Bulls Island (20 page)

“Oh!” her friend said, and stepped back as though I were spreading Ebola.

I appraised her friend, this specimen of the Ugly Stick phylum, thinking even the most inexpensive moisturizer would do her a world of good. I turned to Sandi, who was just completely bewildered that my sister was as she was in appearance and attitude.

“Sandi. This is my sister, Joanie.”

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you.” Sandi was cool and reserved, as though she were meeting a top account executive and could she get them a cappuccino.

“Is she your partner?”

“No, Sandi works for me in New York and she’s here to help me get this job done right.”

“Meaning?”

Who knows what Joanie was thinking? I decided to disarm her with nonstop charm from that moment forward.

“Well, today you’ll see a lot of what Sandi does. I’ll bet you leave
here thinking you’ve just met the most organized woman on the planet! Let’s go.”

The ride over on the ferry was very pleasant. A nice breeze was coming up and the temperature seemed to be cooling off somewhat. There were twenty or so people on board and Joanie kept her distance, staring out at the spartina grass so that she didn’t have to engage in conversation. That was all right. We would have been too easily overheard, possibly by someone from the press, and there would be plenty of time to talk about the past and the future. I knew that reestablishing some kind of family bond with Joanie was going to be a slow and arduous process.

We disembarked and wandered toward the tent that had been set up for the event. I had the fleeting thought, Oh Lord, why did I make Joanie come? I have enough to deal with without another layer of hostility added to the mix.

But Sandi, who was still shell-shocked by Joanie’s overall demeanor, read the panic on my face and came to the rescue.

“Joanie, why don’t you come with me? I’d like to introduce you to my brother, Cameron. He’s a veterinarian and Betts said that you have done a lot of rescue work, haven’t you?”

“Why, uh, yes…I have. Okay.”

Sandi led Joanie off to the cooks’ tent and I breathed a sigh of temporary relief. I looked around. The main tent was set up with picnic tables and benches, buffet stations on both sides, and two bars, one in the back and one in the front of the tent. There was a riser with a podium and flip charts to unveil the plans and a small table of brochures and press releases. Everything seemed in order.

Then I spotted Louisa, J.D., a young man I didn’t know, Big Jim, and a woman I assumed was Valerie as they simultaneously lasered in on me. I swallowed hard.

Louisa was the first to worm her way through the throng to my side,
worm
being the operative word.

“So, well, well. Goodness me. Look who’s back in town,” she said.

“Yes, I’m back.”

“Well, that’s nice. Ahem. I know you think you have some authority here, but I think it would be important for you and all y’all from up north to know that this is a
Langley Development
project.”

I sighed. Did the woman not have one stitch of charm?

“I’m afraid you have your facts wrong, Mrs. Langley. Langley Development has an equal partnership with Triangle Equity. That would be a fifty-fifty split in all decision making, profits, and losses.”

“Do you mean to say that you all think you can call the shots?”

“No. Only half of them. But I’m sure J.D. and I will find a way to settle any differences of opinion.”

“J.D.? J.D.? You listen to me, Betts McGee, this is
my
project. J.D. wouldn’t even have a hand in this if it weren’t for me. He’s my son, after all!”

Lawsa, as we are fond of saying in the South, she certainly was one feisty little Chihuahua, wasn’t she? I just stared at her, and after what I thought was a meaningful length of silence, I smiled and said, “I’m certain of that. It’s nice to see you, too.”

I walked away toward J.D., leaving Louisa Langley marinating in her outrageous and insufferable hubris.

As my endless good luck raged on, more outrageous and insufferable hubris approached. Valerie Langley.

“So. You’re the notorious Betts McGee?”

My immediate thought was that
notorious
was a pretty complicated word to be used by someone whose reputation and appearance spelled total ignoramus.

“I am indeed. I assume you are J.D.’s wife?”

“I am.”

She stared me up and down and I matched her, designer detail for
designer detail. Sunglasses. Shoes. Handbag. Diamond studs. However, I wore pearls and subdued makeup and was dressed in casual business attire. In my opinion, she had on too much of everything—gold jewelry, lip gloss, mascara, and cleavage, and her mane of blond highlighted and low-lighted hair was overprocessed within an inch of its life. It was a showdown of sorts and could not have been more ludicrous. My outfit should have been the least of her concerns. She blustered and huffed and I held back a giggle.

Clearly something about me ruffled her cool. What did she think? That she was the only one with the wherewithal to spend too much money on her clothes? The difference was I
earned
mine, and earned it by being able to think on my feet. She’d married hers, and didn’t have to think about much except lying on her back.

Oh, pull in your claws, I told myself. To be fair, I had made a career and a whole life around being unflappable. Valerie had Louisa Langley for a mother-in-law, a barren womb, and no profession to buoy her up should her marriage hit the skids, except some kind of financial settlement that, given her situation and the formidable panel of greed meisters with whom she would have to contend, would never cover the expenses of her elderly years. All these conflicting and admittedly unkind thoughts ran through my mind and finally I remembered my manners.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes. And I have heard all about you as well,” she said, and walked away.

I noticed something funny about her eyes—her pupils were pinpoints, and I wondered if the cause of that was sunlight or something else, like a medication.

“So, I see you’ve met up with Valerie and my mother,” J.D. said.

“Yeah. Charming.”

“Well, my dad wants to say hello to you and I want you to meet Mickey.”

“Sure. Who’s Mickey?”

“Housekeeper’s kid. Over there. He’s like my long-lost son.”

My heart skipped a beat and my left eye twitched.

“Oh! Really? Oh! Jeez, J.D., he sure looks like you…what are you saying?”

“What? Oh Lord! Oh! That’s rich! No way! His mom’s a nice gal but definitely not my type!”

“Right. Whatever you say. So, are we ready for this pack of hellhounds?”

“I think so. Come say hello to Dad. He always loved you, you know.”

“Yeah. I loved him, too.”

I said hello to Big Jim, asked him how he was. He took both of my hands in his and told me how wonderful it was to lay eyes on me. I thought I would break down and cry. But I didn’t. Too many years had passed and I was only too acutely aware that J.D. was no longer mine to have.

The barbecue was laid out and people began filling plates and tables, talking among themselves. Joanie was helping Cam, who was helping the caterer fill chafing dishes over Sterno. She was actually smiling. And Cam, who was the total antithesis of Sandi, seemed quite entertained by Joanie—well, as charmed as a well-fed grizzly bear could be when enticed by a hungry lioness. His fat ego, though, still seemed to have room for a sandwich.

Cameras flashed all over from the time we disembarked until the last person had been satisfied with lunch and it was time to make our presentation. Surprisingly, Louisa and Big Jim decided to let J.D. do all the talking for Langley Development. Why, I thought, would Louisa make that choice?

Could she have wanted us to appear in the papers together? Or perhaps, despite her bravado, she and Big Jim were less involved in the project than she made out. Or maybe she wanted Valerie to
think she had some competition. Who knew what devilment was stirring the pot in her muddled brain.

J.D. took the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, introduced his parents and Valerie, and made his remarks about how sensitive Langley Development was about preserving Bulls Island and that the only thing they intended to change was to move the alligators and other predators safely over to Capers Island. He talked about how they intended to use only natural pesticides and how fertilizer would be so carefully applied and how all around the borders of the ponds there would be swales and vegetation to absorb any nitrogen that might come off the golf course. He told the crowd that they had hired a marine biologist from Greenville, a fellow he introduced who was recently retired from the Department of Health and Environmental Control, to be our conscience in all areas but most especially to protect the impoundments and habitats that attracted so many migrating birds and their beautiful songs. You would have thought J.D. was some kind of evangelist. All my alarms began to go off. Then he introduced me.

I simply agreed with all that J.D. had said and of course acknowledged the great pride of Triangle to have the privilege to be involved in such an important undertaking, adding that there would still be a public dock, that schoolchildren engaged in environmental studies would still be welcome, and that Triangle’s commitment to the sensitive nature of this endeavor certainly matched Langley Development’s.

I could barely get these words out of my mouth as I stood by J.D.’s side. J.D. and I seemed like natural partners, standing there together. The cynical members of the press were actually smiling at us and taking more pictures. And then there was the groundbreaking itself.

Big Jim, Louisa, J.D., and I put on hard hats, took gold-plated shovels, and lifted a shovel of dirt at the same time, symbolically beginning the official construction. Cameras flashed again.

When it was over a member of the press stopped me, asking if this didn’t upset me in some way, to see Bulls Island become just another beach resort.

“You know, when I was a girl and I wanted to know what heaven might look like, my daddy would bring me here.”

“So then you understand why Charleston is so up in arms about it?” he said.

“We intend to give the preservation of the natural beauty of this island every consideration,” I said.

“So you’re saying that negative changes are inevitable?” he said, taunting me.

“I can’t comment on that,” I said, thinking he must have been a moron to try to entrap me.

Then J.D. appeared from nowhere and took my elbow, which sent shock waves through me and, I am embarrassed to admit, made me actually weak in my knees. He whispered in my ear, unknowingly evoking a powerful tidal wave in my southern climes.

“Don’t talk to this guy,” he told me in a chiding tone. “Notorious radical environmental confrontationist.”

At that moment I would have done anything J.D. wanted and I was sure it showed all over my face.

The “notorious radical environmental confrontationist,” who happened to be from a syndicated press service, snapped our picture in what turned out to look like a lot more than a professional moment—read: lusting for each other like wild jungle animals in desperate heat—and the next morning it was on the front page of every paper in the state and many others across the country, including the national section of the
New York Times.
The headline read, Some Bull to Consider!

Y
ou’re not going to like this,” Sandi said when I arrived at the office the next morning.

“What?”

She followed me into my office with a stack of newspapers and a mug of hot tea. “Louisa Langley has already called four times, J.D. has called twice, and there have been so many hang-up calls, you wouldn’t believe it. Like his Sparkle Wife thinks you answer the phone here and we don’t have caller ID? Jeesch!”

I flipped though the papers and saw one photograph after another that made it look like J.D. and I couldn’t find a bed fast enough. I broke beads of mortification just looking at the pictures.

“Bruton’s not gonna like this.”

“Oh yeah, he called, too.”

“Great. Let me see what the articles say…”

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. A picture is worth a thousand words, you know.”

“Thanks for the tip. Hold my calls for about an hour, okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

I sat down to read:

As I read on, I ticked off every negative thought anyone had ever had about commercial development. No remark was made about the inappropriate stance of the partners in the picture, but no remark was necessary.

Then I hit a quote from me that was a complete fabrication.

“I
never
said that!”

My body temperature went up to at least a hundred and four. I dialed J.D.’s cell phone and he answered on the first ring.

“Betts?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you?”

“Out on Bulls.”

“Seen the papers?”

“That’s why I’m out on Bulls. I’m hiding with Blackbeard in Jack’s Creek. We’re shooting craps with shark’s teeth.”

“You’re a riot. Do you know that?”

“My, ahem,
wife
doesn’t think so. Valerie was actually throwing stuff around this morning. Cups. Plates. A box of Honey-Nut Cheerios. Do you know how many of those little O’s can fit in one box?”

“I’m guessing here, but I’m gonna go with
a lot
?”

“Yeah. Mother’s raising hell, too, calling you a harlot. I just hate that. Women. So unforgiving.”

“You’d better look out. ‘Yo momma’ might be right.”

“Really? Is that hood speak?” He cleared his throat.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it’s still the best daggum news I’ve heard all day.”

“Yeah, you wish…”

“I
do
. What are you doing?”

“Right now?”

“No, tomorrow night at eight.”

“Oh, then! Putting on a French maid’s costume and waiting for you on a waterbed in Goose Creek.” Why did I say that? “What do you think I’m doing? Trying to figure out how to solve this PR mess in the papers today!”

“Why don’t you bring some lunch out here and we’ll figure it out together. And some bug spray. I’ll get one of the guys to pick you up at the dock and I’ll meet you at the Dominick House.”

“Okay. What do you feel like?”

Pause.

“Anything. Just come.”

We both knew his thoughts were soaked in mortal sin. Well, I was
assuming
his were, but mine? Definitely. He was probably just teasing.

“I’ll call you when I’m fifteen minutes away,” I said, and hung up. “See you later,” I said to Sandi, who stood in the doorway of my office, as I started packing up my briefcase. “I’ll be on my cell.”

“Where are you going?” she asked nonchalantly, knowing I’d been on the phone with J.D.

“I’m going to hell.”

“Oh, okay, and your sister called.”

“Tell her I’ll meet her there.”

“In hell? Well, not quite yet. She wants you to come to the house for dinner tonight.”

“Really? What time?”

“Seven?”

“Call her back and tell her I said okay, will you? Thanks.”

I passed Sandi, went outside, closed the door behind me, and started down the steps toward my car when realized I hadn’t asked the important question, so I went back inside.

“What’d you forget?” Sandi said.

“How did Cam and Joanie get along?”

“Like two walruses in a peapod.”

“Perfect. Well, there’s a lid for every pot, right?”

“I imagine so. See you later. What do you want me to tell Bruton if he calls?”

“Tell him that everything is fine. I’ll try to call him. Or he can call me on my cell.”

“Whatever you say…”

It didn’t take long for me to swing through Whole Foods in Mount Pleasant and pick up chicken salad in a pita, tuna salad in a pita, three bottles of tea, and two brownies. I had bug spray and sunscreen in Sela’s car and threw it all in a Whole Foods canvas bag. I bought the bag in an effort to appear green, wondering how many other things I could do to appear as though I was making an all-out, sincere, and knowledgeable effort to minimize my carbon footprint.

I raced to the ferry, grateful that the humorless lawmen of Mount Pleasant seemed to be occupied with other matters that afternoon. I tried calling Ben Bruton several times, but I had no reception or the call was dropped. Truly, it was just as well. All I could think about was being alone with J.D., having wild crazy hot steaming sex, and getting it over with so we could figure out how to have a professional relationship that did
not
include sex. I knew there were some flaws in the reasoning of that plan, but at the moment it seemed to be the only sensible course.

I slammed on the brakes as I drove over the gravel of the parking lot and came to an abrupt stop. My breathing was irregular, the back of my neck was sweaty, my eye was twitching like mad, and when I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw that my pupils were dilated. Dilated pupils without the object of my desire even present were frightening. I put on my sunglasses and got out of the car, doing emergency yoga breathing exercises to calm myself.
Center! Center! Be in the moment!

All the way down the dock, I chastised myself for having insanely Tantric erotic thoughts about J.D. He was married, I reminded myself. So what? said the imp on my left shoulder. Valerie was merely his fallback position, as far as the imp was concerned, but I also knew that calling her this was a horribly immoral position for me to take. But too bad, he was the father of my child, and I had never
loved anyone else. This was a quagmire of self-deception, indecency, and rationalization the likes of which I had never experienced before. And there was no rule book to follow…well, not one I wanted to know about anyway.

As I hopped onto the boat and we made our way across the water, I decided that I would let J.D. be in charge of this nonaffair affair. He would set the pace. I was too crazed to plan strategy for a water-balloon fight, much less a total emotional collapse.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” said the captain.

“Yes, it is.” A beautiful day to steal a few minutes or an hour with someone you love.

“Mr. Langley says you’re from here.”

“That’s right. I moved away years ago.”

“Well, I’m sure you had your reasons, but I can’t understand why anyone would ever want to leave a place like this. This is as close to God as I think you can get on this earth. Just so beautiful, isn’t it?” He peered out over the water, pointing out an American eagle in flight that I had spotted as well. “Look over there!”

This lovely gentleman, this naturalist, was right about the heavenly aspects of the open water, the marsh grass, and so forth, but he had no clue that Satan himself was hiding all over the oyster banks, in the osprey nests, between the blades of grass, snickering patiently, waiting for me to surrender.

We docked and the captain helped me off the boat. I called J.D.

“Your caterer is here,” I said, trying to manage a lighthearted tone.

“Good. I’m starving,” he said, and I could feel the warmth in his voice.

“See you in a few minutes.” It was like I had never left him. All the familiarity, the easy camaraderie, was still there. I just hated it. I just loved it. For all the risks and dangers of seeing him again, he made me feel alive, alive in a way I had not felt in so many years I
could hardly remember it. I had spent almost all my adult years resigned to fulfilling my responsibilities and all my passion had been directed toward our son and to our very support. And to weaving my cocoon of deception.

While I waited for the truck to pick me up I called Ben Bruton again. The call would still not go through. I thanked God because I wanted to talk to him about as much as I wanted to spend a spa weekend with Louisa and Valerie. Oh, and throw in Joanie, for the ultimate getaway experience. No, I just wanted to see J.D. and hear what he thought about the articles and the picture in the paper. And to smell him.

An SUV with a Langley Development logo on its side appeared from the thicket and in minutes we were bumping along the hard-packed dirt road.

“I’m Bill,” the driver said.

“I’m Betts,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

It seemed I had the Clint Eastwood of Charleston County for a chauffeur, which suited me fine, although I should have requested a cardiologist.

We came to a stop and I climbed out, taking my briefcase and tossing the tote bag over my shoulder, gathering up every shred of strength I had to appear cool. J.D. was there clicking away on his BlackBerry, sitting on a picnic table like the sun god on a Mardi Gras float. He looked up and waved at me. Could he have known that the afternoon sun would enshrine him in streams of majestic light? It was as though the hand of God were holding him high on display in a luminous monstrance. I took this as a sign to let my heart proceed.

“Hey, you!” I called out, blinking my eyes, and yes, the left one was still twitching.

“Hey, yourself! Need a hand?” He got down from the table and came toward me.

“No, I’m fine. How are you? Want to eat here?”

“Nah, let’s take my truck and go out to Boneyard Beach. It’s low tide. And I can show you where the second nine for the golf course will be.”

“Sounds good. Who’s designing it?”

“Rees Jones. He’s the best.”

“Jeesch. Even
I’ve
heard of him!”

“You don’t play golf, then?”

“Excuse me, but I’m not old enough for golf. It’s an idiotic sport. Besides, it’s not the best use of my time. Do you play?”

“You think I’d admit it now if I did?”

He got in his truck and started the engine. I just followed him and threw my stuff on the floor of the cab, and off we went. It still seemed odd that we did not embrace as old friends or shake hands as colleagues. But perhaps we unconsciously recognized that physical contact of almost any kind could be hazardous. It didn’t matter because you couldn’t fight fate. I could hear our sighs and groans approaching like a train from a nearby town, rolling down the inevitable track.

I tried to concentrate on other things, like the surprising amount of low-hanging branches that hit the windshield on my side, startling me, causing me to jump. J.D. laughed every time I did.

“I’m bringing gardening shears next time,” I said.

“You do that.”

Finally, we came to a stop and he got out. I was about to let myself out as well when I saw him there, ready to help me down from the high perch of the seat in his truck.

He took the tote bag from me and then my briefcase and put them on the ground. I had my right foot on a ledge and was trying to turn around so that I could find the ground safely while holding on to a handrail. It was a good thing I had worn pants that morning. And flats. There was no dignified way to climb down from a truck.

“You don’t need your briefcase out here, do you?”