Faded Memories: A Novel

Contents

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

In honor of the brave soldiers who fought for our great country.

Acknowledgments

Thanks be unto God for the gifts and abilities that He has given me to share with others. Thank you to my husband, Richard, for his love, support, and encouragement. And thanks to our children, Erik, Rachel, and Leah, for understanding the time it takes to write a good book. I love you very much.

One

It was mid-June. The humidity was at an all-time high. Foamy waves crashed against the Georgia shore. Seagulls danced on the moist sand, and palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Fiddler crabs scurried into their secret hiding places, sunlight broke over the tops of the trees, and the ocean glistened. Another new day had dawned on the horizon.

Alexandra Dunn moved her chestnut hair away from her face and inhaled the salty sea air. She shuffled her feet in the sand. Jogging kept her legs nimble. Sand crept in the back of her sneakers. She kneeled to slip her shoes off and brushed sand from in between her toes. Her toenails were painted bright red. Faded memories enveloped her as a tear welled in her eye. Her heart grew heavy. She felt choked up and swallowed hard, and tears flowed from her hazel eyes, along with a touch of runny black mascara. She wiped her face with the collar of her shirt. She had jogged a few miles down the shore that morning. The walk back to their beach house felt infinite, but in reality it was only a few minutes. She wore a ragged pair of shorts made from old blue jeans. She unbuttoned the last two buttons on her shirt and tied the shirttail into a knot. It was seven-thirty and already eighty degrees. It was going to be another scorcher of a day.

Back at the beach house, the screen door shut behind her. The house was a family heirloom passed down right after the death of Austin’s grandfather, now tattered from the effects of Mother Nature. She’d been hesitant about going there, but she was glad she had come. It was their favorite resting place—a place of peace and serenity, a place to get away from the chaotic life of the real world. They’d spent time there before Austin was called for his tour of duty. It wasn’t easy being married to a military man, but Alexandra had taken a chance on true love.

Austin had been gone six months when Alexandra received news he was MIA. She hated those letters and what they stood for: missing in action. An officer came to her door one rainy Saturday afternoon and told her that the military had lost radar on the chopper Captain Austin Dunn and his platoon were traveling on. The chopper and the platoon’s whereabouts still remained unknown. The news didn’t seem real; it was like a nightmare that Alexandra couldn’t awaken from.

She found herself alone, trying to hold on to a dream that might never become a reality. It just wasn’t fair. Things like that were not supposed to happen. She had felt emotional since the day that officer had made his way to her door. Anger rose up in her. What good would a beach house be without the love of her life? She simply didn’t know how to cope with what had happened, or what to do. She had always believed that there was some higher power out there in the universe, but she didn’t know how to find it.

She sat on the sofa, gazing out the window. Staring at nothing, she became lost in her own thoughts. The weekend there at the beach house quickly soared away, and a painting of summer memories remained unfinished on the easel. She rolled her eyes toward the painting and promised to find inner strength to finish it. Her thoughts were a mixture of pleasure and pain. She sat in silence without a snippet of inspiration and stared at the painting for a moment to capture the oddity of it. Nothing seemed familiar.

Pastel shades of blue and green lay tucked away in a cabinet drawer beside the easel. Each color, when mixed correctly, could capture the beauty of a sunset or the splendorous dawn of a new day. The color white made her more creative. It brought back memories of the cool wintery nights when they roasted marshmallows over a campfire and the purity of a sand-washed beach. She reached into her shorts pocket and pulled out a rubber band to secure her hair away from her face. Small strands too short to fasten gently flowed to her temples. Painting was a way to put her inner feelings on canvas, feelings that made her doubt and fear who she really was. She opened the cabinet drawer to reveal dried-out containers of paint and made a list of colors to replace.

A warm breeze blew in through the windows. Flaky white paint revealed the color of the wood. Sheer white curtains hugged the windowsills and grabbed the tops of the baseboards. There was a lot of work that needed to be done on the house, though nothing that a little tender loving care couldn’t take care of. The wood floors creaked with the temperature changes.

Alexandra thought of the old piano that sat beside the window. She walked to the piano and pressed down a key. Austin used to play each night after dinner. He was musically talented. Alexandra hummed a familiar tune. It was a favorite song of hers, one Austin liked to play often. Thoughts of it gave her a sense of well-being.

She remembered when she and Austin had met on a stormy night—all because of a flat tire. She had walked a few hundred feet to seek shelter. It had turned out to be the best decision she ever made.

A diner owner allowed the waitresses to go home early due to an expected downpour that night. Some areas of the road could easily wash away. When Alexandra walked into the diner, Austin greeted her. His dad, Charlie, owned the place and had asked Austin to ride out the storm with him. Alexandra and Austin chatted, and Austin got himself drenched to help out a lady in distress. She thanked him for his kindness, and they exchanged phone numbers. She later showed her gratitude by taking Austin out to dinner.

They never spent time apart thereafter. Their courtship was short, and they soon realized their relationship was meant to be. They were married in a little chapel not far from where Austin was stationed. The wedding was not elaborate, but it was a beautiful ceremony.

Alexandra wore her grandmother’s wedding dress. It was sleeveless with a V-line drop back to it. Sequins adorned the bodice, and a wide sash hugged her waistline. The train flowed with grace. A string of white pearls adorned her neck, and she wore matching earrings. She carried a bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath. She was a beautiful bride.

Austin was dressed in full military attire, down to the spit shine on his shoes. He looked beseem for the occasion. His army commander and mentor was his best man. Austin and Alexandra honeymooned in the Tennessee Mountains during Austin’s leave. She remembered well the night he carried her over the threshold and almost dropped her.

An old wall clock chimed. It was noon. Alexandra wanted to turn back the clock and make time stand still. There were so many things she would do differently if given the chance.

A hammock hung in the back corner of the living room. She grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the sofa and cuddled up in the hammock to take a nap. Lying there made her feel close to Austin. She felt tired and believed it was due to the long ride from New York. She shut her eyes and imagined Austin cuddled beside her with his hand resting on her side. Her heart grew warm. She slept for two hours.

A loud noise startled her. A thunderstorm blew in on the coast, causing the front shutters on the house to bang against the edges of the windows. Wind whistled, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled, shaking the fragile windowpanes. Rain beat down on the old beach house. Alexandra hated thunderstorms. She tucked the blanket up under her chin and hoped that the storm would soon be over. She tried to go back to sleep.

If Austin were there, he would’ve stepped onto the porch to view which direction the storm was blowing in from. He had spent most of his childhood summers there with his grandfather and had witnessed many storms over the years.

The storm was soon over, and streams of sunlight filled the house. Relieved, Alexandra removed the blanket and went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. She decided to raid the fridge, which was almost empty. An omelet would be tasty, she thought. She had no eggs, though, and closed the fridge.

She walked into the bedroom, sat down on the floor, and pulled out a square box from under the bed. The lid was covered with layers of dust. She pinched her nose shut with her fingers and blew out a big breath before she removed the lid to flip through old photos of Emma and Kay. They were young girls back then. They were dressed in floral Easter dresses, frilly white socks, and matching shoes. Austin wore a blue pullover shirt and khaki slacks. Austin loved his nieces.

A smile spread across Alexandra’s face until she found a photo from Memorial Day—the day Austin had proposed. He had been sly as a fox and had hidden her engagement ring in a box of chocolates. Alexandra looked at her left hand. She lacked the strength to remove her wedding rings and twirled the band around on her finger.

She always enjoyed sunbathing. Today was different though. Austin loved to tease her about helping to tie her swimsuit top. It embarrassed her. She was never the type to flaunt herself around in an inappropriate way. Austin once told her, It’s all right, angel. It’s just you and me. You’re beautiful. It took Alexandra a long time to believe him. Austin loved and adored her. There were so many things she missed about Austin being there. He would’ve been up at sunrise, ready for a jog. He would’ve cooked up a tasty omelet and made a pot of fresh coffee. The aroma from it would’ve filled the house. Emptiness filled her heart and soul. No one understood how she felt, not even Emma or Kay.

Alexandra put the lid back on the box and slid it under the bed. Hours passed by without her even noticing. She opened the front door and stepped out onto the covered porch. One side of the porch was in desperate need of repair. She realized the urgency to call a repairman soon, or the house might be condemned.

An old porch swing hung in the right corner. The red paint was faded and peeled. Austin had bought the swing for her thirtieth birthday. They carved their initials in the back of it after he hung it that day. She brushed the swing off with her hand, sat down, and remembered when they used to swing together with her head resting on his shoulder.

Later, Alexandra went in, took a cookbook from the pantry, and decided to fix a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. The thought of freshly cut carrots and pasta made her stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten all day. She slipped her feet in a pair of flip-flops, brushed her hair, grabbed her purse and keys, and went to a grocery store six miles away. The drive was peaceful. She drove by some of the places she and Austin visited each summer, including the diner where they met. It sat on the corner of Dooley Road. She pulled in front of the diner but remained in her light blue VW. Every ounce of her being wanted to get out and walk back in time to the rainy night they met years ago.

Austin’s dad had passed away from a heart attack three years earlier. Soon after, the diner closed. No one ran the diner the way Charlie did, and business soon fell off. He had worked there for over thirty years.

A new shopping center had been built not far from there. A grocery store sat across the street beside a drugstore and a package store. Alexandra parked her VW and went in. She grabbed a small red basket and made her way to the produce aisle for some fresh vegetables. She placed a small bag of carrots, fresh snow peas, a garlic clove, and an onion in the basket. She also added a pack of chicken breasts, some egg noodles, a small bottle of olive oil, and two cans of chicken broth. She placed the basket on the cashier’s counter and paid for her items.

Back at the house, she washed the veggies, chopped them up into small pieces, and minced up a garlic bulb. She placed them in a small bowl on the kitchen counter. She cubed up the chicken breasts and braised them in a small fry pan with olive oil. She placed a four-quart stock pot on the stove and lit a match to light the gas burner. She put all the ingredients together and then allowed the soup to slow cook for an hour. Alexandra waited patiently. She sat down on a glider rocker and placed her feet on the ottoman that accompanied it. She took a deep breath to relax her shoulder muscles and relieve the stiffness in her neck. She browsed through a few magazines and nodded off.

Her senses were soon awakened by the aroma of the soup. She stirred up the soup and added some egg noodles for the last few minutes of cook time. The stove timer soon buzzed. She turned the burner off and allowed the soup to sit for ten minutes. That made a difference in the taste. Austin always said that ten minutes without heat gave the soup extra flavor. And he was right. Alexandra lifted the lid. The aroma of the soup went straight to her nostrils. She reached into a kitchen drawer to grab a ladle. She ladled some soup into a mug. Not just any mug—a ceramic mug. Charlie always served soup in a ceramic mug. Most people always asked for a second serving at the diner. She blew on the hot soup and tasted it. It was what she had been searching for; it offered her the comforts of home. She finished the mug of soup and decided to read one of her favorite books for a few hours. It soon grew late. Alexandra took a hot shower and nestled down in the hammock. She needed a good night’s rest.

Two

The next morning, Alexandra was packed and ready to leave, but she decided to flip through the yellow pages of a phone book to try to find a repairman. The book was a couple of years old, and she had no idea if any repairmen listed were still in business. She jotted a number down, took a chance she would get lucky, and made the call.

*

Brady Hoffman owned a small repair and restoration business a few miles away.

An answering machine picked up Alexandra’s call. You’ve reached Hoffman Restorations. Leave me a message. She left a message with her return number and became frustrated. It seemed every place had an answering machine, and it was almost impossible to talk to a living, breathing human being on the other end of the line. She took a deep breath to try and calm her frustrations.

She went for one last jog. The beach was a place where she could clear her head of the things that troubled her. The shoreline appeared endless that day. She ran for several miles. She and Austin always enjoyed early morning runs, and they had witnessed the dawning of a new day more times than she could count. She had missed living near the beach when they moved to New York, while Austin was in the military.

She stopped, bent over, placed her hands on her knees, and took in quick breaths of morning air. A shoelace wiggled loose, and her hair fell to her cheeks. She tied the shoelace, swept her hair behind her ears, and pulled it back with the ponytail band she had worn around her wrist.

With the tide on its way out, she took a few minutes to sit on the sand and absorb the calm serenity that the ocean brought. She slipped her shoes off and wrote with her big toe: Alexandra loves Austin. She looked out to the ocean and imagined Austin riding the waves on his boogie board. She lifted her hand—without thought—and waved to him. She felt silly and glanced at her watch. It was already mid-morning. She jumped up, dusted herself off, and made her way back toward the beach house. She tidied things up and draped some white sheets over the furniture. The house soon looked deserted. Feelings of uncertainty overshadowed her. She felt unsure of the future, but knew that she wanted to return to the beach house soon. Mostly out of desperation. It gave her hope and something to hold on to.

She splashed cold water on her face and turned off the main water valve. Exasperated, she checked her cell phone messages and hoped that a repairman had called regarding the work that needed to be done on the house. To her surprise, someone had.

Hello. This is Mike, a voice stated. I know the house you’re talking about. I’ll be glad to give you an estimate.

Alexandra redialed the number. This time a voice answered on the other end of the line, instead of an answering machine.

Hi. I called you about doing some repairs on my beach house, she said.

Yes, ma’am … I can come over and take a look at it in an hour.

She hesitated for a moment before she responded. I’ve got to leave soon to go back to New York. Will it take long? she asked.

Nope—I’ll see you shortly, Mike said.

Okay. She hung up the phone, took a small notebook and a pen out of her purse, and made a list of the five repairs she wanted done.

An hour later, there was a knock on the front door. Hi. I’m Mike Sutter, the man said, and shook her hand. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Alexandra Dunn, she said. She walked out on the front porch to talk with him. This porch has seen better days, she remarked. I’m worried about the house being condemned if I don’t do something soon. She handed Mike a list of the repairs. He looked over them.

I believe I can repair it and paint it for you, Mike said. I also noticed that you’ve got some loose shutters here. He pointed to the shutters.

Yes. That needs to be fixed also, Alexandra stated. She felt overwhelmed. When can you do the work?

I believe we can start in a day or so. Some of this work is a two-man job, he admitted, removing his cap and then rubbing his forehead.

Okay then. That sounds good. How much do you think the repairs will cost?

Most likely a few thousand dollars, Mike replied. "There’s a lot that needs to be