Palmer didn’t reply, but his lips set in a grim line.
Julia felt a now familiar flutter of fear in her gut. She didn’t mean to embarrass him, but the question had to be asked. Money was always tight, but lately he’d been closemouthed about how tight. That usually meant trouble.
“I have money set aside from my business,” she offered. “Mrs. James is scheduled to return in April when her house is finished. She owes me a pretty penny.” She chewed her lips. “But with flights from the UK suspended, who knows when she will be allowed to fly in? I won’t get paid in full until her final approval.”
“I’m fine.”
Julia walked beside her husband, keenly aware of the shift in dynamics between them. Palmer, like his father before him, had a firm grasp on the family finances. The men did not “bother” their wives with figures. Yet after Palmer had gone bankrupt and the family sold off their holdings and Julia had begun her decorating business, she had experienced a heady sense of empowerment. Julia danced on the head of a pin—trying to give Palmer his respect, while rejecting her role as the little woman. Julia no longer trusted Palmer’s business acumen, or his remaining sober. She was beginning to rely on herself.
“Palmer, I don’t want to wait until it’s too late. Let’s look for a ticket for Cooper when we get home. It will be expensive, given the lack of time.” She licked her lips, knowing any offer of hers to help finances would come as an insult to her traditional husband. “We could pool our resources.”
“I’ll buy him the damn ticket.” Palmer’s face was as clouded as the sky.
She felt slapped. They hurried a few more steps in a tense silence, squinting as the intensifying wind tossed sand in their faces. Julia turned to study his face. It was set, and she didn’t like the worry she saw in the new lines carved around his eyes. Worry lines, her mother had called them. Julia wasn’t trying to be mean-spirited. But she had to ask.
“Palmer… are we okay?” When he didn’t reply, she asked in a softer voice, “Will we weather this storm?”
She felt the tension lower between them.
“I should be able to finish this house project,” Palmer said in a serious tone. “I need to get the house on the market right quick. But truth be told, who knows what the market will be like in this pandemic? Spring’s our busiest time, but everyone’s staying home. No one is looking to buy. But who knows this summer?”
Julia decided to be forthcoming and not protect him from the truth. “I was notified there may be delivery delays on the appliances.”
Palmer swung his head to look at her, then cursed under his breath. He ducked his head as wind gusted, then made the turn toward the dunes and forged ahead. He looked dejected, with his head down and shoulders slumped. Julia said a quick prayer that he wouldn’t fall off the wagon. He’d been sober for ten months. When they reached the beach path, he waited for her to catch up. His mama had trained him well.
“Don’t worry, Palmer. We’ll just have to take it day by day,” she offered, forcing her voice to sound upbeat.
“I reckon.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“We’ve weathered worse.”
Palmer’s chuckle was a welcome sound. He glanced her way, his eyes gleaming with appreciation of her support. “We have. And we pull though.”
“We always do.”
“We just have to tighten our belts,” he cautioned.
Julia knew that experience all too well. “I went shopping today. I just got the essentials, because they’re warning of shortages. Lord help us, you should’ve seen the crowds at Harris Teeter. And the shelves were nearly empty! I couldn’t get toilet paper! People are panicking, hoarding.” She rattled off the long list of food items she’d purchased as provisions. “This virus is making people act like a hurricane’s coming.”
“It’s an economic hurricane.”
As they approached the white 1940s beach house, Julia’s thoughts went, as they always did, to what she would do to its exterior, if only they had the money. She’d never loved this beach house the way Cara loved hers. That little cottage had such charm. She’d had fun helping Cara decorate that one. But this one…
Julia frowned, approaching the flat-faced, unremarkable house. Palmer had purchased it twenty years earlier—one of his friend-to-friend deals that he couldn’t pass up. Charleston was a small town that way, especially for the tight group that lived South of Broad. Someone had died and the beachfront house was available for a song. Palmer had told Julia with his usual bravado that beachfront property was always a good investment. It didn’t matter about the house, he said—one day they’d sell the place, or tear it down and she could build a spanking-new house, one she could design.
Julia had never cared much about beach houses. She was a Charleston girl, born and bred. When his father passed, Stratton had left the great house on Tradd Street to his only son, rather than to his wife, and Julia and Palmer had moved into the Rutledge House with their children, Linnea and Cooper. Palmer had considered it his duty to take care of his mother, and as for Julia, she’d doted on Olivia.
Palmer had rented out the Sullivan’s Island beach house every summer after buying it, needing the income. The arrangement suited them. A few weeks on the island for vacation was enough for Julia. She had always planned to sell the house one day and use the money to purchase one of the more attractive cottages that she coveted.
Then the Charleston export/import business that had been in the Rutledge family for generations had gone bankrupt under Palmer’s watch. Her world had flipped. They’d had to sell the family house on Tradd Street, as well as the hunting lodge, and were forced to retreat to the beach house. Palmer didn’t seem to mind much. The arrangement kept him in the game with plans to build a spec house. Palmer was always looking for a quick way to make his fortune. Linnea had left for California and Cooper for college.
It was harder on Julia. She’d loved living in Charleston. Loved the beautiful house on Tradd. She’d decorated each room with loving care, believing one day she’d pass it on to Cooper or Linnea. That was never going to happen.…
She felt the first drop of rain, cold and wet on her face.
“Hurry up, woman!”
They took off at a trot, reaching the house just as the sky opened up.
“We made it just in time,” Palmer declared, wiping the wet from his face with meaty palms.
Julia looked around, taking in the unadorned clapboard house. Ugly as ever, she thought, shaking the rain from her hair. There were times it pained her just to look at it. She turned her back on the sparse, sandy grass and the leggy azaleas.
Palmer punched in the key code and pushed open the front door, stepping aside. Julia hurried indoors just as thunder cracked above them.
“Sweet Jesus!” Julia exclaimed, hand on heart. “That one was right over us.”
The rain was coming down in torrents and the wind gusted as clouds raced over the island. Julia slipped out of her windbreaker and shook it over the tile, then hung it on the coatrack. She pushed her damp blond hair from her face and let her gaze sweep the large, open, and airy room, checking that the windows were closed.
For as ugly as the outside of the house was, the inside was a charmer. It had taken a solid hissy fit for Palmer to give her the funds to redo the cottage, but she’d refused to move into the rabbit-warren rooms unless he’d agreed. Julia had gutted the house and done to it what she’d dreamed of doing for twenty years. Her motto was good-bye, box! The small rooms were gone, and the ceiling soared, opening the space to light and air from the ocean visible beyond their property. Expansive space and white walls with vibrant splashes of color were Julia’s signature décor. On a shoestring budget, she’d transformed the interior of the shabby, blah house into one she could be proud of. She couldn’t afford to change the outside—yet—but the inside was home.