* * *
But she didn’t head for the beach. Not right away. Something was definitely going on with her sister. She’d been elated, effusive—for Grayson, anyway—but then, suddenly, her mood shifted and she was once again distant and evasive.
Grayson and Tony lived in a two-story colonial revival white frame house in a subdivision called Bay Manor. All the 1960s-era houses were variations on the same theme: bleached brick or wood frame, colonial-revival style with impressive doorways with leaded-glass sidelights and bay windows, two-car garages, and small but immaculate lawns.
Conley cruised slowly past Grayson’s house on Jasmine Way. Kids were riding bikes on the sidewalks, dodging the sprinklers, women were gathering in a neighbor’s driveway, gossiping and sipping from plastic cocktail cups. A father and son were playing catch in the front yard at the house across the street from Tony and Grayson’s.
But there was no sign of life at their house. On a normal day, both Tony’s Lexus and Grayson’s BMW would have been parked in the driveway because the garage was too narrow to fit their cars. Tonight, the driveway was empty, both garage doors closed. No lights burned from behind the windows. More important, the grass was overgrown, and the shrubs were ragged.
Definitely something was off. Tony was famously anal-retentive about his yard, mowing and blowing and pruning and planting every weekend. No stray leaf was ever safe for long on Tony Willingham’s lawn.
It was clear to Conley that her brother-in-law was gone. It was true he traveled for work all the time, but no matter how frequent his business trips, it was a point of pride for Tony that he’d won the subdivision’s Yard of the Month plaque so often, his neighbors had officially declared him out of contention.
Which still didn’t explain why Grayson was sleeping in her office.
She thought back to Kennedy McFall’s chance remark about seeing Grayson at the bar at the country club—the Wrinkle Room, she’d called it.
Conley steered the Subaru toward the Silver Bay Country Club. The golf greens stretched out on both sides of the road, which was lined with moss-draped oak trees. The sun was setting, and the sky was growing a deeper blue. A few stragglers were headed for the clubhouse on their golf carts, and as she turned in to the parking lot, she counted a couple of dozen cars, including Grayson’s BMW.
“Errands, my ass,” Conley muttered. She had half a mind to park, stroll into the bar, and confront Grayson right there. Make her come clean about the state of her marriage.
But she knew she wouldn’t do that. That wasn’t the Hawkins way. In their family, they didn’t talk of such things. Abandonment, betrayal, estrangement, depression? These emotions did not exist in her family. Or if they did, they were tamped tightly down. Way down.
She stopped at the IGA for supplies. The wine offerings were miserable—cheap sauvignon blanc, sour-tasting pinot grigio, and a Riesling so Kool-Aid sweet, one sip would rot your teeth. She’d managed to discover a passable chardonnay, so she piled three bottles in her cart, then headed over to the deli counter, where she picked up some pita chips and her favorite pimento cheese. Maybe she really would take a walk on the beach for a little sunset picnic.
“I’m home,” she called after she’d tromped up the stairs at the Dunes. She found G’mama and Winnie in the kitchen, seated at opposite sides of the enamel-topped table with a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle spread out between them.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Conley said, leaning down to give her grandmother a peck on the cheek.
Winnie held up the top of the puzzle box. “It’s either Venice or Florence. I forget which.”
Conley pointed at the picturesque gondola gliding down a canal. “I’m betting it’s Venice.”
“You’re home late,” Lorraine said. “Is there a big story brewing?”
“The Robinette thing is heating up,” Conley said, unloading her groceries on the counter. “Charlie made an official announcement that he’s running for Symmes’s unexpired term, and then, lo and behold, Rowena ran into Vanessa at the beauty parlor, and Vanessa told her she intends to run too!”
“Against her own son?” Lorraine looked up, startled.
“Sounds just like that family,” Winnie said. She picked up a piece, and her hand hovered over the puzzle as she considered its placement.
“Yup. Did you know Symmes had cancer?”
“No! Where’d you hear that?” Lorraine asked.
Conley found a canvas tote bag in the cupboard and began loading it. Wine bottle, opener, plastic cup, chips, cheese dip, spreader.
She quickly filled the two women in on the day’s developments. “We sent out a digital edition of the Beacon a little while ago,” she added.
Her grandmother looked confused. “Digital? Like television?”
“A little bit,” Conley said. “It’s our print content, but because this is such hot breaking news, we sent it out on the internet to our mailing list. And it’s got embedded video too, thanks to our hotshot young gun, Michael. Here. I’ll show you.”
She reached into her small cross-body pocketbook for her cell phone but came up empty.
“Must have left my phone in the car,” she said.
But a thorough search of the console and the floor of the Subaru failed to turn it up.
G’mama was waiting by the kitchen door when she got back upstairs, holding up her own ancient flip phone. “Sean Kelly just called me,” she said. “You left your backpack—and your phone—at the store today.”
“Thank God!” Conley exclaimed. “I was starting to panic. That phone has my whole life in it. Guess I’d better head back to town to get it, though.”
“No need,” G’mama said. “Sean said he’d just drive it out to you.” She gave her granddaughter an exaggerated wink. “I think that boy’s got a crush on you, Sarah Conley Hawkins.”
“Stop with the matchmaking! We’re old friends, G’mama, and that’s all. I’m going upstairs to change, then. As soon as Skelly drops off my phone, I’m going to go for a walk on the beach.”
“Put on something cute, like a sundress, and do something with your hair,” G’mama instructed. “Sometimes I think you forget you’re an attractive single girl.”
“Lalalalalala,” Conley said, putting her hands over her ears and starting for the staircase. “I can’t hear you.”
“Seems like it’d be kind of rude for you to just grab your phone and ask him to leave after he went to the trouble to drive all the way out here,” Winnie commented. “Your grandma and me already had our supper, but I can warm up something for the two of you, if you want.”
“Not you too, Winnie,” Conley said.
35
Conley didn’t put on a sundress, but she did take the time to pick out a pair of white shorts that showed off her legs, and a scoop-necked coral-pink tank top. She ran a brush through her hair and, in a begrudging concession to her grandmother, put on a pair of dangly silver earrings and some peachy-coral lipstick.
She was in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of chardonnay, when she heard Skelly’s feet on the staircase outside.
“Your boyfriend’s here,” Winnie whispered from her seat at the table.
“Stop it!” Conley ordered.
G’mama moved with surprising swiftness toward the living room and the front door. “Sean Kelly, come on in here,” she said loudly.
She ushered Skelly into the kitchen. He had Conley’s navy-blue backpack slung over his right shoulder and was holding out a bottle of wine.
“I was getting ready to lock up the store, but I kept hearing this buzzing noise. I thought I was going crazy, then I spotted this backpack on the floor by the lunch counter.”
“Oh my God, thanks!” Conley eagerly unzipped the bag and rummaged around until she found her cell phone. The screen was black.
“I think the battery died while I was on the way out here,” Skelly said.
“I’m just glad to have it back,” she said, plugging it into an adapter near the ki
tchen counter.
“I bet you’re hungry after that long ride out here from town,” Lorraine said, beaming at him. “Why don’t you sit right down and let us fix you some supper?”
Conley shot her grandmother a warning look, which was ignored. “Sean probably needs to get back home to look after Miss June, right?”
“Actually, her aide is staying over with her tonight,” Skelly said. “Thanks for the offer, but I already grabbed a sandwich before leaving the store.” He turned to Conley. “But I wouldn’t mind a short walk on the beach.”
She grabbed the wine tote she’d already packed, adding an extra plastic tumbler. “You read my mind.”
* * *
“You look pretty serious,” Conley said as they trudged down the path through the dunes. “What’s wrong?”
“I got the digital issue of the Beacon,” he said. “I guess it took me by surprise. I mean, Gray told me y’all were putting out a special issue, but geez, Conley, that story about Symmes Robinette, dying under ‘mysterious circumstances’ and all that stuff about him giving his farm to his first wife and then Vanessa running against Charlie? Was all that really necessary? It seems like pretty private family stuff to me.”
“He was an eighteen-term member of Congress who died in a one-car crash at three in the morning,” Conley said. “And the medical examiner’s office still hasn’t ruled on the cause of death.”
“You make it sound so sinister,” Skelly said.
“We’ve talked about this, Skelly,” Conley said. “None of what Michael and I wrote is gossip. It’s not conjecture. It’s news. And before you ask, yeah, it is relevant. And what’s news—and especially relevant—is the fact that the family hushed up Symmes’s terminal cancer diagnosis last year so that he could start quietly setting up his son as his anointed successor.”
Conley ticked off the talking points she’d used to persuade Grayson that the stories were credible, relevant, and important to their community.
But Skelly still didn’t look convinced.
“Are you regretting your decision to make that ad buy with the Beacon?”
“Maybe I’m just not used to seeing anything controversial in the paper,” Skelly admitted. “But I will say I think the ad should bring in some new business for Kelly’s Drugs. Besides, if I want folks in Silver Bay to shop local—at Kelly’s instead of the damn chain stores—I need to walk the walk.”
“Attaboy,” she said, patting his back. “Maybe if a bunch of other local businesses see Kelly’s advertising with us, they’ll decide to do the same thing.”
They reached the edge of the dunes. Conley was already barefoot, but Skelly kicked off his loafers, and they dropped the tote bag near a weathered cedar swinging bench. Conley uncorked the bottle of chardonnay and held it up to show him.
“Wine?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Skelly said, holding up his tumbler.
* * *
Conley dug her toes into the sand. “This is what I missed, living in Atlanta. Going barefoot. The smell of the ocean.”
“All the things we take for granted living on the Gulf coast,” Skelly agreed.
The sky turned a soft violet, shot through with streaks of orange. The Gulf was quiet tonight, sending gentle rolling waves washing along the beach. They walked north without speaking, wading out just far enough to let the warm water lap against their ankles.
As the sky darkened, they saw lights switching on in the houses just above the dunes.
Conley held up her empty tumbler when they’d walked all the way to the pier, a healthy half-mile stroll. “Ready to head back?”
Skelly nodded, and they pivoted and walked south.
The Hawkins family called the area where the swing was located Pops’s Cove. It was the spot where her grandfather liked to “pitch camp,” as he put it, spreading out the picnic blanket, the cooler of cold drinks, the hamper of sandwiches or fried chicken, and the folding aluminum lawn chairs.
In the winter, they’d build a fire here and roast Apalachicola oysters, which they’d smear atop saltine crackers doused with Tabasco sauce.
This was the spot where the family gathered after Pops’s funeral and after Conley’s father’s funeral too. Later, G’mama had commissioned a local carpenter to build a six-foot-long swing hung from two A-frame posts. A small brass plaque on the back proclaimed it dedicated to the art of “sitting around, doing nothin’,” which her grandfather always claimed was his only hobby.
Skelly held the swing still while Conley refilled their tumblers, then they both sat down, staring out at the deepening sky.
“I took a ride by Grayson’s house on the way out to the Dunes today,” she told him. “I’m pretty sure Tony’s gone. His car’s not there, and the yard looked pretty raggedy.”
“Sad,” Skelly said.
“Even sadder is the fact that my own sister can’t be straight with me. I wanted all of us to go out for drinks after we got off deadline to celebrate our first big digital experiment, but Grayson said she had stuff to do. Then I saw her car at the parking lot at the country club.” She shook her head. “Why can’t she just be honest and tell me what’s going on?”
“Maybe she’s embarrassed,” Skelly said. He stretched his arm along the back of the swing. “I know the last time Danielle left—for good—I didn’t tell anybody. I kept thinking, maybe she’d change her mind. It’s stupid, but I guess I thought if I didn’t admit we were getting divorced, it would keep it from happening. I wouldn’t have to admit that our marriage was a failure. And so was I.”
“Denial is a powerful emotion,” Conley said, sighing. “It must be a generational thing. From the time I was a little kid, nobody ever leveled with me about what was going on with my mom when she up and disappeared.”
“When she left, she was gone for long stretches of time, right?” Skelly asked.
“Yep. And the times got longer over the years.”
“What did your dad tell you and Grayson?”
“The first time, he said she was going to graduate school. Someplace out west.”
“But that wasn’t true?”
“No. I think she was actually in rehab. But nobody has ever admitted that to me. Later, as I got older, I figured out that things weren’t working in their marriage. They never fought as far as I could tell. She’d just … vanish.”
He let his palm rest on her shoulder, and after a momentary shock, she realized his touch was welcome. Reassuring even.
“Must have been hard on your dad,” he said.
“The worst,” she agreed. “Every time she came home, he was so happy! I’d hear him humming to himself. He’d bring home little presents for her in the middle of the week—some flowers, a bottle of her favorite perfume, maybe a piece of jewelry.” Conley sighed and took a sip of her wine. “But the rest of us, G’mama and Pops and Grayson—even Winnie—we were all … holding our breath. Everybody knew it was just a matter of time before she left again. Everybody but Dad. And then, when she was gone, he just got so quiet. And sad. So very goddamn sad.”
Skelly tilted his head toward her, absorbing her words. He was a good listener, which she found to be a precious quality in a man. His eyes were a deep blue green, and they were bracketed with crow’s-feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “This must hit awfully close to home for you. Anyway, it’s old history. Let’s talk about something else.”
“No, it’s actually a relief to talk about it,” Skelly said. “I went to a therapist for a while after Danielle left, but once she filed for divorce, eventually it felt like a waste of money. Like, she’s not coming back, so why keep beating a dead horse?”
“Would you take her back again if she decided to try to make it work?” Conley asked.
“No,” he said quickly. “Too much has happened. And not just with her. With me too.”
“Like what?”
He looked away and blushed slightly. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God, Skelly,” she started to say.
He tapped his fingertip gently to her lips. “Let me finish. When you walked into the bar at the Legion last week, my brain lit up like a pinball machine. Endorphins, whatever. And then when we danced together…”
“We’d both been drinking,” Conley said. “Me, especially.”
“No,” he said stubbornly. “I had two beers. It wasn’t the booze talking. At least for me it wasn’t.”
“I’d forgotten what a great dancer you were. Are,” she corrected herself. She found herself thinking back to the only other time she’d danced with Sean Kelly. God, how she’d looked forward to that night. She’d gotten her first professional manicure and pedicure, even talked G’mama into taking her shopping at the mall in Tallahassee for her dress. She’d had a huge crush on Sean Kelly, one that she’d never confessed to a single soul.
“What?” he asked, leaning closer. “You’re still mad at me for taking you home early, and then, after … you know, with Steffi … I was an idiot. A horny, teenage idiot. You’ll never know how many times I wished that night had ended differently.”
“Me too,” she said simply. She took another sip of wine and then another. “As long as we’re dabbling in true confessions here, maybe now is the point when I tell you that you broke my silly girlish heart that night.”
He closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. “Gaaaaaah,” he groaned. “I was such a pig. Such a loser.”
“I had the night all built up in my mind,” she went on, liberated by the wine and the passage of time. “I was the only girl in my class at boarding school who was still a virgin. Okay, maybe the others were lying, but I was convinced that I was the only virgin left in the world. So I decided it was high time to … you know … become a real woman. And I’d made the decision that the most perfect boy in the world to give it up to was … Sean Kelly. The world’s cutest boy next door.”
Hello, Summer Page 26