Page 15 of Changing Tides

“No, it’s perfect,” I whisper.

Sabel smiles as she looks around the room.

“It is, isn’t it? Sebby and I lived here the first few years of our marriage. Oh my, that was fifty years ago now, before our little family outgrew it and he built the one we live in now. A lot of good memories were made within these walls. We didn’t have the heart to let it go, so we’ve been using it as a seasonal rental ever since,” she explains.

She guides me around the layout of the two-bedroom, one-bath cottage and to the French doors just beyond the table in the kitchen.

“This is my favorite spot,” she says as she opens the doors.

We walk out to the large screened-in porch that overlooks the cove. A lush, thick rug covers the wood-plank decking. An outdoor sectional sofa with a palm-tree print is situated to theleft, surrounding a driftwood coffee table. Two large wicker rocking chairs are to the right, facing the water.

“This view is something else,” I gasp as I take in the spectacular vista.

“It’s the best place to enjoy your morning coffee or afternoon cocktail,” she continues.

An old wooden door leads out to a set of stairs that descends to a path of stepping stones, making their way to a pier that juts out into the water with a covered seating area and boat ramp.

“You have use of the pier as well. It’s private and quiet most days, though don’t be startled if my grandson docks his boat occasionally. He likes to park it over here and walk over to our house from time to time. Let me know if it bothers you.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I don’t have a boat.”

“Still, the pier is nice for fishing, crabbing, and even sunbathing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply.

We walk the property, and she gives me the rundown of the plant varieties in the fenced-in garden with its rows of blooms, a green metal table with two high-back chairs, and wooden A-framed swing.

“My daughter is going to be over the moon. When I showed her the photos online, she was elated at the prospect of having our very own fairy garden,” I tell her.

She turns and smiles.

“Really? You know, I’ve been after Sebby to remove the trunk of that old oak tree that was lost to a tropical storm a few years ago, but I could have him hollow it out and add a door and rooftop,” she offers.

“Oh, no, I don’t want you to go to all that trouble. Leia will just enjoy having tea parties at the garden table and lying on a blanket among the flowers,” I say, but I can see the blueprints taking form behind her eyes as she waves me off.

“No trouble at all. My great-grandchildren would love it. Oh, I can’t wait to talk to my daughter, Milly, about it. We love a project. Speaking of, when will your little girl be joining us?”

“Next weekend. She’s in Atlanta with my parents, but my friend Amiya is driving her up on Saturday.”

“That gives us plenty of time to plot,” she squeals.

“Thank you, Sabel. I truly appreciate you accepting the extended lease.”

In my research, I found that most of the rentals available on the island during the season are short-term only, and all long-term were already spoken for. When I saw this listing, I fell in love with it. I decided to take a shot and send the owners an email, explaining our circumstances and asking if they’d consider letting us rent it for six months.

She reaches out and takes my hand. “You’re more than welcome. Besides, Sebby is thrilled not to have a parade of renters this year. Less work for him.”

We head back to the street to where my leased candy-apple-red Corvette convertible is parked.

I know the gas-guzzling, two-seater car is not a practical vehicle for a single mother, but I saw it on the lot and decided I wanted a fun car for the summer at the beach.

Sabel hands me the key chain with the house key and a pink leather flamingo attached.

Another silver-haired lady appears from the house neighboring the cottage and makes her way to the mailbox at the top of her drive.

Sabel raises her hand in greeting. “Good afternoon, Ida Mae,” she calls.

“Hi, Sabel,” she returns.

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