The Strangers on Montagu Street (17 page)
Read The Strangers on Montagu Street Online
Authors: Karen White
Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction
The man assigned as our guide, Lew, began handing out the bright orange life vests to the people on the dock, assessing the kayakers for size with practiced eyes. There were several groups bunched together to get outfitted before going on their respective tours, and I had somehow managed to end up at the rear of the line. When Lew reached me, he paused. “We’re out of adult vests, but I think this children’s one should fit you.”
I heard a snort behind me, and I turned to find both Nola and Jack smirking at me. Alston had the decency to look away as if she hadn’t just overheard that humiliating exchange. I grabbed the offensive life jacket and put it on, trying to remember what Lew had told us about how to fasten all the straps correctly.
“Can I help?”
Even though Jack’s eyes were partially hidden behind sunglasses, I imagined I could see them laughing. “No. I think I’d rather it fall off and me drown, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He moved over to Alston and Nola, who’d done a pretty good job of strapping themselves in, and Jack just had to tighten and test the snugness and fastenings. When he turned back to me, I’d managed to converge all the straps into the front in one massive knot.
“Still don’t want my help?”
I looked around for Lew, but he was busy with a couple of newlyweds who’d somehow managed—intentionally or not—to attach their life jackets together. Giving one last ineffectual tug at the knot, I said, “Go ahead. But if it falls off I’m claiming in the lawsuit that it was intentional.”
Softly, so I was the only one who could hear him, he said, “It’s not a life jacket I’d want to make fall off, Mellie. Now come stand a little closer so I can fix this for you. I promise I won’t bite.”
We stood facing each other, practically nose-to-nose, as he fiddled with the straps on my jacket. I could feel his breath on my face, and the heat of his body, and for an awful moment thought that I might actually swoon. As soon as he was finished I backed away, wondering whether I might already be in menopause to at least explain the powerful hot flash I’d just experienced.
“Thanks,” I said quickly, as I began to make my way to the line where everybody was being handed oars. I stood next to Alston. “So I guess it’s you and me, since it’s two to a boat.”
“No way,” said Nola. “I’m going with Alston. You get to go with my dad.”
I sneaked a sidewise glance at Jack to see whether he looked hurt, but his expression remained relaxed. I assumed his military training had prepared him for dealing with a teenager assault.
“Fine,” he said with a smile. “Your loss. It’s a well-known fact that I can’t go anywhere on the water without dolphins swimming right up to me. Apparently they love me.”
“Really?” Alston asked as she prepared to get into their kayak.
Nola sent her friend a disdainful look. “Please. My mom told me that men will make up anything to impress you.” She accepted the guide’s hand and stepped into the back of the kayak.
Alston looked at Jack, who just shrugged, as she sat on the front seat and gripped her oar.
Jack took my arm and led me to the next-loading boat. “You sit up front. Just be careful getting in. I wouldn’t want you to fall in the water, because I can’t swim.”
I looked back at him in alarm, only to see him grinning broadly. Wanting to wipe it off his face, I said, “I hope my oar doesn’t accidentally slip out of the water and knock you overboard. I’d never see your body floating away.”
There were only four kayaks in our small group, one with the guide and the last one with the newlyweds, who seemed oblivious to everything but each other. We headed out into Charleston Harbor, where we could see Fort Sumter looming like a mirage off in the distance.
“What’s that?” Nola asked, pointing to the Civil War landmark.
Jack answered. “That’s Fort Sumter, where the first shots of the War of Northern Aggression were fired.”
“The what?”
Alston tried to hide her smile as Jack explained. “It’s what the rest of the world calls the Civil War. In polite Charleston society, it can also be called ‘the Late Unpleasantness.’”
Nola frowned until Alston said, “He’s joking, Nola. We haven’t called it that for at least fifteen years.”
Nola rolled her eyes and firmly gripped her oar. The girls struggled a bit at first, unsure as to how much strength each one was putting into each stroke of the oar, or what direction they needed to turn. They ended up ramming into our kayak a couple of times, and I couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or not. They hit the newlyweds and the guide only once each. But each time, Jack calmly offered suggestions, coaching them in a gentle and helpful way that even I couldn’t find fault with. After the first few scowls, Nola began to accept her father’s instructions, and soon the girls were commanding their kayak on their own with very few mishaps.
Watching their struggles made me notice how easily Jack and I controlled our own kayak. We slid smoothly through the water, instinctively knowing when and how much to push, when to turn right or left, when to speed up or slow down. I only hoped Jack hadn’t noticed it, too.
“We’ve got a great rhythm going on, Mellie. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”
“Hm,” I said, paying great interest to Lew as we drew up to a rookery where hundreds of birds, including blue herons and brown pelicans, speckled the sky and took turns huddling and flying, squawking in alarm as we approached. The smell of all those bird droppings nearly made me gag, and I wanted to tell the birds that their squawks were completely unnecessary, as the smell alone would keep me—and most other sane humans—away.
Jack continued, his voice low so the other kayakers couldn’t hear us. “It’s like our bodies can communicate telepathically to move in the right direction for optimum momentum. We’re like two spoons in a drawer.”
“More like two negative ends on separate magnets,” I muttered as I stabbed an oar into the water and let it drag, effectively making us turn in a circle. I faced him. “Do you talk like this to Rebecca?”
His eyes were cool behind his sunglasses. “Actually, no.”
Flustered, I turned around and saw that the three other kayaks had moved beyond us, closer to the rookery.
“I miss you, Mellie.”
I began paddling, feeling a heavy drag, and knew he was letting me go it alone. “I’m right here, Jack. And we see each other all the time.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. We’re not through, you know.”
“I don’t think Rebecca would be happy to hear that.”
He didn’t respond, and I didn’t turn around to see his expression. I startled as a sleek gray body glided by just under the surface of the water, parallel to our kayak.
“Is that a dolphin?” I asked, incredulous.
Jack’s dimple showed as he grinned. “Yep.”
I shook my head, staring into the dark gray waves as tiny bubbles rushed to the surface. “I bet she’s female,” I muttered.
“Nola! Alston!” Jack called, getting the girls’ attention, then motioning for them to come closer.
Nola looked skeptical as she glanced at me, so I mouthed the word “dolphin” so she’d understand. They began to paddle closer to us; then Jack held up his hand when their kayak was about twenty feet from us, the spot where I’d first seen the dolphin between us.
“Come on, baby,” Jack said quietly, his eyes searching the water. Five seconds later, not more than four feet from the front of Nola’s kayak, two sleek gray backs with dorsal fins arched out of the water in a synchronized leap, landing with enough of a splash to drench Nola and Alston.
Nola jerked back, laughing hard, then pulled her legs up to a half stand so she could see better.
I heard Jack behind me. “Don’t stand in the . . .”
Again, the two dolphins jumped from the water, a little farther away this time, but surprising Nola enough that she stumbled backward, grasping air, and then tumbled neatly into the water headfirst.
Jack was in the water at nearly the same moment and swimming toward her. Nola stayed on the surface, thanks to her life vest, but she must have inhaled a good deal of water, because she started coughing violently, gasping for breath in between her coughs.
With practiced and controlled movements, Jack came up from behind her and held her head back and out of the water until her coughing had mostly subsided. Then Nola started making an odd sound, and I wondered whether she was trying to cry or shout or scream at Jack. Instead, I saw that she was grinning broadly in a grin that wildly resembled her father’s.
“That was a freaking dolphin!” Oblivious to the fact that she and her father were treading water in the open sea, she craned her head back to see her friend. “Did you see that, Alston? Two dolphins!”
After several attempts to hoist Nola back onto the kayak without rolling it and Alston into the water, Jack finally managed to hold the boat steady long enough for Nola to seat herself inside. He then swam back to our kayak and, after a few harrowing near rolls—which I thought he was doing on purpose to torment me—managed to reseat himself behind me.
Alston wiped the wet hair out of her face. “The dolphins were pretty cool. How did you do that, Mr. Trenholm?”
Nola regarded her father without the usual scowl. “Yeah, Jack, how did you do that?”
He picked up his oar and stuck it up in the air as a signal to Lew that we were fine and ready to move on. “I told you that I can’t go out on the water without seeing a dolphin.” He dipped the oar into the water and pushed. “Like I said, I always mean what I say.”
I stabbed my oar into the water, feeling my cheeks warm as I realized he wasn’t talking about the dolphins anymore.
CHAPTER 10
I
sat in one of the low black leather chairs at Fabulous Frocks on Church Street, an upscale consignment bridal salon, watching as Sophie twirled in front of me wearing a white silk-and-chiffon concoction with delicate beading on the bodice and a train that would have made Princess Diana proud. Maybe it was the worn brown Birkenstocks peeping out from beneath the hem or Sophie’s wild array of braids sprouting from her head, but despite the beauty of the dress it just looked . . . wrong.
sat in one of the low black leather chairs at Fabulous Frocks on Church Street, an upscale consignment bridal salon, watching as Sophie twirled in front of me wearing a white silk-and-chiffon concoction with delicate beading on the bodice and a train that would have made Princess Diana proud. Maybe it was the worn brown Birkenstocks peeping out from beneath the hem or Sophie’s wild array of braids sprouting from her head, but despite the beauty of the dress it just looked . . . wrong.
I looked over at Nola, expecting her to be picking at her nail polish or texting on her new cell phone, but instead found her sitting on the edge of her seat, studying Sophie and the consultant, Gigi, with close interest.
“OMG. This is just like
Say Yes to the Dress!
You know, like when the bride walks out in the dress and everybody’s watching her? Alston is just going to
die
when I tell her. Except in this case, Dr. Wallen, you should definitely be saying no. You look like a poodle at one of those dog shows.”
Say Yes to the Dress!
You know, like when the bride walks out in the dress and everybody’s watching her? Alston is just going to
die
when I tell her. Except in this case, Dr. Wallen, you should definitely be saying no. You look like a poodle at one of those dog shows.”
Gigi and I both blinked silently at Nola, maybe because we were grateful to her for voicing our thoughts out loud, but unsure whether we should saying anything about comparing the prospective bride to a toy dog breed.
Gigi smiled helpfully. “I once had a bride try on eighty-six gowns before she found the One. You’ll know it when you see it, sugar. You will.”
Eighty-six?
We’d suffered through ten try-ons already, and I was starting to think that it was time to ask to be taken outside and beaten senseless rather than face another one. It wasn’t that sitting in the beautiful showroom with its ice blue walls and tall ceilings while surrounded by exquisite gowns was so awful. It was seeing the hopeful look on Sophie’s face change to disappointment each time that was so hard to watch. Sophie was beautiful and . . . unique, and despite Gigi’s best efforts at matching what Sophie
thought
she wanted in a wedding gown, nothing was working.
We’d suffered through ten try-ons already, and I was starting to think that it was time to ask to be taken outside and beaten senseless rather than face another one. It wasn’t that sitting in the beautiful showroom with its ice blue walls and tall ceilings while surrounded by exquisite gowns was so awful. It was seeing the hopeful look on Sophie’s face change to disappointment each time that was so hard to watch. Sophie was beautiful and . . . unique, and despite Gigi’s best efforts at matching what Sophie
thought
she wanted in a wedding gown, nothing was working.
Tears began to well in Sophie’s eyes. “I know. And I appreciate your help. I know this is the place to find my dress—this is the place all my friends have told me has the best wedding dresses—but I just don’t think I can try on any more right now.”
Gigi raised her hand. “Wait—how about one more? I’d almost forgotten about this one, because it just came in and is still in the office waiting to be steamed and tagged. It’s an antique—nineteen twenties, I think—but it’s satin and very simple and elegant. It was found in the attic in a house over on Queen Street, and the new owners have no use for it. Thought that selling it might help with some of the renovation costs.”
“Unless it’s lined with gold bars, I don’t think a dress will help much.”
Sophie shot me a hard look before turning back to Gigi. “All right, I’ll look at it. But it’s the last one today—really.”
I stood and faced the consultant. “Let me see it before you bring it out. I’ll know whether it’s something Sophie will like or not.”
Sophie looked at me gratefully as I followed Gigi out of the room and through a door into what appeared to be an office with a computer sitting on a large desk and surrounded by tulle, satin flowers, beads, veils, netting, and just about every other form of bridal paraphernalia. Gigi motioned me forward and then closed the door behind me. Hanging on a hook behind the door was a garment bag made out of an old sheet, the formerly red roses now faded into a graying pink. As soon as I saw it I smelled the heavy scent of gardenias, almost as if somebody had just wafted a bouquet underneath my nose.
Other books
Alpha Fighter by Ava Ashley
Pillow Talk by Hailey North
Affair by Amanda Quick
THE OVERTON WINDOW by Beck, Glenn
Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) by Penny Reid
Water by Hardy, Natasha
The Bond That Consumes Us by Christine D'Abo
Shades of Murder by Ann Granger
Rebound Biker by Bijou Hunter
The Ultimate Slut by Michael Scott Taylor