The Beach House (15 page)

“Do you want to do this tomorrow? It’s almost eleven o’clock,” said Cara.

“No, no, I’m just getting comfortable.”

“You should have told me,” Cara said when her mother settled.

How like her, Lovie thought, to jump right in and voice what was on both their minds. “I know. I meant to. But I hardly thought it would come up tonight.”

“Palmer thinks the reason I came home was to collect the family goods.”

“He’s a dear boy, and I don’t know what I would have done without him these past years, but he does keep his hand in the cookie jar. It’s his insecurity, I suppose. I’m partially to blame for that. I’ve given him whatever I could because Stratton…Well, you know how your father was. As hard as it was for you being his daughter, it was doubly hard for Palmer as his son.”

“Mama, I realize all that. But he is far too heavy-handed. Why do you put up with it? I mean—” she dropped her hand in exasperation “—it was one thing with Daddy. But Palmer is your son! Don’t you ever want to be independent? To know where your own money is?”

“I couldn’t care less where my money is,” she replied with astonishment. “I never have. Why should I? It’s nothing but a hassle and a headache. Your father always took care of the finances and bill paying when he was alive, and now that he’s gone, Palmer continues to do it for me.”

“And look what good all that trust has done you.”

“Palmer’s a good boy. He’s been here, Cara, all these years while you were away. I’m not saying that to berate you for your choice, but to defend Palmer.”

“Dear, dear Palmer.”

“Cara…”

“That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? You taking Palmer’s side against mine.”

“I’m not taking sides,” she said wearily.

“Yes, you are! You just don’t realize it. You’ve done this all your life and it drives me crazy. You just sit there, Mama, and let them run over you. I can’t stand by anymore and watch you just cave in to the men in your life. Why can’t you be stronger?”

“Like you? I’m not like that. You’re very much like your father in that way.”

Cara stiffened as though slapped. “I am
nothing
like him.”

Lovie blinked at the vehemence of Cara’s response. “Does the comparison bother you so much? I’d always thought you preferred being compared to him rather than to me. Powerful rather than weak.”

“I’d rather not be held up to anyone for comparison. Least of all him.”

“Well,” she said dazed, exhaling a puff of air. “Well, well, well. Good for you. I don’t mean that snidely, I’m being quite honest. I wish I had been as strong when I was your age.”

“You should have been.”

Lovie closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Cara said after a beat, her voice beginning to rise with emotion. “I know the way he was. I know you loved him. I just never understood how that was enough for you to put up with his goddamn abuse for so many years.”

“You couldn’t understand,” her mother said in a strained voice.

“Why couldn’t I? I’m not a child. You loved him. I know that.” She brought her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes tightly before tearfully blurting out, “But I hated the son of a bitch.”

Lovie’s breath stilled, then she replied evenly, “Why, so did I.”

Cara dropped her hand and swung her head up. Neither spoke as they stared at each other, their thoughts journeying on separate paths. With a jerky motion, Cara turned to stare out the window.

Lovie quietly observed her daughter’s profile. With her proud, straight nose, high cheekbones and full lips, she strongly resembled the father she claimed to hate.

“Cara, can’t we talk through some of our misunderstandings?”

Cara wiped her eyes, then turned around again to face her mother. It pained Lovie to see the tears. She could count the times on one hand she’d ever seen her daughter cry.

“I came home hoping for just that. I actually had some silly vision of a mother-daughter bonding. Imagine that?” Her quick smile fell and she added wearily, “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going back to Chicago tomorrow.”

Lovie heard the north in her voice already. “So soon?”

“It’s clear you don’t need my help here and frankly, I left a mess I need to clean up at home. I can’t sit around here any longer.”

“Oh, Cara. You’re hurt.”

“No. I’m fine. I just need to refocus.”

Lovie took a long shuddering breath. “You think you’ve been abandoned. That everything has been handed to Palmer and nothing to you.”

“Mother, please…”

“You asked me what I meant when I wrote to you that there were things to sort through. There are.” She drank some tea, was comforted by it, then set the mug on the table. She felt secure in this little cottage, better able to speak her mind than in the Charleston house.

“After your father died,” she began, “I decided to move out here to the beach house. It wasn’t an impulsive decision. It was a promise I’d made to myself long before. Sort of a gift that I kept in the back of my mind to unwrap and think about in difficult times.”

Cara looked into her mother’s pale-blue eyes and wondered about those
difficult times.
“Why did you wait so long?”

“I had my reasons. But I planned for it. Why do you think I redid the kitchen years back?”

“I’d assumed to make it a rental.”

“That’s what I told Stratton. I knew he’d agree if I presented it as an investment.” She smiled conspiratorially. “But it was for me. I wanted to live alone and the beach house is much more manageable for someone my age. Without all those fussy antiques. Here I’m free of all the…” She sighed, grasping for the word.

“Hassles?” Cara prompted.

“Distractions. You always understood that, I think. You never put much store in a house or furniture. I admire that about you.”

Cara was surprised by the unexpected compliment.

Lovie’s expression shifted as she reflected on private thoughts. “I spent forty years in that big house,” she said slowly. “And let me tell you, those charming old houses everyone always admires are not easy to maintain. I was a slave to it. There’s always painting or wiring or plumbing or plasterwork that needs doing. I promise you, a good plasterer is worth his weight in gold in this town. Women I’ve known for years have gone to the grave without whispering their source. I’d had enough of worrying and dusting antiques and drawing shades against the sun. And Lord knows I’d had enough of entertaining.”

“I thought you loved that house.”

“I did, for a while. I’m talking about more than just the house. There, I had a role to fulfill in society as your father’s wife, your and Palmer’s mother, an active member of my church, schools, business. There was an endless demand on my time. Invitations and thank-yous, political drives and cultural events, endless telephone calls and meeting someone for this or that, preparing meals, cleaning up after meals, doctors, dentists, the garden, shopping. There was always a button that needed sewing or a plant that needed watering. And driving. Lord, the driving! I spent years in carpools, then more years worrying about you and Palmer driving, and then the final insult, worrying about Stratton’s and my own skills behind the wheel as we aged.

“A woman’s life has so many demands because she is the axis around which so many little planets spin. I did it and, yes, there were countless delightful moments. But that part of my life died when Stratton did.”

Her voice was firm on this point. Lovie turned to allow her gaze to travel lazily over the yellow cottage. She breathed deeply and when she spoke, it was heartfelt. “If I made one mistake, Cara, it’s that I did not allow enough time for solitude every day. A quiet time to reflect, to pray, to refill my well. I was so very busy. In that big house every minute was so consumed that I simply dried up inside. I suppose I could point to people and events and cast blame, but in my heart I know that this was my own responsibility, not anyone else’s.” Her face brightened. “Except, I did come here in my summers. This place saved me. I love it here. I always have. I feel freer, happier. Like it’s summer inside of me every day of the year.”

Cara leaned forward, peering into this window to her mother’s personality that she’d never looked through before. “That’s the way I’ve always felt here, too.”

“Is it? I always believed that about you. And that you understand how important Primrose Cottage is. To us and to the family.”

“Hmm,” Cara replied, not willing to link herself to strong family sentiments. “It’s nice, talking with you like this. We don’t do it often enough.”

“Then stay.”

“Mother, I can’t. I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t get summers off.”

“You’re still
my
little girl.”

“This isn’t a good time for a vacation. I have a lot going on. I can’t explain it all right now. Maybe next year.”

“No. Not next year, Cara. This year.”

Cara uncurled her legs, rose and walked to her mother. Reaching out, she took Lovie’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mama. I can’t. I’m all packed up and will leave at dawn.”

“You’re going so early?”

“I really must get back.”

“If you stay a few more days, we could—”

“I left my home, my bills…. I have to earn a living, Mama. If I leave tomorrow real early I can get back in a day.”

“I see. Will you come back soon?”

“I’ll try.”

Lovie dropped Cara’s hand. She knew it wouldn’t happen and felt inexpressibly old and woeful. “You go on to bed, dear. I’m just going to finish my tea.”

The night was blowsy but it was a good thing. The wind moved the clouds that had blanketed the sky earlier like a giant eraser. The stars now sparkled in a clear sky and made one understand why generations had so often compared them to diamonds.

Stepping out from the screened porch Lovie raised her chin and saw that the Big Dipper was so clear little Cooper could play connect the dots. Still, the path through the tangled lot would be treacherous. Lovie flicked on her special flashlight that glowed a soft red that would not disturb the turtles, wrapped an old sweater around her shoulders, then headed out toward the beach. It was very late, past midnight, but she was deeply troubled and overcome with lassitude.

She needed to walk. Being old, she couldn’t walk as far as she would have liked. Being tired, she would most likely just rest a bit on the sand. But this pacing in the sand was the only easing of her soul she had at her disposal now that Russell was gone.

Dear Russell…Oh, how she missed him and his gentle counsel. He had been her dearest friend and love, and if he were alive she would tell him all about the mess she’d made of things with Cara and ask for his advice. Her thoughts were full of him as she followed the thin stream of light that snaked ahead of her. She walked one foot in front of the other along the narrow path, careful for vines that could trip her and leave her stranded all night with a broken hip. Wouldn’t Palmer have a fit then!

She climbed the small dune that peaked where the beach stretched up to meet it. At the top she sank gratefully to her knees, warm with exertion. It was horrible, this getting old. She used to run along this same path to the beach then straight into the sea for a long, vigorous swim before she even felt the need to catch a breath. Putting her hand to her chest she chuckled. Goodness, it didn’t seem all that long ago.

She slipped off her Keds and dug her toes deep into the cool sand, then flexed her fingers to do the same. This was her favorite roosting spot. On this bit of land she could sit for long periods of time and feel close to all that was dear to her heart: the sea, the sand, this land. And all this was dear because it brought her close to Russell.

She lay back into the sand and, closing her eyes, imagined she felt his arms around her again. The older she became the easier it was to feel his presence. It was a game she allowed herself to play more often now. She couldn’t see the harm. If she was going senile, what of it? She’d likely die before she went totally gaga. Besides, it was too much of a comfort to resist.

In her imagination, she and Russell were lying together again on the old black-and-red checked blanket she’d always dragged along from the cottage when she met him on this dune. Back then, Russell’s hair was so blond it appeared white against his leathery tan from hours of field research in the sun. She remembered how his skin was both smooth and callused in spots. Her own skin was soft and pliant in those days and she wore her long, thick blond hair twisted in a braid during the day. At night, however, Russell would slowly unwind the skein and spread her hair out upon the blanket to look at it. He said it reflected the gold of the moonlight.

She had been only thirty-nine and he forty-one. She’d clung to him with the knowledge that they had only that one golden summer to treasure. For she had a husband and he had a wife. They had families and social standing. Commitments they could not—would not—break, no matter how tempted they might be. They had both understood from the onset that their love affair could not continue into the fall.

This small bit of land on the deserted bit of island had been their oasis. Back then, no houses overlooked their haven. No lights shone except for the moon. Around the lovers the sea oats clicked. Above them, the stars watched and winked in sympathy. If she closed her eyes tight, Lovie could imagine he was here with her. If she let her mind go very still, she could hear Russell’s voice, his delicate Southern accent that was sweet to her ears.

“Russell, I am all confused,” she said aloud. “Did you hear Palmer tell how much this piece of land is worth now? I had no idea it would ever be so valuable. You know what a comfort it has been to me all these years of such loneliness and want of affection. I feel close to you here, and wouldn’t part with this land for the world. But I am dying now. I will be leaving this world soon. What am I to do with this land? I have to decide. Did you hear Palmer go on about wanting to buy this land? Should I tell him that it’s mine? He would surely sell it—after he danced a jig. It would break my heart, but it would be a lot of money. Just think what I could do with so much money!”