The Beach House. Mary Monroe Alice
Now, of all times.”
“During your visit, you mean?”
“Frankly, yes. It’s not like I come that often. What? Once every twenty years?” She bit into her doughnut and chewed. Swallowing hard she added with pique in her voice, “You led me to believe you wanted to spend some time with me. Fool that I was, I assumed you meant just us.”
“Cara, dear, let’s not start getting snippy. I did invite you to be here with me.”
“I see. So you invited this Toy person because…?”
“I didn’t invite her. She’s not a guest, Cara. She lives here. I couldn’t boot her out just because you were coming for a visit.”
“Lives here? Since when? The season’s only just begun.”
“Since I moved in last January. Toy came in March.”
“January? But you never come that early. Why would you leave your house to come stay out here in winter? Did you and Palmer have a fight?”
“No, Palmer and I did not have a fight. Why would you think that? But I couldn’t, or rather, I didn’t want to live alone at my age. So when I mentioned my situation to Flo she introduced me to Toy.” When Cara looked puzzled, Lovie asked, “You remember Florence Prescott from next door, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. The upbeat woman with a great shock of bright-red hair.”
“Yes, but the hair is white now. What you might not recall is that she worked for years as a social worker in Summerville. Flo spent the weekdays in an apartment there and fixed up the family’s old house on the island on weekends, vacations—whenever she could. Anyway, her mother grew quite frail and Flo finally decided it was time to retire and bring her mother home to live with her. Goodness, that must be ten years ago already. My, my, my, time flies so quickly. They’ve been such good friends. Lucky for me to have them next door.”
“Mother, what has this got to do with Toy?”
“I was getting to that. Flo still volunteers her time at the Women’s Shelter and one day while we were talking I told her about my wanting to live here on the island and how I should have a companion. She grew quite excited—you know how Flo gets—and told me about a young girl who would be perfect for the job.”
“You found her at the shelter?”
“You make it sound like she’s some dog I found at the pound,” Lovie scolded. “Yes, she was at the shelter, poor girl. That’s what it’s there for, thank the Lord. Women need a place to go to when they’re frightened for their well-being.”
“I know, I know. You’re preaching to the choir. I donate regularly to a shelter in Chicago.”
Her mother nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m not talking out of turn when I tell you Toy’s history. She and I discussed this and she agreed that it would be best for me to tell you. Toy found herself pregnant by her live-in boyfriend and she left him when he hit her.”
“Hit her?”
“Beat her, actually. The baby wasn’t hurt but Toy was frightened for it and left.”
“As well she should have. I give her high marks for that. But she’s so young to be living with a boyfriend and pregnant. What about her family?”
“Horrible people who wouldn’t take her back. They kicked her out, called her a tramp and other such cruel things you can only imagine then left her to fend for herself. Imagine, doing that to your own daughter.”
Cara could indeed imagine and felt a sudden sympathy for the girl. She knew how terrifying that scenario was. The city streets could be cold and mean to a young girl.
“How old can she be? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“She’s almost eighteen, and precious. She looks quite young.”
A knot formed in Cara’s throat. “I left home at eighteen.”
Her mother startled. “Why, that was different, Cara. You chose to leave. Your father and I were against it, but you were always headstrong and so sure of yourself. Toy isn’t like that. She’s insecure, a mere child.”
Cara squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a sharp stab of hurt. She couldn’t look at the wide-eyed expression on her mother’s face nor believe she could say those words to her after what they’d put Cara through at the same age. How could Mama have forgotten that she, too, was kicked out of the house? Or had she merely preferred to forget?
“Toy had nowhere else to go,” Lovie tried to explain.
Nor did I when I left. Did you worry about me? “So you just took her in?” Cara asked, opening her eyes.
“It seemed the perfect solution. I wanted a companion and Toy needed a place to stay.”
“It’s your life,” she said, lifting her hands.
“You’re shutting me out again.”
“No,” she replied evenly, controlling her bubbling anger. “I’m not interfering. There’s a difference.”
A familiar, painful silence dragged between them during which Cara’s headache pounded and her mother gazed out at the sea.
“I’m certain if you give Toy a chance, you’ll like her. She might seem a little hard at first, but she’s rather like a turtle. Underneath her hard shell is a very sweet creature who needs to be protected and loved.” Lovie reached out to place her hand over Cara’s. “Won’t you at least try to be friendly with Toy? For my sake?”
Cara leaned wearily back in her chair and looked long at her mother. Her rage fizzled but the hurt lingered as her heart cried in a child’s voice, Why are you defending Toy and not me? Your own daughter? Cara couldn’t help the burn of jealousy that her mother was so fond of this strange girl. Over the years, she and her mother had remained polite yet nonintrusive. It was a long-distance relationship that had suited them both. And yet, seeing her mother sitting a foot away, that space between them suddenly felt so large and empty.
Cara slipped her hand away. “Okay, Mama, I’ll try.”
At last the loggerhead arrives in familiar waters. She waits in the swells near shore as a moon rises above the Atlantic. Her home is the sea, but instinct demands that she leave all she knows and face the unknown dangers of the beach to nest. Is it safe here, or should she swim farther on?
CHAPTER THREE
Cara’s headache blossomed into a full-blown migraine that sent her limping back to her bed. Lovie placed a cool cloth over her eyes and forehead and instructed Cara not to think, to just let her muscles relax. Cara nodded in compliance but knew that was like telling herself not to breathe. She had no job, no income and no plan for tomorrow. Her brain would be churning like mad for weeks to come. She shifted restlessly, then pulled the washcloth off her face. A rare hopelessness overwhelmed her, and bringing her hands up to cup her face, she let go of days of unshed tears.
Sometime later, her eyes were swollen and gritty and she felt that queer listlessness that comes when one is drained. Turning her head, she stared vacantly outside the window at an oleander swaying in the wind. Time had little meaning for her now. Clouds had moved in quickly from the mainland, changing the blue sky to gray. Outside her window she’d heard the low bellowing of a foghorn as a huge container ship navigated its way through the harbor and out to sea. She felt like one of those ships, caught in a fog as thick as pea soup, unable to see what lay ahead.
She had been only eighteen when she’d left Charleston for points north. She didn’t care where she went, as long as it wasn’t in the South. She’d had her fill of the unspoken but clearly understood expectations of a young woman, especially one from an old Charleston family. She would go to the college of their choice, find a husband and get married, then live somewhere