Sanctuary Cove

by Rochelle Alers

  “I thought it was ticking.”

  “That too,” Barbara confirmed. “It came with a special battery that worked on solar power, and never had to be replaced.”

  “What did you do with them after you married Terrell?”

  “I keep them in a box in the top of my closet. I never know when I might need them.” She burst into laughter.

  “You are crazy!”

  Deborah and Barbara sat on the porch, talking and laughing as the sun reached its zenith, then they stood up together, cleared the table, put everything away, and retreated to the back porch to watch All My Children. When the show ended, Deborah offered Barbara the chance to see the new bookstore setup, but she refused, stating she wanted to get back to Charleston before she got caught in school bus traffic. Deborah herself left as soon as the taillights of Barbara’s car disappeared, driving to the bank to deposit Saturday’s receipts.

  Stepping up to the teller’s cage, she slid her deposit ticket, cash, and checks under the slot at the window. “Good afternoon, Jennifer.”

  The teller’s head popped up, her blue-gray eyes sparkling in amusement. “Oh. Good afternoon, Debs. Miss Hannah was here just before you came in and she said it’s a shame you were keeping company so soon after burying your husband. I don’t think she liked me telling her that I didn’t appreciate her gossiping about my friend, and that I was going to tell you.”

  Deborah’s lips parted in a smile. “Thanks for letting me know.” She and Jennifer Stewart were of the same high school graduating class. When Deborah went off to college Jennifer had stayed in the Cove to marry her high school sweetheart.

  Jennifer flipped a wave of highlighted hair over her shoulder, frowning. “What I can’t understand is why she feels the need to get into everyone’s business.”

  “I don’t think anyone has an answer to that question. Maybe I should give her something to really talk about.”

  Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Jennifer said, “It would serve her right if it came back to bite her in the butt.” She processed the deposit, pushing the receipt through the opening. “Try not to let her get to you, Debs.”

  “I have better things to worry about than Miss Hannah’s gossip.”

  “Good for you.”

  Deborah walked out of the bank, trying not to lose her composure. She had warned Asa about Hannah when she saw them together. After a while, it wouldn’t matter who saw them because Deborah knew Asa wasn’t going to stay in the Cove, that he was going to leave with the other snowbirds. She had at least another three months to prepare herself for the inevitable.

  Chapter Fifteen

  January 22nd—Yesterday Asa overheard someone in the store whispering about us having an affair and to say he was upset is putting it mildly. I told him to ignore it, let it go, and it took a while before he was calm again. When I mentioned the ditty about sticks and stones, he shocked me when he said he wanted to go to the library and openly confront Hannah Forsyth.

  Talk about putting fuel on the fire. He went to the pharmacy and bought a supply of condoms, making certain Grady Forsyth saw him so he could pass the information along to his “nosey-ass wife.” I actually think he got a kick out of doing that.

  Hannah came into the store today to pick up a book I’d ordered for her, and Asa put on a show, calling me darling and sweetheart. I thought the poor woman was going to have a stroke when we shared a tight hug. Once she left I playfully chastised him for misbehaving, but he claimed he’d been on his best behavior. What I couldn’t tell him was that I enjoyed being in his arms and having him call me his darling. And if I were a bolder woman I would admit to him that I want to be his sweetheart and so much more.

  February 1st—When I walked into The Parlor earlier this morning Asa was at the piano playing ragtime. He winked at me, smiled, and continued to play. It wasn’t his day to work, but he hung out in the store, taking personal requests from the customers. I’ve finally realized the days he is scheduled to work we have a lot more customers than when he isn’t there. I know the women come to see him and although I’ve told him this, Asa says I’m imagining things. It’s as if he’s totally oblivious to his charm. But I’m not and sometimes I wonder if the attentions shown to him spark a bit of jealousy in me.

  It was the second Tuesday in February and Mayor White had asked Deborah if she would host the monthly town hall meeting at The Parlor; meeting rooms at the library and town hall were undergoing much-needed repairs that included installing new windows and roofing. She told him he and the members of the council could use the space if he sent someone over to move the furniture, then at the conclusion of the meeting move everything back. Spencer told her his men would be over at three to set up and she was forced to cancel afternoon tea and close the store at noon.

  Deborah still couldn’t believe how successful her Valentine’s Day promotion was until she saw the fishbowl filled with colorful red tickets. Two weeks ago the ad had appeared in the biweekly paper, outlining the rules for winning three gift baskets filled with fine wines, gourmet chocolate, cheese, and other delectable goodies. The following day a steady stream of men and women came into The Parlor to purchase books or cloth-covered journals. And to enter their raffle tickets.

  Book club members had picked up their books and were scheduled to return at the end of the month for their discussion meeting, and afternoon tea had become a favorite for a group of retired women who arrived on the stroke of three every day. Deborah served hot and cold tea with butter cookies, miniature tarts, and brioche from the Muffin Corner; on several occasions she made dainty sandwiches. The women seemed to favor her spicy chicken salad made with mango chutney, mayonnaise, and curry powder. Then Asa had surprised her when he produced a platter of round avocado and bacon sandwiches on cracked wheat bread, salmon pinwheels, and date and walnut sandwiches for those without nut allergies.

  Before the meeting, Deborah stood at the front door, staring at the rain sluicing down the glass. It had been raining steadily for two days now, leaving the streets empty. She had placed the CLOSED sign in the window.

  “I doubt if the ladies would have come to tea today even if we hadn’t closed early,” Deborah said when she felt the heat from Asa’s body as he came up behind her.

  “Do you think the mayor will call off tonight’s meeting?”

  Turning, she looked up at Asa. “I doubt it. The only time he’s ever canceled a meeting is when council members don’t show up, and that doesn’t happen too often. Spencer ran on a platform of transparency, so he wants to keep townsfolk abreast of everything that’s going on in the Cove.”

  Pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Asa angled his head. One hundred percent humidity left Deborah’s hair in tiny ringlets. “Why don’t you come upstairs? I’ll make lunch for you.” Between twelve and two he usually retreated to his apartment to eat or watch the midday news while Deborah either went home to eat or ordered takeout.

  She smiled. “What’s on the menu?”

  “Shrimp ravioli with lobster and a garlic butter sauce.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. I made it last night for tonight’s dinner.”

  “You’re a man of many talents. You said you’re not married, so why hasn’t some woman scooped you up?” Deborah asked.

  Shock crossed over Asa’s handsome features as he stood momentarily speechless He continued to stare at her. “I was married once,” he said, recovering his voice and changing the subject. “Are you going to join me for lunch, or would you prefer we go out?”

  “If I go out, then I’m not coming back. I’m like a cat. I don’t like getting wet in the rain.”

  “Let’s go up to the penthouse,” he said jokingly.

  Reaching for her hand, Asa led her over to the wall switch where he turned out all the lights, plunging the bookstore in total darkness. He flipped the switch on the wall at the bottom of the staircase. Resting his hands on her waist, he guided her gently up the stairs
. When he opened the door to the apartment, Deborah noticed the difference in temperature immediately. It was at least ten degrees cooler here than it was downstairs.

  “The penthouse is cold,” Deborah remarked, rubbing her bare arms.

  Asa walked to the wardrobe and came back with a cotton pullover sweater. “I’ll turn off the air, but put this on until it warms up.”

  She pulled the sweater over her head, adjusting the sleeves and hem. “It’s a little big, but it will have to do.”

  Asa winked. “It’s cute.”

  Deborah glanced around. She hadn’t been in his apartment since the Sunday following the grand opening. It was clean and neat—everything in its place. “Your apartment is immaculate.”

  “What did you say?” Asa called out from the bathroom where he was washing his hands.

  “I said your place is very neat.”

  He stuck out his head as he dried his hands. “I don’t do well with clutter.”

  “I wish my son felt that way.”

  Asa came out of the bathroom and opened the refrigerator. “He’ll grow out of it.”

  Deborah moved over to the table, watching as Asa removed a large plastic container from a shelf. “When?”

  Smiling, Asa gave her a sidelong glance she found so endearing. “When he goes to college and lives on campus. I had a roommate that was a complete slob. I sat him down and told him either he cleaned up after himself or I was going to request a new roommate. We worked out a deal: I would clean and he would cook.”

  Folding her arms under her breasts, Deborah watched as he filled a large pot with water and placed it on a burner. “I didn’t know there were kitchens in dorm rooms.”

  “Well, we found ways around that,” he replied, a look of mischief crossing his face.

  “Could he cook?”

  “ ‘Cook’ couldn’t begin to describe what Joey Farina could do. His parents owned a restaurant and he’d begun working there when he was ten. By the time he was sixteen he was in the kitchen. In the four years we roomed together he taught me how to make pasta and tomato sauce from scratch. I didn’t have a pasta machine, but a rolling pin did the trick.”

  “Tell me what you need and I’ll bring it over for you.”

  “You gave me enough pots and pans, dishes, glassware, and serving utensils, so I’m good for now,” he said. Deborah had even given him a small electric food processor.

  “Is there something I can do besides stand around and watch you?” Deborah asked. It wasn’t that she didn’t like just looking at Asa because she did. He was handsome, fastidious, and claimed an incredibly conditioned physique for a man his age. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his toned body.

  “Do you want me to make a salad?” Deborah asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of greens do you have?”

  Asa opened the refrigerator to browse. “Red leaf, radicchio, endive, escarole, and romaine.”

  Deborah stood up. “I’ll be right back after I wash my hands.”

  She returned to the sound of music filling the space. Asa had turned the television on to a station featuring cool jazz. When Deborah opened the refrigerator she found it fully stocked. This was the same with the overhead cabinets. A countertop wine rack held two bottles each of white, red, and rosé. None were opened.

  “Do you make your own salad dressing?” she asked.

  “Yes. What about you?”

  “There hasn’t been a bottle of store-bought dressing in my house in over ten years,” Deborah admitted, sharing a smile with him.

  “There’s a tin of anchovy filets in the cabinet on your right and a fresh wedge of parmesan in the fridge if you want to make a Caesar dressing.”

  “How about a basic vinaigrette with minced garlic and red wine vinegar?” She planned to make a mixed green salad with a Mediterranean flavor.

  “Make whatever you like. I’m certain it will be delicious.”

  Standing side by side Deborah and Asa worked together as if it was something they’d done many times before. She washed, dried, and tore lettuce leaves while Asa dropped half a dozen lobster tails in a pot of boiling water. Within minutes they were bright red. He drained and cooled them, then split the shells with a sharp knife, removing the meat and dividing it into equal portions. He sliced the tender chunks into pieces and minced the rest.

  “I’m going to set the table,” Deborah said as she placed the bowl of greens on a shelf in the refrigerator.

  “Please take down soup and salad bowls. There’s a container of lobster bisque in the refrigerator. I would’ve attempted to make it myself, but the woman where I bought the lobster said they made the best fish soups on the island.”

  She took out the container. Asa had bought the soup from Sanctuary Harbor’s Fishery, where Elias Fletcher owned and operated a seafood clearinghouse. Elias purchased the catch of the local fisherman and then sold it to mainland restaurants. “She’s right, Asa. You have to try their conch soup.”

  “I ate conch soup once, and I didn’t like it. They were too chewy.”

  “They probably weren’t cooked long enough. Try the Fishery’s and you’ll change your mind,” Deborah suggested.

  She watched mutely as Asa opened a drawer in the refrigerator and removed a bottle of chilled rosé, recalling the last time she’d shared a glass of wine with him. Today would be different because she would eat first, then drink. And she wasn’t going home until after the meeting; she’d gotten up early to roast a chicken with herb stuffing and new potatoes for the children. There was a note on the refrigerator telling Crystal to make a salad to accompany their dinner.

  A delicious mouthwatering aroma permeated the kitchen as Asa filled bowls with the bisque topped with minced lobster; vinaigrette-tossed salad and shrimp-stuffed ravioli with lobster was the second and third course. He’d put the entire meal together within thirty-five minutes.

  The homemade ravioli literally melted on her tongue, and there was just enough heat in the shrimp to offset the creamy pasta covering. “May I invite myself up for lunch every day?”

  “The door is always open. Come up whenever you want.”

  “You may come to regret those words, Asa Monroe.”

  Asa smiled at Deborah over the rim of his wineglass. “I doubt that, Debs.”

  Asa didn’t know why but opening night seemed so very long ago, when it’d only been a little more than three weeks. He felt as if he’d known Deborah even longer. She’d hired him to work no more than twenty hours a week, yet he spent more time in the bookstore than he did in his apartment.

  In the mornings Deborah came in at nine to dust, vacuum, and straighten books before opening at nine-thirty. He usually came down around ten, filled the urn with hot water, and then went to the Muffin Corner to pick up an assortment of sweet breads. Throughout the day he checked the bathroom, making certain it was well-stocked and clean. Whenever there was a shipment of books he entered the quantity and ISBNs into the computer for accurate recordkeeping.

  Most nights Deborah left at six in order to share dinner with her children, and this was when he missed her most.

  He managed to fill up his days talking to customers, playing the piano and fielding phone calls, but at night when the lights were out and the store was silent, he was unable to hold back the sadness. Sometimes it crept up on him, as if on the silent paws of a stalking cat, catching him unaware, where he wanted to cry. Other times, after he’d locked the rear door and watched Deborah get into her car and drive away, he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He wanted to release the grief that reminded him that when he climbed the staircase and lay in bed he would be all alone.

  It wasn’t that he needed a woman for sex as much as he needed her for companionship, and of all the women he’d seen and met since becoming a widower it was Deborah Robinson he wanted. Asa knew their time together wouldn’t be long, but that no longer mattered. He would take whatever morsels of affection she was willing to offer.

  He’d ign
ored Deborah’s warning about Hannah Forsyth, but when the woman’s gossiping became a reality Asa knew he had reacted badly. He knew it wasn’t his reputation that concerned him, but Deborah’s, and Asa didn’t want to think of how her children might react hearing that their mother was sleeping with a man so soon after losing their father. He knew it had been wrong to call her endearments in front of the nosy old woman, or to purchase condoms to fan the rumors, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. And the truth was that even though he told himself over and over that he didn’t want to make love to Deborah, as soon as the thought entered his head he knew it was a lie. There were times when he did withdraw from her, shut down, but only because he wanted Deborah with him 24/7. He resented her having to go home to her children, but then became racked with guilt for harboring selfish thoughts. He picked up his wineglass, staring at Deborah over the rim.

  Leaning back in her chair, Deborah studied the man sitting across from her. Although they spent most of their days together he still was an enigma. She touched the edge of her napkin to her mouth. Asa was her friend but a part of her wanted him to become more.

  Tenting his fingers, Asa stared at them. “It seems you have something on your mind. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

  With an exasperated breath, Deborah told Asa about her mother’s promise to her daughter about the dog. Once the words left her lips she felt silly for being bothered by such a small thing. But Asa didn’t judge her and instead offered soothing words to help calm her sudden agitation.

  “Sorry to hit you with my problems.”

  “It’s not as if you divulged top secret information. You were upset and you needed to vent. I just happened to be here. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I shouldn’t have dumped on you.”

  Pushing back his chair, Asa stood and came around the table, pulling her gently to her feet. “Stop it, Deborah. Stop beating up on yourself. You had a small disagreement with your mother. It probably wasn’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

  Curving her arms under his shoulders, Deborah rested her head on his chest. “My mother hardly ever disagrees with me.”