Cara lifted her head to look out the window to where the dock stretched into Hamlin Creek. She could almost see Brett bending low and pulling up his crab pot, muscles rippling with the effort. The opposite bank was a thick wall of green trees and shrubs. Between the banks, the water appeared blue . . . calm . . . deceptively serene. Cara felt a tug of regret that she was leaving this view then turned away from the window. Cara knew better than to fall under its spell. Beneath the beautiful fa?ade raged a dangerous current.
She straightened and spoke with more confidence. “Palmer’s been a great help. He knows some people who are cheap who can put what I want to keep into storage. But I still have to sort and pack everything up. I’ll pick out a few things of Brett’s I want to keep, but everything else . . .” She paused. “I’m selling or giving it all away to charity. That’s why I asked you to come here today.” She took a deep, fortifying breath. “To help me go through his things. I can’t do it alone.”
“Of course we will,” Flo said. “We’re your friends. That’s what friends do.”
“Where will you go?” asked Emmi. She was clearly worried and trying to keep up. “Will you rent a place?”
“No. I really can’t afford a summer rental. Palmer very kindly invited me to move in with him and his family until I’m on my feet again.” She paused, then added on a wry note, “But I’d rather live outside in a tent than with my brother and Julia, bless their hearts.”
Flo laughed heartily at this, having known Palmer since he was in britches.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” Cara said, her voice wobbling. “I want to go home.”
“To the beach house?” asked Emmi incredulously.
“Yes, of course the beach house,” Cara replied. “It’s like Flo said. The beach house is where my mother went to heal after Russell Bennett died. Right?”
Cara turned to Flo. The old woman said nothing, but her eyes filled with the sadness of memory. She nodded.
Cara felt again the reassurance of knowing she was, in a sense, following in her mother’s footsteps. It gave her something to hang on to so she wouldn’t drown in her sorrow.
“I’ll feel her spirit there,” she said, convincing herself as much as her friends. “I’ll heal there. It won’t be the first time I’ve found myself at that beach house.” She summoned a lopsided smile and glanced at Flo for affirmation.
“No,” Flo said in a tired voice.
“But . . .” Emmi gave Flo a worried look.
Cara looked at her testily, not wanting her decision challenged. “But what?”
“But it’s rented.”
Cara sniffed quickly, and then put on her business face. “Of course. I know that.” She frowned and wiped away something on the table with brusque movements. “I’ll talk to Heather. Once I explain that I need to move back into my own house, I’m sure she’ll let me break the rental agreement. She’s a nice girl, and she can move back home. I don’t think she was too happy to be here in the first place.”
Flo’s face appeared troubled. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same girl, honey. I saw her the other day, and she’s blooming, just like my roses. She’s happy here, out walking every morning sketching those shorebirds. And she’s in love.”
Cara swung her head around. “She’s in love? With who?”
“Bo,” Flo said with a big grin. “And you never saw a man so smitten.”
“Bo?” Cara was stunned.
“Why not? He’s a very good-looking young man with a noble heart. Not unlike Brett at that age.”
Somehow that comparison rankled. “Regardless,” Cara said belligerently, “it’s my house, and I need to move back in.” She frowned and looked out the window again. “I have to go to the beach house. I have to find some way to start over. Just like Mama.”
Chapter Seventeen
THREE WEEKS PASSED in a blur and Cara was running on empty. She’d been pushing herself to get the house sold, her belongings crammed into storage and emptied in time to meet the new buyer’s aggressive close date. She’d had countless meetings with Robert and the bank to initiate the paperwork for the sale of the ecotour business. And with the sale of the house, to settle the equity loan. Thanks to John Denning and Palmer, the pieces were all beginning to fall into place. There was still much to do, more time would have to pass before papers were signed, but she had hope she’d come out on the other side still standing on her feet. Barely. On the upside, being busy kept her from constantly thinking of Brett and wallowing in self pity. On the downside, she was exhausted and heading for a crash.
Cara’s felt the thin veneer of her mask crack when she pulled into the gravel driveway of the beach house. The yellow cottage with the Charleston green shutters, the screened front porch, the wide staircase, the lovely disarray of natural plants along the dunes . . . nothing had changed about this sweet place since her childhood. She’d returned here once before, broken. Now here she was again, life-weary and inconsolable, and she wondered if this simple little house could work its magic again. She had nowhere else to go but home, she thought, gathering her resolve. She had to remain strong a little longer. She had to get back home. In her heart she knew this was where she was supposed to be.
She had meant to park the Gold Bug in its usual spot but saw Bo’s truck parked there. She squeezed in behind him and rolled up the windows. She took a moment to collect her wits. A dull ache pressed in the right side of her head and she groaned at what she knew was the onset of a migraine. She’d not had one in years but she’d awoken with the aura of flickering lights and felt light-headed. She wasn’t shocked, what with all the stress of making important, life-changing financial decisions at a time she should be left to quietly licking her wounds.
She opened the door, grabbed her purse, and stepped out into the July heat. The bright sunlight exacerbated her budding headache, and she groped for her sunglasses. Slamming the door, she noticed the golf cart parked under the porch. She walked closer and saw that it was one of those fancy new street-legal carts, and already there were Center for Birds of Prey, Island Turtle Team, and Protect Your Local Shorebirds stickers on the back window. It occurred to her that Heather appeared to be settling in more than she’d suspected.
Worry creased her brow, but undaunted she walked the familiar path to her front door. Standing there, she thought it was improper of her not to have called in advance. But she was here, so there was nothing left for her to do but knock. Taking a breath, she raised her hand and did just that.
THE DOORBELL SOUNDED, followed by a quick knock on the front door.
Bo looked at Heather. She shrugged and shook her head to indicate she had no idea who it might be.
The knock sounded again, louder and more insistent.