The Beach House (21 page)

It was half past five on a cool, overcast evening in mid-June and Dunleavy’s Pub was hopping. Crowds of locals peppered with tourists overflowed to the umbrella tables outdoors. Men and women cruised inside with their dogs the way Cara remembered kids cruising with cars. Cara and Emmi grabbed a small wooden table in the corner before a man and his giant black lab could reach it. The race was close but the dog jerked at the chain to sniff a poodle in the lap of another patron and the table was theirs. They ordered their Coronas with lime and hot ‘n’ spicy wings. In a short while the music and laughter of the pub flowed through their veins at a mellow tempo.

Cara had forgotten how funny Emmi could be and how plain good it felt to laugh out loud without thought to who was seated at the next table. Cara was just beginning to get used to this again after such a long time of work-connected relationships. With those men and women—fun and hilarious as they were—she was always “on.” She kept a clever repartee poised on the tip of her tongue and she excelled at delivering just enough personal information to appear forthcoming yet holding back on the real goods.

But with Emmi she didn’t have to paraphrase comments or fill in the missing information. They had shared histories and secrets. They also had a radar for each other’s emotions.

After the wings were polished off and they were on their second round of Coronas, Emmi leaned across the table and asked, “Okay, so what’s bothering you?”

Cara opened her mouth to snap back “nothing” when the truth just tumbled out.

“I spoke to Adele, my friendly headhunter today. She called in a huff asking me what the hell I was doing still on the Isle of Palms.”

“What’s her problem?”

“Me.” She grimaced and looked over at a pair of English springer spaniels gobbling up spilled popcorn from the floor. “I told her to line up some interviews for me, but of course that was before I knew about Mama. Honestly, I didn’t expect that she’d have something so soon. When I told her I was going to be staying here for the summer, let’s just say she wasn’t very happy. But that’s not what’s bothering me.”

“You’re not regretting your decision to stay?”

She sighed heavily. “No, but I am worried. Adele had some very interesting prospects that I’m likely to lose by taking so much time away from the mainstream. It’s a scary place to be. While I’m sitting here on the island, I still have to make my mortgage payments in Chicago and pay the bills that come in every month. And then there’s my image to think about. The longer I stay away, the more it will appear I’ve slunk away with my tail between my legs.”

“Look, sugar, I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but are you for sure going to stay here or not?”

“I told you I am.”

“And you can afford to stay? Without losing your place?”

“Not forever, but for the summer, yes.”

“Then forget about that other crap. Worrying about it isn’t going to change anything, is it? You’re here, and for what it’s worth, I think you made the best decision.”

Cara exhaled a long plume of air.

“I kind of envy you, you know,” Emmi said.

Cara raised her brow and looked at her friend skeptically.

“I mean it. At least you’ve got stuff on your table, decisions to make. For the past few years, I’ve felt as though I’ve been put on hold. I swear I can almost hear the Muzak playing in the background of my life.” She stopped talking when the waitress came to collect their empty bottles and take their order.

“Emmi, honey, is everything okay?”

Emmi waited until the waitress walked away. From the pensive expression on her face, Cara knew that she’d hit a sore spot.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a tone that signaled her frustration. “I’m just lonely, I guess.”

“I thought you were enjoying being alone.”

“I am—sometimes. But it gets pretty quiet. I miss the clamor around the house. I miss being needed.”

“How long will Tom be gone?”

Emmi’s face stilled. “Who knows?” she replied at length.

Cara caught the undercurrent of that comment and gave Emmi a questioning look.

“Here’s the thing,” Emmi said. “About five years ago Tom got this big promotion that involved traveling—and I mean a lot. All over the world. He’s not around much during the year and never in the summer. And the boys got to that age where they just wanted to be with their friends, play sports and get jobs. You know the routine. I was a good wife, staying at home in Atlanta in the air-conditioning all summer waiting for Tom to come home or for the boys to ask for dinner. Then I found I hung around the house the rest of the year, too. I baked a lot, ate a lot, drank a lot of wine and, lo and behold, I gained about twenty pounds.”

They laughed in commiseration.

“When last summer came around and John graduated from high school, it hit me that everyone was busy making plans—except me. So I said, enough of this! I decided not to rent out the beach house and up and took it for myself.”

“That sounds like the Emmi I know.”

“Does it?” She laughed with her eyes sparking. “Maybe. Last summer everything was fun and new. Miss Lovie hooked me into the sea turtles and it really grounded me to being home again. But this year…Something is missing.”

“Tom, for one thing.”

“Yeah, well,” she replied, coloring. She reached for her bottle and took a long sip. Then looking at it she said, “Do you remember when we were kids and played spin the bottle?”

Cara smiled. “Sure I do. Only it wasn’t a beer bottle. It was a Coke. That should’ve been your first clue.”

Emmi looked at the bottle in her hand and Cara could see that her thoughts were traveling years back. She set the bottle on the table and looked up again. “We had all these plans for our future back then. We were bottled up with dreams and excitement and it carried us right through college.”

“What happened then? Did you ever work?”

“Work? Yeah, I worked. In the home.”

“I meant outside the home. At a job.”

Emmi grew defensive. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those boring ladies who think housewives lead empty, wasted lives. I’ve been very busy working and volunteering, and with Tom traveling so much someone had to be at home. At least when the boys were little.”

“Hey, I’m not making a judgment here. I’m only curious. You wanted to be a biologist.”

“You wanted to be a ballerina.”

“That’s hardly the same thing,” Cara replied with a laugh.

“Maybe not.” Emmi’s expression changed and in a sober tone she said, “But we each went on different paths, didn’t we?”

“I guess. We’re not all that different, though. I went to my work, you went to your work. Years passed. And now we’re both forty and we’re wondering about some of the decisions we’ve made along the way. Time is flying by faster and faster. We’re both watching our bodies soften and worried whether the sun will cause skin cancer or if we’re taking enough calcium so we don’t get stooped someday. We’re picking out shoes with the same enthusiasm we used to pick out sexy lingerie. And we’re listening a little closer to talk about yoga, estrogen, collagen, alpha-hydroxy or whatever else will defy aging. And, of course, plastic surgery, even if it’s to lift our boobs and not the face.”

Emmi laughed. “Yet.”

“Yet. And we’re both looking at girls of eighteen, trying to remember what it felt like to be that young.” She looked at Emmi with affection. “And then, suddenly, you run into an old friend who makes you feel like it was just yesterday.”

They clinked bottles and chuckled.

“The way I see it,” Emmi said, “since you
are
here for the summer, you might as well explore a little bit. Spend a little time doing the things we missed out on back when we were dorky kids.”

“Hey, I thought we were pretty cool.”

“We didn’t do anything fun, Caretta. Come on, admit it. We were reverse snobs who preferred theater and poetry, claiming to hate sailing, fishing, golf and all the other outdoor activities that obsessed most of the people around here, especially our daddies.”

“I went out on the boat with Palmer and Daddy lots of times.”

“Sugar,” Emmi said, silencing all Cara’s objections, “have you ever taken a boat deep into the marsh? Or gone crabbing on Capers Island?”

Cara opened her mouth to object, then shut it tight and shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. Neither had I until I had sons who dragged me out there. Man alive, I didn’t know what I was missing.” She sat up and pointed her finger at Cara. “Do you know what you should do?”

Cara looked back suspiciously.

“Go on one of those tour boats. No, I mean it. There’s a good one that goes out to Capers and a whole slew of other places.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you were born and raised here and it’s shameful that you haven’t yet. Besides, what else is on your calendar? You have to be getting bored sitting around all afternoon.”

“I have to admit I’ve been pretty antsy.”

“So, go!”

Cara finally raised her hands and said, “All right, all ready! I’ll take the cruise!”

While she labors, the loggerhead’s eyes stream with tears. These “turtle tears” are produced to rid her body of excess salt from drinking salt water.

CHAPTER TEN

B
eing the tourist season, it was a slow drive along Palm Boulevard to the opposite end of the island. The Marina was a cheery place with an island shop, restaurant and docks. Most of the boats were privately owned and ranged from small powerboats and Jet Skis to big deep-sea fishing craft and yachts equipped for ocean excursions.

She followed a worn path to the docks where she spotted a small wooden office built on pilings. Over it a modest sign read Coastal Eco-Tours. Beside this was a long, covered tour boat with a dozen two-seater benches on either side. A line of would-be cruisers waited to board. It was the usual assortment: a few seniors in Bermuda shorts, assorted out-of-towners with cameras hanging around their necks, and mothers and fathers with young children in tow.

She stood on the dock with her arms crossed trying to decide if she really wanted to join this family affair. Hours stuck in airplanes with complaining children were fresh in her mind. Suddenly, a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw a very tanned, very tall man with auburn, sun-tipped hair and eyes the same color as the faded blue shirt he was wearing.

She could only shake her head and laugh. “You.”

His smile lifted one side of his mouth and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “If you didn’t run off every time I’ve tried to meet you, I’d think you were stalking me.”

“Hardly. But I can’t seem to go near a boat without finding you hanging around.”

His eyes shone with amusement. “I happen to own this particular boat.”

She raised her brow. “
You’re
Coastal Eco-Tours?”

He nodded.

“What about the shrimp boat? Do you own that, too?”

“No. During the off-season I earn some extra cash working on boats and clamming.”

He wasn’t her usual type but, despite herself, she felt the zing of attraction again. And it wasn’t just his rugged good looks. His sexy restraint and old-fashioned masculinity had her blood pumping hard in her veins.

“You wanted to meet me?” she asked.

“Do you mind?”

Wearing sunglasses, she could quickly glance at his left hand without notice. There was no ring on his finger.

“No, I don’t mind. I’m just a little surprised. I was under the impression you found me amusing. Or should I say, rather a joke?”

He looked puzzled.

“Every time I looked at you, you were either smiling or laughing at me.”

Understanding dawned and his blue eyes flashed with amusement. He looked down at her sandals. “New shoes?”

“They weren’t that bad, you know.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.

“Not that I’m not enjoying your company, but aren’t you a little busy for flirtation right now?”

He looked over to see people queuing up in front of the boat ramp. “Come on. You’re here for the tour, aren’t you?”

She hesitated, but he flashed her a full smile that melted any resistance. Telling herself that she was going to regret this, she followed his imposing physique down the ramp.

The line of people inched their way up the dock to board the boat. She took her place in line and watched as he casually stuffed the money into a metal box and wrote down the amounts on a piece of scrap paper. Not exactly high-tech but it worked, she thought, admiring his neatly formed letters and numbers. When it was her turn to pay he said, “No, that’s okay.”

Cara shook her head and pulled out her wallet. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to pay.”

He hesitated, then lifted his shoulders as though to say “As you wish” and accepted her money.

She found a seat in the rear of the boat, behind two middle-aged women who giggled like schoolgirls and whispered loudly how handsome they thought the tour guide was. Cara’s attention, like everyone else’s, shifted to the guide as he leaped from the boat to untie the ropes, then leaped easily back with the grace and finesse of Douglas Fairbanks. Everyone was in a good mood, taking pictures, joking, excited to be out on the water. Cara felt their enthusiasm but sat quietly alone, taking it all in.

Suddenly the big engines churned, the boat rocked, then slowly backed out of the dock. They made a wide turn, straightened, then headed out full speed into the waterway. The children hugged the railing on tiptoes, transfixed by the sight of the glorious sprays of water shooting out a wide wake. The breeze grew stronger and the mood shot skyward. They were on their way!