She took her coffee past the area where they’d been knocking the old wood off the porch and descended the long staircase to the original walkway they’d also be replacing soon, a long expanse of slatted wood that led straight to the ocean. Right now, the wood was puckered in places from years of withstanding the elements, sea grasses peeking up through the slats. She stepped carefully, as she carried her coffee in one hand, and slung her old beach chair over her arm.
The sea air pushed against her, refreshing and crisp in the morning light, the buzzing of the saws nearly drowned out by the surf. A tiny shadow bobbed along the waves, a surfer up for an early ride, and there was a couple walking hand in hand, the water running over their feet relentlessly. Without a free hand herself, Callie held up her coffee in greeting and they waved in return, calling out, “Good morning!”
The shore, an endless breadth of white, looked as though it had been sifted clean this morning, the weather having been so calm in the last week that the waves hadn’t kicked up any debris. Callie set up her chair and took a seat right at the water’s edge, digging her toes into the sand as the bubbling water retreated out to sea. It was early morning, yet she could still feel the sting of sun on her skin like she had as a girl.
She slipped on her sunglasses, pushed her cup of coffee into the wet compact sand just enough to keep it from tipping, and opened her magazine. The pages fought against the wind as she scanned the table of contents for an article to read. Her heart did a little jump when she saw yet another article about the Sullivans. So many features, she thought. No wonder that reporter had been following Luke. She opened to page forty-seven.
She lifted her mug, her coffee soothing her along with the rush of air in her ears and the warmth of sun on her shoulders. The bright white magazine page hurt her eyes in the glare of the morning light even with her sunglasses, but she squinted to get a better focus to read. A seagull flew over, casting a momentary shadow on the page.
Callie read about Luke, and how different he was in business from his father, how he spent a lot of time out with various women, traveling, and how he didn’t seem to have the drive that his father had when it came to Sullivan Enterprises. The article alluded to him being more of a figurehead of Blue Water Sailing than anything else, just a face to sell the company’s boats. And he definitely had the face.
Callie closed the magazine, not wanting to read any more, and wishing again she hadn’t spent so much time away from The Beachcomber to have lunch with him. Now, in light of all she’d read, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to go to dinner tonight. She didn’t have that kind of time to waste. The summer was slipping away from them, and they needed to get The Beachcomber open for business.
She’d had a professional photographer take photos as parts of the house were finished so she could send them out to prospective vacationers. Callie had spoken with another bed and breakfast in the area. They’d booked up through September, and they’d been sending people her way to get information. She’d promised an opening of no later than the end of August, and she was taking reservations.
She finished her coffee and went back inside.
Callie didn’t waste any time after her coffee. She went straight up to clear the extra paneling Olivia had mentioned out of the closet. With a grunt, she opened the door and lifted the large pieces, her hands sweaty and losing their grip. Because of the paint fumes, they’d kept the windows open, the sea breeze their only relief. The cry of gulls and the shushing of the ocean made it feel like the shore was right inside the room.
She grabbed the final piece of paneling, straining to move it. When she pulled it out, there was a small smack and she peered into the closet to see what had made the noise. It was a compact, leather-bound book, the edges water stained and yellowed. Callie leaned the paneling against the wall and picked up the book, flipping it open. It looked like a journal; the name Alice McFarlin on the inside, the first entry written in scratchy cursive blue ink and there was no date on it.
She read:
If I don’t write every day, I’ll explode. No one will listen to me, so, my dear journal, perhaps I will find comfort in your silence as you hear all the things I have to say. God didn’t see it in His will to give me children, and I have to trust that, but he did give me the thoughts and emotions that I possess at this moment, and I find it very difficult not to act on them…
Callie shut the book and turned it over in her hand, inspecting the cover inside and out. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she took the journal downstairs to show Olivia.
“Look what I found,” she said as she met Olivia in the hallway. Her friend was covered in dust, the powdery substance making her cough and sticking to her perspiration. Callie handed her the journal and Olivia flipped through it.
“Would it be awful to read it?” Olivia asked.
“Technically, it’s ours,” Callie said. “We bought the house and the book was in it, so it belongs to us.” She grinned at her friend. “Do you want to be nosy?”
Olivia plopped down on the top step and set the journal in her lap.
Callie sat one step down and looked up at her friend.
“We’ll probably just find her old shopping lists,” Olivia said with disappointment, handing the journal back to Callie.
“Maybe not.” Callie took it, opening to that first entry she’d read and turning it so Olivia could read.
Olivia scanned the words. “Oh,” she said. “Very dramatic.” They both giggled excitedly.
“We should be ashamed of ourselves,” Callie said, her face dropping to a frown, suddenly feeling bad. “These might be Alice’s deepest thoughts. We should treat them carefully.” The idea of sharing her innermost feelings in a private journal only to have strangers read them was terrifying, and the silliness drained right out of her.
Olivia sobered. “Yes, you’re right.”
Callie didn’t even know if she wanted to read it anymore. “I’ll put it in a safe place,” she said, not sure what she wanted to do with it. She felt protective of it all of a sudden.
Five
Callie and Olivia had worked all day, and Callie had barely finished the closets and painting in time to be ready by seven. She’d almost missed the sound of the Range Rover through the window. The guys were finishing up on the walkway before quitting for the night. Olivia had turned on music downstairs and brought up a glass of wine for her that was not quite as chilled as it should have been since it was still in the beach cooler they’d brought with them when they’d moved, and the ice was melting.