Change of Tides

  Change of Tides

  Ashley Farley

  Copyright © 2021 by Ashley Farley

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design: damonza.com

  Editor: Patricia Peters at A Word Affair LLC

  Leisure Time Books, a division of AHF Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  4. Chapter

  5. Saturday-Hannah

  6. Saturday night-Birdie

  7. Saturday night--Hannah

  8. Sunday

  9. Monday

  10. week after memorial day

  11. Saturday morning

  12. Saturday afternoon

  13. Sunday

  14. Monday

  15. Tuesday

  16. Wednesday

  17. Friday

  18. Friday night

  19. Saturday

  20. Saturday night

  21. Sunday-Hannah

  22. Sunday-Birdie

  23. Sunday-Hannah

  Chapter One

  Dear reader,

  This is an uncorrected proof copy created for the purposes of preorders. The final is with my editor.

  * * *

  Hannah navigates her kayak into the inky shadows alongside an abandoned dock. The sun peaks above the horizon, transforming the night sky to shades of pink and lavender and yellow. At low tide, oysters are visible on the banks of the marsh. Shrimp flitter across the water, and egrets poke their yellow bills in the mud. An occasional bird squawk is the only sound in an otherwise silent landscape. Hannah cherishes these brief moments as the inlet comes to life around her.

  Taking in a deep breath, she steadies the telephoto lens and stills her body. She passes on the green heron feeding. She has hundreds of similar images stored on her hard drive. She’s holding out for the primo shot. And she doesn’t have to wait long. An osprey flies in from the right, his clawed feet landing gear as he glides across the water before sinking them beneath the surface. She presses and continues to hold the shutter button down as the osprey emerges with a wiggling mullet gripped between his claws. The osprey careens to the left and swoops back around, coming straight toward her. The camera records his movement in a continuous stream of images.

  “Show off!” she calls out to the majestic creature as he flies overhead.

  She tilts her head back and lets out a woot. A shot of a lifetime. What a fabulous way to start her day.

  She paddles the kayak back down the inlet creek to the floating dock at the town’s marina. Hoisting the kayak onto the rack, she slings her waterproof camera bag over her shoulder and hurries up the ramp to the boardwalk. She jogs past Shaggy’s, her favorite lowcountry seafood restaurant, and the Island Bakery, the coffee shop and cafe her mom owns and runs. She bypasses the front door—they don’t open until nine—and she goes around the corner, cutting through the alley to the back door.

  “Morning, Mom!” she calls out to Birdie in the adjacent kitchen. Kicking off her wet crocks in the coatroom, she takes the stairs two at a time to their second-floor apartment. Waking Gus from his sweet dreams is the highlight of her day. Her heart melts when his pale blue eyes light up and a smile spreads across his chubby cheeks. But when she enters their bedroom, his toddler bed is empty.

  “Gus, time to get ready for school.” She checks the bathroom that connects their bedroom to her mom’s, but he’s not there.

  “Gus!” she calls louder, with more urgency in her tone. “Where are you? Are you hiding from me? This isn’t funny, sweetheart. You’re scaring mommy.”

  With a racing heart, she conducts a quick and thorough search of the tiny apartment before flying back down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Mom! Where’s Gus? He’s not upstairs.”

  Birdie looks up from the floor commercial mixer. “What do you mean? He was sleeping when I came down a half hour ago.”

  “Well, he’s not there now.” Panic gripping her chest, she passes through the kitchen to the cafe. Birdie follows on her heels, and when there’s no sign of Gus in the cafe, Hannah whips out her phone. “I’m calling the police.” She’s punching in the number when Birdie’s cell rings in her apron pocket.

  “It’s Max,” Birdie says and accepts the call. She listens for nanosecond. “Oh, thank God. We’ll be right there. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “He’s with Max.” Birdie drops her phone back in her apron pocket and pulls out a set of keys.

  She unlocks the front door, and they race across the small park to the Palmetto Hotel, the boutique hotel Birdie’s best friend inherited from her husband when he passed away six years ago from a sudden heart attack. Passing through the lobby, they find Max and Gus sitting together at a small table by the window in the lounge. She’s drinking coffee and he’s holding a sippy cup.

  When he sees them, Gus jumps down from his chair and runs over to them. “Mama! Birdie! What’re y’all doing here?”

  “We came to get you, you little devil.” Hannah scoops him up and hugs him tight. “You scared me to death. You know you’re not supposed to leave the apartment alone.”

  He buries his face in her neck. “But I wanted to see Maxie.”

  “Next time ask Birdie or me. We’ll bring you to see Maxie.” She presses her cheek against his blond head of curls. “Okay, little man.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Birdie stays behind with Max when Hannah returns to the apartment to get Gus ready for daycare. She needs a minute to compose herself. “I’m too old to have such an energetic grandson.” She lowers herself to Gus’s vacated seat. “I thank the lord every day for blessing me with a daughter. I would never have survived a son.”

  “Hush up, Birdie. You sound like you’re seventy, not fifty-three. I got along fine with my son. You would have, too.”

  A faraway look crosses Birdie’s face. “Cary would’ve been a good boy daddy. Maybe he would’ve stayed . . .”

  “Humph! I’ve never known a man who loved his child more, daughter or son, than Cary loved Hannah. He didn’t leave on account of Hannah. He left—”

  “Because of me.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth,” Max says in a scolding tone. “Cary left because he got himself into trouble financially, and he couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants.”

  “You know, as well as I do, my drinking drove him to cheat on me.” Through the window, Birdie watches a little boy and his daddy, wearing bucket hats and carrying fishing rods, walk down the boardwalk toward the marina. “My grandson is all boy. He really needs his father in his life. Hannah won’t admit it, but I know she senses it. I don’t know why she’s just not doing anything to remedy the situation.”

  Max runs her fingers through her cropped blonde hair. “Everyone knows everyone else in the south. Not telling Gus’s daddy that she had his baby will one day come back to bite Hannah in the butt.”

  Birdie gives a solemn nod. “I agree. But while I don’t approve of what she did, I respect her. My relationship with Hannah is finally on solid ground. I wouldn’t dare jeopardize it by expressing my opinion.”

  “Who says it has to be Gus’s real baby daddy? Any father figure will do. She’s a beautiful young woman. And smart as a whip. She should find some nice young man to marry her.”

  “Ha. Good luck with that. She hasn’t been on a single date since Gus was born.”

  Max flashes her a mischievous grin. “Perhaps if her mama lead by example . . .”

  Birdie cuts her eyes at Max. “Lead by example how?”

  “I’ll show you. Do you have time for coffee?”

  Birdie checks her watch. “I can stay for a few minutes. Sadie can open the bakery.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Birdie admires Max’s trim figure in her butt-hugging jeans as she sashays over to the bar where she’s sete up coffee urns alongside containers of yogurt, cereal, and pastry offerings for her guests’ breakfast. Max is the same tomboy Birdie knew as a child. She wears her blonde hair boyishly short, a style that accents her high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. She’s constantly instigating trouble, and she has the energy of ten women their age.

  Max returns with a small tray bearing two cups of coffee and her laptop computer tucked under her arm. She hands Birdie a mug and reclaims her chair. “Okay, so hear me out before you shut me down. I joined the MatchMade dating website, and I think you should too.”

  Birdie stares at her over the rim of her coffee mug. “What’s the point? Our town is so small, we already know everyone on MatchMade, anyway.”

  “Who knows? You and Pete, the barber, might share the same interests. Or you and Tim, the pharmacist, could be a match made in heaven.”

  Birdie snorts. “I’m not interested in dating Pete or Tim or any other man.”

  Max opens the laptop and types a few words. Her jaw drops open. “I got a message from Stan, asking me to go for a drink on Thursday night.”

  “Stan Morgan, who owns the sporting goods store?”

  “He’s the only Stan I know.”


  Birdie taps her chin as she considers the match. “I can see the two of you together. You’re both energetic and outdoorsy.”

  “Stan was one of Danny’s best friends. That would be like dating my brother.”

  “They say the strongest relationships are built on friendship. Where’s the harm in having drinks with him?” Birdie sits back in her chair. “For you, anyway. Dating means drinks. And I don’t do drinks. Which is why I’m not joining your match making website.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can do other things on a date. Like spend the day at the beach. Go sailing. Take walks along the boardwalk. Kiss. Make whoopee,” Max says with a gleam in her eyes.

  Birdie smacks her thigh. “You’re horny! That’s what this is about. Well, I’m here to tell you that men aren’t worth the trouble. Save yourself the heartache. Buy a vibrator.”

  “I have three already, thank you very much.” Max slams the laptop shut. “Come on, Birdie. Why not give the website a try? Do you want to grow old living all alone in an apartment over a bakery?”

  “I like my apartment and my bakery, thank you very much. Besides, I’m not alone. My daughter and grandson live with me.”

  Max casts her eyes at the ceiling. “Which is a subject for another day.”

  “Hannah will move out when she’s ready. Until then, I enjoy having her around.”

  Max’s expression softens. “I know. And it does my heart good to see the two of you getting along so well. But Cary has been gone for three years. Three years, Birdie. You and Hannah need to move on with your lives. Or . . . ” Max’s eyes narrow as she studies her more closely. “Please tell me you’re not hoping Cary will come back and beg for your forgiveness?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why haven’t you divorced him yet?”

  Birdie stares down at her coffee. “The process is more complicated with Cary missing.”

  “More complicated, but not impossible. Cary left you for another woman. He isn’t coming back. You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Birdie shakes her head. “I stopped loving him before he left.”

  “Then prove it by joining the website. Seriously, Birdie. We’re not getting any younger. Running your own business and helping raise your grandson suits you. I’ve never seen you so happy. Why not share that happiness with someone? Be a role model for your daughter. Take the first step toward moving on with your life.”

  Birdie looks away. “I sense that change is already in the air for Hannah.”

  Max moves to the edge of her seat. “What do you mean?”

  “She has a meeting in Charleston today with a man interested in her company.”

  Max raises an eyebrow. “Interested how?”

  Birdie shakes her head. “I’m not sure. That’s what the meeting’s about.”

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Miss Daisy’s is more of a school for very young children than a daycare. In her early sixties, Daisy is a tall woman with thick glasses and a stern voice that keeps her five charges in line. As always, she’s waiting on the porch of little yellow house when they arrive. Hannah parks the stroller on the sidewalk and unbuckles her son. Gus plants a wet kiss on Hannah’s cheek, and springs up the sidewalk, blasting past Miss Daisy and through the front door. Hannah joins Miss Daisy in the doorway, and they watch Gus tackle his best friend, Robbie, to the floor.

  As the boys roll around in a fit of giggles, Hannah says to Miss Daisy, “You’ll let me know if he gets to be too much of a handful.”

  “Honey, those two may be mischievous but they’re good boys. Believe me, I’ve tended enough mean kids in my day to know the difference.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure you’ve seen it all.”

  Hannah retrieves the empty stroller, and retraces her steps down the front brick sidewalk. Daisy’s house is located on one of the nicest streets in Palmetto Island’s primary residential section. A white picket fence encloses the large back yard, providing ample room for the kids to run around and play games. Gus needs a yard like this. Hannah has saved enough money for the downpayment on a house. She’s been working with a realtor for over a year, but so far, she hasn’t found the right house.

  Hannah has convinced herself that moving out of her mother’s apartment and into her own place will fill the void inside of her. She feels empty, like the inlet at low tide. If only she could pinpoint the source of her despondency. She adores her child. She has a challenging and fulfilling career. And she’s happy living on the inlet in her hometown, surrounded by friends she’s known all her life. But is it enough? Is she settling for the status quo because she lacks the courage to try something new.

  As she walks down Central Drive back toward town, she contemplates her meeting for later in the day in Charleston. She’s only left the island twice since Gus was born. Both trips were to Charleston. Once, to help her best friend Liza move into an apartment when she started medical school at MUSC two years ago. And the other time when her computer crashed and she took it to the geniuses at the Apple Store on King Street.

  She’s been communicating with Ethan Hayes for over a month, and he finally convinced her to meet with him in person. He, too, owns a web design company. Only Ethan’s firm, Bay Digital, employees four designers and occupies office space in downtown Charleston. Hannah, on the other hand, flies solo from her desk in the bedroom she shares with her son in the apartment they share with her mother.

  Hannah is ready to expand Hannah Fuller Designs. She routinely turns down business. She lacks the bandwidth to handle new clients. Ethan is interested in her company on some level. Whether that means a merger or an acquisition, she’ll find out soon enough. What if he wants to partner with her? Would he insist she move to Charleston? Flutters dance across her chest at the thought of a new life in a new city. Wow! She places a hand over her rapidly-beating heart. How long has it been since anything excited her like that?

  Hannah crosses over Ocean Avenue. She’s designed websites for most of the businesses on their town’s main thoroughfare. Johnson’s Pharmacy. Scoop’s Ice Cream Parlor. The Sandwich Shack. Freeman’s Hardware. Beulah’s Boutique. These business owners are not only clients, they’re her friends. She couldn’t possibly leave Palmetto Island. Without the salty air, her lungs would collapse, and she’d died. She’d miss her mornings on the water and her long walks with her mother along the waterfront. She’d miss the bakery. She enjoys creating recipes for baked goods and coffee drinks. But mostly she would miss their regular customers.

  She continues down the wide brick sidewalk to the small park that separates the northern and southern branches of the waterfront. Palmetto trees frame the four corners of the park with a water fountain in the center. Betsy, the town’s only homeless person, is eating her breakfast on a park bench. The rolling cart housing all her earthly possessions is parked on the ground at her feet. On the coldest winter nights, Max provides Betsy a complimentary room. Betsy’s tanned skin is like leather and her hair a shock of tight white curls. While no one knows Betsy’s true age, Hannah believes that weathering the elements for decadesshe has prematurely aged her.

  “What’d you have for breakfast this morning, Betsy?” Hannah asks, eyeing the remaining crumbs on the wax paper sheet in her lap.

  Betsy’s eyes bounce around, hinting at an unstable mind. She lost two young children and a husband in a car accident in the early 1990s. She hasn’t been right since. “A donut. Peaches and cream. It was awfully good.” She pats her stomach. “That one of your recipes, Miss Hannah?”

  “Maybe,” Hannah says with a mischievous smile that lets Betsy know she came up with the flavor. “A little birdie told me your favorites, lemon-glazed blueberry and strawberry shortcake, are on the menu in honor of Memorial Day this coming weekend.”