Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Rita and I planned the rest of our day while tidying the kitchen. With a sunny afternoon, she intended to sit on the porch to read, and I’d take a walk on the beach. Afterward, she thought we should drive to the mainland for the groceries I’d need for the weekend.
She pointed to her shopping list on the counter. “I’d like to buy a few things, too.”
“Perfect,” I replied, glancing at my watch. “Let’s meet at my car around three o’clock.”
“That won’t give you much time for walking on the beach, or getting ready for your sweetheart.”
“Brad can’t come this weekend, so it’s just you and me.”
She frowned. “That darn job of his takes up too much time.”
I nodded my agreement. “It does, but he now lets me help. I’m the new Chief Financial Officer for Quality Landscapes.”
“I’m glad he took my advice,” she noted. “We’ll just have to make the best of our time together. Go take your walk and I’ll meet you in the driveway later.”
I didn’t bother wasting time to go upstairs. After heading out her front door and strolling to the corner, I paused to glance toward Heather’s house. I knew the code to her garage, which she often encouraged me to use as my entrance, but it didn’t feel right to go inside without her being there.
When I met Heather in January, we both needed a friend, even if we didn’t realize it.
She wanted to get rid of Aunt Bertha’s property, and I had to find a new place to live.
Those externals may have been the cause of our connection, but something deeper was at stake.
For different reasons, we had lost our sense of hope.
As I stood on the dune bridge, admiring the ocean’s beauty, I credited the sea with my emotional healing, and believed it had a similar effect on Heather.
She acquired the gorgeous beachfront home upon her divorce settlement, yet it became the vehicle for her to express her emotions by painting vivid seascapes.
I’d thought she should consign her artwork at a gallery, not hide it in a storage closet. She’d lost faith in herself, as had I, and we noticed it in one another, but not ourselves. Slowly, we began to regain our footing.
Somehow, in all of that, we also found love; Brad, for me, and Wyatt, for her. Heather may have believed that her crystals had something to do with that, while I attributed it to the power of the shore.
I left my sneakers on the wooden footbridge over the dunes and headed to the water’s edge.
In August, the beach would have been crowded with sun bathers and swimmers; September’s beach comprised more of people like me.
We strolled with our eyes on the vastness of the ocean and our thoughts on the mysteries of the sea.
Admittedly, other walkers may have had far more practical reflections, though no one intruded.
We’d merely smile or nod as we passed by; each of us a pseudo-pilgrim on our own journey.
If something unusual, however, caught our attention, we’d share our findings with another human. People needed people.
I came upon an older couple gazing at a sand crab emerging from its hole. They spoke about the wonders of nature until they noticed me approaching. “Come see this,” she called to me. “You’d think it would find higher ground.”
I admitted to knowing nothing about sand crabs.
They told me of their son who brought one home as a child.
“He made a type of aquarium with sand and water,” she noted.
“It took us an entire afternoon to explain that the crab would be happier in his own environment, and he finally agreed to let ‘Crabby’ go free.”
“What a sweet story,” I said, smiling.
She returned my smile. “Believe it or not, he’s worked as a marine biologist for thirty years.”
I told them they deserved to be proud before continuing on my way.
I wondered what my son, Chet, would have become if he’d survived.
At six years of age, he wanted to be a policeman, just like his father, but that might have changed as he experienced life.
In my opinion, he was smart enough to be anything he set his mind on—even a marine biologist.
Twenty minutes later, I turned back and retraced my steps as I headed to collect my sneakers at the dune bridge. Brushing the sand off my feet, I felt at peace and, for that, I was grateful.
Neither Rita, nor I, preferred to eat out, so we purchased freshly fried chicken at the grocery store, and gathered a few side dishes to make it a meal for supper.
In addition, we both bought all of the items on our lists before returning via the causeway into Stone Harbor. We arrived home by five o’clock.
I helped her put away her groceries, then she assisted me with mine, although I carried the bags upstairs. Several months prior, she’d struggled with the steps to the second floor apartment, but that wasn’t the case any longer.
Rita loved the upstairs apartment because it had a view to the ocean, even if Heather’s house blocked most of it.
Nonetheless, it made the better rental option, so she lived downstairs.
Initially, her broken hip kept her on the lower level, but we’d worked on her ability to climb steps so she could enjoy sunsets on the balcony.
“Let’s set up tray tables in the living room, with the sliding glass doors to the balcony open,” she suggested. “And I’m in the mood for a glass of wine.”
I figured she noticed the box of wine in the refrigerator. “I’d like one, too,” I agreed, reaching for two glasses from the cabinet. “You can do the honors.”
We worked in tandem and, before long, were ready to eat. “This is such fun,” she exclaimed.
I laughed. “I think so, too.”
“We need to shop for my dress and your shoes tomorrow, and I’d like you to help me plan how I can get to your wedding.”
“I thought you’d come with Heather.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
I understood what she meant. Earlier in June, I’d planned a trip to Texas with Heather, then she wanted Wyatt to come.
I bowed out, offering to stay with Rita since she’d just returned from rehab after her hip replacement.
The arrangement worked out for each of us in different ways, and I ended up staying for most of the summer.
Taking a moment to think through the logistics, I nodded. “I guess we need Heather to let us know her plans. I imagine she’ll go with Wyatt to his condo in Philadelphia, but maybe not. You could stay in my apartment behind Brad’s landscape shop.”
She took a sip of her wine, mulling. “Didn’t you invite your parents?”
“Yes, they’ll be in the den, and you’ll be in my room.”
She winked conspiratorially. “Oh, you’ll be sleeping with the groom?”
I shook my head, pretending I didn’t get her innuendo. “No, I could put a cot in the kitchen.”
“Then, that’s where I should sleep because you’ll need to be well-rested for the ceremony and reception.”
I nodded distractedly, realizing I hadn’t fully planned for my special guests. What if my mother convinced Aunt Marie to come. She didn’t live locally, so where would she stay? “We should probably work on the arrangements tomorrow because I could use your input.”
“Do you have your guest list with you?”
“Yes, the file is in Dropbox, so I can pull it up on my laptop.”
“I have no idea what kind of box lives in your computer,” she replied with a chuckle, “but we can work on it when we return from our shopping spree.”
With that settled, we focused on eating while we chatted. At one point, she asked about my parents, and why they’d decided to move to Florida.
“They’d visit friends who had retired to Satellite Beach, and they liked the area. The town is located on a barrier island, similar to Stone Harbor, and it also has a causeway from the mainland.”
“Is it on the Gulf coast?”
“No, it’s on the Atlantic side, close to Cape Canaveral.”
“Ah,” she nodded, “thus the name Satellite Beach.”
I smiled. “Yes. The beaches are beautiful and the climate is pleasant year-round. It’s also not as humid as it is in Miami or Fort Lauderdale, so I really like the location.”
“Did you ever think about moving there after your husband and son died?”
“I needed to be alone to process my grief,” I said. “Mom and Dad begged me to come stay with them or, at least, live nearby, but I would have felt smothered. Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents dearly, yet I think they forget I’m forty years old.”
Rita nodded. “My daughter used to say that about me, so I learned to let go.” She paused, frowning. “She and her husband were killed in a car crash last year, leaving me…and Wyatt. Mother and grandson.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry.”
She nibbled on a fried chicken wing, then remarked, “Stay close to your parents and make sure they know how much you love them.”
“We talk on the phone a lot. In fact, we should give them a call as soon as we finish eating.”
“Yes, we should,” she agreed. “After all, we’ll be staying in your little apartment together, so we should get acquainted.”
I suddenly had the feeling that Rita intended to stay at my place for longer than overnight. I hadn’t previously considered the option, not that it really mattered. We’d figure it out.