Second Chance (5 page)

“Maybe,” Elle said, trying to clarify. “It all depends if there’s a buyer. But you’ll definitely make more than what the improvements will cost.”

She was silent for a moment and Elle knew she what she was doing. Thinking. Adding numbers. Assessing the cost. Trying to figure out if it was worth waiting.

“I don’t know,” her mother finally said. “I’ll need someone to do the work, someone to supervise.”

“I can stay and do them,” Elle offered. “Remember? That’s what I offered to do in the first place?”

“Since when are you a home-improvement specialist?”

Elle rolled her eyes. “Why do you assume we’ll need to tear down a wall or gut a bathroom? The stuff we’re talking about is simple, Mom. I can do them. What I can’t do, I’ll find someone who can. And
I’ll
supervise.”

“And how do you plan to live there without a job? Or do you want an advance on your cut?”

Elle pulled open drawers and cupboards, hauling out bowls and measuring cups. She wanted to get a loaf of bread baking. “I don’t need an advance.” Not yet, she thought.

“I want more,” her mother said.

“More what?”

“More information. A detailed list of what needs to be done. And a firm number on what we can list at once the improvements are made.”

“OK.” Elle opened the bag of flour and measured. “I can do that.”

“And I want the name of the realtor,” she said. “I’d like to talk to him myself.”

Elle swallowed. She’d been hoping her mother would stick with her typical, hands-free approach. She always had her fair share of opinions but actually getting involved? That never happened. But this wasn’t her daughter’s life that she was talking about. It was her own mother’s house, a house that was going to earn her an awful lot of money when it sold.

“Elle?” her mother said. “The realtor? Who is it?”

She sighed. “It’s Cash, Mom. Cash Brady.”

SEVEN

There was a long silence.

“And now everything is clear,” her mother said.

“What’s clear?” Elle said, annoyed.

“Why you’re willing to stay on the island,” she said. “Why you’re willing to be a superintendent on a home remodel.”

“Oh, Mom,” Elle said. “Stop. That isn’t it at all.”

“Really? Because I seem to remember that…”

“The key word there, Mom, is ‘remember’,” Elle said, cutting her off. “As in, it’s all in the past. Done and over. Years ago. Give me some credit for growing up.”

“Oh, Elle, I didn’t mean…”

“Yes, you did,” Elle said. “But I’m here to get Grandma’s house fixed up and get it sold so that you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Remember? You were the one who asked me to come and do it. Not my idea. Cash is the only real estate agent on the island. You can look it up. And he offered to refer me to someone in Benton, but I said no because if we want the most for the cottage, he’s the one who knows the island, knows the market and can sell it the fastest. Those are the facts, not me reverting to my teenage years. You may not be happy with my career or life decisions, but I’m here, the cottage needs to be sold and I’ve got the time to get it ready. So let me do it.”

The line buzzed in Elle’s ear. She took a deep breath and exhaled. She couldn’t ever remember going off on her mother like that. Ever. She’d felt like doing it about a hundred times, but the words always got stuck in her throat, destined to be swallowed and forgotten. But this time? This time she'd let them out.

“All right, Elle,” her mother finally said. “All right.”

As glad as she was, Elle immediately felt guilty for raising her voice. Her mother possessed that maternal power to make her feel badly about doing anything that upset her—no matter that Elle felt she was in the right. Hearing that small bit of hurt in her mother’s voice immediately made her feel as if she’d done something wrong.

But she wasn’t going to apologize this time. She’d swallow the guilt the way she normally swallowed her words.

“I’d still like to see the list of things Cash suggests we do,” her mother said. “If you could send me a list with the estimates of the costs, I’ll look them over and get you the necessary money.”

“And I’ll give you his number,” Elle said. “So you can talk about the selling price.”

“No,” her mother said quickly. “That won’t be necessary. If you say he’s the one to sell the cottage, then we’ll use him and we’ll trust him. I’m sure it will be fine.”

Elle sighed at what her mother didn’t say. If it all didn’t go smoothly, it would be her fault. She’d blame her.

Well, maybe it was time to show her she could handle herself just fine.

“Your choice,” Elle said. “I’ll get the estimates in the next couple of days.”

“That’ll be fine, Elle,” she said. “And Elle?”

“Yes?”

“I truly hope you know what you’re doing.”

The line went dead and Elle set the phone down on the counter. She stared out the window. The clouds flirted with the sun and the water glittered like a bed of diamonds on the other side of the dunes.

So do I
.

EIGHT

Elle needed air.

She finished kneading the dough, working out her frustration with her mother on the pliable lump in front of her, pounding it with more force than was necessary. Satisfied, she covered the bowl with a towel; it would need to rise for a bit before she punched it back down and formed it into a loaf. She rinsed her hands, then went to her bedroom to change into a tank-top. She’d stowed all of her clothes in the antique, teak dresser in her room. It had been her grandmother’s when she’d been a child and the smell of linseed oil filled the room each time she opened a drawer.

She pulled off her shirt and slipped into a tank-top. She tied her hair back in a ponytail, fished her sunglasses from her purse and headed out the back door.

The salty air assaulted her immediately as she descended the wooden walkway to the dunes. She trudged over the small sand hills, the wheatgrass swaying in the breeze, feeling like a kid again as she hit the flat, wide expanse of sand that stood between her and the ocean.

She turned northward when she touched the edge of the water, the salty air blowing into her face as she walked. She stared at the houses on the other side of the dunes, old friends that she hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The big blue one with the crooked deck. The tiny red one shaped like a triangle. The weathered green one with the massive windows. She always knew how far she was from her grandmother’s house based on which cottage she was closest to. Her own unit of measurement.

She walked for awhile, the birds soaring overhead, the water whispering next to her. She watched as families packed up their things, heading inside for a brief respite from the searing afternoon heat. She remembered her days on the beach: playing for hours on the sand, never taking a break. Going home starved, eating more than she thought possible, taking too long in the shower to rinse the sand from her body and being excited for sleep only because it meant morning and more time on the beach was just around the corner.

Parents were gently pulling their kids out of the water, nudging them home as they whined and complained, asking for just a few more minutes. That had been her. Always wanting a few more minutes.

And now she was getting them.

She looked past a dad attempting to extricate his two daughters from the ocean and studied a figure a little further down the shore. He was diving under the waves like a dolphin, disappearing beneath the white caps, then popping up on the other side, shaking the water from his head like a wet dog.

She stopped.

She recognized that move.

She used to swim next to him, telling him to knock it off when he sprayed her with the water. He’d roll his eyes, smile and dive under the next wave, only to pop up on the other side and do the whole thing again.

She smiled in spite of herself.

A small part of her was happy to see Cash Brady again.

She walked up the shoreline so she was parallel to him in the water. He dove a few more times before he turned around to the shore. He pushed the wet hair from his face, squinted, then smiled at her.

As he came toward her, she couldn’t find her breath. His hair was slicked back from his face, the ocean beaded on his broad, tan chest. Water clung to his rippled abdominal muscles and his board shorts had sagged just a tiny bit, barely hanging onto his hips.

And those arms. Long. Corded with muscle. She remembered those arms.

Especially when they’d been around her.

“This was your appointment?” she asked.

Cash rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“You said you had an appointment,” Elle said.

He grinned. “I did. With the ocean.”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking. Typical Cash.

“Wait,” he called. He worked his way toward shore, the rush of water crashing against his legs, propelling him forward.

She waited, dug her bare feet into the wet sand along the water’s edge, letting the waves barely tickle her before pulling back out to sea. The water was warm—she knew it would be—but cooler than the moist air that clung to her hair, that settled on her skin. She should have thrown on a swim suit.

“You gonna swim?” he asked.

Elle shook her head. “No. Just out for a walk.”

Water dripped from his hair, the beads slicking his shoulders, racing down his chest. She tried not to stare.

She motioned to the water. “So this was where you needed to be?” 

“Nah,” he said. “A realtor friend of mine was hosting a broker’s open. Not here. In Benton. I popped over for a few minutes, then came here.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway. It was a beautiful day and I decided the rest of my work could wait.” He looked at her and smiled. “Looks like you decided that, too.”

She nodded. She had a ton of stuff she could be doing at the house but her conversation with her mother had set her off. She knew she could be weeding the yard, trimming hedges, stripping wallpaper—none of those things required anything but manual labor. But they could wait. She wanted to see the ocean, to feel the sand, to immerse herself in everything she loved about the island.

“Is that where you went to school?” he asked.

“What?”

He pointed to her tank top. She’d grabbed one mindlessly. She looked down at what she was wearing. Her University of Wisconsin tank top.

“Oh. Yeah.”

He nodded. “Cool. And what did you study?”

Elle shifted her feet, planting herself more firmly in the sand. “Education.”

He settled his hands on his hips. “Yeah? You’re a teacher?”

“I was,” she said.

“Was is past tense,” he commented.

She didn’t want to talk about it. Not when she was outside to improve her mood, not destroy it.

“Yes, it is,” she said, offering nothing more.

He got the hint. “OK.” He stepped a few feet past her and reached for a blue and yellow beach towel folded up on the sand. He ran it over his head and down his back, rubbing the water and sand off of him.

“I talked to my mom,” she said, changing the subject. “She’d like to do the improvements we talked about. Or at least get some estimates.”

“Yeah?” He shaded his eyes with his hands and looked at her. “I can get you names today. I’m headed back to the office. I’ll put together a CMA, too, just so you know what the market is like.”

“OK.” She’d never sold a house before, had no idea what he was talking about, but she trusted that he did.

“So I’ll bring it by tonight?” he asked. He grabbed his sunglasses and keys and threw the towel over his shoulder.

“Tonight?”

“Oh, does that not work?” he asked. “I just figured you’d want to get going on it.”

“No, no,” she said. “That’s fine.”

“OK.” He smiled. “Tell me what time. And whether or not dinner is involved…”

She bit her lip to suppress her own smile. Had Cash Brady just invited himself over for dinner? She wondered how he could be so casual, so unaffected by her being back on the island. She wasn’t. In fact, she was a bit of a nervous wreck when he was around.

She suppressed a sigh. She had a feeling she knew why. Because he hadn’t cared about her the way she had about him. She knew this; after all, he was the one who’d ended their relationship twelve years ago. Not with a phone call and not with a letter. With no communication at all.

She took a deep breath. If he could be grown up about it and treat their past as water under the bridge, then so could she.

“Fine,” she said. “Dinner is included.”

His face lit up. “Excellent. Seven o’clock, then.”

He turned and headed up the beach, toward the dunes, his feet kicking up a spray of sand as he walked.

Elle watched him go and wondered why she’d just agreed to make dinner for the man she’d lost her heart to over a decade ago.