“I see you still keep the windows uncovered,” Linnea said.
“Of course,” Cara replied, straightening. She’d kicked off her heels and walked barefoot in her long-legged stride across the room to the kitchen. “I prefer to look out and see the ocean.”
“Like Grandmama Lovie. What was it that she always used to say?”
Chapter Four
The female loggerhead is wary as she sits in the surf and scans the beach under a dark sky. Is it safe to leave the protection of the sea and venture forth across the sand? In the water, she is a powerful swimmer, but on land, a cumbersome, slow-moving creature. Instinct urges her on. Should she nest here or move on?
THE BEACH HOUSE was still dark. The sun hadn’t yet risen. Even her canary was a puffball in the cage, sleeping on one leg. Cara sat in front of her computer, a cup of steaming coffee to her left. In the past two weeks as she’d settled into the beach house, she’d been trying to establish her at-home work schedule. It turned out that the only times she could work were early in the morning before Hope awoke and late in the evening after she went to bed. The problem was, Cara was so exhausted by that point that she fell asleep.
It had been risky to leave a secure position with benefits, but the benefits of living near family outweighed any others. She had a reputation for excellence and was willing to take the chance. While working for Brett’s ecotour business, she’d been her own boss. She’d learned to be disciplined with her work hours and used that discipline now to find time to work around Hope’s erratic and demanding schedule. Today she was sending out her résumé to two firms that had shown interest. Fingers crossed, she thought. Money was tight and she had to make do.
She smiled as she pulled up her files. Make do was a phrase her mother used to say. Despite the Rutledge family wealth, her father, Stratton, had kept his wife on a miserly budget. It wasn’t until years later that Cara had learned how punitive her mother’s budget was, especially concerning anything to do with the beach house. It had been Lovie’s, passed down to her from her parents before she married. All the other properties—even their home on Tradd Street—had only Stratton Rutledge’s name on them. He’d been a controlling man, and it drove him crazy that Lovie refused to sell her beach house. Likewise, when Palmer had assumed control of the family finances he, too, had badgered his mother to sell the house. And later, Cara. That, he soon learned, was futile.
Lovie had always told Cara that the beach house was her own “little slice of heaven.” The small cottage was her sanctuary where she could hide from the slings and arrows of Stratton’s mental abuse, the social demands of Charleston, and the burden of caring for the large house South of Broad in the city. On the island she could live a simpler life with her children. Stratton hated coming to “the shack” on Isle of Palms. He’d rather have sold it and bought a house on Sullivan’s Island, where his friends had houses. Over the years he’d stopped coming altogether. They both preferred it that way.
Thus, each summer Lovie and the children spent three glorious months free from Stratton’s tyranny. They had no schedules or social engagements. If the children wanted to play on the beach all day, they could. If Cara wanted to sit in the shade to read for hours in her pajamas, she did. The meals were simple too. Lovie went to the docks to buy fish off the boat; grits were a staple in the house; and strawberries, blueberries, peaches, and vegetables came from farmers’ markets. Even though they lived on a shoestring, whenever they did something extravagant, Lovie would just laugh and say, “Oh, we’ll make do,” as she paid the sum.
Cara leaned back in the chair and smiled, remembering those golden years. They’d gone by quickly. Everything had changed when Cara graduated from high school. She’d started making plans of her own—plans that didn’t correlate with those of her father.
It came to a head during an epic battle when she was only eighteen. Cara had left her home, Charleston, and all she knew and headed north. She was on her own without one dime to rub against another. But she wasn’t afraid. She was hell-bent on succeeding. She was smart, and more, she was a hard worker.
Her first job had been as a receptionist at Leo Burnett, a major advertising firm in Chicago; gradually Cara had earned her way up the ladder to become an account executive, getting her college degree after years of tedious night school. And then, suddenly, it was over. After twenty years of mainlining work at the expense of her personal life, she’d been ignominiously let go in a major power shift at the agency.
That was when she’d come home to her mother. Once again, Cara had rebuilt her life, giving up the bright lights of the city for the moonlight and sunshine of the lowcountry. She’d met and then married the love of her life. She’d been happy. Then, just when things were going smoothly, her husband had died in a cruel twist of fate, and Cara was alone once more. She’d picked herself up off the floor and left the lowcountry to find new meaning in her life. And she’d ultimately found it in the form of a twenty-three-pound little girl. For Hope’s sake, she would be careful and make do until she landed a few more clients. Her decisions for the future would always put Hope in the forefront. With her daughter, Cara would never be alone again.
This thought gave her the motivation to shake off the sleepiness and focus on the tasks at hand. Fatigue was never good for one’s work ethic.
An hour later, she heard the faint sound of Hope’s call: “Mama!”
Cara lowered her head into her palm. Not yet, she thought. Hope wasn’t supposed to awaken for another hour. Cara had two conference calls scheduled for later in the day and needed to prepare. Hope was teething and had woken four times in the night.
Beside her, Moutarde heard the cries and began chirping with excitement, hopping from perch to perch. Cara closed the computer and rose to fetch her daughter.
By 10 a.m. Hope was changed, dressed, fed, and playing on the floor. Cara knew this peace was short-lived. Soon Hope would be crawling to a new location, trying to stick her finger in an electrical socket or some other such dangerous game. Cara needed coverage for her phone calls. With desperation she reached for her phone and dialed the only person who she knew could help.
“Hello?”
“Emmi? It’s me. Cara. Listen, I have to get work done and I’m just not managing with Hope crawling about. She wants me to play with her all the time and she isn’t napping.”
“You sound frazzled.”
“I’m just so tired. She gets up at the crack of dawn and wakes up during the night. I need sleep. But I need to work more. Emmi, do you know someone I can call to babysit?”
“Oh, gosh, Cara. I’ve been out of that game for a long time. And”—she rushed on—“I can’t. I have to go to work.”
“I know you can’t. I was just hoping you knew someone who might babysit. Or just take pity on me for a few hours?”
“What about Heather?”
“I wish. She’s out of town.”
Emmi exhaled heavily after a moment’s thought. “I’m sorry, I can’t think of anyone. Most women I know are either working or volunteering.”
Cara sighed. She needed someone today if she was going to get those résumés out and be ready by the deadline. “What about Flo? Is she busy today?”