Beach Trip (41 page)

“That’ll take the edge off,” Sara said.

Staying true to your marriage vows was easy, she had found, if you were careful. You stayed on the path. You didn’t deviate. You didn’t listen to your heart when it said,
Step off here. Don’t be afraid; it doesn’t mean anything.

“It’ll probably also increase my chances of falling overboard,” Annie said, grimacing.

“That’s true. If you drink we’ll have to strap you in.”

Not that marriage was easy. Her own had had its fair share of ups and downs. She and Tom had wanted children so desperately, and yet having them had changed everything. The whole dynamic of the marriage went from
What can we do for each other
? to
What can we do for them?
That’s what it felt like sometimes, like they were all in the water and drowning, and with her last dying effort she was trying to shove the children to safety. She sometimes thought that by the time they got Adam and Nicky grown, there would be nothing left of her and Tom but two whittled-down twigs, two emaciated husks.

Not that getting Adam grown would bring much relief.

“Where’s Lola?” Annie asked, looking around.

“I think she’s on the boat.”

Not that she or Tom would ever give up one blessed moment of having Adam as their child. When he was born, they had laid him on her chest, and she had looked down into his wrinkled, chalky face and felt a piercing love stab her heart. She knew then that she would never be the same. He was her own tender heart made visible, offered up to the world with all its terrible possibilities. She was shaking from the anesthesia and from the wonder of it all, and when he cried suddenly, it was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. She cried then, and so did Tom.

“We probably should get on board,” Annie said. She had on one of
Lola’s wide-brimmed hats, pulled low over her ears. She didn’t look like she wanted to get on board. She didn’t look like she wanted to go anywhere near the boat.

“Don’t worry,” Sara said. “You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

When they walked on to the
Miss Behavin’
, Mel was waiting for them on the aft deck. The twin engines had started and were rumbling at a slow idle. A smell of burning oil and diesel filled the air. Captain Mike stood on the flybridge with one hand shielding his eyes, scanning the marina.

“Where’s Lola?” Mel asked, peering behind her.

“What do you mean, where’s Lola? I thought she was with you.”

“I haven’t seen her since we got to the marina,” Annie said.

“Did you try her on her cell?” Sara asked.

“She’s not answering,” Mel said.

April came out of the sliding doors and Captain Mike leaned over the railing so he could peer down at her. “She’s not in any of the cabins,” she told him. “She’s not below.” He walked to the helm and turned off the engines.

Annie put her hand to her forehead. “You know, she was talking on the way over here about getting some bottled water. She kept talking about her mouth being dry. I wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe she walked back up to the marina store to buy some water.”

April and Captain Mike exchanged glances. “I’ll go look for her,” April said, but Captain Mike said, “No, I’ll go.” He bounded down the teak stairs to the aft deck, and stepped over the gangway onto the dock.

“I’ll go with you,” Mel said.

Despite her long legs, she had to hurry to keep up with him. If he appreciated her presence, he gave no sign of it, his eyes scanning the dock and the harbor like a roving searchlight. Looking at him, Mel had a sudden appreciation of how difficult his and April’s jobs must be, trying to keep tabs on Lola. It had less to do with spying, she realized now, and more to do with keeping Lola from falling overboard or hurting herself or wandering off with some psychopathic stranger.

“If you lose his wife, Briggs will not be happy,” she said, trying to be funny but it was apparent from his expression that she was not. “He’s not the kind of guy who’d let something like that slide.”

“I thought you liked Mr. Furman,” he said tersely, staring at the water.

“Who told you that?”

He said nothing. A couple pushing a stroller was coming along the boardwalk toward them, and he stopped and waited for Mel to step ahead of him, single file. “You know, Lola comes down here to get away from Briggs,” she said to him, over her shoulder. “Have you ever thought of that?”

The couple passed and he stepped up beside her again, moving with a long, loping stride. “It’s really not my job to wonder why Mrs. Furman comes down here.”

“No, but it’s your job to report everything she does to Briggs.”

He looked at her now, his eyes a steely gray in the slanting light, and she thought,
I wouldn’t want to make him angry.
“I don’t know you very well,” he said slowly. “But you seem like the kind of person who likes to interfere in other people’s lives.”

“You’re right,” she said. “You don’t know me very well.” Ahead she could see the marina store through a forest of ship masts.

The air inside the store was frigid, and as the door swung shut on her heels, Mel felt the goose bumps rise on her arms. It was obviously one of the older structures on the island and had not been recently remodeled; the lighting was dim, and the wooden floors were stained and warped with moisture. Tall shelves sporting cigarettes, sunscreen, and fishing tackle stood on either side of the door, and along the right wall stretched a long row of coolers. The rafters were hung with trophy fish—marlin, swordfish, and yellowfin tuna—and above a door in the back hung a huge hammerhead shark.

Almost immediately they heard Lola’s soft laughter. Captain Mike’s face relaxed and he let out a slow breath. He stepped ahead of Mel, and she followed him down a narrow aisle that led to the back of the store. Lola was sitting on the checkout counter talking to a boy, who perched precariously in a chair tipped up against the wall on two legs.

Lola smiled when she saw them. Her tinted Oakleys had lightened in the dim interior of the store, and you could see her eyes, blue and innocent, behind the dark frames. “There you are,” she said brightly, as if she had been waiting for them all along.

“There
we
are?” Captain Mike said gently.

Mel shouldered her way up beside him. “Lola, why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going? We were worried. We’ve been standing around in the hot sun trying to figure out where in the hell you were and you
weren’t even answering your cell phone.” She hadn’t meant to sound so short but she was tired suddenly, and hot, and she needed a drink. And Lola stood there looking so pretty and cool, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, that Mel wanted to shout at her,
Do you think you can just run off without telling anyone where you’re going?

“Sorry,” Lola said, not looking the least bit sorry. “I left my phone back at the house.” Her legs dangled from the edge of the counter, and she swung them back and forth like a double pendulum. She pointed at the tall, dark-haired youth. “This is Hunter. He goes to Duke. He wants to be an architect.”

“Hey, how you doing?” Hunter said in a friendly manner.

“Maybe next time you’ll tell us if you decide to wander off,” Captain Mike said.

“Okay,” she said. She nodded her head gravely as if she thought this might be a good idea. “Yes, of course.”

Mel stood there breathing heavily, feeling the sweat trickle down her back. Captain Mike pointed to a cooler at Lola’s feet. “Is that yours?”

She nodded. “I filled it with bottled water.”

“We don’t need bottled water,” Mel said irritably. “April just stocked the galley with more bottled water than we can ever possibly drink.”

“No, not like this,” Lola said, scrambling off the counter. “These have the prettiest labels. See?”

She held one up for Mel’s inspection. “Let me help you with that,” Hunter said, setting the chair down and reaching for the cooler, but Captain Mike said, “No, I got it,” and picked it up before the boy could.

Hunter stood. “There’s a dance tomorrow night at the Beach Club,” he said.

Lola smiled serenely. “Really?” she said.

Captain Mike said, “Mrs. Furman, we need to get back to the boat.”

“I was thinking you might like to go,” Hunter said.

“How nice,” she said.

“She has friends visiting,” Mel said sharply.

“Well, hell, bring the friends,” he said, grinning at Mel. “The more the merrier.”

“The more the merrier,” Lola said gaily.

Mel swung around and headed for the door. Behind her, Lola said, “Bye.”

“See you later, Lola,” Hunter said.

Mel pulled the door open and Captain Mike stepped up beside her, holding it open for them with his back, his hands full with the cooler. He waited until they had stepped through, his eyes fixed on Hunter, and then he turned, letting the door swing shut behind him with a loud bang.

ara and Tom had only been married a short time when they packed up and moved from Charlotte to Atlanta. She had heard about a job from an old law school classmate who’d landed at a midsized firm on the perimeter, and she was suddenly restless and eager to solidify her new marriage with a change of scenery Sara interviewed with the firm, and not long thereafter, sat for the Georgia bar. Two months later she gave her notice at Schultz and McNair.

Dennis was hurt and disappointed, although he acted as if he’d been expecting her to leave. “Something went out of you the minute he slid that ring on your finger,” he said to her one night over cocktails. “You lost your killer instinct.”

“I never had a killer instinct,” Sara said. “That was the problem. I wasn’t dirty and underhanded enough to make a good divorce attorney. I have too many scruples.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Dennis growled.

She laughed and kissed him primly on the cheek. “I mean that in a good way,” she said.

Three weeks later, she and Tom rented a U-Haul, packed up their household goods, and headed south. It was mid-April, and the dogwoods and azaleas were in full bloom. Crossing the Chattahoochee River into Roswell, Sara felt as if her life was just beginning. As if everything she’d ever hoped for or dreamed of was coming true. Tom looked at her and smiled and she pushed over next to him on the bench seat and snuggled up under his arm.

“Happy?” he said, kissing her.

“Yes,” she said. “Very happy.” On the floor, at her feet, Max whined and thumped his tail.

They were traveling up a slight, tree-lined rise toward the square. Roswell was an old town, a suburb just north of Atlanta, and they had chosen to live here because of its proximity to the city and its history and quaintness.

As they topped the rise, they passed the square with its gazebo and memorial to Roswell King. Small shops and cottages stood along the perimeter, which was bounded on one side by a row of tall brick buildings, cotton warehouses originally, from the days when the river barges used to stop at the warehouses and mills, disgorging their loads of baled cotton.

“Just look at this place,” Tom said.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

They turned right past the mill and followed a narrow cobbled street past a collection of stately brick row houses that ran parallel to the river. The buildings had originally been built in the 1840s to house the mill-hands, and had stood for some time empty and dilapidated. They had only recently been remodeled and converted into single-family townhomes. The redbrick buildings, clustered so close to the water’s edge, had an air of melancholy about them, a trace of times long past, of lives lived and lost. Sara felt an instant affinity for the place.

“This must be it,” Tom said, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. Cicadas sang in the trees. The heavily forested banks of the Chattahoochee rose above either side of the swiftly moving river, dotted here and there with houses and buildings that seemed to rise out of the wilderness like an abandoned city. Tom glanced down at her, his green eyes shining in the light slanting through the wide window. “I wish we hadn’t wasted all those years,” he said.

She smiled and put her face up to be kissed. “Here’s to new beginnings,” she said.