by T. I. Lowe
“I see you finally found your teeth.” Josie crossed her arms and also grinned.
“Darnedest thing . . .” It was Dalma’s go-to saying, almost like a brush-off for the weird moments she tended to collect. She hitched a thumb in really no direction in particular. “I found them in my tackle box.”
Her statement had Josie cringing for two reasons—nasty teeth and fishing alone. Both of which Josie would have helped out with. “Please tell me you washed them before putting them in your mouth.”
“I got better sense than that.” Dalma scoffed, lacing her fingers and resting them on her midsection. She wore a pink suit jacket, unfastened to reveal an Eagles T-shirt underneath that totally clashed with the plaid Bermuda shorts she paired with it. “I rinsed them off with a can of Dr Pepper first.”
Josie stood there watching the silly lady nod her head and hum a few bars of the song. She gave up on the teeth and moved on. “What have we said about fishing alone?”
“That you get to keep all the fish.” Dalma giggled like a schoolgirl. “Don’t worry, dear. August Bradford accompanied me. Plus, he let me keep all the fish we caught and even cleaned them for me. He’s one fine young man.”
Josie was relieved but her cheeks still heated at the mention of August’s name. “I’ll fry them for supper. . . . How’d you end up fishing with August?”
“We ran into each other at Growler’s and he offered to go fishing with me. Sure wasn’t a hardship to spend the day with that handsome man.” She let out a low whistle before raising an arm and wiggling her fingers. Josie took the hint and helped her climb out of the hammock. They quietly headed for the stairs that led to the top floor.
“I don’t understand why you don’t go ahead and move in with me. There are no tall stairs at Driftwood Dreams,” Josie commented when Dalma began grumbling halfway up the staircase that led to the front door. The little lady was stubbornly refusing the inevitable.
“Because you need to be ready to take on a suitor and don’t need anything in the way of that.” Making it to the top of the stairs, Dalma worked on catching her breath.
“I don’t need a man. I’m perfectly capable of anything right on my own.”
Dalma glanced over her shoulder. “I never said you did, dear. You don’t need one, but I bet the right one sure would complement you.”
Josie ran a fingertip over the rigid texture of an upside-down seashell on the sign attached to the stair railing. She’d fashioned it and several others to look like a ghost when she made it as a gift for her little old friend several years ago. She thought it was quite fitting since Dalma chose to name her house Coast House.
Josie left the name plaque and climbed the last few steps. “You wouldn’t be in the way even if I had a suitor to complement me.” She opened the front door and ushered Dalma inside. The faded-pastel seashell motif found in most inlet homes was prominent, but books stacked in every nook and cranny was outside the norm. Dalma refused to part with even one book and Josie didn’t have the heart to make her, but it was beginning to look like a bibliophilic obstacle course instead of a house.
Dalma went straight to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of tea. She set it on the creamy tiled kitchen counter before turning to look at Josie. “You’re right. I wouldn’t, but you would. And I certainly won’t allow you to use me as the excuse to not let a good man sweep you off your feet and carry you off into the sunset.”
“You’ve been listening to too many audio romance books again.” Josie narrowed her eyes and smirked, trying to play off the conversation, but by the looks of her thinning lips, Dalma was having a lucid moment and wouldn’t be sidetracked so easily.
“God has too many plans for you, young lady. Shame on you for getting in his way.” Dalma jabbed a finger in Josie’s direction before pulling out two fine china teacups.
Josie filled them with the iced tea, knowing the dainty cups were meant to hold warm tea, but also knowing Dalma did things differently. She handed one to Dalma, took a sip from hers, and then began rummaging around for ingredients. “I’m going to get started on supper.”
“Okay, dear. Go ahead and ignore my wise words. And leave that for later. I just want a snack for now.” Dalma pulled out a heart-shaped box of chocolates from the pantry. Odd enough since Valentine’s Day was two months ago.
“Where in the world did you get those?” Josie asked as she started mixing the dry ingredients for the fish dredge—flour, cornmeal, cayenne, salt, and pepper.
“I found them in a suitcase this morning in my closet.” Dalma popped a chocolate into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Still good,” she commented and held the box out for Josie to take one.
“No thanks.” Josie waved the candy off.
Once she had everything prepped for later, Josie made her way through the maze of books to select one, but the one she was currently working on wasn’t where she left it. After skimming a few other piles, she gave up finding it and selected another one.
Dalma moved to the back deck with her iPad, already listening to some historical romance Josie helped her download. Josie pulled the pouch of colored pencils from the kitchen drawer and followed behind her. They settled on the daybed Opal had refashioned into a deep swing with lots of funky outdoor pillows. Josie used her long legs to keep the bed swaying languidly and began adding life to the black-and-white pages of the old musty book while a British voice narrated a tale about an ornery duke and his lowly maid falling into a forbidden relationship.
A few hours passed, and Josie knew it was time for supper and bed when Dalma began talking about having a meeting at the library she needed to get to. The lucidity tended to slip away drastically when the little lady became too tired. It hurt Josie to witness it, but she would bravely endure it in order to be there for Dalma just as she had been there for Josie during those dark days that followed after losing her mother.
Looking back on that time, it was Dalma who quietly showed up when others seemed to drift away. She was the one looking close enough to realize Josie’s grief had slipped more into a bout of depression and made the appointment for her to see the doctor.
Going through her own battle with depression, which kept showing up in small seasons every now and then, was why Josie helped Theo and Deandrea. It was easy to spot someone battling the same shadows after living it herself. The smile that only touched the lips and had nothing else to do with the rest of the face. The void stare. Even when their eyes were on you, the focus was in a dark place no one could see but them. Head tipped away from the activity of life, only present yet not engaged. Josie didn’t know exactly what she could do for Deandrea, except for showing up and offering the woman nudges of help just as Dalma had done for her.
“My husband works too much,” Dalma commented, pulling Josie from her worrying over Deandrea and returning it to Dalma.
Josie couldn’t come up with a response to that, so she chose to say nothing. She helped Dalma into bed and tucked the quilt around the dear lady.
Dalma settled against her pillow and muttered as her eyes drifted shut, “Will you stay just a little longer until Gerald makes it home?”
Josie swallowed past the lump in her throat and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.” She took her book and pencils to the wingback chair in the corner of the bedroom and quietly worked well past midnight. One thing she’d come to understand in her young life was that people left, but she wanted to be the person who could be depended on to stay.
Math was never a favorite subject for Josie, but she had become obsessed with numbers during that week. She kept a tally of how many times she’d watched the diner’s screen door and how many times she’d lied to herself about not looking for a certain tall, dark-headed man to show up. Both totals had gotten completely out of hand by Thursday, and she was right irritated with herself and with that certain guy when the sum total of times he’d made an appearance was a big fat zero.
The math calculations didn’t stop there. The days before the art exhibit
seemed to be subtracted all too quickly, and the pile of discarded outfits added up to a grand mountain in the middle of her bedroom floor. By Friday, she had to use caution in maneuvering around it.
“I can’t go,” she mumbled into the cell phone and had to yank it away from her ear when Opal’s voice rang out at too high of a volume.
“Why not?”
Josie moved the phone back to her ear and scrutinized the mountain of material. “I don’t have anything to wear.” It sounded like a solid excuse to her, but from Opal’s exaggerated snort, it wasn’t.
“That’s just silliness. You have a closet full of lovely church dresses. Wear one of those.”
Sure, Josie had a nice selection of dresses she only wore on Sundays—her preferred choice of attire any other day of the week was jeans and a T-shirt—but she found each one she pulled from the closet lacking in some way. When she hesitated, Opal yammered on.
“Fine. I’ll bring you something to wear. I’ll be there in ten.”
Josie threw her hand out like a stop sign even though her friend couldn’t see it. “No, no!” Suddenly the black maxi dress wedged into the side of the material mountain seemed suitable enough for the event. If it were left up to Opal, Josie would end up wearing a tie-dyed jumper with Moses sandals and flowers woven into her hair. The thought sent a shudder through Josie. She shook it off and yanked the dress from the mountain, causing an avalanche in the process. “I’ve found something.”
Opal snorted again. “Good. I’m on my way regardless, so be ready.” With that, the phone clicked off and ended Josie’s futile attempt at getting out of the evening ahead.
With no time to fuss over her appearance, Josie left her hair down in the beachy waves it naturally formed into after her shower and pulled on the black dress. After tugging it into place and pushing her feet into a pair of silver sandals, she rummaged through the top dresser drawer that served as her jewelry box. Most of the collection had belonged to her late mother. She plundered around for a set of bangle bracelets, but a beautifully painted box in the style of van Gogh’s Starry Night caught her attention. Instead of a night sky, it was a beach with brilliant waves. She traced the looping paint strokes of the sea as a hidden memory wiggled loose and came to light.
Math might not have ever been a favorite subject for her, but art certainly was. During her senior year, she was selected to take an advanced art course offered at the high school. The senior project was to research and present an artist or a specific art style to the class. Josie’s pick was immediate, pop art. She loved the freedom the style offered and presented several artists and a few canvases she’d created for her project. Opal’s passion was already clear at such a young age, so she chose to focus her presentation on the craft of woodwork.
Josie had expected August to present someone famous—Monet, da Vinci, or Donatello—but he surprised the entire class, including the teacher, by his choice.
Needless to say, everyone was taken aback when he presented a handmade necklace fashioned from sea glass. August, never one to skimp on even the minute details, displayed the delicate piece of jewelry on a spindly branch of driftwood. The various blues—teal, azure, indigo—entwined with the delicate silver necklace and stood out dramatically against the bleached wood.
The hour flew by with him telling the class about the history of jewelry artisanship and how he’d apprenticed for several months under a local artisan. With the artisan’s guidance, August had created the piece on display.
Josie, along with every other girl in class, fell in love with the necklace. Some even begged him to let them have it or create one specifically for them.
“Sorry. This is the only one I’m making and it was made for someone in particular,” August announced to all the girls’ disappointment.
The necklace never showed up around any girl’s neck at school, so it was thought that he’d given it to his mom. Months passed and the necklace was all but forgotten.
Graduation came and went with the expected news of August moving upstate to attend college. It was the same plan Josie had up until the devastating life storm struck her family and claimed her mother’s life. She had no other choice but to turn down her acceptance into the art program and stay in Sunset Cove with her dad.
The day he was to leave, August spent a long time hovering at the counter at Driftwood Diner until finally working up enough nerve to ask Josie to step outside with him. Nervous and confused as she was, she agreed.
Standing underneath the overhang on the side of the diner, August offered her a stunning, hand-painted jewelry box. “I’ve wanted to give this to you for a long time now and . . . well . . . I should have given it to you the day of the presentation.”
With trembling hands, Josie fumbled with opening the lid and nearly dropped it when her eyes landed on the stunning piece of art inside. August plucked the delicate necklace out of the box, slipped it over Josie’s head, and settled it against her plain black tank top.
She gazed down at the necklace he’d just given her through a sheen of tears. “This makes me feel beautiful.”
August openly admired her before slowly shaking his head. “No, you’re wrong. It’s just as I suspected.” He reached over and brushed a wisp of hair off her blushing cheek. “You make the necklace beautiful.”
“Ah, August . . . I can’t believe you’re giving it to me . . .”
“I made it for you, Jo. I took chips of sea glass and bonded them with the larger ones.” He skimmed the pad of his index finger along one of the stones that rested close to her collarbone. “I wanted it to be close to impossible to count how many pieces of sea glass were used to form the piece, because I want you to realize the beautiful parts of your life can be just as endless if you allow it.”
Such profound words from a young man, but it didn’t surprise Josie. August had already lived more life than most Sunset Cove adults, and that living produced wisdom. And that wisdom had her in tears.
They stood in the shadow of the weathered building, allowing a truthful yet silent conversation to pass between them. Through nothing but meaningful looks, both admitted to the hidden feelings they’d had for each other.
August placed a soft kiss on her damp cheek before walking away, leaving Josie with one of the sweetest yet most heartbreaking moments of her life. The young artist gave her so much in that moment beyond the stunning necklace, yet he took so much more. He walked away with her heart and never returned it.
During his absence, Josie kept busy with helping her dad, but August Bradford had never completely left her thoughts. Now as she gazed at the necklace tucked inside the box, she was ashamed to admit she’d failed at doing what he’d encouraged her to do.
Taking it from the box, she slipped it on and pressed her fingers to the intricate sea glass, whispering, “It’s time to remember the beautiful parts of living and to create some of my very own. God, please help me to be brave enough.” She picked up her small clutch and pulled the front door open just as Opal was about to knock.
True to fashion, Opal was dressed in a pair of wildly patterned palazzo pants and a flowy top with a silk scarf tied around her head.
“Hello, Mrs. Cole.” Josie grinned affectionately at her friend, still trying to come to terms with Opal being married.
Opal played with one of her chandelier earrings that brushed all the way to her shoulders to playfully show off her wedding ring. Her eyes zeroed in on the necklace before a gasp escaped her lips. “August gave that to you! When?”
Josie’s hand automatically reached up to protectively shield the piece. “Umm . . . before he left for college.”
“No way!” Opal moved closer and shooed Josie’s hand away so she could admire the necklace. “All this time and you’ve never told me.”
“I’ve never told anyone.” Josie shrugged. “I just . . .”
“I understand, honey. You wanted it to be just between you and August. How romantic.” Her green eyes twinkled before giving Josie a hug. “Are
you ready to go?”
“Yeah, I’ve had enough arithmetic to last a lifetime. Art is more my subject.” She stepped outside into the humid night and locked the cottage door.
“Do what?” Opal’s face scrunched up as she eyed her friend.
“Nothing. Never mind. Let’s do this.” Josie pointed toward Opal’s vintage VW van, where she saw Lincoln behind the wheel. She was ready to get on with it before chickening out on a beautiful part of her life that had been waiting to come true for the last six years.
6
An undercurrent traveled around the dimly lit gallery through hushed conversations as people focused on the canvases artfully arranged along the indigo wall. August took a deep inhale of the lingering scent of paint, one of his favorite aromas, and listened on as his mom talked to the group surrounding them.
“The guy has more talent in his paint-stained pinkie—”
Tuning Nan out, August gave the group a bashful smile before moving through the crowd. His dad, Derek, squeezed his shoulder as he passed by and gave him an understanding look. Nan never tired of bragging about him or his two brothers, but he’d never been able to grow comfortable with receiving such praise. Sure, he loved talking about the art pieces, just not about himself in particular.
His eyes kept sweeping over the crowd with hopes of spotting a certain blonde who should have been easy to catch sight of. Josie was tall for a woman but carried the height with a grace he’d bet she didn’t even realize she possessed.
Wildly enough, a head full of golden-red coils caught his attention first. August couldn’t contain the grin as he headed Opal’s way near the front of the gallery.
“Nice scarf.” He eyed the silk material that seemed to be losing the battle with taming back Opal’s unruly hair as he reached to shake Lincoln’s hand, who was standing beside her.
She smoothed a hand over it. “Thanks. I found it at a flea market in Woodstock.”