Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(54)
It was so hard to say the words aloud. She felt a pang of guilt and it wasn’t fair. Cara brought her hand to her heart in a fist. “You’re not even alive, but I feel like I’m cheating on you! What should I do?” she asked, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Please, Brett, let me know it’s okay to say good-bye. To move on.”
Hope lunged forward to hug her. “Mama!”
Cara hugged her back, knowing the child sensed her sadness. “Mama’s fine, sweetheart. These are good tears,” she said, then pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Mama knows what she has to do.”
Cara looked at her hand and, without hesitation, slid the thin gold wedding band from her finger.
“Here, Hope.”
Hope reached over and, with her chubby pincer fingers, picked up the ring.
“Can you put the ring in the hole? Go on, it’s okay. Put it in.”
Hope delicately, obediently dropped the ring in the center and watched as it fell deeper than she could reach. She immediately looked to Cara for approval, and seeing her mother smile, she clapped her hands and burst into a joyful “Yay!”
“Good girl, Hope. Thank you for helping Mama.”
Together they filled the hole with sand and patted the top flat like a turtle did its nest. Finally, Cara chose the best shells and formed a circle over the smooth sand. She leaned back on her arms and looked at her work. There was symmetry to the project, a synchronicity about being here today, with Hope and David, that made the circle feel binding. She felt sure she was heard.
She lifted Hope into her arms and with a determined stride left the hidden dune in the pines and walked from the shade into the open, sunlit beach.
Chapter Thirteen
Sea turtles swim at a leisurely pace but are capable of moving at great speeds for short distances with their long, broad flippers. Leatherbacks can dive to a depth of a thousand meters.
WORK WAS BEGINNING to take off and Cara was hitting her stride. The cloud of worry dissipated with the steady income. Each morning she awoke and said a quick prayer of thanks that her life was her own again. She volunteered to share Linnea’s turtle team schedule so she could walk the beach with Hope in the mornings. It was like old times slipping into her turtle team T-shirt, lathering on sunscreen, and stepping out into the placid air while the day was young and the sky was still blushing.
This morning, as always, Hope was wide-eyed and silent as they walked the beach. The sand was rippled by the outgoing tide. The muted colors of shells added texture to the scene, and there were the usual clusters of shorebirds and the skittering of crabs. She walked at a power pace, her long legs covering the distance in easy time. At first Cara had been shocked at how winded she was at the end of her turtle walk. But now she was enjoying the exercise, doing it for herself as well as Hope. She was bonding with her daughter. Her head was cleared out of doors, and she could solve the problems playing in her head. And she was feeling more fit. More herself.
She finished the walk without spotting tracks. But she did spy Linnea and John out in the surf. The waves were modest, but they looked like they were having fun. Cara had never surfed, though Palmer had surfed avidly when they were growing up and Brett had loved the sport. She admired Linnea for deciding to follow her bliss and just do it. She watched her ride a wave, her arms outstretched like a bird in flight. Cara’s heart swelled with pride. “Good girl,” she said aloud. Then promised herself she’d give Hope the chance to take lessons in the future.
She was showered and dressed and had a snack packed by the time David arrived. They loaded up the big car with children and gear and headed for Magnolia Plantation. They drove in a companionable silence. Hope and Rory babbled in the backseat. Cara stared out the window, lost in her thoughts.
“You seem fired up about something,” David said, glancing over at her.
“Do I?” she said, thinking how perceptive he was. “Actually, I do have a lot on my mind. A chance at a new account.”
He turned his head briefly and she saw that his eyes brightened with curiosity. “I’m glad. Care to talk about it?”
His voice was pleasant. Interested. She welcomed his opinion and explained.
“The client is the owner of a restaurant chain in Charleston. Chic, high-end. I’m sure you’ve eaten at one of them. They’re expanding beyond Charleston and looking for fresh marketing ideas. I knew someone who knew the owner.” She glanced at him. His eyes were on the road. “That’s one of the perks of living in a small town. I’m meeting with them tomorrow afternoon. I’ve been putting together my ideas. I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.”
“You’ve had big clients before.”
“I have. Very big. But it’s only me now, and the stakes are high.”
“Do you feel prepared?”
She took in a breath, considering. “I do. I really think my ideas are good ones.”
He seemed impressed. “Then my money’s on you.”
She looked at his hands on the wheel. Long-fingered, tanned. Clean nails. Brett had worked with his hands, and like a worker’s hands, they were always chapped, stained, and scratched. But he’d taken care to keep his nails clean.
“Think twice,” she told David. “I’m an independent consultant up against major, high-powered consulting firms. They have money to spend on flashy presentations. All the bells and whistles. My presentation will be, shall we say, only me and my ideas.”