Chapter 2
2
T he late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Ginger’s cottage, casting delicate shadows across her antique Balinese writing desk. She was sorting through old photographs for her meeting with Jack when her phone rang, breaking the silence.
“Hello?” she answered, curious about the unfamiliar number.
“Ginger Delavie? It’s Oliver Powell. Kurt’s brother.”
She smiled as memories flooded back. “Why, what a lovely surprise. I’ve thought of you so often. How are you, dear?”
“I’m doing alright, considering everything,” he replied. “I wondered if you received the invitation to Kurt’s celebration of life in Laguna Beach?”
“Yes, I did.” Ginger softened her tone. “I would be delighted to attend. Kurt held a special place in my life, and he was like a brother to Bertrand.”
“They were practically inseparable throughout school and later at Harvard. It was like I had two older brothers, especially after Bertrand’s parents passed away.”
“And how is Margaret?”
There was a brief pause before Oliver continued, “I’m a widower now, Ginger. Margaret passed two years ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Oliver.” Ginger pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the pain of that loss. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. You knew how Margaret was; she didn’t want any fuss. We had a small ceremony for our family. It comforts me to know she’s in a good place now.”
Ginger remembered Margaret. She had been quiet and introverted, though she was a sweet woman dedicated to her loved ones.
“How are you managing?” she asked, her heart aching for him.
“I’m much better now. Thanks for asking.”
They fell into an easy conversation, catching up on old friends and their paths since they’d last seen each other at Bertrand’s funeral. Ginger laughed at Oliver’s witty observations and felt a warmth she hadn’t experienced in years.
When there was a lull in the conversation, Oliver asked, “Did you ever remarry after Bertrand?”
“No, I never tried to replace him,” she replied. “There are few men like Bertrand.”
“I agree,” Oliver said. “He always said that life should be lived to the fullest. Maybe we shouldn’t close ourselves off to new possibilities.”
Curious now, she had to ask. “Have you been seeing anyone?”
“No, but I’m open to surprises,” he replied with a small chuckle.
His words resonated with her, stirring something long forgotten in her. “Life certainly has a way of doing that.”
Ginger enjoyed talking to him. His intelligence and humor were refreshing, and their shared history gave them a great deal in common to talk about.
“I shouldn’t monopolize your time,” he finally said. “I wanted to talk to you before the event and remind you not to wear black. This event is a fond celebration, not a funeral. That’s how Kurt wanted it. He told me he wanted to look down on one last festive event.”
“That sounds like Kurt. He was always the life of the party.”
Oliver cleared his throat on a husky note. “I look forward to seeing you soon.”
“As do I, Oliver,” she replied. Then, surprising herself, she added, “Feel free to call if you need help with anything.” A smile played on her lips as she hung up the phone.
Ginger sat back in her chair, recalling their past friendship with fondness. She checked her calendar and marked the date of Oliver’s event for Kurt. She would attend, she decided.
Jack arrived shortly after she hung up with Oliver. She answered the door with a stack of old photos in her hand.
“Visuals will help you imagine what my world was like,” Ginger said as she welcomed him. “Come with me. I’ve been sorting things on the dining room table.”
“Sure will. I appreciate that.” Jack surveyed the stack of papers and photo albums on the wooden table.
“Have a seat.” She had prepared for this meeting with a pot of his favorite Earl Grey tea, a pad of yellow sticky notes, and copies of articles she’d written years ago.
Jack slid out a chair for her before taking a seat. She smiled at his manners, pleased that Marina had chosen a partner well this time—not that Stan hadn’t been a prince of a man, too. But that Grady—what he had done to Marina still irked her. Yet, if her fiancé hadn’t acted in such a dreadful way, Marina wouldn’t have fled to Summer Beach or met Jack. Ginger loved having Marina nearby, along with her bustling cafe.
“You’re the wordsmith,” Ginger began, pouring tea for Jack. She noticed him watching her with respect. “I’ve always been driven by ideas and possibilities. Of right and wrong—although the world operates in shades of gray, I’ve discovered.”
“Thank you,” Jack said, accepting the tea. “Before we begin, I’m curious. Your biography—why now?”
“Is that Marina’s inquiry or yours?”
“Fair enough. She voiced the question, although I wondered, too.”
“First of all, you’re available. To find talent such as yourself, with your credentials, in Summer Beach is rare.” Avoiding questions of age, illness, or mortality, she added, “The time simply seemed right.”
Jack nodded at this explanation. He opened a notebook and clicked a pen. “I know you well enough to flesh out the foundational material, so we can skip those questions. The stories we share reveal our outlook, life experiences, and subsequent learnings. We’re hard-wired for stories, especially those that humanize the subject. That’s where we can start.”
“Well, I am very much a human,” Ginger said. “Must we establish that?”
Jack’s face colored. “What I meant was?—”
“I’m only teasing you, my dear,” Ginger said, opening the album she had shared with Marina. “Let’s begin with my family history. Early childhood shapes us, don’t you think? Then, as adults, we must decide to continue on our parents’ path or change our journey.”
Nodding, Jack made a note. “Can you be more specific?”
“Of course.”
Jack waited for her to elaborate, but her mind was racing ahead, connecting the dots, the cause and effect of myriad choices—some small, some momentous.
She tapped a photo, naming her family members. “My parents met in Oklahoma and moved west. This photo was taken just before my brother Calvin left for university. I was excited at the thought I would soon join him.”
“And did you?”
That question made her hesitate. A memory flooded her mind, and the years slipped away.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Surely you showed great promise in those subjects as a child.”
“True, but…”
Leaning forward, Jack pressed on, his voice soft with empathy. “You must have been disappointed. I’d sure like to hear that story.”
“Well, alright.” As she began telling her story, she felt like she was there again.
Seated at a second-hand dining room table scarred from use, Ginger closed her schoolbooks. She’d finished early today.
In the adjoining living room of the small cottage, the rhythmic sound of sewing shears slicing through cotton fabric broke the silence. Her mother worked at a padded cutting table that folded out from the wall.
The aroma of tea filled the air. It was too warm outside for hot tea, so Mary Lou Sheraton often let it grow cold before drinking. Cut fabric panels stacked nearby would be dresses come morning.
Ginger often slept to the sound of her mother pumping the foot treadle of her sewing machine, its needle piercing the fabric.
She stuffed her homework into her book bag for school tomorrow. She had just enough time to swim before helping her mother prepare dinner. Her gingham dress was scratchy and damp with perspiration. She stood, ready to bolt. “May I go to the beach with my friends now? Their parents will watch us.”
Her mother shook her head. “Not today. Calvin and Buford need help with their homework.”
“They never help me.”
The scissors fell silent. “Grace Ellen, watch your mouth.”
Ginger tried to look remorseful, but she was tired of carrying the homework load for her brothers. “Mama, they must learn calculus and trigonometry for their exams.”
“That is precisely why they need your help now,” her mother replied patiently. “Calvin must pass if he is to graduate from high school. You have a natural aptitude for this material, so share your blessings with your brothers. To do otherwise would be selfish.”
“But I haven’t taken those classes yet.” She would have, except one teacher blocked her request and insisted home economics was a prudent alternative.
Her mother arched an eyebrow. “You’ve read those books cover to cover and earned credit for the classes, thanks to Miss Carter and the principal.” She put down her scissors and picked up her teacup. “When you’re older, you’ll be glad you helped your brothers.”
“Mama, I know what I want to do.” Ginger had been waiting for the right time to share her dream with her mother. If she couldn’t go to the beach, she’d make her pitch before her father came home.
Her mother would understand.
Ginger placed her bag near the door. “I just learned today that Scott is graduating early with a university scholarship. My grades are better than his. Except in home economics.” Ginger made a face.
“Nothing wrong with being a fine cook.” Her mother peered over the rim of her cup. “And your grades are the best in the school.” Pride filled her voice.
“Then let me apply to the university like Scott did,” Ginger pleaded. “My teachers will support me, and I’ve challenged and received credit for every math class offered. I’m so far ahead I’m bored. I don’t want to wait to study the advanced math I’ll need for a degree in engineering.”
Her mother looked out the window toward the ocean and its relentless waves. Slowly, she dragged her gaze back to her daughter. “You want so much, honey.”
Feeling confused, Ginger stared at her. Her mother had supported her dreams in the past; why wouldn’t she now? “Please, let me try.”
“You take after my father, dear.” Her mother shook her head. “He was such a brilliant man.”
The rear door slammed, startling her mother. She stashed her supplies and folded the table away. “He’s home early. Go help your brothers, and I’ll start dinner.”
A wave of panic swept over Ginger. “This is my chance; I know it. I could go to school with Calvin and Scott.”
Her father entered the room, the smell of the sea and his fishing vessel clinging to his clothes. “Your chance for what, Ginger?”
Quickly, she told him about her plan. “I could leave home with Calvin and continue with him. I know I can do this. I can solve problems others can’t.”
Her father gazed at her with a mixture of pity and pride. “I’ll bet you can, peanut. You’re one heck of a chess player. At least I can still win against your brothers.”
“Give me a chance, Pa. Please.”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin and frowned at her mother. “That’s not for you.”
Ginger was stunned at his words. “But, Pa, it’s perfect for me. There will be people I can finally relate to who’ll understand me. I can study engineering?—”
“A lady engineer, imagine that!” He chuckled. “You need to be reasonable. Education requires a lot of money.”
“My teachers think I can get scholarships.”
“You will finish high school,” her father replied, his stern tone indicating the conversation was over. He turned to leave, shower, and change his clothes, just as he did six days a week.
Sensing her time was running out, Ginger seized the chance to clarify his mandate. “Once I graduate from high school, then I can go?”
Her father glanced at her mother, and another guarded look passed between them. “Mary Lou, haven’t you discussed this with your daughter?”
“But she’s so talented.” Her mother lifted her shoulders and let them fall—a familiar signal of helplessness against her husband’s decisions.
Ginger knew that was an act. Her mother was intelligent, even though she hadn’t finished school because every hand was needed on the farm.
It didn’t matter in the end. They were among many families who lost their homesteads and moved west in search of work and opportunities. Her father, proud as he was, was forced to let his wife work to put food on the table.
Mary Lou was an excellent seamstress, and she had taken in sewing for years. After settling in Summer Beach, which was then barely a town, they clawed their way back from financial ruin to a moderately comfortable station in life. Her father still bore the scars.
Watching her mother, Ginger set her jaw. Mary Lou Sheraton often minimized her intelligence in her husband’s presence, deferring decisions to him.
Ginger would never do that. Her favorite teacher at school—Beatrice Carter, who’d worked as a machinist at a factory in nearby Long Beach during the Second World War—told her women had more opportunities than ever now.
After hearing that, Ginger had decided she wouldn’t marry for a while. First, she would get an education, have an exciting career, and travel the world.
She stepped toward her father. She’d grown as tall as he was in the last two years. Ginger angled her chin at him. “If Scott can go to university a year early?—”
“Scott Smithson?” Interest fired in her father’s eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
“I know his father. A good family man.” He removed his frayed cap and ran a hand through his hair. “What if you were to marry Scott? Sounds like he has fine prospects now.”
“Pa! I don’t like him that way.” Between her father’s words and the way his hair stuck up at odd angles, he was like an alien to her.
“Scott is mighty keen on you,” he continued. “I’m sure he would welcome your help with his studies.”
Her mother rose and stepped to her side. Taking her hand, she said softly, “His father has raised the question, dear.”
Ginger couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stepped back, recoiling at the idea. “I won’t marry Scott. And I won’t spend my life being a tutor to every man who is less intelligent than I am.”
Her father scowled. “Why, you ungrateful child.” Whipping his hand back, he advanced on her.
“Stu, don’t,” her mother shouted, grabbing his arm with surprising force. She cast a worried look at Ginger. “She’s young. I’ll talk to her.”
Huffing and hitching up his stained trousers, her father seemed suddenly embarrassed at his outburst, but he covered it with his usual bluster. “Graduating from high school is an achievement for a woman. Look at your mother. You should be happy you don’t have to leave school like she did.”
Her father had never struck her, and she didn’t think he would have, but Ginger knew she had touched a nerve. Yet, she had to make him understand how much she wanted—no, deserved , this chance. She had earned the privilege through diligence and determination.
Despite hot, angry tears threatening her eyes, Ginger drew herself up again. “Why do Calvin and Buford get to go? I’m smarter than they are. You’ve said so yourself.”
Her father rubbed his forehead. “They need an education to improve their prospects and provide for the families they will have someday. Higher education is wasted on you.”
“What if it were me that drowned instead of Jesse? You would send him.” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she had pushed too far.
Her mother was quick to step between them. “Stu, please don’t. She didn’t mean that.”
With his face beet-red, her father jabbed a finger toward her. “My decision is final.”
His words struck her harder than any blow he might have dealt. Ginger sucked in a breath and turned into her mother’s protective embrace.
“There, there, dear,” her mother murmured, encircling Ginger in her arms. “When you’re married and raising your babies, you won’t have time to think about anything else. And that time is not so far away.”
“Mama, no,” Ginger pleaded. “I can’t get married, not yet.”
Her father clenched his jaw while her mother tried again. “You don’t want to miss finding a good man.” She cast another look at her husband. “Maybe not Scott, but someone like him who would care for you.”
Instead of encouragement, her mother’s words sounded more like an apology. “I’m capable, and I can take care of myself.”
Just then, Calvin came into the room, throwing a look at their father. “Hey, Ginger. Sure could use your help on my homework.”
“She’ll be right there,” her mother said, her voice gaining strength. “Stu, go wash off that fishy smell while I start dinner.”
Her father gave Ginger a final look of warning, and Calvin loped back to the room he shared with Buford.
When they were alone, her mother hugged Ginger to her chest and whispered into her thick mane of nutmeg-colored hair. “Scott was granted the scholarship I tried to get for you.”
Ginger could hardly believe what she’d heard. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d put me up for that?”
“I wanted to spare you the disappointment in case you weren’t chosen,” she whispered. “Don’t tell your father. He would be furious.”
Hope surged in Ginger’s chest. “I could try for it next year.”
Her mother shook her head. “The scholarship committee won’t assist girls. But I’ll help you get out of here.”
“How?”
“I’m working on it with Miss Carter,” her mother replied, her eyes blazing with determination. “You will not live the life I have.”
Ginger opened her mouth to speak, but her mother pressed a finger to her lips. “That’s enough for now. Go help your brother.”