He knows, Angela realized.
“Uncle Jesse.” The warmth in her heart overflowed in the comfort and security of his embrace. She breathed deeply of his clean aroma that mixed with the magnolia scented air.
And then the tears came.
Jesse wasn’t really her uncle, but he had been caretaker for the Baker family beach house for as long as she could remember. She and Brice, along with Brice’s two boys Braxton and Bryan, spent every summer on Wishing Beach, fifteen summers in a row. And Jesse was always there for whatever was needed. He spent a lot of time with the boys since Brice was never around for them.
Early on, the boys began calling him Uncle Jesse instead of Mr. Malone. She couldn’t remember at whose suggestion, it just was. Somewhere along the way she became Angie to him which always made her smile. Only a few close friends had ever called her that. She considered Jesse a friend.
Released from his tight hug, Angie pressed both hands on her cheeks and looked up at the mansion of a beach house that would be her permanent home. She’d never be able to handle the place alone. The fact that Jesse was there to fill some of the gaps made this whole thing possible. He’d never missed an opportunity to help with her many projects.
Jesse kept an arm around her shoulders as they made their way up the steps.
She sniffed and rubbed the remnants of tears from her cheeks.
“Come on inside.” He nudged her toward the door. “I’ve got a pitcher of that hibiscus tea you like in the fridge.”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised you made that. I thought you hated it.”
“Well, I did, but you forced it on me so many times I just kinda took to it.”
And as he always could do, he made her laugh.
Over a glass of iced tea, seated at the round table in the alcove of the spacious kitchen, Angela and Jesse looked out the bay windows while Jesse told her of the recent repairs he’d made—all small, but important. Beyond the glass, overlooking the screened lanai and pool, the sprawling backyard ended at the ocean. Waves rushed up silently and retreated as their conversation turned to normal things. Bougainvilleas, fire ants, the new roadwork just completed in the neighborhood.
Some of the tension left her as they chatted on and on. Life was going to be good for her here at Wishing Beach. Bit by painstaking bit, she started to feel more normal. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Finally, she got around to the subject that hung heavy in the air. “Did Brice tell you about the divorce?”
Jesse nodded. “Yes, he did.” He raised his eyebrows which told Angela that it had been, in all probability an unpleasant discourse.
Angela sighed, that was such a Brice thing to do. Until the divorce was final, Brice had worked overtime to strip her of everything in her world that ever mattered.
Jesse cleared his throat. “I tried to call you. Your phone had been disconnected.”
Disconnected? No. Thrown against the wall and busted to pieces by Brice? Yes. She’d had to go to the store and purchase a new phone, new line, no family plan, thank you. “Why did he call? What did he want?” she asked.
Jesse leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving her a long look. “He fired me. He told me to be gone before you got here.” A half smile played at the corner of his mouth.
Stunned, speechless, seething, a myriad of emotions washed through Angela. Just when she thought Brice couldn’t stoop any lower, he managed to prove her wrong. And proving her wrong was one of his favorite things to do. She dropped her forehead into her hand. “I’m so glad you stayed.”
“I don’t respond well when something rubs me the wrong way.” Jesse leaned forward, his elbow on the table. “You coming to a big empty house without a friendly face to greet you … that rubs me the wrong way.”
Angela reached over and lightly touched his arm. “Thank you for staying.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” Jesse said.
“I want you to stay for good, everything the same as always. I have enough money to manage that.” Angela thought for a moment. “He probably led you to believe that I don’t. I know Brice. I’m sure he’s hoping you’ve moved on, and with such short notice after so many years, that you would be angry enough to not have anything to do with a Baker, including me.”
“I’d never judge you by his actions.”
Appreciation caused her to smile. But it faded quickly. “He’ll do whatever he can to make life harder for me. Whatever it takes to hurt me.”
“Well, then.” Jesse pushed away from the table and stood up. “I guess we’re back in business.” There was a twinkle in his eye. He held out his hand. “Give me your keys and I’ll get your bags from the car.”
Jesse had insisted she rest while he unload her car, but Angela wasn’t ready to stay inside. She stepped out, crossed the wide front patio, and dropped into one of the cushioned white rocking chairs that were anchored by giant terra cotta pots of tropical flowers. The seat was a welcome reprieve from the long drive in the cramped sports car Brice had picked out for her.
Her gaze followed the expansive lawn to the property lines on both sides. This was a big place, too much for one person to manage. The sprawling grounds of the massive home backed up to the Atlantic and anchored the corner of Wishing Beach. It offered plenty of work to keep her busy. Busyness would be a welcome distraction. Angela massaged her forehead.
She could afford to pay Jesse, contrary to what Brice might have told him. The cottage where Jesse lived made up a portion of his compensation, so her monthly outgo would be less than having to hire a gardener, a pool service, a general maintenance person and the occasional—or perhaps frequent—need for a repairman. Jesse was a bargain, no doubt. Since he lived in the cottage on the property, she would feel safe and not so alone.
Her parents owned a vacation home only three houses around the cove, but her folks no longer came to the island. Growing up, she and her family had spent summers and every school holiday on Millionaire’s Cove. That was the name locals had given to the cove. Five mansions and acres of private beachfront decorated the crowning jewel of the island. The Perrys—almost American royalty, with their generations of senators and philanthropists—had built the first, but other mansions quickly followed. This is where she’d met Brice whose family vacationed in the house that she would now call home. Permanently. A house he’d lost because, in the last possible moments of their divorce proceedings, he announced that he’d decided not to give her their Connecticut home. He’d thrown a curveball. But she’d thought quickly and said, “Fine. Keep the house. I’ll take the Baker Beach House.” She could throw curveballs too.
He’d balked, of course, until his attorney reminded him that he hadn’t included the beach house in his list of assets. And that, my friends, is what you call unethical.
They’d dated while she was in high school, then lost touch, then reconnected years later—her, fresh from college and him, fresh from a failed marriage.
After spending fifteen years of being beaten down by Brice and his self-impressed family, Angela felt like a shadow of the person she so desperately desired to be. The divorce was final now. Her circle of friends back home in Connecticut was practically nonexistent. Maybe she’d look for a start-up to invest in. The thought brought a spark of interest. She’d made several investments on her own over the years. To her husband’s oftentimes loud objections. “What do you think you’re doing? Leave it to the smarter, the qualified …” such as himself.