Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (27 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to
share with you all that my beautiful daughter has been blessed with finding her
true love, and he has asked my permission to marry her,” my dad announced
proudly. The crowd broke out in applause, and I can still remember my face
becoming bright red. “I guess I have no other choice but to agree!” He was crazy
about Lucas, as anyone who meets him is. Dad seemed so proud and happy for me
that grand day, it was one of my favorite days to spend with him.

The only way I could ensure my dad
giving me away was to have the wedding in Bay Creek, which was perfect for a
beach wedding at sunset. It was a breathtaking evening in late August. The warm
breeze wasn’t too overpowering, and the ocean was peacefully calm. The stunning
landscape served as the wedding decorations. It was more exquisite than any
floral bouquet or draped fabric could have ever offered. I’m not one of those
frilly types of girls anyway. Out on that beach, I felt free and content
without any pressure of putting on some show for the guests. It was a ceremony
like one should be, in my opinion.

The men wore white linen shirts and
soft khaki pants with bare feet. The women wore coral sundresses with their
feet bare as well. I wore a simple white sundress with my long, dark, wavy hair
adorned with a cream and coral–hued hibiscus flower tucked behind my ear. It
was a simple service of Lucas and I pledging our love and commitment for one
another before our close friends and family, and most importantly, God.

My parents took care of the reception,
to my astonishment. It was held at the restaurant. Jean planned the entire
mouthwatering menu. Best of all, Miss May helped to cook it. My mother also
decorated the restaurant very elegantly. Candles served as the main lighting,
and simple white floral arrangements with delicate pieces of driftwood tucked
in various places cascaded on each table. A section of tables was removed and a
portable dance floor was brought in. I’m smart enough to have recognized Jean’s
intentions to simply show off her talents, but it didn’t bother me. It was the
best day of my life, no matter her intentions. It was one of the very few times
where it felt as though she and I waved temporary white flags. We kept our
distance from each other most of the day, sure, but I never saw her giving me
that
you stink
look.

I scoot back into the booth and
reminisce for a long while. The good memories are there, I’m beginning to
realize. I’ve just buried them so far under the bad ones; it’s a relief comfort
to know they are there. All I have to do is hunt for them and stop letting the
nightmares blind me. I resolve a few things in this moment and abruptly stand
and make my way to my dad’s office. I think I’ve put this off long enough,
don’t you?

Sitting in his chair behind the desk, I
pick up the phone and record a new voice message. “On behalf of my family, I,
Savannah Monroe, would like to thank you for your outpouring of support during
this difficult time. In honor of my dad’s wishes, I will be reopening the
market as well as the restaurant within the next week. We will be planning a
Patron Appreciation Celebration in memory of my dad. Details of the event will
be posted on our website and will be in this Sunday’s paper. Thank you again.”
I’m already thinking of some menu specials and maybe offering a free appetizer
table for the event as I hang up the phone.

I eye an extra shirt hanging from a
hook on the back of the office door. I smile, knowing that a complete changing
of clothes is tucked in the bottom drawer of his desk. I slide the drawer open
for confirmation. Sure enough, the stack of clothing sits there folded neatly.
Jean demanded this after me and Dad played in the inlet that afternoon. I smile
at the memory and grab the shirt off the top of the pile. I bring it to my nose
and inhale the faint scent of his cologne.

You know…If I allow it…I do believe I’m
going to be just fine. The freedom of letting go of my demons has given me a
better perspective. I know I have wasted too much time. It’s amazing how a
dreaded trip home again can assist in finally making peace with the nightmares
spawned here.

Epilogue

A year has passed…And I’m still home!

Things were bumpy at first, but I’m
happy to say that I have finally gotten into the swing of things. Both of the
businesses practically run themselves. So well in fact, I get to spend lots of time
with Miss May in the kitchen. She has made me play nice with the creek
kids—that’s what I call them most of the time. They call me Old Lady Monroe, so
sometimes I still call them brats. Once a week, I am on hush baby and sweet tea
duty. They all voted unanimously that I not share any more lessons with them.
Fine by me.

I work alongside Vanessa, and we have
formed quite a bond. It hit me just a while back that she is my very first
girlfriend. We even do the girlfriend things like shopping. I guess I have come
a long way. Don’t tell Miss May, but I think Vanessa can cook just as good as
the old lady!

I’m also happy to tell you that my
brother is famous now. Yep, and he blames it all on me. Don’t worry. He’s over
being mad at me about this. In fact, that was short lived.

I went behind his back as only a little
sister can get away with. John Paul opened The Thorton Photo Gallery a month
after our dad’s funeral. His most mesmerizing piece is a stunning mural collage
that takes up the entire back wall of the studio. It is an array of his images
intricately pieced together and is none other than Bradley’s field. It
spellbinds visitors who have no clue of the history behind it. It is a mirage
of the field. The first time I saw it, I was left speechless.

To describe it to you is such an
injustice to its magnificence, but I shall try. A section of the mural is of
various sunsets filtering together to create one, and all along the top depicts
vast rainstorms with varying tempests. Foggy images lend a mystic quality as
they undulate around the center of the piece, but the most haunting part of all
is the very center. These images capture perfectly and eerily a mourning woman.
Now I wasn’t crazy with the idea of me being figuratively and physically the
center focus of my brother’s art piece, but you become so enveloped into the
story being told and can easily see past me.

It is absolutely brilliant, so I had no
other choice but to go behind his back and enter the mural in a prestigious
national photography contest.

I had talked him into accompanying me
on a quick trip to California. John Paul didn’t find out the purpose of the
trip until we walked through the door of the art museum. Blown-up versions of
his mural hung on display throughout the exhibit.

I was the most hated and yet the most
loved sister in the same moment. Hated because I totally caught him off guard.
Plus, I think there is some unsaid rule about not messing around with an
artist’s work without their permission. It would be like him posting this
letter I’ve written to you on the internet for the entire world to read. That
would totally suck because this is a pretty private conversation we’ve been
having here.

I was also the most loved in that
instant as well, because he won every blame award given that night. It put his
talented behind on the map as well. It opened bountiful doors for his career.

John Paul lives only a few beach houses
down from mine, and he helps me close a few nights a week. That is, unless some
high profile photo shoot whisks him away as it has done this week. He is in
Fiji at the moment shooting surf images for a surf magazine. Yes. I’m green
with envy, also so proud of him.

Honestly, the loss of my dad still stings.
But memories, those precious jewels, keep coming to the surface and oh, how I
cherish them. One comes to mind now. I’ve decided that my family should be
known as the Cookie Bandits—my dad included.

This past Christmas, Miss May roped me
into helping her make cookies for our creek kids. That day while I was standing
by the counter rolling out the sugar cookie dough, a special memory of my dad
tapped me on the shoulder and brought a smile to my face.

It was of a past Christmas, and Jean
had prided herself on these fancy cookies she had made for Santa. They were
beautifully decorated and smelled heavenly. She dared us not to touch them,
saying they were for Santa and Santa only. She had indulged a little too much
on her holiday wine and had to retire early that night. Temptation was just too
great, so when I snuck downstairs to swipe a cookie, I was horrified at what I
saw. You can imagine how startled I was to find my dad scarfing down the
cookies! He must have just gotten home, because I remember the savory aroma of
cooked seafood clinging to his clothes.

“Daddy!” I scolded him.

“Shh…” He tried to hush me but ended up
spraying cookie crumbs everywhere.

My eight-year-old self was near tears
when I noticed he had eaten every single cookie and Santa wouldn’t be getting
any.

“Don’t cry. Shh…” he tried again
unsuccessfully. His mouth was overfilled and his cheeks bulged out, causing him
to look like a chipmunk. He raised his hands up in surrender as he tried to
chew the treats quickly so he could swallow.

“What about Santa?” I sniffled.

He started pulling me towards the front
door. “Come on. Slide some shoes on and I’ll make this right. Just please don’t
cry.”

And making it right, he did. He drove
us straight to the restaurant where we mixed up a batch of sugar cookies. He
said he had the recipe memorized from watching Miss May make them over the
years. Once we baked them, he gathered the cookies and me and headed back home
to set them out for Santa. He let me eat a few, and I went to bed happily
afterwards.

Now just let me share what I find so
funny about this memory with seeing it through my adult eyes. Santa did eat
those fancy cookies and the poor man had to eat another plate full after his
busy daughter went to bed. My dad had an unexplainable bellyache Christmas Day
and declined any dessert.

I snicker now just thinking about it.
It’s a good memory and reminds me how much he cared about me. Boy, do I
appreciate it so much more now.

As for Jean…Well, I have to admit, that
women blessed me with the grandest gift she has ever given me earlier this
year. She moved to Florida!

She signed the house and its belongings
over to John Paul as expected, packed her bags, and departed without so much as
a glance back. I know it’s for the best. Some things just aren’t salvageable.
We are simply at an impasse…

Now, I have to tell you, that house met
its demise rather abruptly not even a month after our mother’s departure.
Luckily and
coincidentally
, all of
John Paul’s photos had been conveniently relocated to his gallery the week
before the fire. (I clear my throat here and don’t judge.) I only asked my
brother once about this.

He simply replied, “Some demons need to
be properly sent back to hell.” And that is all he would say about that. I
couldn’t agree with him more. It’s a relief and comfort for the sin-stained
structure to be gone. It had held a tremendous weight with the secrets always
crying out and now it is at peace too.

I wish I could share something
wonderful and positive about my sister, but I’ve only spoken to her one time
since Dad’s funeral. I hope in her time Julia can figure things out for
herself. I worry and I pray and hope she is fine, but I have my doubts.

My Lucas is doing great. We spend most
of our mornings at the home of Ocean and Waves. He has become quite the surfer.
And let me just say, a tanned slightly rumpled Lucas in board shorts… yummy! He
manages the two businesses and just lets me enjoy the social aspects of it
really. He turned a majority of his responsibilities in Rhode Island over to his
older brother, but he still does a good share of work for his family business
as well via the Internet and occasional trips back home.

That hot man in question has just
sauntered through the office door and—I kid you not—he is carrying a surfboard
and only wearing slightly damp board shorts riding nicely on his lean hips. His
curly hair is going in every direction, giving him the air of boyish mischief.
My eyes take in the nice view of his bronze shoulders, speckled with the
sexiest freckles. Channing Tatum has nothing on my man. I continue watching
Lucas as he props the board on the wall and heads over to the closet where he
keeps a change of clothes for work. The man is eye candy and I can’t help but
watch. He is about to free himself from those wet shorts and I’m about to not
be able to form another cohesive thought, so I clear my throat to get his
attention. He looks over at me as he pulls the shorts a bit farther down,
exposing a delicious tan line on that well-formed backside of his.

I hold my finger up for him to pause
and mutter, “Nuh-uh.” If that man takes those shorts off I might as well forget
all else. Don’t focus your eyes at me disapprovingly. He’s my husband, and I’m
allowed.

Those luscious eyes hold a wicked glint
as he heads back to the door to secure the lock.
Focus, Savannah. Focus.
Okay…Where was I?
I have to wrap this story up quickly.

I’m amazed that God can take a mess of
a life and make something wonderful out of it. I no longer feel like a mistake,
and I’m confident that I have found my way in this world. The demons don’t
dance so much anymore. As much as I hate to admit it, my mother was correct
when she said that I am the only one that can decide who I am. My life is my
own and I get to choose the direction of it. Past experiences and daily
struggles do make an impact, but it is up to me whether I allow it to be a
negative or positive impact.

That day face down in the mud in Miss
May’s yard was a day of reckoning between God and me. I gave Him all my hurts
and disappointments, and asked Him to free me from it all. And He did! I had
made such a simple freeing gesture into something so complicated. Why do we do
that?

So this is my journey to come home
again. Even though it’s been a long, challenging course, I have persevered. Did
I think it was possible? Absolutely not. I didn’t make the journey unscathed,
but I know now, that with God, all things are possible.

I found myself. I
really did. I found myself. Right where I hid.