Chapter 18
E leanor stood in front of her damaged house as she watched the workers moving at what seemed like a glacial pace. The massive oak that had crashed through her porch had been removed, but the roof repairs were dragging on interminably. She tapped her foot impatiently against the sidewalk.
“Mrs. Griffin, we’re making good progress,” Hank—was that his name?— called from atop his ladder. “Should have the roof sealed up by tomorrow, weather permitting.”
“That’s what you said yesterday,” she replied tartly. “And the day before.”
Hank had the good grace to look sheepish. “Well, ma’am, we found some additional water damage in the joists. Better to do it right than do it twice.”
She sighed. Waiting for repairs to get finished was testing her limits. Three people living in Jonah’s small house made her miss her own space and her own routines. Winston seemed perfectly content at Jonah’s place, but she wasn’t. Though she had to admit she was enjoying Jonah’s company.
“I’m going inside to check on things,” she announced, not waiting for permission. It was her house, after all.
She carefully stepped around piles of construction materials on the porch, noting with approval that the new boards matched the old ones reasonably well.
Inside, the house smelled of dampness despite the dehumidifiers running constantly.
The main living areas were relatively untouched by the storm, but upstairs was another story entirely.
She walked through the downstairs rooms, running her fingers along surfaces, grimacing at the fine layer of construction dust that had settled everywhere. Sitting idly by was never her strong suit. She couldn’t help with the major repairs, but surely there was something useful she could do.
Her gaze settled on the door to Theodore’s office. She hadn’t changed a thing in there since he passed away. Each time she’d considered it, something had stopped her. But now, with the rest of the house in disarray, the time seemed right.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room smelled musty, a combination of old books, leather, and something distinctly Theodore. The heavy mahogany desk dominated the space, his reading glasses still perched on top as if he might return any moment to continue reviewing papers.
It took her a moment to notice the damage. Water had seeped down from the ceiling in one corner, affecting the tall bookshelf that housed Theodore’s collection of maritime history and law books. Several volumes were visibly warped, their bindings rippled with water damage.
“Well, that settles it,” she said aloud to no one in particular. “No sense preserving ruined books.”
She located a few empty boxes in the hallway closet and brought them into the office. Starting with the damaged shelf, she began removing books, examining each one before placing it in a box. Some were beyond saving, but most were simply dust-covered and musty.
As she worked, she found herself wondering why she had preserved this room like a museum exhibit all these years. She’d kept everything exactly as he’d left it, right down to the half-empty cup of pencils on his desk.
“All these years,” she muttered, shaking her head. “What a waste of a perfectly good room.”
She continued methodically emptying the shelves, occasionally pausing to flip through a volume that caught her attention.
A book on coastal navigation brought back memories of early marriage years when Theodore would take their boat out on weekends, hosting business associates.
He’d never once offered a romantic cruise, just the two of them for some couple time together.
As she reached for a thick volume, a yellowed envelope slipped out and fluttered to the floor. She bent to retrieve it, her joints protesting slightly. Whoever it was addressed to was smeared and unreadable. She stuffed it in her pocket and continued her cleanup.
Each book now represented another piece of the past she could finally release. After filling three boxes with books for donation, she turned her attention to the desk.
The drawers were filled with Theodore’s papers. Old bills, correspondence, and boat maintenance records were filed in perfectly organized files. Most could go straight to recycling.
As she worked, her mind kept returning to Cliff. He’d been helping everyone in town since the hurricane, even helping coordinate the repairs to her house. So different from the self-centered behavior she’d expected from him. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his intentions for Magnolia Key as well.
Although, his development plans were still problematic for the town’s character. But seeing him pitch in after the storm, reconnecting with neighbors who’d known him since childhood, gave her hope that the boy she’d raised wasn’t completely lost beneath the businessman exterior.
By late afternoon, she had cleared most of Theodore’s office.
The space looked larger without the overstuffed bookshelves, and sunlight streamed through the windows she’d cleaned.
She stood in the center of the room, envisioning possibilities.
Perhaps a sitting room where she could enjoy morning coffee while watching the birds in the backyard.
She felt lighter somehow, as if clearing the physical items had also cleared something inside her. This room had been a shrine to the past, to a marriage that had been filled with shattered expectations. Now it could become something new, something entirely hers.
“Mrs. Griffin?” Hank’s voice rang through the hallway.
“Back here,” she called out.
Hank appeared in the doorway. “We’re wrapping up for today.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“And, ma’am, you’ll be pleased to know we should be finished with the major repairs by Friday. You’ll be back home before you know it.”
And those were the words she’d been longing to hear.
After the workers left, to reward herself for a job well done, she headed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She put the teakettle on, enjoying the quiet and the space.
The letter in her pocket rustled slightly, and she took it out. Curious, she sat on a chair at the table and carefully opened the envelope.
Her breath caught as she read the words. “Oh, no.”
There was no reason Theodore should have had this letter unless… But she couldn’t believe he’d be that cruel. Though… maybe she *could* believe it.
She slowly folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. It was time for the intended recipient to get this letter. She got up and turned off the teakettle. The letter had been hidden too long to wait for her to sit and drink a cup of tea.
Beverly slid her plate onto the drying rack, enjoying the quiet of her cottage kitchen.
After a long day at Coastal Coffee, the simple rhythm of washing dishes soothed her.
She’d always found comfort in the ordinary tasks that kept her hands busy while her mind worked through tangled thoughts.
And lately, her thoughts had been more snarled than usual.
The hurricane’s aftermath continued to keep everyone on Magnolia Key scrambling, but the community had pulled together beautifully.
Her cafe had become a gathering spot again.
And Cliff—well, Cliff had surprised her.
His offer to fix her roof had been genuine, and he’d shown up with tools and materials, working alongside a couple of guys from his crew.
She’d avoided any deep conversation with him, keeping things strictly business. But Eleanor’s revelations about the night Cliff left the island had been playing on repeat in her mind.
The sharp knock at her front door startled her from her thoughts. She dried her hands on a dish towel and padded across the living room. Who would be visiting at this hour? Maxine usually called first.
When she opened the door, she blinked in surprise. Eleanor stood on her porch, looking as proper and composed as always, despite the late hour and the chaos of post-hurricane life.
“Eleanor,” she said, still not quite used to dropping the “Miss” after all these years. “Is everything all right?”
“We need to talk.” Her tone left no room for argument.
She hesitated. She hadn’t quite recovered from their last talk, which had upended decades of assumptions about Cliff’s departure. Nor had Eleanor ever been inside her home, but something in Eleanor’s expression made her step back and gesture to enter.
“Of course. Come in. Would you like some hot tea?” She closed the door, noticing how the woman scanned the cottage with sharp eyes.
“Tea would be nice,” Eleanor said, then added, “Your home is lovely. You’ve done well with it.”
The compliment surprised her. Eleanor wasn’t known for dispensing praise freely.
“Thank you. Let me put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen, she filled her kettle and set out two cups. Eleanor took a seat at the small kitchen table, her back straight, hands folded primly in front of her.
“Have you spoken with Cliff yet?” Eleanor asked without preamble.
She placed tea bags in the cups, buying herself a moment before answering. “No, I haven’t. Not about… that.”
“I see. May I ask why not?”
She turned to face her. “I’m not sure how to even broach the subject.
Would I say something like, by the way, your mother told me your father said terrible things about you the night you left town, and I’ve been blaming you for standing me up all these years when maybe you had good reason to leave?
That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. ”
The kettle whistled, and she poured steaming water into the cups.
“Milk? Sugar?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
She set the cups on the table and sat across from Eleanor.
“Maybe this will help.” Eleanor reached into her handbag and withdrew a yellowed envelope, placing it carefully on the table between them.
She stared at it. “What is this?”
Eleanor’s eyes held a mix of regret and purpose. “A letter. From Cliff to you. Written the night he left.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the envelope.
“I don’t understand.” She opened the envelope and unfolded one section of the letter.
Her name was written at the top in handwriting she instantly recognized, even after all these years.
Cliff’s handwriting. She closed her eyes for a moment.
“I believe that Cliff left this for you, but somehow Theodore found it before you saw it. I guess he followed Cliff that night and… I believe he opened the letter and read it, then took it and hid it in a book in his office. I found it today when I was boxing up his books.
She traced her fingers over her name, written in Cliff’s bold, youthful handwriting. “Why would he do that?”
“I can only guess at his reasons, but I suspect he thought he was protecting Cliff. Or punishing him. Maybe both. Theodore had very firm ideas about what was best for our family. About what was best for Cliff.” Eleanor’s voice turned bitter.
“He believed Cliff needed to focus on college, on making something of himself. Not on?—”
“A girl from the wrong side of the island?” she finished for her.
“Those were Theodore’s views, not mine. Though I admit I didn’t do enough to counter them. I’m afraid that worrying about what was proper and what people would think of our family… that has always been my weakness. And I paid dearly for that, both with Cliff and with Jonah.”
Eleanor took a sip of her tea and then looked pointedly at her. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
She nodded and unfolded the rest of the page, smoothing the paper as her heart pounded.
Beverly,
I’m so sorry to leave tonight after we made plans. My father said some things I overheard, and I needed to leave. I want to prove to my father that I can be a success. Make him proud of me. Make you proud of me, too, I guess.
You can write to me at the address at the bottom of the letter. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll understand. I know we had plans to leave together, but this is something I have to do.
I do care about you.
Love,
Cliff
She looked up at Eleanor with tears in her eyes. “He did hear what Theodore said.”
Eleanor bobbed her head. “Yes, I was afraid he did.”
“He says he was leaving to make a success and prove himself. And… he asked me to write him.”
“But of course you never did because Theodore took the letter and hid it.”
“All these years…” She trailed off, lost in sadness, lost in knowing how that one night had affected her life so deeply. And all her thoughts about that night… and about Cliff… were so very wrong.
“I’ve spent too many years watching my son drift through life, never quite connecting with anyone or anything.
And I’ve spent too many years watching you build walls around yourself.
Maybe it’s time for both of you to know the whole truth and talk about it.
” Eleanor met her gaze directly. “So, now are you going to go talk to him?”
She looked at the letter again and trailed her fingers over the words “Love, Cliff.” A fierce wave of determination swept through her. Now it was her turn to try and make things right.
“Yes. Yes, I am. It’s high time that Cliff and I have a serious talk. But then, I don’t know what happens next.”
“That’s for you and Cliff to figure out.” Eleanor stood. “I’ll leave you to it then.”