The porch door was unlocked, as she’d suspected. When she’d lived with her aunt, Linnea never remembered anyone locking doors. People were more trusting on the island than in the city.
“Aunt Cara?” she called out into the quiet, dark house. Only Cara’s canary chirped cheerily at the sound of her voice. For a moment Linnea wondered if she should simply walk in. Did spending a lifetime inside these walls, sharing milestones, being a granddaughter, a niece, give her permission to enter Cara’s house uninvited? She imagined her aunt’s face, heard in her mind Cara’s welcoming Come in!
Walking in felt natural, familiar—the aroma of coffee, the scent of jasmine perfume that was always in the air, the sound of Moutarde chirping in his cage. She flicked on a few lights, then went to plug her phone into the charger. That done, she brought her luggage inside, slipped off her pumps, and dug through the large wicker basket full of sandals. She smiled when she found a pair of her old flip-flops on the bottom. Slipping them on, she went back outdoors. She was eager to see the Atlantic Ocean again after two years of living by the Pacific.
The sky over the sea was darkening to violet, gold, and crimson. The beach house was perched high on a dune overlooking the ocean. When it was built in the 1920s, the charming cottage was oceanfront. Years later, a road had been built through the dunes to create Ocean Boulevard. Developers kept a one-foot width of the right-of-way on the ocean side of the road. Over the years, the shoreline built up more and more sand. Finally the dune was wide enough to allow new houses to be constructed, even closer to the sea. Back in that time, Russell Bennett, a great friend of her grandmother, had purchased lots directly in front of Primrose Cottage and put them into a conservation easement. It was a boon for her grandmother, who subsequently would never lose her view of the ocean. To the left of that land was the lot that Lovie had bequeathed to Cara.
Linnea’s gaze swept the expanse that opened to the sea from the deck of Primrose Cottage, one of the precious few older properties left on Isle of Palms without a house blocking the view. Her gaze came to an abrupt halt and she sucked in a soft gasp of surprise. There on Cara’s lot was the house her father was constructing. It was already completely framed in! Before her eyes she saw her father’s dream becoming a reality.
It was going to be a beautiful house. The design was simple, with classic lowcountry features. The first floor was raised on pilings to keep out the floodwaters, mandatory now. The house was clearly built for a family that would enjoy the ocean breezes. And, she thought with a smile of approval, Palmer had kept his promise to Cara. He’d not obstructed any view of the ocean from her beach house. Not that she would let him. The new house was anchored by a two-story central structure from which a pair of one-story wings extended.
Linnea, having grown up near water, knew that everyone called the side of the house that faced the water, whether river or beach, the front. The back of the house faced the road or driveway. It was confusing for northerners, who called the street side of houses the front.
Her father loved porches. He’d included covered porches that faced the street, and without seeing it, she knew there would be another porch facing the sea.
Linnea felt a flush of pride that Palmer had built such a gracious, elegant house of lowcountry flavor. It was too bad he wouldn’t live in it. He couldn’t afford to. The lot belonged to Cara. It had been given to her by Grandmama Lovie, along with the beach house and all the secrets both held. Cara had confided the truth to her brother two years before, only after he’d committed to AA and begun rebuilding his life.
Palmer’s intention was to sell the house and use the profit to seed his next house. In this way, he would begin his long-cherished dream of building top-quality houses. Likewise, Cara would benefit from her land. Brother and sister would share the profits, and this, Linnea knew, would have pleased Lovie immensely.
She made her way along the narrow beach-access path, her arms swinging at her sides. Seeing her father’s house project left her uplifted. She remembered her father’s low point before she’d left. To witness now what he’d built in the time she was gone, Linnea knew a moment of hope. An If he can do it, so can I feeling.
She climbed to the peak of the dunes, past the sea oats, still green and slim-stalked. The hearty ocean breeze whisked the soft hairs that had fallen around her neck. It swirled and caressed her cheeks. Welcome home, she heard whispered in the wind.
Linnea stood for a moment looking out over the expanse of beach and the ocean beyond. No one else walked the sand. The vast sea appeared to match her mood, reflective and shifting to deep purple. Waves rolled in gently, lapping the shoreline. She put her hands on her hips and drank in the immense vista of perpetually moving sea.
Somewhere out there, the turtles were gathering from all points of the continental shelf. Mating was a tempestuous affair as several males might try to breed with just one female, creating the seeds of a new generation. Within weeks a new sea turtle season would begin on the islands as the female turtles came ashore to lay their nests. When she’d lived on the island, their summers had revolved around the nesting season. Linnea was no stranger to the loggerheads. For as long as she could remember, she’d tended turtles with her grandmother, and later Aunt Cara and Emmi and Flo.
Grandmama Lovie had been a shining star in Linnea’s life. When Lovie’s feet were in the sand, she was in her element: happier, freer, expansive. Linnea could identify with that. As much as she loved the city, she too had always felt more at home by the sea. It was her grandmother who’d inspired Linnea to pursue a career in environmental science, despite her father’s objections.
Linnea wasn’t a child with dreams any longer. She was an adult facing adult problems. Cara was getting married again. Her father was building his dream house. Cooper was a rising junior at the University of South Carolina. It seemed everyone was moving on, except for her.
The looming cloud she’d felt when she arrived in Charleston returned, blotting out the joy she’d reveled in moments ago. Her heart physically hurt and cried out for release. Linnea missed her mother, loved her dearly. She needed to confide in someone. But her mother could sometimes ignore reality and shove problems under the rug, out of public view, with a pat phrase and a firmly hoisted smile.
She adored her father. But he’d likely bluster and blame John for breaking his daughter’s heart—and worse, remind her that he’d told her that going to California was a big mistake, how she should get a real job and not waste her time with low-paying nonprofits.
Which was why she’d made the snap decision to come to the beach house and seek advice, honest and not sugar-coated, from her business-minded aunt. Cara was never one to suffer fools and wasn’t afraid to speak plainly. The beach house was always a haven. A house of reason. She could get her bearings here before she confronted her parents.
From the beach she looked up at the cottage on the dune, and sighed. Cara wasn’t home, and the night was falling. It was time to throw in the towel and retreat home. Linnea turned back to the sea for a final look. She crouched and picked up a handful of sand. Countless tiny particles filled her palm; clenching it tight, she brought her fist to her heart.
“Grandmama Lovie,” she said aloud. “I know you’re out there somewhere. Thank you for loving me, and teaching me about the turtles, the ocean. I love this beach and every particle of sand on it. It took me a while to understand, but I belong here. I came back. But I’m at square one again.”