A Bungalow For Two. Carole Page Gift
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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