Love Deluxe (17 page)

Chapter Thirteen

When we crossed the bridge over the bay driving to Seaside, John was having a fit.

“Whoa, that is beautiful, pull over; I need to put my feet in the water now!”

“Hang on,” I told him, “you haven’t seen anything yet. We’re almost to the most beautiful beaches in America.”

When we turned onto scenic Highway Thirty-A and the white dunes came into view, he rolled his window down and the smell of the sea and native pine trees swept in. We passed through the newer village of Watercolor and at last the pastel cottages, towers and pavilions of Seaside appeared. I drove slowly through the perfect little beach town, pointing out the grassy amphitheater where we would sit in the evenings to watch a play or listen to live music. Then the outdoor market-place with the tallest tower in town and the pavilions that bridged the protected dunes and wild grasses with stairs leading to the white sand and turquoise water. Just off the town square and I turned onto Tupelo Street and into the gravel driveway of the Wild Blue Yonder.

“This is the coolest town I’ve ever seen,” John said. “Man, it doesn’t look real. I love it, look at these houses; they’re like something out of a kid’s storybook. And the gravel paths and pine needles on the ground, it’s kinda old-fashioned and it smells so good, like— salt and sunlight and green trees mixed together. Oh, wow, your house a screened porch and bikes!”

We let the screen door slam, a sound my sisters and I loved, we refused to oil the hinges because it reminded us of our grandparent’s house when we were little. I unlocked the tall glass door and went into the cottage; it was so beachy and enchanting I couldn’t believe I’d stayed away so long. I hadn’t been to the house in more than two years, my sisters, my mother and I were there three weeks before Henry died. It had been almost six months since we lost Brooks and Mother and the sisters had insisted that I come with them, that I could walk on the beach or simply sit in the porch swing and weep and smoke.

I let Maggie and Laura talk me into it but I’d panicked the first night alone in my bed so I called Henry and said, “Please come get me.”

He said he was working on a merger with another architectural firm and he couldn’t get away, I should stay and enjoy my time with the girls. He’d become worse than a workaholic in those last few months, up and out of the house at dawn, already drinking when he came home at night. We’d slipped into our own private grieving spaces while living under the same roof. After that trip I hated him for leaving me in Florida, for not coming to my rescue. The truth was that he’d already tried in the beginning and I wouldn’t let him and when I was ready for him to come to me, he was too far gone.

John was bounding through the house shouting with joy every time he discovered any room or view that he considered shout worthy, which was a lot.

He yelled, “Come up and look at this view!”

I yelled, “Come down and unload the car.”

He got his way and I climbed the stairs to the third floor tower with a sand and sea panorama that never failed to please.

“This is seriously cool,” he said, “I can’t believe you never told me you have a house at the beach and I love this beach and this town and this tower has a hammock!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, it felt good to see the boyish John replace ‘Ace Foster, gambling man’ and I told him so. He rolled his long body into the hammock and had to pull his knees up to fit without his feet hanging off.

“What does that mean, you don’t always like me, buddy?” he asked, pulling me down on top of him.

“I always love you,” I said, “but to say you have multiple personalities would be an understatement.”

“Well, all five of them love you,” he said, grinning wickedly.

“Yes, but will all five of them love me forever?” I asked, only half joking.

“At least three of them will,” he moved his hands under my blouse, trying to distract me.

“Great,” I said, “now I feel safe. Come on buddy, let’s unload the car and get sandy.”

“This suitcase is ringing,” John said, plopping our suitcases in the middle of the living room. I heard it too and it dawned on me that I hadn’t had my cell phone since the first night in New Orleans. I located the bag before the ringing stopped, dragged it into the bedroom, and began digging through the contents. The ringing stopped and then started again and I found the phone in the bottom of my bag.

I clicked on and said, “Hello.”

“Cate, my goodness, where have you been, girl? I’ve been trying to call you for two days, is everything alright? I was fixing to call the police!”

“Linda, sorry, I misplaced my phone, just found it this minute. Hang on, let me plug in the charger it’s about to go dead. Okay, what’s happening, we just got to the beach house, what’s up?”

“Well, honey, I have been sitting here with two offers on your house. They’re both going to expire today, I was about to lose my mind.”

“Are they any good, Linda?”

“They’re pretty good, believe it or not they’re both offering the same amount of money but one has a bunch of stipulations. I know both couples, Cate, and since we haven’t heard from you they’re getting nervous. If we move fast I feel certain we can counter and get close to a number you’ll be happy with.”

Two offers already, I knew something about real estate and I honestly thought the house would sit on the market for a while.

“How much are they offering, Linda.” She told me and I sat silently thinking.

“Honey, did you hear me?”

“Yes, I’m thinking, that’s better than I expected, of course I’m going to counter but it’s higher than I thought we’d get this soon,” I said, feeling my home begin to slip away, another piece of the past gone forever. “Tell me about the people, Linda, do I know them?”

“You might, the couple with all the demands, well, the husband is that lawyer that went to jail a few years ago in that money laundering deal, the wife is alright but he’s a son of a bitch, pardon my French. The other couple is young, he’s an Orthopedic Surgeon, she’s sweet as can be and they have two kids at the Junior School. I think if you come down a little, meet them in the middle on the price, refuse to meet any demands on the one contract, we’ll get the nice couple to sign.”

“Let’s do that,” I said. “Email the contract to me, mark where I need to initial and I’ll send it ASAP. Sorry I was out of pocket, I can’t believe I went two days without my phone, it was kind of nice.” As soon as we hung up I called her right back, “Listen, I want to sell but I’ve met the lawyer and I don’t like him, go back to him at full price and hope he walks away, my house deserves a happy family.”

John finished unloading the luggage and was sprawled on the living room floor, catching his breath.

“You brought everything in all by yourself? I’m impressed, Johnny boy.” 

He shot me an ‘
I’m hurt
’ look and said, “Hey, I’m no stranger to hard work.”

“No,” I said, “but you’re not its best friend either. Come on, the Gulf is calling.”

The air was cool and so clear it seemed to shimmer, the thick humidity of summer blown away by an early cold front. We rolled up the legs of our jeans and walked in the sand, on the surface it was cool but as we scrunched our toes into it, it was warm underneath, the heat of the summer sun lingering just below the surface. The Gulf of Mexico is warm for most of the year, but it had turned cold, it knew winter was coming. Only tiny waves broke against the shore, the water was smooth as far as the eye could see. Fall was one of my favorite times of year in Seaside, the tourists had disappeared, the beaches were deserted and the blinding heat was blessedly gone.

John was in heaven, he said, the water felt fine, it reminded him of days swimming near the Santa Monica pier as a child. He told me his favorite childhood memory of a hot summer day while he and his parents were still living in Los Angeles.

He was about eight years old and his mom had the day off so they drove to Santa Monica with the top down on her car. They were getting by on very little money then and the beach and the ocean were a gloriously free playground. Having his mother away from his father’s ruthless tyranny made her bubbly and childlike. They swam and played games on the sand and in the water until the sun began to set. Smells from a hotdog vendor nearby made his stomach growl but his mom had used the last of her money to buy gas for the car. He ran back into the surf for one last swim and as he swam a dollar bill floated by on top of the water. It was exactly enough to buy two hotdogs. He and his mother sat on the beach watching the day fade away, eating and laughing, marveling at that small miracle, “manna from heaven,” his mom said. It was the best day of his life.

Any beautiful night in Seaside, toasting the sunset at the rooftop bar at Bud and Ally’s restaurant is absolutely required. Even John seemed reverent as the enormous orange globe dipped into the horizon leaving an arch of pink and gold in the darkening sky. We got in the car and drove a few miles west along the coast to Grayton Beach for the special crab cakes at the Red Bar. Other than Shrimp Paesano it was my favorite meal ever, it was only served on weekend nights and in warmer months the waiting line would stretch around the block. Patrons waited for hours for one of the few tables in the funky bar and restaurant decorated like a sixties opium den.

The waiter brought over a large chalkboard with the specials of the day written in psychedelic chalk. We ordered the crab cakes with beurre blanc sauce, field greens with tomato vinaigrette and mashed red skin potatoes. When two linebacker sized portions of food were placed in front of us we swore we wouldn’t be able to finish them, but we did.

When we returned to the house I walked through the rooms, pushing back memories of days spent there in my fairytale past. There were four bedrooms with private baths and a bunk room with beds stacked and lined against the walls for my son and his cousins when they were young. I stepped into my Gulf facing bedroom; it was painted a pretty shade of sea foam with a tall upholstered head board, vintage Audubon’s hung on the walls and photographs of me with my husband and son covered every flat surface. I opened a dresser drawer, put all the family pictures away and went downstairs to unpack my things in Maggie’s room. 

In the morning John slept in so I grabbed a bicycle from the porch and rode to the town center, bought a Morning Glory muffin at Modica Market and sat on the grassy bowl of the small amphitheater to eat. My cell phone rang as I finished the muffin, it was Linda with good news. The nice couple with the kids has accepted the counter offer and wanted to close by the New Year. I said I was glad, they would love the house, that I’d be back in town for Christmas and I could get my things packed and moved to the carriage house then. Christmas, I realized was barely more than two months away and the week after New Year’s would mark three years since I’d lost my son. Reality had kept its distance pretty well in the hectic months since John and I met and married but that certain day in January would always be my worst.

John was on the screened porch lounging in one of the wooden rocking chairs when I rode up on the beach cruiser, he looked serenely happy.

“Whatcha doing, buddy?” I asked. “Did you get worn out walking from the bed to the porch and have to take a little rest?”

“Just kicking back,” he said, running his hand through his hair and stretching his long legs. He looked like a big golden cat, languid and tranquil. “I woke up and my sweetie was gone, where did you go without me? You better not have been cheating on me!”

“I was, with a Diet Coke and a muffin, lying on the grass wishing I had someone to play with.”

“Hey! I thought I was your playmate,” he said, pulling me down on his lap.

I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck feeling the pulse there hot and rhythmically beating. I wanted to tell him that two weeks had passed and we could go straight to bed and have sex until hell wouldn’t have us. But I didn’t, the weather was so perfect I wanted to be outside and share the wonders of that marvelous part of the world with him.

“Come on, I have things to show you, can you ride a bike?”

“Can I ride a bike? I used to do wheelies better than any kid on the block, let’s go, I’m ready. Man, I need some sun, look at me I’m nearly invisible, my tan is fading fast.”

He took off his t-shirt, grabbed a bicycle and was off down the street in the wrong direction as usual.
Wrong Way John
should have been his name. I got on my bike, threw his shirt in the basket and shouted for him to follow me.

We weaved through the neighborhood streets, he marveled at the charming cottages with their varied porches, balconies and whimsical adornments. The picket fences with the name of each cottage displayed,
See View
,
Southern Comfort
,
Lazy Daze
,
Magaritaville
and many, many more.
Beach Music
was his favorite. We parked the bikes and walked through the outdoor market that sold flowy linen dresses, straw hats, sandals and jewelry made from shells. Past shops filled with surf boards, bath products, driftwood lamps and mirrors, slip covered furniture.

He bought a Dos Eqis at the Oyster Bar and we sat on a bench under the tall pavilion looking out over the beach. I told him that area of Florida was known as the Emerald Coast, the water was turquoise because of the white sand and the sand was actually powdered quartz. He loved every detail of the little community where the world moved at simpler pace, where life revolved around a town square, the sand and the sea. We ate fresh grouper po’boys at the Seagrove Market, gathered blankets and a bottle of wine from the cottage and walked to the beach. We spread a quilt on the sand as others were packing their things to go home for the day. The sun had just started its descent and the air was cooling fast.