Beached

BEACHED

A Second Chance Romance

Linda Rettstatt

BEACHED

A Second Chance Romance

3rd Act Books

© 2019, Linda Rettstatt

Smashwords Edition

Front Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ RLSather_23267

Back Cover Design: Linda Rettstatt

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

In loving memory of

Dorothea Benton Frank

Chapter One

Christine Landers stared at the bright red and white banner angled inside the storefront window—Everything Must Go. When she sold Paint Your Passion to the young couple who had expressed so much interest in the art supply store in the small Pittsburgh suburb, she had assumed they wanted to continue to run the business. She’d sold it with her full inventory, except for the jewelry-making supplies. That was her own artistic passion of late—making jewelry.

The store had started out as a hobby when she retired from her teaching positions four years earlier. After her husband, Preston, died two years ago, the store became her lifeline. The business never quite took off though she generally broke even. She had tried to bring in artists to offer art programs, but more and more folks were shopping on-line these days, and fewer people had time for art classes. Her one success had been bringing in an artist for a wine tasting/painting event. She realized the wine was the draw, and it wasn’t enough to keep the bills paid. She had imagined herself as an old woman, sitting at the cash register and welcoming patrons while others she had hired did the leg work. She finally had admitted that was not going to happen.

Chris had always dabbled in art in one form or another, most recently making her own jewelry that she sold in the store. She loved being around artists, creative people. She loved their energy and passion for whatever they created. She was just beginning to find a bit of that in herself. But the discovery came too late.

The buzz of her cell phone and her daughter’s anthem, Brave—interrupted her thoughts. Hi, honey.

Hey, Mom. Did you finalize the sale of the store? Sara asked.

I did. She sighed. And the house.

I know it’s hard to let it go, but it’s for the best. You can come down here and start over.

Chris glanced at the window once more. Everything must go. Even me. I’m not sure I’m staying down there, you know. I may end up coming back up here to Pennsylvania. ‘Down there’ was Savannah, Georgia. She’d been obsessed lately with the heat reports in the south and the recent memory of hot flashes that reduced her to a gasping puddle. Those seemed to have come to an end now. But she’d wait and see. She wanted to keep her options open.

You won’t want to go back once you experience Savannah. Trust me. Besides, you already sold the house. Ben and I spent the weekend getting the carriage house ready for you. But really, Mom, we have plenty of room in our house. Why do you want to live up there alone at your age?

The words brought Chris up short. At my age? Sara, I’m only fifty-nine. She glanced at her reflection in the storefront and fingered her hair. Her hair was looking a little mousy, and strands of gray were becoming visible. She’d get a haircut and highlights before she headed south. Once she got settled in, she’d take up yoga or join a gym.

Yes, and you’ll be sixty soon. Mom, you’re not as young as you used to be. Well, no need to worry about that now. If the steps prove to be too much, we’ll just move you into our den and turn it into a guest room.

Chris swallowed hard against her rising emotions. Had she made a mistake? She’d made the decision to put her home up for sale along with the store. It was time for a fresh start, and the house was far too big for one person. Testing the waters of Savannah and being closer to her daughter and grandchildren only made sense. The carriage house would provide her with a place to live while she considered her next move. Her house had sold quickly, as had the store. She had thirty days to vacate her home of thirty-two years. The new owners of the store had already covered over the sign above the door, effectively putting her passion under wraps.

Mom? Are still there?

Yes, I’m sorry. The movers will be delivering some of my things next week. I’m not sending much. I know you have the carriage house furnished. I’ll put the rest that I want to keep into storage here until I have firm plans.

I wish you weren’t driving down here alone. Can’t Aunt Isobel come with you and then fly back?

She’s busy. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I’m leaving and again when I stop for the night. I’m not going to drive straight through.

It’s going to be great to have you here. I know the kids will love having you closer.

Chris had to admit she was looking forward to spending more time with her grandchildren. At twelve and nine, they were both growing up too fast.

I’m looking forward to seeing them, too. I’ll talk to you in a few days. I have to run and meet Bel for lunch.

Sara had come and stayed with her for a month after Preston died suddenly two years earlier. Chris would readily admit his death had unraveled her for a few months. Sara had been the strong one then, holding her mother up, putting the pieces back into place as best she could. Now she hovered from a distance, treating Chris like a frail, elderly, and incapable old woman. The therapist she saw—the one Sara arranged for—assured her the reaction was perfectly normal for the sudden loss of a spouse, especially one of Preston’s age. He’d only been sixty-two. There had been no indication of the brain aneurysm that took his life. Chris had stuck with the therapy for two months and even attended a grief support group. She was fine now, though still missing a piece of her life and her heart.

Preston had always been a good provider and had planned ahead. The house was paid for. Their savings and his insurance policy, coupled with her pension from her years in teaching, gave her ample money to live on. She would be eligible to apply for his social security once she turned sixty. Money would not be a concern. With the sale of the house, she’d be able to buy another place if she wanted to, once she knew where she wanted to plant herself. Still, she’d need to find a job eventually, if only to give her something to do. She could possibly return to teaching part-time.

Chris sniffled as she crossed the street to the café to meet her best friend, Isobel. Oh, how she would miss Bel. Sara assured her she would make new friends, as if she was a fourth grader changing schools. How do you make new lifelong friends at fifty-nine? How do you start over at fifty-nine? Everyone else your age has their life on track. They have their lifelong friends already. A wave of grief and uncertainty washed over her, and she once again blinked back tears.

Isobel waved to her from a corner table and stood to wrap her in a warm embrace. She held her at arm’s length and studied her face. Are you crying again?

Only because I’ll miss you so much.

Don’t get me started. Bel waved a hand in front of her face and blinked. I saw the store.

"I was over there for a moment before I came here. They’ve already covered the sign, and they’re having an everything must go sale. I thought they were keeping the store, but it turns out they’re opening a health food store to sell gluten free food and hemp products. She sighed. I’m glad I trusted my instincts and kept the jewelry supplies."

Bel leaned her arms on the table. You’ve got a talent for creating jewelry, you know.

I wouldn’t call it talent. I have fun with it.

No. Listen. I’ve seen some of the pieces you created. You have talent, a great eye. Do you plan to set up another shop in Savannah?

I don’t even know if I’m going to stay in Savannah. This is a transitional time for me. I need to take a few steps back and breathe, clear my head from all the changes, and then set a direction.

Yet you kept the supplies. Bel smiled at her. You’ll be making jewelry again in no time.

The waitress delivered two glasses of water and took their orders.

When do you leave? Bel asked.

Next Wednesday. I want to wait until the movers have picked up everything and the rest is taken to storage.

Come and stay with me for a few nights. Don’t stay alone in that house with everything packed up.

I may take you up on that. There are moments when it feels so depressing, like something has died.

Bel patted her hand. Something has, in a way. But something new is waiting for you. Just stay open.

She felt very open to the point of feeling raw much of the time. Who knew that making a move forward would dredge up so much of the past? Ghosts followed her around the house for days now reminding her of the good times and the hard times. After Preston died, she had somehow bestowed sainthood upon him, but he had by no means been a saint. They’d had their disagreements, struggles, and disappointments over the years. Most of which had happened under the roof of that house they shared for thirty-two of their thirty-five-year marriage.

The good times haunted her, as well. Holiday celebrations, family gatherings, the notches in the doorframe of the pantry that reflected Sara’s growth into the elegant young woman she had become. She’d had a good cry standing in the master bedroom remembering the nights with Preston, whether it was a memory of lovemaking or one of simply snuggling on a chilly winter night. They had agreed early in their marriage that they would never carry their disagreements into the bedroom. Only good memories lingered here.

Their salads arrived, but Chris had little appetite.

Bel dug into hers. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive down there with you? Bel asked, drawing her attention back to their conversation.

Thanks, but I can handle the drive. I’ll stop overnight. You sound like Sara. I swear our roles have reversed, and she’s become my mother. She asked me if I thought I could handle the steps to the carriage house ‘at my age.’ Can you imagine?

Bel laughed. When our children are teenagers and we’re forty, we’re old. That never changes as we age. A shadow crossed Bel’s face. Be grateful she’s concerned.

Chris felt the twinge of pain Bel was feeling. Bel’s son had an argument with his mother a few years earlier when Bel cautioned him about the woman he was dating. He hadn’t spoken with her since, though the woman had left him as Bel had predicted. I suppose you’re right. I wonder if she’s like that with the kids.

Again, not a bad thing to be a concerned parent. Bel glanced at her watch. I hate to run, but I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Let me know when you want to come and stay.

When Chris removed a credit card from her wallet, Bel put up a hand. I’ve got this. Let me know when you’re coming to my place.

Bel gave her a quick hug before they each went their way, Bel to her job in a corporate law office and Chris to…. She paused and stared across the street, her heart clenching. She had nowhere to go but home, to a house that wasn’t hers any longer.

~ * ~

Kevin Rembert reeled in the fish, worked to delicately remove it from the hook, and grimaced, then tossed the scaly creature back into the water. He squirted a generous dollop of sanitizer onto his hands, wiped them on the rag that sat atop his cooler, and packed up the borrowed gear. Clearly, fishing was not his way to relax and decompress. Perhaps it worked for his cousin, Davis, but not for Kevin. He didn’t even like seafood. Why torture the poor creatures for sport? He was not having a good time yet.

The heart attack scare he had a few months earlier propelled him into a panic about how much time he might have left and all the things he still wanted to do, and his knee-jerk reaction drastically changed the course of his life. He had abruptly sold his dental practice in Virginia to his younger partner, set up a lease-to-own agreement on his house with his newly married grandson, and moved from Virginia to the Georgia coast at the recommendation of his cousin. Now he stood on a fishing pier, staring out at the Atlantic, feeling ancient, and wondering what the hell had happened? His son had pointed out that, at sixty-one, he’d be looking at retirement soon anyway. Why not take it a little early and enjoy life?

You would have thought his divorce ten years earlier would have been a wake-up call that his priorities were all wrong. But he’d been stupid and stubborn, dug in his heels, and left Maryann with no option but divorce. He’d since admitted he’d been an ass, but by that time, she’d moved on and was now happily remarried to a man who was not a dentist and not consumed by his work.

She had come to the hospital to see him after the heart attack. She tried, in the most diplomatic way, to point out that his health situation was very likely his own fault—too many hours at work, too many fast-food meals, and not enough exercise. Nothing his doctor hadn’t told him. But he’d appreciated her coming. Twenty-nine years of marriage weren’t that easy to simply erase. Still, when he was discharged with orders to change his lifestyle or die, Kevin went home to an empty house. His daughter made his daily routine her mission and drove him nuts hovering, raiding his refrigerator and pantry, refilling both with ‘healthy’ foods—meaning tasteless. She even tried to give him cooking lessons. And what the hell was kale?

His son was career military currently stationed at a naval air station in Nevada. He did fly home while Kevin was in the hospital until they determined surgery was not required, at least not yet. He called regularly, but he didn’t constantly question and prod the way his sister did. He treated Kevin like an adult.

When Kevin’s cousin, Davis, suggested he come and stay with him in Georgia, take some time to relax and renew, Kevin jumped at the offer. He and Davis had been like brothers growing up. Davis was getting married in a few months, which meant Kevin had six weeks, eight tops, to find himself a place to live if he was planning to stay. He’d start the search for a long-term rental. He wasn’t sure he was ready to commit to life in Georgia. Though he had to admit the proximity to the beach held a certain appeal. He surely wasn’t going to share Davis’s house with his cousin and Davis’s soon-to-be-new bride, Blaire. She was a lovely woman who, after some conversation, he discovered he had met during a childhood visit to Isle of Hope when the three of them were all teenagers.

He picked up the cooler, took the fishy rag between thumb and forefinger and tossed it into a trash can. He’d return his cousin’s fishing gear to the garage and find another hobby. Preferably one that came without its own unpleasant aroma. Swimming would be good exercise, but he was afraid to swim alone for fear he’d have another episode.

He stowed the gear in his SUV, paid for another hour of parking, and headed toward the shops and eateries. He needed lunch. After washing his hands—twice—he sat and perused the menu. Every time he found something he’d enjoy, a voice in the back of his head spoke: Too many carbs. Look at that grease. Too much sodium.

He sighed as the young waitress smiled and asked if he was ready to order. I’ll have the grilled chicken salad, no onion. Low fat dressing on the side. And I’ll have it with the baguette. Damn, he was entitled to one pleasure in life, and bread was his. When the salad arrived, he stared at it for a moment, still picturing the half-pound burger with cheese, bacon, and a side