Home on Seashell Island

by Brenda Kennedy

  Home on Seashell Island

  A Seashell Island Novel

  By

  Brenda Kennedy

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Copyright 2017 by Brenda Kennedy

  Dedicated with much love and respect to

  Sylvia and Larry Burchett, aka Gran and Pap

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by the author. For permission requests, email the author at brendakennedy48@gmail.com.

  Synopsis

  Carly Stewart put everything she owns in storage before leaving her live-in boyfriend in New York to pursue happiness.

  While staying temporarily at her family’s vacation home on Seashell Island, Carly runs into an old family friend, Beauregard Romano. However, Carly is pleasantly surprised that Beau is no longer the same scrawny boy she remembered. She can’t deny that he’s certainly transformed into a sexy hunk over the years.

  She’s successfully self-employed, has an unrefined vocabulary, and is a wine enthusiast in the prime of her life.

  He’s a single father of a three-year-old daughter and the preacher of the only church on Seashell Island.

  Will sparks fly between the two? Can they make their differences work? Or is it best to ignore the sparks and pretend they don’t exist?

  Prologue

  Sad and lonely, Carly Stewart walks around her condo in New York City. A woman in her twenties, she seems to have it all. A growing career, a live-in boyfriend, and a beautiful condo. But it isn’t enough. Something’s missing.

  While Spencer is working late again, for the fourth night this week, Carly sits at the table with her bottle of wine, looking out the window at the view of Central Park. This is what she wanted, right? To live in the hustle and bustle of one of the busiest places in the U.S. Then why isn’t she happy?

  Carly packs her suitcases and sets them by the large double doors. Then she calls a moving company to come and pack her personal belongings on the next available day.

  She can’t exactly pinpoint the day or the time that she realized this isn’t what she wanted. Her first memory back to when she questioned her happiness was the night she and Spencer were having dinner in a five-star restaurant and he snorted. Loudly. That was the first of many laugh snorts she would notice and later dread.

  She also can’t remember when he started chewing gum. It wasn’t so much the gum chewing that drove her crazy as it was the gum popping. Certainly, if she had noticed his annoying habits before, she wouldn’t be sitting here at the table alone and thinking about how miserable she is.

  Carly’s hoping that when Spencer comes home from work and sees her luggage, they’ll be able to talk about her decision to leave, and she won’t just up and leave while he’s at work. That does seem like the cowardly thing to do. It would be much better to let him know up front that she’s unable to continue living this way. Wouldn’t it? Maybe she can mention laugh snorts and gum popping as some of the reasons for her unhappiness. Should she tell him about the night farts? His fart-producing, too-much-meat diet is definitely something she wants him to change.

  The next morning when she gets up she can’t be sure that Spencer came home at all last night. If he did, he never woke her. If he did, he didn’t sleep in their bed. And if he saw her suitcases by the entrance door, he didn’t wake her to ask her about them. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he was relieved to see that’s she’s moving on. It isn’t until she sees his coffee mug in the sink that she knows for sure he was here.

  She showers, has her coffee, then waits for the movers to come and pack her stuff. She’s arranged with the moving company to store everything in their storage unit until she can decide where to send her stuff to. She leaves an itemized list on the kitchen counter of everything she’s taking in case Spencer later questions it. Carly wonders when or if Spencer would even notice her absence from the condo. Would it be immediately, or would it be hours, days, or even weeks? Would he be sad and miss her, or would be relieved she’s gone? Sadly, she doesn’t really care.

  Since Carly’s mom, Pap, and Gram told Carly and her only sister, Sarah, daily that they were each one-of-a-kind and no one could ever take her place, she believed them. But she didn’t think that Spencer had shared those same beliefs. Last night was proof of that. If she was a one-of-a-kind, wouldn’t Spencer be there with her?

  When the last item was loaded into the truck, Carly took one last look around and then locked the door behind her before tossing the house key into the mailbox for Spencer to find later. How much later she couldn’t guess.

  Chapter One

  Carly

  I knew of one place that I could go and truly be alone. One place where Spencer’s never been and he doesn’t know about, and the one place that I could be by myself. I just never imagined I would be returning to my family’s vacation home on Seashell Island alone. In fact, I can’t even remember a single time when I was at the beach house by myself. The four-bedroom, four-bath house was designed and made for a large family. It was built for leisurely time spent with friends and family. The open floor plan allowed for entertaining. It screams family fun, not solitary living.

  During peak season, the beautiful island comes alive with vacationers and tourists. People rush to the secluded area because it’s known for the huge seashells, sea glass, and crystal-clear water. It’s also known for the sea life that makes its way near the shoreline frequently, offering the beach goers an up-close and rare view of various species. Food vendors and craft tables line the cobblestone streets trying to persuade tourists to purchase unique, handcrafted products. The large shade trees offer relief from the bright sun, making the area a popular spot for tourists and locals.

  When I went to my grandparents and asked if I could stay at the beach house for a while, they didn’t ask one single question. They gave me the keys and an envelope with a little cash for any necessities I may need. I didn’t need their money, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Pap did warn me of a strong storm that had passed through the area recently. He said he was concerned about the impact the storm had on the beach house, but not concerned enough to make the trip there to check on the damage himself.

  “Gram, I don’t need all this money.”

  “Nonsense. Pap and I haven’t been there in a while. You use the money on whatever you need while you’re there. That was a pretty nasty storm the other day. Tony from the local market called and said it looked like a couple of the wooden shutters were hanging off the hinges. You may need to pay someone for the repairs. When you get there, if the damage is worse than what we think, call us and we’ll be right there.”

  Pap smiled. I already knew there was no arguing with either of them. I was pretty sure that if they believed in the slightest that the storm was that bad, they would have already been there making the repairs themselves.

  “And you call us as soon as you get there, Carly Jo. You know how much we worry about you.”

  I hugged Pap tightly and whispered into his ear, “I will, Pap. As soon as I get there, I’ll call.”

  “And if that’s not enough money, you let us know.”

  “Gram,” I said, hugging her next, “it’ll be plenty. Thank you s
o much.”

  “You stay there as long as you want, Carly Jo. I’ll call Tony and let him know you’ll be arriving there later this evening. I’ll also call Beauregard to double-check the house for damages.”

  I know my grandparents are serious about letting me stay there for as long as I want, but I also don’t plan on staying there long, just long enough for me to figure out what to do. I had been living with Spencer so figuring out a place for me to live would be a concern. Although I called a moving company to come pack, move, and store my things, I still had no place to call home. I work from home so as long as I have Mean Mac and the internet I won’t have to worry about work or my finances. Mean Mac’s what I call my computer. When I first changed my computer of choice to a Mac, I swear it sat in a corner of the room and growled at me every time I thought about turning it on or logging on. Now we have this understanding, I treat him with the respect he demands and he does what I need him to do. Of course, this didn’t happen until I read the owner’s manual front to back. By then, I had already named him and it kind of stuck.

  I make the four-hour drive in silence. I leave the air conditioner on in the car, but roll down my windows to feel the warm breeze on my face. It’s a false sense of freedom, but it’s still welcoming. When I get off the exit, I have only about twenty more miles until I’m there.

  Just before I pull into the driveway of the vacation home, I do what Pap asked. I call them to let them know I have arrived safely.

  Driving down the tree-lined driveway brings back happy memories. When the pale-yellow beach house with white shutters comes into view, memories flood my head and warm my heart. I sit in the car reliving days gone by. Making homemade ice cream on the front porch with Pap on a hot summer day, and Gram teaching me how to knit during the cold winter’s days. Catching fireflies with my older sister, Sarah, and making fresh squeezed lemonade with Mom as she reminisced about her own childhood spent in this exact house.

  I get out of the car and look around the yard. The grass is freshly cut, the sidewalks are edged, and the flower beds are overflowing with an array of bright colorful flowers. I knew Gram and Pap kept the utilities up, but I wasn’t aware that they also paid someone to do the yard work in their absence. Walking around the house looking for storm damage to the shutters and screen doors, I’m happily surprised when there is none.

  As I walk into the beach house carrying my two suitcases, I look around at the four-bedroom, four-bath beach house. Nothing has changed here since I was a little girl. The handmade quilts still cover the old vintage beds, and white milk glass, Depression glassware, and handspun pottery still decorate the hundred-year-old China cabinet in the dining room. The china cabinet was passed down from my great-grandmother. The beige color walls look freshly painted with sheer white curtains hanging from every window.

  I kick off my flip-flops at the door and walk across the dark walnut hardwood floors before walking past my grandparents’ bedroom. Stopping at my mother’s bedroom door, I peek inside, admiring everything. All of it metaphorically says Mom. Then I make my way to the last two bedrooms at the back of the house. My sister and I had separate bedrooms although we always slept together in my full-sized bed.

  I smile at the memories as I set the suitcases on the same bed I shared with my sister, Sarah. When the musty smell of the house stirs me from my memories, I walk into each room of the house opening the curtains and then the windows to let the sunshine and the fresh sea air in. It isn’t until I open the large patio doors that I feel like I’m home. The in-ground pool is clean and clear. It looks like someone is living in the house. When I arrived, I expected that I would have to cut the grass and clean the pool, but it’s done. I guess the island isn’t a place where people let things go. I’m sure it would be frowned upon to have tall grass or weeds in your flowerbeds. Curb appeal is what makes the entire island special and inviting.

  The house is air conditioned, but my grandparents always opened the windows and doors to let the fresh air in. Even at night, we never locked the doors. I wonder if it’s still safe to do that now?

  Before unpacking, I put the sheets in the washer, sweep the front porch, and then rearrange the rocking chairs and the white wicker furniture. The front porch was always the main gathering place when my family was here for their many family vacations and holidays.

  Since my dad died when I was only four years old, Gram and Pap always tried to be there for my mom, their only daughter, and their only two granddaughters. It must have worked because neither Sarah nor I felt as though we missed out on anything in our childhood. Of course, we missed our daddy, but Gram and Pap filled that void nicely by giving us a childhood we’ll never forget, not to mention an endless amount of love and support.

  When my belly growls, I realize I need to make a dash to the local market. After taking inventory of the non-perishable food items that are in the house, I get the sea-blue and white bicycle with the handlebar straw basket from the garage and ride the couple miles to the nearest market.

  The market was owned by an Italian family, Tony and Maria Romano. They had one son with whom Sarah and I used to play when we were here for the summers. Maria passed away from cancer a few years earlier and sadly, I was too busy to attend her memorial. That’ll be something I’ll always regret. I wonder if Tony still owns and runs the market. I know that he and his son, Beau, are still living on the island.

  Before I stop at the market, I ride down by the bay. The sun is high in the sky and the smell of the sea is in the air. I inhale the salty air and bask briefly in the sunshine. For the first time in weeks, I’m able to let go and finally relax. I left my problems back in New York, or so I hope.

  I stop at a few craft vendors and admire their crafts. My favorite shops are the jewelry made from sea glass and the man who sketches your portrait to look like an animated character.

  I push Gram’s bike through the tree-lined streets until I reach the market nestled in between a souvenir shop and an ice cream parlor. The quaint village is just as I remembered it. Businesses line the tree-lined street on both sides of the street. I notice a bookstore, a florist, a tea shop, and a quilt shop that I don’t remember being here the last time I visited.

  As I walk into the store, Tony greets me warmly. “Your Pap called and told me you were coming,” he says in an Italian accent.

  “Hi, Tony, it’s great seeing you. I didn’t know if you were still working here.”

  “I’ll die here,” he teases. “It’s in my blood.” He walks from around the counter and hugs me. “Are your mother and sister joining you later?”

  I know he’s asking since we usually all come as a family or in a group. Sometimes Pap joins us later because of work or other obligations.

  “No, not this trip. It’s just me.”

  He looks at me with concern. His dark hair has turned mostly gray since I last saw him.

  “You okay, Shorty?”

  “I’m fine, Tony. Just wanted to get away for a few days.”

  A customer stands at the counter with a basket of food waiting patiently to be waited on.

  “We’ll talk again soon, Shorty.”

  I watch as he greets the woman and small child standing at the register. Although I need a full cart of groceries, I carry a basket around the small market picking up some fresh produce, beverages, and a few other items I’ll need over the next few days. I should have driven my car, but I couldn’t resist the bicycle ride. I don’t have a problem shopping every few days for the things I’ll need. I may be here only a few days, it’s hard to tell. Since I’m so indecisive, it’s probably best that I shop day to day. I do grab a couple bottles of wine to hold me over until I come back.

  When I check out at the register, I remember to ask Tony about the storm damage on the beach house that he reported to Pap. As he takes the items from the basket and rings them up, he says, “My big and strong son Beauregard repaired the dangling shutters.”

  Although it’s been years since I last saw Beau, I
remember him as a skinny, scrawny boy. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his comment about Beau being big and strong. “Please thank him for me.”

  “I will, Shorty, but he’ll be by the beach house later this week. He said the screen door doesn’t latch.”

  I didn’t notice that, but then again, I didn’t pay that much attention to the front door. I was busy concentrating on finding any dangling shutters.

  I watch as Tony bags my groceries and hands them to me. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing, your Pap said to put everything on his tab.”

  “No, Tony. Please, I have the money. How much do I owe you?”

  “Shorty, I’m a smart man. I’m not going to argue with a man like your grandfather.” He smiles revealing perfectly straight teeth for a man of his age. “You call him and when he tells me to charge you, I’ll charge you; until then, it goes on his tab.”

  I knew he was right. I knew that Pap wouldn’t agree to let me pay for my own groceries. While taking the groceries from him, I smile. “Thank you, Tony, and please thank Beau for me for repairing the shutters. I appreciate his handyman skills.”

  He laughs as he waits on the next customer. “See you in a few days, Shorty.”

  I load the groceries into the basket and ride the bicycle home while admiring the quaint shops, perfectly manicured lawns, and cottage-style homes that make the island unique and inviting. There’s very little car traffic, but I do notice many families walking their pets and playing in their yards with their children. I pay special attention to an older couple holding hands while rounding the corner. I feel a sadness deep in my heart because I know this might be something I’ll never experience again. Are love and contentment in my future? Will I find someone who’ll love me forever? I guess the better question is, will I find someone whom I can love forever? I hope so.