated laugh. “I can’t win against all of you.”

  Emmi squealed and leaped from her chair to hug Cara. “Honey, don’t you know? Just by you saying yes, we all won.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  IT FELT GOOD to be back on the turtle team. Walking the beaches every morning, searching for turtle tracks, answering calls from the volunteers who had found tracks themselves, all gave Cara’s life renewed purpose. At night when one of the nests hatched and more than a hundred tiny turtles emerged from the sand, flippers waving, tumbling one over the other as they poured out en masse in a race to the sea, she felt each one of the hatchlings was her baby. She’d shepherd the hatchlings until they met the surf, keeping them safe from predators. That was where her protection ended, where land ended and sea began. Once the hatchlings crossed that border, they entered a world where she could not follow.

  The days became weeks and August continued the unyielding, unwavering procession of ninetysome-degree days that was a southern summer. And the bugs were back in town. Whether it was the unusually warm winter, the excessive spring rains, or the pressing humidity of this summer, Cara had never seen bigger or more aggressive skeeters.

  The turtle team was hit hard by mosquitoes and the tiny, invisible sand
flies they called no-see-ums, especially as they patrolled the nests at night. Bottles of repellent were passed around continually. On especially buggy nights when the armadas of insects relentlessly swarmed, some of the team waved the white flag and retreated. Cara, however, was what Brett had laughingly called “unattractive” to mosquitoes. She didn’t know why some people were magnets and swarmed by bugs, while others, like her, were left alone. There were lots of theories—who did or didn’t eat bananas, who drank beer, what color clothing someone wore. No matter the reason for her immunity, she counted her blessings.

  She still couldn’t sleep well anyway, so she was happy to take on turtle midwife duty at the beach on nights when nests were due to hatch. And on the nights when there were no expectant nests to keep her occupied, Cara sat on Lovie’s dune. On this night, with no nests to watch over, Cara brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on them.

  Oh, how she missed Brett. Especially at times like this when the balmy breeze was not windy enough to toss sand in her eyes but was blowy enough to keep the bugs at bay and rattle the straw-colored panicles of the sea oats. They sounded like castanets. On a night like this when the moon was full and shone majestically in a sky littered with stars, while pinpricks of light on the shore below seemed to mirror the stars, Cara could feel his presence.

  It was near midnight, and from where she sat it seemed the world was asleep. The lights were out in the wall of mansions facing the sea. She whispered a thank-you to the people inside who heeded the “lights out for turtles” message. Sea turtles emerged from the sand and followed that natural light home to the sea. Out in the distance, the sky and sea blended together into an inky blackness. This was how it had been for thousands—millions—of years when the moon and the stars were the brightest lights on the horizon. Today, electricity had changed that ancient formula. The brightest lights were no longer over the sea but shone in the streets and houses, in the ambient light of cities far away. The hatchlings emerged from the sand and followed their primeval instincts to run to the brightest lights. And if that light was artificial, they inadvertently scrambled away from the sea, their home, to their certain deaths.