Page 42 of The House on Firefly Beach
They headed out the front door and then settled in the old rockers on the porch that overlooked the large expanse of wiry beach grass that made up the yard. Robby was at one end of it, running around in circles while Beau honed in on the ball that was in Robby’s hand. Robby chucked it into the air, sending Beau in a frenzy of hopping and sprinting to retrieve it.
“Robby’s so excited about football tonight,” Mama said.
“He loves the sport. I know he can’t wait for fall to get here so they can begin practices.”
“I hope he gets Sam Baldwin again. He’s such a good coach. I’ve asked him to put in a word if he gets a chance so that Robby can be on his team.”
Sam had coached Robby when they’d moved back to Firefly Beach briefly after the divorce. Football had been such a help in getting Robby through the traumatic changes and disruptions that hit them when Christian left. At the tender age of five, he’d signed up for football that first year after his father had gone, and fell in love with the sport. A skinny child, Robby wasn’t built for football, and he’d gotten hurt the first time he’d tried to play in the recreational league, so Sydney had urged him toward baseball. But Robby wouldn’t hear of it.
“I know.” Sydney took a drink from her glass, the icy cold of it a shock against the warmth settling on her skin. “He loves Sam. They had such a good season that year.”
“It should be fun tonight.” Jacqueline rocked back in her chair. “The meeting is a cookout and a picnic. I knew you were really busy trying to work, so I’ve already gotten some potato salad and a few jugs of sweet tea to bring. I signed us up for the easy stuff.”
“Thank you for doing that,” Sydney said, considering the fact that she still had to respond toNY Pulse. “It is taking me a little while to get adjusted, but I want to make sure that I spend enough time with Robby. I won’t get this time back, so I really want to make sure I don’t miss a thing. He’s getting so big.” She looked out at her son.
“It flies, baby girl,” her mother replied, her doting eyes on Sydney. “You were in that yard with your hula hoops and batons just yesterday, I swear. I blinked and you landed in this chair beside me.” She tipped her margarita up against her lips and took a slow drink.
“Watch this, Mama!” Robby called over to Sydney. He tossed the ball high into the air, did a spin, and caught it on its way back down.
“Wow, good catch!” she said back to him.
“Wanna see me do it again?”
“Of course I do!” She was so happy just sitting on that porch with her mother. There was nowhere she’d rather be.
“I didn’t want to bombard you with this right when you walked in,” her mother said as they sat on the porch, their glasses long empty. “We should check on Uncle Hank. He’s low today. I thought he was taking a nap earlier, but I found him in tears up in his bedroom.”
“What’s wrong?”
Her mother shook her head. “I’m not sure. Lewis tried to get him to tell him, but he wouldn’t. He talks to you.”
“Do you think he’s worried about selling Starlight Cottage?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can get it out of him.”
Robby poked his head out the door. “Mom, I can’t find my football jersey for the picnic. Can you help me?”
“I’ll go,” her mother said, standing up and heading inside with her grandson.
Sydney went through the house and out to the back porch that overlooked the sparkling gulf and the towering lighthouse, its white brick reaching into the heavens, contrasting with the nautical colors of the gulf behind it. It was one of Uncle Hank’s favorite spots at the cottage. He always sat out there when he was thinking things over.
“Hey,” she said, sitting down beside him on the porch swing.
He didn’t turn toward her, his gaze still on the white beach that snaked along the property, but he nodded, acknowledging her presence.
“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”
Uncle Hank let out a sigh, causing Beau, who had followed them out and was now sunning himself at the edge of the porch, to lift his head and assess the situation. Seeing no immediate threat, the dog put his chin down on his paws and closed his eyes once more.
“I’ve just been thinking about how things change,” Uncle Hank said. He finally looked her way. “I understand that life continues to move forward, but it never bothered me until I was an old man.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs, his fingers unsteady. “I keep trying to be normal in a world that doesn’t work for me anymore. Clara’s gone. The town I adore is about to plow through my favorite view. And I feel useless.” His bottom lip began to wobble and he pursed his lips to keep it still, tears surfacing. “I’m being forced to sell this cottage—Clara’s dream; the place we built together. I can’t even have my home. What is my reason for being here?”
It was clear that Uncle Hank’s mind had slipped back to the same sadness he’d felt when she’d first arrived in Firefly Beach after Aunt Clara’s death. She understood how that could happen; she knew all too well how easily old emotions could bubble to the surface.
“This is just an idea, but do you think hearing someone else’s perspective might help? Mary Alice could work through your feelings with you. She’s really good.”
He stood up with a huff, rocking the swing by the shift of his weight. “I don’t need a counselor. I need my life back.” He folded his arms, his weathered hands gripping his biceps so tightly that the ends of his fingers were white.
Sydney hadn’t meant to hit a nerve. She’d only been trying to help. “She won’t try to convince you that you don’t need your life back. She’ll just help you find a way to understand it that you hadn’t thought of before, which can sometimes help you manage a little better.”
