Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (26 page)

With the sun setting, we eventually
pedal our wet sticky selves back towards the house. We are loaded down with our
funeral clothes hanging from the handlebars in plastic sacks from the surf
shop. I hold on to my Betty for dear life in one hand while I try to steer my
borrowed bike with the other.

We have a hard time explaining to a
group of eyebrow-raised mourners back at the house how we ended up on
surfboards for the entire afternoon—especially since we had just buried our dad
earlier this morning. We don’t get past the porch before we are caught. We try
to explain it away, but just end up looking like two guilty kids. I keep
glancing at a smirking Lucas. He is having a hard time keeping his composure
and has to hide a laugh behind a cough a few times during our confession.

Jean steps on the porch to scold us.
“Just what do you have to say for yourselves?” she asks. Her face is in a
snarl.

At this moment, John Paul’s stomach
lets out a loud gurgle. “I’m starving,” is the only thing he has to say before
he grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen. We are still damp and sandy,
but pay it no mind as we load our plates full of country cuisine. I even grab
an extra plate and scoop up anything chocolate to accompany my meal. After we
both chug our first glass of tea and refill it, we file back outside to the
porch to enjoy our bounty of food. The porch seems like the only place where we
both feel comfortable, so we sit in the swing and gorge while we explain the
fundamentals of surfing to a curious Lucas. We promise a trip to the surf shop
and ocean soon.

Lucas shakes his head as he leads me to
his Jeep soon after we finish eating. “I can’t believe I have a surfer chick
for a wife,” he says as he chuckles quietly. He pulls me close for a kiss and
whispers, “A sexy one at that.”

The sun has long gone for the day, and
a beautiful full moon has taken over for the night. The clouds have decided to
take a hike too, and so a clear night sky glows softly.

I sigh as we head up the wide, tiled
steps of the beach house. It’s really a lovely bungalow and I have to admit I
love it.

“What?” Lucas asks as we push through
the front door and into the impressive foyer. An intricate wrought iron
chandelier cascades from the ceiling and greets us as we head into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna really hate to leave this
place,” I say as I run my hand over the blue Spanish tile on the kitchen
counter.

Lucas grabs a bottle of water from the
fridge. He takes a sip and offers me some. I take a big gulp before handing it
back.

“We sign the paperwork on it tomorrow,
milady,” Lucas says as he slightly bows and gives me a wink.

“What?”

He places the bottle on the counter and
pulls me towards him. “The realtor is swinging by in the morning before I have
to head back to Rhode Island. I’ve got some loose ends to work out there before
we set out on this new venture.”

My brows pucker because I have not
taken this life change into consideration for my husband. He soothes the pucker
with his thumb and answers my unspoken concerns. “Don’t worry about it. As long
as I have my beautiful wife by my side I’m content with whatever life puts
before me.” He looks around. “This place isn’t so bad.”

I’m still not so sure, so he pulls me
closer and places a kiss on my forehead. “Mmm…salty.” He chuckles as he licks
his lips before continuing. “Savannah, I can do most of what I need to do for
Monroe Enterprise from here.” He has a point. He does most of his work from our
condo, so I let it go.

“Fine,” I say as I release him and peel
off the wetsuit. He eyes the turquoise bikini that was hidden underneath.

“Nice,” he says before pulling me back
towards him. I take this opportunity to rid him of his tie and undo the buttons
of his shirt. I run my hands along the smooth expanse of his chest. “You’re a
bit overdressed,” I whisper as I slide the shirt completely off. I glance back
outside and turn to lead Lucas there.

He abandons his socks and shoes on the
deck as we pass by. Once we make it onto the sand, I circle my hands around his
neck. “I’ve danced many a dances with demons on this beach in my dreams,” I say
as I meet his eyes. “I want to dance with my angel now. I want a better relationship
with this beach. Think you can help me out with that, big boy?”

“Absolutely, love,” he murmurs. With
understanding, Lucas gathers me in his arms and we set out on a dance that is
achingly sweet. As we dance, I shed what’s left of my demons. I’ve carried them
long enough. We circle and let the melody of the sea lull us into our own
intimate world. In this moment, I think that maybe,
just maybe,
I’m going to be okay.

Chapter Seventeen

The sun is dancing in warm glowing
tones so beautifully throughout the room this morning. I can hear the ocean
waves kissing the shore good morning just outside. I feel so peaceful and
content in this moment, and for the first time the picture of me staying is
crystal clear.

I roll over and watch Lucas sleep for a
while. He is stretched out lying on his back and is as always hogging both
sides of the bed, with one hand hanging off his side of the bed and the other
holding onto my thigh. The man sprawls in his sleep as if he is always seeking
me out. I’m confident that I can live anywhere and accomplish anything as long
as I have him by my side. I quietly sneak out of the bed and let him catch up
on some much-needed rest. My family and I can be pretty exhausting, and I feel
bad for Lucas having to deal with it all.

I get dressed and head down the shore
to the Beach Shack to pick up some local breakfast favorites for Lucas. It is
just as I have remembered it. It still looks like an old shack about to fall
over, and it is already packed at seven in the morning. Several fishermen,
already adorned in their fishing bibs, are grabbing large cups of coffee and
biscuits to go. I recognize a few of the older ones for they are direct sources
for the restaurant. One of the men waves me over. He’s a big, brawny man who
looks like a lumberjack in fishing gear, with a red plaid shirt peeping under
his bib. He sports a bushy, black beard that goes well with his bushy head of
black hair. He looks rough and can act tough, but he is just a big teddy bear.

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s a pure
shame ‘bout your old man,” Billy says as he pats my shoulder in a condoling
manner.

“I agree,” I say in a low voice. The
realization that he is truly gone keeps creeping up on me unexpectedly. It just
doesn’t seem right at all.

“You call me up when you need the
market restocked, okay?” he says as the rest of his group starts shuffling
towards the door.

“Sure thing, Billy,” I say and resume
my people watching.

There is a good-sized crowd of
sun-worshiping tourists ready to get their day at the beach underway. You can
pick up whiffs of sunblock floating faintly through the air as it mingles with
the greasy aroma. The tourists are easy to spot. They are the ones that stand
before the large menu board with their mouths gaped open and their eyes
bouncing around at the choices. They seem at awe over the delectable breakfast
options and are having a hard time trying to decide what they want. This is
opposite from most locals, who never lift their gaze to the menu board. They
normally have a set favorite and order it religiously every time – me included.
I have not set eyes on the menu in almost a decade, but I know exactly what I
want.

“Good morning, darlin’. What can I get
ya?” the waitress at the counter asks.

“I know what that young lady wants.
Don’t worry her with ordering!” a familiar gruff voice pipes in at the kitchen
opening. I look over to find a short, burly man grinning at me from underneath
his thick, unruly, grey whiskers. He wipes his hands on his greasy apron as he
approaches me. He is a good bit shorter than me, so I have to stoop a bit to
receive his hug. I notice he is barefoot as always. Jarrette is the owner of
this fine shack and cooks up the greasy yet scrumptious fair.

“There’s no way you remember my order,”
I say.

“You want an order of the best biscuits
and gravy with extra sausage, apple stuffed pancakes, and a large coffee,” he
answers proudly with a huge smile. He’s confident he has it right. Of course,
he does.

“Double the order and you’ve got it
right, sir. And it’s to go,” I smile back.

“Comin’ right up,” he says as he heads
back into the kitchen. I can’t help but wonder what the food health inspectors
think of his bare feet. I shake my head and laugh.

The waitress hands me a cup of coffee,
as is the longstanding tradition of the Beach Shack to give customers with
to-go orders a cup of coffee to enjoy while they wait on the food. As I sit at
the counter waiting, I look around at the buzz of everyone coming and going. I
watch the restaurant staff working in sync with one another and I begin to get
excited about my opportunity of running not one but two businesses of my very
own. I finally feel like this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

I admit I love the laidback atmosphere
of Bay Creek. That was never the issue. I will just have to stop looking in the
past and keep my focus on the present and towards the future. Before I get too
far out there daydreaming about my new life ahead, the waitress delivers my
food. I pay and head back to the beach house to surprise Lucas with the
delicious breakfast. It is all I can do to stay out of the bag until I get
back. The aroma makes my mouth water in anticipation. I just know it’s going to
be good. The evidence is clearly on the white bag in the form of glorious
grease stains.

I quietly creep upstairs and find Lucas
still sprawled out, sleeping away. I wave the bag back and forth close to his
nose until he opens one eye at me.

“Hmm. That smells wonderful.” He
stretches a long stretch and gives me a quick kiss before snatching the bag out
of my hand. I love how playful he can be first thing in the morning. He is one
of those obnoxious morning people. I am not, and this trait of his is annoying
if he wakes before me. But since I have been up quite a while, I’m enjoying it.
He sits up and begins pulling the food out. I sit here and admire the view of
him in his rumpled boxer shorts. His light brown hair looks so boyish with the
curls sticking up all over. Those bedroom eyes of his…

“I think this is for you,” he says as
he hands me a note that has been tucked in the bottom of the bag, which forces
me out of my lustful thoughts. I pull my eyes off Lucas and read the note. It
states in scrawling handwriting that is none other than Jarrette’s,
Good
luck with the restaurant and market. I know you will do your dad proud.

“Humph.” It is inspiring to know that
people have faith in me.

We munch on the delicious breakfast and
joke about how we probably have gained a good ten pounds apiece in the past few
days.
Not really, but still.
There
are just too many good southern cooks living in Bay Creek. We laze around in
the bed for a good part of the morning, enjoying the slower pace for a while.

“I can already tell you we have to
replace this queen-sized bed with a king, Mr. Bed Hog,” I laugh as he is
scrunched up on my side of the bed as I speak. No matter what size bed we own,
it will always be the same—as it should be.

We laugh my joke off before I start
wrestling with some doubt. “Do you really want to give Bay Creek a shot?” I
ask. I burrow close into his comforting chest and breathe in the warm, familiar
smell of him.

“Only if you want to,” Lucas says. He
wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer. He places a gentle kiss on
my forehead. I love his strength and gentleness all at the same time. We lay in
each other’s arms for a while before I begin to try to talk us out of moving.

“But what about your job? What about
our condo? What about your family? Won’t you miss them?” I let out a long list
of questions.

Lucas brushes a light kiss over my lips
before looking me in the eyes and says, “We can make this work. Have a little
faith.”

“Easier said than done, Mr. Monroe.” I
sigh and give him a long kiss before I climb out of the bed. I need another
opinion.
I’m not procrastinating, okay.
I’m just making sure…

“Not running away, are you?” he
questions as he tries to grab ahold of me.

I squirm out his grasp, giggling. “No
sir. I promise to return.” I grab his Jeep keys and blow him a kiss as I skip
out the door.

I head straight to the one who I know
will give it to me straight, whether I want to hear it or not. I pull into her
driveway and am about to climb out of the Jeep when the passenger door opens,
surprising me. I have no idea where the little lady came from. She’s quicker
than I give her credit for.

“Take me for a ride in this Jeep
Wrangler. That way I got plenty to talk about with my great-grandbaby the next
time he visits,” She grunts as she tries unsuccessfully to climb up into the
tall Jeep. She may be fast, but she can’t climb worth a lick.

I have to laugh as I walk to her side
to give her a boost. “Up you go, old lady,” I laugh some more as I plant her in
the passenger seat.

“It comes in handy to have an unusually
tall Thorton child around,” she chuckles herself.

“I’m not that tall. It’s that you’re
unusually short,” I say with a smile.

“Watch your mouth, young’un,” she says,
causing me to laugh some more.

I climb back in and pull out onto the
highway, still laughing at the craziness of the situation.

“You know, you really shouldn’t talk to
old people like you do,” Miss May says with a smirk.

“I really can’t help I’m a
smart-mouthed brat.” I laugh.

“Good point.” She laughs too. I love
this woman more than my teeth, ‘cause she gets me and loves me anyway.

I drive Miss May down to the pier and
along the beach boulevard, while she wears a huge grin on her face. She waves
at everyone, whether she knows them or not. I eventually park at a beach access
and we gaze out over the crowd already gathered on the sandy shore. It’s gonna
be a beautiful day.

“When we reopening?” she asks as she
looks over at me. She is quite a sight sitting there with her hair rollers
tucked in neat rows over her silver head, wearing Lucas’s Ray Bans. The sun was
giving her eyes a fit, and they are the only shades I could find in the glove
box. These are the Wayfarer style that my man can pull off charmingly. Miss
May—not so much. She doesn’t seem to mind, so I keep my smart mouth closed for
a change.

“I just don’t know,” I say hesitantly.

“Well, we both know yo’ procrastinatin’
butt is gonna eventually do it, so just go ahead and decide already. I’m sick
of sittin’ home.” She looks at me over the top of the sunglasses. She eyes me
until I roll my eyes back at her. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know.”

“Don’t I know it, and that’s one of my
problems. I don’t want to even think about doing any of this without you.” I
let the silent understanding of this statement pass between us. I know we don’t
know the number of our days, but Miss May’s are clearly becoming limited. I
banish this thought—it hurts too much to even think it.

“You ain’t got to worry ‘bout a thing,
‘cept openin’ back up. Them places run themselves. Besides, I’ve been trainin’
my granddaughter, Vanessa, for the past five years. Another five years and she
should be able to handle it on her own.” She slides me a wink over the rim of
the sunglasses and smiles.

“Well, that sounds mighty appealing. Me
and Vanessa used to waitress together,” I say as I pull on my ear in thought.
We let the subject drop and I drive Miss May around the beach for a while
longer.

Later in the afternoon, I drop Miss May
back at her lovely little home.

“I sure have missed you, old lady,” I
say as I give her a long hug after scooping her out of the Jeep and depositing
her in the yard. I walk her to the porch.

“Me too, girl. You ‘bout to see a lot
of me, don’t worry. I sure am glad you finally decided to reappear. We’ve got a
lot of catching up to do,” she says as I turn to leave.

“I look forward to it. You have to
promise to share your cheesecakes from Julia with me, though,” I wag my finger
at her.

“As long as you and your handsome
husband drive me to church every Sunday in one of yo’ fancy cars,” she offers.

“You have yourself a deal,” I agree.

I head over to the restaurant for a
visit. I push through the door and inhale deeply. My throat catches over the
absent aromas of fresh seafood being prepared. It’s an injustice, I know. I
walk over to my dad’s and my favorite booth and have a seat. This is the booth
we would normally take our late lunch breaks. I sit and inspect the dining
hall. It is crisp and fresh with newly painted white walls. There is no evident
dust on the giant ocean and beach shore landscape paintings by a local artist,
R.H. Ewol. There are three original paintings along the left wall. They have
always been a favorite of mine. I scan over them slowly and then look around
some more. This place has been so well cared for, I can only hope I’m able to
do it justice.

Tears begin to slide down my cheeks as
more forgotten memories pay me a visit. I scoot under the table to make certain
that this is the exact same booth. I smile when I see the evidence that it is.
Lucas carved our initials on the underside late one night after closing. It was
the night he accompanied me back from college to ask my dad for his permission
to marry me. I run my fingers along the carving as that memory dances happily.

Dad took a break long enough to share
an appetizer and a glass of sweet tea with us before Lucas bravely asked him.
My dad was so thrilled for us that he stood up on the booth bench and announced
to the entire restaurant our good news.