Reunion Beach, Elin Hilderbrand [novel books to read txt] 📗

nerves. Staring out at the breadth of sea and sky, she felt on common ground.

Her gaze scanned the beach. She saw a blue umbrella and two matching chairs. A dog running joyfully along the shoreline. Two women jogging. Then she froze. One woman, not twenty feet away, stood alone near the dune. She was older. Kristina zeroed in on details. Her hair was a wispy, light brown, like her own. She was of average height and weight and wore a white linen shirt with a bright blue scarf. The woman stood motionless, staring back at her with wide eyes the same blue color as her own. This woman looked like her. Kristina would have known her in a crowded room.

Recognition washed over her like a wave, sweeping away hesitation and fear.

The woman lifted her hand in a wave. “Kristina!”

Kristina’s breath caught in her throat and she rushed forward. Step by step, she was at last going home.

* * *

MOTHER

The sun glared bright and hot, even at five p.m. Still, Elinor resisted putting on her sunglasses. She wanted Kristina to be able to recognize her. If there were any similarities in appearance, at least. There was no way to know. They’d not exchanged photographs. Perhaps they should have, she worried. What if she didn’t recognize her? Oh Lord, she should have suggested they carry roses, or some such marker.

She felt her heart beating erratically again and turned toward the siren call of the sea. She stared out at the vista and felt the familiar pull. She closed her eyes and heard the sea whisper in the waves, There, there. You know where you are. Who you are.

When she opened her eyes again, she breathed deep and felt as serene as the gentle waves lapping the shore. She was ready. Turning back toward the beach path, she saw a young woman step out from it. She stood at the top of the dune. The breeze lifted the ends of her shoulder-length hair, the same thin, wispy brown as her own. She was quite thin, almost shapeless in the pale blue shift she wore. The brown leather purse hanging from her shoulder seemed too big for her frail body.

Elinor stood motionless as the young woman’s gaze scanned the beach. She wanted to call out, but her voice wouldn’t come. She felt time stand still. Then the young woman turned her way and she knew the moment she spotted her. Her thin shoulders went back and slowly, deliberately, she removed her large sunglasses, revealing impossibly large blue eyes.

It was like looking in a mirror. Elinor’s hand darted up and she found her voice. “Kristina!”

Her child, her baby, was moving now, toward her. The tug of the umbilical cord was a force of nature. Elinor couldn’t take her eyes off Kristina’s face. She saw tears glistening in her daughter’s eyes, as they did in hers. She opened her arms.

Elinor closed her eyes as her daughter stepped into her outstretched arms. Once empty, now filled. She embraced her child, rocking side to side, feeling Kristina’s arms tighten around her. She smelled her scent, inhaled it, knowing it. Her reaction was visceral.

The gulls cried overhead. Yet over their taunting, raucous laughter Elinor heard one word cried close to her ear. Two small syllables, a child’s alliteration, that she’d waited a lifetime to hear.

“Mama.”

About Mary Alice Monroe

Mary Alice Monroe by Mic Smith

MARY ALICE MONROE is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-seven books including her latest novel The Summer of Lost and Found (May 2021, Gallery Books), and her first middle-grade book The Islanders (June 2021, Aladdin Books).

Monroe’s books have been published worldwide. She’s earned numerous accolades and awards, including: induction into the South Carolina Academy of Authors’ Hall of Fame; Southwest Florida Author of Distinction Award; South Carolina Award for Literary Excellence; RT Lifetime Achievement Award; the International Book Award for Green Fiction; and the prestigious Southern Book Prize for Fiction. Her bestselling novel The Beach House is a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie.

Mary Alice Monroe is also the co-creator and co-host of the weekly web show and podcast Friends and Fiction.

Monroe found her true calling in environmental fiction when she moved to the Isle of Palms, South Carolina. Captivated by the beauty and fragility of her new home in the Lowcountry, Monroe’s experiences gave her a strong and important focus for her novels.

Monroe and Dorothea Benton Frank were Lowcountry neighbors. Dottie—as she was called among friends—lived across the inlet from Isle of Palms on the neighboring Sullivan’s Island. Together they became part of a small tribe of Lowcountry writers who gathered together over the years for meals and conversation supporting each other’s careers and personal lives. Dottie’s energy and spirit will be forever missed.

Also by Mary Alice Monroe

Stand-Alone Novels

The Summer Guests

A Lowcountry Christmas

The Butterfly’s Daughter

Last Light over Carolina

Time Is a River

Sweetgrass

Skyward

The Book Club

The Four Seasons

The Long Road Home

Girl in the Mirror

Beach House Series

The Summer of Lost and Found

On Ocean Boulevard

Beach House Reunion

Beach House for Rent

Beach House Memories

Swimming Lessons

The Beach House

Lowcountry Summer Series

A Lowcountry Wedding

The Summer’s End

The Summer Wind

The Summer Girls

Children’s Books

The Islanders

A Butterfly Called Hope

Turtle Summer

Lowcountry Stew

Cassandra King Conroy

Before Nellie Bee gets here, I look again to make sure every little thing is lined up exactly as we like it. When she and I first met, we’d bonded over the similarities of our detail-obsessed personalities—which our husbands call neurotic, of course. Low-slung canvas chairs positioned exactly so? Check. Icy pitcher of mojitos? Check. Two silver julep mugs? Check. Both of us like our mojitas strong, with extra lime, and we like our chairs placed right where the waves recede so the hot foamy water washes over our feet without splashing us.

The beach is perfect today—or as perfect as the Atlantic Ocean gets. Before moving to the Lowcountry, I’d swum in the Gulf of Mexico on frequent family vacations to Corpus Christi, but not the Atlantic. Being in the Atlantic is such a different experience. There’s