She began the day with a heavy heart. She sat at the kitchen table, which was richly stained an elegant dark espresso, with the letters in a pile before her. She had inadvertently shuffled the contents of the hatbox when she pulled out the deed from the bottom. The letters may have been in some kind of order, prior to that. She didn't really know now. Her plan was to look at the postage stamps and put them in order of those dates.
She sipped on her coffee and she slid another letter in its proper placement. There were more than a hundred letters. Now, having spent time here, she knew she'd read them. She longed to understand more about her mom's time here. But first...today's trips.
The pier was the first of the three to open, so it was first on her list.
As she pulled into the sandy parking lot, she was surprised that there were few parking spots left. It had only been open a few minutes.
"Note to self, she thought for her next trip here but just as quickly realized she could easily walk here. Today's itinerary had several locations listed, so today was not the day for a leisurely stroll.
She wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't a shy person in the least. Speaking to strangers didn't make her uncomfortable, as a matter of fact, she found meeting strangers quite enjoyable. Different people offer different experiences. That was always fun to her. Not scary.
But this was just a bit different than meeting new people. This was asking, and maybe even finding someone that knew the man from the picture. This stranger from her mom's past. The one from this area.
"Just walk in and ask," she coached herself.
Her heart pounding like a hummingbird's, she opened the door. The doorbell chimed as she entered which drew the attention of a man behind the desk near the fishing poles.
"A ticket to the pier?" he asked.
"No...not today," she smiled awkwardly, "I was hoping someone here might know someone I'm looking for. Well, it's been a long time, so he may not be here any longer."
"What's the name?" His Southern drawl was just as strong as his jawline.
"Brett Clark," she shyly stated.
The man's face nearly went white at the name. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. He wasn't even sure if that was correct. It could be.
He knew he had to look nervous because he suddenly couldn't make eye contact with the young lady. Everyone knew of the recent deaths in the Clark family and no one wanted to give information, of any kind, to someone without knowing why. They protected their own here.
"Not sure. Can you tell me anything about him?"
Then she grew nervous. What do you tell a stranger? "Well, my mom died, and I found this box with letters from this man, Brett Clark. The same box contained a deed to a property just down the road and I drove up here without knowing anything because I'm mourning and my mom owns a beach house that I didn't know about and I desperately miss her and came here to connect in some way with what she didn't tell me anything about."
She realized she just didn't have the emotional strength to bring her mom into this. She would end up crying in front of strangers. She knew she couldn't go through more of the same sad consolation from someone who may have known her. They may not even know she had passed away so suddenly. What if they cared for her mom? She wanted to hope so. What if they had no idea who she was, and her story just sounded insane?
She now stared awkwardly at the kind older gentleman, "I'm a writer for the Cove Daily. I'm researching some recent events and there's some history here. I just drove in from Winston Salem, so I don't know a lot about this area...just thought I'd ask around. It was determined that he was from this area."
"That may have been a long time ago then," he answered as he began to look through some lures.
"Maybe so."
"I don't think I can help you. I'm sorry Ma'am," he said, pretending to stay busy.
She wasn't sure if he was just a shy old Southern man or something else, but he didn't say yes and didn't say no about knowing Brett.
She was reading too much into it...she was sure. He was kind enough. Maybe she just made him nervous.
The door chime sounded again, "A ticket to the pier?" he robotically said to the next visitor, his eyes meeting the young man's.
"Yes sir."
"Thanks anyway, Sir," she smiled and gave a slight hand wave bye.
She walked up to the door to the pier as the man began writing a ticket out to the customer. The pier stretched out forever. Benches were along each side as she could see a few people already seated, rods in the water, coolers pulled up close to their seats.
She turned slowly away from the window. Knowing that she would be back. Her mom had been here. She would come fish. Not that she loved to fish. She just figured, why not?
"Thanks again," she said as she placed her hand on the doorknob to leave.
"Yes Ma'am," he said, never looking up.
She began typing in the address, into her phone, for her next destination and was surprised that it was under a mile away. "Oliver's Twist." The name made her smile.
She made her way onto a back road, five roads back from the beach, and easily found the renovated shack of a store. It was connected to three other stores, all sharing one long porch, and sidewalk in front of them. The three shops were completely white except for the most adorable Z-board shutters. The shutters were the full length of the windows, mounted on wrought iron hinges to allow the shutters to close on both sides, completely enclosing and protecting the windows from the elements. The stain was a light gray that gave the stores more character than they would've had without these adornments. The front doors were the same. They were clearly old and heavy. They look secure once you get a bit closer to notice. But from a distance, the only thing you noticed was that the blue of the doors matched the ocean, just a few blocks away. Someone took a look at these once plain, drab structures and thought "shutters and a new door" and had the extraordinary vision to know this would be the end result. They were quaint and enchanting.
The first store on the left was "Oliver's Twist", then in the middle was a coffee shop, "The Moon", and the shop on the end was an antique store, oddly called "Light Switch." As a freelance writer, she was curious by nature and seldom missed the opportunity to find out the origin of unique occurrences, like these store names. She knew in the back of her mind, she'd ask. She never could quite resist the pull to know a good story.
She parked closest to the bookstore and slung her purse over her back and locked the car behind her. Normally, locking her car door felt like an instinctive thing to do and she never gave it much thought. But it was different this time. She always loved the stories from long ago when her mom would say, "As a child, we slept with our doors open. It was hot and air conditioning was expensive to run, so at night, you left the door open and fresh air poured in through the screen door. It cooled off the house and kept the power bills down." She often felt a bit of sadness in her heart knowing that those days were a thing of the past. She often double-checked the doors at night. But here...it was the first time that she ever felt like locking her car door wasn't necessary. This place felt like a page out of a Charles Dickens novel...most similarly "A Christmas Carol" with its close-knit homes and shops. Friendly faces, unselfish gestures, and a slower pace...she often felt misplaced in this time. Like she belonged in those days gone by.
She walked into the bookstore and decided she'd ask about Brett but decided to linger a bit longer here. She and her mom loved books. She had a dozen receipts from here, so she obviously frequented the place. Everly thought to herself, "I can see why." As she looked around the store, it felt as though she stepped into the richest library in the state. Not a store. Color pallets were soft and playful. Plush chairs invited customers to sit awhile. She wondered if patrons often grabbed coffee next door, just to bring it back here or if it was common to just take the book over to the coffee shop to read there. She felt compelled to stay here. And that's what she'd do. She would find a book or two that she wanted, go next door to pick up a coffee and would come back and soak in the scents that were as pleasant as the soft instrumental music playing in the background. A soft smell of something sweet filled the air. It made her want a cupcake.
"Good morning." A young girl said from behind the corner. Her hands were full of books.
"Good morning."
"Can I help you find anything?"
"Not yet. I'm going to look around a little first."
"Okay, just let me know if I can help."
She watched the girl return to placing new books onto their shelves as she began to look around the store. Bookshelves created isles that seemed to emulate a maze of sorts. It felt playful. She wondered whether it was intentional. The bookshelves, against the walls, reached to the ceiling and had an antique rolling ladder that was secured along a rail at the top.
Her eyes drifted along subject titles and she found a poetry section. She was drawn towards "Leaves of Grass." She pulled the book out and admired the cover. A more modern take on the cover than one she'd seen before, but this one showed a pile of leaves, caught by the wind. It reminded her of a Dandelion's seeds taking flight. She'd wanted this book for some time and just hadn't seen it until now. "Perfect," she thought as she tucked it under her arm.
She walked around for another few minutes and noticed that the girl was finished with the particular task that had engrossed her upon Everly's arrival.
She approached the young lady again, "I noticed the chairs. Is it okay to purchase a coffee next door and come back to read this book? If you'd rather not have drinks inside, I totally understand though."
The lady gave the sincerest smile, "Absolutely! The owner encourages it."
"How nice," she said more to herself than the employee.
"I think that's what I'm going to do then," Everly finished as she turned towards the checkout counter.
"Sounds great. Is that all?"
"For today," she softly laughed. Then her smile was replaced with a more serious expression. It was unpreventable. She thought about the letters and the journal. She knew she shouldn't read them in public. She was fully aware that her emotions were strong, and she'd be a disruption if not a pure embarrassment to herself. No, she'd read those at home. Alone. But if she found that any of the journal stories were not sad, she liked the idea of coming to the coffee shop daily to read. Which brought her back to her question. Brett.
Upon asking the young girl, she received a similar denial of knowing him. This time, however, the behavior wasn't an awkward avoidance after having mentioned the name. This young lady looked as though she were a high school student, working for the summer. She just probably didn't know him.
As she thought about the burger shop, she felt a disappointing concession that so far, she wasn't having any success with finding out anything about Brett. She was eager to see the burger shop. Her mom saved napkins and menus from there. She wanted to see it without delay. But for today, she thought she might just avoid any strange behaviors, like the man from the pier, and just grab something to go and get an early start on the letters. After all, the contractor had already said he'd come by tomorrow.
But first, coffee.
Everly walked into the coffee shop and again was surprised at the sophistication. Modern appliances, enormous ovens for pastries, chalkboards were written on with colored chalk to advertise the day's specials and beautiful bistro seating with sofas against most walls. The buildings were clearly deeper than she originally thought. It was enormous on the inside.
She studied the menu and narrowed her choices to two banana nut muffins, two cream cheese blueberry muffins, two cannolis, and two orange cupcakes with vanilla whipped topping. She opted for a black coffee to balance her sugar rush of desserts. Knowing it would hardly put a dent in balancing the calories but did so anyway.
Holding the box, she suddenly felt like she should be taking these to an office party, not home to one person. "I'm not eating them all in a day," she defended herself.
She sat at the bistro table, her box of treats across from her, with a cupcake on a small plate in front of her. She would normally take the cupcake in two fingers and shove a corner of it into her mouth like a child. But the quaintness of the atmosphere had her ask for a plastic fork.
She changed her mind about going back next door after choosing such scrumptious desserts. She'd go the next time that she ordered just a coffee.
She pulled Whitman's poems from the bag and as with most poetry she purchased, she let the author pick the first poem she would read. She feathered her fingers along the pages and tucked her fingers into a spot, willing that to be what the author would have her read first. She delicately opened the book.
"There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now."
Oh, the power of words, she thought, as she felt lighter, having read them. How do words make a day seem brighter or more alive? She had no idea, but she just knew that they did so for her. That's why she wrote. She may not have written poetry like Whitman, but she hoped that her thoughtful depiction in her own pieces would inspire someone, somewhere in a similar way.
She finished her cupcake and slid her book back into the bag, "Thanks, that was delicious," she said a bit louder to be heard from a distance.
"I'm glad you liked it." A soft yell back in her direction.
She smiled at the lady and quickly left.
Anna reached under the counter and discreetly grabbed her phone.
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