The Weekenders (53 page)

“Good thinking. So, where will you live?”

“I'll rent something near the village short-term. The season will be over after Labor Day, which is this coming weekend, so prices will be down, and availability should be up.”

“What about school for Maggy? Are you sure you won't have second thoughts about pulling her out of one of the top-ranked prep schools in the state?”

“I'm positive,” Riley said. “Woodlawn is probably great for lots of kids, but not for Maggy. She was miserable there. I've checked out the Baldwin County public schools, and they look surprisingly good. Their test scores are decent, and the class size is even smaller than it was at Woodlawn. And I've been e-mailing with the principal at the middle school. She seems like she's really on the ball. And, anyway, the schools I went to growing up in Edenton were small and rural, and I did okay.”

Parrish dipped her egg roll into the last of the duck sauce. “It sounds like you've got everything figured out. But what about the missing piece in all of this?”

Riley's face clouded over. “You mean Nate? That's a nonissue. This is going to be a big adjustment for Maggy. And for me. Getting us settled into our new lives is my priority. I don't need any distractions.”

“How's it gonna be, living and working on the same island with him?”

“It'll be fine,” Riley said. “I'll make it work. Somehow.”

 

62

Evelyn called bright and early on Wednesday. “Listen, honey, I hope you're planning on coming back this weekend. I want to start getting the house ready to close up for the season, and your brother is no help at all these days.”

“I don't know, Mama,” Riley said, trying to stall.

“Don't tell me you weren't planning on coming at all?” Evelyn said. “You never miss Labor Day weekend. I hope they're not planning on asking you to work at your new job, are they?”

“No, I'm not working,” Riley said.

“And Maggy will be off school, right?”

“Um, yes, she'll be off.”

“Then there's no reason you shouldn't come. In fact, I'd feel a lot better if you didn't wait until Friday. Just come tomorrow, will you?”

Riley had been exchanging e-mails with the owner of a small cottage just off the village green, but they'd yet to agree on a price for a long-term rental. She'd been planning on leaving for Belle Isle on Friday, but if she could get the rental agreement today, it could mean getting a jump on traffic heading out of town toward the coast. The last weekend of the summer always meant traffic would be twice as bad.

“All right, I'll come tomorrow,” she said. “I'll call and let you know what ferry I'll be on.”

“Good,” Evelyn said. “Tell Maggy that Roo and Ollie and I have been missing her. We can't wait to hear all about her new school. And your new job, too.”

“See you tomorrow,” Riley said, shutting down that topic as quickly as possible.

*   *   *

“We're leaving now?” Maggy asked, when Riley woke her up at seven the next morning.

“I packed your suitcase while you were sleeping,” Riley said. “Hurry up and get ready. I want to hit the road before traffic gets crazy. You can eat your breakfast and do your meds in the car.”

*   *   *

Riley pulled to the curb at the ferry loading zone in Southpoint and shook her daughter awake. “Hey,” she said softly. “We're here. We've only got fifteen minutes before it's time to board. I'll unload our stuff now, and you go walk Banksy while I park. Okay?”

Maggy nodded sleepily and collected the dog and his leash.

The ferry was just starting to unload arriving passengers when Riley and Maggy began lining up to board. Families and couples streamed off the ferry, weighted down with carry-on baggage, kids, and pets. She was a little surprised at the number of islanders leaving today. After all, this was supposed to be summer's last hurrah, a three-day weekend.

The horn blew the five-minute warning, and the crowd of departing passengers streamed forward onto the boat. With an eye on high banks of clouds in the sky, Riley herded Maggy into the main-deck cabin.

As the boat lurched away from the landing, Riley clicked the weather app on her phone. The latest bulletin was about what could be expected for this time of year on the southeastern coast.

The National Weather Service is reporting that the second named storm of the season, Tropical Storm Brody, has formed over the eastern Caribbean, as the area experiences winds up to 60 m.p.h., heavy rain, and seas swelling an estimated 15 to 20 feet. Storm projected to track in northwesterly direction over next 24 to 48 hours.

Riley gazed anxiously up at the sky, and then relaxed. Every other Labor Day weekend, it seemed, the National Weather Service issued dire-sounding storm and hurricane warnings, sending newcomers to the coast scurrying for higher ground. But as far back as she could remember, the last hurricane to make landfall anywhere near Belle Isle had been Hurricane Floyd. What year had that been? She Googled it, and the answer was reassuring. It had been 1999.

Maggy sat up on the bench, took out her iPod earbuds, and set Mr. Banks on the floor. “Mom? Is it okay if I go get something at the concession stand?”

“I packed snacks in your bag,” Riley said, looking up from her online search of hurricane statistics.

“I mean something good, like a barbecue sandwich maybe. Okay?”

Riley took a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook and handed it over. “Okay, but I want you to…”

“Mooom! I know what to do? Okay? I'm not gonna screw up and get sick again. I promise. So, will you quit telling me what to do? I'll test my blood. I'll take my insulin. And you don't have to remind me. Every. Single. Time.”

“Sorry,” Riley said. “I'll try not to be such a helicopter mom.”

*   *   *

She clipped the leash to the puppy's collar and walked out to the observation deck. Leaning over the rail, Riley could just spot the silhouette of Big Belle on the horizon. She glanced upward, toward the pilothouse, but the sun's glare obscured her view. Not that she cared, she told herself.

Maggy was back, happily licking barbecue sauce from her fingers as Riley reclaimed her seat. “I spotted the lighthouse before you did,” Riley said gleefully. “I win.”

“And I spotted your boyfriend,” Maggy said. “He was going up the stairs to the pilothouse.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Riley said quickly, feeling heat seeping into her cheeks.

Maggy gave her an appraising look. “What if I said maybe he's not as bad as I thought?”

“Really? What made you change your mind?”

“When we were in Raleigh, seeing how depressed you were, it made me sad. And I remembered how happy you were, when you were with him, before I got sick. Remember how you asked me if I didn't want to see you happy again? I think now, maybe if Nate makes you happy, that's a good thing.”

Riley gave her daughter a light kiss on the cheek. “That's very sweet, Mags. Unfortunately, it's too late. He's a nice man, but the timing is all wrong.”

*   *   *

She called Billy but there was no answer. A minute later, he called back. “Are you coming this weekend? Mama's all worked up about closing the house for the season.”

“I'm on the ferry, about to dock now. Can you come pick us up?”

“Now? I was kind of in the middle of something. Can't you call Mama? Or just take the shuttle?”

“I could, but I really need to talk to you about something pretty important. So, can you come?”

*   *   *

They waited at the curb at the loading area for ten minutes before Billy Nolan zoomed up in his cart. He jumped out and hugged Maggy. “We've missed you!” he exclaimed. “How's the new school?”

“That's kind of a long story,” Riley said, as they loaded their luggage onto the cart. As they pulled away from the ferry dock he took a sip from his insulated tumbler, and Riley looked away, annoyed. She had a very good idea of what he'd been busy with when she called.

“What's so important that you needed to talk to me about?” he asked.

“Guess what, Bebo? I quit my school,” Maggy said, temporarily removing her earbuds. “And Mom quit her job. And I'm going to school in Southpoint.”

“Whaaaat?”

“It's true,” Riley said. “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.” She told him, in the broadest strokes, about the plan she'd drawn up for their future.

Billy listened, but looked skeptical. “It sounds fine, theoretically, but do you really think you're up for something like this? I mean, your background is journalism, not real estate. And what's Mama going to say?”

“I can do this, Billy. I know I can,” she said. “For the past few weeks, I've been doing a lot of soul-searching. And research. I've read up on small family-owned resort businesses like ours, and I've even talked to some people in the business. And who better to do it than me? I've loved this island my whole life, and I've watched Dad, and then Wendell running it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I need your help.”

“You think Mama is going to listen to me? Really? Hasn't she bent your ear about how irresponsible and selfish I am?”

“I do think she'll listen to you. You're a part of this family, and you have a vote in how the business is run. Don't you think I can do it?”

“I don't know why you'd want to,” he said, sounding irritated. “The company is on the skids, if you haven't noticed. Wendell gambled everything and lost big, and we've got all kinds of vacancies in the village. Cut your losses, Riley. Let somebody else deal with all the headaches.”

“There
is
nobody else,” she said heatedly. “Nobody else is going to have as much invested in Belle Isle's future as we do. Please, Bebo? Back me up on this?”

He took another sip of his drink, jiggling the ice cubes absentmindedly. “Okay,” he said finally. “I'll try. Even though Mama stays on my last nerve.”

“About what?”

He jiggled the ice cubes again. “You know.”

Riley glanced at the backseat, but Maggy had her earbuds in again. “I hate to agree with her, but Mama's got a point. I'm worried about you, Bebo.”

“Jesus!” he exploded. “First Scott, then Mama, now you. I wish all of y'all would just lighten up and leave me alone.”

“I don't want to fight with you. When is Scott getting here?”

“Tomorrow, I guess.”

She decided not to pursue the matter. “Will you do me one more favor? Take Maggy and Mr. Banks back to the firehouse with you, and let me borrow this cart? I'm supposed to walk through a house today at two, and if it checks out, I'll get the keys and we can start moving in right away.”

“You mean, this weekend? What about your furniture?”

“It's fully furnished, with everything we need. I'll leave most of my stuff in storage in Raleigh until I figure out our next move.”

“You got it,” he said.

*   *   *

At three, Riley pulled Billy's cart up to the front steps at the Shutters. She found Evelyn in the kitchen, putting a bowl of chicken salad in the refrigerator.

“Riley!” she said, hugging her daughter. “When did you get in? Why didn't you call?”

“I got in a little while ago. Billy was in the village, so he picked me up.”

“Where's Maggy?”

“She's with him.”

“Was he drinking?”

Her mother's directness took Riley aback. She couldn't ever remember her mother even vaguely mentioning Billy's drinking before. But then, denial was Evelyn's middle name. It had only been since W.R.'s death that Evelyn had publicly acknowledged that her son was gay and that Scott was something other than “a dear friend.”

“He had that plastic tumbler. I assume it wasn't water,” Riley admitted.

“I'm so worried about that boy, I don't know what to do,” her mother said, sinking down into a kitchen chair. “I think he might have a problem.”

Riley sat down at the table and took both of Evelyn's hands in hers. She looked her mother directly in the eyes. “Mama, Billy is an alcoholic. We all know it. He knows it, but he won't admit it. We have got to see that he gets help. But nagging at him or giving him the silent treatment won't work.”

Evelyn nodded and bit her lip. “He's been working again, you know. He played at a doctors' convention in Charlotte, and a wedding in Charleston. Your brother has a real, God-given gift, Riley. He just needs to keep busy, that's all.”

Riley took a deep breath. “Speaking of keeping busy, there's something I want to talk to you about.”

The kitchen door flew open and Roo walked in, holding up what looked like a small portable transistor radio.

“Evelyn!” she said excitedly. “I just got an alert on my weather radio. Brody is on the move. It's over the Turks and Caicos right now, and they've got flooding and huge tides.”

“Mary Roosevelt Nolan, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Tropical Storm Brody,” Roo said. “It was just spinning away out there in the eastern Caribbean, but now Jim Cantore says the winds have shifted, and he says we've got a good chance of Brody being upgraded to a hurricane. Isn't that exciting?”

“And just who is this Jim Cantore?”

“He's the Weather Channel storm chaser, Mama,” Riley said. “Roo, does the radio say which direction the storm is headed now?”

“Oh, pooh,” Evelyn said. “Hurricanes. That always happens this time of year. Some silly low-pressure system dumps a lot of rain over one of those islands out in the middle of nowhere, and everybody starts to panic. Those things always peter out over Cuba or the Dominican Republic. And in the meantime, everybody on the coast gets all hot and bothered. For what? A little wind and rain? If you ask me, it's all a ratings ploy for these television people.”