The Hurricane Sisters (28 page)

“I told Porter I didn’t want to see him anymore but the truth is I’m dying inside. I miss him so bad.”

“No, you’re not dying. You know, I love you like a sister but I don’t like him one little bit.”

She was putting her hair up with combs and clamps. Little tendrils kept escaping but she looked good, like
The Birth of Venus,
the superyoung and supercute redheaded version.

“You have to stop saying that all the time. Besides, he said he was sorry about leaving the way he did. He said I was being hysterical and I guess I sort of was.”

“I worked with Tommy last night and when I told him you broke up with Galloway, you should’ve seen his face.”

“Cookie Boy? Please!”

“If you want my opinion, I think you’d be better off with Tommy or someone like him than Porter Galloway. Galloway’s too weird or something.”

“No, he’s not. You don’t know him. Anyway, he wanted to have dinner tonight and I told him no.”

“Good.”

“Well, I said no because I’m not so sure I still love him after the way he acted last week.”

“No shit! I walked in and found you lying in a pool of your own blood, passed out on the floor. You could’ve been dead for all I knew! And he left you like that? It’s like Ted Kennedy and that poor girl he left in the river!”

“She died and I didn’t and Porter apologized like crazy. He was so upset. You should’ve heard him, Mary Beth. He said, ‘If I only had a chance to do it all over again, I would. Please forgive me, Ashley, you know I love you!’ ”

“He’s saying that because he wants to get in your bloomers.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. I’m just not so sure I can trust him, but I miss him, you know? But I just keep thinking that if I could see him one more time I might get him out of my system.”

“Well, I sure wish you would. Get him out of your system, that is.”

“I think I have to see him one more time to be sure.”

“You just said that. Just watch yourself, Ashley, okay?”

“Should I call him back and say yes?”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

The front door chime sounded, the one hooked up to the alarm system, and I got up to see who was walking in the house without ringing the doorbell. It was almost seven thirty.

“Anybody home?”

“Dad?” I said. I hopped off the bed and raced to the front door. “Hey! What are you doing here?” I gave him a hug. “What’s going on?”

“Well, it seems that your mother and I have had a disagreement. Can I spend the night? Just one night. I’m sure we’ll have it all sorted out by tomorrow.”

“Dad? It’s your house! Of course you can!”

“Thanks, Ashley.”

“Did you eat supper?”

“Yes. I ate with Skipper and Maisie.”

“Okay. Hey, Mary Beth! My dad’s here! Put on your clothes!”

“Very funny!” she called out to us. “Hey, Mr. Waters!”

“Hey, Mary Beth!” he called back.

I knew immediately that Mom’s trip to New York had been a total disaster, especially because Dad was standing in the hall. But I wasn’t going to say one word to him about it. No, ma’am. My lips were sealed. I also felt that having Dad in the house was good because I could have dinner with Porter and he wouldn’t try anything stupid with my father around. Perfect!

“Do you mind if I go out? I sort of had a date.”

“No, no! Of course!”

I went to my room and called Porter.

“Hi, Ashley.”

“Porter? Hey, did you make plans for dinner yet?”

“No. I was just going to get something at the hotel.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Why? Did you change your mind? Did you decide to give me a break?”

“No.” I was ignoring that. “I just didn’t like the way things ended the last time we talked. So do you want to get something to eat?”

“Okay. Actually, I’ve been riding around the island trying to figure out what to do with you. Anyway, I’m close by. Whose car is that that just pulled into your yard five minutes ago?”

“What? That’s my dad’s car. Come in and say
hey!
I just need a few minutes to get myself together.”

“Okay.”

I quickly freshened up my makeup and pulled a brush through my hair. My clothes were fine. I was just wearing a sundress and sandals because it was so hot. We’d probably go somewhere close by that was casual. Most restaurants in Charleston were very casual, and even more so this time of year.

I heard the doorbell and went to answer it after I took one last look in the mirror. My stupid head hadn’t completely healed. I still had a big scab that I covered with makeup. I wagged my finger at my face and started laughing. I was so happy that I was seeing Porter. There had to be a way for us to figure out how to get along. I just needed to be more careful and realize who he was. He had stress I couldn’t even imagine trying to handle, so it really was no wonder he got mad so easily. I hurried to the door.

“Hey,” I said and sort of melted when I saw him standing there. He had on an aqua linen shirt and white linen pants. For once he wasn’t wearing a suit. “You look so nice.” He looked younger than usual but if I told him that he’d flip out.

“Thanks,” he said and smiled. “So do you.”

“Want to come in and meet my father?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

I took his hand and he followed me inside. This time he didn’t jerk away. And I loved holding his hand.

Dad was on the portico, reading and watching a huge container ship sliding into the harbor. He looked at us and stood up.

“Dad? This is Porter Galloway.”

Porter stuck out his hand and made eye contact with Dad, giving his hand a solid shake. It was something I’d bet Porter did a hundred times a week.

“How are you, sir?” Porter said.

“Fine, Porter. You?”

“Just fine, sir.”

Dad gave Porter the biggest hairy eyeball from head to toe I’d ever seen him deliver. It didn’t faze Porter in the least.

“So where are you young people off to this evening?” he said.

“Just going to grab a bite. Probably somewhere on the island,” Porter said.

“High Thyme has crab cakes tonight,” I said.

“That sounds good to me,” Porter said.

I guess my scab must’ve been showing on my head because Dad said, “Glad to see you’re wearing flat sandals, Ashley. You don’t need another head injury.”

“Oh, that was my fault, sir. I should’ve caught her when she fell over the coffee table.”

“Oh?” Dad said. “I thought you said you tripped on your high heels?”

“Over a coffee table,” I said.

“I see,” Dad said, and he knitted his eyebrows, smelling a lie. “Well, try to get her home at a reasonable hour, Porter.”

“I will. It was nice to meet you.”

I could tell Dad was suspicious and Porter must’ve sensed it too because as soon as we got in the car and backed out of the yard, I got another little blast of Porter’s temper.

“You know, you just made me look like a liar to your father when we were explaining how you hurt your head.”

“Look, Porter, my parents asked me what happened and I told them I had a fall because of my high heels. Whoever said anything about a coffee table? You just totally made that up. I don’t even think there is a coffee table in the house. Anywhere.”

“That doesn’t matter. Here’s what you don’t understand, Ashley. This is about my reputation. My credibility is everything. This might sound nuts to you, but if the smallest thing makes someone think I’m lying, then they begin to wonder about everything else that comes out of my mouth.”

“But it
was
a lie, Porter. There was no coffee table.”

“Okay, here it is, Ashley.” We had just pulled into a parking space right in front of High Thyme. “If I say there’s a coffee table, there’s a coffee table. You must
never
say
anything
ever to contradict me. Not the smallest thing. In private? When it’s just us? That’s different. Got it?”

“Got it.”

I got it but I didn’t like it. It would sure make our relationship feel strange. I wondered if Jackie Kennedy ever disagreed with JFK. Probably not. She was the ideal political spouse and I guess that was the point he was trying to make.

I understood what he meant. I read the news. Politics weren’t totally my thing, but I knew enough about these mayors and governors saying and doing stupid stuff and getting caught. They looked like idiots all the time. And then people laugh at them for saying one little careless thing. I mean, you can’t even whisper on television because people can lip-read and catch you saying something really awful like when somebody dropped the F-bomb during President Obama’s inauguration. That was terrible.

“I understand what you mean, Porter.” I said this after I drained half a glass of sauvignon blanc. “If the world is going to hold you to a higher standard than the normal person, then you have to live up to that standard. That’s got to be hard for you.”

“You have no idea.” He said this with such a somber tone. Then he smiled. “How’s your dinner?”

“Wonderful,” I said and smiled back.

“I’m really sorry about the last time we were together,” he said. “I know I’ve said it over and over but I really am. Anyway, I think you need to watch how much wine you drink for a couple of reasons. One, people are counting your glasses . . .”

“Oh, come on, Porter.” That was totally crazy.

“Believe me, they are. They count mine? They count yours. Have one glass and sip it.”

“Gosh, I guess you’re right.” Maybe he
was
right.

“And, two, you never would’ve had the accident if you weren’t a little loaded.”

“That’s true too. I was just looking for courage that night. I didn’t expect a couple of glasses of wine to go to my head like that.”

He leaned back in his chair and stared at me sort of sweetly.

“Don’t worry. I forgive you.”

I hadn’t really looked at things from Porter’s point of view and he was right. Cracking my head open was my own fault. He didn’t pour the wine down my throat. I did.

“Thank goodness!” I said.

“And just what did you need courage for?”

“You know. We were supposed to . . .” Did I have to say it out loud?

“Ah! Well, don’t worry. I’ll let you know about that when the time is right. Now are you going to eat that other crab cake?”

“No, actually, I wasn’t going to. Would you like to have it?”

“Yes, because if you’re going to have fish breath, I might as well have fish breath too.”

“You’re right! It’s delish!” I handed him my plate and took his empty one.

He looked at me with that look guys get when they’re thinking about you naked and right then, I knew tonight was the night. Oh no! Suddenly, I wasn’t ready. I knew he could sense my nervousness.

“Okay, just this once, why don’t we get you a second glass of wine?” he said, confirming my clairvoyance.

He signaled the server who brought the new big glass of wine almost instantly. I didn’t chug it but I didn’t sip it either. Porter thought he was going to take me home and
you know
. Had he forgotten my dad was there? Ha-ha-ha!

Or had he seen my dad’s car drive by the restaurant? Because when we got back to the house, Dad and his car were gone. Yikes.

We went inside. There was a note on the kitchen counter. Porter stood behind me and we read it together.

Dear Ashley,

Went home to Mom. Thanks for everything. Behave yourself, young lady!

Love,

Dad

“What does that mean?
Behave yourself
?”

“It means you have to be a good little girl and do what I tell you to do,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said and walked over to the refrigerator, opening it, pretending to be looking for something. I closed it and opened the freezer.

My dad may as well have been standing in the room with me because if I had ever been excited about being seduced by Porter, that excitement had fizzled out. But not for him. He started making moves.

“Come here to me,” he said and turned off the lights.

“What’s with you and the dark? Do you want ice cream?” I said, trying to ignore the fact that he was about to pounce on me like a leopard. Maybe a little Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey would cool him down a bit.

He was utterly uninterested in ice cream.

“No,” he said, and moved in, closing the freezer door and grabbing my arm.

Okay, now this sounds a little sicko but he twisted it behind my back and held it there while he kissed me. And as knee buckling as his kisses were, he was hurting my arm. I knew there were some people who thought a little discomfort was sexy but I didn’t.

“Porter?” There was no answer. His mouth was working its way down the side of my neck and giving me chills like crazy. “Porter!”

“What?” he said, in a weird sort of drowsy voice.

“You’re hurting my arm! Please stop!”

“Okay. Let’s go. Where’s your bedroom?”

“Porter! Wait!”

He was already pulling me down the hall looking behind doors for my room.

“Come on!”

“No! This is my parents’ room!”

“Oh,” he said and yanked me back into the hall. “Fine.”

“That’s my room,” I said and pointed to the door across the hall.

I wasn’t trying to encourage him, but the last place I wanted to fool around was in my parents’ bed. That’s just me. But at that point Porter would’ve thrown me down on the bare floor.

“Let’s go,” he said and pushed the door open with the heel of his hand. “Get undressed.”

“Come on, Porter,” I said, “can’t we go slower?”

“And do what? Make out like a couple of teenagers on the sofa?” He unbuckled his belt.

“No, I just . . .”

“What are you saying, Ashley? Do you love me or not?” He took off his trousers and folded them across a chair.

“I think I do, Porter. It’s just that this all seems a little rushed and I don’t know . . .”

“You
think
you love me? You
think
? Ashley, are you trying to make a fool out of me?”

Holy crap! Senator Porter Galloway was standing in my bedroom in his boxers! And next he was unbuttoning his shirt . . .