Heather looked at Cara and suddenly saw not her landlady but a widow. She was pale and gaunt and holding on to her composure by a slender string. Heather gentled her combative tone. Being on terra firma, she could find empathy for Cara.
“There are specific reasons for which you can evict me,” Heather explained, “such as having a pet without permission. Or doing damage to the house. Or not paying rent. I truly doubt my father has missed a rent payment. My father has a team of lawyers, and they made sure we had permission from you for me to have the three canaries. And you signed it. Take a look around,” she added in a softer tone. “I love this house and I’ve enjoyed taking care of it.”
She waited to see if Cara would respond. Cara merely stared at her with a blank face. It wasn’t encouraging. So Heather squeezed the worry stone in her hand and pressed on. She didn’t feel especially anxious when she was stating facts. The emotional part was harder to say.
“As I said, my father has a team of lawyers. So, unless you have a reason, Cara, you can’t evict me. My lease runs until September first.”
Cara brought two fingers to her right temple and began making small circles. She mumbled something softly.
Heather leaned forward but couldn’t catch it. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I need to come back,” she said softly.
Heather felt her emotions spill over. “It’s only until September. I’ll go home then. Surely—”
“I need to come home now!” Cara cried out, rising to her feet. She paced back and forth, then went to the window and looked out, clutching the curtain in a tight fist.
Heather sat back in her chair, stunned by the outburst.
“I can’t wait until September!” Cara’s tone rose to a wailing plea as her shoulders slumped. She swung around, and Heather could see that tears flooded Cara’s eyes. “Please, Heather.” She had lost all control. Her face looked lost, tortured. “I have to come home. Let me come home. Please . . .”
Heather was undone as Cara collapsed back onto the sofa and her palms went to her face.
Only one thing mattered at that moment. Heather couldn’t watch Cara, another woman, a widow, in such pain without helping her. She hurried to the sofa and placed her hand on Cara’s shoulder. She felt it shake in sobs beneath her palm.
“It’s all right,” she said in the same crooning voice in which she sang to her birds. “It’s all right.” What could she do to help? she wondered. She felt boxed in, trapped between what was good for her and what was good for Cara.
“I need my mother,” Cara choked out. She leaned against Heather. “I miss my mother.”
Heather slipped her arm around Cara’s shoulders and felt the frailty and the sharp bone. With those words, Cara had won her argument. No legal points, no strong-arming, not even her superior attitude when she’d walked in. Cara hurt, she was broken, and she missed her mother. This Heather could relate to at the most intimate level.
“I understand,” Heather said. “I miss my mother, too.”
Heather sighed and rising, walked to the window and stared out. Silver cirrus clouds streaked the blue sky hinting at the rain that was forecast. She hoped the incoming rain would break the record-breaking heat streak. “Cara,” she said, turning back toward her. “Why don’t you move in with me? There’s enough room for both of us. We could both live here. It’d only be for the rest of the summer. Then, come September, I’ll leave. As planned.”
Cara turned on the sofa to face her with a look of disbelief. Her face was blotchy from crying, and she wiped her cheeks with her palms. “You’d do that?”
Heather nodded, a weak smile on her face. “Why not?”
“You hardly know me.”
“I know you need to be here and so do I. If the tables were turned, would you share your home with me?”
Cara sucked in her breath. “I would.”
“It’s the only possible solution. I can’t leave. So what do you say?”
“I don’t know what to say. I come here and threaten to evict you. Quite wrong of me. I apologize.”
Heather didn’t reply.
“And now you want to live with me?” She paused. “Why?”
“Because I miss my mother, too.”
Cara blinked heavily twice, comprehending the magnitude of that statement. Then she sighed, and a small smile eased across her face. It was more than the smile of relief. Certainly not the smile of victory. When Heather looked into her eyes, she saw a depth of gratitude in the dark brown. The message pulsating there went from one woman to another and stirred instincts that ran very deep. Perhaps right to her X chromosome.
“All right, then,” Cara said with a slight smile. “Let’s give it a try.” She held out her hand.
“For the summer,” Heather said taking it.
“For the summer,” Cara echoed. Then, with a squeeze, she added, “Thank you.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE RAIN RETURNED, and it suited Cara’s mood. The beach house was quiet. Rain pattered in a steady, gentle pace. She heard the tap-tap-tap on the rooftop. Even without looking out at the night, she knew a heavy fog had settled in. Out in the harbor she heard the low bellowing of a foghorn as some huge container ship navigated its way either into or out of the harbor, she couldn’t tell. The horn sounded to her like the melancholy wail of a lost soul.
Cara brought her arm up over her eyes, moist with tears. Another two weeks had passed. She couldn’t believe she was back in her childhood room where she’d spent those summers at Primrose. History was repeating itself. She snorted. It felt like some sort of cosmic joke.
Heather had offered her the choice of sleeping in the master bedroom, but Cara wouldn’t hear of it. She would move back into her mother’s bedroom in September, after Heather left. The least she could do after Heather’s generous offer to share the house was to allow her to stay put.
Heather couldn’t have been more welcoming, bless her heart. For Cara’s arrival this afternoon, she had freshened the sheets, set out fresh towels, and filled a sweetgrass basket with dark chocolates, nuts, dried fruit, and bottled water for her room. Tonight for dinner Heather had prepared poached salmon with asparagus, boiled potatoes and parsley, with fresh fruit and cream for dessert. It was a lovely spread, but the aura of yet another brewing migraine had nauseated Cara. She’d nibbled some but couldn’t swallow much. With apologies, she’d retired early to her bed. She didn’t miss Heather’s expression of relief. She was a sweet girl and she was trying so hard. The thought that her mother would have loved Heather made her laugh.
Over dinner, Heather had shared that she still had an occasional visit from Cara’s mother in her dreams. And, on occasion, she’d catch the scent of jasmine in the house. Cara brought her shaking fingers to her throbbing forehead. Once again her mother was doting on the young waif who needed guidance. Just as she had with Toy Sooner when Cara had first returned home to this very beach house.