The Beach House. Mary Monroe Alice
eyes that it was nearly noon. Her head felt groggy, as though she could sleep another twelve hours. But she couldn’t spend the entire day in bed, could she? The thought that yes, she could, was disquieting. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton and a faint thrumming still pulsed in her skull. Swinging her legs off from the bed, she slipped into a pair of boxer shorts and padded down the hall toward the kitchen.
She felt out of place in her childhood summer home, as if she didn’t belong. The beach house even looked different. Her mother had gutted and redesigned the small rooms of the old cottage to create one main, airy room in the center of the house that opened up at the front and back to large, covered verandas. To the left of the house was a small hall that led to the two small children’s bedrooms and a shared bath. To the right was the master bedroom, bathroom and a tiny kitchen. The clunky old kitchen she remembered was a far cry from the sleek galley kitchen with modern appliances she stepped into now.
The only thing she recognized was the dish cabinet. Through the glass-fronted doors she saw the remainders of china sets that had been handed down through generations. Choosing a blue-and-white Meissen cup, she was comforted by something at once familiar on an out-of-sorts morning. The coffee was still blessedly hot in a thermos and someone had thoughtfully laid out a small plate of doughnuts.
Moving at a slow pace, she carried her cup and pastry to the screened porch and slumped into a large wooden rocking chair facing the ocean. Straight ahead, across the empty lot of low-humped dunes and wild, gnarled greenery, the ocean placidly rolled, distant and unwelcoming.
“Well, there you are!”
Jerking her head around, she spied her mother rounding the corner of the house. She looked sporty in khaki shorts, a sage T-shirt with a turtle emblazoned across the chest and a red baseball cap with the state’s palm tree and crescent moon logo on the front. Cara lazily returned a wave.
Lovie gripped the railing and began climbing the short flight of stairs with a labored tread. Her breath came heavy. Alarmed, Cara hustled down the stairs to take hold of her arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Signs of my age,” Lovie said ruefully. “Nothing more.”
“When was the last time you saw your doctor?”
“I’ll have you know Dr. Pittman and I are on the most intimate terms. When I sneeze, he calls to say ‘God bless you.’”
“Seriously, Mother. I don’t recall your ever being so out of breath.”
Lovie stopped on a step and turned her head to look at Cara askance. “Cara dear,” she said, a tone of reprimand in her voice, “you haven’t visited me in quite a long time. Your memory banks are not that recent. These days, I’m frequently out of breath.”
Chastened, Cara quietly followed her mother’s march up the stairs. When they reached the top, Lovie stepped away from Cara’s hold and took a deep breath.
“See? Nothing to worry about. I’m like a turtle, slow but sure. How are you?”
Cara noted the pearls of sweat along her mother’s upper lip but said no more about it. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to conk out on our first night, but the bed looked so inviting and with that soft breeze coming in through the window…I lay down for a moment just to rest my eyes and the next thing I knew it was morning.”
“Don’t give it another thought. I figured you must’ve been exhausted after your long drive and there’s plenty of time to catch up. You did exactly the right thing. Did you wake up feeling refreshed?”
“No, sadly not. I still feel draggy. I think I’m just slowing down from the rat race.”
“Island time. Many of my guests from the north seem to need a few days to unwind. Give yourself time. I know, why don’t you come on down to the beach tomorrow and join the Turtle Ladies? Walking in the fresh air and sun will do you good.”
“I used to love sunbathing but not anymore. I’ve read all about skin cancer and wrinkles. These days, I like to admire the sunshine from indoors, thank you very much. Besides, did you forget that I don’t want anything to do with the turtles?”
Lovie waved away the sentiment. “Come down for the company then. Do you remember Emmaline Baker? She’s joined us now and she’s just dying to see you.”
“Emmi’s here?” Cara conjured up an image of her dearest friend growing up.
“She still comes for the summers with her boys. She’s been asking about you.”
“I’d love to see her, too. But not today. Maybe later,” she hedged. The thought of chitchat was beyond her.
Lovie cast her a sidelong glance, then walked inside the screened porch. She slid into a rocker with characteristic grace. “Sit down, Cara. We can talk a bit.”
Cara followed her into the porch. Lovie removed her cap and fanned her face as she rocked. Watching her, Cara suppressed a shudder. Her mother’s hair, once thick and the color of spun gold, was now so thin and white that in the harsh light her scalp could be seen. Cara licked her lips, shaken. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, I’m just about to go in and fix lunch. You must be famished.”
“Don’t go to any trouble for me while I’m here,” she said, grabbing her mug and sitting beside her mother. “I never eat regular meals anyway. My body is used to the abuse.”
“You’re far too thin. And pale.”
She laughed. “I was just thinking the same about you!”
“Oh?” Lovie’s blue eyes widened. “Well, who cares about me? I’m an old woman. But you’re in your prime!” Her gaze eagerly traveled across Cara’s face to her disheveled, shoulder-length brown hair cut in a blunt style. She wore the same wrinkled T-shirt that she’d arrived in over baggy, blue men’s boxers that exposed long, thin legs crossed at the ankles. “You always do find the best hairdressers,” she said. “But you look tired. And stressed. Especially your eyes. They’re all puffy and a bit bloodshot.”
“Charming,” Cara muttered as she sipped her coffee. She moved her hand to apply pressure to her forehead where she could feel tension building up.
“Are you ill? There’s been so much early summer flu going around.”
“No. It’s just an annoying headache.”
“Ahhh…So you still get them?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Mmmm-hmm. See? It is the stress. When you were little you used to get them whenever you had a test, do you remember? Or when…” She stopped midsentence.
“When Daddy blew his top,” Cara finished for her.
Her mother smiled weakly and an awkward silence reigned.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that you got a call while you were out.” Cara reached for her doughnut. “Some lady found tracks.”
“What time was that?”
“Hours ago. That girl inside took the call.”
“Oh, yes. That was the false crawl.” Then she asked pointedly, “That girl? I assume you mean Toy Sooner?”
Cara couldn’t keep her opinion from her face. “Toy? Is that her name?” She bit into the doughnut, sprinkling bits of glazed sugar down her chest. “We didn’t get that far,” she mumbled, chewing and brushing away the crumbs. “We snarled at each other like cats for a few minutes, then I left before any damage was done.” She reached for her coffee cup and took a quick sip. “Who is she, anyway? And isn’t she a bit young to be pregnant?”
Lovie studied her daughter’s face with the same expression she had worn when Cara was young and spoke with her mouth full. “Yes, she