“Same as you, I expect.”
Annabelle settled in the chair recently vacated by Cara. She crossed her long legs. “Not quite the same.” Leaning back in her chair she tossed out, “I’m guessing your family will help you out.”
Linnea paused to sip rather than rise to the bait, recognizing Annabelle’s knee-jerk reaction to the wealth difference between their families. “They’ll try, I’m sure,” she replied in an even tone, then sidestepped. “Seriously, are you okay, money-wise?”
Annabelle’s shoulders lowered as she stared into her glass. She exhaled loudly and shook her head. “No. I’m worried.”
“I am too. I have zero savings.”
“Savings?” Annabelle snorted. “What’s that? I was barely making rent with my extra bartending job. Thank God for catering gigs. That’s how I ate most weekends. It’s so damn expensive living in the city—hell, even near the city—that there’s no hope of putting money away. I don’t know how I’m going to make next month’s rent.”
“I’m guessing you won’t be bartending much, will you?”
“Nada. Zip. Restaurants are closed. No one is having events.”
Linnea looked at her friend’s face. Annabelle’s normally serious expression had a deeper edge bordering on desperation.
“Can you move home?” she asked.
“Good God, no. My mother’s remarried to this creep,” she said with a hint of disgust. “Who knows how long this one will last?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t go there.”
Linnea licked her lips as a thought played in her mind. Part of her balked at the idea. But the other part, the one that made her think of Aunt Cara as inspiration, won out. In a rush, the words came pouring out.
“I have an extra room here, and Cara is giving me a break on the rent until this virus thing blows over. Seems only right to pay it forward.” She paused. “You can move in here with me if you want. You wouldn’t have to pay rent. But we’d split utilities and food. That way we’d help each other out. What do you think?”
Annabelle’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”
“Never more serious.”
Annabelle put her glass down on the table, resting her hand there as though to steady herself. Relief flooded her face and she replied, “Yes.”
Linnea smiled and felt that gush of joy born of one woman helping another. She lifted her glass. “Well, then… here’s to being roommates.”
Anabelle’s face lit up. She lifted her glass, and they clinked in the air.
“Roommates!”
Linnea sipped her chardonnay, then settled back in her chair. As she swirled the glass in her hand the ice cubes clinked, and she wondered if this was the best of ideas… or the worst.
chapter two
She would dig deep to find the strength.
Wasn’t that what women did?
CARA STOOD AT the front window staring up at the sky. Thunderclouds roiled and rumbled. A major storm front was moving in that promised a downpour, possible flooding. Worse still, the leaves on the palm trees across the street were shaking in a frenzy. Never a good sign when flights were due in. Last she’d checked, planes were still landing at Charleston International Airport.
She glanced at her watch and her lips tightened. David’s plane from London had been delayed, again. He’d texted from Heathrow Airport that he was boarding the plane. She’d purchased fresh flowers, gone to Simmons Seafood for shrimp, and prepared his favorite dinner of shrimp and grits. Wine was chilling in the fridge.
She tapped her fingers against the window glass. Where is he?
* * *
“I LOVE BEING outdoors when a storm is approaching,” Julia Rutledge said, tucking her arm into her husband’s and moving closer. Small and trim, she fit comfortably beside Palmer’s five foot ten height.
“Me too,” Palmer said, patting his wife’s hand. “But we’d best hustle. That storm’s coming in fast.”
The wind gusted, punctuating his comment, sending her usually carefully coiffed hair flapping wildly about her head. A hat would be useless in this gale. Julia felt the cool moisture against her face and breathed deep. It was a refreshing respite from the past week’s unseasonably warm weather. It was only March and yet it’d felt like June. She lifted her chin and sniffed the air. Her senses were assailed with the sweet ozone scent that heralded the storm.
They walked along the shoreline where the sand was firm. The beach was deserted—neither man nor beast dared the storm. The tide was high. On Sullivan’s Island the dunes were low; the maritime shrubs formed a protective barrier against any incoming waves. Their beach path wasn’t too far now. She thought they might make it home before a drenching.
“Speaking of hustling home,” she said, leaning into Palmer, “what about our son? It sounds like it’s pandemonium at Oxford. Do you think the university will cancel classes?”
“I expect they will. Any day now.”
“What’s he going to do? How will he get home?” Her blue eyes flashed as her worry quick-shifted into panic. “Palmer, you should get him a ticket. Today. I want my baby home. I don’t want him sick with that coronavirus in a foreign country.”
“You sound like a mother hen,” Palmer said, patting her hand. “First of all, he’s not in some third-world country. He’s in England. They’re getting a firm hold on this thing. And second…” He turned his head to give her a warning look. “Don’t forget, Cooper is a grown man now. A junior in college. You can’t baby him. He’ll let us know what he needs.”
“But how will he know?” She was in no mood to leave her son’s safety up to chance, or even up to the university’s decision whether to close the college. “He might be twenty-one, but he’s not an experienced traveler.” She squeezed Palmer’s arm. “Wait, that gives me an idea. We should call David. He’s there now. Cooper can fly out with him.”
“David’s already on a plane out of London.”
“Already?” She exhaled with disappointment. “Well, phooey. See what I mean about an experienced traveler? He got out.”
“Honey, Oxford hasn’t canceled classes yet. He’s not going to be stranded. They’ll have a plan. They’re British, after all.” He looked up at the sky. “I don’t know about us, though. We’re the ones in trouble. We’d best pick up the pace. Come on, girl!”
He released her arm and they hustled along the sand as thunder rumbled louder, closer. Julia pumped her arms as her maternal adrenaline kicked in.
“What airport will he be allowed to fly into?” Julia asked, mulling this over. “The news channels are so vague. No one seems to know what’s happening. Can’t you just buy him a ticket and bring him back now?”
“Like I said, we have to trust our son.”
She cast him a suspicious glance. He was stalling. When Palmer wanted something done, he plowed forward like a bull in the harness.
“He may have to fly first-class to get out. Do you have the money for his ticket?” she asked.