AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I notice I don’t type “made it home,” and almost change the word. But I send it as it is, knowing it’s correct. This isn’t my home anymore. When it was, I loved it with all of my heart; the only place in a very long time where I could envision myself staying put. I miss it, too. I miss what it was to me—a safe haven. Without Ben, I guess that doesn’t exist anymore.
My phone buzzes. There’s a reply from Lyndsey.Glad to hear it. Hope Ms. T has plans for you. We’ll see you tomorrow. Grace can’t wait. X
I’ve come up a day earlier than planned, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I had grand ideas of doing some kind of tour of my old haunts, but I don’t know how my body is going to respond when I set foot inside the cottage again. If a breakdown is coming for me, I’ll be lucky if I even make it to the party tomorrow.
Steeling my nerves, I get out of the car and begin the slow walk down the dirt track to the side-gate. There’s a gate at the top of the driveway, too, leading to the front door, but when I lived here, I never used it. I always went in through the back, taking a moment to sit out on the porch first. It would seem strange if I changed the habit now.
The salty, sweet, slightly rotten scent of the Gulf hits me as my shoes thud against the baked earth. Time reverses, rewinding the tape to two years ago, when I was happy. Even before Ben, I was happier here than I’ve ever been anywhere else, but it’s all… wrong, now. And it’s weird because, in a material sense, I have more than I had back then, more than I ever thought I’d have. I have money, I have a successful business, I have a gorgeous apartment that cost way more than seems reasonable, I have friends, I have people who care what happens to me, but I don’t have the two people that would give it the meaning it lacks—the two people I long to share it all with. I don’t have Ben, and I don’t have my grandma. Maybe, that sounds ungrateful. Maybe, it is, but I can’t change the way it feels.
I reach the gate and put my hand on the sun-warmed wood, bracing myself. I don’t know why, but I thought the cottage would look different: overgrown and crumbling, like a secret portrait in an attic, revealing the true extent of the grief I’ve been hiding since I lost him.
But it’s exactly as I left it. The garden leading down to the tall reeds that mark the shore has been trimmed recently; the scent of freshly cut grass in the air. Everything is in bloom around the lawn. There are butterflies in abundance, drawn to the sweet nectar the way I used to be drawn to those porch steps up ahead, spending hours and hours just basking or reading or drinking coffee and soaking up the best view in the world.
I don’t push through the gate. Instead, I turn and keep on walking, cutting through the overgrown scrub, heading down a shallow slope until I reach the tiny inlet that once served as my private beach. I hid here when Levi came to hunt me down, so there’s a bitter irony in the knowledge that he’s on my tail again. Maybe, it’s for the best that I’m not who I was back then. If he escalates whatever it is he’s up to, I know how to handle him, with the full backing of the woman who was once his teammate.
I sit down on the cool sand and take out my phone, wondering if I ought to give Cybil a call. I know I can get her and Ms. T to come into town for drinks tonight, and I think that’s what I need.Lucky’scould be good, if I’m feeling brave enough. Turns out, Cybil can suck crawfish heads with the best of them.
I’m about to dial her number when I hear the low growl of a car engine. Puzzled, I stand and head up the slope, shielding my eyes from the sun as I squint up the track to the road. There’s a black Mercedes, parked behind my car.
“What the—?” I mutter, moving to the safety of the side-gate.
Cybil gets out, and my frown deepens. Did I accidentally summon her?
She’s dressed for business, as usual: a sleek, navy pantsuit with heels that are going to struggle on the dirt path. There’s not a gray hair out of place as she heads for the front gate, walking toward the door I never use. Used. It takes her a moment to spot me. A wide smile spreads across her face, her hand raising up in a wave as she calls out, “There you are!” As if I’d been hiding from her or something.
I wave back and, finally, push through the gate.
She meets me halfway around the side of the cottage, among the white-petaled yarrow, where bees buzz, and butterflies twitch their wings. Her arms are open, and I fall into them, hugging her tightly. If someone had told me when I first met this woman that she’d become one of my dearest friends, I’d have laughed so hard I might’ve coughed up a piece of lung. But fate and circumstance work in mysterious ways, and when Ben died, we both put down our swords, though she waved the white flag first.
“It’s so wonderful to see you, Summer,” Cybil says softly, inhaling me like she’s relieved I’m in one piece.
I smile against her shoulder. “Same to you, albeit unexpected.”
“Ms. T said you were coming up early,” Cybil admits, pulling back so she can get a good look at me. “I had hoped to check the cottage before you arrived, to make sure everything was shipshape, but looks like you beat me to it. Have you been inside? Is it an atrocious mess? I’ve had someone taking care of it, but you never know with these people.”
“These people?” I raise an eyebrow, hoping that Cybil hasn’t fallen back into old habits of looking down her nose at those “beneath her.” She flushes pink, holding up her hands.
“Goodness, that’s not at all what I meant!” Her voice is flustered. “I just meant that the company sending the maids have been positively awful to deal with. Sometimes, they haven’t sent anyone at all, though they’ve expected money all the same. Other times, the maids haven’t done anything at all, and Mae has had to do it all by herself.Sheis angrier than I am!”
My heart warms at the thought of Mae: the DuCate housekeeper, and a godsend. I haven’t seen her in forever, but it comforts me to know she’s been here at this cottage, taking care of it. It feels right that she should be the one to keep it as it was. She was, and is, as much a part of Ben’s family as his mother and father, and, oftentimes, the only one he was excited to see when he visited that mansion. Grace adores her, too.
I relax. “So, you and Mae are the reason this place hasn’t changed?”
“I hope you don’t mind?” Cybil casts her gaze toward the fading blue paint and white trim; the window-boxes spilling over with flourishing herbs that add an aromatic note to the perfume of the air.
“Not at all,” I tell her, looping my arm through hers as I guide her toward the garden, and the same rusting, wrought iron table and chairs where we buried our hatchets, two years ago.
She halts before she sits, running back to the side-gate in her inappropriate heels. “Won’t be a moment! I forgot something!” she calls back, hurrying up the path to the Mercedes.
I sit down and wait for her, turning my attention to the slow-moving water and the tall, swaying reeds that break the surface like green-brown javelins. I search for “Henry,” the blue heron, but he’s not there. He must’ve had his lunch already and taken off to find a cool spot before the afternoon heat sweeps in on the balmy breeze.
Cybil returns, wielding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, a small jar of something orange, and two plastic champagne flutes. There’s something else tucked under her arm, wrapped in black linen—large, a little longer than the length of my arm, and as wide as my waist. She struggles with it for a moment, and I’m about to offer assistance, when she puts it down on the bottom porch step, letting it lean there before coming back to me.
“What’s that?” I can’t help but ask.
She bats a hand at me. “Something for later. Now, tell me everything.” She sets up the flutes, tips in some of the bright orange liquid from the jar, pops the champagne like a pro, and begins to pour. “What have you been up to? How is the gallery? I keep meaning to come and see it, but you know how things are here: this town is like its own planet, and we’re all stuck in its orbit, unable to go anywhere else.”
“That must make me a visiting comet,” I joke, taking the glass she offers me. I sniff it and close my eyes at the heavenly scent: freshly muddled peaches, so sweet and juicy it’d make you think you’re in Georgia.
