The Hatbox

The Hatbox / Chapter 9

She began the day with a heavy heart. She sat at the kitchen table, which was richly stained an elegant dark espresso, with the letters in a pile before her. She had inadvertently shuffled the contents of the hatbox when she pulled out the deed from the bottom. The letters may have been in some kind of order, prior to that. She didn't really know now. Her plan was to look at the postage stamps and put them in order of those dates.

She sipped on her coffee and she slid another letter in its proper placement. There were more than a hundred letters. Now, having spent time here, she knew she'd read them. She longed to understand more about her mom's time here. But first...today's trips.

The pier was the first of the three to open, so it was first on her list.

As she pulled into the sandy parking lot, she was surprised that there were few parking spots left. It had only been open a few minutes.

"Note to self, she thought for her next trip here but just as quickly realized she could easily walk here. Today's itinerary had several locations listed, so today was not the day for a leisurely stroll.

She wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't a shy person in the least. Speaking to strangers didn't make her uncomfortable, as a matter of fact, she found meeting strangers quite enjoyable. Different people offer different experiences. That was always fun to her. Not scary.

But this was just a bit different than meeting new people. This was asking, and maybe even finding someone that knew the man from the picture. This stranger from her mom's past. The one from this area.

"Just walk in and ask," she coached herself.

Her heart pounding like a hummingbird's, she opened the door. The doorbell chimed as she entered which drew the attention of a man behind the desk near the fishing poles.

"A ticket to the pier?" he asked.

"No...not today," she smiled awkwardly, "I was hoping someone here might know someone I'm looking for. Well, it's been a long time, so he may not be here any longer."

"What's the name?" His Southern drawl was just as strong as his jawline.

"Brett Clark," she shyly stated.

The man's face nearly went white at the name. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. He wasn't even sure if that was correct. It could be.

He knew he had to look nervous because he suddenly couldn't make eye contact with the young lady. Everyone knew of the recent deaths in the Clark family and no one wanted to give information, of any kind, to someone without knowing why. They protected their own here.

"Not sure. Can you tell me anything about him?"

Then she grew nervous. What do you tell a stranger? "Well, my mom died, and I found this box with letters from this man, Brett Clark. The same box contained a deed to a property just down the road and I drove up here without knowing anything because I'm mourning and my mom owns a beach house that I didn't know about and I desperately miss her and came here to connect in some way with what she didn't tell me anything about."

She realized she just didn't have the emotional strength to bring her mom into this. She would end up crying in front of strangers. She knew she couldn't go through more of the same sad consolation from someone who may have known her. They may not even know she had passed away so suddenly. What if they cared for her mom? She wanted to hope so. What if they had no idea who she was, and her story just sounded insane?

She now stared awkwardly at the kind older gentleman, "I'm a writer for the Cove Daily. I'm researching some recent events and there's some history here. I just drove in from Winston Salem, so I don't know a lot about this area...just thought I'd ask around. It was determined that he was from this area."