Beach House for Rent

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Conservation status: Least Concern *State wildlife action plan high priority

  Epilogue

  September

  SUMMER WAS OVER. In the lowcountry, children were once again ensconced in school, the sea turtles were off swimming in the ocean, and the new crop of fledglings had flown the nest and joined the adults on the great migration south. Throughout the lowcountry the skies were filled with flocks of birds.

  For six brown pelicans, however, the journey was only about to begin.

  Heather had joined Bo among the ranks of volunteers at the Center for Birds of Prey. Her commission on shorebirds was finished. Two of her paintings had been accepted and would someday grace Mr. and Mrs. Citizen’s letters—American oystercatchers and semipalmated sandpipers. She’d submitted her proposal for wading birds and seabirds, and the response had been surprisingly enthusiastic—so much so, in fact, that she’d received word of her second commission! And the first bird she would paint was the brown pelican.

  Heather was partial to the pelican. It was an elegant bird with its oversized bill, and a masterful flier. Who didn’t thrill to see squadrons fly above the water in formation? Or their stunning headfirst dives to catch fish? She and Bo had rescued dozens of pelicans in the short time she’d been a volunteer. Many of them were juveniles who’d never caught on how to fish. Failure to thrive was the diagnosis. Emaciated and caught in a downward spiral, many of them didn’t make it, although the center did all they could for them. Only 30 percent of pelicans survived their first year. But the good news was that there were three here today that had.

  She looked across the beach at the six large crates spread out in a straight line. A volunteer from the Center for Birds of Prey stood at each crate, waiting for the signal. Bo was one of them, framed by the shrubby maritime forest of Sullivan’s Island and the brilliant September sky overhead. She smiled and waved. The sight of him still caused her heart to beat faster. The juveniles needed to be released to a flock of birds that would mentor them. Even the adults would have a better chance of survival if they joined a flock. Pelicans were exceedingly social, another reason she loved them.

  Among the birds, three adults had been rescued from fishing gear entanglements—the only ones among many such birds brought in that had survived. Including the pelican Heather had rescued. That was the bird Bo was standing beside. Naturally they were partial to this pelican. There had been some iffy moments in his healing process. The fishing hook had dug deep. Pelican wings were difficult to heal, and their little guy had required a lot of physical therapy to stretch out his wings fully. Heather was worried whether he’d actually be able to fly today.

  Heather waited near the water. She was part of the perimeter guard for the release. Higher up on the beach by the dunes, a small group had gathered to watch the release. Heather recognized some of them, and doing so gave her a strong sense of belonging. These were her neighbors, part of her new community. It was easy to spot Cara—taller than many of the other women, wearing a crisp white shirt and a red ball cap. Beside her were Emmi in green and Flo in a turtle team shirt, even though turtle season was done. She was talking to the charming older woman Heather had met that special night at the dock. Miss Marietta. Six or seven other men and women stood waiting. They’d been lucky enough to be walking the beach at the right time. Heather smiled and waved at them, especially the three children who stood, hands clasped at their chests and hopping up and down, excited to see the “big birds.”

  Prominent among them was her father. David had driven down from Charlotte after receiving her invitation to witness the release. Though they both knew he had come to check out Bo and see their cottage. He had come without Natalie.

  She looked to Bo and her chest swelled at seeing him lift his hand and give her a thumbs-up sign. Nothing compared to the pride she felt in herself. She’d mastered her fears. She’d learned how to treat herself with kindness and compassion. And she believed she was worthy of being loved, just as she was. Bo proved that to her every day in many ways. She smiled broadly and returned the thumbs-up. Looking beyond, she saw Cara watching her, arms crossed and grinning, too.

  Debbie, the center’s medical director, looked out at the sky, her hand over her eyes. There wasn’t a pelican in sight. They’d been waiting to spot even a small flock of pelicans for the release. There usually was a group along this beach, but not today. Debbie lifted her hands up, shrugging and mystified, as a murmur of worry spread among the volunteers that they’d have to scrub the release today.

  Then Heather heard a steady, rumbling sound from the sea, put-put-put . . . She turned toward it and clapped her hands. A shrimp boat was slowly passing by on its way to Mount Pleasant, its nets lowered as it dragged the bottom of the ocean. Circling the boat, calling raucously, were dozens of gulls and pelicans looking for a free meal.

  “We’re on!” Debbie called out with enthusiasm. “Let them go!”

  The children began jumping up and down, openly embodying the same excitement all the adults felt rippling through them. The six men and women volunteers bent to open the crates. Heather held her breath and watched.

  One by one the six brown pelicans emerged from the crates. A couple leaped forward, flapping their wings, eager to be free. Others peeked out, their long bills protruding from the crates before they ventured out. The adults had long, gorgeous chestnut-and-white necks topped with white heads and pale yellow crowns. The juveniles were not as handsome in their brown-gray plumage, but, God willing, they’d survive to grow into their adult colors. All six were out now, walking across the beach in their gangly, awkward gait, flapping their wings, looking skyward. The shrimp boat was puttering on, moving beyond their beach.

  “Go on,” Heather whispered, her eye on the adult she’d rescued. He was extending his wings beautifully. But the real test would be his taking flight. “You can do this,” she urged.

  As she watched, her bird suddenly called out and flapped his six-foot wingspan, picking up the pace of his gait. His excitement triggered the other birds; they, too, began to flap and run. With a few more powerful flaps, her pelican was the first to take off into the sky. Three more followed, and they climbed skyward as a group, heading out over the ocean. Everyone on the beach was cheering, Heather included. The final two, both juveniles, stared after them seemingly in wonder and confusion. Heather’s heart sank. Would they have to rescue them again? Overhead the four pelicans circled. Seeing them, something clicked in the juveniles’ heads, and in a rush they, too, took to the sky to join the others.

  Now that the beach was clear, everyone hurried across the sand to stand at the shore, cheering them on. The pelicans flew across the sea in pursuit of the other pelicans circling the shrimp boat. Soon they became one with the flock, indistinguishable in the mass of flying dark bodies with sinuous necks gliding above the boat.

  They’ve found their new flock, Heather thought with relief and joy. She felt Bo’s arm slide around her waist and he pulled her closer as they watched the birds soar in the sky. She looked and their eyes met. He smiled slowly, knowingly, and lowered his lips to hers. Heather looked up to see her father watching with one brow raised over a half smile. Beyond him, clustered at the shoreline were Cara, Emmi, and Flo, smiling and clapping and cheering at the success of the release.

  Heather smiled and thought, And so have I.

  October

  A SMALL GROUP clustered at the back of the Coastal Ecotour boat as it slowly crawled along the coast of Capers Island. Cara, dressed in pure white, stood flanked by Bo and Robert. Dawn was rising over an indigo sea, her majestic rose-and-gold raiment spreading its colored light through the radiant clouds.

  Dawn had always been Brett’s favorite time of the day. Looking at it now, Cara understood why. Breaking the dark shroud of night, the light was like a voice that sang out to the world with hope. No more sorrow and regret! Take heart! A new day is beginning.

  Cara took a shuddering breath and looked down at the box in her hand, a small,
nondescript container that carried Brett’s ashes. He wasn’t in this box, not really. She knew that. He was in the sea and the sky and on the shores of Capers Island. He was in each sunrise and sunset. He was the wind that caressed her cheeks, the moonlight that shone overhead. He was every star that twinkled down at her, watching from high in the celestial sky.

  Still, he would want his ashes released in this place where once they had fallen in love. Cara could come here on days in the future when she needed to call her memories closer.

  Tears threatened, and she held them at bay. She would not cry. She would be strong for her friends. Brett would expect nothing less from her. Clearing her throat, she turned to the small group she’d invited to share this private moment. Her gaze swept over the faces of her inner circle. Her family of blood and bonds. Her brother, Palmer, stood like a rock for her, her only living blood relative. He had one arm around Julia’s waist and a hand on her nephew Cooper’s shoulder. Her niece, Linnea, who had somehow blossomed into a young woman overnight, stood beside Julia. Flo, Emmi, and Heather clustered shoulder to shoulder, flowers in hand. Toy and Ethan Legare stood beside them. Their daughter, Little Lovie, had been especially close to Brett and, being young, she couldn’t stem the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Cara smiled at her reassuringly.

  It was time. She turned to the boat’s captain. Robert had purchased the ecotour business, and she knew Brett would be proud of the way he’d firmly taken hold of the reins. In a strong, clear baritone, Robert read the excerpt from the poem “At Dawn,” by Alfred Noyes. Cara stepped to the railing and, listening to the words, taking them to heart, she opened the box. The ashes caught the breeze and scattered, whirling, spiraling, released far out into the great sea.

  Are not the forest fringes wet with tears?

  Is not the voice of all regret

  Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?

  She too, she too, has loved and lost; and though

  She turned last night in disdain

  Away from the sunset-embers,

  From her soul she can never depart;

  She can never depart from her pain.

  Vainly she strives to forget;

  Beautiful in her woe,

  She awakes in the dawn and remembers.

  April

  SPRING HAD RETURNED to Isle of Palms. The birds were returning to the island in force, singing raucously outside her windows, claiming territory, attracting mates, building nests. Wildflowers bloomed over the dunes, and green burst forth in the shrubs and trees and in the base of cordgrass waving in the waterways. The song of new life sang around her.

  Cara felt the surge of new beginnings in her heart as she walked through the beach house a final time. Dressed in her city clothes, she had shifted her mind-set from the relaxed, easygoing pace of the islands to the crisp focus she’d need to conquer the challenges ahead. She’d been offered and accepted the position of PR director for the Tennessee Aquarium. She was uniquely qualified for the position and eager to implement all the new ideas and initiatives swirling in her mind. She felt alive again, a heady, eager sensation that she identified as passion.

  The beach house was cool and dim, lit only by the rays of light sneaking through the slats of the plantation shutters. The dark pine floors gleamed with polish. Every piece of furniture, every pillow on every chair sat neatly at the ready. Everything was in its place. Cara paused before the fireplace. Her personal photos were packed away, but over the mantel Heather’s painting of the sandpipers seemed to capture the few rays of sunshine to glimmer. Cara smiled as she always did when looking at it. Heather’s talent had managed to capture the amusing personality of the little speckled birds, their legs a frenzy of motion as they played tag with the surf. Heather had given the painting to Cara as a gift, knowing how much she loved it.

  Almost on cue, Moutarde began chirping. Her pet must’ve sensed her pensive mood, she thought. She admitted to feeling unsure, even afraid of what lay ahead. She was leaving her home, her friends, the lifestyle she’d carved out for herself, to begin again in a new city. Chattanooga was far from the sea, located high in the mountains. What, she wondered, would her life be like away from the gentle roar of the surf, the far-reaching beaches, the feel of the hot sun on her face? What would the dawn look like rising over the peaks of mountains rather than the vast expanse of sea and sky?

  The doorbell rang, followed by three sharp knocks. Cara shook off her doubts and with long strides went to the sunroom to collect the small bird travel carrier. She murmured words of reassurance to Moutarde as she hurried to the front door.

  “Are you ready, Moutarde?” she crooned. “Remember the song of the sea and sing it for me. Every day. Won’t you?”

  She couldn’t tarry or she’d miss her plane. Grabbing her purse, she opened wide the door and blinked in the blinding light of a powerful spring sun.

  “We’d better get a move on,” said Palmer. His face was flushed from the exertion of loading her luggage into the trunk of his Mercedes.

  “Hold this, please.” She handed Palmer the carrier, then turned to lock the door. She heard the click. The sound resonated and in that instant a thousand memories—all of them happy—surged through her mind. A breeze scented with jasmine whisked past. Cara breathed deep and placed her palm against the wood of the door.

  “Good-bye, Mama,” she whispered, knowing she was heard.

  Cara turned and took the bird carrier back into her arms. She lifted the house keys in the air. “Take good care of it.”

  Palmer caught the keys neatly in his palm. He flipped them once in the air. “You sure you don’t want me to sell it?” His eyes shone with amusement, but also hope.

  Cara stepped back to take a final look at the beach house nestled in the dunes. Primroses bloomed across the dunes, the same pale yellow as the house. This charming cottage with the wide front porch carried all her hopes, dreams, and memories. It had been her home—her sanctuary for all of her life. It had been a healing place for her, for her mother, for Toy and Heather. And someday, this very special house might heal the heart of another woman who was buffeted by life’s harsh winds. This little beach house that had once belonged to her mother now belonged to her.

  “Not a chance,” she said to Palmer.

  Cara walked to the mailbox at the end of the drive. She pulled a few envelopes from her purse, a few final bills that had to be paid before she left. She paused. It still gave her a thrill whenever she saw Heather’s stamps. They’d turned out so well; everyone remarked on how beautiful they were. She smiled and ran her finger over the stamp on the Save the Date return card for Heather and Bo’s wedding. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. She popped the letters in the mailbox, lifted the red metal flag, then walked without delay to the white Mercedes. She climbed onto the creamy leather seat and settled the bird carrier in her lap. Everything was done. She was on her way.

  The sound of hammering caught her attention. Turning her head, she looked out the window and watched as Palmer finished putting the sign up in front of the house.

  BEACH HOUSE

  FOR RENT

  Palmer climbed in beside her and boosted the air-conditioning.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Cara nodded, her eyes still on the little yellow beach house. As he pulled away, she took one final, lingering look.

  “I’ll be seeing you,” she whispered.

  Acknowledgments

  WITH EACH BOOK I am fortunate to work with brilliant people who share their knowledge willingly, even enthusiastically. We all believe shared information is shared power. For Beach House for Rent I want to especially thank Felicia Sanders of the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, for an education on shorebirds, seabirds, and wading birds, as well as for sharing her passion for them. Also thanks to Al Segars and Sally Murphy for guidance over many years.

  At the Avian Conservation Center in Awendaw, South Carolina, miracles happen every day. Heartfelt thanks to Debbie Mauney, Kori Cotteleer,
and especially to my dear friend Mary Pringle, who took me along to rescue pelicans.

  I’m indebted to Steve Baptiste and Linda Marshall, canary breeders extraordinaire. Thank you for an education on canaries, for my five canaries whose songs brighten my every day, and for your friendship. I share your passion for these joyful singers.

  I am blessed to have an amazingly talented editor who stands shoulder to shoulder with me during the writing process. Lauren McKenna—there are not enough words to thank you. Thanks as well to Elana Cohen and my copy editor Joel Hetherington. I am also blessed to have a stellar team at Gallery Books. Heartfelt thanks to my fabulous publishers Jennifer Bergstrom and Louise Burke, to Liz Psaltis, Jennifer Long, Jean Anne Rose, Angela Januzzi, Diane Velasquez, and Lisa Litwack.

  My home team makes every book and every day I work with them a joy. Thanks for being my best cheerleaders and brilliant backup: Angela May, Kathie Bennett, Susan Zurenda, Meg Walker, Abby Dunne, and Lisa Minnick.

  I cannot thank enough two amazing nature photographers (and dear friends) who provided me with photographs of birds for my research and inspiration. To Barbara J. Bergwerf and Judy Drew Fairchild, whose photographs grace my book, and to Barb’s magic at creating the “stamps” in the book. Thanks to Judy, as well, for providing me the chance to stay at the magical place called Dewees Island.

  A special nod to Shane Zeigler at the Barrier Island Ecotour on Isle of Palms. My scenario with Brett’s Coastal Ecotour is strictly fictional but the character’s devotion to guiding visitors to the joys of the lowcountry is inspired by Shane. The Barrier Island Ecotour business is thriving and I highly recommend that you take a trip.

  The character of Bo Stanton was inspired by my friend Bo Stallings of Isle of Palms. He’s a true lowcountry gentleman and I couldn’t have written the fishing scene without his guidance. Thank you, Bo!