“Iwantto, Mom.” He gave her a firm nudge. “I’ll bring stuff into the house and you can put it wherever it goes from there.”
“Thanks, Jackson.” There was no denying her son was growing up. Whether it was from his determination to be “the man of the house” like Claire had said, or just something natural and inevitable, it was happening fast—and she doubted there was much she could do to prevent it. But it was bittersweet. Although part of her felt pleased and proud, another bigger part felt like sobbing.
three
THIS PLACEis way cool!” Jackson exclaimed as he carried the last loaded laundry basket inside. “I don’t know why you dissed on it so much, Mom. It looks great to me. And that fireplace is epic—it’s nice and warm in here. You said it’d be freezing cold.”
“Well, it seems Poppa made some improvements since I was last here.” Wendy knocked on a wall. “He even put in insulation.”
“Awesome.” Jackson followed her to the kitchen, pausing by the windowsill to admire the shells lining it. “These seashells are so cool, Mom. They’re all over the house. Did your grandparents really find all of them right here on this beach? Do you think we can find some too?”
“Yes, of course. But remember my grandparents found these over the course of many decades. And for all I know it started out even before them. This cottage was here even before Poppa was born.”
“When was it built?”
She considered this. “Well, Poppa was close to ninety when he died ... so I suppose the cottage could’ve been built around a hundred years ago.”
“Where’s my room?”
“Upstairs—the one on the right—with a bed.”
“There aretwobedrooms upstairs?”
“Yes, but the other one’s being used for storage.” She sighed to think how long it might take her to sort through all the junk she’d spied stacked in there. “Your room is better. Remember, it’s the one that looks out over the sea.”
“Cool.” He grabbed up his duffle bag and backpack and clomped up the steep wooden stairs, whistling as he went.
“I’ll have some dinner ready in about twenty minutes,” she called after him. As she washed her hands, she gazed blankly out the kitchen window. Although it was black as ink out there, she could imagine the ocean not too far off. But with all traces of dusky light gone, she could only see her own reflection in the glass. She peered curiously at her image—surprised at how old and haggard she looked. So different from the girl she’d been during her last visit here. She pushed a strand of dark hair away from her forehead, staring with fascination at the older woman looking back at her. There were shadows beneath her dark brown eyes, and she knew the past two nights spent in uncomfortable motel beds hadn’t helped. Her long hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail might be low-maintenance, but it wasn’t very flattering. Plus, she’d taken a vacation from the “natural” makeup she usually wore. All added up to a forlorn-looking “elderly” woman who was actually only thirty-six. She pulled the faded gingham café curtains closed and turned away.
Releasing a weary sigh, she put away the groceries and started making a simple dinner. She might be tired, but at least they’d made it. Her biggest fear had been a breakdown in the Subaru or that one or more of her old tires would give out. But here they were—and the cottage was in better shape than she’d hoped for. With just a few improvements, some thinning, and fresh paint, she ought to be able to get a good price for it.
Wendy layered slices of bread with ham and cheese, then set an old cast-iron frying pan on the propane stove. Cautiously striking a match—and praying the big propane tank out back wasn’t empty—she turned the knob just like Gammi had taught her. To her relief, it soon fired up and the pan began to heat. She buttered the outside of the bread, then laid in three sandwiches—two for Jackson and one for her. While they sizzled, she sliced up some carrots and apples and put the teakettle on for tea.
This was nothing like the delectable dinners Gammi used to pack for their first night at the beach, but then they weren’t going to be eating out on the porch in the summer sunset either. Those days were gone, and everything was different now. Except for one pleasantly familiar thing. Despite her general tiredness and usual anxiety, Wendy felt that old sense of peace, a sensation she’d experienced each summer when spending time with her grandparents—that she was home . . . and safe.
Later in life, she’d felt like that with Edward. But it had evaporated when he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer four years ago. She’d tried to re-create the feeling with Jackson. She’d imagined they would find that place again. But it always seemed just out of reach. So this unexpected emotion caught her off guard. So much so that she grew slightly uncomfortable—she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the pleasant feeling.
“That bedroom is fantastic,” Jackson announced as he bounced into the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want it, Mom?”
“No, I’d rather be down here.” Okay, this was partly a lie—she’d always loved her second-floor bedroom with its sloped ceiling and dormer window. But her protective-mother instincts felt Jackson was safer up there. Besides, she loved that he appreciated it.
“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll box up your stuff and bring it down.”
“Okay.” She tried to remember what she might’ve left here as a sixteen-year-old—hopefully nothing too embarrassing.
“That smells good.” Jackson pulled out a metal kitchen chair and sat down at the table. “I’m starved.”
“I made you two sandwiches.” She set his plate in front of him, followed by a tall glass of milk.
“Looks good.” He waited for her to join him, then they both bowed their heads and she prayed a quick blessing like she usually did before their evening meals.
“And bless this house,” Jackson said heartily. “And our new lives here too. Amen.” He grinned, then took a big bite of his sandwich.
Wendy forced a smile, focusing her attention on dipping her tea bag in hot water. She admired his enthusiasm but at the same time felt deceptive. Maybe this was her big moment, her chance to tell him the truth—to confess the real reason they were here.
“I checked the weather app on my phone,” he said between bites. “It’s supposed to be pretty nice for the next few days. Maybe we can go beachcombing tomorrow.”
She nodded as she chewed, reminding herself that this visit was twofold—part work and part vacation. Perhaps it was best to focus on the vacation bit first. After all, the cottage was in much better shape than she’d hoped. “I’d love to spend some time on the beach,” she told him. “But remind me to call a handyman first.” She explained about the floor in the bathroom. “So don’t go tromping around in there. You don’t want to fall through.”
