He laughed. “No, not a Crock-Pot. And don’t bother guessing. I won’t tell you. You’ll just have to wait. But I think you’ll like it. You’ll certainly use it. At least, I hope you will.”
“Then thank you in advance, Daddy.” She stepped closer to deliver a kiss to his cheek.
Standing at the front door, he gave the house a final look around. “I guess that’s that. You’re settled in.”
“I am.” She sensed his reticence to leave. But the hour was growing late and her father had a four-hour trip back to Charlotte. “Are you sure you can make the drive back? You can spend the night if you’d like.”
He waved his hand. “Nah, I’ll be fine. You know me. I like to drive.”
Heather realized then that she’d misread him. He was, in fact, eager to leave. To get back on the road to his new wife who was, undoubtedly, waiting for him with a cocktail and dinner. David lifted his wrist to look at his watch. It was the gold Patek Philippe that her mother had given him on their twentieth anniversary. He never wore another, not even now that he’d remarried. Heather was glad to see it. It reminded her that, even as things changed, some things remained the same.
David stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around Heather, dwarfing her. “You’re going to do wonderful work here. I know you will.”
“Thanks, Dad. I have to admit it’s the perfect place for me to do my work on shorebirds. If I can’t do it here, I can’t do it anywhere. You know”—she hesitated—“I haven’t properly thanked you for finding this beach house for me.” She laughed. “And renting it.”
“No thanks necessary.”
“I think they are. I was so caught up in my fear over leaving home that I didn’t tell you how grateful I am. My work is important to me, so I appreciate your support. I’ll do my best. I promise you.”
“That’s enough thanks for me. I have confidence in your talent. And in you.” He paused. “I’ll miss you.”
Heather offered a tremulous smile, holding back tears. “I’ll miss you, too.”
“We’ll come for a visit soon.”
“Don’t wait too long.”
Her father straightened and took a step back. She was stunned to see his eyes were misty.
“Call or text me when you get back,” she told him. “No matter how late.”
“Who sounds like the parent now?”
She looked into her father’s eyes and was overcome with a sudden rush of love for this man who was still raising her, caring for her, worrying about her, even though she was well past grown. It was about time he found some peace, she reflected. Impulsively, she offered him the kindest farewell gift she could think of.
“Send Natalie my love.”
AFTER HER FATHER left, Heather closed the door and leaned against the wood. In the resulting quiet she slowly let her gaze sweep the softly lit beach house.
She was, Heather fully realized, truly alone. She paused, expecting to feel some tremor of anxiety. But to her surprise, she felt none. Just a slight sense of unease at being in a strange place. Perfectly normal, she told herself. Just new smells, not knowing where everything was. Everything unfamiliar. She pushed away from the door, eager to get busy.
She went first to the kitchen to take stock of the groceries her father had brought with them from Charlotte. Her heart softened at imagining him pushing a cart through the grocery store, something he wasn’t accustomed to. Heather and her mother had always done the housework in their traditional home. That he had offered to “pick up a few essentials” for the trip had meant the world to her. David had been a single father for eight years and they’d regularly cooked and shared meals during that time. No one knew her tastes better than he did, and her stringent scrutiny for organic products.
She pulled out a can of vegetable soup and, rummaging through the wooden cabinets, found a dented pot and dumped the soup into it. After a few tries, the gas stove lit. A good start, she told herself. The fridge was sparkling clean, always a relief. From it she pulled out a bag of prewashed organic lettuce and kale. While she waited for the soup to heat, she found the corkscrew and uncorked a very nice bottle of Cabernet that her father had selected. Mentally thanking him for his generosity, she found where Cara kept the wineglasses and poured herself a liberal amount. Good wine, salad, and the heated soup—an adequate dinner for a first night in one’s new home, she thought. She put everything on a tray and carried it out to the sunporch.
The sun began its slow descent, drenching the sunroom in magenta. The birds were restless at the light change of a day’s end, hopping back and forth on their perches. The sound of their evening song was comforting, like whispered good nights from dear friends. She didn’t feel so alone with their persistent chatter. She went from cage to cage offering them small bits of kale after the long trip. Like her birds, Heather picked at her food, too restless to eat. As the sky slowly shifted from lilac to purple to indigo she grew increasingly aware that she was alone in a big, dangerous world. Looking out, she hadn’t anticipated that at night the ocean was one vast, unbroken blackness. She rose and one by one she closed all the shades. Then she went from room to room turning on lights. The soft yellow light immediately warmed the living room and made it feel cozier, not so empty. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw it was already nearly 9 p.m. Not that late, but it had been a very long day. Tired, she covered her birds with cloths and bid them good night, then went into her room.
The master bedroom was connected to the sunroom by French doors and decorated in crisp white and mahogany wood, like an old Jamaican inn she’d once stayed at with her parents. A tall mahogany four-poster bed dominated the room. It was luxuriously outfitted in crisp white cotton sheets, a fluffy white down blanket, and several pillows. A large painting of a beach scene with two children—a dark-haired girl and a blond boy playing with a shovel and bucket in the sand—hung over the bed. During the house tour, Cara had mentioned that her mother had commissioned the painting when she and her brother, Palmer, were children. Long white lace curtains fluttered in the evening breezes.