On Ocean Boulevard Page 3

  There’d always been the slightest hint of competition in David’s mind for her affection, because he knew how deeply she’d loved her first husband. Cara would always love Brett Beauchamps. She’d loved him with her whole being. It had been a struggle not to feel guilt at falling in love with another man, as if she were cheating somehow. Over time, she’d resolved her grief, and she did love David, with her whole heart. And since it reassured him, she’d agreed to a grand wedding: dress, cake, décor, and—she glanced up at the impressive antebellum house—this gorgeous wedding venue.

  “I’m doing this for David. He wanted me to have what he thought was the wedding of my dreams, because he believed I wanted it. At least, that was what he told me. I thought about it and realized that perhaps David was the one who wanted to have a big wedding. He wanted to announce to the world that we’re a couple. I don’t know, it seemed miserly of feeling to deny David this joy.” She shrugged. “He’d been sad for such a long time after the death of his wife. Then, of course, that brief debacle with Natalie.”

  “So, you’re doing this for David.”

  Cara nodded.

  “Because you love him.” She waited for Cara to nod again.

  “Yep. Head over heels.”

  “Well, then!” Emmi lifted her hands. “That settles it. ‘Mahwage is what bwings us togethah today,’ ” she said, imitating the heavily accented line from the film The Princess Bride.

  Cara had to laugh, captivated by her friend’s incorrigible sense of romance.

  “Kiddo,” Emmi said with renewed seriousness, “if you’re going to do this, don’t be resentful.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Cara agreed, her voice decisive. “No point in hashing this out over and over. I said yes and I should stop complaining. Let’s just chalk this up to last-minute wedding jitters.”

  “You’re good?” Emmi asked, confirming.

  Cara conjured up David’s image in her mind: his tanned face, soulful dark-brown eyes under bushy dark brows. She smiled. If she was totally honest, there was a part of her—hiding deep inside—that wanted to share the joy of the day and dance with her family and friends. She was, indeed, blessed to have the occasion for joy after so many days of sadness.

  “I’m nervous,” Cara said with a laugh. “I still have to walk down the aisle. But, yes, I’m good.”

  “You still need to get your dress—”

  “One thing at a time.”

  Emmi sat back with a huff. “Cara,” she said plaintively. “I’ve been working in women’s clothing for almost fifteen years.”

  “Part-time…”

  “Even still. I’ve worked minimum wage to salary. I’ve worked weekends and holidays and more overtime than I ever got paid for. For your information,” she said with a shake of her shoulders, “the women’s fashion buyer consults with me about purchases. And do you know what?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “You’ve never, not once, asked me for advice. Not on a dress for a date, or if the color was right for you, or—or even anything for Hope!”

  Emmi put her hand up when Cara opened her mouth to speak. “I know our tastes are different. And you wouldn’t have to take my advice. But, it would’ve been nice to have been asked.”

  “I didn’t know that mattered to you,” Cara said, genuinely surprised. She’d never meant to hurt Emmi, but it was true. Their taste in clothes was night-and-day different. Cara couldn’t imagine wearing some of the outfits Emmi put together. Not that they were bad, but they were definitely more colorful.

  “It might’ve mattered a while ago, but not anymore.” Her tone changed. “Until now. We’re not talking about a dress to wear to work or on a date. We’re talking about your wedding dress!” Her voice grew more impassioned. “You’re my soul sister. My best friend. I’m your maid of honor.” She pointed at Cara. “And don’t you dare correct me and tell me I’m your matron of honor. I’m not married. I’m a maid. I don’t want to be a matron. That sounds so old.”

  “Maid it is.” Cara didn’t dare smile, but her lips twitched.

  Emmi nodded sharply to imply that issue was settled. “Now,” she said, “I don’t understand why you’re dragging your feet on getting a wedding dress, but it’s time. And I hope you’ll ask me to be there. This is the one time it does matter to me. I love you, Cara. I want to share this with you, if you’ll let me.”

  “Of course, I’ll let you. You’re my best friend too. I couldn’t manage any of this without you. Let’s get this menu done today, and we’ll move on to the dress. Together.”

  “Good,” Emmi said, her green eyes bright. “I’ve been saving bridal magazines and I’ve circled a lot of dresses I think will look fabulous on you.”

  Cara wanted to groan, but loved her friend enough to simply smile and say, “Great!”

  “Okay, then.” Emmi shifted in her seat to face forward. “We’d better get this show on the road.”

  The red Volvo wagon lurched forward as they drove past the gates along the tabby drive toward the house. Cara slid into a parking spot, rolled up the windows, and grabbed her purse. As they stepped out into the heat of late afternoon sunshine, her gaze swept across the Ashley River. A long dock stretched out from Lowndes Grove into the racing water. She envisioned it festooned with flowers and wondered if she and David could make their exit from the wedding party in David’s boat. It might be fun, she thought with a smile, getting into the mood.

  They turned and made their way to the redbrick patio in front of the shining white plantation house.

  A slender, attractive woman in a vividly patterned J.McLaughlin dress stepped out from the glassed porch. The wedding planner had shoulder-length dark hair and a vibrant smile. Lifting her arm, she waved in a graceful arc over her head.

  “Welcome!” called Elma Garcia.

  Cara waved back, then linked arms with her best friend. “Are you ready to sample more cake?”

  Emmi scrunched up her nose. “Cake, flowers, plates—I’m ready for it all. But let’s start with the wine.”

  Chapter Three

  Sea turtles are generally solitary creatures. They rarely interact with one another outside of courtship and mating. When it is not nesting season, sea turtles may migrate hundreds or even thousands of miles.

  MUCH LATER IN the day, Cara pulled into the driveway of Primrose Cottage and turned off the car lights. Night was falling. She lazily climbed from the car and stretched. Across the car, Emmi did the same.

  “I’m so stuffed, I have to loosen my dress,” Emmi said with a groan.

  It was true. They’d tasted and approved the four appetizers, followed by a salad of oranges, fennel, and olives served with a delicately crisp pinot grigio. The main course was filet mignon, mashed potatoes with truffle oil, and glazed carrots, accompanied by a lush cabernet. The coconut cake was as light as a feather. And, of course, a dry and delicious champagne. Cara was the designated driver and didn’t swallow most of the wine. Emmi, however, was feeling delightfully giddy.

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?” Emmi asked her. “Come on, admit it.”

  “Okay,” Cara replied with a reluctant smile. “It was fun. But now,” she said, glancing at her wristwatch, “I must hurry to get to the ferry. David’s meeting me with Hope and Rory.”

  “You’re going back to Dewees again?” Emmi asked. “You practically live out there now.”

  The tone was slightly accusatory, and Cara knew it was because Emmi missed spending more time with her.

  “You know they share a nanny, and David covers when I work late. It’s easier for me to stay there on Dewees than try to catch a ferry back home. Especially when I’m going to take her back to Dewees the next morning. Or when I’m running late—like tonight.”

  “Okay, I get the hint,” Emmi said, as she retrieved the remaining white boxes full of the food samples and leftover cake that they knew Flo would enjoy.

  They chatted as they walked along the pavers to the side kitchen door. The house was dark
and the two women shared a worried glance.

  “Flo! I’m home!” Emmi called out as she stepped inside.

  It was nearly 7:30 p.m., but the kitchen and living room were empty. Emmi balanced a box on her knee and stretched her hand along the wall to the light switch. Instantly, light filled the room.

  Cara followed her into the country-style kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her, and laid the boxes on the wooden table. She could walk through this house with her eyes closed. When they were children, she and Emmi, sisters from other mothers, had played at Flo’s house. It was neutral territory, a place without as many rules. Flo’s mother was an eccentric artist who’d provided art, dancing, and singing lessons. Flo was more like an aunt to both Cara and Emmi. She had acted as the buffer between the girls and their mothers when they wanted to stay up late at a nest with the turtle team.

  Years later, when Emmi was grown and divorced, she’d purchased the house from an aging Flo. Though the owners were different, as before, the kitchen doors of the two neighboring houses were always open—but with Lovie passed, their turtle team gatherings had shifted from Cara’s beach house to Emmi and Flo’s place. Cara, Emmi, and Flo continued to spend hours talking in this kitchen. Flo’s mother had decorated the Victorian house in early bohemian. After Emmi bought it, she’d promptly painted the white exterior a Caribbean blue with coral trim and tastefully decorated the house in the southern shabby-chic style that she loved. Flo never gave much mind to décor and was happy anywhere the people were kind, the food good, and the turtles nearby.

  They heard Flo’s voice from the stairs. “Who’s there? Emmi? That you?”

  “It’s just us chickens!” Emmi called back, opening the white baker’s box and bending near for a sniff.

  Flo appeared at the kitchen entrance wrapped in a mousy-gray chenille robe, her thin white hair sticking up from her head and her blue eyes blazing. Her face was pale, and there was a look of panic in her eyes.

  “Where were you?” Flo’s voice rang with fear.

  Emmi’s hands stilled and she straightened to study Flo’s stricken face. All humor fled from hers, replaced with concern. “Flo,” she said in a calm voice, “I was at Lowndes Grove with Cara. The wedding venue. We went to sample the food and wine. Don’t you remember?”

  Flo blinked hard several times, then shook her head. Cara saw the confusion in Flo’s eyes and hoped it was from being awakened, and not the Alzheimer’s that had been getting worse.

  “I was worried,” Flo said in a scolding tone. “You left me alone. It’s late!”

  “I was only gone for a few hours. I’m sorry you were worried.” Emmi turned her head to deliver a meaningful gaze to Cara.

  Cara bit her lip, anxious at seeing further evidence of Flo’s Alzheimer’s disease taking hold.

  Emmi walked closer to Flo and asked gently, “Did you eat?”

  “No. There was nothing to eat.”

  “But I left you some dinner. It’s wrapped in foil in the oven.” She turned and went directly to the vintage O’Keefe and Merritt oven that had baked cookies and cakes for them since they were children. She grabbed a mitt from a hook and retrieved a covered plate, then carried it to the table. “See? There’s chicken and a baked potato. And salad in the fridge. It’s all written down on this note,” she said, pointing to a sheet of paper on the kitchen table.

  “A note?” Flo scoffed. “I didn’t see any note.”

  Emmi sighed audibly and looked again at Cara for help.

  Cara felt as if a bowl of ice water had just been dumped over her head. The progression of dementia seemed to be advancing more rapidly. The change in Flo was shocking. She looked more frail, older, much less able to care for herself.

  “Flo, come sit down,” Cara urged kindly. “Look what we’ve brought you. Delicious samples from the wedding menu for you to taste. I need your opinion. They’re all delicious.”

  “What in heaven’s name?” Flo asked. “The wedding menu? What wedding?”

  “Cara’s wedding,” Emmi said as she returned to Flo’s side. Gently she guided the old woman to the kitchen table. “You remember Cara and David are getting married?”

  Flo did not reply.

  Cara went to the cupboard and pulled out a fresh plate. Grabbing tableware on the way back, she set it all in front of Flo. “We sampled food and wine for the wedding menu,” she explained again.

  “Wine, you say? Just how much wine did you sample? You two are acting mighty strange. What’s that?” Flo asked, pointing to a mozzarella, tomato, and basil stick. She picked it up and inspected it more carefully.

  “You go on,” Emmi said, shooing Cara out with her flapping hands. “You’ve got that ferry to catch.”

  “Are you sure? I can stay for a while.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re fine, aren’t we, Flo?”

  Flo was chewing, her mouth full, focused on her food.

  Emmi followed Cara to the door. She looked over her shoulder to check on Flo. The old woman’s head was bent intently over her plate.

  “Oh, Em,” Cara said with dismay. “She’s slipping faster now.”

  “Yeah, I know. She’s becoming more and more dependent on me. She’s afraid when I leave her alone.”

  “This isn’t just your problem. When you bought the house, you didn’t take on the responsibility for Flo.” Cara paused, hoping to convince Emmi she wouldn’t have to bear this burden alone. “Emmi, both our mothers are gone, God rest their souls. Flo is a second mother to both of us. A treasured aunt. We’ve always said that. I’m here to share this with you.” She put her hand on Emmi’s shoulder. “You won’t be able to keep this up on your own much longer.”

  Emmi looked away but didn’t reply.

  Cara was aware of having to catch the ferry. “Listen, this is a big discussion. I don’t want to miss the ferry. Let’s arrange a time to talk about this. Soon. I’m afraid it’s time. We have to make some decisions.”

  Emmi sighed with resignation. “I’m afraid so. But it breaks my heart.”

  “Emmi? You there?” called Flo. “What’s this? Can’t figure out if it’s potatoes or cauliflower.”

  “Be right there, Flo!” Emmi called back. She delivered a quick kiss on Cara’s cheek. “All good here. Today was fun. Thanks for including me. See you tomorrow.” Then without another word, she shut the door against Cara’s “Good-bye, Flo!”

  Night had fallen. Cara walked along the garden path toward the white fence that separated their two properties. The reality of Flo’s condition weighed heavily in her thoughts. She and Emmi both knew that eventually—someday—they’d have to make decisions regarding Flo’s advancing dementia, but that day had always seemed a ways off. Tonight, Cara witnessed how quickly the disease was progressing, and how much the burden of care had fallen onto Emmi’s shoulders. She’d never complained. Never uttered a word. That was like Emmi, Cara realized. Partly a saint, partly denying a reality she didn’t want to face.

  The gentle breeze carried the heady scent of the spring honeysuckle blooms. Cara breathed deep and exhaling, she heard in the distance the sound of a woman humming. She held her breath. There was something familiar about the song, but she couldn’t place it. She swung her head toward the sound, squinting in the darkness.

  In the dim light of the rising moon, Cara saw a slight woman dressed in vintage clothing coming from the beach. The woman stopped to bend and investigate a wildflower. Even in the darkening sky, Cara could see the luster of her blond hair. Straightening, the woman began humming again, strolling slowly toward her.

  “Mama…” Cara whispered on a breath, sure she was seeing a ghost.

  The woman continued to approach. Stepping into the warm yellow glow of light pouring across the path from Emmi’s kitchen windows, she looked Cara’s way, stopped, then waved exuberantly.

  “Aunt Cara!”

  Cara’s breath returned in a rush, and she laughed inwardly at her own foolishness.

  “Linnea? What on earth are yo
u doing here? You should be in California!”

  Linnea rushed up the beach path into Cara’s outstretched arms. They were far more than mere aunt and niece. They were confidantes. Friends.

  “Dear girl,” Cara exclaimed, her gaze taking in the vintage clothing that Linnea preferred, “you gave me a scare. You looked so much like my mother!”

  Linnea giggled. “And you thought you were seeing the ghost of Lovie?”

  Cara shook her head, a bit embarrassed. “It wouldn’t be the first time. But, Linnea! What brings you back? Where’s John?”

  “Long story. I came right from the airport. My phone died.” She rolled her eyes. “I decided to see you before Mama and Daddy. They’re out anyway. But of course, you weren’t here. So I took a walk along the beach. It’s good to see the Atlantic again. But those mosquitoes are eating me alive.”

  “The wretched things. I’m sorry you had to wait. I was at Lowndes Grove making wedding plans.”

  Linnea’s eyes lit up. “Fun.”

  Cara sighed, letting that go. “I stopped off at Emmi’s. I’d have hurried home had I known you were here. Let’s get you inside. I’ll rummage something up in the kitchen. You must be starved. And you might try to call your parents.”

  “I’d like that. They’re probably camped out by the phone by now.”

  * * *

  LINNEA LOOKED AROUND dear Primrose cottage and was relieved that little had changed since she’d lived here a few years ago. It still held the same comfort of both old and new. The walls were painted white or a whitewashed blue. The polished floor was heart pine, adorned with Persian rugs in vibrant hues of red and blue. The upholstered furniture was covered in creamy linen slipcovers, and the long, matching linen drapes at the windows were open. Cara went around the room lighting the lamps on the side tables, creating pools of yellow light.

  “I see you still keep the windows uncovered,” Linnea said.