As the Tide Comes In

by Cindy Woodsmall

“I was hoping for something between random cruelty and taking her on as a long-term project. She doesn’t need to be patronized this way.”

  “That’s a horrid thing to say about her.” His mom shook her head. “She’s a bit headstrong, but she’s a lovely and genuine woman.”

  “I’m aware.” Too aware.

  He wasn’t one to use his phone for anything except what was needed. He didn’t play games on it or go to social media sites. But he’d spent all his downtime during the night, when he should’ve been catching some z’s, reading the Facebook pages for Sean, Darryl, and Tara. His heart ached for her loss—for the world’s loss—because it was clear that Sean and Darryl believed in making a positive difference in their corner of this planet.

  Gavin watched as Tara turned a corner, moving beyond his line of sight. “She’s locked inside grief and shock. That’s the world she’ll remember, and it’s about all she’s actually seeing right now. We’re a fog—a misty, muddled dream that only sort of exists. If you’re thinking she’s capable of building any kind of relationship, especially one where you’ll receive gratitude and recognition, you need to think again.”

  “That’s your problem?” The lines on his mom’s face twisted and bunched. “You think we’re too shallow to see this thing through unless we get some kind of reward back?”

  “He may have a couple of points,” Luella said. “One, she’s at the beginning of a very long journey. She could continue to improve, or she could regress several times along the way. Do we really have what it would have taken if she’d chosen to stay?”

  “I don’t know.” His mom slapped her hands against her thighs. “We barely got a chance to try before it ended.”

  “There’s no trying on something like this, Mom. It’s full commitment, or don’t go to the altar. You do understand the stress of the coming weeks, right? The reality of our finances? We could lose the house. Where would she stay then? If we lose the house, we lose the business too. How up for helping anyone will the Glynn Girls be if that happens?”

  “I don’t know, but our house isn’t the only place she could’ve stayed.”

  He knew the living situation for the other Glynn Girls. “Luella’s place is tiny.”

  “Well, yeah.” Luella wagged her finger, a smile on her lips. “But for the sake of my ego, could you at least clarify that I’m thrifty so I can travel for months at a time every year without thinking about a mortgage?”

  Gavin gestured at Dell. “Her place is Grand Central Station with her adult kids and grandkids coming in and out as though they lived there. Dell doesn’t have room for a miniature pup when her family is there. That leaves Sue Beth’s home.”

  “Not a good place for Tara.” Dell shook her head. “Sue Beth’s husband is a curmudgeon.”

  “Dell,” Luella scolded.

  “Well, he is. And everybody standing here knows it.”

  Luella bobbled her head, apparently conceding to Dell’s point. “Gavin’s right about the memory thing too. Years ago when my aunt was in her thirties, she lost her husband to cancer. After he passed, I made time each day to talk with her on the phone. I baked for her and cleaned her house and poured so much effort into helping her get through that time. Years later that time came up in a conversation, and I realized she had no recollection of all I’d done. None.”

  “That’s ridiculous. When Mitch died, I wasn’t like that.” His mom studied him. “Was I?”

  “Yeah, you were,” Dell said. “It wasn’t complete lack of recall, but at first you could hardly remember Gavin’s name, let alone when you’d eaten or who’d come to visit or why you had a can opener in your hand.”

  Gavin nodded. “The pantry would be empty, and we’d make a list together. You’d go to the grocery store, list in hand, and come home with nothing but sardines.”

  His mom blinked. “We don’t eat sardines.”

  “Trust me, I know.” Gavin shuddered and winked at her. “The difference between you and Tara is you knew for years that Dad’s health was declining. He was a heavy smoker who hated fruits, vegetables, and exercise. You’d told me a dozen times over the last decade that each of you understood you could be left here without the other at some point. Because of the cancer diagnosis, you had a few weeks to say goodbye.” That hadn’t been enough, but to be in Tara’s shoes was unimaginable to him.

  “We had that. You’re included, but I see what you’re saying. Truth is, I should’ve had at least six more months than I got, but I guess nothing actually prepares a person.” His mom shrugged.

  “There’s still-not-prepared-enough, and there’s totally-blown-apart-by-the-shock-of-it. For all intents and purposes, Tara has lost two children. It never felt possible to her that she could lose her brothers, these boys that she was working every day to give a good life to so they could embark on adulthood as unscarred and full of hope and promise as humanly possible.”

  His mom’s brows furrowed. “How do you know what she was like as their guardian?”

  “Darryl’s Facebook page. He was quite open about who she was to him. Sean was more discreet, but he describes a woman on a mission for his best interests.”

  His mom sat on the steps of the gazebo and motioned for him to sit beside her. Dell held out a cup of coffee to him, and Luella opened one of the wrappers to a sausage and egg biscuit. It was their apology. He took the coffee and biscuit. That was his acceptance of their apology.

  His mom leaned her head on his shoulder. “Most days I’m in denial that we might really lose the house.”

  “And I hope we don’t, Mom, but, yeah, the possibility turned into more of a probability the day the man stole the shiplap.” He wouldn’t remind them that it was their harebrained booby trap that caused him to miss the buyer’s arrival.

  “But Tara said she saw the man.”

  “And on that same night, she wanted to know what I was doing in her house. You know—the large beach home that she mistook for a cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. You have to let go of what Tara says she remembers about that night.”

  His mom squeezed his arm. “Yeah, okay. I trust you. And I get that she’s inside a world exploding with grief far beyond what I’ve gone through. But whether we have a house or no house, I think we were up to the challenge of helping her. Is that it? We throw in the towel after one night of looking after her?”

  Luella shrugged. “I think it has to be.”

  “Mom, she decided to go back with Hadley and Elliott. Let it be. They’re her family. They know her and love her the most.”

  “Well, to be fair”—Dell grabbed a blanket off the floor and folded it—“she only agreed to go back because you were doing all you could to push her in that direction.”

  He couldn’t argue with her on that.

  His mom turned to Luella. “My house is full of guests, and I should go home now. You’re going to the hotel to get her suitcase, right?”

  Dell elbowed Luella. “Yeah, you’re going to the hotel now, right?”

  Luella moaned. “Apparently so.” She ran her fingers through her wind-tossed curls and tugged at her wrinkled shirt. “This current slept-outdoors look should confirm Chuck’s opinion that I’m a true-blue weirdo.”

  The women were into girl talk now, and Gavin tuned it out, his thoughts centering on Tara. He’d done what needed to be done. That’s who he was by nature—figure out what needed to be done, and do it.

  So why did he feel that he’d just said a forever goodbye to a close friend—one who fell just short of detesting him?

  23

  Luella walked into the Lighthouse Inn. The coolness of air-conditioning hit her sweaty body, and chills ran down her arms. How hot would it be by noon?

  Clarissa was manning the front desk again. Perhaps she could answer Luella’s questions. That would be one way to avoid embarrassing herself in front of Chuck again. So
why was she walking toward his office?

  Luella, stop!

  Still, she crossed the lobby, her body feeling more in control than her brain. Maybe it was too early for him to be in. Heavens to Betsy, woman! Make up your mind. Do you or do you not want to see him?

  She paused outside his closed office door. Her T-shirt clung to her from the sticky salt air and bike ride here. Since the Lighthouse Inn was closer than her car, it’d made sense to bike here, get the suitcase, and then walk both to her car that sat a block away. But maybe she should’ve thought this through a little better. She brushed her hands down the wrinkles, which did absolutely nothing to help the appearance of the shirt.

  The door had a shiny new plate on it.

  CHARLES MCKENZIE, SENIOR PROPERTY MANAGER

  “Thank goodness he cleared that one up,” she muttered. Didn’t every resident on the island know that within days of his plane landing?

  Why did this man discombobulate her? Maybe she and the girls were a little nuttier than she’d realized before meeting him, but she loved her life and her friends just as they were. She’d dated her fair share of men over the decades, and caring what they thought had barely registered with any of them. Why were this man’s reactions on her radar?

  Come on, Luella. Pull it together. You’re too old to be confused over a man. She drew a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Chuck sounded cheery. Maybe that would work in her favor. She wiped sweat off her face, put on her best smile, and opened the door.

  He glanced, jolted, and almost dropped the book he was putting on the shelf. “Ms. Ward.”

  “Mr. McKenzie.” She closed the door behind her. Why? Why did I do that? “Do you have a moment?”

  He nodded, smiling. “I do. I’m just adding some finishing touches to my office.” He set the book on the shelf. “What brings you here?” The skin around his eyes crinkled, the sign of a man who smiled often.

  Here’s hoping he’ll ignore the embarrassing run-in at the marsh.

  She ambled to the chair facing his desk and sat. “I’m here as a favor to a former guest of yours. Her name is Tara Abbott.”

  He walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it. “You know Tara?”

  Why had he moved in so close? She hadn’t showered or brushed her teeth or hair. Sitting behind his desk was the least he could do in her present state, wasn’t it?

  Keep things light. “Is that a trick question?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “Obviously you know her, and I don’t typically remember the guests’ names, but she left her luggage with us. Is she still on the island?”

  “Yes, and I’m here for her suitcase.” At this rate of exchanging info, she could be out of here before she stuck her foot in her mouth or did something stupid. Again.

  “I couldn’t hand it over to you without getting her ID and a signature via fax or text, but—”

  “Wait.” Fire seemed to engulf Luella’s heart. “Let me get this straight. I came to you with Tara’s name and the information that she left her suitcase here, which clearly matches your knowledge of the situation. And yet despite that and despite knowing me, you can’t release her suitcase without her ID and signature? I knew you were a stickler about rules, and that trait is probably part of the reason you’re managing what feels like half of this island, but heavens to Betsy, Charles.”

  He studied her. “You’re right.”

  “Really?” Luella regretted that response. “I mean, yes, I am, but I didn’t expect you to think so.” His reactions and responses continually caught her off guard. When it wasn’t annoying or offending, she found it quite refreshing.

  He smiled. “Unfortunately, your point doesn’t actually matter.” He moved back to the seat behind his desk and typed on the keyboard. “We don’t have it. We held on to it for a week, but then I shipped it to the address she listed when making the reservation.” He seemed to be studying info, maybe a shipping receipt. “Should I call UPS and get the package sent back here? It was picked up at ten in the morning two days ago.”

  Not the news Luella wanted to give Tara. She’d leave the island before the suitcase could return. “I suppose not. But thanks for the info.”

  His eyes held concern. “It seems odd she didn’t come back or send someone sooner. Is she okay?”

  How much should she share with him about Tara? While mulling that over she noted again that he really was a very nice-looking man. Always pulled together and clean. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to focus. Why was she so hung up on how she looked…and smelled? “She’s…struggling a bit.”

  “Struggling?”

  Had Chuck met Tara? Maybe not since he didn’t seem to know how confused she was. “You didn’t meet her, did you?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  Should she share that Tara was the woman on the top of the lighthouse after it’d closed on the night they met? Would that clarify anything for him?

  Charles moved the mouse, clicked on something, and then focused on Luella. “My team said she asked to stay for additional nights, but we were booked. They tried to find her another hotel but couldn’t. You know how peak season is. I was told she left, saying she’d return for her suitcase by the end of the day. Is there a problem?”

  Were his concerns centered on how well his team dealt with the situation? “I’m sure your staff was as helpful as they could be. She’s just a bit confused right now.”

  “Ah.” He nodded and paused. “Did she see you and your friends chanting on the water?”

  Luella almost laughed but stopped herself, refusing to do as much as smile. He’d timed his quip with expertise, catching her completely off guard. She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, that would be you. Remember?”

  He chuckled. “Ah, yes, I seem to recall that.” His smile was lopsided now. “You’re an interesting woman, Luella.”

  What? “I think the description you’re looking for is ‘nuttier than a fruitcake.’ ”

  “Does anyone eat fruitcakes often enough to know if they have nuts?”

  “It’s a Southern saying.”

  “You have a lot of those.”

  “We do. It saves us from having to think up things on our own.”

  He chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course not. You gotta be Southern-smart to figure that out.” She leaned back in the chair. “Reading would help.” She suppressed a smile and turned her head, taking a quick inventory of his bookshelves. Clearly he was a reader. The spines from a familiar series of books took up half of a shelf. What? Was that an almost full set of her Demere Cultural Guides? She hoped she looked nonchalant as she got up and walked closer.

  I’ll swanee…

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  He had her books? Not one or two, but the entire series, and based on the bindings, he’d read them more than once…or someone had. Maybe he picked them up at a garage sale and hadn’t even opened them.

  “Ms. Ward?”

  She blinked and refocused her attention.

  He stood at the coffee maker on the far side of his office, holding the carafe. When had he gotten up and crossed the room?

  “Uh, yeah…I mean, no. But thanks.”

  He set the carafe on the warmer and went back to his desk.

  She gestured toward the books. “Have you read all the books in your case?”

  “Definitely. But I own far too many books to keep them all, so the ones on my shelves are my favorites. Why?”

  He had to know who she was. Had to. This was a setup—him putting her books on his shelves, the ones she wrote as L. Demere.

  “Do you like books, Luella?” He picked up a stack of books and moved toward the shelf.

  “Uh, yeah, you could say that. This is a joke, right?”

/>   “A joke?” He paused, books in hand. “Did I miss something?”

  She studied him. The man seemed truly clueless. “I just thought…Never mind. I seem to be wrong more than right of late.”

  “Happens to everybody at times.”

  If he didn’t know who she was, then the fact that her books were counted among his favorites was staggering. He intrigued her in a way few men had in her lifetime. Had she ruined all chances of their becoming friends? Adding a man near her own age to her list of enjoyable people to spend time with could introduce some much-needed zest to her off time. A book lover was always game for spending hours in a used bookstore.

  “Yeah, I suppose it does.” Should she let him know who she was or let him keep his illusion that L. Demere was a refined, knowledgeable writer? “You know, I’m not as weird as I’ve seemed in some of our encounters.”

  Why did she say that? It was like highlighting in his mind every weird thing she’d done since they met. It only made her look worse and made things more awkward between them. “Anyway, I should go.” She headed for the door. “I’ll let Tara know about her suitcase. Thanks.”

  “Luella?”

  His voice seemed to hold several sentiments, including gentleness and encouragement, and she was powerless to leave even if she wanted to.

  She turned.

  He smiled, looking into her eyes before he turned to shelve another book. “I don’t think for a moment that I know who you are because of a few unusual encounters.”

  He what? Her heart pounded, delight suddenly fighting to leap out and praise his open-mindedness. But she refrained by the skin of her teeth. “People tend to make up their minds pretty quickly about one another.”

  “I learned my lesson on that one.” He seemed unwilling to look at her and kept his attention on the books as he shelved them. “I thought I knew my wife, but after ten years of marriage and two young children, I realized I’d never known her, not even close. She looked as if she had everything together, looked as if she believed in loyalty and regard for others, but that was a lie.”