Tears threatened, and she held them at bay. She would not cry. She would be strong for her friends. Brett would expect nothing less from her. Clearing her throat, she turned to the small group she’d invited to share this private moment. Her gaze swept over the faces of her inner circle. Her family of blood and bonds. Her brother, Palmer, stood like a rock for her, her only living blood relative. He had one arm around Julia’s waist and a hand on her nephew Cooper’s shoulder. Her niece, Linnea, who had somehow blossomed into a young woman overnight, stood beside Julia. Flo, Emmi, and Heather clustered shoulder to shoulder, flowers in hand. Toy and Ethan Legare stood beside them. Their daughter, Little Lovie, had been especially close to Brett and, being young, she couldn’t stem the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Cara smiled at her reassuringly.
It was time. She turned to the boat’s captain. Robert had purchased the ecotour business, and she knew Brett would be proud of the way he’d firmly taken hold of the reins. In a strong, clear baritone, Robert read the excerpt from the poem “At Dawn,” by Alfred Noyes. Cara stepped to the railing and, listening to the words, taking them to heart, she opened the box. The ashes caught the breeze and scattered, whirling, spiraling, released far out into the great sea.
Are not the forest fringes wet with tears?
Is not the voice of all regret
Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?
She too, she too, has loved and lost; and though
She turned last night in disdain
Away from the sunset-embers,
From her soul she can never depart;
She can never depart from her pain.
Vainly she strives to forget;
Beautiful in her woe,
She awakes in the dawn and remembers.
April
SPRING HAD RETURNED to Isle of Palms. The birds were returning to the island in force, singing raucously outside her windows, claiming territory, attracting mates, building nests. Wildflowers bloomed over the dunes, and green burst forth in the shrubs and trees and in the base of cordgrass waving in the waterways. The song of new life sang around her.
Cara felt the surge of new beginnings in her heart as she walked through the beach house a final time. Dressed in her city clothes, she had shifted her mind-set from the relaxed, easygoing pace of the islands to the crisp focus she’d need to conquer the challenges ahead. She’d been offered and accepted the position of PR director for the Tennessee Aquarium. She was uniquely qualified for the position and eager to implement all the new ideas and initiatives swirling in her mind. She felt alive again, a heady, eager sensation that she identified as passion.
The beach house was cool and dim, lit only by the rays of light sneaking through the slats of the plantation shutters. The dark pine floors gleamed with polish. Every piece of furniture, every pillow on every chair sat neatly at the ready. Everything was in its place. Cara paused before the fireplace. Her personal photos were packed away, but over the mantel Heather’s painting of the sandpipers seemed to capture the few rays of sunshine to glimmer. Cara smiled as she always did when looking at it. Heather’s talent had managed to capture the amusing personality of the little speckled birds, their legs a frenzy of motion as they played tag with the surf. Heather had given the painting to Cara as a gift, knowing how much she loved it.
Almost on cue, Moutarde began chirping. Her pet must’ve sensed her pensive mood, she thought. She admitted to feeling unsure, even afraid of what lay ahead. She was leaving her home, her friends, the lifestyle she’d carved out for herself, to begin again in a new city. Chattanooga was far from the sea, located high in the mountains. What, she wondered, would her life be like away from the gentle roar of the surf, the far-reaching beaches, the feel of the hot sun on her face? What would the dawn look like rising over the peaks of mountains rather than the vast expanse of sea and sky?
The doorbell rang, followed by three sharp knocks. Cara shook off her doubts and with long strides went to the sunroom to collect the small bird travel carrier. She murmured words of reassurance to Moutarde as she hurried to the front door.
“Are you ready, Moutarde?” she crooned. “Remember the song of the sea and sing it for me. Every day. Won’t you?”
She couldn’t tarry or she’d miss her plane. Grabbing her purse, she opened wide the door and blinked in the blinding light of a powerful spring sun.
“We’d better get a move on,” said Palmer. His face was flushed from the exertion of loading her luggage into the trunk of his Mercedes.
“Hold this, please.” She handed Palmer the carrier, then turned to lock the door. She heard the click. The sound resonated and in that instant a thousand memories—all of them happy—surged through her mind. A breeze scented with jasmine whisked past. Cara breathed deep and placed her palm against the wood of the door.
“Good-bye, Mama,” she whispered, knowing she was heard.
Cara turned and took the bird carrier back into her arms. She lifted the house keys in the air. “Take good care of it.”
Palmer caught the keys neatly in his palm. He flipped them once in the air. “You sure you don’t want me to sell it?” His eyes shone with amusement, but also hope.
Cara stepped back to take a final look at the beach house nestled in the dunes. Primroses bloomed across the dunes, the same pale yellow as the house. This charming cottage with the wide front porch carried all her hopes, dreams, and memories. It had been her home—her sanctuary for all of her life. It had been a healing place for her, for her mother, for Toy and Heather. And someday, this very special house might heal the heart of another woman who was buffeted by life’s harsh winds. This little beach house that had once belonged to her mother now belonged to her.
“Not a chance,” she said to Palmer.
Cara walked to the mailbox at the end of the drive. She pulled a few envelopes from her purse, a few final bills that had to be paid before she left. She paused. It still gave her a thrill whenever she saw Heather’s stamps. They’d turned out so well; everyone remarked on how beautiful they were. She smiled and ran her finger over the stamp on the Save the Date return card for Heather and Bo’s wedding. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. She popped the letters in the mailbox, lifted the red metal flag, then walked without delay to the white Mercedes. She climbed onto the creamy leather seat and settled the bird carrier in her lap. Everything was done. She was on her way.
The sound of hammering caught her attention. Turning her head, she looked out the window and watched as Palmer finished putting the sign up in front of the house.
BEACH HOUSE
FOR RENT
Palmer climbed in beside her and boosted the air-conditioning.
“Ready?” he asked.
Cara nodded, her eyes still on the little yellow beach house. As he pulled away, she took one final, lingering look.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she whispered.
Acknowledgments
WITH EACH BOOK I am fortunate to work with brilliant people who share their knowledge willingly, even enthusiastically. We all believe shared information is shared power. For Beach House for Rent I want to especially thank Felicia Sanders of the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, for an education on shorebirds, seabirds, and wading birds, as well as for sharing her passion for them. Also thanks to Al Segars and Sally Murphy for guidance over many years.