Sanctuary Cove

by Rochelle Alers

  Her smile grew wider. “Maybe for someone in New York or Boston, but any time the temperature drops below seventy folks start complaining.”

  Bending from his knees, Asa picked up the carton, shifting the weight until he could carry it without putting a strain on his back. “After I put this in, we should turn on both units to see if the electrical system can support them.”

  “Let’s go before you throw your back out carrying that thing.”

  Asa and Deborah retraced their steps and the route, returning to the bookstore. He spent a quarter of an hour putting the unit in the window, making certain it was secured, then used the remote device to turn it on and program it to shut off in half an hour.

  Both units were humming when he returned to the parking lot to drive back to the boardinghouse. Impulse and curiosity had gotten him a position in a Lowcountry bookstore and a different place to live while he bided his time on the island.

  In just a short time his life had changed again—this time it promised a respite from the grief and guilt that had become so much a part of his day-to-day existence. Not only could he lose himself in the many titles that lined the shelves in The Parlor, but he could also interact with the customers who would come in to either browse or buy. Working the part-time, temporary position was certain to make his wait on the island a lot more gratifying.

  And having Deborah Robinson as his employer was something he’d looked forward to. She was gorgeous, very smart, and a bit feisty, and claimed a strength that did not diminish her femininity. Yes, he mused, working at The Parlor was certain to become a pleasant and unexpected diversion.

  Deborah sat on the floor in the bookstore, texting her son: Working late. Have Crystal reheat leftovers & make salad 4 dinner. Luv Mom.

  Crystal had given her a crash course in texting, claiming she didn’t have to type out every word and letter. As a former English teacher she still didn’t use all the abbreviations and symbols that had become a language so inherent to the adolescent lexicon, but she had to admit texting was faster.

  She’d lowered and closed the wooden blinds over the bookstore’s plate glass window and had emptied three more cartons, flattening and stacking them in a pile where they would be picked up for recycling, when Asa tapped on the door. Pushing to her feet, she walked over and opened it. He’d changed into a black tee, jeans, and running shoes. The muscles and tendons in his arms and biceps bulged under the weight of a carton of bottled water.

  “Can you take the shopping bag please, Deborah?”

  She took the plastic bag from his fingers, peering inside to find another bag, this one also in plastic. “What did you buy?”

  He smiled. “Dinner. I stopped at the supermarket and picked up a couple of salads from the deli section. I bought a Caesar with shrimp and a Thai salad with steak. I had them put the dressing on the side. I’m going to put a few bottles of water in the refrigerator.”

  “My, my, my. You’ve thought of everything.”

  “My motto is always plan ahead.”

  Deborah realized her instincts were right when she’d hired Asa. He was always just one step ahead of her, because she’d planned to call and have dinner delivered. “I’ll bring up the salads.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll come back for them,” Asa said.

  “I’ll leave them on the table.” Picking up her MP3 player, she inserted the wire into a port in the tuner, then punched a button and the melodious voice of Anthony Hamilton singing “Ain’t Nobody Worryin’ ” filled the space. She was swaying and singing along with the Commodores’ “Three Times a Lady” when Asa returned for the salads.

  “You like dancing?” he asked.

  “I do, but I haven’t danced much since my kids were born. As a working mom I never seemed to find the time to go out dancing.”

  “Although you’re still a working mom, would you dance with me?” Asa asked, smiling and extending his hand.

  Deborah hesitated, then placed her hand on his outstretched palm. “Yes, I would.” Her voice was low, calm. Asa’s arm went around her waist and he swung her around in an intricate dance step. He’d tightened his hold on her when she tried extricating herself from his firm grip.

  “Asa!”

  He smiled. “Yes, Deborah.”

  “Please let me go.”

  “Why? I love this song.”

  The heat in her face had nothing to do with the exertion, but from embarrassment. Suddenly Deborah realized anyone walking by the shop could see them. “Someone will see us.”

  Asa pulled Deborah closer. “Unless they have x-ray vision, they won’t be able to see through the blinds.” He chuckled softly. “If they’re that nosey, then they’ll get an eyeful. Relax. We’re only dancing, and the song will be over soon.”

  She wanted to relax, but it wasn’t easy. Not with his hard body pressed to hers. Not when the man holding her to his heart was a stranger. Not when he reminded her that the man she’d loved beyond description was gone and would never return. Yet, what bothered her most was she couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced with Louis.

  Resting her forehead on Asa’s shoulder, she closed her eyes. The selection ended, segueing into the Marvin Gaye classic “What’s Going On?”

  “Thank you for the dance,” Asa said in her ear.

  Pulling back, Deborah stared up at him, meeting his amused gaze. “You’re welcome.”

  He released her, breaking the spell. The next two hours were spent unpacking and shelving books as music flowed throughout the store.

  Her cell phone rang and she scrambled off the floor to retrieve it. It was her daughter. “Hi, Crystal. What’s up?”

  “Whitney and I are just leaving school. He waited for me because I had cheerleading practice. He told me you texted him about heating up leftovers.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Can we eat at Perry’s before we come home?”

  Deborah knew Perry’s was a hangout hamburger spot for high school students. She took a glance at her watch. It was after four, and she knew it would be dark before her son and daughter returned to the Cove. It wouldn’t be the first time they would stop off to eat before coming home, but they no longer lived in Charleston.

  “Not tonight, baby.”

  “Why not, Mom?”

  Crystal’s whining grated on her nerves. “Please put Whitney on the phone.”

  “What’s up, Mom?” Her son’s deep voice came through the earpiece.

  “I want you to come home now.”

  “Chrissie wants to eat with her friends.”

  “Chrissie can eat with her friends when she doesn’t have to go to school the next day. I want you home before it gets too dark.”

  He sighed heavily. “Okay, but Crystal’s about to catch an attitude.”

  “What she shouldn’t want is for me to catch one. Call me from the house phone once you get there. Good-bye.”

  Deborah ended the call and placed the phone on a padded folding chair. She could always count on her daughter to try and push the envelope. She knew the rules: no socializing on school nights. If it had been a Friday night, Deborah might have considered letting her hang out with her friends. But not when she had to get up even earlier now that they lived on the island to make it to school on time. And Crystal always had a problem waking up—even with an alarm clock.

  Brushing off the seat of her jeans, she walked into the bathroom and washed her hands. She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the vanity and the face that stared back at her was that of a stranger. It had been weeks since she’d gone to the salon to have her hair trimmed and styled; she needed a mani/pedi and a hydrating facial. In other words she needed a beauty makeover. The Beauty Box was several doors from the Muffin Corner and Deborah knew she had to make an appointment before her grand opening.

  Drying her hands on a decorative guest towel, she left the bathroom. With Asa’s assistance, they’d shelved most of the books. Only six cartons remained. “I’m going out for a few minutes
to stretch my legs. Do you want me to bring you something from the Muffin Corner?”

  Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Asa took out a money clip. “I’ll have large black coffee with a shot of espresso.”

  Deborah waved her hand. “Put your money away. I still owe you for lunch and dinner.”

  “I’m sorry, boss—I mean, Miss Deborah.”

  Deborah narrowed her eyes, then smiled. “Don’t give away the store.”

  It had been after eight when Deborah turned off the lights, locked up The Parlor, gave Asa her set of keys, and selected a spot for the piano for when the movers arrived. Miraculously she and Asa had finished shelving all the books. She’d gone home to take a leisurely bubble bath. Deborah hadn’t realized how tired she was until she lay in bed. She remembered Crystal coming into her room, but could not remember what they’d talked about.

  Today was to become as hectic as the day before. She’d gotten up early to go into Charleston to supervise the movers as to what she wanted delivered to the bookstore. She was also expecting the delivery of the mattress and other furnishings for the second floor apartment. The receptionist at the Beauty Box had managed to squeeze her in, but she had to be there at four, or she would have to wait until Saturday for her favorite stylist to fit her in.

  Her cell phone rang, and she answered it before it rang again. “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Deborah.”

  A smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “Good morning, Asa. How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the store.”

  “I’m leaving Charleston now, and I’m going to try and make the next sailing.” Taking the ferry would get her there faster than taking the causeway, because it was a direct route.

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Deborah ended the call; walking in and out of the rooms she checked to make certain the movers hadn’t forgotten anything. The linen closet was empty, as were the closets in all the bedrooms. She and Whitney had loaded up the trunks of their cars with clothing they would take with them. Every year she would go through her children’s closets and drawers to pack up what they’d outgrown or no longer wore, donating used and gently used clothes. Unnecessary clutter had become her pet peeve. Deborah had also packed up pots and pans, linens, and cleaning supplies for Asa’s apartment.

  She lingered when she should’ve been in her car driving for the pier, her fingertips caressing the backs of chairs, the surfaces of tables, lamps she’d waxed and dusted for as long as she could remember. The bed where she’d lain and made love with Louis would go to a single mother who’d lost everything. The furniture in her son’s and daughter’s rooms would go to other children whose need was much greater than any Crystal or Whitney had experienced in their young lives.

  Let it go, Deborah. It’s time to say good-bye, her silent voice taunted. Deborah took a final look around, and then walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway and the staircase to the first floor. Reaching for her handbag, she went to the door, opened it, then closed and locked it for the last time.

  “Deborah!”

  She turned around to find Barbara in a bathrobe, standing on her porch and sipping from a large mug. “Hey you.”

  Barbara came down off the porch. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I guess this is it.”

  “No, it’s not,” Deborah countered. “You know you and your family are welcome to come to the Cove anytime you want. And I hope you’re coming to my grand opening tomorrow. I’m getting my hair done this afternoon,” she added when Barbara stared at the hair she’d pulled into a ponytail.

  “Of course, Deborah. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I changed my shift just so I could be off. What time should I get there?”

  “I’m opening at noon, and the ribbon-cutting will be at one.”

  “Will you need help setting up?”

  Deborah smiled and shook her head. “No. I hired someone to assist me in the store.”

  “Good for you.” Barbara hugged Deborah, taking care not to slosh coffee on her white cotton pullover. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Deborah returned the hug, kissing her now ex-neighbor’s cheek. “Tomorrow. Got to go, because I want to get to the Cove before the movers.”

  “Can I bring Nate and Janelle?”

  “Of course. Maybe they can stay over to give you and Terrell a night to yourselves.”

  “I’d love that, but I promised my motherin-law we would take her out to dinner.”

  “Perhaps another time then.” Deborah glanced at her watch. She had thirty-five minutes before the next sailing. She looked up at the overcast sky. It was cool, but felt warmer because of the near one hundred percent humidity. If it was going to rain, then she hoped it would hold off until she reached the island.

  An hour later, Deborah maneuvered into her parking space as the movers’ van pulled up next to her. They’d arrived at the same time. Her stomach did a flip-flop when she saw Asa standing in the doorway dressed entirely in black: golf shirt, slacks, and slip-ons. There was something about his standing there, arms crossed over his chest, that was so male and virile. It took her breath away. He glanced her way and smiled. She returned it with one of her own. She didn’t know what she would’ve done if he hadn’t been there to help her. He was more than an employee. He was a godsend.

  Stepping aside, Asa winked at Deborah when she walked in through the back door. “Mabel dropped off the muffins and coffee. Today’s special is carrot-molasses.”

  She saw a tray of assorted muffins covered with cellophane and an urn of coffee on the table, along with hot/cold paper cups, small paper plates, and a dish filled with packets of sugar and sugar substitutes and a bowl filled with ice and prepackaged milk and half-and-half. Deborah had stopped at the Muffin Corner the night before and arranged to have the sweet breads delivered to the store to offer the workmen who would be coming and going throughout the morning. The smell of the brewing coffee was intoxicating.

  “As soon as the coffee finishes brewing I’m going to get a cup.”

  “How do you take yours?” Asa asked Deborah.

  “Very light with half-and-half.”

  “Sugar?”

  “Yes please. Two.”

  “Mrs. Robinson.”

  Deborah turned to find the foreman of the work crew striding into the store. “Yes.”

  “We’re going to either have to take off the door and the frame to get the piano inside or remove your plate glass window.”

  Deborah shuddered to think what would happen if they broke or cracked her window. “What is easier for you?”

  “Take off the door and the frame,” Asa said before the man could respond. “The window might be easier, but if there’s any trouble replacing it, we could end up with leaks whenever it rains.”

  “Bring it through the back door,” she said, confirming Asa’s directive. “You and your men are welcome to coffee, muffins, and breakfast breads.”

  “Much appreciate the offer, ma’am.”

  One man in the three-man team quickly took the door off the hinges, then the frame, as the other two lowered the piano on a hydraulic lift and wheeled the dolly into the shop with relative ease. “Where do you want this, ma’am?”

  “Position it in front of the window.” Deborah had decided she wanted the piano near the front of the store, where passersby would be intrigued enough to want to come in and browse. Before leaving the night before, she’d had Asa tape newspaper over the front door to conceal the interior from onlookers.

  The men replaced the legs on the magnificent concert piano, positioning it perfectly. Thankfully it came with casters, which made moving it around easy. Cordovan-brown club chairs with footstools and loveseats were set up to form a reading corner where customers could read or watch television. A generous supply of glass coasters were stacked on the coffee and side tables.

  Deborah picked up an all-in-one computer and cash register off the floor, pla
cing them on a mahogany writing table. She set a landline telephone on a matching desk, the file drawers filled with orders and receipts. Another mahogany piece—this one a buffet server that would provide a surface for the urn of hot water and packets of tea and condiments—faced the desk and writing table against the opposite wall. Once the rug was down, the ceiling fans installed, and the hand-painted pots with live green plants in place, The Parlor would resemble an actual parlor.

  Asa stood with his back to the front door, surveying the bookstore as if it were his first time. The reading area was inviting, with twin floor and table lamps with Tiffany-style shades. He had visited countless bookstores—small and large—but none had the warmth and homey charm of The Parlor. Setting up the tea bar was an ingenious idea, because Deborah had mentioned she wanted to revive the ritual of afternoon tea with pretty tablecloths and china cups with matching saucers. The bar would be reserved for a small gathering of eight with tiny cakes, cookies, and tarts to accompany the various blends of tea.

  “What do you think, Asa?”

  “It’s wonderful. Once people come in they’re not going to want to leave. You have a nice selection of titles, so you should do okay.”

  “I have to do more than okay.”

  “What are you concerned about, Deborah? It’s everything that you want and need.”

  “The Parlor has to be more than a bookstore, Asa. I have to come up with something to keep the customers coming back again and again. And it can’t only be because of three o’clock afternoon tea.”

  Unconsciously, Asa’s brow furrowed. “Why are you serving tea at three?”

  “Haven’t you noticed, with the exception of a few businesses, most places close between the hours of twelve and two?”

  “Yes, I did. Why’s that?”

  “It’s an island tradition that goes back about three hundred years. The summer sun is so brutal that it is dangerous to stay outdoors during that time of the day, so everyone and everything stops. The custom isn’t adhered to as much during the winter months, but during the summer all businesses close down—even the restaurants, post office, and supermarket. Some people who’ve been to Europe refer to it as siesta, so when you hear folks talk about taking siesta you’ll know what they mean.”