Page 6 of The Lake House (Southern Charm #2)

Chapter Six

When Rita rolled out of bed the next morning, her feet bumped the box of letters and memorabilia she’d fished out of the storage closet a few days earlier.

She’d been up late last night reading, and her eyes were still blurred with sleep when she pushed her reading glasses onto her nose again this morning to peer at the last letter she’d opened.

She yawned, then squinted.

Dear Ray,

The children and I are settled at Mom and Dad’s place. I know you didn’t want us to come here without you for so long, but I had to get away, and I hope you understand that. It’s summer anyway, and the girls need something more to do than swim in the lake. Although they do love to do that.

The beach here is a little eroded this year. The last hurricane hit the North Carolina coast hard, especially the Outer Banks. But the girls don’t seem to notice. They love it. They’re taking the new sand bucket you bought them down to the water’s edge each day to build castles.

Do you think that you and Bill will get through this? Do you think you can… I don’t know … move on?

It’s a lot to ask, and I understand if you’re still not ready to talk about it with me. But the silence was driving me mad. I couldn’t stay any longer. You’ve got to say something eventually. Please.

Anyway, we’re here for now. You know how to call or write. I hope you will.

With love from your wife,

Sylvia June Lambert

Rita had read it the previous evening, and it had hung heavy on her heart all night long.

She’d tossed and turned and only managed to get into the lightest of sleeps for a short while.

She vaguely remembered spending a large part of one summer with her grandparents in Rodanthe when she was about eight years old.

But all that she could recall was fun in the sun, happy days playing in the sand, and her grandmother’s homemade biscuits slathered in butter and jelly when they got back home each day.

She’d had no idea that her parents were going through something. And what were they going through? She couldn’t say. Were they fighting? Or was it the conflict with Uncle Bill that left her father so quiet that her mother needed to find a place of escape?

Gently, she folded the letter back into its aged and fragile envelope and placed it to one side of the box.

She’d already gone through a few of the letters, but most weren’t particularly interesting.

There was correspondence between her mother and an aunt who lived in Raleigh, but most of their ruminating was on the children—who was doing what and going where with whom and when.

It was fun to remember. So many of the details had been lost with the passage of time—her memory felt more like flashes of familiarity these days, than of anything concrete.

She lumbered to her feet and had a leisurely hot shower. Then, after donning a long, flowing, flowery summer dress, she slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and wandered out to the kitchen, still scrunching the curls in her damp hair.

She’d hoped to find that Julie had gone out, since it was relatively late in the morning and she didn’t want Julie to feel as though she had to hang around waiting for Rita to rise.

Getting up early had been part of her normal routine, but it was getting harder with the treatments sucking every last remnant of energy from her body.

With a quick glance around, she soon realised the house was empty. So, she set the coffee to percolate while mixing up a batch of biscuits for the oven. There was some leftover sausage gravy from the day before, and she was hankering for a nice hot breakfast.

She poured herself a mug of steaming hot coffee, added a dash of vanilla creamer, and then headed for the back porch. It was then that she spotted Julie’s brown head, barely visible above the back of the rocking chair. She poured another cup of coffee and carried it outside.

She pushed through the door. “What are you doing here?” She beamed at her niece and handed her the coffee.

Julie issued a tired smile. “Oh, there you are. News flash: I live here. I was wondering when you’d get out of bed, lazy bones. Thanks for the coffee.”

Rita laughed. “I do feel lazy. It’s a guilty kind of feeling, like there’s something I should be doing when I don’t rise with the dawn and head to the café.”

“Well, enjoy it. You should lay in as much as you like. You’ve definitely earned that privilege, as hard as you work.”

Rita sat in the rocking chair beside Julie’s. “Thanks, honey. I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

“How’re you doing?”

Rita shrugged. “As well as can be expected. I’ve been better. But I’ve been worse.”

“Not nauseated?”

“A little. But I’m gonna try some biscuits and gravy—see if that helps.”

“Sausage gravy. That’s ambitious when you’re feeling queasy. But I’m all for it.”

Rita chuckled. “I was never one for half measures. Go the whole hog, I always say. There’s more than enough, if you want some.”

“That would be great. I haven’t eaten yet. Didn’t have much of an appetite when I got up this morning.”

“And when was that?” Rita asked.

“Around four.”

“Four in the morning?” Rita’s eyebrows arched skyward. “Why on earth would you do a thing like that?”

Julie sighed. “I couldn’t sleep any longer. I’ve been so restless lately. My heart was racin’, and there was this anxious feeling in my gut. It’s settled a little now.”

Rita worried about her niece. She’d never seen her like this before—despondent, low energy.

Usually, Julie was outgoing, bubbly, ready for the next challenge to come her way.

And always working towards a goal. For years, that goal had been to become a psychologist. Now, she’d given up on that dream, hopefully only temporarily, but it was hard to say.

“How are you doin’, honey?” Rita’s voice was soft and warm.

“I’m okay. I’m more worried about you.” Julie reached over to pat Rita’s arm.

“I know you are, but I’m going to be just fine.”

“We’re going to make sure of it.” Julie gave her a tight smile.

“I worry that you’ve given up on your dreams.” Rita didn’t want to say it. Almost as if she uttered the words, it would make them true. But she had to know. She couldn’t stand by and let Julie suffer silently.

Julie’s eyes reddened. “I haven’t given up. Not really. But the problem is, I don’t know what my dreams are anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” Rita objected. “You’ve always known what you wanted.”

“I always knew who I was, as well. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Nothing has changed…” Rita began. But it wasn’t true. Everything had changed, and she didn’t know how to fix it.