On Ocean Boulevard Page 6

  “Mommy!” Hope leaped to her feet and scrambled atop the bed into Cara’s outstretched arms. Cara hugged her close and nibbled her neck, relishing the feel of her child, the smell of her.

  “I’m going to eat you for breakfast!”

  “No!” Hope giggled, and dug closer.

  Hope’s favorite thing was to wake up with the birds and climb into bed with her mother. One of the hardest parts of being an older parent was that her body was older too. Cara didn’t have the same energy she did when she was younger. Exhaustion was real. She’d reached the island late last night and talked into the wee hours of the morning with David about the wedding, Florence Prescott, and Linnea’s surprise arrival. Dawn had come too soon. She wanted nothing more than to lie here and lazily play with Hope all morning, but a glance at the bedside clock gave her a jolt of adrenaline.

  “Okay, baby,” Cara said, pulling back. “Mama’s got to hurry and get dressed.”

  “I don’t want you to go to work,” Hope said, her brows gathering.

  “You know I always come back. Besides, do you know what day it is?”

  Hope shook her head.

  “It’s pizza day at school! You love pizza!”

  Hope brightened.

  Cara looked over to David, who had risen and stood at the side of the bed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. “I’m late!”

  “Not very. I played with Hope and let you sleep. We were up late last night.”

  “You’re an angel,” she said as she whipped back the blanket. “But I have to get going.” She gave Hope a quick kiss. “Come on, baby. Let’s see who can get dressed first. The winner gets—”

  “A new toy,” said Hope.

  “I’ll bring you a treat home from work. Hurry now!”

  Hope scrambled off the bed. Cara’s long pink silk nightgown skimmed the floor as she raced to the bathroom. Over her shoulder she called to David, “I’ll take a quick shower. Would you mind getting her dressed for school? I’ve got to catch the eight o’clock ferry. I’ve a meeting this morning.”

  “On it,” he called back. “Come on, sweetie pie,” he said, extending his hand to Hope. “Show me what you want to wear.”

  Hope took his outstretched hand without a backward glance at Cara. Cara remembered the days Hope wouldn’t want to leave her side for anyone, and felt a pang of regret. Then she laughed at herself for being an idiot. How lucky she was that Hope wanted to go with David! She dashed into the bathroom and closed the door.

  A short time later, Cara stepped into the kitchen of David’s house in tan linen slacks and a sage-green cotton shirt. A corded belt of different shades of green cinched her waist. She looked chic and professional for her meeting with the marketing team.

  She stepped into mayhem. Heather was pacing the room in her pajamas carrying a crying Leslie. Her blond hair fell unkempt down her back and dark circles shadowed her eyes. David was at the stove heating a bottle. Over at the table, kneeling on the banquette, Rory was crying because he’d spilled his bowl of cereal. Milk and cereal covered the table, and his shirt and pants were drenched. Hope watched with wide eyes, a moment away from bursting into tears as well.

  Cara rushed to the sink to fetch a sponge. “Here comes the cavalry,” she called out in a cheery voice.

  “Thank God,” David called over his shoulder. He handed the bottle to Heather, then hurried to the table to begin scooping cereal from the table into the bowl. “No need to cry,” he told Rory. “Accidents happen.”

  “That’s right,” Cara cooed as she wiped up the mess. “We’ll get you another bowl.”

  “My shirt,” Rory cried.

  “I’ll get you a clean one,” David reassured him, and began removing Rory’s wet clothing.

  The baby’s crying only exacerbated the tension in the room. At four months old, she was very colicky and was still waking up multiple times in the night.

  “Where’s Bo?” Cara asked David in a low voice, referring to Heather’s husband.

  “He got called out on an emergency.” He glanced across the room at Heather, who was trying to persuade Leslie to take her bottle. “Cami missed the ferry. She’s at the dock on IOP, waiting for the next one.”

  Cara rolled her eyes. If ever they needed the nanny! Rory had stopped crying at last and sat, sniffling, in his red and blue Spider-Man underwear, content to be dry. Cara offered him a fresh bowl of cereal. Hope, in her yellow daisy sundress, picked daintily at her berries. The two children looked at each other as they ate.

  Cara checked her watch, then said to David, “If you grab fresh clothes for Rory, I’ll finish cleaning the mess. Then I really must go. Cami can take them to school on a later ferry.”

  “No need for them to be late—I’ll take them to school. I can drive us all to the dock.”

  “Okay. We can leave the cart there for Cami.”

  “Sounds like a plan. You grab a cup of coffee. We’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Aren’t you going to dress?”

  He looked down at his sweatpants and T-shirt. “I live on Dewees Island. Who’s going to care?”

  As he’d predicted, all were ready to go within five minutes’ time. Heather had slipped away to take the baby upstairs. Standing alone in the kitchen, Cara thought it looked like a bomb had hit it. She was relieved to duck out and leave it to the nanny.

  After buckling the children in their car seats on the oversize cart, David and Cara sat beside each other in front. Cara glanced back, watching the two children chatter amiably about silly things. She couldn’t help but smile. Rory and Hope were both four and the best of friends. They’d grown up together, shared the same nanny, and went to preschool with each other. Still, living all in one house with another family was proving to be exhausting.

  David started the engine and the golf cart took off. Cara held on as they jostled along the gravel-and-sand road toward the ferry. It was an overcast morning that promised rain. The humidity lay heavy in the air and mosquitoes hummed. Out on the lagoons the wading birds were hunting for breakfast. A dozen wood storks perched in one large oak tree, looking like white sails on a tall ship. In the center of the pond, preening on long legs, were her beloved roseate spoonbills. Their pink feathers were pearlescent against the gray water.

  It was a short trip to the Dewees Island dock, a long wooden structure with a handsome painted sign that read DEWEES ISLAND, SC: WELCOME. No cars were allowed on the island—hence the long line of golf carts parked along the wooden walkway. David found a spot near the dock, and they unloaded. David held Rory’s hand and Cara held Hope’s as they walked as quickly as little feet would pace. Other passengers were already boarding the ferry.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wyatt,” called out the captain. “Miss Cara. How are the little kids this morning?”

  “We’re all fine,” Cara replied with a smile as Hope clung to her leg and eyed him suspiciously.

  Rory waved, more familiar with the tanned, wiry man in the captain’s hat.

  “Just in time!” the captain declared. “All aboard!”

  No sooner had David and Cara gotten the children seated inside the air-conditioned ferry than the big engines fired up. The metal benches were nearly filled, most of them with neighbors of David’s. They greeted one another warmly before settling into the morning newspapers. Rory and Hope stood on the seats and looked out the port windows as the big boat pulled away from the dock. Then, with a surge, it began its journey along the Intracoastal toward Isle of Palms.

  Cara sighed with relief that they’d made it in time for the ferry. “What a morning,” she said to David.

  He looked her way and nodded. Cara didn’t have to add again. They both knew that ever since Leslie had arrived, the quiet mornings had become chaotic.

  David lowered his head close to hers to be heard over the churning engine. “I was thinking…” he began. “Once we’re married, it might get a little crowded at the house. Now that Heather has two children.”

  Cara looked out t
he window at the whitewater wakes from the ferry’s engines and felt awash with relief. “I’ve been thinking about this too, but it wasn’t my place to say anything. I’m the intruder, after all. The commute to the city for work is no problem on occasion, but every day would add too much time away from Hope and you.”

  “I agree.”

  She turned to look at him. “You do? I was in a quandary. I didn’t want to tell you. I know you love that house. You love Dewees.”

  His eyes kindled. “I love that you were willing to make the sacrifice of travel. Yes, I do love the island. I always will. But,” he said in decision, “it’s not working for us as a couple.”

  “Where do you want to live?” Cara asked him.

  “Anywhere you are.”

  Her heart melted. “You are a smooth operator.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I hope you know how much I love you.”

  David looked out the window, his hand securing Rory’s back, and smiled. “I do.”

  She studied his profile, so handsome. He was strong enough to be gentle. “What about my beach house?”

  David faced her again, his brows furrowed in thought. “We could live there. For a while. But I think not for long.” Her face must have reflected her disappointment because he hurried to add, “Cara, the beach house, as charming as it is, is small. As Hope grows up and has friends over, we’ll need more room.”

  Hope began jumping up and down, pointing out the window and squealing, “I see a dolphin! Mama, a dolphin!”

  “Yes, I see it,” Cara said with feigned enthusiasm. She tightened her hold on her child, but didn’t look for the mammal, her attention caught instead by the conversation. She patted Hope’s behind, then turned back to David.

  “I never thought we’d leave the beach house. I think it could work.”

  “I don’t think so. Aside from a playroom for the children, I need an office. And a real garage.”

  “I see.” She too looked out the window. She couldn’t say anything more.

  “I’m not saying we should sell it,” David said. “I wouldn’t ask that. I know how much you love it. And the family history. We can rent it out.”

  Cara didn’t respond.

  David took hold of her free hand. “We both agree my house on Dewees won’t work for us. Neither will yours. Cara, you might want to consider where else we could live. Someplace that’s ours and that meets both of our needs. And Hope’s. Someplace we can start our lives fresh.”

  This was his closing argument, she thought. Calm, resolute, flawless reasoning. It was no wonder he’d been such a successful trial lawyer.

  “I want to stay on the islands,” she said.

  “Fine with me.”

  The engines slowed to a low growl as the ferry approached the Isle of Palms dock. Mansions fronted with long docks lined the waterway to the left. To the right was the marina, with ocean-worthy yachts anchored beside sailboats and motorboats of all sizes.

  Dewees Island had a private parking lot where residents left their cars. They disembarked from the ferry and had a brief chat with Cami, who waited for the return trip to Dewees. Then they walked at a four-year-old’s pace to where two cars waited for them. Cara helped David buckle the children in their car seats. He would drive the children to preschool. She kissed David good-bye and headed to her red Volvo.

  On the drive to Charleston, Cara thought more about the important conversation they’d had on the ferry. She was rational by nature and appreciated David’s reasoning. If she allowed herself to be pragmatic and not emotional, she readily saw that he was right. They needed to find a new house for them as a family.

  But tonight, she thought, tightening her hands on the wheel, she wouldn’t go back to Dewees. She felt the need to go home to her beach house. To sleep in her own bed. No matter where they chose to live, she wouldn’t give up her mama’s beach house. Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Six

  Loggerheads, one of seven sea turtle species, comprise nearly all the nesting South Carolina beaches. From May to August the female will lay three to six nests, approximately twelve to fourteen days apart. Each nest contains an average of 120 eggs.

  LINNEA AWOKE EARLY, as usual. It had been a particularly restless night. John had invaded her dreams with his soulful green eyes, his wry smile that always made her feel he had some story to tell her—only her. Rousing, she checked her phone, sure he had texted. But he had not. Nor e-mailed. It was utter silence from San Francisco.

  She propelled herself from bed. Get up, she told herself. Don’t wallow in self-pity. Action, not reaction, that was the only thing that helped dispel the cloud of misery that descended on her whenever she dwelled on John. She couldn’t sit and stare at the phone, hoping it would ring. She was powerless to make John want to call, and to call him would be an act of desperation. It was over, she told herself. She had to move on. She had to physically move.

  She dug through her suitcase for a pair of shorts and a top. After several days at home, clothes were now unfolded and spilling onto the floor. She really had to properly unpack, she told herself. She was growing accustomed to wrinkled clothes. She knew her mother was horrified and beginning to worry. She sniffed a pair of denim shorts and a white shirt and put them on.

  The coast was clear in the kitchen. After a gulp of coffee, she slipped into her old flip-flops, grabbed one of her mother’s straw hats, and headed to the beach. Dawn was just breaking by the time she arrived. Looking out at the rosy horizon, she felt the warmth of a new day’s promise. She slipped off her sandals, squeezing the cool, damp grains of sand between her toes, then began to walk. The outgoing tide had exposed shells along the beach. Linnea swung her arms and walked at a brisk pace, getting her heart rate up and sharpening her senses.

  The water was calm this morning. No surfers lined up in the breakers. In the distance she spotted a couple walking two large dogs. One looked to be a black Labrador, leaping joyfully into the ocean in chase of a ball. Watching the dogs, Linnea wished, as she often did, that she had some furry pet to snuggle. Maybe this was the summer to do that. She could use some cuddling, she thought.

  A young woman was walking her way, carrying a plastic trash bag. She was long and lean, with red hair bound in a messy bun beneath a Turtle Team baseball cap. Her sage-green T-shirt, which held the image of a sea turtle, was purposefully ragged at the edges and hung over very short denim jeans, stylishly torn. She watched as the woman bent to pick up a flimsy piece of trash from the beach and toss it into the bag. As she drew near, Linnea waved.

  “Hey, that’s cool what you’re doing,” Linnea called out.

  “Someone’s got to do it.” She stopped next to Linnea. Her oversize aviator sunglasses covered most of her face.

  Linnea pointed to the cap. “Are you on the turtle team?”

  “Sure am,” she said. “I joined last year. My section is just ahead, but the season hasn’t started yet. Mid-May we’ll start officially walking the patrol. But I like to park at Breach Inlet and walk the beach, pick up trash, see the birds, just hang. Once I start looking for tracks, I have to walk along the high-tide line and be more focused.”

  “I get it. I used to be on the team before I moved away. I guess I’d better go see Emmi and get back on the team.”

  “That might be tough. There’s a long waiting list.”

  “I’ll get on,” Linnea said with confidence.

  The girl tilted her head and didn’t smile.

  Linnea was momentarily embarrassed, realizing how conceited that sounded. She put her hand out with a friendly smile. “My name’s Linnea. My grandmother was Lovie Rutledge—she started the turtle team eons ago. I guess you could say I’ve been on the team most of my life,” she said in way of explanation.

  The girl removed her sunglasses. Linnea saw finely arched brows over deep-blue eyes. After a pause, she said, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Linnea dropped her hand, scanning her memory banks. The woman seemed t
o be about her age. Taller, pretty, interested in turtles… She felt she should know her—she knew so many people around Charleston—but her mind was blank.

  “Uh, you look so familiar. I’m sorry.…”

  “I’m Annabelle. Chalmers.”

  Linnea still couldn’t place her.

  “I went to Porter-Gaud with you. I was a year behind you.”

  Recognition dawned. “Annabelle! Oh, of course,” Linnea said in a rush. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away.” No wonder she couldn’t recall Annabelle, a reclusive girl known for being somewhat radical, at least among the traditional students who filled the exclusive Charleston private school. Linnea remembered her keeping to herself and wearing a lot of black. She’d hung around with Marquetta, one of the few African American girls in the school. They were forever attending political rallies and putting up signs around the school. They’d never joined in school activities if they could avoid it.

  “Yeah, well, you hung out in different circles,” Annabelle said in summation.

  There was a superior tone to the comment, but Linnea took no offense. It was true. Linnea had been popular in high school and a fixture in the school’s social activities.

  “It’s nice to see you again. So, where’d you head after graduation?” Linnea asked.

  “University of North Carolina Wilmington,” Annabelle said. “How about you?”

  “South Carolina. Go Gamecocks,” she said lamely. She waited for Annabelle to say “Go Tar Heels,” but she didn’t. “What about Marquetta? I heard she went to Yale?”

  A smile of pride eased across Annabelle’s face. “She did. She came home after graduation and right off the bat got a job in a state senator’s office. Marquetta’s going to kick ass.”

  “Good for her.” Linnea thought it made sense that the politically motivated young girl was now in politics.

  There was an awkward silence. Linnea rallied. “Well,” she said in that tone that said good-bye, “it was nice to see you again.”