The Hideaway

When his cell rang, it cut through the quiet and startled us both. He checked the screen and groaned. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this. I’ll be quick.”

I nodded and walked to the end of the dock where a hammock was strung up under a covered section. I kicked my shoes off and leaned back onto the thick strings, listening to Crawford’s side of the conversation—something about not being able to move a garage to the other side of a house once it was already framed out. Before long, the gentle movement of the water against the pilings and the call of the gulls overhead lulled me.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the box in the attic and its treasures. Not to mention the key engraved on Mags’s headstone and everywhere else. They remained at the edges of my mind, and I pondered the mysteries in every idle moment.

I was sure Dot knew something about the postcard from Mags’s mother, but it was clear she hadn’t wanted to say anything in front of Glory.

What choice had Mags made that so pleased her mother? And could it have anything to do with the words on the headstone?

It seemed the longer I stayed in Sweet Bay—and the more I uncovered of Mags’s life before she came to The Hideaway—the more confused I was.

Soon I heard Crawford’s footsteps approaching. “I’m so sorry. This client calls me every time she opens another issue of Southern Living. If she doesn’t stop changing her mind, her house is going to be a mash-up of every house they’ve featured in the last year.”

“Don’t worry about it. This hammock was about to put me to sleep.”

“Yeah, it’ll do that to you. You look pretty relaxed.”

I repositioned myself so I was sitting up, cradled by the strings under me, and he sat down on the bench opposite the hammock. He slung an arm up over the back of the bench and looked out at the water. “Coming from my landlocked hometown, I still get a kick out of living here. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live anywhere I can’t see the bay from my back door.”

I breathed in. “It is special. I’m glad to be back, for however long I’m here.” I surprised myself, but it was true. I was very glad to be right where I was.

We were both quiet a moment before he spoke.

“Tell me more about your grandmother. What was she like?”

I smiled. “She was a character. She was her own woman and didn’t care a thing about what other people thought of her.”

“That must be one of the perks of getting old. Just not caring what people think.”

“I guess so.” I laughed. “Mags had the craziest collection of clothes—things like huge embroidered caftans and floppy hats embellished with flowers she’d picked up at the craft store. But she also had this gorgeous, long mink coat. I never knew where she got it, but it always seemed a little magical to me, like it came from another era. As you know, it rarely gets cold enough in Sweet Bay to actually need something like that, so she’d wear it as a bathrobe instead.”

“She sounds like someone I’d liked to have met,” Crawford said.

I nodded. “People who knew her well—her friends, folks in town—really thought a lot of her, but back when I was young, I just saw her as my strange little grandmother. There was this one . . . incident—it probably won’t sound like much, but at seventeen, it felt like the end of my world.”

“What happened?” Crawford leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I was at a party the summer after I graduated from high school. It was in an empty barn on this guy’s family property outside Sweet Bay. I’d missed my curfew by a mile, but I wasn’t driving and I didn’t want to ask someone to drive me home. It must have been one or two o’clock in the morning, tailgates down, music blaring from every truck, a huge bonfire. I was talking to this guy I’d had a crush on for all of high school when here comes Major’s rusty orange van rumbling down the driveway.”

“No way,” Crawford said.

“It gets better. The van stopped before it got to the barn, but then it pulled right up next to where I was sitting. Mags hopped out of the van and walked over to me. I remember being so glad she’d skipped her bird’s-nest hat and boots, but the four gray heads peering out the windows of the van was spectacle enough.”

Crawford buried his face in his hands. “Stop,” he said, laughing. “That’s terrible.”

“If you’ve never been the one whose grandmother and her friends shut down your party, it’s a special feeling.”

“I can only imagine.” His laughter died down. “So, were you and Mags close? Or did you just bide your time until you could move out?”

“We weren’t on bad terms by any means. She was my grandmother, and I loved her. But . . . it was complicated. It was hard to be really close to someone who seemed to try to be as eccentric as possible. I just didn’t understand her.”

“Is that why you left?”

I stood and walked to the edge of the dock. Out in the distance, a dolphin fin sliced through the calm water. “It was a lot of things. My parents’ accident, then living with Mags and her friends. The barn party was just the last straw. Plus, I knew if I did stay in Sweet Bay, the only designing I’d be doing would be helping Staci at Tips and Tans decide the best layout for her tanning beds and foot baths, or maybe decorating the principal’s new office at Baldwin County High if I was lucky. I wanted to design houses and beautiful spaces, and I didn’t feel I could do that in Sweet Bay where everyone saw me as just Mags’s granddaughter.

“After college, I moved on to New Orleans and started working two jobs to save money to open my own shop. I came back often at first—at least every couple of months. But as I got busier, the amount of time between visits got longer. Once I opened Bits and Pieces, all my time went into the shop. I always came back around the holidays, and maybe once in the summer, but that’s all I’ve been able to manage. But you have a business—you know how busy it is. How often do you get up to Tennessee to visit?”

He shrugged and gave a half smile. “Honestly? As often as I can. It’s a long drive but my mom’s alone, and I don’t like to go too long without checking on her.”

I looked out at the water and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

“No, there’s no reason for you to hide that. You’re a good son, and you take care of your mom. I should have done the same thing with Mags. It hurts to think . . .” I turned my head when my eyes started to fill.

He stood and crossed the wood planks toward me. When he put his hand on my shoulder, I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around me.

After that day, Crawford always came bearing gifts, climbing the front porch steps with a half grin on his face. He’d offer up a box of cinnamon rolls from the diner or a bag of cleaning supplies once I started tackling the years of grime on the porches and dock. Dot and the others loved it. Whenever he’d stop by, especially if it was after work hours, they’d make a big show of leaving the room. “We’ll give you two some privacy,” they’d say, tripping over each other to get out of the way.

One night when Crawford had a late meeting in Mobile, Bert requested we all gather around the coffee table after dinner for a game of Monopoly.