Return to Sullivans Island (10 page)

“Honey? They are God’s gift to the Lowcountry, ’eah?”

“Yes ma’am. They sure are! It’s all in the dirt. At least that’s what Momma always said. Want a sandwich?”

“No, girl. Those are for you. I’ve got a pile of them at my own house.”

“Well, sit down. Stay for a few minutes. I don’t need any help really. I’m just doing sheets and then I’m gonna do a load of towels. Even I can manage that.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll have a glass of water.”

“Bottle’s in the fridge.”

“Thanks. It’s terrible outside. Humid? Whew! Terrible.” Cecily helped herself to a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water and ice. “Must be a million degrees out there.”

“Truly. I just walked Lola down to the end of the island and she’s probably gonna sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Can’t blame her. So, what are you doing?” Cecily looked at Beth’s laptop screen.

“Résumé. Gotta get a job and fast or else I’m gonna lose it.”

“Humph. This island’s the kind of place you long for, but it’s not so fabulous for solitary confinement.”

“For real. Mom thinks I should bartend at one of the restaurants or be a hostess or something. Meet some people? Get a social life going? But who knows if they even need help? Like a zillion people are out of work these days.”

Cecily pulled a newspaper from her bag and dropped in on the table.

“Want ads. Give them a look.” Cecily snapped her fingers. “Atlanticville is open now. Want to go over there for brunch? Check it out? They have great eggs Benedict and wicked Bloodys.”

“Great idea! Give me two minutes to do something to the way I look.” Beth coiled her hair up into a rubber band, put Lola in her crate with a treat, grabbed her purse, and they were out the door.

Cecily went down the steps and then called back to Beth from the yard.

“Hey, did you lock the door?”

“Twice, okay? No, wait, that’s the stove.”

In just a few minutes they were parked under a palmetto tree and climbing the steps to the second floor of the old island cottage that was home to Atlanticville Restaurant. Bright oils of local landscapes by Caryn Smith hung against the fabric-covered walls in the main dining room, lending an unexpected sophistication. But the floor of the old windowed porch that ran the length of the side of the house was noticeably sloped and hence it seemed a more casual environment, with built-in banquettes lining the walls. It reminded you that the cottage, like all island structures, was built on beach sand and subject to settling this way or that because of the regular occurrence of tiny earthquakes that took place just offshore. Or perhaps the floors were intentionally slanted, allowing for runoff from torrential downpours in the days when the porch walls were defined by screens instead of windows. And of course, there was a large open-air front porch with café tables if you had a sadistic urge for suffocating humidity along with your omelet, which Beth and Cecily did not.

They were greeted by the manager, who looked like he should be in the movies breaking hearts on the big screen instead of saying, “Hey, how’re y’all doing today? Two? Inside or out?”

“Inside, if it’s possible,” Beth said, and thought she wouldn’t mind working for him one single little bit and blurted out, “I can bartend, you know.”

“Good to know,” he said with a huge smile. “Follow me.”

“Very slick,” Cecily said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know. That sounded a little desperate, didn’t it?”

Cecily cocked her head to one side and looked at Beth.

“Hopeless,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Beth said.

He led them to a table, handed them menus, and said, “I hope y’all enjoy your lunch.” He looked again at Beth and said, “Do I know you?”

“Maybe. My family grew up over here, well, not me, but my mother’s family. I just come here a lot, when I was a kid I did, that is. Now, well actually, I’m house-sitting for a year. They’re the Hamiltons?”

“Oh yeah! You’ve got those Hamilton eyes way back there behind those glasses. I think I know your aunt. I’d know that color blue anywhere! I’m Drew Harris. Well, it’s nice to meet you…”

“Beth. Beth Hayes.” Beth shook his hand and said, “This is Cecily Singleton. Old family friend.”

Drew nodded to Cecily and shook her hand as well. “How’re you?”

There were six or eight people at the entrance podium waiting for tables so Drew excused himself. Cecily and Beth looked over their menus.

“What are you in the mood for?” Beth said.

“Eggs Benedict and a Bloody Mary? Isn’t that why we came here? Are you
with
us, Miss Hayes? Excuse me? Are you blushing?”

“I’m just looking over the menu; that’s all. Do you think it would be disgusting if I got a corn dog on the side?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Okay then. I’ll just have what you’re having.”

Of all the peculiar things in the world for which one could have an Achilles’ heel, Beth had an emotional weakness for corn dogs on a stick. She seldom if ever saw them on menus in Boston, even on children’s menus. There was something about the crunch of the sweet fried cornbread contrasted with the mouthwatering tenderness of the nitrate-laced meat that reminded her of the best moments of her childhood. Her father bought them for her at the state fair, and more than cotton candy, they were the ultimate indulgence. Her mouth began to water as she remembered the taste. He would lean down to hand it to her with the stick wrapped in a napkin and warn her to take little bites as it was still sizzling hot.

Beth was shaken from her daydream when a strikingly handsome and very fit young man appeared at their table. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt and black trousers. Alan was his name, he said. He filled their water glasses and put a breadbasket of steaming biscuits on the table along with a slab of honey butter on a ceramic tile. Cecily cleared her throat.

Then, just as their hormones began to recover from the onslaught of biscuits and buns, another man named Robert arrived, who was a dead ringer for a young Cary Grant.

“Can I get y’all a drink to start?” His voice had an interesting raspy quality.

“Bloody Mary,” Cecily and Beth blurted simultaneously, which was better than blurting
Bloody hell!

Cecily wondered if they were male models doing this job for a lark.

“That was easy,” he said. “I’ll get those drinks right out for you.”

“Man,” Cecily said, “did you look at those guys?”

“Stupid,” Beth said aloud without realizing it.

“What’s stupid?”

“What? Oh, nothing. The corn dog.”

“If you want a corn dog, just get it.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Dieting?”

“What? Do I look like I need to diet?”

“No! Of course not! But women are always on a diet, aren’t we?”

Beth relaxed then, thinking it was nice that Cecily referred to her as a woman.

“Sort of, I guess. Listen, this is going to sound really melodramatic or something, but here’s the thing. You know my father died a few years ago?”

“Yes.” Cecily knew Beth was not entirely well adjusted to his death. Despite what had happened Friday night, Beth did not remember that Cecily already knew it. “My father passed when I was not quite sixteen. Leukemia. I thought my momma was gonna go with him. She’s still not over it.”

“Well, my mother got over it in about two seconds.”

“Oh, come on now.”

“I swear. Anyway, my dad used to buy me corn dogs when I was a kid. So, I saw it on the menu and thought of him. That’s all.”

“Beth? Listen to me. People grieve and mourn in their own way. I swear to you on a stack of Bibles that your momma was as sorry as she could be to lose the father of her only child. Word of honor.” Cecily held her hand up as though she was taking an oath. “And I am just as sure she worried the same amount about how you were handling it too. Don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah, I think she did, at first anyway. But when she married Simon, I went off to school and she went off her rocker, like the old people say.”

Cecily giggled, the drinks arrived, and they clinked the edges of their glasses as if in a toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Beth said.

“To rounding the bend,” Cecily said.

“And just what does that mean?”

“Well, you said something about what the old people say and it made me think of what my grandmother said all the time…”

“Livvie?”

“Who else, hmmm? The elders had all these sayings. So, if I was being hardheaded or sassy, she’d say to my mother, Give that chile some time and she’ll come on roun’ the bend. Anyway, you ought to get contact lenses. Use what you got.”

Beth was startled by her non sequitur. Did she look so pathetic that everyone around her thought she needed emergency attention? Clearly no one liked her hair. But she thought for a moment about contact lenses.

“What you thinking, Beth? Man, this is a spicy Bloody! Whew!” Cecily drained her glass of water. “Whew!”

Alan reappeared and refilled her glass. Cecily cleared her throat again.

“Too hot for you?” he said, smiling. “Can I bring you a mimosa instead?”

“Maybe some iced tea?” Cecily said, seeing no wedding band and wondering how old he was and how inappropriate would it be to encourage Beth to flirt with him? “How about you, Beth?”

“I’ll just drink my water and sip this killer slowly.”

Alan smiled at Beth, and although she smiled back, she felt uneasy.

“Sounds good,” he said.

“Who are these guys?” Cecily said. “They weren’t here the last time I was. They are too adorable, aren’t they?”

Beth was glad that Cecily did not linger on what Beth was thinking so she just went with the flow of Cecily’s conversation.

“Too old for me. I’m not looking for a man right now.”

“What are you hiding from, Miss Beth? You’re never going to be this age again. You have perfect skin, a body that’s nothing but walking sin, and some crazy eyes behind those forbidding eyeglasses.”

“Forbidding?”

“Yeah, they say,
I’m a librarian from 1955, no talking! Oh, and P.S., I hate sex.
”

Beth giggled. “They do not. I happen to adore sex—crazy about it, in fact, last Halloween I dressed up as a hooker.”

“I would have loved to see that!” Cecily shook her head and leaned back in her chair as Robert placed their eggs in front of them.

“Can I get y’all anything else?”

No wedding ring either, Cecily noted, and realized the small amount of vodka she had consumed made her slightly light-headed.

“I’m a cheap date,” Cecily said.

“Oh?” Robert said with an expression that registered surprise and confusion.

“Oh! I just meant I’ve had two sips of this, nearly
died
from the spiciness, and I can already feel the alcohol. What’s in this thing?”

“Don’t mind her,” Beth said. “But she had asked Alan for some iced tea. She could probably use that, whenever you have a chance, you know, to bring it out?”

“Oh, sorry. Alan has a mind like a sieve. I’ll be right back!”

“He’s gorgeous,” Cecily said, loud enough for Robert to hear.

As if he doesn’t already know that, Beth thought. She looked at Cecily and whispered, “Look, I might not be the expert in the men department, but I know good-looking guys are nothing but trouble.” Beth took a bite of her entrée and thought, well, Cecily might be a little aggressive toward the male species but she sure knew her eggs. “This is delicious.”

“You’re right.” Cecily raised her eyebrows, sighed, and then pouted. “Besides, he’s probably involved with someone anyway.”

“You mean someone besides himself?”

“Girl? What kind of an ax you got to grind about men? Somebody break your heart?”

“Nope. And they never will.”

After that, they ate in relative silence for a little while. Cecily didn’t want to pry into Beth’s personal life. Cecily could see that Beth was becoming sullen as Beth pushed the remnant of her English muffin around in the little pool of hollandaise sauce.

“Do you want dessert? Want to share something?”

Beth shook her head.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Cecily excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and was gone for what seemed to be eternity.

Alone at the table, Beth reviewed her brief and unspectacular history with the opposite sex. Why she was so wary of intimacy? Was she hiding her looks? Why
had
she never gone to the trouble to wear contact lenses? Did that really matter? Did anyone
really
care about something as insignificant as hair color in 2008? And what was the real reason that there were so few men in her past?

Beth knew the reason. Her heart was numb. Damaged beyond repair, she thought. She also knew that she had better figure out how she was going to support herself, not just in the short term, but for the rest of her life. The stoic in her was making initial preparations to be alone, as her Aunt Sophie was. Sophie was happy, wasn’t she? Would it be the worst thing not to have children? Or a husband? Beth looked up to see Cecily engaged in a conversation with Robert. Robert was preening and Cecily was smiling wide like a big hungry cat looking at a plump canary.

After they shared the bill and left a tip, they got up to leave and almost bumped into Drew, the manager, on the way out the door.

“Hey, Beth? It’s Beth, right?”

“Yeah. Beth Hayes.”

“Well, I don’t need a bartender but it seems I could use a hostess. The one I had just called to say she was going back to college. Want to give it a try? Just Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights.”

“Sure, why not? Thanks.”

“Come in Thursday around five? I’ll show you what you have to do. Piece of cake.”

“Well, look at you!” Cecily said as they got in her car. “Tough interview!”

“Woo hoo! I’ve got a job!”

“Have you ever worked as a hostess?”

“Nope. Have you?”

“Nope, but I imagine it’s a little bit like being an air traffic controller.”

“Oh, big deal. How hard can it be?”

“Well, you’re about to find out.” They pulled into Beth’s driveway and Cecily said, “I’ll see you Tuesday to pick up the bills, okay? If you need anything—”