Page 85 of Beachside Kisses With My Enemy

“I’m not talking about Blake—although I am sorry for that too. I’ll always be sorry when you’re hurting.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

She sighs. “Your uncle and I did our best to give you a home. But I know it’s never been enough. You needed your Mama, and she wasn’t here.”

“Oh, Aunt Bea, that’s not?—”

“Hush, child, I’m talking.” She smiles at me, so I know she’s not mad. Then continues. “Your mama, she wasn’t well. No mother who would leave such a sweet daughter behind could be well.” As if she knows I’m about to protest, Bea holds up her hand. “I’m not trying to speak ill of her. I know she suffered terribly when Bill died. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I ever lost Burt. Still, I’ll admit that I’ve had a harsh word or two with the good Lord about your mother and the way she left.”

“Really? You never said.”

“I didn’t want you to ever feel like you were a burden. Because you’re not, Lucy. You’re a blessing, and I’m sorry for your mama that she’s missed out on seeing up close and personal what a beautiful woman you’ve become.”

Oh, sweet macaroni. There she goes again. “Stop making me cry, Aunt Bea.” I laugh.

But her face is just as serious as the time she told my uncle in no uncertain terms would she ever give up quilting, no matter how bad the arthritis in her hands gets. “We wanted to give you a home, but I worry that in creating a haven for you, we also created a prison.”

“This home isn’t a prison.”

“Not just this home. This town too. It’s become your sanctuary, which is a wonderful thing. A good thing. But once you were here, you never left again. You used to love traveling when you were little, but when was the last time you went farther than Morro Bay?”

Hold on, now. “I was going to go away to college, but then Marilee’s parents died.”

“I know, darling, and you’re such a good friend to stay. But let’s be honest. You never really wanted to leave. You only felt like you should. You were relieved when you had an excuse to stay.”

Ouch. Guess the truth hurts. “So? What’s wrong with loving your home so much you always want to be there? That you can’t fathom leaving it?”

“There’s a difference between loving it and using it as a place to hide.”

I stand, head for the window again, holding fast to the image of that grand tree anchored there. But in studying it closer, I see signs that all is not well. Pieces of bark flecking off. It’s listing to one side. There are patches where no leaves grow.

No. No, no. “That tree…what’s wrong with it?”

“What?” My aunt joins me at the window. She taps the glass softly. “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to have it taken out. It’s not been getting enough nutrients, I guess. It’s just been existing there, looking all right, even though under the surface, the roots were dying. Took a while to see the problem, and by then, it was too late to treat it.” Her hand goes to my hair, stroking it like only a mom can. “Your uncle doesn’t want to take it out. It’s sentimental to him, you see. But sometimes you have to get rid of the dead things so you can plant new life.”

I turn to her, my eyes wet again—surprise, surprise. “But what if the soil’s just…ruined? What if the new tree never grows as tall?” My questions come quickly, but the understanding in her eyes tells me she knows we are no longer talking about a tree. “What if this tree, right here, right now, with all of its issues, is the best thing that’s ever going to exist? If you chop it down, expecting new life, and the new life doesn’t come, or it doesn’t look the way you think it will…then what? You’re just left with broken hope.”

“Or,” she grasps my hand and squeezes it tight, “the new tree will exceed your expectations. But if you don’t risk chopping down the old, you will never experience the life and growth that comes with the new. And, Lucy, what is a life of fear and hiding? Take the risk, my dear. Dream the dream. Just think of what a beautiful sight could be waiting for us this time next year if we do.”

She pats my hand, then glances at the tree once more. “I think I know what’s moved to the top of my to-do list.” Aunt Bea winks at me. “How about you?”

My heart is galloping in my chest, my palms sweaty as I lean in to kiss my aunt’s cheek. She smells like garlic and tomato sauce—and if a person can smell of wisdom, well, she smells like that too. “I guess maybe it’s time to chop down some trees.”

“That’s my girl.”

Her words warm my chest all the way out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, where I start to hightail it home, praying that Blake is somewhere to be found.

Praying that I’m not too late.

* * *

I was, indeed, too late.

By the time I got home last night, Blake’s car was nowhere to be found. I waited up until three a.m., and he never came home. Mare was asleep, but I texted her to ask if she knew where he was. I never heard back from her, and when I went into her room this morning, found her phone charging on the bedside table but no Marilee. She must have left for the festival without it—not surprising, given how tired she’s been lately.

I’ve kept my eye open for her all day, but between every Hallmark Beach resident and the thousands of tourists who have flocked here for the Fourth of July Festival, I don’t have much hope of finding her. For hours, I’ve been rushing back and forth between the food booths down on the beach and the Robin, where we decided it would be easiest for Tiny and his small but mighty team to grill the burgers and place them into containers to keep them warm.

Blake was supposed to be helping out, but I haven’t seen him either. It’s possible that he ducks out every time he sees me coming, but it seems odd I wouldn’t have even caught a glimpse of him.

---