Return to Sullivans Island (33 page)

Woody Morrison arrived at his home late Sunday night after watching a tennis match with some friends of his and checked his email. There in the basket of his fax machine was the letter of permission from Beth. It looked fine to him and he wondered what Beth had been through to get her mother to go along with their plan. One phone call and her mother said yes to a hundred thousand dollars? Amazing. Maybe Beth should go into a career in sales!

While undressing for bed, he began to feel some anxiety over the whole thing. He knew there was nothing legally wrong with what he was about to do, but he had never done anything like this without Henry’s counsel. He was Henry’s golden boy. The fact that Henry himself had judged the deal as unworthy of investment for whatever limp reason he claimed, Woody worried that it might seem disloyal for him to steer Henry’s niece toward it. But they had Beth’s mother’s stamp of approval and that was all they needed. He would call his friend at HSBC first thing in the morning and get the transfers and loans settled. Despite the times, Woody’s reputation and track record were platinum and he would get it all done by noon. He was sure of it. Besides, he was so dead in love with Beth Hayes that he would have done anything to prove it, especially now that Max had indicated he would clear the field for him. Woody hoped that all he needed was time for Beth to see how right they were for each other. The last thing he thought about as he pulled his covers over his shoulders was how much his parents would like Beth. They would love her. She was the quintessential girl next door.

On Monday morning, Beth picked up the
Island Eye News
wrapped up neatly in a plastic bag at the end of their driveway. She tore it open, very excited to read her first published article. Right there on the front page was a picture of Max Mitchell and he had never looked more handsome. The headline, clearly written by Barbara Farlie, said
Meet Max Mitchell,
and a subtitle read
Developer Brings Island into 21st Century.

Beth scanned her words and, beyond the headlines, Barbara Farlie had not changed a thing. Beth was thrilled!

“Wait till Max sees this! This is going to bring him so much business! This is wonderful! Holy crap! I’m a real journalist! I’m a paid professional!”

She dialed Max’s cell phone but got his voice mail. He was probably out of range, she thought, and left him an excited message to look up the newspaper online because now he was famous!

The rest of the morning was spent talking back and forth to Woody and faxing signed forms between the banks. As predicted, the deal was done right around a late lunchtime. Woody and Beth were beside themselves with excitement.

“Did you talk to him?” Beth asked.

“Yeah, but only long enough to get the routing information for the transfer. It’s raining like the dickens up there and his phone kept dying. But he’s very happy about the money, that’s for sure.”

“Well, good. I wish he’d call me! I’ve been trying to get him on the phone all morning.”

“He’ll call.”

“I know he will. We’re having dinner tonight.”

“Really? Well, hoist a glass of champagne with my name on it. We’re all partners now!”

“I know! Oh, Woody! This is the most thrilling thing I have ever done in my whole life!”

“You know what? Me too!”

Beth was still giddy when she realized it was four o’clock in the afternoon and still Max had not called. She called him again and this time he answered.

“So, hi! What’s going on? Where’ve you been?”

“Hi. Busy. Crazy busy.”

“Well, you got the money, right?” Max didn’t sound right.

“Yep. Thanks. It makes all the difference.”

“Are you going to make it back in time for dinner?”

“I don’t think so, Beth.”

Now Max sounded parental and his tone was filled with annoyance.

“Why not?”

“Look, I went online on my foreman’s laptop and read that article. Remember I told you not to take my picture?”

“Oh, please, you look like a movie star!”

“Well, thanks, but I really hate having my picture taken and I thought you knew that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t up to me. The editor in chief chose the pictures.”

Was he angry with her over one insignificant photograph?

“I see.”

“So that’s it? A little thanks for the hundred thousand dollars and goodbye?”

“No. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve just had a really terrible day. Really terrible. I’ll call you when I’m on the way back, okay? It will probably be tomorrow.”

“So? No celebration dinner tonight?”

“Nope. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I hope.”

“Hey, I miss you!”

“I miss you too! Listen, what’s your street address in case someone wants to send you flowers?”

She perked up at the promise of flowers from him and gave him the address just as fast as she could spit it out of her mouth. But the flowers would never arrive.

In the meantime, Cecily called Monday afternoon to say she wasn’t coming over. She was fully occupied with Niles in the throes of their new love and he was wearing her out. Presumably and hopefully, she was doing the same to him.

“I need a facial and a nap,” she said to Beth.

“A facial? Do you know I have never had a professional facial?”

“You don’t need one, honey, with that peaches and cream skin of yours! Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Is everything okay?”

“Of course! Everything is great.”

But everything was not great, and Monday night turned out to be one of the most unnerving nights of her life. Beth called Max every two hours until one in the morning and he never answered his phone. She prayed to God and begged for Max’s safety, and when she couldn’t shed another single tear, she took herself to bed.
Something
was terribly wrong.

Her first call to Max had been prompted by her spontaneous desire just to hear his voice and perhaps have a celebratory glass of something on the phone together. That seemed appropriate, all things considered. But he didn’t answer. Was he out with someone else? Maybe his assistant architect or foreman? So she waited until nine and dialed his number again. This time all she wanted to do was apologize over his picture appearing on the front page of the paper. That had to be why he wasn’t answering the phone. But why would a picture make him so angry? She just didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. But she would apologize anyway and smooth things over. The third and fourth times she called him she was sure he was either in bed with another woman or in a hospital.

To add to her growing frustration, she couldn’t call anyone to say she was concerned about his safety or her money because she had lied to almost everyone about the nature of her relationship with him. The only one who knew all the facts was Woody. If she had called Woody, he would surely have panicked to hear the escalating concern in her voice. The truth was, Beth was worried at a level that would have been impossible to conceal. And after what had transpired between Beth and Woody on the porch that night, she really didn’t want him to see her in doubt over her feelings for Max or Max’s integrity. Since then she had all but declared her choice. Based in part on Beth’s faith in Max, they had signed away a fortune to him just that morning. She knew Woody cared about her and trusted her and those were the reasons why he had moved so quickly to make everything happen. What if she was wrong? What if she was wrong?

15

Bad News

[email protected]

Maggie, Tell me I’m losing it and I won’t disagree with you. I keep having these terrible dreams! Last night I dreamed Beth was standing on the edge of the ocean at Station 22½. She was screaming and screaming over the noise of the ocean, which was churning the way it does when a hurricane is coming. I can’t take this. Something is wrong. Am I losing it?

[email protected]

Quit eating escargots. Snails never did agree with you. What you need is some Bluffton oysters and a good glass of cold white California agricultural product, like Henry would say. Funky food makes funky dreams. Try a little poulet ce soir. xx ooh la la!

I
T WASN’T LIKE
Beth really slept that night, it was more like she tossed and turned, had a fitful nap for an hour, and then woke up to house noises. Yes, the house noises were back and they were the worst she had ever heard. All through the night, the clock chimed, floors creaked, the halls whispered, and occasionally something would slam, like a door or a drawer, or there would be a distinctive sound like the
thunk
of a dropped hammer that would reverberate through the rooms. She would have sworn she could smell the fragrance of Aramis, her father’s favorite cologne. Finally, at six-thirty, she gave up her bed to the day and got up to face the morning. These were dark omens, and as familiar as the islanders were with signs and wonders, Beth didn’t know what to make of it all. Rather, that is, she didn’t want to know.

She pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and decided to walk Lola on the beach. She was so tired. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her hair was a sweaty rat’s nest of mats and tangles. She had not looked this bad since the day after she had her wisdom teeth removed. She washed her face and looked at the dark circles under her eyes. There was nothing to be done about the way she felt and looked except to drink a lot of caffeine and hope that her youth would trump her overwhelming exhaustion.

She hooked Lola to her leash and crossed the dunes, leaving the house wide open, thinking it was well protected by all the dead crazies. Although the day had all the promise of a classic hot and humid summer day—blue skies without a cloud, birds atwitter by the score, rising sun—something terrible was in the air. She knew it just as she knew something was seriously wrong with Max. Where was he? Why had he not called her back? The silence from him was so deafening, she would have believed he was dead because she couldn’t find him in her heart. It seriously frightened and unnerved her.

She wished she could reverse time and go back to the very first day she met him. What was the matter with her? Why had she been so anxious, so
hell-bent and determined
to impress him? Did this relationship happen all because of her own ambition to be recognized as an adult before the world would have offered a ceremony of some sort that opened that door for her? Perhaps. Perhaps it did. Why was she in such an infernal rush?

And exactly what was it about him that she found so irresistible? Why had she fallen so hard for him? He was gorgeous to look at for one thing. Everyone agreed on that. And he exuded confidence, taking charge of every situation. When she was with him, he made her feel alive all over and made her believe that everything was going to be wonderful. He didn’t just look in her eyes like others did. He looked in her eyes with an intense kind of desire that she had never even known existed, as though he could read every thought in her head and knew everything about her that ever was or would be. She didn’t just love him, she idolized him. She loved every whisker on his face and the way they grew and every single curly hair on his head. She loved the way he smiled and smelled and that sometimes he seemed slightly dangerous. If Max had been a drug, he would have been a controlled substance.

The beach was almost empty of people, except for a few old salts tossing tennis balls and Frisbees with their dogs. The tide was going out. Soon, locals and tourists would begin arriving with their children and chairs, umbrellas and coolers, toys and books. They would spend a great part of their day soaking up vitamin D and digging their toes in the wet sand near the edge of the water. Their little ones would build castles of sand and mud and dig moats all around them. When they got hungry, they would eat pimento cheese sandwiches and sandwiches made of pineapple and cream cheese, all on white bread, cut into perfect halves. Their mothers would wipe their faces, kiss their cheeks, and they would run back to play. In the afternoon, they would return home, caravans of families, rinse off under their outdoor showers, and sit on their porches and steps until they were dry enough to go inside without tracking sand and water from one room to another. Little ones, with golden arms and freckled noses, would take long naps under overhead fans, crooked in their beds but fast asleep on their backs like starfish. The adults would continue to read or start supper. Eventually they would all migrate to the porch for gin and tonics while their children played all the old games like swing the statue out in the yard on the grass that glistened with the dew of evening. Later still, all of them would disappear inside for suppers of rice and something else, but always rice.

That life, Beth realized, was the one she wanted. She had dreamed of having something like that with Max, but now, because he had not returned her calls, she feared that everything was in jeopardy. And what did that say exactly, the fact that she feared her whole future hung in the balance because of a few unreturned phone calls? Something way inside her heart knew she had given far too much and received far too little.

Without planning to walk such a distance, she saw she was near the crossover at Station 221/2, which was very close to the construction site. Maybe, she thought, I should go over there, and if Max is around, he can give me a ride home and tell me where he’s been. Good idea, she thought.

So she crossed the dunes for the second time that morning, wishing she had pulled herself together a little better, but then, so what? He knew what she looked like when she wanted to look good. This was the beach, for heaven’s sake, and it was barely eight o’clock in the morning. And she was a fourth-generation Geechee Girl, which required no explanation to the locals.

Once she got away from the sounds of the ocean, she expected to hear the construction crew shattering through the morning quiet with whirring band saws and whacking hammers, but she did not. And then she thought maybe they didn’t start work until a little later and she might see a few guys sitting around eating donuts and drinking coffee from a thermos. But when she rounded the corner, there were no trucks, no noise—in fact, the entire site was deserted. This was strange, very strange. Beth knocked on the door of the darkened trailer and no one was inside. Everything was locked up. What was this? She had goose bumps all over her arms and legs.

Beth couldn’t get home soon enough. She fast-walked, carrying Lola most of the way, with every conceivable excuse for the abandoned site running through her mind. Maybe someone died and they were taking the day off out of respect for the family of the deceased. Probably not. Maybe there was a terrible traffic jam on the Cooper River Bridge and they were just stuck, waiting there for a wreck to be cleared away. Maybe. Maybe the foreman had a heart attack and canceled work for the day. Slight chance of something like that, she told herself, but not very likely.

By the time she got back to the house, she was dripping in perspiration from the threat of panic, humidity, and the rising heat.

“I’m going to put this all out of my mind until I’ve had a shower and dressed for the day,” she said to Lola, and filled Lola’s dish with cool water.

Lola’s ears were flat against her head as she could sense Beth’s distress. Nonetheless, she lapped up an impressive amount of water and followed Beth wherever she went, sitting quietly outside the bathroom door while Beth tried to shampoo and scrub away all her trepidations and watch them disappear down the drain.

As she dressed, she decided to gather up her notes and pay a visit to Barbara Farlie, now that she had a new idea for a piece simmering away. Dropping in on Barbara was a good distraction from the Max dilemma until she could gather more information. It was still early in the day and she felt sure that when she got back to the business district she would see all the workmen hammering away.

She parked her car in the parking lot of Station 22 Restaurant and walked across the street. In less than the hour it had taken her to go home, shower, and dress, the police had cordoned off Max’s entire site with endless banners of yellow tape. Beth became dizzy and nauseated from the stunning surprise of that and for a second she thought she might actually pass out cold, but she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and hurried over to one of several police officers who were milling around.

“What’s happened here?” she said. “What in the world?”

“Crime scene.”

“What kind of crime?”

“Sorry, miss. We can’t discuss it. There’s an investigation under way.”

“But I have a lot of money invested in this…”

“Oh yeah? I’d call a lawyer if I were you.”

“A lawyer? Why?”

“Sorry, honey. I can’t discuss it. As I said—”

But before he could finish his sentence, Beth had spun around and was rushing back to her car as fast as she could. Did he call her
honey
? She didn’t even care.

Her head was throbbing and her eyes were burning with tears again.

“Oh dear God! What should I do? Please! God! Tell me what to do!”

As soon as she got home, she called Cecily, voice catching and hands trembling. Obviously she had to call Woody, but she didn’t know what to say to him yet. Cecily would help her figure it out. She answered on the third ring.

“Cecily? Oh God! Cecily?”

“Beth? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Cecily! I am…I’m in so much trouble! So much terrible trouble!”

“Girl? Are you pregnant? Beth? Are you pregnant?”

“No! No! God! That would be nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! I wish that was all it was!”

“What then?”

“I can’t…it’s so…”

“I’ll be right there! Don’t go anywhere! Don’t do anything until I get there! I’m at Staples and I will be there in ten minutes. Do not worry, okay?”

“Worry? You have no idea!”

“We will get this all figured out in no time!”

“No! We won’t!”

“Yes! Yes we will! Just go sit on the porch and put that little dog in your lap. No, turn on HGTV and see what those crazy real estate people are up to! You know? Watch
Property Virgins
!”

“Real estate?
Property Virgins?
That’s the
last
thing on this earth I ever want to hear about again! Cecily! You don’t understand! I might wind up in
jail
!”

Beth was crying hysterically, gasping for breath, and sniffing loudly. It was all Cecily could do to understand what she was wailing about. But she was certain that indeed something awful had happened to Beth, and before Cecily could figure it out, she was almost on the causeway.
Jail? Jail?
What in the world could she have possibly gotten herself into? She hadn’t even been on the island that long! Then she remembered Max. Very quickly, she put two and two together. He was the guy Beth thought she was in love with and was going to marry! Oh! The poor girl! Sure enough, as she turned right on Middle Street, there was the scene of the crime.

She followed the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit for a few blocks but then realized that every single last officer the island employed, probably including the dogcatcher, was at the site, and who was going to chase her down and give her a ticket? Cecily put her foot on the gas, and inside of two minutes she pulled into Beth’s yard.

Suddenly the house looked old and everything about it was wrong. The shutters were hanging crooked on their hinges, the back steps sagged, and the roof looked dull. Even the landscaping seemed to be drooping.

“This must be very bad,” Cecily said, getting out of her car. “Very, very bad.”

She raced up the steps and burst into the house calling Beth’s name. There was no answer. At last, after searching downstairs, she saw her through a window, holding on to a banister on the porch for support. Cecily could see Beth’s shoulders convulsing and that she was sobbing. She grabbed a box of tissues and went to her. She threw one arm around Beth’s waist and offered her the tissues.

“I’m a dead woman,” Beth wailed, taking two and wiping her eyes. “You don’t know!”

“No you’re not. Now, blow your nose and let’s go inside where the nonexistent-during-the-day neighbors can’t hear us. You’ll sit and figure out how to tell me the whole story while I make us some tea and listen.”

Beth seemed rooted to the porch, unable to budge her feet.

“Come on now. Once you tell me everything it won’t seem so bad.”