The Weekenders (41 page)

Finally she reached the front of the line. The server had his back to her, slicing a charred slab of pork tenderloin. His head and torso were wreathed in smoke that poured from the grill.

“Medium or well-done?” His tongs were poised over the sliced meat.

“Medium, please,” Riley said, extending her plate toward him. Her eyes stung from the peppery smoke. She coughed and blinked and realized too late that the server was Nate Milas.

He was wearing a flowery Hawaiian-print shirt, jeans, and latex disposable gloves, and he needed a shave.

“Want a shrimp kabob?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh, uh, sure,” she said.

“Pineapple salsa?”

“That sounds good,” Riley said. She extended her plate again, and he heaped it with shrimp and grilled fruit.

“Nate Milas!”

Andrea Payne bore down on them like a guided missile. Riley started to escape, but it was too late.

“Is it true then?” Andrea demanded, addressing the server. “About the new marine research facility you're going to build?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Andrea,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, come on now. A little birdie told me you're donating the Holtzclaw property to UNC!” Andrea exclaimed. She turned to Riley. “That was one of the pieces of land Wendell bought, just before he was killed, wasn't it? Isn't it nice that something so wonderful could come out of your personal tragedy?”

Riley felt her face flush deep red.

“Where did you hear that?” Nate asked.

“I have my sources,” Andrea said. “Come on now, don't be so mysterious.”

“I can't talk about it,” Nate said flatly. “And I really wish you wouldn't either.”

“You're just being modest,” Andrea said. “I heard your mother telling Parrish Godchaux all about it at the Mercantile this morning.”

Nate's expression remained deadpan. “Can I get you a shrimp or something, Andrea?”

“No, thanks, I never eat food from a grill. So unsanitary.” She looked from Nate to Riley. “Toodles, you two.”

Nate shook his head. “I don't know who I'm going to kill first, my mother or Andrea Payne.”

“I vote for Barbie,” Riley said.

“Who?”

“That's what we call her. Belle Isle Barbie,” she confessed.

“Why's that?”

“Because she's skinny and has plastic boobs. Don't be mad at your mom,” Riley said hastily. “Parrish told me about the conversation she had with Annie this morning at the café. Your mom was just sticking up for you.”

“How did the topic even come up?”

Riley stared down at her plate of food as she felt her cheeks burn. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I might have told Parrish how angry I was that you were going to tear down the wildlife sanctuary and pave the island. And then, this morning, I guess Andrea was eavesdropping when Annie told Parrish the truth, that you were donating it to UNC.”

“Nothing's finalized yet,” Nate said. “The university trustees have to vote on it, and it'll have to go before the county commission for approval.”

“I think I owe you an apology,” Riley said. She hesitated. “Can I buy you a drink? When you're done here?”

“I'm done right now,” Nate said. There was nobody left in the food line. The platters of food had been emptied of everything but the lettuce leaf garnishes and the occasional lonely orange slice. He set the tongs on the table and stripped off his apron and latex gloves. “Your place or mine?”

 

49

“You seem to forget I don't have a place of my own,” Riley said.

“I don't really feel like hanging around here much longer,” Nate said. “What would you think about going to the Duck Inn?”

“Is that a new bar on the island?”

“It's my cabin. We could go there, unless you think it's too, uh, private.”

“That sounds fine,” Riley said. “Let me just tell Parrish I'm leaving. I need to make sure she gives Billy a ride home. He shouldn't be driving tonight.”

“In the meantime, I'll let Annie know I'm clocking out. Meet you back here in five minutes?”

“Sure thing. Can you do me one favor?” Riley asked, handing him her plate. “Save this for me. I didn't have dinner tonight, and I'm starving.”

*   *   *

She found Parrish and Ed sitting on their beach chairs at the water's edge, holding hands and gazing up at the moon.

How lucky they are,
Riley thought.

“Hello, young lovers,” she said, smiling down at them. “I'm gonna head out. Will you take Billy home?”

Parrish frowned. “You're leaving already? It's not even ten o'clock. How are you getting home?”

“She didn't say she was going home,” Ed pointed out.

“If you must know, I'm going to go have a drink with Nate,” Riley said.

“Doesn't the bar at the Sea Biscuit close down at nine?” Parrish asked.

“Mind your own business,” Riley told her.

*   *   *

“Are you cold?” Nate asked as he backed the cart out of the south beach parking lot.

Riley sat on the bench seat beside him with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest.

“A little,” she admitted. “I forget how fast temperatures drop on the island after the sun goes down. Even in July.”

“Here.” He handed her the Hawaiian shirt Annie had issued him earlier in the night.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling her arms through the sleeves and buttoning it up. Nate immediately regretted his generosity because the shirt covered her lovely bare neck, shoulders, and chest.

“Won't Annie be mad at you for leaving her to do all the cleanup by herself?” Riley asked.

“Her café girls can handle the cleanup. And I'll come back early in the morning to break down the tent and load out the tables and chairs. Anyway, what's she gonna do, fire me?”

“You two seem to work so well together,” Riley said.

“Annie and I have our moments,” Nate said, steering the cart through the dense tunnel of greenery that led to his cabin. “After I'd been back here a few weeks, helping out, she let me know she was quite capable of handling the Mercantile and the ferry without any meddling from me.”

“Was that when you decided to start your own business here?”

Nate turned to look at her. “Can we talk about this without you wanting to throw something at me?”

“Yes,” Riley said solemnly. “I'm ready to listen, if you're ready to talk.”

“Let's wait until we get to the cabin, okay?”

“Sure,” Riley said.

The road veered sharply to the left and transitioned into more of a narrow path. The undergrowth was so dense here that it nearly shut out the moonlight. All around them were night sounds: the thrum of cicadas, croaks and peeps of tree frogs and peepers, and a lonely whip-poor-will.

“I don't think I've ever been to this part of the island,” Riley said. “Where exactly are we?”

“This is Sandy Point, and you wouldn't have been here unless you were a duck hunter,” he said. He made two more sharp turns and finally steered the cart into a clearing.

“Here we are,” he announced.

The cabin was unassuming, built of unpainted cedar. Its foundation sat on sturdy tree stumps, and the tin-roofed porch was held up by stout cedar trunks, bark and all.

Nate got out of the cart and grabbed a backpack, and Riley followed suit. “Watch out for that first step. It's pretty steep,” he warned. She climbed onto the porch, and he held the screen door open. “Welcome to Duck Inn.”

“This is so cool,” she said, turning around in the living-dining-kitchen room. “So, what? Rustic?”

“Primitive? Manly? Barbaric?”

“It's not barbaric at all.” She laughed.

“Make yourself at home,” Nate said. “I grabbed a couple of bottles of wine from the party—do you like white or red? Or I've got cold beer if you want that.”

“White's good,” she said. “Would you mind if I looked around? I've never been in a hunting cabin before.”

“Go ahead,” he said, opening a wooden cupboard to search for something resembling a wineglass. “It's only two bedrooms, so I don't think you need a guided tour.”

The room on the right held two sets of built-in pine bunk beds, but Nate was obviously using it as storage. Neatly labeled cardboard moving boxes were stacked against the walls, and in one corner of the room leaned half a dozen fishing poles, assorted tackle boxes, and two beautiful old shotguns.

There was a bathroom with a sink and commode and a shower stall lined with what looked like galvanized metal sheeting. The fixtures were ancient and rust-stained and the vinyl flooring was peeling.

She crossed the living room to the other bedroom, which he'd obviously fixed up for himself. There was an unmade double bed and nightstands made from upended wooden wine crates. An old pine dresser spilled clothing, and a faded oval braided rug covered the wooden floor. The bathroom was clean but basic.

“I wasn't expecting company, so it's kind of a mess,” Nate called from the living room. “I thought I was going to spend a quiet night at home until Annie shanghaied me into helping out at the party.”

She walked back into the living room, and he handed her a pint jelly glass filled with Chardonnay and gestured to the sofa—the nicest piece in the cabin, it was made of soft glove leather and looked expensive.

“I haven't had a whole lot of time to do anything with the place,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “I was staying at my parents' house, until one day Annie announced that she thought it was absurd for a grown man to be living with his mama. This place was available, and the price was right, so I bought it.” He took a long drink from his bottle of beer.

“I'm in the same position, you know,” Riley said. “Except my mother is delighted to have Maggy and me under her roof—and under her thumb.”

“But it's probably good for Maggy, having family around now, right?”

“Maybe,” Riley said. “I really do admire the relationship you and Annie have. It seems so easy and natural for you to work together. I love Evelyn, but if she and I had to be together in a business, I'd have to kill her for sure.”

“Did you ever think about working in the family business?” Nate asked.

“You mean Belle Isle Enterprises? That was never an option for me. My great-grandfather Riley started the business with his brother, and then when Mama married my father, he turned it over to my dad.”

“And then you married Wendell and your father turned it over to him to run,” Nate said.

“Daddy used to brag that he chose Wendell before I did,” Riley said, swirling the wine around in her glass. “Wendell was already working for Daddy when we met. He used to say he saw my photo on Dad's desk and was, quote, ‘intrigued by my beauty,' end quote. Typical Wendell bullshit.”

“The beauty part wasn't bullshit,” Nate said, touching her chin lightly. “I always thought you were the prettiest girl on the island when we were teenagers, but you're even more beautiful now.”

“You thought I was pretty? That's so sweet. I didn't think you knew I was alive.”

“I didn't pay much attention to girls until I was fifteen, but believe me, I knew who you were. I kinda had a crush on you. But it was clear you were way out of my class.”

“Hah! I guess I was too busy being the super-nerdy Beta Club president-slash-school newspaper editor, until my senior year of high school. But believe me, that summer, all my girlfriends had the hots for the hunky deckhand on the ferry, because we thought you looked exactly like Don Johnson.”

“Who?”

“The guy who played Sonny on
Miami Vice.
You always had that same stubble he had.”

Nate laughed. “That's because I was too lazy to get up in time to shave before I went to work, and my dad wouldn't allow his employees to have beards, because he said only bums had beards.”

Riley sipped her wine. “I was just remembering—that summer, my girlfriends and I would always try to get down to Southpoint in time for either the early-morning ferry or the last one of the day, because we figured out that's when you'd be working.”

“Because I had football practice during the day,” Nate said.

“I thought you were sexy as hell back then,” Riley said.

“I've still got the stubble,” Nate pointed out.

She reached out and ran a finger down the graying stubble on his jawline. “And I think maybe I've still got the hots for you.”

“But earlier, at the Holtzclaws, you accused me of everything just short of burning down this precious island of yours.”

“I know,” Riley said with a sigh. “And I want to apologize for the way I treated you. I've been a total bitch. Suspicious and paranoid.”

“Not bitchy, but you sure made it clear you wanted no part of me or anything I wanted to do here. What made you change your mind?”

“It was something Parrish said. She told me I was bitter and unforgiving, and she was right. And then, when I heard what Annie told Parrish about your donating the Holtzclaw property to the university, it made me realize who you really are and what you want. Why didn't you just tell me that the day we were together?”

“It wasn't a done deal yet. It still isn't. I think it will happen, and I'm excited about it, but it's early days yet. And, let's face it, you wouldn't have believed me anyway.”

“I do now,” Riley said. “Parrish was right, damn her. You do want what I want.”

She inched over beside him on the sofa, until she was close enough to smell the wood smoke on his skin and hair and clothes.

“Riley Nolan. Are you trying to put the moves on me?” Nate pretended to be shocked.

“If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong,” Riley said, leaning in to kiss him.