The Sweet Tea Odyssey

Chapter One Rosalynn

Chapter One

Rosalynn

Rosalynn bit back a sigh of aggravation as, once again, her former husband spooned two heaping teaspoons of sugar into the unsweetened iced tea. Adding sugar after the brew cooled was just downright counterproductive. There was an art to making sweet tea that he’d never mastered.

Clinking his spoon against the tumbler, Seth sat across the table from her at the Realtor’s office as they waited for the agent to bring the paperwork listing their Sullivan’s Island dream home.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

Undissolved, those granules drifted through the amber liquid like grains in an hourglass counting down to the end of their time together. After twenty years of marriage, he still couldn’t make a decent glass of Southern sweet tea, much less learn from his mistakes.

On the surface, Rosalynn Barnwell-Yates understood that sounded nitpicky, and she’d made her fair share of marital blunders. But the ongoing debate over something so simple as a pitcher of tea had been indicative of his lack of commitment to other elements of their relationship.

Like not draining their daughter Elsie’s college savings account at a blackjack table.

Seth lifted his drink, wiry as ever in his polo shirt and khakis. Boat shoes. No socks. His style had remained unchanged since his frat boy days, when he’d charmed her at the University of South Carolina with his easygoing smile and overblown dreams. “Would you like some?”

She stifled a wince, reminded of old fraternity parties and beer with too much foam. “No, but thank you.”

If only Seth had fessed up to his gambling addiction and sought help, maybe they could have found a path through to reconciliation. Instead he’d proved time and time again that he would spend his last dollar on a lotto card.

And lie about it.

She could have forgiven the lost money. But the refusal to seek help? That had broken her heart and ended their marriage. Irrevocably.

Their divorce was final as of last month.

A massive hurdle tackled. They had only to divvy up what assets he hadn’t gambled away.

Not that there would be much left if they didn’t manage to off-load their heavily mortgaged waterfront home.

Rosalynn shrugged off the morbid thoughts and focused on the future.

She still had her job as marketing director at a local arts center.

And most importantly, she had her daughter. Elsie. Her quirky and brilliant fairy child growing up too fast, with only one year left in high school.

Only one year left for Rosalynn to figure out how to replenish the college fund.

Once the Realtor finished tucking a business card in each of the two folders, Rosalynn could begin the search for a new house to start over with her teenager.

A smaller place, yes, and unlikely to have even a partial water view, but all theirs.

She intended to make the most of Elsie’s last year at home before she left for college.

Rosalynn hauled her attention to the Realtor’s voice.

Therese Copeland, a longtime friend and killer real estate agent, slid the folders across the rattan conference table edged in tiny shells.

“Selling a waterfront home during hurricane season can be risky. Offers may come in at a lower price point. It’s not too late to pause the process.

If you could wait until after the New Year—”

“No,” Rosalynn blurted.

“Well . . .” Seth hedged.

Typical. There’d been a time she had appreciated his refusal to let matters get complicated. “Our divorce decree states that we both do all we can to sell the property. Although, Seth, you’re welcome to refinance the house in your name and buy me out.”

Silence swelled inside, while waves rolled and crashed higher, louder outside.

The tide surged ever so slightly. Nature’s bellwether, an early warning of sorts for the incoming tropical storm.

Unease lifted the hairs on her arms. She needed to wrap this up and check on her daughter.

Rosalynn knew firsthand the stresses on a kid when parents divorced, even if her own mom had landed on a forever match the second time around.

Seth shook his head. A graying blond lock fell over his forehead. “Rosalynn’s right. List the place. I already put a ‘For Sale’ sign out front on the way over.”

He’d done what?

Therese gave Rosalynn a quick but unmistakable I’ve got this, my friend look. “Seth, I will need to replace that with one including our logo and contact info.”

Seth waved away her concern. “Of course, of course. And if there’s weather damage, we can sort that out with insurance. Even if we have to accept a lowball offer, surely Rosalynn and I will both pocket a bit of profit from the sale.”

She’d made the down payment all those years ago, but saying as much would only gum up the works and delay moving on.

No amount of money was worth prolonging the inevitable.

Or worse yet, risking Seth somehow tangling them up in more shared debt by taking out loans and signing up for credit cards without her consent.

Therese drummed her manicured nails along the paperwork, a gold starfish stenciled on her pointer. “Rosalynn? Anything you wish to add?”

“Let’s move forward. Please.” Her phone vibrated on the table, but she kept it face down. Work would have to wait. She didn’t take many days off from the office. “Time to list.”

The cell buzzed again. And again. Likely from her teenage daughter sending her drive-through order, texts being the primary way Elsie communicated with her lately.

Rosalynn would buy out the whole menu if it would help, but so far, no amount of fast food seemed to break down the wall between them, which had grown even higher in the past few weeks.

Seth rested his hand on top of hers, his college ring shiny. “I’m glad you’re interested in keeping the peace.”

Rosalynn eased away and reached for one of the folders. “In the interest of peace, Elsie and I would appreciate some help securing the hurricane shutters on the house in case this tropical storm turns ugly.”

Grimacing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure, uh, I wish I could, but I’ve gotta baby my shoulder. It’s that old college baseball injury acting up. I’m heading out after this. Road trip to Biloxi. You’re both welcome to come along.”

To a city with casino boats.

Had he always been this transparent and she hadn’t paid attention? A question for another time.

“I’ll pass. If we’re done here, I need to head home to check on Elsie.” As she tucked the paperwork into her bag, her phone vibrated again, rattling across the table and sliding from the edge. Leaning, she scooped the device up in midair just as her service dog popped to his feet, ready to assist.

Rosalynn motioned for him to wait as she tucked her cell into the canvas bag beside her thigh.

With a quick thanks and goodbye to Therese, Rosalynn gripped the handles on her wheelchair to roll back from the table, thankful to leave Seth behind as he took his time gathering his paperwork and finishing his tea.

As she propelled the chair toward the door, her yellow Labrador retriever trotted alongside, nails clicking against the hardwood floors.

She’d had other service dogs over the years, and each time, she’d been unable to imagine a tighter bond than she’d experienced with that animal, more than that of a working relationship or a beloved pet.

There was something special about Dusty, though.

He wasn’t necessarily the sharpest, but he’d stolen her heart with his goofy brown eyes and playful determination.

His drive never to give up until he figured out what she needed touched her heart.

And had saved her butt on more than one occasion.

In the lobby, the teenage receptionist stood, fidgety and oversolicitous. “I’ll open the door.”

Sighing, Rosalynn shook her head. The girl meant well, but her unmistakable awkwardness about the wheelchair rubbed Rosalynn the wrong way on an already rough day. Why couldn’t the receptionist have just asked if she needed help rather than assuming?

“Thanks, but Dusty’s got it.” She nodded toward the automatic door button and called to her dog, “Target.”

Dusty reared onto his back legs and smacked the silver square with his front paws, full of enthusiasm for one of his favorite cues—he knew over seventy.

The door swung open and let in a blast of muggy air.

Rosalynn eased through onto the lengthy porch, and Dusty tipped his nose into the breeze, nostrils twitching.

Palmetto trees rustled in a pulsing rhythm from the tropical storm’s outer bands.

Each gust flung a fistful of raindrops. She wished she trusted the weatherperson’s insistence that this would be a nothing-burger event.

Aside from the damage a storm might wreak on her house sale, she hated the idea that it could tie her to her financially derelict ex for however much longer it took to clear the damage.

Her hand fell to rest on Dusty’s noggin, gliding to stroke a silky ear between her fingers. Bottom line, she didn’t have the emotional energy for an evacuation. Ending her marriage had taken its toll.

Right now, she wanted to go home and hang out on her dock while finishing off leftover barbecue. Heaven help her, she even craved her mother’s hummingbird cake, but without the judgment or advice.

Fast food notwithstanding, best to get home to Elsie.

Pivoting the chair away from the door, she rolled toward the ramp jutting off to the side by the massive trash can overflowing with boxes and something rotting in the summer heat.

Her nose scrunched at the stench. A powerful burst of wind lifted the garbage lid again and again, clanging each time it slammed closed.

Another hefty gust nudged it forward . . .

Toppling the plastic bin right over onto the wooden ramp.

Frustration simmered. She eyed her dog, then the massive green bin blocking her exit.

Moving it was beyond even Dusty’s highly trained capabilities.

Her accident at twelve years old, an incomplete spinal cord injury at her L2, had left Rosalynn with some sensation in her lower body and even the ability to stand for a few moments, but certainly not enough to tackle the roadblock ahead of her.

She blinked away tears, only from the gritty breeze stinging her eyes.

At least that’s what she told herself. Surely not because of spending a horrible morning with her ex as they put their house on the market, a home renovated for her wheelchair needs as well.

The last thing she wanted was to call Seth for help, even if he was close by.

In fact, she wanted to be gone before he finished his subpar tea.

But the parking lot was empty since the rest of the world was probably already home moving furniture off their porches since the last tropical storm had turned ugly with little warning.

Bottom line, she needed help right now, and calling Seth to come on out was the most logical option.

Surrendering, she fished her cell from the bag tucked between her hip and the chair, almost toppling the pouch of dog treats in the process. Her cell screen logged eleven missed texts. But none from Elsie.

Rosalynn gripped her phone, thumbing open the string of unread messages, all of which were from her mother. She reached for Dusty again. At this rate, she would rub the fur right off his ears.

Mother-daughter relationships could be difficult.

At least they were for her family, no matter how much they loved each other.

Lillian Barnwell had earned her reputation as a legal powerhouse in DC and Virginia.

If only she could approach family issues with a lighter touch.

Especially since Rosalynn’s accident during a ballet performance.

Throughout that first year of recovery and beyond, her mom had been a fierce advocate, tackling obstacles from South Carolina all the way to the nation’s capital.

But Rosalynn wasn’t a child anymore, and she didn’t need her mother to reorganize her cabinets without asking or send Google searches about her doctors.

The phone chimed with another message.

A “lighter touch” definitely wasn’t in her mother’s DNA, especially today.

According to at least three of the texts, Lillian had booked a flight from Alexandria, Virginia, to Charleston, South Carolina, and would Uber over to Sullivan’s Island.

No reason given other than that Elsie had reached out and they all needed to talk in person.

Frustration and worry doubled on an already killer day.

But she reminded herself not to borrow trouble, since it didn’t take much to spin up her mother.

The speed of her travel plans shouldn’t have been surprising.

Lillian thought nothing of hitting the road at a moment’s notice.

Rosalynn could almost hear her mom’s repeated refrain, I’m always down for a road trip.

Not even the threat of a tropical storm possibly upgrading to a hurricane could deter Lillian when she went into Mama Bear mode.

Another ding echoed, vibrating the device.

No doubt about it. A storm of a whole different sort was blowing into town before sundown.