Cara looked at her. “Are you serious?”
“It would give you a purpose.” Emmi shifted closer. “Robert’s been by a few times. To check on you, of course,” she quickly added. “But also to let you know the summer season is taking off and he can’t manage the tours and the office alone. He sounded desperate. He was wondering if he could hire another captain.”
“I don’t know,” she said dully.
Emmi took a deep breath. “If you could just tell him it’s okay.”
Cara shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll let him know. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Cara didn’t think it was hard because she hadn’t made a real decision. She was just going along with things, saying yes at the appropriate places. In the back of her mind was the niggling thought that she really shouldn’t take on another employee. There was that mess with the bank to muddle through. But all that seemed so deep in a fog she couldn’t see it clearly.
“Also, Cara,” Emmi continued, “I’m afraid I must go back to my job, honey. I’ve run through all my vacation time.”
“Oh, Em, you used your vacation days to babysit me?” Cara was horrified.
Emmi saw her distress and was quick to wave it away, rolling her eyes. “I had a blast.”
Cara released a short laugh. Emmi was always good at cheering anyone up. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“Frankly, Cara, neither do I. That’s why we’re having this little talk. Honey, your grief will take a long time to heal. We’re not trying to tell you to move on or any such fool thing. In time—a few months, maybe—you’ll find you’re able to resume usual activities. You’ll be able to remember Brett without feeling that intense pain.”
“Never,” Cara said with a brusque shake of her head.
Flo nodded vehemently. “Trust me, my dear, you will. In time. But for right now we must be practical. Frankly, you really must climb out of bed. Emmi won’t be here to prepare your meals, so you must do it for yourself. I know it’s going to be hard. But there’s a freezer full of food, and people are still dropping things off.” She pointed a finger. “And when people offer help, accept it.”
“I can’t. I don’t care.”
Flo sighed. “Honey, the first week we understood you not wanting to get out of bed. Even the second week. Now, I’m not saying you should go back to work, or go out shopping. But if you can’t manage to take care of yourself, then maybe it’s time to get some help.”
“You mean a therapist? Or a maid?”
“Someone you can talk to.”
“I don’t need a therapist.” Cara brushed away the suggestion.
“We’ll see,” Flo replied, unfazed.
“We’ll be by often,” interjected Emmi, hoping to help. “You won’t be alone. In fact, I can just keep staying here.”
“No, you can’t,” Flo reminded her. “Your grandchildren are arriving this week.”
Emmi’s face contorted with conflict.
“I’ll be fine,” Cara said, though she didn’t really believe the words.
“Good, now, that’s the spirit!” Flo set her mug on the table and, with some effort, rose to her feet.
Cara realized with a pang of worry how old Flo was getting. Her once indefatigable hardiness was gone. Her spirit was still strong, but her body had weakened—she was thinner, frailer, slightly stooped. Cara leaped to her feet and came to Flo’s side.
“Thank you,” she said, and wrapped her arms around Flo. “Thank you for being there for me.” Flo hugged her back, and once again Cara felt like a young girl with the woman who had been a second mother to her all her life. Flashes of summers past when she’d go running to Flo’s house next door to play cards or for art lessons with Miranda, Flo’s seemingly exotic mother, who always had sweet tea and sugar cookies waiting.
Cara reached out to Emmi and reeled her in. “You, too, of course.”
She looked at her two friends’ faces. They both looked pale and tired. New lines coursed through their faces, as she was certain they did through hers. Grief was a harsh taskmaster. They’d been there for her since she’d called them in hysterical desperation after the police had delivered the news. The policemen had been very considerate. One had stayed with her until Flo had rushed over. Emmi had met them at the hospital and stayed by her side ever since. These two women were more than her friends. They were her family.
“I’ll try,” she told them. She looked around the house, feeling anew the pain of memories. “But I don’t know how I’ll manage when everywhere I look I see him.”
Flo kissed her cheek. “Maybe you should do what your mama did.”
Cara, needing desperately to hear about her mother now, leaned forward. “What was that?”
“She cut loose and returned to the only place that ever truly felt like home to her. The beach house.”
Chapter Eleven
BO HAD MADE up for lost time over the last few days, working long hours to finish the deck. Heather’s canaries loved the sound of the buzzing saw and sang enthusiastic arias to accompany the hum and whistle of Bo’s assorted power tools. So much so, in fact, that Heather had had to move her work from the sunroom to the kitchen table to concentrate. It didn’t hurt that, from this vantage point, she could watch Bo as he worked.
She could tell he took pride in his work by his careful precision as he set the railings into place, the way he sanded the wood until he was satisfied. He was methodical in applying the deck stain, his arms swinging back and forth in a steady, unhurried rhythm with the brush. She couldn’t prevent herself from picking up her pencil and sketching the way his arm muscles moved and his back shifted, the expression of intense concentration—narrowing brows, lips slightly protruding. This afternoon he’d applied the last stroke of stain, sealed up the cans, and begun cleaning up the work area and loading up his truck.