Sanctuary Cove

by Rochelle Alers

  Lowering her arms, Deborah made her way toward the en suite bath. “Come and talk to me while I wash my face and brush my teeth.”

  “I have to wash my face, too.”

  Deborah stood at the double-sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked a hot mess! If she’d been Sallie Ann Williams she would’ve said she looked a “dog’s mess.” When she’d asked her grandmother what she meant by a dog’s mess, her response had been she didn’t know, but had grown up hearing people on the island mutter it whenever they disapproved of what someone looked like or wore.

  Smudged mascara, eyeliner, and what had been a smoky shadow now made her look like a raccoon. Her eyes were a little red and her bed hair looked as if she’d been made love to. A blush darkened her cheeks when she thought of waking up in bed beside Asa. No doubt if she had, she wouldn’t be in her clothes. She didn’t want to think about her clothes: Her blouse was a mass of wrinkles and creases and the wool gabardine slacks Deborah had just picked up from the drycleaner would have to go back again.

  Reaching for her toothbrush, she squeezed a glob of toothpaste on the bristles. With the flick of a switch the vibrating bristles spread the foaming paste over her teeth and gums. Deborah winked at Crystal, who after splashing water on her face had blotted it with a towel from an ample supply stacked on a low table. She swished a cupful of minty mouthwash around in her mouth, depositing it in the sink before applying a thick layer of cold cream around her eyes and over her face, gently wiping away the makeup with a soft, moist cloth.

  Meeting Crystal’s puffy eyes in the mirror, she drew a wide-tooth comb through her hair. “Why are you up so early?”

  Crystal dropped her gaze. “I bet Whitney ten dollars that I’d get up before him, so I set my clock for five instead of six.”

  “I give you an allowance, so why would you need more money?”

  “I need enough money to buy a crate and dog food.”

  Deborah shook her head, unable to believe what she’d just heard. “Did you just say ‘dog’ as in a canine pet?”

  “Yes! Please, Mom, can I have a puppy?”

  “First you want to put down a vegetable garden, and now you want a dog.” She’d asked Hannah Forsyth for the name of a local landscaper willing to clear enough land for her daughter to start a vegetable garden and the man was scheduled to come the following morning to survey the area and give her an estimate of the cost.

  “I want both.”

  “Do you realize the enormity of taking care of a garden? It has to be weeded and watered, and you have to stay one step ahead of the critters who decide it’s easier to eat your vegetables than go foraging for food. Then there is the responsibility of taking care of a dog.”

  “I can do both, Mom. Please, Mom.”

  Deborah stared at Crystal. This wasn’t the first time her daughter had talked about a dog, but Deborah hadn’t warmed to the idea because she felt Crystal wasn’t responsible enough to take care of it. Extending her arms, she wasn’t disappointed when Crystal hugged her.

  “What if we talk about this later?”

  Pulling back, Crystal gave her mother an expectant look. “How much later, Mom?”

  Deborah smiled. “Tonight. Now, what was up with all the crying?”

  “I thought that something had happened to you.”

  “Happened how?”

  Crystal worried her lower lip, as if carefully composing her thoughts so the words would come out right. “Remember my friend Roxanna?”

  Deborah met her daughter’s eyes. “Yes I do. What about her?”

  “Remember after her father died in Iraq and her mother was sent away?”

  Suddenly Crystal’s histrionics made sense to her. She tightened her hold on her child. Roxanna’s mother had tried to take her life when she’d lost her husband. After swallowing more than two dozen sleeping pills washed down with a bottle of whiskey, she was now in a vegetative state. The girl’s grandparents had had to sell their Ohio home to move to Charleston to take care of their grandchildren, or they would have become wards of the state.

  “What makes you think I would ever take my life and leave you and Whitney without a father and mother? Baby, I love you and your brother, and all I want is for you to grow up and become the best you can be. Things happen in life, things over which we have no control, but unless I was certifiably insane I would never think of taking my life.” She kissed Crystal’s short hair. “I want to live long enough to become a grandmother and spoil my grandchildren like my mother does.”

  Easing back, Crystal smiled. “You think Grandma spoils us?”

  “Please, Crystal. You should know better than to ask me that.”

  “Do you think she likes Whitney more than me?”

  Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “She gives him money, but buys me whatever I want.”

  She had never noticed any sibling rivalry between her children, and loathed thinking Crystal harbored resentment of her brother. “Whitney is seventeen and will soon be eighteen. Come August he’ll be off to college, and that means he’s going to need money to put gas in his car or do his laundry, while you’ll be here having all of your needs met. I give you an allowance so you can buy what I call incidentals. Other than that, what would you need money for? You’re not starting any habits I should know about, are you?” Deborah gave her daughter a playful, yet stern look.

  “Mama!”

  “Don’t ‘Mama’ me, Crystal! Why would you need more than what I’m giving you?”

  “Like for a dog.”

  “Like I said, we’ll talk about this tonight.”

  “I want a Bichon or a Yorkshire Terrier.”

  Deborah rolled her eyes. “What you want is a lot of noise.”

  Crystal affected a smile just like her late father, with her eyes but not her mouth. At times it appeared to be more of a smirk. “They are good watchdogs.”

  “Where are you going to get your dog?”

  “Grandma says she has a friend who lives on Isle of Palms who breeds small purebred dogs. Whenever I’m ready she will call her for me.”

  “Let me talk to your grandmother before the two of you make any more plans about bringing an animal into this house. Now, scoot while I take a shower.”

  “I’m making pancakes for breakfast. How many do you want?”

  “One.”

  “One big one?”

  “No. One medium.”

  “You want it with strawberries and cream?”

  Deborah began unbuttoning her blouse. “That sounds good.”

  She waited until Crystal left, then closed the door behind her. Her daughter’s head was all over the place. When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up Crystal didn’t have a clue. But she refused to acknowledge the obvious: she was an incredible cook. Deborah could envision her daughter owning and operating a restaurant, serving homegrown vegetables. She also had a green thumb and a magic when it came to bringing plants back from the dead. Deborah called her the Plant Whisperer.

  Stripping off her clothes, she ran a wide-tooth comb through her tangled strands, covered her hair with a bouffant shower cap, and stepped into the shower stall. Within minutes she felt revived and energized enough to face the day.

  Deborah sat in the pew between Whitney and Crystal, listening to Reverend Malcolm Crawford read announcements before the closing hymn. His sermon, taken from the book of Ecclesiastes, chapter one, verse four, spoke directly to her: A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.

  She’d wept, mourned, laughed, and danced. And she had to thank Asa for the laughing and dancing part. Before he’d walked into The Parlor asking to be hired she’d hadn’t laughed—really laughed—in weeks. And before she’d danced with him she hadn’t been able to remember the last time she had with Louis. Perhaps it was because Louis hadn’t liked to dance, claiming he’d been born with two left feet.

  The image of Louis in her mind made Deborah
think of Crystal. Her daughter’s crying jag earlier that morning reinforced the idea that her children still needed her and she needed them to help her to stay strong. Asa Monroe had been doing the same thing without trying. His continuous displays of affection seemed effortless.

  “My brothers and sisters, we have several new faces with us this fine Sunday morning. Some of you may recognize his face from television news footage, but I would like newly elected U.S. Representative Jason Parker, his lovely wife Alice, and their two beautiful children to stand up. Representative Parker, whose election district includes Cavanaugh Island, has decided to make Sanctuary Cove his legal residence. The Parker name isn’t new on the island. In fact they go back more than two hundred years, when Cyrus Parker established a rice plantation on Haven Creek. On behalf of all the members of Abundant Life Christian Church, we welcome you home.”

  Deborah applauded with the other hundred-plus people sitting in the small, homey church. She’d recognized Jason Parker because he’d campaigned on the corner only steps from the Charleston store, shaking hands while a worker handed out campaign literature extolling his accomplishments. He and Alice were both tall and very blond, and their adorable children had inherited their parents’ flaxen hair.

  “We also want to say a prayer for Sergeant Nelson Lambert who has been deployed to the Middle East. Let us bow our heads and pray for Sergeant Lambert’s safe return and for his wife, Samara, and their children to stay strong during his absence.”

  Deborah grasped Whitney and Crystal’s hands, giving their fingers a gentle squeeze as she whispered a silent prayer. She prayed for the young soldier and his family; she prayed for her children; she prayed for her parents; she prayed for everyone but herself.

  “Everyone please stand for our closing song, number one twenty-two in the hymnal, ‘We Are Marching to Zion’.” There came a rustling and flipping of pages as the organist played the opening chords to the upbeat hymn. The choral group began the first verse, then the congregation joined in, voices blending in sweet, rich harmony. The last note faded and Reverend Crawford raised his hands in a farewell blessing as congregants turned and filed out, hugging and kissing as if they hadn’t seen one another in months when it had only been the week before.

  Malcolm Crawford stood on the church steps, shaking hands with each and every member of his congregation. Not even infants were exempt from his greetings. He shook Deborah’s hand, flashing his straight, white teeth. “I was thinking of you when I sat down to write my sermon for today.”

  She nodded, returning his warm smile with one of her own. “Thank you.”

  “It’s good to see you and your children in church. Nowadays too many young folks stray from the Lord. It’s only when something drastic happens that they seem to look for Him.”

  “Lambs will stray, Reverend Crawford,” Deborah said.

  “I’m certain you’ve heard of the parable about the shepherd who left ninety-nine sheep to look for one that had been lost.”

  “I remember it well.”

  Deborah thanked the minister again and then descended the stairs. She had understood the meaning of his sermon—loud and very clear. She had wept, and continued to weep because she missed Louis. And his loss was never more profound than when she woke in the morning expecting to feel the warmth of her husband’s body next to hers.

  She had mourned—mourned the loss of her life partner and the father of her children. But lately she had begun to enjoy living—with her children, with her friends, with the residents of the Cove and with Asa. Excitement filled her chest as she remembered dancing with him.

  Deborah knew it would take time to heal, but with each passing day she was beginning to feel stronger, more in control. Asa had told her everything would get better with time. Time—a moment, instance, and interval measuring the number of breaths she took. Grinning, she walked to the church’s parking area with an extra pep in her step. Whitney would drop her back at the house before driving into Charleston for basketball practice. Crystal had asked to go with him, and after she pouted for a full two minutes he’d agreed to take her. Whitney had suggested Deborah not cook for them because they would stop at Perry’s to eat with the other kids. That left her all the time in the world to sit back and fantasize about the man who’d been occupying her thoughts since the day they’d met.

  As soon as she arrived home, she dropped her things in the living room, grabbed her journal and headed out onto the front porch. Opening the book, she stared at her latest entry:

  January 16th—Well I think I’m going out of my head. Yes I think I’m going out of my head over you, over you. The first three lines of the Luther Vandross classic “Goin’ Out of My Head” keeps echoing in my mind, and I know it’s because of my feelings for Asa. I still don’t know whether I made a mistake to let him kiss me, and for me to kiss him back. I also know anything other than friendship between us would spell certain disaster—at least for me emotionally. I’m not ready to become involved with a man, at least I don’t think I am, but try telling that to my traitorous body. However, I’m honest enough with myself to now admit that I need Asa—if only to assuage a sexual frustration that is triggering erotic dreams.

  Deborah closed the cloth-covered book and her eyes, willing her mind blank. However, she was unsuccessful when images of the intimacy they’d shared at her grand opening came flooding back. Trying to draw her attention away from naughty fantasies of Asa, she reveled at his ability to sign up twelve women for two book discussion groups, leaving it to her to select the titles. The novels were what she’d considered modern day classics, with a cross section of time periods and cultures: The Help, Like Water for Chocolate, The Alienist, This Side of Brightness, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Water for Elephants. She was certain some of the women had read the titles on the reading list, but it was very different to get another perspective during an active and in-depth discussion.

  Her decision to close Mondays allowed her time to do housework, shop for groceries, do her banking, and visit the Charleston book distributor to restock her shelves. She added another item to her to-do list: shop for tea. Two hand-painted porcelain teapots, eight china cups, saucers, and dessert plates, encased in bubble wrap, were packed in a crate she would take to the store for her afternoon teas.

  The phone resting on the cushion rang and Deborah opened her eyes and picked it up without looking at the display. “Hello.”

  “Good afternoon, darling.”

  She smiled. “Hello, Mama. How are you?”

  “Sweating. These hot flashes are driving me crazy.”

  “What happened to your central air?”

  “I have it cranked up to the highest setting, but Herman keeps turning it down because he said he’s freezing. Enough about me. How are you, darling?”

  Deborah told Pearl Williams about the conversation she’d had with Crystal earlier that morning. “Mama, you can’t promise her something without talking to me first.”

  “I told her not to say anything until I spoke to you.”

  Deborah smiled. “Well, apparently your granddaughter didn’t listen to you. I told her we would talk about it tonight.”

  “Are you going to let her get one?” Pearl asked. “Every child should have a pet. You had your cat.”

  “Muffin wouldn’t let me hold her, but would invariably jump on the bed and sit on my face every morning at six o’clock. She wasn’t a pet. She was possessed with an evil spirit.”

  “Deborah, you know I don’t like it when you talk about those ignorant Gullah superstitions.”

  “I don’t understand you, Mama.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “You’ve been married to a Gullah for more than forty years, and you’ve spent time on Cavanaugh Island, yet you still view us as ignorant.”

  “Not you, darling. And I resent your implication that I believe people are ignorant. It’s the superstitions that are ignorant.”

  Deborah knew arguing with her mother would end in a sta
lemate. “What do you have planned for Whitney and Crystal when they come down at the end of February?” she asked, deliberately changing the topic of conversation.

  “We’re going to meet up with my sister and her grandchildren in Key West. Patricia is renting a bungalow and we’re all going out on a charter boat to do some fishing. And of course Crystal and I will do a little shopping.”

  A little shopping, Deborah mused. Her mother was totally unfamiliar with the phrase. Pearl McLeary-Williams, who had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, had never had to struggle for anything. She had come into her trust at twenty-three, due to the death of her parents, and she and her sister had inherited equal shares to a multimillion dollar estate.

  “You didn’t answer my question about Crystal getting a dog.”

  “Yes, I’m going to let Crystal get a dog. It hasn’t been easy for her, Mama, so right now I’m willing to give her whatever she wants—within reason, of course. But she can’t get one until after she comes back from her little shopping spree with you.”

  Pearl’s soft laughter came through the earpiece. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll call my friend on Isle of Palms to let her know you’re coming to look at her puppies. I’d have one right now if we were allowed to have pets. A house is not a home without pets and children underfoot.”

  Deborah chatted with her mother for another ten minutes, before ending the call. She didn’t ask to speak to her father because her father was usually off fishing or golfing with a trio of retired businessmen.

  Reaching for her laptop, she tapped a key and turned it on. Waiting for it to boot up, she went into teacher mode. Teachers in the lower grades usually put up colorful decorations celebrating the seasons or important holidays. As the owner and operator of an independent bookstore Deborah had to come up with a theme or promotion for each month. Luckily, she didn’t have to concern herself with January because of the grand opening.

  February was designated as Black History Month and of course there was Valentine’s Day. Resting her fingers on the keys, she began typing. The Parlor would offer a fifteen percent discount for all books in the Black Studies and African-American Literature section. Romance, her bestselling genre, would be given ten percent off, but she also had to come up with something with a romance theme.