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My mother nodded. “So would I.”
Her attention shifted to the glass door, and I followed her line of sight to the living room. My grandmother loved every shade of blue there was. The living room walls were a soft cerulean, and the couch and two love seats were in sand and stone shades, with azure-colored accent pillows decorated with starfish. It was a typical beach-style living room with my grandmother’s personal touch. The fireplace mantle was filled with starfish, sand dollars, and unique seashells Grammy had found over the years. I opened the door but couldn’t yet walk in. All I wanted was to hear my grandmother’s voice just once more.
“Everleigh, I’m going to go,” my mother said softly. “Several people have mentioned stopping by the house, and I should probably be there. I’m sure many of them would love to talk more with you.”
Turning to her, I shook my head and hugged her. “I think I’m just going to stay here. I’m not up for being around a bunch of people.”
She kissed the side of my head. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Of course,” I answered back, letting her go. “You’re going to see me every day.”
Her eyes brightened and she smiled. “Perfect.”
I could tell she was hesitant about leaving by the concern on her face, but I smiled, hoping it would assure her that I was okay. I watched her walk down the stairs and get in her car. The second she disappeared down the street, a stark realization hit me straight in the heart. It was the first time being at my grandmother’s house by myself since I’ve been in town.
Everything was quiet except for the sound of the waves and the seagulls flying overhead. I walked through the patio door but kept it open so I could still hear the ocean. Then, taking a deep breath, I glanced around the living room. It was the central part of the house, and the kitchen was just beyond it.
Down the hallway, my bedroom was the first door on the left; it used to be my mother’s room growing up. Sandy’s was on the right, but it eventually got changed into a library. So that left the last closed door, the bedroom beside mine. I didn’t dare walk down the hall toward it; it was my grandmother’s room . . . the place she took her last breath. I wasn’t ready to go in there. I didn’t know if I ever would be.
5
EVERLEIGH
Iwas so drained from the past couple of days that I had nothing left in me. Everyone kept coming to my grandmother’s house and delivering food, offering their condolences. Some people would stay and tell stories of the times they shared with my grandmother, which was nice; however, I was desperate for some peace and quiet. All I wanted was the space to process what I wanted to do with the house and my grandmother’s belongings without any interruptions.
Luckily, yesterday was a blessedly quiet day—no visitors, no distractions. However, I did go to my parents’ house, but as soon as I left them, it was hard to keep the grief from taking over.
The sun shone brightly through the large windows overlooking the sea, drenching the room in a warm golden light. I glanced at the starfish clock above the mantle and sighed. The morning had flown by without any visitors to occupy my time. I could feel my body longing for activity, having become accustomed to long work hours over the years.
My gaze drifted to the remote on the coffee table, but I didn’t want to watch TV. I’ve walked on the beach several times during the morning, making me think more deeply than I cared to.
With a heavy sigh, I laid my head against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The silence felt oppressive. Suddenly, it hit me like a cool ocean breeze—it was summertime at the beach. The area would be buzzing with people and positive energy. That was precisely what I needed.
Jumping off the couch, I paused in the hallway at my bedroom door, glancing over at my grandmother’s that remained shut. I had promised myself I would go in there today, but I still wasn’t ready.
Tomorrow.
I will do it tomorrow.
Quickly, I changed into an old favorite dress of mine that had been sitting in my closet untouched for years: a pink sundress. Then, I took the short drive to downtown Southport and parked on the main strip.
Joy spread throughout me as memories of past experiences surfaced. Memories of my parents taking me for ice cream every Friday night when I was young and of Jensen and I walking around with our friends, talking about life and college.
Holly Rafferty was my best friend at the time, but we lost touch over the years. Later, I discovered she had died in a car accident eight years ago while driving back home from a dental convention in Myrtle Beach, SC—she had been texting while behind the wheel. It made me sad to know that she left behind a husband and two sons.
I pulled into a spot and exited my car, taking a deep breath of the salty ocean breeze. The bright sun shone hot on my skin, but the wind served as a relief from the heat. I meandered up and down the bustling downtown streets, watching with a smile as tourists laughed and soaked in the atmosphere of their beachside retreat.
Up ahead, an empty bench in front of a candy store beckoned to me, so I sat down for a while and listened to the sound of joyous children screaming in delight over their sugary treats. Then, finally, one little boy with blond hair came closer, holding out a piece of peppermint candy before leaving with his family. My heart melted at his kind gesture, but it also stirred within me an ache that reminded me that my biological clock was ticking. There was still time to have children of my own, but finding love was going to be the problem.
“Everleigh? Is that you?” a voice called from behind, and I recognized it immediately.
We weren’t close, but I knew who she was—Michelle Short, or Michelle McLean, as I guess she’d be known as now—Jensen’s wife. She was pregnant and dressed in a cute floral dress with flat brown sandals, her diamond wedding band sparkling in the sunlight as she held her belly.
I stood and she threw her arms around my neck, catching me off guard. “I am so sorry about your grandmother. She was an amazing lady.”
I hugged her back, even though it felt a bit awkward since we didn’t really know each other.
“Yes, she was,” I replied before she pulled away again.
