Windward

I had only seen the empty house online. We would rent for three months. The owner, Arthur Daniel, said he could provide some furniture, but we would need to bring a bed. He said he'd be happy to buy the bed after our stay.

The vacation was a last-ditch effort for us to get pregnant without medical intervention, although our doctor said, "You need to calm down."

My husband, Bill, and I, Sally, met when we were both 40. We married at 41. Neither of us had children and were unsure if pregnancy was possible. I knew the stats; on average, a woman my age had 3 percent of viable eggs. In any case, we wanted children and hoped it would just happen. In vitro could be difficult and expensive. My doctor said to discard the ovulation kits. Babies happen when you don’t try so hard.

I was a sociology professor at a small Atlanta college, and Bill was a police officer. In 2015, I took my doctor's words to heart. I decided not to work the summer term, and I convinced Bill to take three months of his stockpiled vacation time. I searched for a waterfront place. I found a small house in the minuscule beach town of Grayson.

As we left home in August, the radio reported that it was the hottest day of the year. 100 degrees, a rarity for Atlanta. We wouldn't see another three-digit temp for five years.

I could tell that Bill was unsure of our plan. He felt guilty for taking off work. I tried to tell him that 19 years in the future, when our child was in college, his extended vacation would just be a pleasant memory. He wasn't convinced. I was literally taking a fish out of water to the ocean.

The little gray house, named Windward by its owners, was a block from the beach. It looked better in its online ad. At 460 square feet, it was the size of our living room. It had a combined living room and kitchen, a tiny bedroom, and a spacious bathroom. The kitchen was fully equipped and had a stainless steel island.

The selling point of this rental was the tall deck/carport in the driveway. I walked up the steps to the deck area and saw the beach on either side of Heron Point. Nirvana. Bill also liked the rental, especially the small price. We breathed in the sea air and basked in the coming sundown.

Bill spent the next morning checking emails. I reminded him that we were at the beach to relax. I was pulling on my shoes to inspect the outdoor foliage when someone knocked.

It was Arthur, the owner. He was 65, retired, and had lived in the tiny town most of his life.

I had planned to call him. "Are you sure we can stay for three months?"

"Oh yes. I don't come here much. I've been taking care of my mom at her house for the past year. My wife, Liddy, loved this little place."

He said Windward had been owned by the family for decades. Sadly, Liddy died in a car wreck near Smyrna in 2012.

Arthur asked if the furniture from storage was acceptable. A couch and a few antiques certainly filled up the space, but I was pleased by the charm and coziness.

Before leaving, Arthur reminded us that the washer and dryer were in a shed on the property.

I then disconnected Bill from his laptop. "Now it's time for a walk on the beach."

The sunshine on my face and the sand beneath my feet convinced me that our vacation would be a time of rejuvenation. I reached out to hold Bill’s hand.

"Maybe we can meet the local folk. Arthur seems nice but so sad, with his wife gone and his mom ill.”

"Well, we don't expect to outlive our wives," Bill replied. "But hey, let's not be too social. We're still on our honeymoon. Privacy, please."

"Yes, but I may have to start doing sultry veil dances to pry you away from your emails.”

We fell into a routine. Bill liked to read on the house's front porch. I walked on the beach and loved to sit up on the deck under an umbrella, sipping a soda.

The small grocery store was a short drive. It had the basic produce and locally caught seafood. It was always inhabited by its owner, Hal, and his two octogenarian friends, Rudy and Matt. They played endless games of cards and dominos.

When doing laundry was absolutely necessary, I made Bill open the shed door, in case a sea monster or big lizard lived inside. We found only the washer and dryer, a lawn mower, and a few boxes.

After starting the washer, I glanced down and saw books in one of the boxes. I was bereft of reading material, so I looked inside. To Kill a Mockingbird and Treasure Island--two old favorites. Under old magazines, I found several handwritten books. The journals of Liddy Daniel. I decided to visit the local bookstore.

We soon received bad news. Bill was called back to Atlanta to testify in a criminal case. He would be gone at least a week. Grudgingly, I drove him to rent a car.

"I'll be back soon," he promised.

"It's going to be quiet--too quiet," I complained.

I found a radio next to the washing machine. I also carried in the box of books and magazines. I bought two boxes of wine coolers when I did my shopping. Hal probably thought I was having a party.

The little house wasn’t comfortable without Bill. I checked to make sure the windows were locked, and when I slept, I moved chairs under the doorknobs of the front and back doors.

I forgot to search for books in town, so I skimmed the magazines. I had previously read the People magazine from the early '90s--articles discussing unhappy royal marriages. The Life magazine from 1988 contained wonderful photos and little copy, so I read through it quickly.

Curiosity got the best of me. I finally picked up the first of the journals.

Liddy started writing the journals as an English major at the University of Georgia. In just a few sentences, she took me back to my own youth. At 19, we think everything is possible. We will graduate and somehow become explorers and archeologists. We will travel to far-off lands. Famous men will be fascinated by us, because we’re stylish and exceptional. A skillful writer, Liddy was.

Liddy's writing soon took a dark turn. Her brother, Larry, had died suddenly of meningitis. On a Tuesday, she saw him and he was fine; he died 24 hours later. Larry was two years younger than she; they grew up as inseparable playmates. Naturally, Liddy was inconsolable.

At that point, I went to the fridge for a wine cooler. I couldn't read any more that night. I microwaved a dinner, watched the news, and then went to bed. I tried to sleep, but I kept thinking of poor Liddy.

The next day, I carried my radio, sunscreen, and the journals up to the deck. Until Bill got back, this was my safe place. I was hesitant to read, but I finally looked at the next entry. Liddy poured her heart out in it. She felt such guilt, as if she could have saved Larry. She had always mothered him.

The tragedy sent Liddy into what I recognized as depression. She described being in an emotional deep hole and not being able to climb out. I could relate, having had similar episodes. She was angry. Could a loving God take a 19-year-old like that? Why hadn't she gotten sick instead of him?

Her entries became less frequent. She was surviving her classes. She started seeing a grief counselor—a good sign.

Near the end of the journal, she mentioned meeting Arthur in a government class. Her mood lightened, but she sounded guilty about being happy.

In the next journal, Liddy and Arthur were definitely an item. He convinced her to go camping even though she hated camping. He was a senior, and she was a junior. He was Liddy’s first—well, only—affair. She planned to wait until later for sex, but they were in love.'

Arthur proposed on the one-year anniversary of the day they met. She stammered out a yes and insisted to her parents and older brother that marriage was the right thing. She planned the wedding during her senior year. They married in July. She included details of their wedding day, along with a photo. There was Arthur, decades younger. I had to laugh.

Liddy was delighted to be a part of the Daniel family. Larry had a sister, Adel, two years younger, near Liddy’s age. Liddy had always wanted a sister, and here she was. Liddy and Adel actually visited Windward before Liddy visited with Arthur. She described it as a beach shack, where she and Adel had laugh-filled slumber parties. The Daniels family had purchased the house from a friend, so they could have a beach place. The one downside was its size--it couldn't fit many people, but Liddy loved the intimacy of it.

"Hey there." I was startled to hear a voice. I looked down from the deck and saw Bill.

"Hi, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I thought I'd surprise you," he said as he walked up the steps.

"I'm very surprised. What time is it?"

We hugged. "About 2. I may have to go back next week."

He pulled up a chair. "Can I have a sip?" His face reacted to the drink. "Wine cooler at this time of day?"

I smiled. "Hey, I'm on vacation."

"A three-month vacation. You could end up with a drinking problem."

"Ha. I'm jober as a sudge."

He looked down at the books at my feet. "What's this?"

"I ran out of things to read, so I was looking at Liddy Daniel’s journals.

"Sally Ann!"

I always hated when he used my middle name.

"Those are private. What are you doing reading them?"

I was aggravated. "Well, why did you leave? I was bored, so I started reading them. You act like I'm committing a crime."

"Well, I am a cop. I could arrest you," he said with a wink.

"You need to take me for a walk on the beach RIGHT NOW, and a restaurant dinner later. You owe me."

For a moment, I forgot the journals. My playmate was back.

Two nights later, I couldn't sleep. I slipped out to the living room. I had finished the second journal and was curious about the third. It started about a year into Liddy and Arthur's marriage. Liddy was pregnant and was over the moon. She was a junior high English teacher, but she quit work shortly before the birth. Adel, recently married to her high school sweetheart, threw a baby shower. The baby, a boy, arrived exactly on this due date. Arthur and Liddy were overjoyed. They believed he was the most intelligent and handsome child ever born.

Somehow, reading about their happiness relaxed me enough to sleep. I put the journal with the others in their hiding place under the sofa; I didn't want Bill to know I was still reading them.

The next days, I had fun with Bill. We splashed in the surf, ate seafood, and relaxed on the deck. We finally visited the downtown area, the library, and the grocer, where I introduced him to Hal and his friends. I tried not to wonder if I might be ovulating during the days Bill and I were together. I thought it might jinx things.

As he predicted, Bill did have to go back to Atlanta. After he left, I was lured back to Liddy’s journals.

Liddy as a mom. She didn't write as often; motherhood was joyful but exhausting. Arthur worked extra hours so she could stay home with their boy, named Andy. Liddy wrote about how she enjoyed feeding and bathing the baby. She included a few silly rhymes she made up:

"The dog chases cat,

the cat chases mouse,

they run and run,

all through the house."

"Apples fall from the tree,

one, two, three,

Birds fly up to the sky,

four and five,

Cookies on the plate,

six, seven, eight."

Later, Liddy and Arthur had a girl they named Sammy, short for Samantha. By then, Adel had two kids of her own. The cousins spent so much time together, they were like siblings. Liddy loved the family togetherness. While she was very close to her parents and older brother, she lived closer to the Daniels and saw them almost daily.

The journal entries became more infrequent. Suddenly, Liddy and Adel’s kids were going off to college.

Liddy wrote that Arthur came home one night, obviously upset. He told her that Adel was diagnosed with leukemia. Liddy hurried to Adel’s house. She held her sister and friend. "We're gonna get through this," she said, as Larry's untimely death rushed through her mind.

In the next months, Adel spent more and more time at the hospital, and Liddy was with her. Adel’s family visited, too, but they couldn’t handle seeing Adel in her deathbed. Adel’s husband had to work to pay the hospital bills, so Liddy took on the role as advocate and helper for Adel. She hadn't had a chance to be strong for Larry; she was strong now.

"I haven't told anyone this, but I need to share it,” said Adel one day.

She said she recently remembered being sexually assaulted as a small child. "I guess I had blocked it out, but I suddenly remembered.”

Libby listened quietly.

Adel had always remembered the night she found blood in her underwear. She was three years old and began to scream. Her mother tried to calm her. No one in the family discussed it. Right after that, the children started going to a new babysitter. Adel remembered nothing else.

“But then, I guess it was about two weeks ago,” Adel said. “I’ve been languishing in this hospital bed for so long, I started remembering things from childhood. I now remember being at the Jenkins house, and Mr. Jenkins was acting strange—I guess he was drunk. He grabbed me in the bedroom and assaulted me with his hands. His wife may have been in the kitchen.”

Liddy wiped away Adel’s tears and asked if the man was Matt Jenkins. Adel said yes.

I dropped the journal as if it had caught fire.

Matt Jenkins? Matt at the grocer?

I ran out of the house, to the beach. I was crying—distraught over Adel being attacked, the sad things in Liddy’s life, their deaths, Bill being away—you name it.

I stopped reading. Bill was right. I had intruded on private details.

The trial and Bill’s testimony ended up being more involved than expected. He only came to Windward a few more times. It was impossible to get away from civilization. I wasn’t really sorry when he suggested we cut our vacation short. I left the next week.

When I drove to Arthur’s house to return the keys, I assured him that he would get the full rental payment.

“Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. Remember to deduct the cost of the bed if you don't want to take it with you,” he said, smiling.

“Arthur, I have a confession to make. I loved Windward, but I did a bad thing. I read Liddy’s journals. They are in that box by the washing machine.”

His expression didn’t change. “Well, that’s not a crime. I doubt Liddy would mind. The kids and I somehow haven’t gotten around to reading them yet."

“No, it was an invasion of privacy. I shouldn’t have read them, but you should. They are full of joy, but there’s some sadness, too. Be prepared.”

He nodded and I continued, “Before I leave town, I’d like to leave flowers on Liddy’s grave. Is she buried here?”

“In the cemetery near the town square. She’s next to my sister, Adel. I knew she would want that. Those two were soulmates.”

“Yes, I know.” We shared a smile.

After visiting the graves, I knew there was one more thing to do. I went to the grocer and interrupted the card game. “Mr. Jenkins, may I speak with you?”

The elderly man joined me outside. “I know what you did to Adel Daniel when she was a child,” I said quickly before I lost my nerve. I felt my face turn red.

He looked confused, at first, unsure how I would know a secret from the past.

“Maybe I did some bad things. That was a long time ago, before my divorce—I drank back then.”

“Drinking doesn’t excuse what you did; nothing does. You assaulted her--a small child. She’s dead now and can’t get justice. I just wanted to tell you that I know what you did, so you haven’t gotten away with it. And you’ll face God someday.”

With that, I walked away. I felt I had done what I needed to do. I got in my car and drove back to our lives in Atlanta. Since then, I have gotten Bill to take the occasional vacation, but we have yet to return to Grayson and Windward.

I kept in touch with Arthur, and we became friends. Not long ago, in an email, he mentioned Matt Jenkin’s fatal heart attack. He never said anything about the journals.

And Bill and I did try in vitro and were elated to learn we were expecting twin girls. One of the first people I called was my friend Arthur. I asked if we could name our girls Liddy and Adel. I could hear his delight over the phone.

Our angels are now five. They love their names—and each other.