Page 2 of Changing Tides

Here I am now, trying to manifest the same peaceful feeling I had back then. I came here in search of that feeling, of a solace I realize I have been missing for a long time.

Today, I signed my divorce papers, a day that will be forever cemented in my mind as one where my dreams died. I had big plans. I wanted a family of my own, much like the one I grew up in, but my partner betrayed me in a way I still cannot fully wrap my brain around. The only place I could think to go to begin picking up the pieces is Cape May.

I’m realizingnowthat driving here straight from Scranton, Pennsylvania was maybe not my wisest decision. It’s the first weekend in April, and while it’s not officially the high season yet, I have no reservations and no plans. I called my assistant on my way down here and asked her to clear my schedule Luckily, my caseload isn’t too heavy and my best friend Claire, who is also a therapist at the same center, agreed to take any emergencies. So, I have nowhere to be for two weeks. And, nowhere to stay.

I plop down on the cool sand, let out a breath, and reach for my phone.I’m here now. This is going to be okay.

I open the vacation rental app and search Cape May. The first listing catches my eye because the house reminds me so much of my grandparents’ house with its large wraparound porch and big bay windows. It even has a turret tower, giving it the castle-like appearance that I loved about their home. I used to sneak into their bedroom and look out the window as far as the eye could see. Lucky for me, this old Victorian features an adjacent guest cottage with exactly the availability I need.

I quickly scroll through the description and then request a reservation from a woman named Eleanor. She doesn’t reply immediately, giving me the chance to suck in a cleansing breath of ocean air. I’m letting the cool sand sift through my fingers and contemplating the meaning of life when my phone dings. Eleanor’s picture is hard to see but she looks to be in her sixties and she has a kind smile. I click on the message:

The guest cottage is available for your requested timeframe. Would you mind calling or texting me? I hate the internet. 609-555-3142

I chuckleand type her number into a text message. She tells me I can come over and check the place out if I am already in town. I stand up and brush the sand off my legs. I take in the smell of the salt air as I trek back up the beach, and I instantly feel at ease. I made the right decision coming to Cape May to heal. It has never steered me wrong before and I know it won’t now.

This is the place where I will recover and pick up the pieces of my life.

When I pull up to the Victorian house on Perry Street I am overcome with nostalgia. The home is even more like my grandparents’ house than the pictures portrayed. My chest is tight as I swallow the memory of my last time staring up at their Victorian, afor salesign firmly planted in the yard.

Before I march up the steps, I glance up and down the short block. Perry Street is shaded with mature trees, and each house is more beautiful than the next. A sense of serenity washes over me as I walk up the steps and prepare to knock. Just as I am about to grab the crab-shaped door knocker, the large burgundy front door swings open. I am greeted by a woman in a long sage green boho dress with long wavy hair that is a mix of gray and blonde. She is wearing red lipstick and dangly earrings at noon, but she has kind eyes, and I have a sense that they can see straight through to my broken spirit.

“You must be Eleanor. I’m Sophie.” I hold out my hand to shake hers, self-conscious of my chipped nail polish and chewed cuticles.

She smiles warmly at me. “Call me Ellie, please.” She holds the door open further. “Please come in.” She starts walking toward the back of the house while speaking quickly. “This is the house I grew up in. I inherited it from my parents and now I live here all alone. I just love having company. You’re also welcome to stay in the main house but I’m sure you’d prefer the privacy of the guest house. Is it just you who will be staying?” She turns around as she asks the last question. A baby cries in the next room. “Coming, Lulu!” she sings, dashing to the other room and coming back with a sweet baby girl on her hip. She has pink chubby cheeks and a mess of wispy blonde curls around her ears. “I’m babysitting.” She smiles down at the baby. “This is Lucy.”

I grin and reach for the baby’s chubby little hand. “Hi Lucy, you’re so cute.”

Lucy is bashful as she nuzzles her face into Ellie’s neck, tugging on the neckline of her dress.

Ellie adjusts Lucy’s hand and leads me through a sliding glass door and down the steps of the deck to a small cottage. It has the same sage green siding and burgundy front door that the main house has, with a large bay window on the front and a smaller one on the right side. We walk by planters on the small patio with pink and purple petunias basking in the sunlight. If it’s possible, the little house looks happy, and I feel like it’s beckoning me.

“It’s not much but I think you’ll find yourself comfortable. It’ll be perfect for just you.” She unlocks the front door, and we step into a tiny living area with a teal crushed velvet couch, a small end table, and a small flat-screen TV. Behind that, there is a queen-sized bed with a night table. To my left is a small kitchenette, there is a cooktop and a fridge but no oven. I think, for now, I can work with this.

“Go on, have a look around. If you like it, you’re welcome to stay. You’ll have to complete the payment on that godforsaken website, because that’s how I get paid, but I really don’t follow the booking rules. Or any rules at all for that matter!” She laughs at herself. I really like her already.

I make a show of checking out the rest of the space, but I already know this will be where I find myself again. I walk into the small bathroom, thrilled to find a deep claw-foot bathtub. I envision myself soaking away my sadness in bubbles and wine. I haven’t cared for myself properly in far too long. Between fertility treatments, the stress of getting pregnant, being in my strained marriage, and helping others at work, I am long overdue for some self-care.

I walk back out to the front patio, where there is a bench and a small café table. I think about the cups of coffee I will drink out here listening to the birds chirp good morning. I remember what Cape May did for me as a child, and I am manifesting that it can do the same for me now.

“I’ll take it.” I smile. “I think this place is just what I need.”Plus it sure beats staying at my dad’s house.

Ellie reaches for me and gives my shoulder a familiar maternal squeeze that strikes me as oddly forward, though not entirely unwelcome. “Wonderful! And you’ll be with us for two weeks?” she asks, clarifying the availability I asked for in our initial message.

“Or is indefinitely okay?” I joke, then quickly add, “Yes. Two weeks should do it.”

We are interrupted by the rumble of an engine, then the sound of a pickup truck door closing. Outside a man—tall, muscular, and bearded, with brooding blue eyes under a baseball cap—approaches the cottage. And he doesn’t look happy to see any of us. “I didn’t expect you to be out back,” he says gruffly.

“I was just showing Sophie here the guest house. She’s my new tenant,” Ellie says, handing him the baby. “Sophie, this is my neighbor and longtime friend, Liam.” She gestures at the man who is still wearing a salty expression.

I hold out my hand for him to shake but he doesn’t move to shake mine. Feeling my cheeks flush, I stick my hand in my back pocket. “Hi, I’m Sophie.” I offer him a smile. “Your daughter is beautiful.”

He doesn’t return it, and he doesn’t meet my eye. “She isn’t my daughter,” he snaps. “She’s my niece.” He shifts her to his other hip and lets out an exasperated puff of air. “Is her diaper bag all packed?” he asks Ellie. “I’m sorry but it’s been a long day.”

“It’s all inside, but she may need a snack.” Ellie remains stoic, as if she is used to his cantankerous mood.

“Great. Well, I’ll show myself out and see you tomorrow.” He stalks toward the back steps and disappears inside.

Once he is gone, Ellie turns to me apologetically. “I’m sorry about him,” she says, knitting her brow. “He isn’t the happiest guy on the block. He recently got custody of Lucy, and I think it’s been an adjustment for him.” She shrugs as if to say, what can I do?

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