Return to promise cove, p.1
Return to Promise Cove, page 1
Return to Promise Cove
by
Casey Dawes
Mountain Vines Publishing
Copyright 2021 by Casey Dawes LLC.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Book cover design by GetCovers
Edited by CEO Editor (ceoeditor.com)
Interior design by Concierge Self-Publishing (www.ConciergeSelfPublishing.com)
Published by Mountain Vines Publishing
Missoula, MT
Contact email: info@ConciergeSelfPublishing.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Author’s Note
Other Books by Casey Dawes
About the Author
Chapter One
Kelly Richards recognized the envelope at the top of the mail at once: heavy, cream stock, with a firm name and address embossed in blue in the upper left corner. Even the addressee was embossed. How did anyone do that these days? Most of her mail, what few pieces she got, was clearly computer generated.
More importantly, what did her in-laws’ firm want with her son?
She closed the metal box, once more vowing to zap it with a strong bug spray to decimate the nest of whatever was growing in the far corner, and headed up the walkway and stairs to her glass-fronted house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Once she entered, she tossed Peter’s envelope on the gleaming table by the front door and took the rest of the mail with her to the kitchen. Whatever her in-laws wanted could wait.
From the noise coming from the upstairs, Peter and his friend Jake were heavily into some action video game. She should probably nudge them outside. The pool begged for swimmers this late May afternoon. But the outdoors had never drawn seventeen-year-old Peter. He much preferred a dark room and a gleaming screen.
He was his father’s clone.
As usual when Kelly thought of her late husband, her heart ached. The pain was growing less over time, but it was still there. They thought they’d had forever, but a faulty heart valve had taken John late last summer when he was coming home from work. Fortunately, he’d been pulled off the road, talking on the phone to one of his hedge fund clients, no doubt.
A flash of irritation sparked through her as she pulled the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator. Over the years, John’s clients had taken a top priority in their lives, ahead of her, and even ahead of the children. Oh, he’d loved them, she was sure of that, but a client phone call or a trip across the continent to New York to meet with one of them always took priority. She’d asked him more than once to get a dedicated phone for work so she could reach him more easily, but he’d always said a second phone was more trouble than it was worth.
Kelly shrugged off the memories and took her tea out to the backyard, giving a small glance to the gleaming baby grand in the living room. The cleaning lady had done a good job with it today. Not a speck of dust on the black surface.
Outside, she sank into one of the Adirondack chairs that surrounded a firepit beyond the pool. A soft breeze cooled her skin as she stared out at the water. By this time in the school year she was exhausted, and she needed these moments to let all the noise and drama of teaching middle school music seep away. By and large, her students were good kids. They were in music because they wanted to be, like she had been. At least she didn’t have reams of homework to correct or artwork to evaluate like her friend, Gail.
Her brain nibbled on the envelope sitting on the front table. What did they want with Peter? Had John put something in motion before he died? Or was it just his parents’ doing? They’d never particularly liked her, although they thought her of suitable breeding for their son, at least on her father’s side.
Kelly had actually heard herself discussed in exactly those terms when she’d first been dating John. She’d thought it hysterically funny then, but over the decades the joke became stale. His family was Beacon Hill Boston, with family dating back to the Mayflower and relatives serving in Boston and Massachusetts politics, either in office or manipulating it from behind the scenes. They were part of the upper crust memorialized in an old toast: “The Lowells talk to the Cabots, and the Cabots talk only to God.” Kelly had met plenty of Lowells, Cabots, and Kennedys at the Richards’ parties, although the Kennedys were only allowed because Ted had been a powerful influence before his death.
She’d been grateful when John had been offered, and he’d accepted, a job on the West Coast. Kelly didn’t want their daughter, Lisa, brought up in the constricted society of his in-laws and her parents. Kelly’s mother, despite being raised in Montana, could out-Boston the matrons.
A group of brown pelicans skimmed low across the water below. Kelly took a deep breath. She loved the ocean—water of any kind, really. Her best memories had been of summers at her grandmother’s house on a lake in Montana. She’d learned to kayak in those waters, enjoying the solitude away from her parents and anyone else who wanted to disrupt her dreams. It had been there, out on that mountain lake, that she first realized she wanted to be a concert pianist. She’d imagined herself in a gorgeous gown, her auburn hair in a stylish updo, sitting down before a hushed audience to play the opening notes of the Moonlight Sonata.
There’d been a boy in Montana—Ryan. He was older, and she’d definitely had feelings for him. He’d been sweet to her, and he was the only one she’d told her dream to. With a smile, he’d told her he’d be the first one to buy a ticket to see her play.
Even now, sitting beneath the California sun almost three decades later, she could feel the peace and happiness that being around Ryan had given her.
But her parents had declared she needed to get on with her life. They’d held a party in her honor for her sixteenth birthday, presenting her to people she needed to know.
None of her friends had been invited.
Kelly drained the last of her ice tea, the cubes clinking against the glass. Then she hoisted herself up and headed back to the house. Dinner needed starting; she had to prepare for the next day’s class and make sure Peter had done his English and history homework along with his math.
ONCE PETER’S FRIEND left, Kelly checked on his homework status. As befitted a senior who’d already gotten into Boston College, there wasn’t much. “There’s a letter for you on the front table,” she said after he put the settings on the counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the living area. After John died, and with Lisa at college most of the year, they’d taken to eating here rather than bothering with the dining room.
“Mom!” Peter yelled as he stood before her, waving the letter in his hand. “I’ve got an internship for the summer. At Dad’s company.”
“What? I didn’t know you were applying.” The serving spoon thudded back into the casserole dish.
“I didn’t really. Grandfather said not to say anything until it was a done deal.”
I bet.
“But you can’t go,” she said. “We’ve got our city trip planned—San Francisco, Chicago, Atlanta, and New York.” She’d designed the trip especially around things he liked: museums, aquariums, zoos.
“Mom, this is really important. Grandfather says it can give me a real leg up when I start looking for work.”
“You aren’t getting a job for another four years. This is the last summer we have together.”
“I know, Mom. And I’m sorry. Maybe we can see New York at Christmastime. I’ll have a whole month off. We can see the tree, the shops, and go to all the museums. It’ll be fun.”
Even by then Peter would have new friends and a new view of life. He just didn’t know it yet. Once Lisa had gone, she came home only for short spurts. After she’d gotten a boyfriend last fall, even those had fallen off. She’d declared him “the one” and spent all her spare time with his family in San Francisco.
Now Peter was going. Soon she would be alone in this big, rambling, gleaming house with ten years to go before she could even think about early r
“Mom, don’t look like that. It’s not the end of the world.”
“You’re putting me out of a job,” she said, forcing a smile. She was being melodramatic, but the looming loss hurt more than she’d anticipated. “I’ll have to join that organization: Mothers Whose Children Have Left Home.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There should be.”
“It won’t be that bad,” he said, laying the letter on the counter. “You can have wild parties and stay up all night.”
“I didn’t even do that when I was your age.”
“Well, you can find out what it’s like.” He gave her his best smile.
Her son had learned how to cajole her at an early age.
She picked up the spoon, doled out the casserole she’d made, and placed the plates on the counter. “Dinner is served. So tell me about this internship.”
“You’ll let me go?”
“I haven’t said that yet. I’ve already started making reservations for our trip. All of that is going to have to be undone.”
“I’m sorry. But this is really important to me.” And he launched off into a description of all the things he thought he’d be doing.
Reality was probably going to be more reined in, but she’d let his grandparents dim his enthusiasm.
The ache in her heart from John’s death cracked open again. Her son was really going to leave. And she was going to let him. She’d always put her children first, and that wasn’t going to change. If Boston was what he wanted, she would let him go.
She stared at the stainless steel appliances and white counters. This house hadn’t been her choice. She’d gone along with John, as she always did. Maybe her son did have an element of wisdom. It might be time to find out what her life was all about. She’d set it aside to have a family, but now her time was all hers. John was gone; it was time to start cleaning out his things. Maybe she’d downsize, sell the house, get a smaller one somewhere like Redondo Beach.
She was on her own now. All she had to decide was what kind of life she wanted to live.
Chapter Two
Kelly waited until Saturday morning to call her in-laws to discuss their plans. By that time, she was convinced she could act professionally, not reveal the pain she was feeling as the last of her children left the nest.
She sat at the kitchen counter, her planner and notepad in front of her. Paper was more natural for notes and initial thoughts.
“Good morning, Ruth,” she said to her mother-in-law when she answered. “Peter got your company’s letter a few days ago. I wanted to call to discuss arrangements with you for the summer. I assume he’ll be staying with you?”
A formal way to begin, but it was best. California breezy didn’t work on Boston uptight.
“Yes, my dear,” Ruth answered. “We are delighted to have Peter. Why don’t you come as well? It would be great to have you in the city. It would be good for you to get out after the unfortunate event. Almost a year has passed. It’s time to re-enter society.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Thank you, though,” she added belatedly.
“Oh? Do you have other plans?”
“Well, I had hoped to take Peter on one last trip before he went to college.”
“You can certainly take some trips from here. The house on The Vineyard would be available. Perhaps Lisa can come as well.”
For thirty seconds, she was tempted. The house, more a mansion, on the island was beautiful, and island life peaceful.
But the cost was too high.
“No, that’s fine. Since we received the letter, I’ve been making plans for myself. To go to Europe. Italy, maybe.”
“Italy is all the rage these days. We will miss you. Though I know Peter will be very busy learning the ropes at the business and finding his way around Boston. We will have some parties for him as well. It will be a great opportunity for him to become part of the family operation.”
And for the Richards clan to get their claws into her son. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped. John had groomed Peter for his eventual role, and her son had taken to it like the proverbial duck in water.
She nailed down the details with Ruth. She’d have exactly one week with Peter after school ended, and having gone through it with Lisa, she knew he’d want to spend that time with his friends. It was going to be a long summer and fall until they came home for Thanksgiving.
Ruth tried once more to get Kelly to come to Boston, but Kelly wanted no part of the routine, in spite of the fact she’d been born and raised in the city. Somehow, her spirit had never taken up residence there.
She hung up the phone and completed her notes. There were things that she’d need to go over with Peter: making sure he knew about his medical insurance, setting up an account for him to draw from for books, food, and other essentials. He would need to learn to budget, but they’d funded both kids’ college funds well.
She closed the notebook and looked around. The house was still in good shape from the cleaning firm’s job. A little pickup was all she needed to do before the end-of-year teacher gathering in her house. She often hosted, as she had one of the larger places. The pool was always a draw.
Only a few others lived in the pricy town. John’s salary and stock income had paid for the house. On a teacher’s salary, she would have been relegated with the others to a small apartment or repurposed beach shack.
Peter was spending the day with a few friends, so she had the house to herself. She wandered to the piano, sat, and opened the lid. Tentatively, she played a few scales. Every once in a while, she pulled out a book with a yellow cover and attempted one of Chopin’s études. She could hear her last piano teacher, a Greek woman with a book-crammed studio in her house. The space barely contained enough room for the piano, a white bust of Beethoven, and the woman’s larger-than-life gestures.
“Caress the keys,” she would tell her. “With Chopin, you must always caress. Bach requires you to have a drumbeat in your head, and Beethoven needs your soul. But Chopin is a man caressing the skin of his lover.”
The words had made her uncomfortable at the time, but they’d stuck.
But today she didn’t have the patience for Chopin. Instead, she plunked out a few choruses of “Chopsticks,” stood, and bowed to the imaginary audience. Then she closed the lid and turned to face John’s office.
Ruth was right about one thing: it was time to start moving on. Oh, not drastically. At forty-four, it was too late to change the trajectory of her life. Being a concert pianist was out. Instead she’d learned the rules for being a good wife, mother, and teacher and obeyed them all. It had been simpler that way. There was no drama. And after living with her parents, she’d been very tired of the conflict her mother seemed to consider an art form.
No, it was time to clean out John’s office. Could she make it her own? She’d always done her work at the dining room table or kitchen counter. Officially, she had an office upstairs that contained piles and drawers of music, lesson plans, and handouts from long-over courses. But she preferred to do her planning in the middle of her family, there when either of her children needed her.
If she did move her work in here, she’d need new furniture. John’s sharp-angled desk with its single drawer didn’t appeal to her. The white surface was covered over with papers she’d gotten from the various agencies. She’d read through them, made her decisions, then tossed them on his desk, like they were unfinished business for him to handle.
Somewhere in that pile was the unopened manila envelope the police had given her when they’d finished their investigation. One of the things in there was his wallet, an expensive leather billfold she’d given him as a gift one Christmas when Lisa was about ten.
There was something about a man’s wallet that seemed to contain his essence. Maybe because he carried it so close to him and opened it multiple times a day. Unlike women’s purses, a man held onto his wallet until it was barely usable, a familiar piece of him.
Kelly knew if she held that object in her hand, she would collapse into grief, regressing months in the cycle. The envelope would be the last thing she opened.
She sat in his desk chair and tried the lone drawer. Locked. She didn’t remember a key anywhere. It might be in the envelope, too.
She glanced at the functional but up-to-date filing cabinets. Their keys were hanging from their locks. It was as good a place to start as any. Most of it could go back to his corporate office, where someone else would deal with it.
