12. Summer
Standingon the veranda of my house, staring out at the rolling storm coming in from the salt marsh beyond, I felt a deep, searing regret.
I couldn’t stop replaying that mortifying experience in my head: shame would follow me for the rest of my friggin life.
I was grateful Callie wasn’t home—she was out visiting friends, trying to drum up sponsors for her program at Crestmont. It was a prestigious art apprenticeship, and she, out of thousands of applicants, had been accepted.
The only bright spot in this horrific week was a call on the drive home—a waitressing job at a local diner.
But, even with the job, it wouldn’t be enough. And the pay for training me wouldn’t even begin to make a dent in the bills.
I was screwed.
How could I tell Callie that we were going to have to sell Darkmoor?
Clutching the envelope in my hand, I scanned the horizon, trying to get my desperate and spinning thoughts under control.
“Summer,” a voice broke me from my troubled thoughts. “I was looking for you.”
Benson’s limp seemed worse as he stepped out onto the veranda, not saying anything as he stood next to me—just as the rain reached the house. The sound of it was relaxing, even though everything else in my life was going to hell in a hand basket.
Once again, my thoughts drifted to the handsome stranger from the other night.
He’d offered to buy the house—he could solve all our problems.
It was annoying how often I thought of him—every time I stepped into the garden, I re-argued with him, making stronger points than before. I’d imagined taking dad’s whiskey from him, pressing my lips to the glass, staring into his eyes as I drank from the same spot his lips had touched.
I felt wild and alive when he was near, that he was the coming storm and I was waiting to jump in.
And yet, the guy was a jerk.
Expected everyone to bend to his will. To give him a number. To just sell this house, as if money was everything.
And yet, wasn’t it? We needed it to survive, and I suspected he was banking on that.
“The garden looks wonderful,” Benson said, and my eyes went to it.
“It’s just a start,” I downplayed the cleaning up I’d done. It was nothing like how it used to be, and I still had a lot to do.
“Still,” he insisted. “When the weather is better, the flowers will start to bloom. Your mom would be proud.”
“Thanks,” I said, humbled. I didn’t have the money to fix it up like I wanted, but I’d hoped to revive what was already there.
“Have you seen the Luminara lurking nearby?”
“The Luminara?” I gave him a confused look.
“The creature—you haven’t heard people about town talking about it?” he asked, a small smile to his lips. He was messing with me.
Still, I was curious. “What kind of creature?”
“A monstrous crocodile.”
“We don’t have crocodiles here.”
“With pearly scales and red eyes that roams the marsh.” He tilted his head towards the water beyond, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice lowered, with a camp-fire story quality to it. “Some say it’s a ghostly demon from hell. Others say it’s a vengeful spirit, cursed to roam the swamp for eternity.” His hand stretched out theatrically, “The Gullah people say it’s a gift from God. A spirit of protection from our ancestors.” A pause. “What do you think?”
My face broke out in a grin. “It sounds like Ollie.” I’d forgotten about my alligator friend, and the words suddenly came rushing back, jibber babber, jibber babber…
It had been a long time, but I could still remember some of the words to the old Gullah chant.
“Thought you might get a kick out of that,” he said, returning my grin. “People in town afraid of such a gentle and protective creature.”
I wouldn’t call Ollie gentle but…
“So he’s grown big?”
Benson nodded. “Yes, just like you and Callie. All grown up now.” There was a sadness in his tone, an old man longing for the past, and I nodded my head, staring out towards the water once more. Searching through the rain, hoping for a glimpse of the albino friend.
“He used to be so small,” he said, and I felt like he was trying to tell me something, “But, he survived.” He placed his hand over mine, squeezing it. “And so will you.”
“Mmm,” was all I could say, though I appreciated his comfort. The wind picked up and I shivered, rubbing my arms. “Should we go in?”
“Certainly.” He nodded, waiting for me to pass before following slowly behind me towards the study.
”Go sit by the fire.” I said. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
His big, bushy, grey eyebrows shot upwards in astonishment. ”I will not go sit by the fire.”
”But you look so--” The word, ‘tired,’ fell silent on my lips at the offended look on his face.
”I”ll be the one making hot chocolate around here. You go sit back down. I”ll be there in a minute.”
I took in the worn look on his face, the way he hunched his shoulders tiredly, the wrinkles around his eyes.
”No, I don”t want any, thank you.” I didn”t wait for him to protest, but made my way to the seat at the window, grabbing a blanket. ”Please sit down. I don”t like you hovering like that.”
I waited patiently as he took a seat across from me, and we both stared at the rain for a long moment. I wondered why he was looking for me, but didn’t want to press.
”Remember when I used to climb that tree?” I pointed to the large and stately magnolia tree way across the way.
He chuckled softly. ”Your mother used to get so worried, she could never find you.”
I nodded, smiling. ”It was the perfect hideaway. I imagined I was in another world.”
”Yes, I used to do the same thing when I was a kid. That’s actually how I hurt my leg.” He tapped it. “I fell from it once. Broke it. It never did heal right.”
“You lived here as a kid?” I asked him, surprised.
”Of course.”
“But my dad bought this when he made his fortune.”
“We came with the house.” He said this without a hint of unease. “My mom used to clean for the previous owner and my father was a butler, like me,” he mused with a sense of pride. ”He was an old, cranky bachelor. Used to berate me for climbing the tree. I was glad when your parents bought Darkmoor.”
A small smile played at my lips, trying to imagine a small Benson climbing the tree.
”Now that I think of it, your initials were carved in the trunk. Way high up. I could only go that far once! I can”t believe I didn”t put two and two together before.” Now I understood why he’d been so willing to stay here without pay. He was just as attached to this house as I was.
Which made selling it even worse.
”Children never think of adults as kids, until they have their own.” He shook his head, a far away look on his face, and I wondered what he was thinking about. “You were always a rambunctious kid, always getting into everything. Your mother would find you sleeping in the cupboards or something,” His face softened, talking about her, ”and she could pick you up and put you into your bed without you waking up, you were such a sound sleeper.”
”Still am.”
He nodded, a small smile to his face that, after a moment, grew serious. “Summer, I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“I have…” He readjusted his gold rimmed glasses, “Well, I have prostate cancer.”
I inhaled a sharp breath. “Benson. No.”
He waved a hand at me. “I’m old. Too old. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“But—I?—”
“I’m serious, Summer.” His eyes went to the windows, staring at that old magnolia tree. “I’ve lived a full life. I’m ready to go.”
“But what if I’m not?”
He returned his gaze to me, his eyes softening. “I know. And I regret to tell you so soon after your father’s passing. It’s not a burden I want you to hold.”
I shook my head. “Benson, you’re like family. Of course, I want to be here for you. Go to your appointments?—”
“No, no,” He smiled sadly. “You have enough to worry about.”
“But I?—”
“Summer.” His voice was firm, “Please let me die in dignity. I don’t want someone to have to take care of me.”
I pressed my lips together, holding back my words. I definitely wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing, but I knew saying so would only make him dig in. So I nodded. “Okay.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I needed you to know since I”ll be leaving town now and then for doctor visits. If you don’t see me around, that’s where I’ll be.”
“Okay.” A weight settled on my chest—another death.
“Now that we have that out of the way, tell me what that”s about,” he nodded to the thick, yellow envelope that had come in the mail yesterday.
I sighed, taking in a deep breath, and Benson”s eyes tracked my movements as I tucked myself even tighter into the blanket. He knew me well enough to know when I was trying to comfort myself.
“The government is suing the estate.”
This time, Benson”s silence was deafening.
”They claim we owe taxes, and if I don”t pay up, they”re going to repossess the house.” The large lump in my throat made my words sound small and weak. ”They”ll sell if off to the highest bidder, and I might not even see a cent.”
”They can”t do that!”
”I know! But...” I splayed my hands outwards in frustration. ”What can I do?”
”And what has Terrance got to say?” Benson”s voice was indignant.
”I haven”t told him yet.”
”And why not? That”s his job.”
”I don”t have the money to pay him to deal with this.”
Benson shook his head. “Don”t you worry about that.”
”I have to!” I said, exasperated. ”I can”t keep him on retainer like my dad did.”
”Your father paid him so much money over the years, I wouldn”t be surprised if his money paid for that man”s ridiculously overpriced house!” It was ironic that Benson saw Terrance’s house overpriced but not ours. ”He owes it to you. To your family name.”
”I”m not sure a family name means much anymore. Not these days anyway.”
He shook his head indignantly. ”It does here.”
”What makes you think that?”
”Look,” his gnarled finger came out to shake at me, ”I know you left when you were only seven, but down here, in the south, a name means something. You may not have your father”s money, but you have his last name. And, despite the changes over the years, that is the one thing that will never change!”
I shook my head, wanting to believe him, but unable. ”It”s not like that anymore.”
”It is. Trust me, I know.” He suddenly stood, gesturing for me to follow him. ”I was waiting for the right time to show you. I guess now is that time.” We made our way down the east wing until we stood outside my father”s office. He stopped, staring at me expectantly.
”What?” I shook my head, not understanding. ”I”ve already gone through anything I could find. There”s nothing in there.”
“Please,” he insisted, “after you.”
I hesitated, then opened the door.
The smell hit me like a ton of bricks, and my eyes teared at the smell of old books and a whiff of my father”s cologne.
I kept the door closed for a good reason—I wanted to preserve the aroma of the room for as long as possible.
”Your father was a good man, but…” Benson paused, hesitating by the rustic, wooden fireplace to stare at me sternly, “He always did what was best for the family. Or so he thought. But sometimes he was mysterious. He would disappear at odd times… Other strange things. You might find something here that can help you with your situation.”
Again, the feeling that there was something beneath the surface, just as Rook had warned me, filled me with dread. I didn’t want to face whatever it was. “There’s nothing here.”
Reaching forward, Benson tapped under the fireplace. Then, hobbling to the bookshelf, he pulled it open.
I blinked, frozen. My dad had a secret room in his office? “How did I never know about this?”
”He was very careful to keep it from you.”
I stepped towards it, and a strong smell of dad’s cologne hit my nose. I wanted to cry. ”What”s in there?”
He shook his head. ”I don”t know.”
I glanced at him, surprised.
”That was your father”s private office. If he wanted to keep it secret, it was none of my business. But,” he cautioned, “I need you to promise me that you’ll be careful.”
Nodding my head, I bit down on my lip to stop the tears that spouted in my eyes. Reaching forward, I pulled Benson into my arms. He was such a good man.
He softened under my touch, hesitatingly wrapping two arms around me, allowing the hug. He”d always been kind, but not too touchy feely. I squeezed him tight, my heart pouring with gratitude.
Maybe there was something in there that would explain everything.
I felt hope for the first time since I”d gotten that dreaded news about the will. ”Thank you,” I gushed, feeling like Benson had given me a gift greater than anyone else.
Somehow, I had a feeling he”d just given me my father back.