The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1)

by Heidi Hostetter

  He pointed to the trail of insects in the corner of the room. “There are ants.”

  “Applegate’s sells bug spray. I’ll get you some.”

  He pointed to the windowsill, thick with cobwebs. “Spiders.”

  “I’ll bring you a broom.”

  “This place doesn’t even have Wi-Fi. I can’t possibly work here.”

  Billy was beginning to hyperventilate, and Stacy was afraid she might have gone too far. She reached for his hands and squeezed. “Billy, listen to me. You don’t need Wi-Fi. You don’t need anything but your imagination and a laptop. This is our shot. Our only shot. I’m going to do everything I can to keep us on track, but I need to know that you’re committed too.

  “I have a schedule.” She tapped the spreadsheet she’d drawn up. “You write during the day and I’ll edit what you wrote at night. Every morning, we can exchange work. It’ll be hard, but it will be worth it. In three weeks, you’ll be finished.”

  He visibly deflated as he let out the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. I can stay here for three weeks.” He pointed to the bed. “But not with those pillows.”

  “I’ll bring you sheets and blankets from home, and a mattress topper for this bed. You’re going to need your rest.”

  “And a pillow.”

  “Okay, a pillow too. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  The last thing she heard before she closed the door was Billy sighing as he opened his laptop and switched it on.

  Stacy hoped she wasn’t wrong about this.

  Twenty

  Three days later, Kaye discovered a party invitation propped on the corner of Chase’s dresser, which was odd for several reasons. In Dewberry Beach, social functions were always arranged by the wives, the invitations issued verbally as part of a casual conversation. The invitation Chase saved had been printed on stationery. Kaye knew for a fact that there wasn’t a custom printer within twenty miles of Dewberry Beach, leading her to believe that this party had been planned for quite some time. She would go, though she wasn’t familiar with the host and she wasn’t particularly interested in expanding her social circle at the moment.

  “Tell me again why my loafers aren’t good enough for a clambake?” Kaye grumbled as she reached to the back of the closet for the box that held her linen espadrilles.

  The invitation said the party was to be a New England clambake. Messy affairs, if done correctly, so guests understood to arrive in their most washable clothes. Tubs of steamed crab, lobster, and clams would be upended onto newspapers spread across a long trestle table. There would be ramekins of melted butter and saucers of cocktail sauce for dipping. Traditional food also included platters of corn on the cob dripping with parsley butter and steamed red potatoes so delicate they crumbled when speared with a fork. Guests were given a platter to hold shrimp, lobster, clams, and corn, a mallet to crack the shells, and a bib that did absolutely nothing to protect their clothes.

  Kaye slipped on her shoes, though she thought it was a mistake to dress up. She stood, then glanced at her husband. “You’re wearing a tie?”

  In place of his usual printed Bermuda shorts and a soft cotton shirt, Chase wore an ironed dress shirt, black slacks, and tassel loafers. It looked as if he were going to work and Kaye wasn’t sure she liked it.

  Chase looped the edge of his tie and pulled the end through. “I’m just following the guidelines on the invitation.”

  “You read the invitation? You never read the invitation,” Kaye scoffed as she glanced in the mirror at the dress she’d chosen to wear. The baggy linen shift now seemed all wrong, especially given Chase’s outfit. “Fine.” She changed into a navy blue silk, although the dress was almost guaranteed to be ruined.

  Chase glanced at her change of clothes and smiled. “You look nice. I like you in blue.”

  “Thank you.” Kaye felt herself blush. She touched his shoulder as she crossed the room to her jewelry box. There wasn’t much need for jewelry at the shore house. As a rule, Kaye left her best pieces in the safe at the Princeton house. But the silver cuff she’d bought at the art gallery a few weeks before with Brenda might go well. She slipped it on and added the matching silver earrings.

  “Who are these people again?” She added a swipe of lipstick. “How do you know them?”

  Chase dribbled a bit of cologne into his palm and dabbed it on his face. “The hosts are Marc and Jill Goodman, and I don’t know them, not personally. Marc is one of Jim McKean’s newest clients and the invitation is through Jim.”

  “Is this a work thing then?” Kaye asked warily.

  Chase added cufflinks, a monogrammed pair she’d given him the Christmas before his illness. “No. Just something to do with people you might like to meet.”

  “Hm,” Kaye replied. She’d known her husband for most of his life and could always tell when he wasn’t telling the complete truth. This seemed like one of those times, but she couldn’t be sure so she said nothing.

  The property was close enough to walk to, so they did. They left the shore house just as the sun had begun to set and watched as the sky was splashed with shades of orange and purple. It was a lovely walk but Kaye was still uneasy. Every clambake Kaye had ever attended was a full-day affair, so it seemed odd that one should begin so late in the afternoon. She reminded herself that this was Chase’s event and she would need to keep an open mind. She even allowed him to take her to a section of town that she’d purposefully avoided for eight years.

  When Hurricane Sandy hit the coast of New Jersey eight years before, it decimated the shore, changing the coastline, and destroying entire neighborhoods and whole towns. Despite the seawalls and the plywood, the sandbags and the prayers, the hurricane had been unstoppable and it was terrifying. For six days and nights the wind and rain had been relentless, pounding the shore and flooding the streets. Eventually the storm dissipated, but it was weeks before the National Guard let any of the shore residents through the roadblocks to check their property and the things they’d left behind. The Bennett home had suffered flood and wind damage but the damage was reparable.

  Others weren’t so lucky.

  The section of town they walked to now was one of several that was hit the hardest. These homes were original to Dewberry Beach, built back in the 1920s, without the benefit of seawalls or sand dunes or any protection at all from the storm. When the hurricane came for this side of town, there had been nothing to stop it. It sucked two family homes into the sea. It filled surrounding homes with sand and debris that required heavy machinery to remove. Mary-Pat Blatch, one of Kaye’s dearest friends, watched events unfold on television. From the safety of her sister’s house, she saw her family’s summer home collapse and couldn’t bring herself to return to Dewberry Beach to see it in person. Mary-Pat and her husband Paul were one of the first couples to accept an offer from a New York developer and had never returned.

  “That’s the one.” Chase gestured to a Dutch colonial with a gambrel roof, a second-floor deck that overlooked the ocean, an attached three-car garage, and landscaping so new that Kaye could smell the cedar bark mulch atop freshly turned soil. “What do you think?”

  “Isn’t that something.” Kaye managed a tight smile, though she hated everything about it.

  It looked like a caricature of what New Jersey shore houses were supposed to be, built by someone who was looking to make a quick buck. It was wildly out of proportion to its neighbors, making it look like a hotel in a neighborhood of cottages. The siding wasn’t real cedar, though it was painted to look as though it was. And the structure itself seemed to be built just far enough behind the new dunes to be legal.

  She and Chase passed a trio of uniformed valets collecting car keys and shunting sleek black cars to a reserved lot a few blocks away. They joined the throng of guests making their way up the front steps to the entrance, and Kaye didn’t recognize anyone in the group. The women were younger than her by far and seemed to be dressed in evening wear. Black silk dresses and threads of gold
jewelry shimmered against perfectly toned and tanned bodies. The men wore crisp polo shirts with upturned collars, silk pants, and shoes that probably cost more than Kaye’s first car.

  She smoothed the fabric of her dress, thankful she’d changed and annoyed with herself for feeling out of place. She’d been a resident of Dewberry Beach far longer than these people had. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Hello.” A young blonde woman met them in the foyer. She looked no more than twenty-five years old, dressed in a simple black shift, her gold bracelets clinking together as she offered her hand. “Thank you for coming.” The woman’s smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth. “I’m Brittney, the shore house manager. I’m helping Marc and Jill tonight.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Brittney,” Chase replied as he shook her hand. “I’m Chase and this is my wife, Kaye.”

  The house was massive. As an open-concept, the entire first floor was one room and had been decorated in various shades of white. The hardwood floor had been bleached a soft gray to look like driftwood, and scattered across the room were large area rugs woven from seagrass. There were several conversation areas in the room, arranged with upscale furniture and accessories that wouldn’t last a single day in a real shore house. The whole arrangement gave Kaye the impression that the owners had paid an expensive decorator to curate a presentation of what they thought the shore should be. But they’d missed.

  “Would you look at that,” Chase whispered, lifting his chin toward the back of the house.

  “Wow.”

  Even Kaye had to admit it was stunning. The back of the house was a wall of windows that overlooked the ocean. It gave the impression of being directly on the beach and the effect was amazing.

  She turned her attention back to her husband in time to see Brittney gesturing toward a floating set of metal steps at the far end of the room. “The bar is on the second floor and the outside deck has a magnificent view. Jill and Marc have put together a fresh take on the traditional clambake and they hope you like it.”

  Before either Chase or Kaye could reply, Brittney turned her attention to the next couple in line. So they made their way across the room then upstairs, to find the host.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Kaye murmured to Chase as they crossed the room. “Who is this guy?”

  “Real-estate investor out of Manhattan,” Chase answered as he looked around. “He must be doing well.”

  Kaye scoffed. “I’ll say.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, a waiter approached them with a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres. He lowered the tray and offered them a napkin. “Smoked clams and potato in puff pastry. Would you like one?”

  “Not quite yet, thank you,” Kaye answered for both of them and the waiter withdrew. Puff pastry was not a good choice for Chase’s heart.

  They climbed the stairs to the deck. A uniformed bartender served drinks, and side tables were set with appetizers, bowls of corn salad, and platters of potato quiche. Outside, the view of the ocean was vast and unobstructed. Kaye wondered how the builder had got the permits past the town review.

  “Chase. Glad you could make it.” Like everyone else, Jim McKean shook Chase’s hand and smiled at Kaye. “Kaye, nice to see you. How’s the family?”

  “They’re fine, Jim. Thank you.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I steal your husband for a minute or two?” Jim draped his arm across Chase’s shoulder. He called over to her as he guided Chase away, “Jill’s downstairs. You’ll love her.”

  This was definitely a work function and Kaye felt her annoyance grow at what appeared to be deception. There had to be an explanation and she hoped it was that Chase hadn’t realized it himself. She would like to believe that he wouldn’t go back on his word, his promise to retire. But things did not look good, especially since he’d dressed for work.

  She wandered around for a while, before deciding to try and find the hostess. Her fingertips skimmed the banister as she descended the floating staircase. It was jarring to see such a wide space between the steps, without anything to anchor them.

  “This is one weird party, right?”

  “Ginny!” Kaye hugged the woman before her. “How nice to see a familiar face. I didn’t think you’d have time to come down. Isn’t Ava off to college this year?” She tutted. “Even saying that sentence makes me feel so old. I remember when Stacy used to babysit your girls.”

  “I came down especially for this party, believe it or not. These owners are supposed to be very well connected.” Ginny glanced at her husband, who was circling a group that included Chase. While Kaye thought the world of Ginny and the girls, she’d never warmed to her husband. He was too slick, too aggressive, too pretentious; an outsider in a town that preferred to leave business behind in the summer.

  “Well connected?” Kaye repeated. “How so?”

  “I don’t know the details, but Rick says that knowing Marc Goodman is always good for business. Rick wants to expand his practice and Marc will probably invest.” She glanced back toward the group. “Rick says Chase is part involved, too, so it’s almost a sure thing.”

  The comment felt like a punch. “That’s not possible. Chase has retired. His partners bought him out last spring.”

  “Oh… then I must be mistaken.” Ginny shrugged. “I probably misunderstood.”

  A respectable three hours later, Kaye strode across the room to her husband. She took his arm and pulled him aside. “I’d like to go home soon please.”

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Chase was positively chirpy on the way home. They left the party before the hosts ignited fireworks on the beach, but Chase didn’t seem to mind. His step was light, his conversation animated. “Not a conventional party, that’s for sure, but a nice change. Did you get a chance to meet Jill?”

  “No.”

  “The food was good, I thought. Did you try the potato quiche?”

  “Yes. It was good.”

  “And that deck, what a view.” He clasped his hands together in a way that grated on Kaye’s nerves. He glanced at her. “I know you’re upset about this area being rebuilt, but aren’t you glad they’ve taken away the last traces of the hurricane? I know I am.”

  “I saw Ginny Maxwell.”

  “You did? How is she?” Chase slipped off his jacket and offered it to Kaye. She shrugged it off.

  “She told me this was a work party. That Rick is expanding his practice and wants financing.”

  “Is that so?”

  She stopped suddenly, turning on him. “Are you planning to work with Marc Goodman? Is that why Jim invited us?”

  “What?” Chase’s brow creased in confusion. “No. Where would you get an idea like that?”

  “Why else would we be invited to a fancy party thrown by people we don’t know? Money people were there, Chase. People you used to work with—Jim McKean, and all the others.”

  Chase stared at her as if he couldn’t tell if she was serious. “It’s true, Marc had a couple of questions about how to structure a new investment but that’s all. What he wants to do is interesting. As for Rick, I have no interest in working with him.”

  “But you talked to Marc. You discussed business with Marc,” Kaye pressed, her voice rising.

  “Yes. What he wants to do has interesting implications. I told him I’d have coffee with him later in the week to discuss it.”

  “Coffee with him?” Kaye repeated. “That doesn’t sound like ‘not working with him.’ In fact, that sounds very much like working with him. You told me you’d retire from all this when your partners bought you out. You promised.”

  “And I have.”

  “You haven’t. Meeting with Marc for coffee is not retiring. That’s working!” Her body vibrated with anger, furious that he’d lied to her.

  “Kaye.” Chase’s expression changed; his tone was icy. “You wanted my partners to buy me out—and they did. You wanted me to stop going into the office—even though I love what I do—and I d
id. But I have to find something to do, something more than morning walks and watching the ball game on the television in my den.”

  “You promised.” Kaye stepped back, stung at his reproach, furious with him for twisting the conversation to make their situation her fault. “Have you forgotten the last three years? Because I can’t. The panicked phone call, the anguish of seeing you in the ICU, the uncertainty of your recovery. For the first six months, I wasn’t even sure you’d survive.”

  “That was three years ago, Kaye, and I’ve recovered,” Chase answered. “You have to know that even you can’t control the future. No one knows when their time is up. I could drop—”

  “Do not finish that sentence!” Kaye warned, her fists balled at her side. “I will not listen to you being so cavalier about a life that took the best cardiologists in New Jersey weeks to save and an entire team of physical therapists two years to rebuild.”

  “Kaye…” Chase began.

  But Kaye wasn’t listening. A fog of hysteria and panic had descended on her, shielding her heart and leaving her fighting for breath. “You promised me, Chase Bennett. You promised me and I believed you.”

  “Kaye—”

  “If you intend to pick up the threads of your life as if the past three years meant nothing to you, then you can do it without me!” She spat the words at him, jagged and raw and filled with fear. “I will not watch it happen again.”

  And for the first time in three years, Kaye Bennett left her husband’s side without knowing when she’d return.

  Kaye left Chase alone on the sidewalk and headed toward the only person she knew would understand, who knew how difficult Chase’s recovery had been, and who had always taken her side. Even though it was dark and much too late to visit, Kaye found herself at Brenda’s doorstep. The house was quiet, but Kaye knocked on the front door anyway.

  After a moment, the porch light flicked on and Brenda pushed open the screen door. She tied her bathrobe and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Kaye, is everything all right?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, is Chase okay?”