It was time to go back, to hear Tessa’s voice, to touch her things, to retrace their steps. It would hurt at first, but Mercer had known for eleven years that the day would come.
She had dinner with an old high school friend, slept in her guest room, and said good-bye early the following morning. Camino Island was fifteen hours away.
8.
She spent the night in a motel near Tallahassee and arrived at the cottage, as planned, around noon. Not much had changed, though it was now painted white and not the soft yellow Tessa had preferred. The narrow drive of oyster shells was lined with neatly trimmed Bermuda grass. According to Aunt Jane, Larry the yard guy was still taking care of the place, and he would stop by later to say hello. The front door was not far from Fernando Street, and for privacy Tessa had lined her boundaries with dwarf palmettos and elderberry shrubs, now so thick and tall that the neighbors’ homes could not be seen. The flower beds where Tessa had spent the mornings away from the sun were filled with begonias, catmint, and lavender. The porch columns were covered with ever-creeping wisteria. A sweet gum tree had grown considerably and shaded most of the small front lawn. Jane and Larry were doing a nice job of landscaping. Tessa would be pleased, though she would certainly find ways to improve things.
The key worked but the door was jammed. Mercer shoved it hard with a shoulder and it finally opened. She stepped into the great room, a long wide space filled with an old sofa and chairs in one corner, facing a television, then a rustic dining table that Mercer did not recognize. Behind it was the kitchen area, surrounded by a wall of tall windows with a view of the ocean two hundred feet away, beyond the dunes. All of the furniture was different, as well as the paintings on the walls and the rugs on the floors. It felt more like a rental than a home, but Mercer was prepared for this. Tessa had lived there year-round for almost twenty years and kept it immaculate. Now it was a vacation place and needed a good dusting. Mercer walked through the kitchen and went outside, onto the wide deck filled with aging wicker furniture and surrounded by palm trees and crape myrtles. She brushed dirt and cobwebs off a rocker and sat down, gazing at the dunes and the Atlantic, listening to the waves gently rolling in. She had promised herself she would not cry, so she didn’t.
Children were laughing and playing on the beach. She could hear but not see them; the dunes blocked the view of the surf. Gulls and fish crows cawed as they darted high and low above the dunes and the water.
Memories were everywhere, golden and precious thoughts of another life. Tessa had practically adopted her when she became motherless and moved her to the beach, at least for three months each year. For the other nine months Mercer had longed to be at this very spot, sitting in these rockers in the late afternoon as the sun finally faded behind them. Dusk had been their favorite time of the day. The glaring heat was over; the beach was empty. They would walk a mile to the South Pier and back, looking for shells, splashing in the surf, chatting with Tessa’s friends, other residents who came out late in the day.
Those friends were now gone too, either dead or sent away to assisted living.
Mercer rocked for a long time, then got up. She walked through the rest of the house and found little that reminded her of Tessa. And this was a good thing, she decided. There was not a single photo of her grandmother to be found; only a few framed snapshots of Jane and her family in a bedroom. After the funeral, Jane had sent Mercer a box of photos and drawings and puzzles she thought might be of interest. Mercer had kept a few of them in an album. She unpacked it, along with the rest of her assets, and went to the grocery store to get some of the basics. She made lunch, tried to read but couldn’t concentrate, then fell asleep in a hammock on the deck.
Larry woke her as he stomped up the side steps. After a quick hug, each commented on how the years were treating the other. He said she was as pretty as ever, now “a fully grown woman.” He looked the same, a bit grayer and more wrinkled, his skin even more leathered and beaten by too much time in the sun. He was short and wiry, and he wore what appeared to be the same straw hat she remembered as a child. There was something shady in his past, Mercer couldn’t recall it at the moment, and he had fled to Florida from somewhere far up north, maybe Canada. He was a freelance gardener and handyman, and he and Tessa had always bickered over how to care for the flowers.
“You should have come back before now,” he said.
“I suppose. You want a beer?”
“No. Stopped drinking a few years back. Wife made me quit.”
“Get another wife.”
“I’ve tried that too.”
He’d had several wives, as Mercer remembered things, and he was a terrible flirt, according to Tessa. She moved to a rocker and said, “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
“Okay, I guess.” His sneakers were stained green and his ankles were caked with grass clippings. “Some water would be nice.”
Mercer smiled and fetched the drinks. When she returned she twisted off the top of a beer bottle and said, “So what have you been up to?”
“The same, always the same. And you?”
“I’ve been teaching and writing.”
“I read your book. Liked it. I used to look at your picture on the back and say ‘Wow, I know her. Known her for a long time.’ Tessa would’ve been so proud, you know?”
“Indeed she would have. So what’s the gossip on the island?”
He laughed and said, “You’ve been gone forever and now you want the gossip.”
“What happened to the Bancrofts next door?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder.
“He died a couple of years ago. Cancer. She’s still hangin’ on but they put her away. Her kids sold the house. New owners didn’t like me; I didn’t like them.” She remembered his bluntness and efficiency with words.
“And the Hendersons across the street?”
“Dead.”
“She and I swapped letters for a few years after Tessa died, then we sort of lost interest. Things haven’t changed much around here.”
“The island doesn’t change. Some new homes here and there. All the beach lots have been built up, some fancy condos down by the Ritz. Tourism is up and I guess that’s good. Jane says you’re gonna be here for a few months.”
“That’s the plan. We’ll see. I’m between jobs and I need to finish a book.”
“You always loved books, didn’t you? I remember stacks of them all over the house, even when you were a little girl.”
“Tessa took me to the library twice a week. When I was in the fifth grade we had a summer reading contest at school. I read ninety-eight that summer and won the trophy. Michael Quon came in second with fifty-three. I really wanted to get to one hundred.”
“Tessa always said you were too competitive. Checkers, chess, Monopoly. You always had to win.”
“I guess. Seems kind of silly now.”