The Beach House

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“I’ve still got you beat,” he added.

“It looks like you’ve beat me in the girth department, too.”

He patted his belly with jovial pride. “Yes ma’am, marriage does that to a man. Not that you’d know about that.”

Cara remained unfazed. “I’ve managed to escape so far.”

“Woman, where’d you get all those crazy ideas? Not in the South, that’s for sure and certain. If you’d stayed here you’d have a strapping husband and a whole slew of babies running around right this minute. Oh, no, look out. Her back is up.”

“If you only knew the third degree I was getting from Mama. I’m worn out.”

He chuckled in understanding and swirled his drink. “So, how long are you staying this time?”

“Don’t know, exactly. Mama wants me to stay longer but, to be honest, I’m getting a little antsy already. There’s nothing for me to do here.”

“Cara, Cara,” he said shaking his head. “You just can’t wait to leave this paradise and get back to that cold city. I’ll never understand you.” He inclined his head in interest. “You said Mama wrote you a letter?”

She nodded and took a sip of her drink, turning more serious. “That’s right. Our usual status of a polite truce has worked well enough for us both over the years, but I sense things have changed for her since Daddy died. I like to think she’s missed me. More likely she just wants me to help sort through all the stuff now that he’s gone.”

Palmer’s face sharpened, barely perceptibly, but enough that she knew she’d hit a tender spot.

“What kind of sorting?”

“Again, I don’t know. I imagine all the clutter stored up in the attic, and dividing things up from this house now that she’s living at the beach house. I suppose she wants to sell this house. Hasn’t she talked to you about this?”

His face clouded and he studied her with a question in his eyes that she couldn’t make out. “No,” he replied slowly. “No, she hasn’t.”

“I believe she—”

“So how do you like the place?” he asked, interrupting her and extending his arm toward the living room.

Cara was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject but she went along with it, concluding that Palmer was upset that he’d not been consulted.

“The place looks quite different,” she replied, following him into the sunroom. “It looks much, I don’t know…younger. Cheerful, even. The decorator was brilliant.”

He beamed. “Julia gets all the credit and it’d be real nice if you said something to her about it. She slaved over every detail. And I don’t mind telling you I thought I’d go cross-eyed looking at all the fabric swatches she brought home for curtains or bedspreads or cushions—you name it. And the fringe! You never saw so damn much fringe in all your life.”

“I’ll tell her. She did a marvelous job.” Then looking at her drink she asked, “And Mama didn’t mind the changes?”

He looked at her queerly. “Mind? Hell no, why should she mind?”

“I don’t know. She lived in the house for so long….”

“No, no, she loves it,” he said with boisterous confidence. “And Julia loves fixing it up. And I don’t care one way or the other, so everybody’s happy. But I don’t figure this traditional stuff is your style. You prefer that modern, spare look, I hear.”

Cara’s gaze swept the gracious rooms and she wondered if that was still true. “Perhaps,” she replied, then caught his eye and smiled wickedly. “But it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“Well, you haven’t changed your mind about Frogmore Stew, I hope. Man, oh, man—I’ve a big pot out back with your name on it. Should just about be ready. Julia!” he called out.

She poked her head around the corner. “Yes, honey?”

“Get my sister something to nibble on while I tend to the stew. I’ll be ready to serve in a few minutes.” He turned to face Cara with a wink. “Made it special for you.”

Cara felt a flush of pleasure that he’d remembered it was her favorite after all and went to join Julia in the kitchen to help serve the feast.

They sat together in the raspberry-colored dining room while tall white candles glimmered around them and the ornate crystal chandelier glowed like the moon above. They spoke of old times. Or, for the most part, Palmer talked and she sat back and listened to him at the head of the long, mahogany table as he recounted funny tales and anecdotes of the happier moments they’d shared, both in the city house and at the beach. He had acquired their father’s gift of storytelling. It was a skill with words taught to young Southern boys that improved with age. But only a few inherited the real talent for drawing out choice details, for turning the colorful phrase and for nailing a characterization with such precision that the listener could see the person as readily as if he or she were standing before them in the flesh. The listeners leaned forward as Palmer brought to life old memories. He seemed to relive them as he spoke and brought Cara and Lovie to the past along with him. They each punctuated the telling with comments of their own.

Initially, Toy had tried to act bored but she, too, got sucked in. Cara caught glimpses of her sitting wide-eyed as she and the children gobbled up the stories as quickly as the steaming shrimp, sausage and corn. At times Palmer had them laughing so hard the children had to cover their mouths to keep the food in. Even Toy relaxed enough to crack a smile and let a laugh escape.

As the evening drew late, however, and more wine consumed, Palmer’s cheeks became flushed and his colorful, silken stories became fringed with bitterness. He touched on the darker side of their jangled-up histories and an uncomfortable tension crept over them. When he pushed back his chair to stand, the sigh of relief from the women was almost audible.

“I think we should open up another bottle, don’t you?” Palmer asked in a long drawl, lifting the empty bottles of wine from the table. “Y’all wait here and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he left the room, Lovie shot a loaded glance at Julia.

She immediately rose. “Come along, children. Hurry up and kiss your grandmama and Aunt Cara good-night. Quick like bunnies!”

There was a bustle of smooches and tender declarations of love and then Julia excused herself to put her babies to bed.

Toy took the cue. “I’m really tired, Miss Lovie. Would y’all mind if I stretch out on the couch a bit and put my feet up?”

Lovie appeared relieved. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Watch a little TV if you like. But don’t get too comfy. We’ll be leaving presently.”

Soon after Toy left, Palmer returned to the room dusting off another bottle of wine.

“Son, I think it’s time to call it a night,” Lovie said, placing her napkin on the table. “It’s been a marvelous day. I can’t thank you enough.”

Palmer stopped dead in his tracks. “No, no, don’t go,” he replied, a petulant pleading in his voice. He brought the bottle to the table and began to uncork it. “It’s the shank of the evening and we never see you anymore, Mama.” Then, as though he just noticed, he looked around and said, “Where did the children go?”

“Julia put them to bed,” Lovie replied.

He scowled and his eyes flashed with anger. “Now why did that fool woman hurry them off?” He took a step and craned his neck toward the staircase. “Julia!” he bellowed.

Cara stared at her brother with shock.

“Yes?” They heard her voice from upstairs, sounding a tad too cheerful.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” he called back.

“I’m putting the babies to bed. It’s late.”

“Hush now, Palmer,” Lovie said in an easy, calming voice. “You sound like a fishmonger shouting across the room like that. Let her put those darlings to bed.”

“They can go to bed any ol’ time. I want them to spend more time with you.”

Cara stiffened at the ugly and too familiar sight of a man turned belligerent from too much wine.

“They’ve had a full day and the awnings were dropping over those precious eyes. They’re young and need to go to bed. And I’m old and need to go to bed as well. Besides, I’m only a short drive away. You can bring my grandbabies to visit any time you wish.”

Palmer wagged his head, frowning. “It’s not the same with you gone. They need their grandmother’s influence. Julia’s a fine girl and all, but let’s face it, she doesn’t have your breeding.”

Cara eyed him sharply for shaming his wife in front of his mother and sister.

“Why’d you leave us, anyway?” he droned on. “This will always be your home as much as mine.”

“How grand of you to say so,” Cara said testily.

“Well, it is!” he replied in strong defense. “I never wanted Mama to leave.” He poured more wine into Cara’s glass, spilling a few drops. Then almost in a pout he added, “She insisted.”

“That’s true,” Lovie replied in a cajoling tone while placing her hand over her glass. “I know you wanted me to stay and I’m touched, but honestly, I couldn’t be happier than right where I am. I’ve always loved my little beach house.”

“You always loved this house,” Palmer replied, filling his own glass.

Cara and Lovie exchanged a worried glance.

“But since you brought it up,” he said, sitting down and getting comfortable, “let’s talk about this sensibly.” He repositioned himself in his chair and placed his elbows squarely on the table. Raising his eyes to Lovie’s he said in a congenial tone, “Okay, here it is, plain and simple. Mama, I want you to come back here to live with us. I don’t like you so far out there on the island. I want you right here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I’m quite content where I am.”

“In that ol’ place? First off, that place is a firetrap. It’s barely standing. Hell, one good wind will take that cottage straight off from its foundation.”

“That little cottage has withstood more hurricanes than I can count,” Lovie replied in ringing defense.

Palmer put up his hand. “Maintenance is just one thing. Hiring this girl when you could be living here with us is another. But those are small potatoes compared to the whopping hit we took from the recent tax assessment. The value of that little piece of land has skyrocketed in the past few years.” His eyes gleamed and he leaned forward on his elbows with import. “That worthless little cottage sits on prime ocean real estate. There’s not much of that left on the island anymore, and you know that’s true. The new tax bill made my blood pressure shoot sky-high.”

Lovie seemed agitated and she leaned toward her son. “But Palmer, didn’t you apply for the tax cap? I told you to do that for me last December when I moved out there.”

“I did, but it was still a sizable increase. Your money is largely invested, Mama, and with the stock market the way it is your cash flow is severely limited. It just doesn’t make sense to hold on to that place any longer.”

“I don’t need much.”

“That’s not the point, Mama. Now, don’t you get up on your high horse. Hear me out. I did my own investigating and I know for a fact that no matter how sorry a shape that cottage is in, it’s worth at least seven, maybe eight hundred thousand. Maybe even more. See, the thing is, there’s those three choice lots sitting across from you. Two of them were gifted to the Coastal Conservancy as open parkland forever.”

Cara’s brows rose. She didn’t know that. If so, that would add a great deal to the value of her mother’s site.

“Now the way I see it,” Palmer continued, “if I can buy that third lot that’s right smack in front of your place, then between them we’d have two prime lots. I could build two houses on spec, situating one on the ocean in such a way as to guarantee ocean views from the other. The land would be priceless then. Worth millions.”

“The land is already priceless to me,” Lovie said in a quiet voice.

“Why, sure, Mama, I know you love it. But we should strike while the iron’s hot. We need to buy that land before someone else does.”

“Do you know who owns the third lot?” Cara asked.

Palmer shook his head. “No, but I’ve got my people on it. It’s only a matter of time till I find out.”

“So, I gather you want me to sell now?” Lovie asked.

There was something about her mother’s tone that alerted Cara, an iron strength hidden in the question. She glanced at Lovie’s face. It was solemn and pale. Palmer’s face, in contrast, was beet red and his eyes were alive with the look of a bloodhound on the scent.

“I think we should talk about it. See what our options are.”

Lovie turned to face Cara. “Do you want me to sell?”

Cara didn’t expect the question. “It’s not up to me.”

“Why are you asking her?” Palmer interjected with heat.

Cara bristled. “As a member of the family, I have a right to at least an opinion.”

“A right? Hell, after twenty years’ absence you feel you still have a right?”

“Cara,” her mother said and her tone drew Cara’s attention back. “Do you want me to sell?”

Cara pursed her lips, considering. One of her strengths in business was her ability to remove herself from an equation and think objectively. When she replied, her voice was calm and decisive. “If what Palmer says is true and those two lots are deeded as a park, then your land is like gold in the bank. It’s safe. And money isn’t the issue, or it shouldn’t be.” She looked at Palmer. “If I recollect, Mama is invested in blue-chip stocks. If they go under, the country goes under. So,” she concluded, turning again to her mother, “as far as I’m concerned, you should do what makes you happy, Mama. It’s your land. Your life. Enjoy it.”