Page 9 of The House on Firefly Beach
She wished she could go with them to offer her own opinions on the matter, but she knew that Uncle Hank wasn’t shy about sharing what he thought. The future of Starlight Cottage was in good hands.
“Text me to let me know what happens,” Hallie said, apprehension written on her face.
Sydney laughed. “I’m not texting you in Barbados! You and Ben deserve this time together.”
Unable to have children, Hallie and Ben had decided to adopt, and they’d completed and passed the home study. They’d gotten everything filed at the agency they’d chosen, and they were currently awaiting selection as adoptive parents. Hallie and Ben were so excited, but Sydney knew, from raising Robby, how important their time as a couple was.
There were eight chairs at the table and seven family members at Starlight Cottage. They’d said, after Aunt Clara passed, that the empty one was for Aunt Clara, but Sydney was more than willing to bet that Aunt Clara wouldn’t mind sharing her chair with the newest member of the family when he or she arrived. It was as if the spot were just waiting to be filled, and now the empty chair felt less like an old memory and more like Aunt Clara, with her arms open wide, poised like she used to be, ready to grab on to her loved ones as they rushed toward her.
After breakfast, Uncle Hank took his coffee and went out to his spot on the back porch overlooking the sea, where he’d been going every morning recently. Sydney joined him, lowering herself into one of the rocking chairs. Uncle Hank rocked back and forth, his eyes on the turquoise water as it caressed the white sand, ebbing and flowing in a hypnotic way, while the breeze turned the paddle fans that lined the porch ceiling above them.
“When your Aunt Clara died,” he said, still gazing out to sea, “what struck me most at first was the silence. It was just me in this big house and the quiet was so loud that I couldn’t stand it.” He took a drink from his mug and tipped back in his chair, rocking. “I didn’t have Clara’s chatting about nothing.” He grinned at the memory.
Uncle Hank had struggled with Aunt Clara’s death for a long time, but having his family around, and Sydney and Robby living there with him, had helped him. He was back to himself again. And he enjoyed talking about Aunt Clara, often telling Sydney stories she’d never known about her great aunt.
“She was always buzzing around,” he continued, “asking me questions about something she’d noticed in town, or deciding out loud whether she should make us new cushions for the outdoor porch swing, or she’d point out the change in color of the palm trees that I never could see… My whole life with her, I’d never prepared myself for what it would be like to be without that. But every morning since the whole family has been here for the wedding, I feel that buzzing again, as if Clara’s spirit is in all of us.”
“I thought about her this morning,” Sydney said. “Her chair at the table… I miss her, but I feel like she’s here.”
“Me too.”
“What do you think she’d say about the public beach access coming our way?” Sydney asked.
Uncle Hank laughed. “I think she’d have already been in their offices, driving them crazy. She’d have produced an entire alternative plan, and it would almost certainly be something they’d never thought of,andit would work better than one anyone else could’ve devised. ‘Firefly Beach is in our soul’, she used to say. She wouldn’t let them come near it.”
“She was so creative and talented.”
He nodded, content.
They both looked out at the tranquil gulf, its crystal waters rushing in and out all the way to the lighthouse and beyond. Something told Sydney to take it in. She couldn’t help but feel like this was the calm before the storm.
Mary Alice Chambers looked exactly the same as she had as a girl. Her white-blond hair was swept up in a bun, accentuating her sky-blue eyes.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said to Sydney as she sat down at the little bistro table on the deck at her favorite restaurant. The red and blue bungalow known as Wes and Maggie’s was surrounded by palm trees and sat right on the water in a strip of sand. Matching red and blue flags, fighting madly against the coastal wind, lined the outdoor seating, which was usually full of vacationers, but it was early afternoon and, as she looked out to the shoreline, the beaches were still crowded with visitors. She could remember when that beach was only dotted with a few residents, and now it was towel-to-towel, on the strip of sand.
Next to Wes and Maggie’s was Cup of Sunshine, the coffee shop, where Sydney had spent many mornings reading and job-hunting since their WiFi was stronger than the connection out at Starlight Cottage. Locals and visitors alike couldn’t get enough of their signature butter pecan latte or their homemade pumpkin pie breakfast bread, and the owner Melissa was a master at preparing delicious French toast served with a drizzle of cream cheese syrup. Every patron, no matter how small the purchase, went home with a complimentary dark chocolate truffle that had an icing-piped chocolate sunshine on the top. As Sydney had walked past this morning, on her way to Wes and Maggie’s, Melissa caught her eye through the window of the shop and waved like she always did.
“Hey, pretty ladies,” Wes said as he came over to Sydney and Mary Alice. He was an old family friend and owner of the restaurant. “What kind of day is it for the two of you—an iced tea day or try-my-new-passion-punch day?”
“Passion Punch?” Mary Alice replied, as she shifted her bag to get comfortable in her chair.
“It’s got two kinds of rum, strawberry daiquiri puree, and a splash of pineapple and coconut. I’ve been selling ’em like hot cakes to the tourists. I even have new painted paper umbrellas with coconuts on them.” Wes, an artist, was known for the hand-painted little umbrellas he placed in every drink he made at the bar.
“I’m up for one if you are,” Mary Alice said, consulting Sydney.
“Two Passion Punches then,” Sydney said to Wes.
“Comin’ up! Anything else?”
“I’m fine for now,” Sydney replied. “Mary Alice?”
“We’ll start with drinks, but I’m not going to definitively say I won’t be ordering your seafood sampler.”
Wes laughed. “If we make one for someone, I’ll have them throw a few extra bites onto a small plate for you, on the house.” He gave her a wink and headed toward the bar.
Once Wes had left them alone, Mary Alice placed her forearms on the table, leaning closer. “Your mother told me at the wedding that you got a new writing job.”
“Yeah, it’s nothing too grand, but I’m hoping it will get me warmed up in case something bigger comes along. I’m writing a daily column called “Dear Ms. Flynn” for thePanhandle Gazette.”
