“Oh! My God, of course,” Cara said in a rush. “You’re right. Brett used to hand me the forms, I’d write the check, and he’d give it to you. I’ve completely lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, Cara. You’ve had other things on your mind. I hate to bother you about it, but Phillip is new and all. Don’t want him to think there’s any problem, with Brett gone. You know what I mean.” Robert handed her the invoices. “It’s all there. My amount’s the same, of course. Phillip is getting a starting salary. Like I said, I think he’ll fit in just fine. We also have a new intern starting Monday, unpaid, college credit, which is ideal for us right now. You don’t have to worry, Cara. I got things covered. You and Brett created a well-oiled machine; all I have to do is my part to keep it running.”
Cara was touched by Robert’s willingness to step up and help keep things going. “Thanks, Robert. I know he’d be proud of the way you’ve taken over. Wait here a moment, would you? I’ll get the checkbook. Oh”—she spun on her heel, remembering—“do you have the receipts from last month?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right here,” Robert said, handing her the bank envelope. “It should all be in order. It was a busy month. Boat was full most every time.”
Cara strode across the room to her office. She sat at her desk and pulled out the business’s checkbook. Her hands were shaking and she felt suddenly light-headed; her heart began pounding. Things were already beginning to slide. She needed to stay on top of them. Take over at the dock. Except she didn’t want to deal with the business or the banks or the mail. She wanted to crawl back into bed, put the covers over her head, and go back to sleep forever.
She cleared her throat and straightened in her chair. But of course she couldn’t do that, she told herself firmly. She flipped open the business checkbook with crisp movements. She added the receipt amount to her balance. A shiver ran through her. With the increase for the home equity loan payment due, her balance was dangerously low. Chewing her lip, she wrote a check for Robert and one for Phillip. The tour business was doing very well this season, she noted with relief. That was something.
Cara tried to smile as she strode from the office and handed the two checks to Robert.
“Robert,” she said hesitatingly. “Could you please not cash the check until next week?” She saw his eyes widen. “I know this is unusual, but these are unusual times. I have to go to the bank and make a few changes. I just need a little time. Would that be possible?”
“For me, no problem. I’ll check with Phillip. But I should think all is good.” He paused. “Cara, is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. She felt he deserved her complete honesty.
Robert’s face clouded. “Okay,” he replied. Then, “You’ll let me know what develops? I care a great deal about the business, you know. Brett and I, we built it together.”
“I know. And I will.”
After she thanked him again for his good work and patience, he left.
Cara returned to her cup of coffee and took a sip, frowning upon discovering it had gone cold. She was exhausted. To the left was her bedroom. Its cool darkness called to her. Before her, the tabletop was cluttered with papers. Duty won out. Cara sat back in her chair and tore open the two bank envelopes. The first was a friendly reminder that her payment on the loan was due. The second informed her that the payment was late and she’d incurred an interest charge.
“Right,” she said aloud. Grabbing a large pastry, Cara rose and went to collect her phone from the bedside stand. Wiping crumbs from her fingers on her pants, she first called her brother.
“Palmer?”
“Hey, Sister. How are you holding up?”
“I need to talk to you. Can you come by?”
His voice lowered with concern. “I’ll make a point of it.”
After hanging up with him, she found the number of her lawyer. John Denning was the son of her mother’s lawyer, Bobby Lee. He was bright and well educated, with all of his father’s southern gentlemanly qualities, and in her opinion was quite worthy of taking over his father’s firm after Bobby retired. She dialed his number, the line that went directly to him.
“John Denning here.” His voice held a thick southern drawl, yet he still sounded busy.
“John? It’s Cara Rutledge.”
“Cara!” She heard the warmth seep into his voice, as she’d expected. “Hello. How are you faring?” he asked with concern.
“Not very well, I’m afraid. I have a problem and must come see you. Things are in a terrible mess. I went in search of the important papers you requested and discovered that Brett let our life insurance policy lapse.”
There was a brief pause. “To be clear, did he miss a payment or did the policy lapse entirely?”
“It lapsed,” she informed him. “Some time ago.”
“I see.” His voice was a monotone.
“Also, the adjustable home equity loan rate for the boat has gone up. I’m late in making that payment as well. Frankly, John, I don’t know how I’m going to continue to pay them.”
Another pause. She imagined him reaching for his schedule, grabbing a pen. “Can you come in tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she replied with relief. “What time?”
“Two o’clock okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twelve
DAYS FLEW BY, one after another. Each morning Heather awoke with the sun. She was determined to stick to her new schedule. She’d read somewhere about the positive power of new habits. Also about how exercise released endorphins in the brain, chemicals that improved mood and relaxation, so she’d decided to work that into her daily routine. She vowed to fight her anxiety with everything she had. To overcome her fears.
Her work was progressing well. She’d driven her golf cart to the far northern point of the island and far south on Sullivan’s Island to observe and sketch the birds that clustered there. She always brought her camera on her forays, and more and more often her spotting scope. Some days she sat for hours spying on those shorebirds that would remain on Isle of Palms and Sullivan’s Island for the summer—plovers, sandpipers, oystercatchers. As well as the seabirds that most people readily recognized—pelicans, gulls, and terns.
No matter how busy she kept herself, or how many miles she walked, each morning she missed Bo. She missed his easy smile, his conversation, and his presence. She missed him. The little beach house had a sense of silence with him gone that felt like loneliness. One morning she’d come back from the beach to find the freshly painted chairs on the deck. Four pristine, empty white rockers. That he’d dropped them off and not waited for her to return delivered a pain she felt she’d deserved.