Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(6)
And in that shimmering light Cara saw her mother, or rather, a ghost of Lovie. Transparent yet real. There was no mistaking her. Lovie’s hair was pulled back in her usual chignon, her profile serene as she gazed at the child. Then, in a breath, her mother turned her head and looked up.
Cara felt the unspeakable power of a mother’s gaze. The light seemed to enter her soul, permeate her being, and warm her. Reassure her. Comfort her. Lovie smiled, and Cara felt the weight of her hopelessness lift from her shoulders. In that miraculous instant, she knew she was going to be all right.
Then, in a blink, the light disappeared, and Lovie was gone.
“Mama?” she called out. Cara suddenly wondered if she’d imagined it all. She shook her head and looked down at Hope. The child gazed back at her with innocent eyes.
Cara hugged the little girl and crooned softly as she rocked her in her arms. The room was filled with the scent of jasmine. Her mother’s scent.
“Thank you, Mama.”
Chapter Two
The scientific name for loggerheads is Caretta caretta. It is the third largest of seven sea turtle species, including the leatherback, olive ridley, hawksbill, flatback, green sea turtle, and Kemp’s ridley.
THE MORNING SUN crept into the room like a thief, slipping through openings in the plantation shutters and stealing away precious moments of sleep. Outside her window a cardinal sang his dawn song as strident as a bugle’s call, signaling the start of a bright spring day. Cara plopped a pillow over her head with a groan. Every muscle ached from the push of packing and the long drive. Plus, Hope had awoken three or four times in the night. She was teething, poor dear, but they were both paying the price for it. Cara yawned. Even her bones ached. She wanted to sleep for hours.
No sooner did drowsiness slide over her again than she heard a short cry from Hope. Cara held her breath, hoping it was a passing whimper and she would be able to go back to sleep. But no . . . the dulcet tones of Hope’s cries soon joined the birdsong. She groaned again. This song she couldn’t ignore. She tossed off the pillow and covers, then dragged herself out of the cushy bed.
Her mother’s four-poster was high off the ground and dominated the room. The floors and trim were dark wood, but everything else was white—the walls, the lace curtains, the crisp bed linen. Unlike the rest of the house, where paintings covered the walls, only one hung in this room. It had been her mother’s favorite, commissioned when Cara and her brother, Palmer, were very young. In it, two children played together on the beach, building a sand castle with a bucket and spade, the boy with white-blond hair, the girl’s dark. The island had been a paradise for Cara and her brother growing up, and she intended to pass on that lifestyle to her own daughter.
She rose and went to the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. She glanced in the mirror as she patted her face dry, then lowered her hands and studied her reflection. She let her fingers comb through her very short hair. Seeing the new style still had the power to startle her. She’d worn her thick, dark hair to her shoulders, or longer, all her life. It was a glossy mane, an enviable feature and arguably one of her better ones. When she’d adopted Hope, however, she wanted to make a different statement. Cutting her hair short seemed a powerful way to embark on a journey of personal transformation. What better way to begin than with the literal cutting off of the old and starting anew?
Hope was standing in the crib, her arms outstretched, when Cara arrived. She paused, her heart beating quicker. She never failed to be amazed that this sweet baby wanted her and accepted her as her mother . . . despite her ineptness. Cara brought the baby close to her, kissing her cheeks that were still flushed and warm from sleep. Ah, yes, she thought. This makes waking up at dawn worth it.
She changed Hope’s diaper, grateful it was just wet, and managed to fasten all the snaps and buttons without caffeine. She plodded into the kitchen, then stopped and surveyed the mess of scattered bottles and spilled formula from the night before. She took a deep breath.
“Our first day home,” she told Hope with a gentle shake of encouragement. “Let’s make it a good one.”
After a few clumsy attempts at keeping Hope from rummaging through the bags, she managed to get the high chair set up and Hope strapped safely in. She set a few Cheerios in front of her, then began to clean the floor and counters, still groggy from lack of caffeine.
Suddenly the kitchen door flew open and an elderly woman breezed in. Her bright white hair was cut short, and she wore brown nylon cargo pants and a green TURTLE TEAM T-shirt. Her blue eyes were as bright as a torch, and she was all smiles.
“Caretta!”
“Flo!” Cara exclaimed, her hand at her heart. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Flo had freely strolled into her kitchen for as long as she could remember. Her mother’s best friend, Flo Prescott was like a second mother to Cara and Emmi, especially since both of their mothers had passed. Cara ran into the old woman’s arms.
“You scared me half to death!”
“Welcome home, baby girl,” Flo said, her soft arms wrapping around Cara and patting her on the back. She leaned back and gently shook Cara’s shoulders, her bright eyes shining. “Took you long enough.”
Cara took a moment to absorb the shock of Flo’s aging. Her skin was paler, her short hair wispy at the crown, and the sharp gleam in her eyes dimmed. It had only been a year since she had last seen her . . . but in that short time, Flo had aged dramatically.