“I’m happy for you.” Cara turned and, searching Linnea’s face, said carefully, “You are happy about it?”
“Oh yes, of course,” she replied, a tad too quickly.
“But…”
“But there’s a problem.”
“There’s always a problem with travel these days.”
“Not travel,” Linnea said. “Housing. Gordon wanted to get the same house he did last summer, but sadly, it’s rented for the season. He’s checked everywhere and there isn’t a place available. The islands are fully rented. You wouldn’t know of anyone who’d rent their house? Or has an apartment?”
Cara considered this as she walked a few paces. “Afraid not. Everyone I know has either rented their house or isn’t renting at all and moved in themselves to shelter in place here.”
“Exactly. So…” Linnea sneaked a quick glance at Cara, who was looking straight ahead toward the ocean. “He’s asked to move in with me.”
Cara swung her head around to look at Linnea. “In the beach house?”
“Yep.”
Cara reached out and linked arms with her. Linnea felt a gush of relief at the touch. “Is that what you want?”
“Well, he is my boyfriend. Albeit absentee. I might be in love with him. We’ve been separated for so long… I was hoping to find that out this summer.”
“But you missed him?” It was a question.
“Oh yes. A lot. We were planning on being a couple this summer. But I didn’t plan on living together.”
“But he needs a place to stay.”
“Right.”
“Is this what you want?”
Linnea hesitated.
Cara seized on this. “If you are moving in with him because you feel you should do it—don’t.”
“But you said the beach house is a safe haven. That we should offer it to others.”
“True. But Linnea, first of all, your home is supposed to be a safe place for you.”
“I feel safe with Gordon.…”
“Then I ask again, is this what you want to do?”
Linnea nodded, deciding in her own mind. “Yes.”
“Okay, then.”
“I don’t want to overstep my bounds by inviting him to the beach house. It’s your house, your rules.”
Cara turned to look at her and removed her sunglasses. Linnea felt the power of her aunt’s gaze.
“No, Linnea. You live there now. It’s your home. It’s your rules.” She paused and slipped her sunglasses back on. “And your consequences.”
chapter nine
Sometimes it was the little things that cheered people up.
May
COOPER COULDN’T PEDAL the old beach cruiser bike fast enough. His head was bent and he pushed like it was a Peloton class. Two weeks in quarantine under his parents’ roof and he was about to lose his mind. He had to get out of the house. Twenty-one years of age, and every morning at seven sharp his father called out, “Up and at ’em!”
His mother, God love her, kept shoveling food his way. So much food. Julia had asked him to sit at the dining table, but he’d played the coronavirus card big-time, using it to stay confined in his room. His father was already passing him the blueprints of the house he was building, telling him he needed a good man on the job. How it’d be father and son, working together, building an empire.
Cooper had worked construction during high school summer breaks and knew his way around a hammer. It was hard work, but he’d enjoyed it. He liked being outdoors. Sure, he’d take a job, gratefully. They were hard to come by these days. But working for his father was dancing on the head of a pin. And to be honest, he was pissed that his father had lost the import/export company. That was the job Cooper was interested in. He puffed out air. He and his father had never shared the same dreams.
The spring sun beat down mercilessly on his skin. He’d lathered on suntan lotion but the sweat was dripping it off. Man, he was seriously out of shape. He’d been out walking the beach during his quarantine and lifting weights. He’d arrived home from England with skin like the underbelly of a fish. After only two weeks he’d regained the beginnings of a decent tan. He had his grandfather Stratton’s coloring, like his aunt Cara—dark hair and skin that tanned after only a day in the sun. That used to drive Linnea insanely jealous; she was more like their father and grandmother Lovie, pale-skinned and blond, lobster red after a day in the sun.
He turned off Palm Boulevard and headed toward the ocean. A few blocks later, he arrived at the familiar yellow beach house. It was perched on a scrubby dune overrun with wildflowers. He pulled off his helmet, wiped sweat from his brow, and took in the cottage where he’d spent so many summers. Unlike his parents’ beach house, this one oozed charm. His grandmother used to say there wasn’t another place like it, and he believed she was right.
Lovie. He smiled thinking of her. Oh, the times they’d had in this cottage! He remembered sitting on the porch in the late afternoons with all the women who came to Primrose Cottage. A gaggle of geese, his father had called them uncharitably. He tried to remember who all the women were. There was Lovie, of course. And Florence Prescott, the old woman who lived next door. She used to scare him and he never wanted to cross her. His aunt Cara and Emmi Peterson, or Baker now since the divorce. He scanned his brain, but he couldn’t remember the names of the turtle team members. They came and went. Oh, yeah, there was Toy Sooner. Only she’d married. He couldn’t remember her last name now. And her daughter, Little Lovie, was always tagging along. Then, of course, there was Linnea. Everyone knew she was Lovie’s favorite.
That left Cooper the only male. They’d fondly called him Little Fox, as in the fox in the henhouse. He chuckled. What a dork he was. Back then, he’d thought they’d called him that because he could be clever, even sneaky, about grabbing candy and cookies. Only years later did he figure it out.
He walked his bike to the small area under the porch that was used for storage. He spotted Linnea’s surfboard, Big Blue, which had once belonged to Brett. Cooper felt a pang at seeing it. He’d adored that man. Brett was his role model of all a man should be—more even than his father. Cooper had been jealous when Cara gave the board to Linnea—not that he blamed his aunt; Linnea was getting into surfing and she was living with Cara at the time. It all made sense. But still. He would’ve liked something of meaning that had belonged to Brett. Sometimes, he thought, being a male in the Rutledge family, for all the history of primogeniture, felt a bit second-tier.
He brushed aside nostalgia and braced himself for his do-or-die plea to his sister. He rested his bike against the wall, then ran his fingers through his short, thick hair, which was damp with sweat. So was his T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and headed around to the seaward side of the house where he heard the soft beat of Bob Marley playing.
He walked up the steps to the broad expanse of wooden decking that was perched on the dune. Cooper stopped a moment to take in the unobstructed view of dunes, beach, and ocean beyond. Was it any wonder his father had spent years trying to convince Cara to knock down Primrose Cottage and build a grand house on this lot? That empty lot across the street would remain a park in perpetuity, guaranteeing ocean views. The secret of who owned the lot had, so it seemed, gone with his grandmother to the grave. He chuckled. It had turned out his grandmother was the real fox of the bunch.