Sanctuary Cove

by Rochelle Alers

  Her phone rang again, and Deborah picked it up, staring at the strange number with the 302 area code. “Hello.”

  “Deborah, Asa.”

  Her pulse quickened when his distinctive baritone voice caressed her ear. But her joy at hearing his voice quickly faded, replaced by concern. Why was he calling her when the store was closed? “What’s wrong?”

  He chuckled softly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I came downstairs to look for something to read when I found the envelope with your receipts on the desk. I didn’t know if you’d thought you had taken it with you.”

  Deborah smothered a groan. She knew she would’ve freaked out when she arrived at the bank the next day with the anticipation of making a deposit. “I thought I had taken it with me.”

  “Do you want me to drop it off to you?”

  “No, please don’t bother, Asa. I’ll come and pick it up. Besides, I have to drop off a box of things I’ll need for tea.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

  Deborah went back to filling in her promotional event calendar. March was the month for spring and also St. Patrick’s Day. She could feature the works of celebrated Irish writers, poets, and playwrights, many of whom were on her list of favorites: Oscar Wilde, W.B. Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, James Joyce, and Samuel Beckett. She didn’t have much for April. That meant she would have to search the Internet for writers born in that month. May was Mother’s Day and graduations. The list continued until she reached December. Saving what she’d typed on a flash drive, she dropped it into her handbag, pushed her bare feet into leather mules, and picked up the crate with the tea set. After locking up the house, she drove to the bookstore.

  After a short drive, she turned down a narrow street and into the parking lot behind a row of stores. Twenty minutes later she emerged from De Fountain with a half-pint of chocolate mint ice cream and a pint of peach and strawberry gelato. Minutes later, when she maneuvered into her space at the rear of the bookstore, Asa was standing in the doorway.

  A bright smile flitted across her features when she saw his legs for the first time under a pair of khaki walking shorts. A matching short-sleeve shirt and leather woven sandals completed his casual look. His five o’clock shadow told her he hadn’t shaved.

  Deborah handed him a small shopping bag with the ice cream. “Can you please put this in the freezer before it melts?”

  Asa lifted his eyebrows when he peered into the bag. “What’s the occasion?”

  “There is no occasion. You’ve been feeding me, so I thought I’d return the favor and bring dessert.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. Where are you going?” Asa asked when Deborah headed back to her car.

  “I have to get something out of the trunk.”

  “Is it heavy?”

  “Not too heavy.”

  Reaching for her hand, Asa transferred the shopping bag from his to hers. “You take this upstairs and I’ll get the stuff from your car.”

  “The trunk is open. You can bring in the orange crate, a box labeled ‘paper,’ and a canvas bag with the plant light.” She made her way to the staircase while Asa went to unload her car.

  The door at the top of the staircase was ajar, and when she walked in she was shocked to find it immaculate. The bed was made, there were no dishes in the sink, and not one article of clothing was on display. It was as neat as it had been before Asa had moved in. He was either an obsessive-compulsive or a neat freak.

  When she returned to the bookstore she found Asa reclining on one of the club chairs, his feet resting on the matching footstool, reading A Heartbeat Away, a mystery thriller by Michael Palmer. He’d tuned the radio to a station featuring soft music and the overhead track lighting cast a golden glow on his salt-and-pepper head. The bag with the plant light was near the table with the plants, the crate with the tea set sat on the floor by the buffet server, and the box with the printer on the writing desk. Her handbag was on the desk chair. She placed the envelope with the cash and credit card receipts in her handbag.

  Deborah busied herself with unwrapping the cups, saucers, plates, and tea pots, then storing them in the buffet before connecting the printer to the computer. Retrieving her flash drive, she pulled up what she’d stored. She was so engrossed in editing and tweaking what she’d typed that she hadn’t realized Asa had put aside his book and stood over her until his intoxicating scent filtered into her nostrils. She could always tell when he was near by the cologne he wore.

  She patted the desk chair. “Please sit down. I want to show you what I’ve been working on.” With a click of the mouse, Deborah printed out the reading list and templates for the calendar, handing it over to him.

  Asa studied the book titles. “I’ve read them all except The Alienist.”

  Deborah smiled. “It’s one of my personal favorites, and I’m certain you would enjoy it, too. It’s a mystery/thriller set in New York City in 1896. During that time people who studied abnormal psychology were called alienists. In the story, Teddy Roosevelt, a reform police commissioner, recruits an alienist to track down a serial killer who is slaughtering boy prostitutes.”

  “Don’t tell me any more. I want to read it,” he said. He noted Deborah had chosen an interesting and eclectic mix.

  “I may have a few copies on the shelf. I’ve emailed my distributor in Charleston, asking him to set aside copies of these titles. I’ll know by tomorrow if he has them in stock, and if not how soon he’ll be able to get them.”

  Asa perused the calendars, noting the various holidays and other observances. “Where did you find these observances?” he asked, staring at the calendar for the month of July. “July sixth is fried chicken day and the thirteenth is beans and franks day.”

  Leaning to her left, she stared at the page. “I like ugly truck day on the twentieth. I thought we could tie some of these holidays and observances into store promotions. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re bright and beautiful.”

  Asa had finally said what he’d thought when he first saw Deborah walk into the town hall meeting. He had thought her stunning with her golden brown skin and curly hair with glints of red and gold. At first he’d wanted to categorize her as exotic, but that was a word used too loosely whenever the media described an exceptional looking woman of color. To him “exotic” meant foreign or alien and there was nothing about Deborah Robinson that was strange or odd.

  Initially he’d believed she was too thin, but after working closely with her he realized she wasn’t. She was slender with enough curves to make a man crazy. Her fitted jeans displayed long legs and blatantly curvy womanly hips. And she’d become a chameleon when she’d transformed from the girl-next-door into a genteel lady with her coiffed hair and chic blouse, slacks, makeup, and jewelry.

  It had taken a night of soul-searching, tossing and turning in the antique iron bed in the apartment above the bookstore, for Asa to admit to himself that he was entranced with Deborah. It had begun at the meeting, continued when she’d offered to give him and Jake Walker a ride back to the Cove Inn, and did not abate when he’d peered through the plate glass window of The Parlor and spied the HELP WANTED sign. And God help him when he’d caught sight of her rain-soaked top… the things he had envisioned. He’d believed that he hadn’t had an impulsive bone in his body, yet Asa had proven himself wrong when he’d walked in and asked to be hired. What he couldn’t understand was his reaction to the newspaper editor flirting with her and his wanting to punch out the insipid little man.

  Had he become bored living at the boardinghouse? Yes.

  Had the other guests begun to annoy him? The answer was yes.

  Did he want to remain in Sanctuary Cove until he received notification that his application to DWB was approved? Again, the answer was yes, but only because he’d grown tired of driving aimlessly from state to state, city to city, and town to town. Sleeping in a strange bed that he didn’t have to change or make up had lost its
appeal. Cavanaugh Island had become somewhat of a refuge, a place he could stay until he began the next phase of his life. Even the names of the towns on the island denoted shelter and protection: Haven, Sanctuary, Angels. Fate had brought him to Sanctuary Cove and some strange and unknown force had brought Deborah into his life. He knew their time together would be short, but he’d promised himself he would make it into something he would remember for much longer.

  Asa wanted to take more than the memory of his deceased wife and son with him when he retired to his future lodgings, after treating people who lacked even the most basic medical care.

  “Now I know why the ladies like you, Asa.” Deborah’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I know why the ladies are drawn to you.”

  A frown of confusion appeared between his eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re quite the silver-tongued devil. You know exactly what to say to make a woman feel good about herself.”

  Realization dawned when Asa stared at Deborah as if he’d never seen her before. “You don’t believe you’re beautiful?”

  “No, Asa.”

  “What are you then? Ugly?”

  “No! At least I don’t believe I am.”

  “How do you see yourself, Deborah?” Asa whispered.

  Time seemed to stand still as Asa waited for Deborah’s response. The look on her face told him she was searching for an answer that didn’t come easily. Asa wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell her that in order to move past her husband’s death, she needed to deal with it; confront it head on so that she could move past the emotions, but he was afraid of her reaction. He didn’t want to push her away but he knew this was what she needed to heal. That’s how he’d managed to get over his own grief.

  Just as he started to say something, she cut him off.

  “I guess you could say that I’m attractive.”

  Asa’s smile and the gold in his eyes sparkled like polished amber. “You’re a lot more than attractive, Deborah. You’re stunning.”

  Lowering his gaze, Asa stared at Deborah’s mouth as a warning voice whispered in his head that they were treading out onto dangerous waters. If they weren’t careful they would be pulled under by strong and dangerous currents, unable to make it back to where it was safe, comfortable. That was what he felt whenever he and Deborah shared the same space. He’d become her friend, someone he hoped she could rely on, someone she believed she could go to with a problem or dilemma.

  As much as he wanted Deborah to trust in him he also ran the risk of loving and losing for the second time. He’d lost his wife and son, and if he fell in love with Deborah he would lose her also, when he eventually left the Cove at the end of the winter season. Asa’s heart sank with that notion and he found himself wanting to pull her close. He leaned toward her, his breath feathering over her mouth.

  “I feel beautiful when I’m with you,” she whispered.

  Asa stared at the length of lashes touching the top of Deborah’s high cheekbones. “You should feel beautiful even when you’re not with me, because you are. Inside and out.”

  Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and looked away from him.

  “Thank you, Asa.”

  “Is that all I get? A thank you.”

  Shifting slightly, Deborah gave him a long stare. “What else do you want?”

  The query was a hushed whisper as Asa’s expression changed.

  “At this very moment I don’t know what I want,” he said after an interminable silence. “I suppose ‘thank you’ will have to suffice. Let’s get back to your monthly store promotions,” Asa said, as if what had just occurred between him and Deborah had never happened. “What do you plan to do with the calendars?”

  “I think I’ll print out a stack and leave them around the bookstore for customers to pick up. The observances and holidays tied to store promotions will be highlighted in color. We can’t highlight all of February because it’s National Black History Month, but we can highlight Valentine’s Day. I’ve been trying to come up with something other than featuring popular romance authors or collections of poems dedicated to romance.”

  “Turn off your computer, and let’s go for a walk.”

  Deborah gave him a puzzled look. “A walk?”

  Asa smiled. “I think a lot better when I’m walking.”

  She shut down the computer and within minutes she and Asa were strolling along Main Street.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Deborah went completely still, then managed to relax when Asa reached for her hand. She couldn’t help but wonder what people were thinking when they saw them walking hand-in-hand. The day was warm and sunny and the streets were teeming with locals and sightseers.

  The bank, as well as Jack’s Fish House and the hardware store, were closed, as were a number of small mom-and-pop shops. The drycleaner was also closed but the adjoining Laundromat was open. De Fountain, nestled between the variety store and Rose Dukes-Walker’s A Tisket A Basket—a take on Ella Fitzgerald’s “A Tisket A Tasket”—was crowded. It had become a favorite with the locals because all of the ice cream, sorbet, and gelato were made on the premises. They’d begun serving exotic flavored pop with bizarre names that appealed to the island’s teenagers before trying their hand at making ice cream. The first time Deborah bought a pint of peach gelato and chocolate mint ice cream she was hooked. Now, if the ice cream did not come from De Fountain, she wouldn’t eat it.

  “Have you thought about a raffle?” Asa asked after a comfortable silence.

  The mention of a raffle piqued Deborah’s curiosity. “What type of raffle?”

  “It will be up to you to determine the criteria, but I’m willing to donate a basket with champagne, a chocolate assortment, gourmet cookies, and other goodies.”

  “Oh my goodness! You’re a genius, Asa. We can have several baskets, each with a free book and a gift certificate that will have to be redeemed within thirty days.” Deborah smiled at him, brainstorming. “If I give the winners any longer I might lose the opportunity to make them repeat customers. The rule is anyone who makes a purchase between now and February fourteenth is eligible to win.”

  “Do you want them to purchase a minimum number of books?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “That would be unfair to those who don’t have the money to buy more than one book at a time. Even a single purchase should have as much chance of winning as a multiple purchase. I’ll pick up a roll of raffle tickets and a fishbowl tomorrow. Then I’ll stop by Rose’s A Tisket A Basket and pick up a few sweet-grass baskets.”

  “Aren’t they expensive?”

  “Yes. But Rose will give me a discount. Please don’t repeat this, but she inflates her prices for the tourists who come here in droves during the summer months. They are worth every penny, because it takes hours for her to weave a basket and basket weaving has become a dying art.”

  “How much would the round tray Rose gave you as a grand opening gift go for?” Asa asked.

  “Rose could easily have sold that for up to fifteen hundred dollars.” Deborah still hadn’t decided what she wanted to use it for.

  “It’s an incredible piece.”

  “I agree. Did you know that slaves wove baskets so tightly that they held water?”

  “I didn’t know,” Asa admitted. “Do you know how to weave them?”

  Smiling, Deborah shook her head. “No. Learning to hand quilt was enough for me.”

  “One of these days I’m going into Charleston to take the Gullah tour.”

  “It’s fascinating. Put Middleton Place on your places to see. The tour of the gardens and grounds include an African American focus tour that explores the lives of slaves and freedmen at Middleton Place and other Lowcountry plantations. I took my son and daughter on the carriage tour when they were much younger and that was all they could talk about for days.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve t
aken the tour?” Asa asked.

  Deborah counted back in her head. “At least seven or eight years ago.”

  “If I sign up to go will you come with me?”

  “Sure,” she replied offhandedly. “But it will have to be on a Sunday.”

  “Don’t you go to church on Sundays?”

  She smiled. “Yes. But I usually attend the early service, so I’m free from ten on. Why don’t you come to church with me, then we can leave directly from there?”

  “No.”

  Deborah was caught off guard by the sudden hostility in his voice. “Are you an atheist?

  “No, I’m not an atheist.”

  “Are you agnostic?”

  “My not going to church has nothing to do with being a nonbeliever. At this time in my life I’m struggling with my faith.”

  Asa didn’t want to tell Deborah that he’d become embittered, blaming God for giving him a son, then taking him. He was no Abraham, with faith in God so strong and unwavering that he was willing to offer up his Isaac as a sacrifice.

  If God had been testing Asa Monroe’s faith, then his so-called faithful servant had failed, because he was still struggling with “Why me, Lord?” As a doctor he was more than familiar with the cycle of life and death but nothing could have prepared him for losing his wife and six-year-old son.

  Deborah met his stony stare. “I’m sorry for being presumptuous.”

  Asa smiled, but the warmth did not reach his eyes. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “What would you think if I made room for a reading corner for teens and little children?” she asked, smoothly bringing them back to discussing the bookstore.

  “What would you use? Little tables and chairs?”

  “They would take up too much room. What if we use beanbag cushions? I bought one as a birthday gift for one of Crystal’s friends. What made it special was that I had Pottery Barn Teen embroider her name on it. We can get probably about three in different sizes and colors. When we get back to the store I’ll show you them online.”