Message in the Sand

by Hannah McKinnon

  “Sorry,” he said gently. Her face was sweaty, and there was a smear of dirt across one flushed cheek. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Yeah, well, after you kicked my friends out, I had to do this alone.” She turned back to her work. “But I’m doing it.”

  “I can see that.” He looked around the stacks of wood and tools, then at Radcliffe, who stood with his head low in the corner, as if waiting for his bed to be made. Wendell felt bad. “Look, I’m sorry about before.”

  Julia said nothing but resumed her hammering. He winced as she missed and struck the edge of her thumb. The hammer fell to the dirt floor, and she gripped her nail. “Dammit!”

  “You okay?” He stepped forward, but she spun around, eyes flashing.

  “I’m fine!”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry.” But he could see her thumb was red, if not bleeding. “You’re going to need some ice on that.”

  “It’s not my thumb. It’s this. It’s… everything.” Then, without warning, she spun his way. Wendell feared she might lash out, and he started to hop back, but instead, she fell against his chest. His breath escaped him as she wrapped her arms tight around his waist. The muffled sobs were hard, and she shuddered against him.

  Wendell did not like to see other people cry. It was too private, too intimate. It wasn’t that he found them weak but, rather, the opposite; it made him feel helpless. “It’s okay,” he said. He held his arms out from his sides awkwardly, afraid to touch her but just as afraid not to.

  Pressed against his chest like that, Julia Lancaster was so much smaller than she seemed in life. Or maybe she always had been; it was that she seemed larger because she was so fierce. But now, her face buried in his arm, she felt as fragile as a bird. Not unlike the one they’d rescued together all those summers ago, in the orchard. Wendell was tired of thinking. Of escaping memories, of chasing clarity. This time he did not wonder what to do. He let his arms fall around her gently. He let her cry against his chest until she was all cried out. When she was done, he reached into his back pocket and handed her his blue bandana.

  After, when her tears had stopped, she pulled away and looked up at him, suddenly bashful. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her nose and looked away.

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” Then he picked up one of the boards from the floor. “Let’s get this stall done,” he said.

  Twenty-Seven Ginny

  Wendell had every right to be upset with her, but there were things he didn’t understand. At least that was what she told herself at first.

  What she later realized what that she was wrong. Nobody understood better than Wendell Combs.

  Wendell knew exactly what it was like to watch your parents struggle with their health. The poor man had lost both of his. And he knew too well what it was like to fear for your career. His position at White Pines was soon to end, and she was the one working to make it happen.

  What an idiot she’d been. She cursed herself as she navigated the log steps down the steep hillside to the lake. Ever since she’d arrived, she’d sat on the back deck staring at the water, wishing she had a spare minute to jump in. Wishing it were a little warmer. Or the path less rocky. What it really added up to was that she was afraid to jump in. Candlewood Lake was one of the best parts of growing up in Saybrook during her childhood. And right about then, she needed a good dunk.

  The water’s edge was rocky, as she’d known it would be. Ginny kicked off her flip-flops and tiptoed across the stones that bordered the grass before the sand took over. Where the shoreline evened out, her feet sank into the soft earth, and Ginny gasped as she stepped into the water. It was cold but not freezing, and she scanned the horizon as she allowed herself to enjoy the refreshing coolness against her skin.

  So much had happened so quickly. She tried to focus on the lone power boat across the lake. Her cottage was nestled along a strip of shoreline that was densely wooded, with no immediate neighbors. To the left was a narrow peninsula of rock outcropping and cedar trees. To the right, a spit of sand and rock jutted out into the lake, creating a small cove. The water was too shallow for a dock or boat but perfect for what she needed: privacy and peace of mind. It felt so good. Without hesitating, she waded in and dove under, allowing the lake to envelop her.

  Ginny kicked to the bottom, touching the sand with her fingertips for good luck, just as she had as a kid. When she burst to the surface, she scanned the lake. The motorboat was gone, the only sound the faint quack of ducks around the edge of the peninsula. She rolled onto her back and floated, letting the gentle bob buoy her. This was everything she needed.

  If Wendell had not been happy, her parents had been thrilled. So much so that it scared her when her father popped out of his chair and leaped up to hug her. “Careful!” she’d laughed, wrapping her arms around her dad and inhaling the familiar scent of Old Spice. “Oh, stop,” he’d said, holding her at arm’s length, a delighted smile on his face. There was color to his cheeks, and he was looking more like his old self. “This calls for celebration. Nina, break out a beer.”

  “But the cardiologist,” her mother began.

  “Pshaw. What he doesn’t know.”

  They’d toasted on her parents’ deck: white wine for Ginny and her mother, and a lone bottle of beer that she noticed her father savored.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she warned them. “We’ve got the listing for a few months. Now we need to sell it.”

  They’d been in the business long enough to know. But even her mother, the more pragmatic of the three, seemed lighter. “This is good news. I’ve already put out the word to a few colleagues in Westchester County who have clients with deep pockets. I have a feeling we can wrap this up by summer’s end.”

  “Actually, I think we may have a developer in the wings.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Scooter Dunham.”

  Her parents exchanged a look.

  “What? Is there something I don’t know?”

  Nina was encouraging. “Well, as a buyer, he’s a solid option. Dunham Corporation is aggressive, and they’ve done well in recent years.”

  But her father shook his head. “As a person, he’s an ass.”

  Ginny wasn’t surprised, even from her limited time with the guy. Scooter had been a bit obnoxious. Already downplaying the property’s value, finding fault in the lot sizes. And she was put off by his overcomplimentary style: the way he’d held on to her hand too long when shaking it. The wink he gave when they said goodbye. The guy was clearly fond of himself. But she’d navigated these kinds of creeps before, and she wasn’t deterred. “I can see that. But haven’t his residential developments done well in town?”

  “They have, for him,” her mother allowed. “Which means good business for us if he works out.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “They’re downright ugly.” Her father set his bottle down, and Ginny realized it was empty. “Look, his developments run high on price and low on quality. Not the typical New England attention to detail and craftsmanship we like as residents of Saybrook. But as realtors, we know a sale is a sale.”

  Her mother agreed. “Your father’s right. The guy is known to be a bit of a jerk. But you can handle him, honey.”

  “Stay on top of him,” her father advised. “If he’s serious, stick it to him and get the deal done. We want a sale. It doesn’t have to be the perfect buyer.”

  The news of Dunham Corporation took a little of the celebratory edge off, Ginny could feel. But even though Ginny agreed with wanting a top-notch development for such a beautiful place as White Pines, she couldn’t argue their bottom line: beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, she’d just gotten the listing. Maybe there was time to find a better developer. Candace Lancaster wasn’t going to give them agency all summer; she’d made it clear she wanted to move fast. If Ginny didn’t produce, she’d replace her in a heartbeat.

  But in spite of all the work she’d done both in the office and in market
ing, it wasn’t White Pines that stayed with her in quieter moments like this, as she stared up at the sky from where she floated. It was Wendell.

  What had happened during the time she’d gone over to help build the fence for the horse had been fluttering around the edge of her mind since. First, there was the fact of the horse and the girl, Julia, whom she’d met that day. Ginny still couldn’t believe how deeply Wendell was getting involved. As much as it heartened her to see, and as much as she believed this was good for him, she couldn’t help but worry. It stemmed from loss, and Wendell didn’t need any reminders of what that felt like.

  The other thing that pressed against her thoughts even more than the girl and the horse was what happened to Ginny when she was around him. If she’d been asked a year ago whether she had any regrets about Wendell Combs, she would have firmly said no. And she would’ve been telling the truth. Sure, she had a hard time letting go of him and the future they’d mapped out together. Wendell had been her first love. That meant something. But years had passed, and miles between had filled them. In that time, Ginny had grown up. She’d built a solid career. She’d fallen in love again. And her relationship with Thomas, though ill-fated, had been a grown-up relationship. Even though it hadn’t worked out, Ginny knew what it was like to live with someone. To buy that first house together. To share everything from how their day at work went to tubes of toothpaste and the ups and downs of family and friends. She had not been a starry-eyed teenager living at home in her childhood town as she had been all those years ago when she was with Wendell. She’d carved her own path in the world, and she’d enjoyed walking it. So if anyone wondered where Wendell Combs factored in to her adult life, Ginny would have had one answer: the past.

  Now she wasn’t so sure. Seeing Wendell was a nice surprise. He looked good. Better than most guys her age. The hard work and being outdoors at White Pines had maintained his athletic build, and he looked strong and sure of himself. Unlike so many of the husbands of her friends back in Chicago, who fought potbellies from desk jobs and fatigue from young children, Wendell was vigorous. He carried himself like the young soldier who’d enlisted with the Guard. And despite the sadness in his demeanor, when they’d joked while working in the barn, she’d spotted that glimmer in his eye. Julia had chatted nonstop; boy, that teen could talk. It made Ginny laugh and Wendell roll his eyes, but as she carried on about Radcliffe and her friends, it gave the two of them a chance to share conspiratorial looks. “Was I that chatty?” she’d whispered. “What?” Wendell had said, cupping his ear. She’d punched him playfully in the arm. And she’d shaken her hand, not so jokingly, after. He was still so strong.

  Something undeniable was happening to her when she was around him. Like she was right where she was supposed to be in that moment: something she’d tried to feel but never really had even in the good days in Chicago with Thomas. And coupled with that familiar warm feeling was another: fear. That she was getting too close to someone who had made it clear he was not able to get close to anyone ever again. Even to her. Especially to her.

  Ginny rolled over onto her stomach and began a slow stroke to where the warm shallow cove met the deeper open span of lake. For a moment she treaded the darker water. The sun was bright and high. She dove under, then circled back toward shore. Swimming helped to clear her head. But there were some thoughts she just couldn’t still.

  * * *

  Ginny stood under the outdoor shower a long time, tipping her head back as it ran from her cheeks to her toes. If there were places on earth that were heaven, a hot outdoor shower after a brisk lake swim was one of them. She was enjoying the rush of water on her spine when her phone rang from the deck. Ginny grabbed her towel and went to retrieve it from her shorts pocket on the Adirondack chair. She checked the screen. “Scooter Dunham.” Well, well. She swallowed hard and answered.

  “Ginny, it’s Scooter.” So they were on a first-name basis. “I’ve thought it over, and I think I’d like to make an offer.”

  “Hello, Mr. Dunham. That’s great to hear. What’re your thoughts?” Ginny wasn’t playing games. She cut to the chase.

  He chuckled. “As you know, I specialize in subdivisions. For this property to make any sense for me, I need confirmation on buildability.”

  They’d discussed all this already. Geoffrey Banks was in the process of obtaining building and zoning permits from Saybrook town hall. “I believe we should have final word from the town planning and zoning office later this week,” she reminded him. “Our attorney doesn’t have any concerns about it being passed.”

  “Well, that may be. But my attorney does. Something about a wetlands walk?”

  Ginny ran through the facts of her last discussion with Candace and Geoffrey. “Yes, that’s correct. I can confirm when that will be, but it’s supposed to be a formality.”

  Scooter chuckled again. “Formalities have a way of turning into problems,” he mused. “This isn’t my first rodeo. So, while I’d like to make an offer, it is of course contingent.”

  Ginny wrapped her towel tighter around herself. Her refreshing swim and water were already wearing off. “Contingencies are part of my business,” she replied, making sure to keep her voice chipper. She really wished he’d get around to the offer. It was like a game of cat and mouse. “Are you making a verbal offer now, or should I wait to hear from your attorney?”

  Scooter paused. “I handle my own offers. Eight point five. Contingent upon permits and buildability. The offer is being faxed to your office now.”

  Ginny let her breath out. It was just south of full ask. And it was the first offer after mere days on the market. Candace would take it, she was sure. Her parents were going to flip. She cleared her throat, willing her tone to remain professional. “Very good. I will share this with my client and get back to you.”

  “One more thing. It’s a twenty-four-hour turnaround.”

  Ginny glanced at her watch. “No problem. You’ll hear from us by then.”

  As soon as she hung up, she spun around in her towel and shrieked. Birds from a nearby maple took off. She called Candace first.

  “Are you free to discuss this?” Candace asked. She didn’t mean over the phone.

  Ginny began gathering her clothes from the deck and hurried inside. “I can be there in half an hour.”

  * * *

  Ginny didn’t know if Geoffrey Banks had other clients besides Candace, though she suspected he did. But there he was again, sitting in the home office next to her. He stood when he saw Ginny.

  “Ginny. I hear you have good news!” He smiled and shook her hand.

  Candace’s greeting was cool. “Let’s take a look at it,” she said, gesturing to the wing chair across from her.

  Ginny shared copies of the offer and walked them through it. “It’s a solid offer. Twenty percent down in cash, thirty-day standard closing. But if permits come through before then, he can close as soon as two weeks.”

  Geoffrey nodded approvingly, pointing out certain clauses to Candace as they ran through it.

  “What about other offers?” Candace asked.

  Ginny was dumbstruck. They had almost full asking price in under a week on the market. Hadn’t Candace said she wanted this deal done quickly? “Well, I have another developer lined up for tomorrow afternoon. That is, if you don’t want to accept this offer. It’s a twenty-four-hour-only.”

  “Is the other developer available sooner? Perhaps you should check.”

  Geoffrey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Candace, you have that option, of course. But I would caution against it. This is an excellent offer and in good time. Is there something about it you object to?”

  Ginny could feel her nostrils flare, something she’d done when stressed or upset when she was in second grade. Her mother used to tell her to stop it. She couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. She rubbed her nose now, then caught herself. “I can reply to Mr. Dunham with changes, if you’ve any in mind?”

  Candace shrugged
. “Well, if this offer is this good and this soon, why isn’t there reason to think there will be better?” She turned to Ginny. “Surely you’ve handled a bidding war before?”

  Ginny exchanged a look with Geoffrey. “I have, yes. A few resulted in over-offer asks. But others resulted in my buyer accepting a higher offer with more risk, and that resulted in the deal falling apart. Unfortunately, by then the remaining bidders were turned off or had found other properties. I’m not sure you want to risk that, given the time sensitivity of your situation.”

  They were the magic words. Candace sat up straighter. “Very well. As long as Geoffrey thinks these contingencies are standard and acceptable.”

  If Ginny wasn’t mistaken, a flash of concern flickered across his face. But he recovered quickly. “Why don’t I review this with Candace, and we can get back to you later this afternoon. Let’s say three o’clock?”

  Ginny sensed a shift in the room; clearly they wanted to discuss this alone. She stood up. “I’ll have my cell phone on, whenever you’re ready.”

  Candace nodded. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No bother, I’ll leave you two to discuss things. Thank you for meeting on such short notice.” Ginny gathered her files and stuffed them in her leather bag, feeling the slightest unease. She’d been fully expecting them to sign the offer to purchase right there. No matter. It was a big deal, after all. And she wouldn’t rush them.

  Outside, the sun was high and hot, and she shielded her eyes as she walked to the car. Two little voices caught her attention. Down the yard, under a big tree, sat Julia and her little sister. “Hello!” Ginny called, waving.

  Julia recognized her and smiled. “Oh, hi. This is my sister, Pippa.”

  “Hello, Pippa!”

  Pippa came right over. She was holding flowers in her hand.

  “What’s that?” Ginny asked, kneeling. If Julia was beautiful, her little sister was a smaller version. Same gold-spun hair and blue eyes but cute as a sprite.