Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Heather offered to walk downstairs with Rita when she was ready to leave, which happened to coincide with dusk. I suspected they both wanted an early night, so I didn’t try to convince them to stay.
Not yet ready to sleep, I filled the bathtub, added some bubbles, and soaked away any lingering tension.
At nine o’clock, wearing my pajamas and robe, I took the glass of wine Heather left on the kitchen table to the balcony, as well as a piece of cheese to nibble. I lasted a few minutes, at least until the autumn breezes chased me inside.
Stretching out on the sofa, I couldn’t find anything on TV to catch my interest and it was too early to call Brad. An incoming call surprised me, especially when I saw Heather’s ID. “Are you busy?” she asked.
“No, and I just had the most magnificent soak in the tub.”
She laughed. “I did the same thing, only mine was in the jacuzzi.”
“Don’t rub it in,” I said. “Honestly, I can’t complain because I found it so very relaxing.”
“Me, too.” She paused before asking, “Do you think Alicia should be home by now?”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s barely 9:15 and she’s twenty-one years old. What’s going on?”
“You know. She’s sick, so she should probably be getting a lot of rest. I don’t want to treat her like a child, but she went out at six o’clock. Three hours of exercise is a lot, don’t you think?”
“Maybe she met up with someone,” I suggested.
“I assume she went looking for that waiter,” she admitted, “but I don’t really know him.”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“Yes, but you never know. I heard about a young American woman who was backpacking through Spain. She was supposed to meet up with friends at a hostel in Madrid, but never showed up.”
“I hope they find her,” I said consolingly.
“They did, but she was dead.”
“Oh, my gosh, Heather! You’re going to drive us both crazy! Go meditate or something.”
“I should, but I can’t. You could come over here and keep me company.”
“Not tonight. Go up to your studio and paint that beautiful sunset we had this evening.”
“I should, but I can’t,” she said again. “Oh, my gosh. I hear the garage door, so Alicia must be home. I need to act nonchalant, so bear with me.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I could listen.
“So then,” she said, as if continuing her conversation, “I realized the chicken had a hole in the packaging, which I showed the cashier… Oh, hi, honey. Did you have a nice time?”
I took that as my cue to say goodnight. “I’m glad she’s back, safe and sound. Will you be all right now?”
She laughed. “Yes, but I’ll catch up with you soon. Ali’s here and we’ll probably play a game of rummy.”
“Okie dokie,” I said. “Have fun!”
I stared at the phone after disconnecting, thinking about Heather’s strange behavior. I wasn’t sure if I should attribute it to her daughter’s illness, Ali’s moving in, or her missing Wyatt, all of which may have contributed.
In a way, I felt sorry for her. I’d touch base in the morning because I thought she needed a friend.
Later, in bed talking to Brad, I told him about the strange conversation with Heather. He agreed that something was fueling her anxiety, and it probably hinged on her daughter.
“If the kid is still angry with her mother, she could be acting out in ways that get under Heather’s skin.”
“The way she got under mine,” I said, agreeing. “She’s good at it, Brad. And she comes off smelling like a rose.”
“There are people like that,” he replied. “Don’t let her have the lead because she’ll take advantage of you.”
I paused, thinking. “I wonder if she really is sick.”
“Her behavior could be the result of whatever’s wrong in her head. We don’t know, so I’d say you should be compassionate but not a patsy.”
I liked that thought, and it provided a good segue for Brad to tell me about his meetings. The one with Nina and Paolo had been particularly helpful because they provided insights about the direction for his storefront, and he liked their ideas.
“Your business is doing great,” I said with pride.
“Thanks to you and the good people working for me.”
Brad always praised others before taking credit for himself.
That was one of his many wonderful traits, even though he never considered his work “good enough.” It made me wonder if his dad pushed him to achieve more in life or if his service in the military caused it. Regardless, I always praised him.
He deserved it.
The next morning, I took my mug of coffee to the balcony before I even dressed.
With the light of day, I could see a piece of the ocean and hear the waves.
There was a fishy aroma in the air which drew the seagulls toward the beach in search of a tasty tidbit or two, and made me happy to be back at the shore.
I didn’t think I’d miss my apartment behind Brad’s store at all, yet I delayed moving in with him until after our wedding day.
My parents would arrive from Florida in two weeks, and I wanted them to stay in the guest bedroom.
It wasn’t ideal because we’d all have to use the hall bathroom, but they expected to see where I’d lived when I cleaned out the consignment shop.
Although I’d spent a few nights with Brad at his house since our engagement, I still couldn’t call it home. He’d done wonderful renovations, which included everything I’d ever want, yet I felt like a visitor whenever I’d stayed there.
Not so at my apartment in Rita’s home at the shore.
According to her, I was always welcome. Brad, too, liked the “almost beachfront” views from her upstairs apartment. So many times, she’d tried to convince him that he should “hang out his shingle” as a handyman in Stone Harbor, and he’d never be out of a job.
The concept enticed him, though he’d recently started the landscaping business in Pennsylvania. We’d talked about letting Nina and Paolo manage Quality Landscapes, which would free up his time for the shore, but it was still a leap of courage to think he could start another business.
Frankly, he was good at starting businesses. When he left the military and came home to care for his parents who have since died, he did a lot of handyman work. Heather’s Aunt Bertha had directed him towards that as a second career because he was good at it, and she needed a lot of help.
He liked working outdoors, so he cut her grass and plowed her long, circular driveway, then figured he could make money doing the same for others. Somewhere during that time frame, he started a local moving company, which was how I’d met him.
He sold that business in order to have enough money to buy the property which Bertha bequeathed to Heather. Interestingly, the house and grounds belonged in his family and it would become Quality Landscapes. The whole situation was very complicated.
His PTSD, that occurred as a result of a car bomb that took the lives of his wife and daughter overseas, made it difficult for him to stick to a task through completion.
My PTSD, which arose from the school shooting that took the lives of my husband and son, made it difficult for me to step out of my comfort zone.
We both had the quandary of living with the consequences, yet our experiences helped us urge the other forward.
I once told Heather that I felt drawn to write a book. I didn’t want it to be a memoir because I’d been in such a dark place after losing Tony and Chet. Instead, I thought my novel could start with a conflict. It wouldn’t be the same as mine, but something that had to be overcome.
I didn’t know how to begin, other than to just put words on a page. My laptop case had a notebook, so I retrieved that, grabbed a pen, and wrote a sentence. It sounded too flowery when I read it aloud, so I crossed it out.
There I sat, listening to seagulls and drinking my coffee, as I imagined a young widow whose aunt bequeathed her a home at the Nantucket shore. I had no idea what brought Nantucket to mind since I’d never been there, but I went with it.
A moment later, Rita called. I answered with a cheery hello.
“Good morning, Jodie. You don’t have to check on me since I’m up and feeling good. Would you like to come downstairs to join me for breakfast? I thought I’d heat up the package of sticky buns you bought me.”
I hated to leave my story, but I reminded myself that people were more important. “Yes, I’d love that,” I said. “Would you like me to come now?”
She did. I closed my notebook, placed it with my pen on the balcony coffee table, and told myself I’d return soon. The thought of getting back to my novel thrilled me.