A Bungalow For Two

But if Frannie begrudged the way Juliana had taken over her home, she was equally disturbed by the stealthy comings and goings of the mysterious Belina. The aloof, raven-haired girl was like a ghost, flitting through the house noiselessly, rarely speaking or making eye contact. She spent most of her time alone in her room doing who knew what.

Frannie was just as glad that she didn’t have to make polite conversation with the strange young woman. What would they talk about? They had nothing in common…except that Belina’s mother was married to Frannie’s father.

Every morning, when Frannie awoke, she told herself, Maybe today things will be different. This will seem like my home again. I’ll feel comfortable around Belina and Juliana. We’ll begin to be a family at last.

But as quickly as she made her resolves, they were shattered by some minor event that caught Frannie unawares, that brought her up short and reminded her she was living in a vastly different household. It happened again today, the last week of July, just over two weeks since her father had brought Juliana home from their honeymoon.

This morning was the last straw for Frannie, because the incident involved someone dear to her heart. Ruggs, the family dog, an ancient, longhaired mongrel, had tracked mud all over Juliana’s freshly waxed floor. Juliana chased him out the back door with a broom. Frannie had never seen the old dog run so fast or yelp so loud. The sound nearly broke Frannie’s heart.

The problem was, Juliana just didn’t get it. She considered Ruggs a scroungy old dog that was always getting in the way. She didn’t understand that he was as much a member of the family as anyone. When Juliana shooed Ruggs out the door, it was as if she had shooed Frannie out, too.

Ten years ago, Brianna had found the scrawny, abandoned puppy on the street, hungry and shivering. She had brought him home and nursed him back to health, the way she nurtured everyone she came in contact with. And for ten years Ruggs had been king of the castle. There was no way Juliana was going to convince him he was just a mangy mutt.

The incident with Ruggs had left Frannie feeling more resentful of Juliana than ever. How dare that woman take over Frannie’s home and chase her dog outside? The trouble was, these days Frannie felt as unwelcome as Ruggs in her own house. No wonder she wasn’t in the mood to sculpt Longfellow’s bust.

Even as she sat in the sunroom contemplating the mountain of clay on her worktable, Frannie could hear Juliana bustling about in the kitchen, crooning the lyrics from some Italian aria. Frannie worked with the clay for a few minutes, dipping her hands in a container of water and wetting down the gray mound. It still wasn’t taking shape the way she wanted. It was as if the stubborn mass refused to relinquish the form hidden within.

Usually Frannie could work her artistic magic. A mysterious connection formed between her mind and hands; they worked together in a way Frannie herself couldn’t comprehend. It was as if some secret force within her recognized the shape inside the mass and freed it, then she molded it until it came to life under her fingers.

That was the way it was supposed to work. But not today. In exasperation, Frannie pounded the clay with her fists, then tossed the wet cloth over it and went to the deep sink to wash her hands. If she couldn’t sculpt anything worthwhile, she might as well go help Juliana in the kitchen. She emerged from the sunroom just as Juliana hit a high note that rattled the crystal on the buffet.

Frannie ambled over to the kitchen sink where Juliana was scouring a black kettle, and said, “Looks like you could use some help.”

Juliana whirled around and clasped her hand to her ample bosom. “Oh, dear girl, you startled me!”

“I’m sorry. I was going stir-crazy in the sunroom. The Longfellow bust—it’s just not working for me.”

“Oh, what a shame. Give it time, dear. It’ll come.” Juliana’s rosy lips pursed together, forming a tiny rosebud of sympathy. She extended a graceful hand and touched Frannie’s cheek with long, tapered fingers, her perfectly manicured nails a bright vermillion. “I have had many times when the music would not come, when I had to labor for every note. The arts do not give away their secrets easily. We must stretch and strain for every victory. But to create something beautiful is worth all the pain. It is like giving birth. Agony and ecstasy tied together. The agony of releasing something precious from within your secret self. And the ecstasy of holding in your hands a new life that only you and God could have created.”

Frannie nodded distractedly. She wasn’t in the mood for a philosophical discussion about creativity.

Juliana set the kettle on the gas range, then reached for a can of tomatoes. Frannie’s stomach knotted as she watched Juliana move about the kitchen as if she had already memorized—and claimed—every inch of it. She already considers it her private domain! Frannie noted grudgingly.

How could her father be so captivated by a woman like Juliana? The ebony-haired matron looked nothing like Frannie’s idea of a minister’s wife. Juliana was a buxom, brassy woman who made a habit of wearing colorful, formfitting dresses that were just short of being tacky. All right, so on Juliana they somehow managed to look classy in a dramatic, theatrical sort of way. That still didn’t explain how her father could be so smitten by this flashy woman.

“What are you making?” Frannie asked as Juliana gathered an array of spices from the shelf.

Juliana paused and smiled at Frannie, her rosy face brightening. “I’m making spaghetti. Your father’s favorite. We are entertaining his ministerial staff here tonight.”

Frannie straightened, suddenly alert. “Tonight? They’re coming for dinner? Why didn’t Daddy tell me? He knows I teach my class tonight. There’s no way I can fix spaghetti.”

Juliana gently patted Frannie’s arm. “No, dear girl, you don’t understand. I will fix the spaghetti.”

Frannie drew back from Juliana’s touch. “But I always fix the spaghetti. Daddy won’t be happy if I don’t.”

Juliana opened the cupboard and removed several cans of tomato sauce, then turned back to Frannie. “Well, we will straighten him out, won’t we? We will tell him it’s time for a change. I will fix my family’s secret Italian recipe. I am sure your father will find it delightful.”

Frannie wanted to retort, It won’t be as good as mine! But she held her tongue. No sense in making waves. Her father would just take Juliana’s side. “Well, let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks, dear. I’m fine.” Juliana waved her ringed fingers in the air. “You go work on your sculpture.”

A storm cloud of resentment swirled in Frannie’s chest. Before she said something she regretted, Frannie strode back down the hall to the sunroom. As she looked back, she caught a glimpse of Belina slipping like a silent shadow into the kitchen. She was waiting for me to leave! The girl was so antisocial, she made every effort to avoid encounters with Frannie. What’s her problem? Does she hate me? How can I live in the same house with someone who doesn’t even want to look me in the eye or say good morning!

Frannie knew as soon as she sat down and gazed at the leaden mound of clay that she wasn’t going to get any work done today. “Might as well take a drive and clear my head.”

Frannie ran upstairs to her room and grabbed her purse off the bureau. On her way out the door she noticed Ruggs crouching on the floor by her bed. “Hey, boy, how did you get back in the house? Oh, I bet Daddy let you in, didn’t he? While Juliana wasn’t looking!”

Frannie knelt down and wrapped her arms around the rangy, mop-haired dog. He made a whining sound and ran his rough tongue over her arm. His shiny black eyes peered yearningly at her through several shanks of sandy-brown hair.

“Poor baby. Are you still smarting from your scolding this morning? Queen Juliana banished you from the kitchen, didn’t she?” Frannie stood up, smoothed her jeans and beckoned the shaggy mongrel to follow her. “Come, boy. Let’s go for a joyride!”

She scrambled down the stairs, with Ruggs bounding right behind her. She took long strides down the hall, peeked in her father’s study and told him she was taking Ruggs for a ride to keep him out of Juliana’s hair. Her father looked up from his sermon notes with a distracted smile and told her to have fun.

“Sure, Daddy. See you later.” She sighed dispiritedly as she headed out the door. He doesn’t have a clue how miserable I am since he married Juliana! Not a clue!

Outside, in the driveway, Frannie opened the passenger door of her shiny yellow sports car and coaxed Ruggs inside. “Sit still now and be a good boy.”

Out on the open road, she looked over at Ruggs and grinned. Her hirsute pet sat tall, panting happily as the warm breeze rolled through the open window and fanned his heavy fur.

“Let’s go to the ocean and be beach bums for a day,” she suggested, as if expecting a reply. Ruggs accommodated her with an agreeable yip.

She took La Jolla Shores Drive for several miles, then turned off on a small winding road that led to a lonely expanse of beach. She parked beside the road, let Ruggs out and the two ambled across the sand under a shimmering white-hot sun. At the water’s edge, she pulled off her sandals, rolled up her pant legs and waded barefoot into the cool water. Ruggs started to follow, then backed up as a wave rippled over his paws.

Frannie laughed. “Oh, come on, you chicken. Come in the water! You won’t melt.”

Ruggs took another lumbering step backward and shook himself. No dip in the sea for him. He was staying high and dry.

As if to defy her stubborn pet, Frannie waded out deeper. A ringlet of seaweed caught her ankle. She kicked it away and noticed a creamy white shell in the water. She stooped down, picked it up and brushed off the wet sand. It was a perfect shell. She breathed in the fresh, briny air, filling her lungs. There was something she loved about the beach. A sense of freedom and adventure, as if the world were wide open, boundless, offering endless possibilities. And yet, somehow, standing there, she could stretch out her arms and touch the earth from end to end.

“I could stay here forever,” she told Ruggs. “I feel like I could sit down right here and sink my hands in the wet sand and create something beautiful.”

Ruggs ignored her and pawed at something slimy on the hard-packed sand. Frannie chose not to look too closely. “Come on, Ruggsy,” she urged. “Let’s explore!”

She slogged a while through the ankle-deep water, then made her way up the beach and padded across the warm, uneven sand. They had walked a quarter mile when Frannie spotted an old clapboard beach house nestled beside a rocky protuberance. Jutting cliffs dotted with palm trees rose beyond the modest little house. The place looked empty, its door padlocked. A weathered sign stood at an angle beside the house. It said For Rent. Call 555-7878.

Frannie shaded her eyes and gazed into the distance along the isolated beach. There were other houses, but they were far and few between. Anyone living in this house would have complete privacy, not to mention peace and quiet.

“This is just what we need, Ruggs. A place to call our own, with no one to disturb us. What do you say, boy? Shall we check it out?”

Ruggs galumphed toward the house. Frannie caught up with him as he clambered onto the small wood-frame porch and pawed the warped pine door. Frannie rubbed a layer of dirt off the window and peered inside. To her surprise, the little house was furnished. To be sure, the modest furnishings looked a bit dilapidated, but comfortable.

“Wouldn’t it be a hoot to move into this place? What do you think, Ruggs?” she asked, as if the pooch might actually respond.

He backed up and let out an approving howl. At least, that’s how she chose to interpret it.

“So you like it, too, boy. It’s something to think about.” She memorized the phone number and gave the house another once-over, then she and Ruggs headed back down the beach to her car.

Until now she had never seriously considered moving out of her father’s house. As long as he had needed her, she had vowed to be there for him. But the bitter truth was, he didn’t need her anymore. He had Juliana and her strange, reclusive daughter, and he seemed perfectly content to make them his family now.

But maybe her father’s marriage was a blessing in disguise. Frannie was twenty-four now, too old to still be living at home under her daddy’s watchful eye. Maybe it was time to step out, explore the world and carve a new life for herself. There was no telling what—or who—awaited her in this vast, beckoning land.

Chapter Three

For two days, Frannie put off phoning the rental number to inquire about the beach house. She vacillated between excitement at the prospect of moving into a place of her own and horror at the thought of leaving her father and the home she had lived in all her life. Wouldn’t moving out show that she had truly given up on salvaging her family? Or was God trying to tell her something, nudging her to take responsibility for her own life and future?

On the third day, Frannie gathered her courage and dialed the number. She learned the house was still available and the rent was less than she might have expected for beachfront property, even though the house was a bit dilapidated. “I’ll take it,” she heard herself saying. Her heart began to pound with anticipation and a pinch of anxiety.

What am I doing? she asked herself the next day as she drove to the beach house to meet the real estate agent for an official walk-through. “What could I have been thinking?” she wondered aloud an hour later as she returned home with a signed rental agreement and a set of keys.

That evening she cornered her father in his study and told him the news. By the stunned look on his face, she might as well have told him she was taking the next shuttle into space.

“Aren’t you happy here, sugar plum?” he asked blankly.

She fought the tears gathering in her eyes. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose control. All she could manage to blurt out was “You have Juliana now, and you like her spaghetti better than mine!”

He got up from his desk, came around and drew her into his arms. “Spaghetti? This is about spaghetti?”

“No, Daddy. It’s just…you don’t need me anymore. You have a new family.”

He caressed her hair. “I’ll always need you, baby cakes. You know that. I need you to be my loving daughter, but not my cook, housekeeper and caretaker. I let you fill those roles much too long.” He kissed her forehead. “And who says I like Juliana’s spaghetti better than yours? Nothing can top yours.”

Frannie sniffled like a sulking child. “You’re not just saying that?”

Her father grinned broadly. “Are you kidding? I’m a minister of the Gospel. I’m committed to telling the truth, and only the truth. And the truth is, I saw this coming. I understand why you’d want a place of your own. But I’ll miss you like crazy, pumpkin. And no matter where you go or what you do, nobody can take your place in my heart.”

She smiled through her tears. “Then I have your blessing?”

“My blessing, my love and my prayers. I just ask you to make sure this is what you really want. And promise me, anytime you decide this isn’t for you, you’ll come home.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come home to visit. I’ll be here so often, you’ll get sick of me.”

“Never in a million years.” Her father kissed her forehead, then clasped her face in his large hands. “This beach house—is it safe? In a good area?”

“Of course, Daddy. It’s perfect.”

“Well, I have an idea. Why don’t you take Ruggs with you? I’d feel better knowing he’s there to protect you.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

Her father winked. “Juliana’s not too fond of the old boy anyway. You take him.”

Frannie threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!”

She turned to leave, but he caught her hand. “You know, there’s someone else who’s going to miss you. Now Belina won’t have anyone in the house her age to hang out with.”

Frannie rolled her eyes. Was it possible her father really didn’t have a clue about Belina? “Daddy, she’ll be very happy to have me out of here. You just wait and see.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. I think she’d like the two of you to be friends.”

“Then she can come visit me at my beach house.” Fat chance that would ever happen!

Her father seemed to think that was a good idea. “I’ll tell her that. She used to live on the beach. I bet she misses it.”

“Whatever,” Frannie mumbled. Spooky Belina was the last person she wanted hanging out at her new place, but she couldn’t tell her father that.

The next afternoon, after lunch, her father helped her carry her things out to the car. She wasn’t taking much—some clothes, toiletries, her Bible, CD player, boombox and enough dishes, pots and pans and utensils to accommodate one person. On the weekend her father and Juliana’s son, Antonio, would rent a truck and bring out all her art supplies and equipment from the sunroom.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you today?” her father asked as she coaxed Ruggs into the passenger seat. “I could help you settle in. The place might need some work. I could get my toolbox and—”

“No, Daddy, you stay here. I’m fine. I’ve got to do this myself. I’m grown up, Dad. I’m not Daddy’s little girl anymore.” She didn’t add that she feared her father would have a fit if he saw how desolate and in disrepair the beach house was. She could hear him now. I won’t have my daughter living in a hovel like this! And look how isolated you are! It’s not safe. What if someone breaks in—?

No, she didn’t want him seeing her new home until she’d had a chance to settle in and spruce it up a bit. Once she had all her things in place, her father would be reluctant to insist she move out and come home.

It was late afternoon before Frannie pulled her vehicle into the small, rutted driveway beside her new home. Her heart was pounding with excitement as she slipped out of her car, let Ruggs out and walked across the beach to the modest dwelling. “Well, here we are, Ruggsy. Home at last!” She stuck the key in the lock and turned it, then gingerly opened the door. It creaked on its hinges. She made a mental note: Oil the hinges. She stepped inside and gazed around at her very own domicile.

The thought came to her: Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home. Her gaze flitted over the hardwood floor, the paneled walls, braided throw rugs, pine tables with hurricane lamps and several pieces of overstuffed furniture, worn and sagging, but adequate. Besides the small bedroom and bath down the narrow hallway, the house consisted of one large room, with a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living area and a rustic stone fireplace taking up most of one wall.

Frannie sank down on the lumpy couch and bounced gently, testing the springs. “Well, they’re right about the humble part. It’s not Beverly Hills. But we’ll get along just fine, won’t we, Ruggsy?”

Ruggs loped around the room, sniffing every corner, then settled on the braided rug at Frannie’s feet. She reached down and massaged his floppy ears. “We can’t sit around loafing all day, Ruggs. We’ve got work to do.” She riffled through her purse and found her cell phone. “I’d better call the phone company and see when they can start service. Can’t depend on my cell phone forever.” She punched in the numbers and waited, then tossed the phone back in her purse. “Might know. In all my excitement, I forgot to charge the battery last night. We’re off to a good start, aren’t we!”

She got up and went to her kitchenette and turned on the spigot. The pipes groaned and clattered. Rusty water finally sputtered from the faucet. “Doesn’t look like this place has been occupied in ages.” She opened the cupboards. They would need to be washed out and lined before she stocked them. “Looks like I’d better bring in my stuff and find the detergent.”

It took several trips to unload her car. She couldn’t believe she had packed so much. And wait till her father came with the rest of her stuff on Saturday! Now that she had boxes, sacks and suitcases everywhere, the place looked smaller than ever. And a bit grungy, if she was honest about it. No second thoughts! she warned herself. You wanted a place of your own, and now you’ve got it. Make the best of it!

For the next hour she scrubbed the kitchen cupboards. While they weren’t exactly gleaming, they finally looked tolerable.

“I’m done! They’ll have to do.” Wiping her chapped hands on a paper towel, she looked over at Ruggs, ensconced by the stone fireplace. “Guess I’d better make a trip to the grocery store, or we’ll be having stale granola bars and rusty water for dinner. You stay here, boy, and keep an eye on the place, and I’ll bring you back your favorite doggie treats.”

Ruggs barked and wagged his tail.

Frannie grabbed up her purse, checked for her keys and retraced her steps across the sandy yard to her car. The air had cooled perceptibly and clouds were gathering on the horizon. “You might know,” she mumbled as she pulled out onto the street. “My first day in my new house and it looks like rain. It hardly ever rains in Southern California in July! Hope I’m not stuck with a leaky roof.”

The closest grocery store was a small market several miles away. Hope I don’t see anybody I know, she thought as she entered the store. She was wearing formfitting jeans and a white blouse tied at her waist, and her long blond hair looked unattended and flyaway in the rising breeze. Seeing that the store was nearly empty, she gave a little sigh of relief. Thank goodness, she wouldn’t be encountering any prospective dates in a place like this.

She bought just enough staples to tide her over for the next few days—two paper sacks filled with milk, butter, bread, eggs, oatmeal, ground beef, salad fixings and a healthy selection of fresh fruits and vegetables. She remembered Ruggs’s dog food and treats and even snuck in a bag of chips and munchies for herself, plus a six-pack of diet cola. At the checkout counter, she added a local newspaper, a nice way to keep in touch with the world, since she had decided not to bring a television set.

By the time she returned to the beach house, the clouds had swollen to a threatening black and the wind was rattling the shutters, as if demanding entrance. Balancing her two bags of groceries, Frannie got inside just as the wind banged the door shut behind her.

“Wow! Looks like we’re in for quite a storm.”

Ruggs gazed up at her and cocked his head in agreement. She gave him a treat, then put the groceries away. She hadn’t noticed before how old and small the refrigerator was. She hoped it worked. Why hadn’t she been more careful to check things when she’d had her walk-through?

A sudden pelting rain slammed against the roof and rattled the windows. She looked outside and groaned. It was a downpour. The thought occurred to her to go back home just for tonight to get out of this storm. She immediately dismissed the idea. How would it look for her to go hightailing it home her very first day?

She shivered and realized she had no idea how to heat the place. She scrutinized the fireplace. Sure, why not? This was her home now. If she wanted to have a little fire in her own fireplace, who was to stop her? She stooped down beside the hearth and moved the grate aside. To her surprise, it already held several charred logs. Now if she could just find the matches she had packed in one of the boxes.

By the time she located the matches, it was dark outside and the rain was coming down harder than ever. A bone-chilling dampness seeped through the walls, one of the disadvantages of living in a bungalow perched on the edge of the ocean.

Frannie bent over the fireplace and made sure the flue was open, then took the classified section from the paper, lit it and coaxed the flames until they ignited the blackened wood. After several minutes she had a roaring fire. Frannie stepped back and folded her arms in satisfaction. See, she was a smart, capable, independent woman. She could manage without her father’s help!