On Folly Beach (28 page)

They said their good-byes, and Emmy stood on the sidewalk watching them leave, one part of her wishing that she was going with them and the other part of her wanting nothing more than to dig into the stacks of books in her living room that she’d had very little time to go through. In the handful that she’d flipped through over the past few weeks, she’d found only three short, cryptic notes, all saying the same thing: When? It had been nearly impossible to determine who had written them with only a few characters to judge, but Emmy thought that one had been written by the woman and the remaining two by the man.

Sooner or later, she’d have to approach Lulu, and she dreaded it. For now, the elusive story of the unknown man and woman played out in the margins of the old books was Emmy’s alone. She felt protective of them, and if she wanted to look closer, she was indebted to them for pulling her out of the shadowed existence she’d been in since Ben’s death. And they had brought her to Folly’s Finds in an indirect way. As much as she loved the store, even she couldn’t deny that the two clandestine lovers were what kept her getting out of bed every morning, keeping her grief contained. She couldn’t tell anyone, least of all her mother, that she still felt Ben’s loss the way she imagined trees missed the rain. Folly’s Finds and the people she’d met since moving to Folly were only a Band-Aid that hid the hurt and loneliness she felt every time she rolled over at night and found the space empty. Sooner or later she was going to have to rip it off and allow herself to let Ben go. But that would take a lot more bravery than she had, regardless of what John Reynolds and Lulu told her.

THE SUN HAD DIPPED LOW in the sky by the time Emmy made her way back to the house, the orange glow turning the tips of the marsh grass golden. She stood on the back porch, watching the shades of color shift like those on a chameleon, wondering what the true color of the marsh was. The lighthouse stood sentry in the distance, abandoned on its spit of land, caressed at each high tide by the same ocean that threatened its existence.

She’d yet to venture onto the dock to see the marsh up close. Like the ocean, it was an enigma to her, a place full of strange smells and sounds that at the same time seemed so familiar. She resisted the pull to move forward, content for now to view it only from a distance.

Despite the mugginess of the late-summer evening, she left open the French door leading to the screened porch, wanting to hear the night sounds of the marsh as a backdrop to the hidden notes between two lovers.

After grabbing her laptop, she settled herself between the stacks of books, then pulled the first book off the top and began her methodical examination. She’d gone through an entire stack and was halfway down the second one before she found something. In a copy of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence, on the last page of the book and written in a woman’s handwriting, were Shakespeare’s words:

“My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease.”  Oh, darling—this is wrong! But I must see you. Tell me when.

The ink was smeared, the paper warped as if it had been touched by water. Or tears. With renewed enthusiasm, she reached for the next book, a collection of poems by A. A. Milne entitled When We Were Very Young. It was an old copy, but in her enthusiasm to find more notes, she didn’t bother to study the copyright page to determine if it might be a first edition.

Still, she turned the pages carefully, not wanting to accidentally tear one or bend a page, her patience rewarded in the very center of the book with a short line, written in the man’s handwriting. Sir Francis Bacon said it best: It is impossible to love and be wise.

The doorbell rang, ending Emmy’s time-traveling, leaving her confused for a moment as she regained her bearings. Glancing out the front window, she spotted a golf cart, then recognized Heath’s outline in the leaded glass of the front doors. She had a fleeting thought of pretending she wasn’t there so she could go back to her books and their secrets, but realized he’d already seen her car in the driveway and the lights she’d turned on inside the house.

She opened the door and stood in the middle of the doorway, blocking his view of the mess behind her. “Hi, Heath. Thought you’d be dancing.”

“I thought so, too, until Lizzie told me you’d gone home. Figured I could make you reconsider.”

Emmy shook her head. “Only if you want broken toes. I’m a terrible dancer.” She waited for him to admit he’d given it his best try and leave. Instead, he smiled at her, an odd glint in his eye.

“I knew you were going to say that. That’s why I came prepared with an alternative. The Perseids are visible tonight. There’s going to be some cloud cover but we’ll still get a pretty cool show. I bet Frank that you haven’t been over to the east end of the island yet, so I figured we could kill two birds with one stone tonight.”

“I’m kind of . . . busy,” she said, unwilling to tell him what she’d been doing, somehow knowing he’d disapprove.

“With what?”

She frowned. “I’m organizing your books. It’s a huge mess in the living room, and I’m trying to finish so I can walk in a straight line again.”

“You’re finding more messages, aren’t you?”

She knew it would be pointless to lie. “Some.”

“They’ll still be there when you get back, won’t they?” He leaned a hand on the doorframe, as if he was prepared to wait a while.

“Yes, but . . .”

He grabbed her arm. “Then come with me. I promise to only keep you out for a little while.”

“Wait. I’ve got to shut the back doors.”

A slow smile crossed his face. “You’re liking the smell of the pluff mud, aren’t you? Unless you’re a native, most people can’t stand it. Must be a sign.”

She frowned, then went inside to close the doors and grab her keys, not pausing long enough to wonder how he’d manipulated her. With a last look at the books and her laptop, she closed the door and locked it behind her.

As they drove down the nearly deserted East Ashley, Heath turned to her. “Why do you always frown when you see me?”

She thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “I don’t really know. Maybe because you seem to always be okay with the world around you, despite the fact that I know you know better. Like you’re one of those eternal optimists or something.”

“An eternal optimist?”

“Yes. You’re one of those people who always thinks good will come out of every situation, regardless of how bad it is.” She thought for a moment, then asked, “Glass half filled with water?”

“Half full.”

“A rainy day?”

“Great excuse for sleeping in and reading in bed all morning.”

“A hole in your pants?”

“Time to go shopping.”

She paused for a moment. “Losing someone you love.”

He didn’t answer right away, and kept his gaze focused on the street in front of them. “Feeling lucky enough to have had that person in your life, and to have known love at all.”

Emmy turned away, forcing breath into her lungs. He had no idea; he couldn’t know that sometimes she wished she hadn’t been working the day Ben walked into her mother’s store. That loving Ben had been the best part of her life, and losing him was far worse than never having known him. Before she could pull the words back she blurted, “What about Jolene?”

He remained silent, navigating the golf cart to the end of the street, where he parked it near the beach access. He stopped the motor and sat back. “I’m not going to answer that right now because you’re in a snit. You’re upset because I’m not like everybody else who leaves you alone to wallow in your misery. Life’s too short, Emmy. Believe me, I know.”

He hopped out of the golf cart and retrieved two lawn chairs from the backseat. Emmy crossed her arms, more angry than she wanted to admit. “And having cancer suddenly makes you an expert on life.”

Leaning on the chairs, he met her eyes, not showing surprise that she knew. He was probably used to his mother and sister sharing his life with others. “Yeah, it does. Now come on. They close this part of the beach at eight o’clock, and I’m not in the mood to be arrested for trespassing.”

“I want to go home.”

“No, you don’t. You wanted to see the Perseids.”

He began walking away from her, and not knowing what else to do, she hopped from the cart and ran to catch up, the thick sand still warm under her feet and slowing her down.

“I don’t even know what they are,” she said, panting. “Please take me home.”

He stopped to face her, his eyes serious. “Every year in August, the Earth passes through rock and dust fragments left behind by a comet. As these rocks and fragments collide with the Earth’s atmosphere, they burn up, creating a bright streak of light across the sky.” He paused as if waiting for her to say something, but all she could do was stare at him and wonder why he couldn’t see that she was a ghost and not really there at all.

He continued. “So you see? Your life isn’t over. You’re about to see something wonderful that you’ve never seen before. The Perseids have always been there, every August up in the sky, since long before you were born, and they will be there long after you’re gone. Doesn’t that make you feel like you’re part of this universe? Part of a story that hasn’t been told yet?”

The wind shifted the hair off his forehead, revealing the scar that glowed white against his tan and the fine lines around the eyes that showed he was a man who laughed a lot. Who saw a hole in his pants as a reason to go shopping.

“Fine,” she said, not really knowing why, while also knowing that if she’d really wanted him to take her back, he would have.

He smiled broadly, his teeth glowing in the dimming light. “Great. Let’s walk quickly so we can see where we’re setting up our chairs.”

She followed him down a path that was part deteriorated road and part sand through scrubby grass and bushes, stumbling over rocks in the dimness. On their left, they passed the graffiti-covered remains of the foundations of buildings. “What’s that?”

Heath didn’t slow down, apparently eager to get to where he was heading. “Old coast guard long-range navigation station. Built around nineteen forty-five, I think. Was active through nineteen eighty but pretty much made obsolete by sonar. Now teens just use the area to make out and have a few beers.”

Emmy stepped over a beer bottle and found herself wondering if Heath had ever been one of those teens. She started jogging to catch up, panting heavily with her dress sticking to her back, until the path ended on a rise, the wide expanse of beach and the Atlantic Ocean in front of them. Rocky groins stuck out like muscled arms into the water, while looming above them, the Morris Island lighthouse rose over the waves that slapped at it on all sides. She stopped while Heath kept going, the view of the defunct beacon as it stood in lonely isolation unsettling her somehow. The skin at the back of her neck began to prick, rising as if it had been brushed by a goose feather. She continued to stare as the sun began its descent, the sky already darkened by the growing cloud cover. Hurrying to catch up with Heath, she tried to shake the unsettled feeling she’d had.

Sparse groups of people dotted the beach, apparently planning to watch the meteors, and Heath headed toward a spot away from the others. He had already set up the two chairs and was motioning to her when the sky lit up with a shooting arc of light, quickly followed by another and another, making the sky blush in shades of gray and white. Ribbons of white light continued to illuminate the sky in rapid succession like a congregation of silent lightning bolts, reflecting off the swaying waves as they touched the shore and danced with the meteors.

Forcing her gaze from the sky so she could find her way to her chair, Emmy sat down and tilted her head back to stare upward. They sat like that for a long while, not speaking, taking in the cosmic light show as if it were being performed for their sole benefit. Eventually, she lowered her head because her neck had begun to hurt, and she realized that her face hurt, too, as if she’d been grinning for a long time.

“Pretty cool, huh?” His words held a smile.

“Why are they called the Perseids?”

“Because it appears as if they’re coming out of the Perseus constellation, but they’re actually only about one hundred miles from earth. And I’m sure you remember the story of Perseus and his love for Andromeda.”

She did, but she enjoyed listening to him talk. She usually found herself alone in the evenings, and it occurred to her that she was probably starving for human companionship. “Tell me,” she said.

“Perseus sets out to free Andromeda, the virgin who was chained to the rock to be devoured by Cetus, the whale. Before Cetus can eat his dinner, Perseus arrives with the head of Medusa in hand and shows the head to Cetus. On seeing Medusa, Cetus is turned into stone, leaving Perseus to marry Andromeda, and they live happily ever after.”

Emmy shuddered, thinking of being turned to stone. “That’s a harsh punishment for only wanting a meal.”

“One of the worst, for sure,” he said, watching her, his face serious.

She squirmed a little in her chair and looked back at the sky, eager to change the subject. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never bothered to notice them before. How come you’re so familiar with them?”