few months ago, as part of her intended comeback, which felt like the eleventh round of a boxing match, Claire had committed to rediscovering her love of the beach and started to house hunt.
Hidden amid giant supermansions with fast cars in the driveway, her little two-bedroom was a dreamy place to live for a single woman in need of healing. She’d been fortunate enough to see the real estate agent hammering the FOR SALE sign into the grass and was signing papers that same afternoon. How about that for spontaneity? Her new home was simple and beachy with a brick chimney and a tin roof that sang in the rain. A quick bike ride away from the café; a two-minute walk to the sand; a perfect place to relaunch.
She parked her car on the street and, with the box of David’s possessions resting under one arm, circled to the front porch. Though not as chic as her café on the outside, her bungalow was certainly bohemian. Seashells, dream catchers, and driftwood. Claire had only been here two months but had read at least four books in the hammock and rocking chairs while breathing in the salt air.
She kicked aside an Amazon delivery and entered the living room. “Guess who’s home . . .”
Her one-eyed tabby cat named Willy jumped down from the back of the couch, stopping on the cushion before landing on the rug.
Claire put her things down on the coffee table and reached down to swoop him up. “I hope you’re having a better day than I am.” She held him to her chest and bathed in his purrs as she ran her hand along his back.
Following the last hurricane, Claire had raced back to Pass-a-Grille after the evacuation to make sure the café had survived. She’d found Willy hiding on the patio with a hurt eye, probably a result of flying debris. The vet who’d stitched him up guessed he was about two years old. Claire considered Willy to be one of the great blessings of her life.
“You wouldn’t believe what I found,” Claire said, setting Willy down. He followed her through the house as she related the events of the morning in brief.
Throwing on a kimono, Claire made a cup of chamomile in the seventies retro kitchen made most apparent by the vivid orange counters. The one picture she had of David and her from the summer they met caught her eye; it hung on the wall above the counter. Being fourteen, she had the bird legs of a skinny teenager and wore blue rolled-up shorts and a T-shirt with a palm tree on it. The photo had been taken when Claire had flown down from Chicago to St. Pete to spend a month with her grandmother Betty.
Betty seemed to always have one foot in the sand and had introduced Claire to the magical properties of the Gulf. Every morning, they’d scour the beach in search of sharks’ teeth and starfish and then settle into chairs under an umbrella to read until lunch. Claire could still taste the salty tears she’d shed on the return plane home at the end of the summer.
Not only had she fallen in love with the beach, but she’d fallen in love with a boy on the beach. The young man in the photograph was five shades tanner than her, with hairy legs, and as handsome as could be. He’d grown up in a huge family in Tampa, and they’d rented a beach house every summer on Pass-a-Grille. He’d seen her walking the beach by herself and said hello. Her first love.
They saw each other again the next summer, but then the flightiness of youth and the miles between Florida and Illinois proved to be too great to carry their relationship forward. They lost touch, and Claire didn’t see him again for ten years. At the age of twenty-five, after Claire’s father had died and she’d sold the diner, she moved south, taking a job assisting a wedding photographer. During one of her first shoots, David was one of the groomsmen. He took one knee later that year, and she’d said yes.
The whistling pot brought her back to the present. After dunking the tea bag up and down and then discarding it, Claire carried the cup back into the living room, where she fished out the composition books. It was time to read.
Moving to the porch, Claire settled into a rocking chair with Willy curled up on her lap. She petted