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Off-season at Emerald Isle ~ In-season for secrets of the heart
Frannie Denman has been waiting for her life to begin. After several false starts, and a couple of broken hearts, she ends up back with her mother, with whom she doesn’t get along, until her elderly uncle gets sick and Frannie goes to Emerald Isle to help manage his affairs while he’s recovering.
Her uncle’s oceanfront home, Captain’s Walk, is small and unpretentious, and even though Frannie isn’t a ‘beach person,’ she decides Captain’s Walk in winter is a great place to hide from her troubles. But Frannie doesn’t realize that winter is short in Emerald Isle and the beauty of the ocean and seashore can help heal anyone’s heart, especially when her uncle’s handyman is the handsome Brian Donovan.
Brian has troubles of his own. He sees himself and Frannie as two damaged people who aren’t likely to equal a happy ‘whole’ but he’s intrigued by this woman of contradictions.
Frannie’s mother wants her back home and Brian wants to meet the real Frannie, but Frannie wants to move forward with her life. To do that she needs questions answered. With the right information there’s a good chance Frannie will be able to affect not only a change in her life, but also a change of heart.
Excerpt:
Frannie
Denman stood at the sliding doors and stared beyond the glass, the
porch and the dunes. She didn’t belong here—not at the beach and
not in this dreary February world.
Angry
crests foamed out of the churning, steel gray Atlantic and rode the
waves to a cold shore swept by a frigid wind, the same wind that
whipped up the sand and tossed the tall weedy dune grasses. An
occasional super gust shook the house. She touched the glass as it
shuddered.
A lone man
moved along the wooden walkway that crossed over the dunes. With
slow, determined steps, he hunched forward as he fought the wind. His
jacket and hooded sweatshirt were inadequate, plastered against him
by nature. She watched him, wondering if he’d end up at this door,
but then he descended the steps and disappeared between the houses.
It was where he should’ve been all along, using the houses as a
buffer, instead of taking the wind on headfirst.
This was
an inhospitable place and it matched her dark mood.
Why was
this house, and Will Denman’s life, her responsibility? She
couldn’t manage her own. How was she supposed to help anyone else?
She turned
away from the window to face Mrs. Blair. “I am sorry about this.”
“So you
said before.” The woman gathered up her purse and a bulky tote bag
brimming with cleaning supplies.
“I’ll
get the door for you. Let me help you with that bag.”
Mrs. Blair
stood taller and scowled. “No, thank you. I’ve been finding my
way in and out of your uncle’s house for fifteen years. I can
manage one last time.”
“Yes.
Again, I’m sorry.” She clasped her hands together. “What about
the broken lattice? You said you had the name of Uncle Will’s
handyman?”
Mrs. Blair
stared with accusing eyes. “On the fridge. Name’s Brian.”
Frannie
followed her out. At the top of the stairs, she clutched the rail.
With her free hand, she held her sweater closed at her throat. Cold,
salty wind blew her hair across her face and stung her nose and
cheeks. She wished it could also blow the self-doubt from her brain.
If Uncle
Will ever returned home, what would he say about Mrs. Blair being
fired? She was a cleaning lady, yes, but one with a fifteen-year
history. If he did come home, it wouldn’t be soon. More likely,
never.
Back
inside, she dialed the thermostat down, leaving just enough heat to
keep the pipes from freezing. Had she left anything undone?
No. There
wasn’t much to the place.
Her
uncle’s furniture had no particular style or age. Strictly thrift
shop. There was no elegance, no shine, not even the customary beachy
wicker or white rattan.
It was a
retired sailor’s home. Captain’s Walk, he’d named it. This
house was small, only a ranch style, but here it was oceanfront and
thus, had a grand name. This house, inside and out, was unremarkable
except for the observation deck. The deck was unusual, perched
halfway up the roof near the end of the house, but this time of year…
Well, with a veritable gale blowing, the idea of sunning herself
wasn’t appealing.
It’s
just a house. No interest in dolling it up, Uncle Will had told her a
year ago. They’d met for the first time—one meeting out of a
lifetime of opportunities—and only then because he’d called and
asked her to come see him.
She’d
visited him again after that and had meant to return sooner, but she
hadn’t, and now he wasn’t here.
Magnets
secured bits of scribbled paper to the front of the refrigerator. One
magnet listed local emergency numbers. A smaller green magnet had a
bank name and number. Another advertised a pizza delivery place.
There it
was. Brian Donovan. His name and phone number were written in large
block letters on a neatly torn square of paper.
She
disliked talking to strangers, even over the phone, but she got lucky
this time because the voicemail answered.
“Mr.
Donovan? I’m Will Denman’s niece. Grandniece, that is. My uncle
is ill and I’m…I mean, he asked me to take care of his house. I
understand you do handyman work for him? Would you please take a look
at the lattice on the west side of the house? Send the bill to Mr.
Denman’s post office box.” She gave the number and finished with,
“I’ll see you get paid.”
Done.
The lights
were off. She gave a last tug on the sliding door to make sure it was
locked. Now she could be on her way. It was winter in Raleigh, too,
of course, and not exactly balmy, but without the deadly cold ocean
and its bitter winds.
She
slipped on her coat, wrapped the scarf around her neck twice, and
picked up her purse.
The
parking area was below and behind the house on the street side. Her
car and her uncle’s old green van were the only vehicles.
It was
freezing inside the car, but the leather seat would warm up quickly.
She backed out onto a deserted Emerald Drive. She’d just hit
cruising speed when the dashboard lit up and rang.
Laurel
Denman, it displayed. Mother.
Frannie
let it ring, determined to ignore it, half-expecting her mother to
emerge from the caller ID screen like some half-formed specter of
guilt and frustration.
There
should be tender feelings between mother and daughter, shouldn’t
there? Like mother, like daughter—maybe their capacity to care
about each other had died with her father.
Almost
three hours later, and after two more calls from her mother, Frannie
drove up the long, curving, blackened asphalt driveway. The tall,
straight pines, the bare, sculptured branches of the crepe myrtles
growing in the perfectly landscaped yard, always welcomed her, but
after these last few years she’d realized that was all it was—an
empty offer. She braked to a stop in front of the house. Now, coming
home was more a reminder of personal failure.
She opened
the front door with as much stealth as she could. It wasn’t enough.
“Frannie.”
Her mother
stood in the wide opening between the living and dining rooms. Her
honey blond hair was precisely groomed. Petite and curvy, she was the
opposite of her slender, brown-haired daughter.
Frannie’s
best feature was her dark blue eyes, like her dad’s. Dad had called
them ‘the Denman eyes.’ When she fastened those eyes upon Laurel,
she knew it made her mother uncomfortable.
Laurel
stared back. The firm set of her lips, and her hands held artfully in
front of her waist, showed her anger. Unhappy words were imminent.
“Don’t
do this right now.” Frannie shook her head and tucked a lock of her
fine, flyaway hair behind her ear.
“Don’t
do what?”
“I drove
down to the beach for the day. I don’t need your permission.”
Her mother
came to stand close to her. She smoothed the remaining strands of
hair away from her daughter’s cheek.
“I’m
sorry, sweetheart. I was worried.” She touched Frannie’s arm.
“Let me take your coat. You’ll get overwarm and it’s time to
dress for dinner anyway. Our guests will be here soon.”
“Our
guests?”
She stared
beyond her mother. Her dad’s chair still sat in front of the
fireplace, empty for almost fifteen years. The worn chair was lost
amid a roomful of newer, more expensive furnishings.
“Don’t
sulk, Frannie, and don’t blame me. Will Denman had no right to ask
this of you. I begged you to refuse. You agreed just to spite me.”
“I
agreed because it was the right thing to do.” She shook her head.
“The attorney is handling the difficult decisions like medical and
veteran’s benefits and such. I’m doing the easy stuff.”
“It’s
not your responsibility.”
“He’s
dad’s uncle. How can you be so cold?”
“I
hardly knew him. I think I met him once in all the years your father
and I were married.”
“He was
in the navy. At sea.”
“He’s
been retired for years.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I
don’t understand how you got pulled into his life at this late
date, but he has a lot of nerve expecting you to put your life on
hold while he’s… sick.”
“A
stroke, Mother. Bottom line, he doesn’t have any other family. His
attorney will be his executor when it’s time for that. Uncle Will
needs me to deal with his house, bills and personal property in the
meanwhile.”
“A
realtor and a low-end auction house is all that’s needed. Or just
call the Salvation Army.”
“There’s
more to it than that. Besides, he’s not ready to sell.”
“You’re
not up to this, darling—that’s my bottom line. As for going there
today, you know I have a dinner planned and how much it means to me,
yet you leave without warning and stay away until the last minute.”
Frannie
gripped the stair rail, wanting to walk away. “I told you I’d be
here. I shouldn’t though, because I know what you’re up to.
You’re match-making.”
In a low
voice, Laurel said, “I’m trying to prevent another disastrous
choice on your part. Joel’s a fine young man.” She mumbled a few
more words.
“What?”
Laurel
stood taller, her neck long and smooth. “He won’t hold your past
against you.”
Angry
words tumbled in her brain, wrestling for an exit, but Frannie set
her jaw and refused to allow them out.
“You’re
an attractive woman and you have money. Joel might not be exciting,
but he has money of his own. He won’t try to take yours, and he
won’t abuse you.”
She moved
to continue up the stairs, but Laurel stepped closer and rested her
hand on her daughter’s arm.
“If you
don’t show up, it will be embarrassing for me, which won’t bother
you, but it will be cruel to Joel. You may be cold, but you aren’t
heartless.”
Cold, but
not heartless. That about summed her up. Frannie hurried upstairs,
leaving her mother standing there, her hand suspended mid-air. She
ran to her room. Her lifelong room.
“Still
living at home?” someone had asked her recently. She’d tried to
salvage a speck of pride by explaining, “My mother needs me.”
On her
dresser, there was no dust but only the usual items, carefully
replaced in the exact same spots each time Hannah came through with
her feather duster, the lamb’s wool duster and her anti-static
cloth. A photo of daddy and little Frannie was protected in its
glittering crystal frame. The one next to it showed them in the
garden. She was maybe two or three? The sun shone on them, both with
their brown hair and deep blue eyes and big, happy smiles. Then the
trio, her dad, her mother and herself. She’d been almost four, she
thought. Back then things had been better between them. She turned
that frame to rest face down on the dresser.
Despite
appearances, and apparently despite the opinion of some, she wasn’t
an emotional ice cube. The cold was her protection, her armor.
Without the armor she was no more than a shy, awkward, almost
thirty-one-year-old woman who’d never been able to make a go of
independence.
She knew
she was attractive. People told her so and she could see it with her
own eyes, but that was on the outside. Inside was a different story.
She was good at hiding the mess inside—could almost make it cease
to exist—at least until someone reminded her, someone like her
darling mother.
****
The light
from the crystal chandelier reflected in the high gloss of the china.
Frannie spread the linen napkin across her lap. To her right, Joel
sipped his wine and smiled. Rather, he smiled at his plate. His short
brown hair was unremarkable, but his eyes were sweet, open and
honest. He was attractive enough and he was kind, but there was no
spark. No electricity. She’d been in love before and though it had
ended badly, she wasn’t willing to settle for less, even if it
meant she’d never be in love again.
She
shouldn’t have agreed to this. The small group, with only Joel and
his father, was too intimate. They were nice people, but under the
circumstances, it felt like a lie.
Joel
startled her, saying, “That dress is beautiful on you. That shade
of blue, I mean. The color matches your eyes. What do you call it?
Sapphire?”
Sapphire.
In reflex she looked at the ring, deep blue and flashing with light.
She refrained from reaching up to touch the drop earrings.
“Thank
you, Joel. Sapphire blue was my father’s favorite color.”
“I
remember. He gave you those at your sixteenth birthday party.”
She
frowned. “That was a long time ago and a lot of people were at that
party.”
“It was
and there were, but it made an impression. Most of our friends got a
car. You got the car and the crown jewels.” He laughed gently.
She didn’t
want to go back there, not back to that dear memory while sitting
here with these people. Father, beaming, happy to show his love and
pride in her—she felt again the warmth of his hands as he’d
fastened the necklace. Mother had been far from pleased with the
gift.
She
glanced up, sensing Laurel’s eyes upon her, staring. Involuntarily,
Frannie touched the pendant. The platinum setting was cool against
her skin; it reminded her to cool down. Joel’s father spoke to
Laurel and her mother looked away.
Joel
cleared his throat and blushed. “I heard you were down at the beach
today.”
From
Mother, of course. Who else would know or care?
“Yes, I
was.”
“We have
a house at the beach, too. At Hatteras.”
“I
know.”
“Were
you anywhere near there?”
“No. Not
near. Emerald Isle.”
“It’s
not that far. I didn’t know you liked the beach.”
Frannie
interrupted, shaking her head. “I don’t. I’m not a swimmer or a
sunbather. I’m helping a relative.”
“I see.”
He looked away. “That’s nice of you.”
“Sorry.
That was rude.” She took a deep breath.
He shook
his head. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He really
was a nice guy. Too nice. It was stressful being around someone who
could be so easily hurt or cowed. She felt compelled to smooth it
over.
“My
father’s uncle. He had a stroke and I’m helping to manage,
perhaps dispose of, his property.”
“How
sad. No wonder you don’t want to talk about it.” He folded his
napkin and set it on the table. “If you need anything at all,
please let me know. Anything I can do, I’m happy to help. No matter
what.”
Joel
leaned in closer. She tried to relax, but then caught the approving
look from her mother. She sat back and glared at Laurel, ignoring
Joel’s look of surprise.
Laurel
said, “Your father told me that you are getting a promotion, Joel.
That’s lovely and so well deserved. Isn’t that marvelous,
Frannie?”
“Wonderful.”
Joel
tugged at the front of his sports jacket as if the fit wasn’t quite
right. He smiled. “Yes, very exciting. I’m glad of the
opportunity.”
That was
one of the big problems with Joel. Always correct. Always courteous.
Not a bad guy, and maybe someone she could spend an evening with
under other circumstances, but a lifetime? Not a chance.
Laurel
whispered to Joel’s father and both looked their way. The beaming
expressions they bestowed upon her and Joel were blatant.
Anger
flooded her. The noise of it roared in her ears and her hands
trembled. Frannie folded her napkin carefully.
“It’s
been lovely, but I must go.” She pushed back the chair and stood
abruptly, pre-empting Joel’s move to assist her.
Her
mother’s expression of benevolence didn’t change, but it
hardened, and her eyes grew large.
Laurel
could be counted on not to make a scene in front of her guests.
Frannie didn’t want a diva scene either, but she didn’t have the
least problem with a dramatic exit.
Within
minutes Frannie heard Laurel’s soft footfalls on the thick carpet
in the hall.
Her mother
stopped in the open doorway and, in a low voice, she hissed, “How
could you do that? What on earth are you thinking?”
“I
tried. I really did, but you overplayed it.” Frannie tossed the
last, hastily grabbed items, into her duffle bag. Time apart would be
good for them both.
“It’s
humiliating to make excuses for you. I told them you were unwell
earlier today and it might have returned. It’s not too late. Come
back to the table. If you must go, do so after dinner.”
“No.”
Frannie heard the shakiness in her voice and willed it away. “If
it’s any help to you, I’ll leave by the side door so they don’t
see me.”
“If you
thought it would help me, you wouldn’t do it.” She clenched her
fists. “Am I supposed to go back down to our guests and pretend my
daughter has taken ill and has retired for the night? All while
you’re sneaking out of the house?”
“I’m
sure you’ll do a fine job.” She yanked the zipper with finality.
“Then
go. Suit yourself. That’s what you’ve always done. You run away.”
Laurel placed a hand on the door lintel and leaned against it as if
exhausted. “No, please don’t go. It’s too late to drive back
tonight. Wait until morning. Don’t put yourself at risk just
because you want to hurt me.”
“I’m
ready now.” She put the bag’s strap over her shoulder. “A
couple of hours or so and I’ll be there.”
“Be
where? A house at the beach that means nothing to you? He has no
money. All he has is that house.”
She drew
in a deep breath and held it, then released it very slowly. “It’s
not about money.”
“Well,
it’s certainly not about family because I’m here, I need you, and
that man is a distant relative you hardly know. That doesn’t make
him family.”
Frannie
bit her lip. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t about close
relationships or blood ties. It was about toxic love. However, some
words shouldn’t be spoken aloud no matter what the provocation, no
matter how their sharp edges tore her up inside.
Mother was
silent. Her face was still, almost resigned. Finally, she said, “Do
as you will. You’ll only be hurt and your troubles will start up
all over again. Smart people learn from their mistakes. I can’t say
that for you. Joel might not be exciting, but a man like Joel won’t
hurt you. You might not recover from your next true love as easily as
you did from the last one. When you fall apart again, and you need my
help, remember I told you so.”
Easily?
Recover easily? Had her loving mother really said that? Yes, along
with ‘when you fall apart again’ and ‘I told you so.’
“You
aren’t going like that?” Laurel looked her up and down.
In this
case, Mother was right. She was still in her party dress and heels.
“You
wore that jewelry tonight to wound me.”
Frannie
touched the necklace again and ignored the last question. She set the
duffel bag down near the door, as if that had been her plan all
along.
“No, I’m
not traveling like this.”
“Good,
because the sapphires belong in the safe. In fact, in a better safe
than the one you have here.” She nodded toward the closet. “I
don’t understand why you insist upon taking such a risk.”
“You’d
better get back to your guests.”
Laurel
gave her a last, icy look. She slapped the door lintel, but left
without another word.
Frannie
waited until her mother was out of sight and then grabbed the duffel
bag. She didn’t need her mother or anyone else telling her what to
do. She was almost thirty-one, for heaven’s sake, and getting older
by the minute.
She
stopped in the kitchen on her way out, snagged a couple of tins of
tea and a steeper, dropping them into one of the shopping bags from
the pantry. A maid was cleaning the kitchen and didn’t look up. A
new maid. Frannie didn’t recognize her.
“Where’s
Hannah?”
The woman
shrugged.
Never
mind.
It was a
long dark road from here to there. From beginning to destination, it
was a different trip, a changed landscape at night. The miles raced
away beneath her tires, to the rhythm of highway lights or the
headlights and red taillights of other travelers. They were her
companions. All going somewhere, but separately. Together and forever
separate. Alone.
Alone and
ungrateful. She had so much. A comfortable life. No financial
worries. Yet she felt always alone, trapped, marooned on her own
desolate, emotional island.
Keeping
the jewelry on was silly and careless. It was jewelry, not her dad,
but it felt a little like her dad was here with her.
She’d
tried to break away before and failed. Maybe this time she would
succeed. It felt possible as she was speeding down the dark road.
Many people had worse losses and greater troubles. She should be able
to overcome hers, unless Mother was right and the flaw was inside
her, along for the ride no matter how far she fled.
Tomorrow
she’d drive over to Morehead City to visit her uncle.
When the
stroke happened, the attorney had contacted her, and she’d gone to
the hospital right away and then again just before and after he moved
to the rehab. She blamed the distance for not visiting more often,
but honestly, she hadn’t been prepared to see him so weak, so
changed by the stroke.
Tonight
there were no stars, no moon. She drove over the bridge to Emerald
Drive. It was a long, lonely road in the winter, especially at night.
She slowed way down to pick out her uncle’s driveway. A blanket of
dark covered all, and when she braked, the wind rocked her car. Her
headlights cast a glow ahead, into the parking area behind and below
the house, until she turned the lights off.
She
shivered. The house blocked the worst of the onshore wind, but the
wooden stairs leading up to the side door would be awkward in the
dark, and in her heels. She put a finger through the key ring and
closed her fist around it.
With her
duffel bag and purse hanging on one shoulder, she clung to the
handrail. Finally inside, she flipped on the lights, dropped her bags
on the chair, stripped off her gloves, and then pumped up the
thermostat. She’d keep the coat on for a while.
She’d
left this sad place only a few hours ago.
It felt
foreign here, alone and at night.
She could
pick up that duffle bag and go back down to her car. She could stay
in a hotel. That’s where sojourners were supposed to tuck
themselves in for the night, right? Where there was a comfy bed and
uniformed housekeeping and no clutter of personal objects? In the
morning, she could behave like a reasonable adult and go back home.
She
ditched her coat and threw it across the sofa. Cold or not, removing
it put one more step between her and retreat.
Books were
stacked here and there. Luckily, the cable TV would be working for
another day or two.
Her uncle
wasn’t much for knick-knacks or bric-a-brac. A few framed family
photos hung on the wall. One was of her dad as a boy with his Uncle
Will. Another showed Will and his brother and sister in black and
white, including starched white shirts for the boys and a starched
white dress for the girl. He’d pointed them out to her, telling her
about his brother, Marshall, and his sister, Penny. All gone. Long
gone.
Most of
Will Denman’s literary taste ran to non-fiction. Navy stuff, naval
history. Books lined the top of his roll top desk with heavy metal
bookends to hold them in place. She slid one out noting the dust that
marked its place. She thumbed through it and a slip of paper fell
out.
The scrap
of notebook paper was long and narrow, neatly torn from a larger
piece. A hand-written note was penciled on it. She squinted to read
the words.
“And he
said, I called by reason of mine affliction unto God, And He answered
me; Out of the belly of Hell cried I, And Thou heardest my voice.”
Jonah 2, verse 2.
Well, that
was grim. She looked around the room. Not exactly in the belly of
hell, thank goodness.
Frannie
folded the slip of paper and slipped it back into the book—a book
about the USS North Carolina. The verse about Jonah and the whale
tucked into a book about a battleship? Really? Was it intended or a
coincidence? She smiled, wishing she could ask her uncle whether it
was a joke or a confession.
There were
three bedrooms. Two had beds. Frannie pulled the coverlet back in the
guest room and examined the sheets. They looked clean. The idea of
sleeping here felt strange, but not as odd as sleeping in her uncle’s
bed, as if he were already past tense. That felt rude.
Frannie
pulled the drapes across the sliding doors and closed the window
blinds. She got her pajamas and robe from the duffel bag and told
herself this was no different from a hotel room, but it was
different.
She undid
the catch of the necklace and removed the earrings. The sapphires
glittered on her palm. She really was foolish.
The
dresser in this small room had some of Will’s overflow clothing.
She found a pair of white cotton socks and carefully dropped the
earrings and necklace into one of them. She added the ring, too. She
twisted the sock and folded it back over itself, then hid it between
the mattress and box spring.
She left
the lights burning in the living room and the bedroom door cracked
open. She huddled under the blanket and bedspread. In the silence,
the house rattled and the ocean boomed. She buried her face in the
pillow and tried to shut out images of blown-in windows and
collapsing walls. Was there a hurricane she hadn’t heard about?
This was wrong time of year for that, but not for winter storms.
Frannie
checked the doors and locks one last time, then climbed into bed. She
held one pillow down over her ears and pulled the blankets up so far
they came untucked, but that didn’t matter because she was curled
up into as small as form as she could make herself.
****
She awoke
at dawn, groggy and bleary-eyed. She eased herself upright and
stretched. The blankets had fallen to the floor during the night. Her
pajamas were twisted and wrinkled.
She pulled
on her robe and headed toward the kitchen. She fit the tea holder
into the steeper as the water heated. As she waited, she noticed the
silence. The bluster and buffeting had ceased. The house no longer
shook.
She
shuffled over to the front window and grabbed the drawstrings. She
tugged and the blinds opened.
Dawn.
Puffs of clouds and a lighter shade of dark mixed with threads of
morning color near the horizon. She went to the sliding doors and
pushed the drapes aside.
A group of
large seabirds was flying by. They skimmed the water, diving for
breakfast.
She
fumbled the lock open and slid the glass door wide.
The air,
fresh from the Atlantic, rushed in, cool with a promise of better to
come.
The rough
wood of the handrail had been a sponge for the night and the deck
boards were cold and damp. Sand peppered the rails and planks. She
walked along the wooden crossover, over the dunes and wild grasses,
to its end where the public beach began. A bench was built into the
crossover near the stairs to the beach, but the seat would be too
chilly and damp this morning. It would be better when spring arrived.
The rough
waves no longer sounded angry, but natural, as if saying Yes, we’re
loud. We’re the ocean.
Facing the
east end of the strand, waiting for the full sunrise, the chill crept
up through her bare feet. When the sun broke the horizon, it
highlighted walkers coming her way. She pulled her robe closer about
her and scurried back up the crossover and into the house.
The
morning sun followed her inside in bright, but dusty streams that
shone through the glass door and the windows. In this light, the
furnishings, though old and plain, gained a little dignity, and then
her cell phone rang.
She picked
it up reluctantly. “Hello?”
“Frannie?”
“Mother.
Good morning.”
“Is it
good? You didn’t really drive all the way back to the beach last
night?”
“I’m
at Uncle Will’s house. You know that.”
“You
have a sharp way with words, Frannie. I wish you’d pause to think
before you bite my head off.”
She
‘paused to think’ but couldn’t come up with anything helpful to
say, so she didn’t.
“Now the
silent treatment.” Laurel’s tone softened. “Sweetheart, you’re
all I have. All that I have left of your father. You’re my
daughter. I love you.”
Frannie
drew in a breath and held it for a moment attempting to reset the
day. Beyond the sliding doors, the morning, serene and looking almost
mystical as light picked its way through the water and the morning
mist, called to her.
She
breathed out slowly and said, “I’ll tell you my plans when I know
them.”
Laurel was
silent. After a long pause, she said, “Whatever you say, but
please, keep me informed. Don’t leave me to worry until I have no
choice but to track you down.”
“Bye,
Mother.”
She
clicked off the phone and went back to the kitchen to enjoy her tea.
Mother.
She certainly knew how to take the shine from the morning, but this
morning, Mother Nature had the better hand.
****
Showered
and dressed, Frannie boiled an egg and steeped more tea. She was more
than a little apprehensive about going to see Uncle Will.
As she
settled at the table to enjoy her little breakfast, she felt a noise
more than heard it. It was only a slight vibration, but on this quiet
morning, it was enough to get her attention. She threw her coat over
her shoulders and stepped out onto the porch. She bypassed the white
rockers and looked over the end of the porch.
A man was
down below, kneeling by the lattice at the end of the porch. He was
wearing a hooded sweatshirt under a leather jacket, but the hood was
pushed back to show sandy-colored hair. That was all she could see
clearly from above. The jacket and sweatshirt rang a bell.
He pulled
and pushed against the latticework and, apparently satisfied, grabbed
his tool bag. He started to rise, but then put one hand against the
side of the house. It seemed to take him a while to stand. He was
tall and moved stiffly.
“Hello,
down there.”
He stepped
backward with a slight limp and looked upward. “Good morning.”
“Are you
the handyman? You got my message?”
He paused
before answering. “I’m Brian Donovan. You’re the niece, right?”
He motioned toward the lattice. “Yeah, I got your message.”
“I’m
Frannie Denman.” She crossed her arms and hugged them close. He had
a nice face, but the stubble on his cheeks bothered her. It seemed a
less than professional appearance, but then again, he was the
handyman. “Were you out here yesterday?”
He nodded.
“Checking around after the storm.”
“I see.
Well, you’ll send a bill? I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”
“Yes,
ma’am. No problem.”
The timbre
of his voice was calm and sure, but his blue eyes grabbed her. She
sighed. Blue eyes and a nice smile had led her astray before. Not
again. Never again. No third strikes for her.
“Thank
you, Mr. Donovan.” She nodded and moved out of view.
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