8. Cora
8
CORA
M y tired footsteps are nearly silent as I climb the stained wood steps to the massive wraparound porch. The white painted colonial is classic—idyllic—and finally mine. The porch swing sways gently, and I can’t help the smile that graces my lips.
I’d sat on it for hours growing up, my grandfather joining me with a cool drink and a snack from the kitchen. We’d talk about his childhood and mine, the things he’d seen and then things I hoped to see one day.
Those quiet moments were my favorite and most cherished memories of this place. They were all I had when I’d left to live with my father. My mother’s betrayal following my grandfather’s death and the years after had caused indescribable pain that had only started to fade since being back here.
Like I was coming home not just to a place but to him. The man with wrinkles on his face from years of being in the sun and laughing every chance he got, the man who’d taught me how to do the jitterbug in the kitchen and never missed an opportunity to tell me how proud he was of me.
He’d been a balm to my mother’s cruelty. Back then I didn’t understand it, but as an adult I could see her jealousy for what it was. Instead of loving me—protecting me—she had done everything to tear me down. Her constant remarks about my appearance, I could ignore, but the way she’d tried to taint my grandfather’s memory was unforgivable.
“ You didn’t really think he’d leave the house to you, did you?”
That question had haunted me for years, her voice a sickeningly sweet taunt because I had thought that he would have left me the house.
And she made me believe he hadn’t.
She’d made everyone believe it—selling off the things she didn’t want from his home before moving herself in while I left town to live with my father.
I should have fought back. I should have done something, but the emotions were too potent to do anything but accept it at face value.
Years later, the truth had prevailed—her deception had been brought to light and I’d been slowly letting those wounds heal.
In this house.
In this town.
And thank my lucky stars, I haven’t run into her since being back in Magnolia Point. But even if I did, she has no hold on me now. The thought is comforting, and I let that little win bring me back to the present.
I can see Aspen through the front windows, dancing around the kitchen, and I’m so grateful I was able to convince my best friend to move with me.
Aspen, Bea, and I had all gone to college together and worked for a while after. Bea had gone through a nasty breakup, and with the help of Aspen’s brother, Montana, moved to their hometown of Blackstone Falls to start over.
I missed her. The three of us had been inseparable, but barely a few weeks into Tennessee living, she’d met and started dating a guy she claimed might be the one.
I didn’t believe much about love, but I did believe in second chances, and being back in Magnolia Point was mine.
Letting my fingertips trail along the railing, I take in the setting sun and the palmetto trees so classic to the Lowcountry.
It’s funny the things you forget.
But not nearly as much as the things you remember.
Part of me had been afraid to come back here, but the other had relished in seeing the new businesses thriving in town. The coffee shop, Mug Life, had become a favorite stop for Aspen and me before we started our day.
Did we brew coffee for the morning rush?
Yes.
Was it nice to have someone else make it once in a while?
Also yes.
Plus, supporting other businesses was how we ended up at the Save our Seas conservation effort at the beach and why on Tuesdays we parked at the Hayes Resort, one of our many regular spots in Magnolia Point.
I make it a point to support all the local businesses in town with the exception of Lowcountry Automotive.
Been there.
Done that.
Had the police complaint to prove it.
Talon had denied any involvement, and while most times I was too stubborn to hear it, a deep, dark part of me believed him. But it was somehow easier to blame him, given our history, than believe that someone else in our community was being intentionally hurtful.
Other times, like today, he continued to be deliberately aggravating, and any warm and fuzzy feelings I’d developed vanished into thin air.
Suppressing a growl, I push open the door and step inside, the smell of basil and garlic making my mouth water.
“What’s the verdict?” Aspen says, looking up from the pot of sauce on the stove, and my shoulders slump.
“He said he’s working through the night but…” I let my voice trail off, and she doesn’t hesitate to finish it.
“But it’s extra.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen,” she says as she pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring me a glass and sliding it across the island, “I know you hate Talon, but that other guy is a creep. He overcharges us and the truck keeps breaking. I swear he’s not fixing it.”
“I knew there’d be repairs—things break, Aspen.”
“Yeah, and I’m half-tempted to call my brother to fly here and take a look or take it over to the shop himself.”
Getting defensive, I put my hand on my hip. “And do what? I’m handling it.”
“Cora,” she says with a little less bite, “that guy is a chauvinistic pig, and I guarantee he’s charging us whatever he wants and?—”
“And Talon is no better!” I cry out, my cheeks heated with embarrassment and anger as I look anywhere but at my friend.
“What happened?”
“Besides another snarky comment on my post today?”
“Which I still don’t think is from Talon,” she says pointedly as she takes a sip of her drink.
“I’d already called Oscar to come look at it and Talon drove by—he wanted to help.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Yeah, really nice. He told me I needed a new flux capacitor.”
Aspen snorts and then looks at me with wide, innocent eyes. “What? It’s funny. And that’s a great movie.”
“It would have been funny if we were friends. But we’re not and I don’t appreciate him making fun of me.”
“Okay,” she says, holding up a hand in surrender. “I get it. Is that all he said?”
Crossing my arms defensively, I admit, “He said we just need a new battery.”
“And what did you say?”
“I don’t know. I was upset, but I still told Oscar that I thought that might be the problem, but he didn’t think so. Now I’m grouchy and hungry and, and… Thanks.” I sigh as Aspen hands me a plate of pasta and a fork. “You’re an angel.”
“I don’t know about that, but I have my moments.”
“I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.” I wave my hand around the house as if that could encompass what Aspen’s friendship has meant to me.
“Yes, you would’ve.” She shrugs and holds her glass out to me. “It’s just way more fun this way.”
“I’ll cheers to that.”