Return to Sullivans Island (26 page)

“Email. Maggie’s all teched up with a new laptop and she sends me prayer chain letters and advice every five minutes.”

“I’ll bet you love that! Next thing you know she’ll be on Facebook spying on everyone. Well, Mike’s completely insane but we had a lot of fun.”

“And his friends?”

“They were cool. He brought this girl who’s dumb as a post, but then he likes his women like that.”

“Should I ask the delicate question?”

Beth knew this was about sleeping arrangements.

“Not unless you want to know the answer. Mike is twenty-six, you know.”

“Well, for God’s sake, if your Aunt Maggie asks, lie like a cheap rug, okay?”

“No problem. Heaven forbid that anyone’s adult children have a sex life.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Everybody except me, Mom. Don’t worry! I’ll wear white with a clean conscience!”

“Of course you will! Okay, I’d better get going. I love you, Doodle!”

“Love you too, Mom! Have fun!”

Beth sank to a kitchen chair and started feeling melancholy. She missed her mother and wished she was on the island with her. She would know what to do about Max and how to handle everything. But this was part of growing up, she told herself. It was normal and natural to have a life separate from your parents. To have to do things you didn’t want to do. To make real sacrifices. To keep secrets from your mother so she wouldn’t worry. Besides, there was nothing to worry about. She had met a wonderful man and he was crazy about her too. At least in the dark. But was he wonderful and did he really care about her, or was he (Dear God, please don’t let this be true and I’ll never ask you for another thing. Thank you, God. Amen) just fishing for her uncle’s support?

All the while Beth sat there, deep in thought, and Lola was positioned right at her feet, mewing like a cat.

“Okay. Come on, Lola. Let’s go for a stroll.”

Lola’s nearly undetectable tail twitched like crazy and she barked in approval knowing exactly what Beth proposed. Somehow, Beth thought, dogs knew exactly how to snap you out of a gloomy mood. All the more reason that everyone should have a dog. They were furry Prozac.

They began their walk by passing Fort Moultrie. It had rained, sprinkled really, and the grass was cool and moist. Lola was so happy to have some time alone with Beth and to be outside again that she almost hopped along the path.

“I forgot my cell phone! Oh, so what? Right, Lola?”

Lola looked up at her as if to say, Please! Can we just have a little peace and quiet here?

It was a gorgeous day with huge white cumulus clouds moving along the brilliant blue sky and the sun was bursting through them in streams of light. Getting outside was good for Beth too. There were things she needed to do and walking Lola gave her a chance to clear her head and organize her thoughts. What was the next article she would write for the
Island Eye News
? She had no idea. What would people say about the one she had written? Probably nothing. What would Woody find out about Max from her Uncle Henry? She couldn’t wait to hear. What was Max doing that minute? Was he thinking of her? She was certainly thinking about him.

She and Lola just ambled along, Beth stopping every few feet to allow Lola to indulge in what seemed like thousands of sniffs. Every time they passed a squirrel Lola almost broke her leash, attempting to go after it. She was bred to be a ratter, after all. But Beth would say, No, no, Lola, you can’t waste your life chasing squirrels, and after saying that six or more times, she wondered if the same rule somehow applied to her.

She had her dream and that was to write. Not poetry, not historical fiction or historical anything. She wasn’t drawn to mysteries or thrillers or children’s books, although children’s books were probably one of the most interesting categories to her. How wonderful it would be to pen a classic that children all over the world would remember as a cherished part of their childhood. When she was a little girl she had loved all the Madeline books, and the Amelia Bedelia and Amber Brown series and of course everything Judy Blume ever wrote. Later on she had devoured almost any book she could lay her hands on, lying on a sofa in their old house downtown or in a hammock at Aunt Maggie’s. They were mostly old classics or
Reader’s Digest
condensed novels whose pages were speckled with mildew from the pervasive damp. It didn’t matter. She loved to read so much she even read cereal boxes.

For years books had been her world. It was no surprise, really. Her mother worked at the Charleston County Library, and she was always bringing her armloads of new reading material. And libraries were such a wonderful thing, she thought. The very idea that you could wander through thousands of books and just choose whatever you wanted to read. As a child she felt a great responsibility to take care of those borrowed books so that another child might find them in good condition. Later on, she began to leave her opinions of the books on notepaper, tucked in between the pages where only the most diligent of librarians might discover them. Sometimes her feelings about a story and how it was written were scathing, and sometimes she couldn’t stop singing the praises of the heroine or hero and, on occasion, the author. Did that mean she might consider a life of literary criticism? She would find out when she got to Iowa, she told herself. But first, she wanted to try to write her own stories, stories of the ilk she liked to read and of which there were too few in the marketplace. So far, she had written zilch except for one article for the paper.

But maybe she would write about falling in love. It was certainly the most powerful thing that had ever happened to her. It changed her worldview in almost an instant. Love wasn’t syrupy, like the cynics and the lonely said. She knew because she had been both and never even realized it. Love was nothing less than miraculous. For the first time in her life, she woke up looking forward to the day with unbridled happiness, instead of dreading all she had to do. Every day was going to be a priceless gift. There was everything to look forward to in her future. She felt like at long last, life was worth all the trouble.

How she would reconcile her love for Max and two years of graduate school a thousand miles away remained a mystery, but considering herself to be from that moment forward a believer in destiny, she knew that unfortunate geographic detail would work itself out too. Finally, she understood what it meant when her mother said,
If it’s meant to be, then it will be.
Actually for the first time, she understood many things that had seemed like so much nonsense to her all her life. She was seriously connected at the heart with another person and it was all-consuming. She could barely have a thought without him in it in one way or another. For the rest of her life and she was sure of it, Max would inform everything she said, did, or wanted to do with her life. And for the tiniest second, she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to have his child in her womb. Wait a minute! Pregnant?

“Whoa, Lola! Your momma is putting the cart before the horse!”

That was one of many old maxims her mother would use when Beth was getting ahead of herself. And intellectually she knew that one insane night spent with Max in one, well, three beds, did not yet constitute a whole life together. But another part of her wished it did.

When she returned home there were two missed calls on her cell phone, one from Max and the other was from Woody. Naturally, she called Max first.

“Hello, gorgeous!” he said.

Beth’s brain turned into mush for a moment until she found the spunk to say, “Excuse me, but you’re the gorgeous one!”

“Let’s not argue over this.”

He chuckled and she sighed.

“Okay. We’ll settle it another time. How’s your day going?”

“Unbelievably busy. Want to have dinner?”

“Absolutely. A girl’s gotta eat, right?”

Boy, that was a really stupid reply, she thought. How about, Love to, Max! Can’t wait to see you again, Max! Or just, What a wonderful idea, Max! Would she ever learn to be just a little clever? Just a dollop of demure, please?

“Right, gotta feed the body. Pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds great.”

They hung up and it took Beth several minutes to come out of her happy stupor and remember that she was to return Woody’s call as well.

She dialed his number.

“Hey! It’s Beth. Sorry I missed you.”

“No problem. How are you?”

“Good. What’s the scoop? Did you find out anything?”

“Yeah, the deal is that Henry isn’t interested in investing. He says it’s just not the kind of thing he does. Flat-out not interested.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I mean, for what it’s worth, I told him I thought it was a terrific deal, that I had met Max, liked him, and thought it was, you know, even in this economy, a good place to put some money. He’s much more interested in this bus company he’s been looking at. It’s been a going concern for decades and makes money year after year.”

“Does he think that Max’s project is too high-risk or something?”

“No, he didn’t even say that. The whole thing is just outside of his comfort zone. He only puts the firm’s money in a certain type of profile, one that he’s really familiar with. You know, where he understands the upside and the downside and all the things that can go wrong. Actually, I understand that because I actually invest for myself in the same way but in other kinds of deals. I like telecommunications and he likes bus companies. What can I tell you?”

“Wow. Okay. So I’m assuming there was nothing else about Max that came up.”

“Nope, just that it was a no-go. There was no reason to begin due diligence. But again, I think Henry is making a big mistake. I’ve been to lots of beach towns along the coast and they all need a little bit of gentrification here and there. Certainly they need more conveniences.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Max is going to be disappointed.”

“Listen, I think the deal’s such a home run that he won’t have a problem finding other investors. Does he have a broker working on it? He should if he doesn’t.”

“Gosh, how would I know? I’ll ask him.”

“Well, FYI, let Henry make the call to tell him. It would seriously annoy him if you told Max before he got around to it.”

“Yeah. No, don’t worry. I’m seeing Max tonight for dinner but I’m not getting involved with Uncle Henry’s business. Not me, honey! He’s got a well-known short fuse. I’ve seen him blow more than once.”

“We all have. Not pretty.”

“That’s for sure. Well, listen, thanks anyway…”

Beth hung up thinking Max was not exactly going to be thrilled to hear this news. She didn’t know how badly he needed the money, but it never felt good to have someone say that your life’s work isn’t worth their serious consideration. In the least case, it would be a disappointment for him. At that moment, Beth did not think there was much she could do except to remain very upbeat and tell him not to worry, that is, if he chose to discuss it with her. She imagined that over the coming years, when they were married, there would be many occasions when she would have to listen to him and sympathize with his business struggles. That was what a good wife did, number one, because you cared, and number two, if a man couldn’t open up to his wife, he would find someone else who would be more than happy to listen to the messy details of his trials and tribulations. She was so relieved that she had the time to think this through and to recognize that this was actually a test of her worth as a partner to him. If he decided to confide in her. Well, if he doesn’t want to tell me about it, I will just have to pry it out of him, she thought.

Then her mind turned momentarily to Woody. Gosh, she thought, he has such a nice voice. And he’s so logical.

She still had the entire afternoon ahead of her and the thought of making dinner for Max presented itself. She could grill a steak, bake a potato, and make a salad and he would probably like that a lot. Or, she could spend the time writing in her journal or perhaps she would try one of her Aunt Sophie’s workouts just for the fun of it. Of all her options, the workout appealed to her the most. Maybe a little exercise would be good for her spirits. She had not looked at one of them since the first or second one had come out when she was still in high school, and she snickered to recall how easy they were.

An hour later, she was soaked in perspiration and in awe of her aunts. They were in some kind of fantastic shape and had some seriously daunting stamina especially considering their age. Mightily impressed, she dialed Aunt Sophie’s number, got her voice mail, and left her a message.

“Heeeey! Here is your niece, Beth the Slug, half dead from doing your cardio DVD. Just thought I’d tell you that I am dripping in sweat and very inspired by my aunts to shape up! Love y’all! Glad I didn’t drop dead! How old are y’all anyway?”

Beth hoped Aunt Sophie would get a laugh out of that and call her back to chew the fat.

Late that afternoon, after her second shower of the day, Beth blew out her hair and dressed for her dinner with Max. She had decided that a restaurant was a much better idea than cooking for him. At least for that night. She’d had so much to clean up from the weekend and then from the chicken soup dinner and the Chinese bedroom fire drill that was last night that she was completely over the thought of washing one more dish or folding one more sheet. Maybe I can convince him to take me to Station 22 Restaurant, she thought.

By seven-thirty that night, Beth and Max moved from the bar area and sat opposite each other in a booth in the back of the restaurant. They sipped on vodka and tonics, after Bridget the dazzlingly pretty bartender checked Beth’s driver’s license and gave Max a hairy eyeball for the obvious reason. They held hands across the table while he nibbled and she devoured the hot cheese bread, waiting for their appetizers to arrive. Beth had ordered a special salad and Max, mindful of passing along a shellfish allergic reaction with even one kiss, ordered the duck quesadillas. They were both having steaks, medium rare.

As far as Beth was concerned there was not one other person there in the restaurant except them. But every other minute Max’s eyes scanned the room. His inattention bothered her but it wasn’t worth making an issue of it. She didn’t want to be That Nag and she guessed he had spoken to her Uncle Henry, who probably dropped the no-money bomb.