Summer Rental (6 page)
“You don’t believe her? Why would she make up something like that? Dorie wouldn’t lie. Not to us.”
They heard the slap of the screen door and Julia glanced back at the house. “Shh. She’s coming. I’m not saying she’s lying exactly. But she’s not telling us the whole story. This is not our Dorie. Not at all.”
“Did Julia tell you the bad news?” Dorie asked, approaching the van. “I know you guys must hate me. Stephen feels awful about not coming. He was so looking forward to the beach. But he’s just frantic with worry about his thesis. And Willa…” Her voice trailed off. “Annabeth, her youngest, was supposed to be at sailing camp this week. But she gets these terrible headaches. And she’s only six. They got her glasses, but…”
“Willa is Willa,” Julia said dryly. “You don’t have to apologize for her, Dorie. She’s been like this her whole life.”
Dorie’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I know she can be a pill sometimes, you guys.”
Ellis gave her a quick hug. “We all have our moments. We understand. Anyway, I’m just really bummed for you, having to spend the month without Stephen. We’re all going to miss him.”
Julia, standing directly behind Dorie, crossed her eyes and grimaced. The last statement was an outright lie, and they both knew it. They’d had a spirited e-mail exchange as soon as Dorie had brought up the possibility of having Stephen join them at the beach.
“No way!” Julia had written. “This is our time together. Remember? No effin’ boys. Anyway, if Booker finds out, the next thing you know, he’ll want to come. And then it’ll be couples. And that’s not what this month is about.”
Booker and Julia had lived together for years, first in New York, and then, for the past six years, in London. Booker was a photographer, and Julia was a model. Ellis didn’t quite understand their relationship. Sometimes, the way Julia talked about Booker, you had to wonder what had kept them together all this time.
Ellis hadn’t liked to conspire against Dorie behind her b
ack, but for once, she was in total agreement with Julia. She liked Stephen, although they’d only met twice before Dorie’s wedding a year ago. He was attractive and thoughtful and obviously wild for Dorie. As for Dorie, she was long overdue for a good man. But just this once, couldn’t they leave men out of it? Especially since Ellis was so obviously without a man—and had been for more years than she cared to admit.
That had never been the case with Dorie. With her strawberry blond hair, freckles, and kittenish green eyes, not to mention her voluptuous curves, Dorie was the man magnet of the group. She had been since third grade, when every single boy at Blessed Sacrament School wanted to be her valentine. Nobody could remember a time when Dorie had been without a boyfriend. And it wasn’t like she even tried. She was just Dorie.
Once, when she was a freshman at the University of Georgia, she’d started dating a doctor. An honest-to-God physician. A gynecologist, if you could believe it. Howard had been gaga for Dorie. He’d given her a pair of two-carat diamond stud earrings—which she didn’t dare show her mother—taken her on a spring break trip to Vegas, let her drive his Mercedes all the way to Savannah and back just so she could hang out with her girlfriends for Saint Patrick’s Day.
The fling had lasted nearly a year. And then Dorie, who was only twenty, after all, got tired of playing doctor with a thirty-year-old who wanted her to quit her sorority and instead spend weekends hanging out with him at the country club. It wasn’t until
years
later that she got up the nerve to admit where she’d actually met Howard.
They’d all gone back to the Dunaways’ house after Willa’s bachelorette party; they’d been doing tequila shooters at Spanky’s down on River Street. It was their own version of Truth or Dare. Of course, nobody else had a story near as cool as Dorie’s.
“I went to the student health clinic, you know, to get on the pill, because Bo and I were getting pretty serious, and I thought only sluts used condoms, but I was terrified of getting knocked up,” Dorie had said, giggling nervously. “And anyway, who do you think gave me my first pelvic exam? Howard! And he was really so sweet, so gentle, you know? Afterwards, he called me into h
is office, and he gave me this very serious talk about the dangers of STDs and all that. I almost died, I was so embarrassed! Then he handed me my prescription and a package with, like, six months’ worth of Ortho-Novum, and he’d written his home phone number on the back of the prescription.”
Howard had been one of the nicer guys in Dorie’s constantly changing constellation of boyfriends. A lot of them had been rats. So when she’d started talking about “the new guy at school”—meaning, Our Lady of Angels, the Catholic girls’ high school they’d all attended, and where Dorie taught English—nobody really thought much of it. Stephen was the girls’ soccer coach, and he taught history. He was lanky and dark haired, with a deliciously dry sense of humor. He wasn’t from Savannah, he’d grown up in Omaha. And he was Catholic, so Dorie’s mother approved. He and Dorie dated for two yea
rs before he finally talked her into getting married.
Dr. Dunaway—Dorie’s mom (she had a Ph.D. in English and always insisted that everybody call her “Doctor” instead of “Mrs.”)—had been so relieved that Dorie was finally settling down, she’d even helped Dorie pay for the wedding.
“I still can’t believe how cheap that woman is,” Julia had complained at the reception, where the alcohol had consisted of jug wine and a keg of Natty Lite. “Remember how she used to make Dorie and Willa use their allowances to buy their own shampoo and tampons?”
So Stephen was nice, but he was still a man, and this
was
supposed to have been a chick trip. Ellis was glad he’d bowed out at the last minute. And she felt guilty for being glad.
“Come on, you guys,” Ellis exclaimed, refusing to look Julia in the eyes for fear of laughing. “It’s hot as hell out here. Let’s get this stuff inside. I want to show you the house.”
“Screw the house,” Julia said dramatically, throwing a garment bag over her shoulder. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m here for the beach. We’ve had a hideous winter in England, and no spring to speak of. Just rain and more rain. So no offense, Ellis, but right now the only thing I want you to show me is the ice, the bourbon, and the beach. In that exact order.”
“You got it,” Ellis said, grabbing a tote bag. “And don’t worry,
Dorie. I even bought you your own bottle of tequila. And I brought my blender from home, just in case, which was a good thing, ’cuz there wasn’t one here.”
Dorie wrinkled her nose. “Actually? Right now I’d settle for another big ol’ iced tea.”
Julia stopped in her tracks. “Seriously? Iced tea? Eudora Dunaway is turning down a margarita? Alert the media!”
Dorie gave Julia a playful kick in the pants. “Hey! You make me sound like a falling-down drunk. It just so happens that I had a serious case of tequila poisoning after a friend’s Cinco de Mayo party, and I haven’t been able to look at the stuff ever since.”
“S-u-u-u-r-e,” Julia said. “Dorie is breaking up with Jose Cuervo. You hear that, Ellis?”
Ellis heard, and she saw the barely disguised suspicion in Julia’s eyes, and she thought—just maybe—Julia was onto something. Something about Dorie was … off.
7
From: [email protected]
Subject: WTF? Fleas!
Mr. Culpepper, you need to get an exterminator over here ASAP. This place is crawling with fleas. Also ants and mildew. And the kitchen faucet drips. Constantly. And the mattresses suck, bigtime. Your website specifically stated that our house would have a “fully stocked kitchen.” In my mind, a fully stocked kitchen includes items such as a stove with more than one working burner and such basics as saucepans, silverware, and dishes. I do not consider five cracked, chipped, and mismatched plates and a collection of plastic NASCAR go-cups to be “serving-ware for eight.” As this is
my third e-mail in the past two days, I’d appreciate it if you would take care of these things, IMMEDIATELY.
Ellis tapped the “send” button and scratched her right knee absentmindedly. Both of her ankles, her calves, and the backs of her knees wer
e dotted with angry red flea bites. She had flea bites underneath her breasts, and flea bites on the back of her neck.
Julia had only a couple of bites, on her ankles, and Dorie didn’t have a single one. But the fleas must have made Ellis’s bedroom their home office, because that first morning at Ebbtide she woke up scratching like a maniac. She’d stared down at the white sheet on her bed, and had been horrified to see a semimicroscopic insect hopping around. “Fleas!” she’d screeched.
She’d stripped her bed of all the linens, taken every stitch of clothing out of her suitcases, even picked up the throw rug on the floor, and washed and bleached the daylights out of everything. But the fleas didn’t care.
When she’d gone downstairs that first morning, Julia and Dorie were already sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.
“Ellis,” Julia said, pointing at the Kaper chart on the kitchen wall. “You’re not really serious about this thing—right?”
Ellis got herself a glass of orange juice and settled at the kitchen table. “Well, now that Stephen and Willa aren’t coming, I guess I’ll have to redo it, but I still don’t think it’ll be too much trouble, not if everybody pitches in.”
Julia stood and pointed at the first line of the chart with her half-eaten piece of toast. She read aloud in a high-pitched schoolmarm voice: “Monday: Julia cooks breakfast. Dorie does dishes. Willa sweeps sand from floors. Stephen takes out trash. Ellis does laundry.”
Dorie pressed her napkin to her lips to suppress a giggle, but after Ellis glared at her, she looked down innocently at her cereal bowl.
“Ellis, honey,” Julia said, nibbling at her toast. “I’m sorry. It’s ludicrous. It really is. This chart thing … what did they call it back in Girl Scouts?”
“A Kaper chart,” Ellis said quietly.
“Oh yes, Kaper.” Julia nodded. “Excellent for eight-year-olds who have to be reminded to scrub their teeth and gather wood for the campfire. But for the love of God! We’re grown women here. I’m thirty-five years old. I don’t need a chart to tell me to hang up a wet towel.”
Ellis felt her face go pink. “I just thought … well, I thought it might help the month go smoother, if things were sort of organized. Unlike you guys,
I’m used to living alone and doing everything myself. I thought the chart would be kind of fun, but obviously I was wrong.” She pulled the whiteboard off the wall and walked rapidly out of the room, her back stiff. A moment later, she was back, but only to pick up her empty juice glass, rinse it out, and place it on the drainboard. Then she stalked out of the room. Dorie and Julia heard the screen door open and then slam shut.
* * *
“Shit.” Julia tossed the toast crust onto her plate. “I’d forgotten how prickly our girl can be. But really, Dorie, it had to be said.”
Dorie picked up both their plates and coffee cups and put them into the sink full of soapy water. “It could have been said nicer. Ellis isn’t like you, Julia. She didn’t grow up fighting and fussing with a bunch of brothers. You really hurt her feelings. And after all the work she did putting this together for all of us. It wouldn’t hurt to go along with her. At least for the first week or so.”
Julia sighed. “Now you’re gonna make me play nice, aren’t you?”
Dorie grinned. “Either that, or you pick up your Tinkertoys and go home.”
Dorie walked out to the front porch, with Julia trailing reluctantly behind. They stopped at the front door and peeked out. The whiteboard was poking out of the top of the trash can at the edge of the driveway, and its creator, Ellis, was sitting on one of the porch chairs, rocking rapidly to and fro, staring off into space. It was a gorgeous summer morning, sunny, not too humid, with banks of high, puffy white clouds overhead.
It was the second day of August, and already they’d started to bicker.
“Come on, Ellis,” Dorie coaxed. “Don’t be mad. Julia didn’t mean anything by it.” She turned and glared at Julia. “Did you, Julia?”
“Julia’s a bitch,” Julia whispered loudly, poking her head out the door. She tiptoed onto the porch and stood behind Ellis’s chair. “And just for that, Julia’s going to have to clean the latrines for the whole month, right, Dorie?”
Dorie sat down on the rocker next to Ellis’s. “Absolutely.
And
she gets no s’mores. Ever.”
Julia knelt down on the floor on the other side of Ellis. She w
rapped her arms around her friend’s waist and laid her head on Ellis’s lap. “Julia’s sorry,” she said in a little tiny mouse voice. “She loves Ellie-Belly and doesn’t ever want to hurt her friend’s feelings.”
Ellis suppressed a smile. She patted Julia’s head and then gave it a sharp thump. “Get up, you nutjob. And don’t think you’re going to get out of cooking my dinner tonight, either.”
Julia groaned. “Thank God. My knees are killing me.” She flopped down into the other rocking chair. “So what should we do today? Our first whole day at the beach? Bike ride? Shopping? Hang gliding over at Jockey’s Ridge? I saw a brochure for the most marvelous-looking school where they actually teach you to hang glide. Remember that time we all went bungee jumping at Myrtle Beach?”
“You and Dorie went bungee jumping,” Ellis corrected. “I couldn’t even watch. I was petrified you’d be killed, and I’d have to explain to your mothers what happened.”
“Nah, you were just scared if we got killed you’d have to go home alone and drive over the Talmadge bridge all by yourself,” Julia taunted.
“True,” Ellis admitted.
“Why don’t we just hang at the beach here?” Dorie asked.
The others turned to look at her in surprise. Dorie had never been one to pass up an adventure.
“What?” she said innocently, catching their meaning. “Why do we have to do anything at all? I’m just enjoying being here, spending time with you guys. Anyway, hang gliding is expensive. You forget, I’m living on a schoolteacher’s salary. A private school too—which doesn’t pay diddly, I might add.”
Ellis jumped to her feet. “Dorie’s right,” she said. “This is perfect beach weather. I’m gonna go put on my suit. If nothing else, maybe the saltwater will heal my flea bites.”
