Message in a Bottle (15 page)

Not, of course, that it mattered.

*  *  *

Theresa arrived twenty minutes later, dressed in shorts and a low-necked sleeveless blouse that did wonderful things for her figure. When she entered the shop, both Ian and Garrett stared at her as she glanced around. Finally spotting him, she smiled and called out, “Hi,” from where she was standing, and Ian raised his eyebrow at Garrett, as if to ask “What haven’t you been telling me?” Garrett ignored the expression and moved toward Theresa with her jacket in hand. He knew that Ian would scrutinize everything he did and badger him about it later, though he wasn’t planning on saying anything.

“Good as new,” he said, offering it to her when she stepped close enough to take it. While she was on her way, Garrett had washed the grease off his hands and changed into one of the new T-shirts his store offered for sale. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was better than the way he’d looked before. At least now he looked clean.

“Thanks for picking it up for me,” she said, and there was something in her eyes that made the initial attraction he’d felt the day before begin to rise again. Absently he scratched the side of his face.

“I was glad to do it. I guess the wind must have forced it from plain view.”

“I guess so,” she said with a slight shrug, and Garrett watched as she adjusted the shoulder of her blouse with her hand. He didn’t know if she was in a hurry, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to leave yet. He said the first words that came to mind:

“I had a good time last night.”

“So did I.”

Her eyes caught his as she said it, and Garrett smiled softly. He didn’t know what else to say—it had been a long time since he’d been in a situation like this. Though he was always good with customers and strangers in general, this was completely different. He found himself shifting his weight from one leg to the other, feeling as if he were sixteen again. Finally it was she who spoke.

“I feel like I owe you something for taking the time to do this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not for picking up my jacket, but for last night as well.”

He shook his head. “Not for that, either. I was glad you came.”

I was glad you came. The words rolled through his head immediately after he spoke them. Two days ago he couldn’t have imagined himself saying them to anyone.

In the background the phone rang, and the sound of it broke him from his thoughts. Buying time, he asked: “Did you come all the way down here just for your jacket, or were you going to do a little sight-seeing as well?”

“I hadn’t really planned on that. It’s about lunchtime, and I was going to get a quick bite to eat.” She looked at him expectantly. “Any recommendations?”

He thought for a moment before responding. “I like Hank’s, down at the pier. The food is fresh, and the view is out of this world.”

“Where is it, exactly?”

He motioned over his shoulder. “On Wrightsville Beach. You take the bridge over to the island and turn right. You can’t miss it—just look for the signs to the pier. The restaurant is located right there.”

“What kind of food do they have?”

“Mainly seafood. They have great shrimp and oysters, but if you want something other than seafood, they have burgers and things like that as well.”

She waited to see if he would add anything else, and when he didn’t, she glanced away, looking toward the windows. Still she stood there, and for the second time in a couple of minutes, Garrett felt awkward in her presence. What was it about her that made him feel this way? Finally, gathering himself, he spoke.

“If you’d like, I could show you the place. I’m getting kind of hungry myself, and I’d be happy to take you there if you want some company.”

She smiled. “I’d like that, Garrett.”

He looked relieved. “My truck is out back. Do you want me to drive?”

“You know the way better than I do,” she replied, and Garrett pointed the way, leading her through the shop and out the back door. Walking slightly behind him so that he couldn’t see her expression, Theresa couldn’t help but smile to herself.

*  *  *

Hank’s had been in business since the pier was built and was frequented by locals and tourists alike. Low in ambience but high in character, it was similar to the pier restaurants they had on Cape Cod—wooden floors scraped and scuffed by years of sandy shoes, large windows offering a view of the Atlantic Ocean, pictures of trophy fish on the walls. Off to one side was a door that led to the kitchen, and Theresa saw plates of fresh seafood loaded on trays, carried by waiters and waitresses dressed in shorts and blue T-shirts emblazoned with the name of the restaurant. The tables and chairs were wooden, sturdy looking, and decorated by the carvings of hundreds of former visitors. It wasn’t a place that required more than casual beachwear, and Theresa noticed that most of the people there looked as though they had been lying in the sun most of the morning.

“Trust me,” he said as they were walking to a table. “The food is great, no matter what this place looks like.”

They took their seats at a table near the corner, and Garrett pushed aside two bottles of beer that hadn’t yet been cleared. The menus were stacked between a series of condiments including ketchup, Tabasco, tartar sauce, and cocktail sauce in squeeze bottles, as well as another sauce labeled simply “Hank’s.” Cheaply laminated, the menus looked as though they hadn’t been replaced in years. Glancing around, Theresa saw that nearly every table was occupied.

“It’s crowded,” she said, making herself comfortable.

“It always is. Even before Wrightsville Beach got popular with tourists, this place was kind of a legend. You can’t even get in here on Friday or Saturday nights, unless you’re willing to wait for a couple of hours.”

“What’s the draw?”

“The food and the prices. Every morning Hank gets a load of fresh fish and shrimp, and you can usually get out of here without spending more than ten dollars, including the tip. And that’s with a couple of beers.”

“How does he do it?”

“Volume, I guess. Like I said, this place is always crowded.”

“Then we were lucky to get a table.”

“Yeah, we were. But we got here before the locals come in, and the beach crowd never lingers. They just pop in for a quick bite and head back out into the sun.”

She looked around the restaurant one last time before glancing at the menu. “So what do you recommend?”

“Do you like seafood?”

“I love it.”

“Then go with the tuna or the dolphin. They’re both delicious.”

“Dolphin?”

He laughed under his breath. “Not Flipper. It’s dolphin-fish. That’s what we call it around here.”

“I think I’ll go with the tuna,” she said with a wink, “just to make sure.”

“You think I’d make up something like that?”

She spoke in a teasing voice. “I don’t know what to think. We just met yesterday, remember. I don’t know you well enough to be completely sure what you’re capable of.”

“I’m hurt,” he said in the same voice, and she laughed. He laughed, too, and after a moment she surprised him by reaching across the table and touching his arm briefly. Catherine, he suddenly realized, used to do the same thing to get his attention.

“Look over there,” she said, nodding toward the windows, and Garrett turned his head. On the pier an older man carried his fishing gear, looking completely normal except for the large parrot that was perched on his shoulder.

Garrett shook his head and smiled, still feeling the remnants of her touch lingering on his arm. “We get all kinds around here. It’s not quite California, but give us a few years.”

Theresa kept watching as the man with the bird wandered down the pier. “You should get yourself one of those to keep you company when you go sailing.”

“And ruin my peace and quiet? Knowing my luck, the thing wouldn’t talk. It would just squawk the whole time and probably bite off part of my ear the first time the wind shifted.”

“But you’d look like a pirate.”

“I’d look like an idiot.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Theresa said with a mock frown. After a brief pause, she looked around. “So do they have anyone to serve you here, or do we have to catch and cook our own fish?”

“Damn Yankees,” he mumbled while shaking his head, and she laughed again, wondering if he was having as much fun as she was, knowing somehow that he probably was.

A few moments later the waitress arrived and took their orders. Both Theresa and Garrett ordered beers, and after putting the order into the kitchen, the waitress brought two bottles to the table.

“No glasses?” she asked with a raised eyebrow after the waitress had left.

“Nope. This place is nothing if not classy.”

“I can see why you like it so much.”

“Is that a comment about my lack of taste?”

“Only if you’re insecure about it.”

“Now you sound like a psychiatrist.”

“I’m not, but I am a mother, and that makes me something of an expert in human nature.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s what I tell Kevin.”

Garrett took a sip of his beer. “Did you talk to him today?”

She nodded and took a drink as well. “Just for a few minutes. He was on his way to Disneyland when I called. He had early morning passes, so he couldn’t talk that long. He wanted to be one of the first in line at the Indiana Jones ride.”

“Is he having a good time with his father?”

“He’s having a great time. David’s always been good with him, but I think he tries to make up for the fact that he doesn’t see Kevin that often. Whenever Kevin goes out there, he expects something fun and exciting.”

Garrett looked at her curiously. “You sound like you’re not so sure about it.”

She hesitated before continuing. “Well, I just hope it doesn’t lead to disappointment later. David and his new wife have started a family, and as soon as the baby gets a little older, I think it’s going to be a lot harder for David and Kevin to be alone together.”

Garrett leaned forward as he spoke. “It’s impossible to protect your kids against disappointment in life.”

“I know that, I really do. It’s just that . . .”

She stopped, and Garrett gently finished her thoughts for her. “He’s your son and you don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Exactly.” Beads of condensation had formed on the outside of her bottle of beer, and Theresa began to peel off the label. Again, it was the same thing Catherine used to do, and Garrett took another drink of beer and forced his mind back to the conversation at hand.

“I don’t know what to say except that if Kevin’s anything like you, I’m sure he’ll end up all right.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “No one’s life is easy—yours included. You’ve had some tough times, too. I think that by watching you overcome adversity, he’ll learn how to do it as well.”

“Now you’re the one sounding like a psychiatrist.”

“I’m just telling you what I learned growing up. I was about Kevin’s age when my mom died of cancer. Watching my dad taught me that I had to go on with my life, no matter what happens.”

“Did your dad ever remarry?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I think there were a few times that he wished he had, but he never got around to it.”

So that’s where it comes from, she thought. Like father, like son.

“Does he still live in town?” she asked.

“Yeah, he does. I see him a lot these days. We try to get together at least once a week. He likes to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

She smiled. “Most parents do.”

*  *  *

The food arrived a few minutes later, and they continued their conversation as they ate. This time Garrett spoke more than she did, telling her what it was like growing up in the South, and why he’d never leave given the choice. He also told her about some of the adventurous things that had happened while sailing or scuba diving. She listened, fascinated. Compared with the stories that the men told up in Boston—which usually focused on business accomplishments—his stories were completely new to her. He spoke about the thousands of different sea creatures he had seen on his dives and what it was like to sail through a storm that had come up unexpectedly and nearly capsized his boat. One time he’d even been chased by a hammerhead shark and was forced to take cover in the wreck he’d been exploring. “I almost ran out of air before I could come up,” he said, shaking his head at the memory.

Theresa watched him closely as he spoke, pleased that he had loosened up compared with the evening before. She still noticed the things she had last night—the lean face, his light blue eyes, and the easy way he moved. Yet there was energy in the way he spoke to her now, and she found the change appealing. No longer did he seem to be measuring every word he said.

They finished their lunch—he was right, the food was delicious—and went through a second beer each as the ceiling fans whirred overhead. With the sun rising steadily in the sky, it was hot in the restaurant now, but no less crowded. After the bill arrived, Garrett put some money on the table and motioned for them to leave.

“Are you ready?”

“Whenever you are. And thanks for lunch. It was great.”

As they walked out the front door, she fully expected that Garrett would want to return to the shop right away, but he surprised her by suggesting something different.

“How about a walk along the beach? It’s usually a little cooler down by the water.” When she said yes, he led her to the side of the pier and started down the steps, walking beside Theresa. The steps were slightly warped and thinly layered with sand, forcing them to hold the railings as they made their way down. Once they reached the beach, they turned toward the water, walking beneath the pier. The shade was refreshing in the midday heat, and when they reached the compact sand at the edge of the tide, both of them stopped for a moment to remove their shoes. All around them, families were crowded onto towels and splashing in the water.

They began to walk in silence, strolling beside each other as Theresa looked around, taking in the sights.

“Have you spent a lot of time on the beaches while you’ve been here?” Garrett asked.