Page 7 of Searching for Sunshine

“What? What else could there possibly be?” I explode, my usual calm and cheerful demeanor completely gone with the stress of everything he’s just told me.

“Your grandmother left you a letter. I don’t know what’s inside it, but I think you should read it before you make adecision,” he suggests, holding out the cream envelope he’s held in his hands while we talked.

I take it with a shaking hand, unsure I’m capable of reading it with how fragile my emotions feel right now. Deciding to get it over with, I blow out a long breath before tearing the seal of the envelope and pulling out the letter. My eyes well with tears at the sight of her familiar loopy cursive, and I let them fall as I start to read.

My sweet Stella,

It may be selfish of me to make such a big ask of you while you’re in the prime years of your life, but I couldn’t think of anyone in the world who would take better care of the Hideaway than you. I hope you don’t hate me for the decisions I’ve made, but the hotel was your home for all those summers we spent together, and I wanted you to have the option to make it your home again. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I do hope you’ll consider continuing the legacy your Pops and I built over the last fifty years.

I also hope that by the time you read this, I watched you walk down the aisle, and you’re married to the man of your dreams so the marriage stipulation isn’t a concern. But if that isn’t the case, just know I didn’t add this requirement out of spite. When your Pops died, I realized how impossible it was to run the place by myself, and I couldn’t let you take that on because of an old hag like me.

No matter what you decide, just know I’m always proud of you and I’m always in your corner. I may not be physically here anymore, but I hope you think of me any time you feel the sea breeze on your face or the sand between your toes. Anytime you need someone to listen, I’m always here.

I love you always, my sweet girl.

Memaw

By the time I finish the note I’m fighting full-on sobs, but I try to pull myself together as I look back up at Mr. Marshall. He awkwardly digs into his desk drawer before pulling out a travel-sized case of tissues and handing me one.

“I know this was a lot to process, and I’m sorry for that, Miss Hale. I really do think your grandmother had good intentions with all of this, and I really hope you’ll think long and hard about what you want to do. You can call my office tomorrow or Wednesday with a decision,” the old man says, and I force a smile.

“Yes sir. I really appreciate it. I’ll call you in the next few days when I’ve had time to wrap my brain around all of this. Thank you,” I tell him, trying to keep it together until I make it to my car.

The secretary smiles at me as I leave, and I’m distantly aware of her speaking to me, but all I can think about is making it out the front door. As soon as I feel the humid, salty air on my face I gulp in a few deep breaths and run to my car where I finally break into a fit of body-wracking sobs.

CHAPTER 5

WYATT

“Are you meeting us for dinner tonight?” Trent asks after we finish our last tour of the day.

The rides today went pretty well, but I got soaked earlier when I was cleaning the boat and I’m more than ready for the day to be over.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve got to go to the store, so the bar is probably my only choice if I want something other than chips or eggs. But I need to run by the apartment first and change. I’ll just walk over to The Sand Bar when I get done,” I tell him as we check the lines and rinse down the boats one more time before heading inside.

“That’s fine. I’ll tell Everett you’re coming, and we’ll see you then. Do you need anything else before I head out?” my brother asks, grabbing his wallet and keys from the desk drawer inside.

“Nope, I’ll just close out the computers and make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow. See you in a bit,” I tell him, leaning over the desk to grab the laptop we use to keep track of bookings.

He leaves me to it, and I spend a few minutes writing out the schedule and splitting the few charters we have booked between Trent and I. Business is much slower than it used to be, andI try to ignore the surge of anxiety I feel from looking at the empty calendar for the next few weeks despite the fact that the summers have always been our busiest season.

Deciding that stressing over it isn’t going to change anything, I shut down the computer and make sure everything is turned off before walking out to my truck. After spending a few minutes digging for the towel I keep in the backseat, I throw it across the seat and head to my apartment.

It doesn’t take me long to grab a quick shower and change into dry clothes, and soon I’m relocking my apartment door and heading toward The Sand Bar. The weather in May is my favorite—warm enough to enjoy the outdoors, but the heat isn’t quite unbearable yet. My apartment is less than a half mile from my brother’s bar and I walk for a few minutes in silence, trying to come up with some ideas to help generate some business at work. I’m lost in thought when I register a whining noise to my left on the quiet street. I pause, looking around to see if I can figure out what I keep hearing, but nothing looks out of the ordinary.

After a moment, I realize the noise is coming from a car in front of the small law firm in town. I walk over, not sure what I’m expecting to find, but it certainly isn’t Stella Hale crying in the front seat.

Mrs. Betty and my grandmother, Meredith, were best friends for years, and each summer when Stella came to stay in town, we were thrown together constantly. My grandmother stepped in to raise me and my brothers when my mom developed breast cancer and died just before my ninth birthday. Since it was rare for my granny to have friends with children our age, I always looked forward to spending the day at the Hideaway with Stella.

We were great friends back then, but I haven’t seen Stella in over ten years, and I blink back the shock of seeing her after allthis time. After a moment, I register the way she’s crying and immediately panic that she’s hurt.

“Stella? Are you okay? What’s going on?” I ask yanking her door open, alarmed by the amount of tears I see pouring down her face.

I don’t know why I always had such a soft spot for Stella, but I have for as long as I can remember. The first time we met, she was near tears because a few of the hotel guest’s children had been mean to her and wouldn’t let her play with them. After that moment, I always felt fiercely protective of her when she visited over the summer. It’s weird that I’m finding her in such a similar state, but I feel that same urge to help her rise up inside me at the sight of her tears.

She looks up, and a look of terror passes over her face before she realizes who I am. “Wy- Wy- Wyatt?” she stutters, rushing to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Yeah, Stella, please tell me why you’re so upset. And what are you doing in Crestbrook Cove? Did I miss that you’re living here now?” I ask, vaguely aware I’m asking too many questions, but I’m so caught off guard I can’t help myself.

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