Beach Haven

by T. I. Lowe

  “Your chairs.” Lincoln began rolling the plans up. “This mess is all on you.”

  She giggled. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be a part of the mess. “Lincoln, you seem really good at this organizing and structuring.”

  “Common sense can go a long way.” He shrugged while standing up. “Now, let’s look at the office in the back to see if we can come up with a plan for that space before the pizza gets here.”

  “Lead the way, big boy.” Opal gestured for him to go first and barely contained her grin when he gave her a stern look. She waited for him to snap something back, but he just picked up his cane and began heading to the office off to the right. “You know . . . that cane really makes you so distinguished.”

  “Makes me look like an old geezer.” Lincoln muttered a few more sentiments under his breath.

  She watched how he maneuvered the cane like it was a part of him and found it quite attractive. Of course, a big tough guy like Lincoln Cole had not just a plain ordinary cane. The one in his grasp was glossy black with the Marine Corps emblem on the handle and pewter accents. It looked as mean as him. “No, your grouchiness does that. Seriously, I like the cane.”

  “That makes one of us,” Lincoln mumbled as he stepped into the small office.

  “Should you be wearing flip-flops?” Opal noticed he had to sort of do a slide-step when he was wearing them.

  “I wore boots for two tours and it was like wearing lead weights on my feet, so I really don’t care if it’s good or not. I’d just as soon go barefooted.”

  “I don’t mind if you go barefooted. It’s got to be better than trying to slide that left flip-flop around.” Opal pointed and it seemed to be all the permission he needed to ditch them by the door.

  “You still have that L-shaped desk?”

  “Which one?” She could think of at least three underneath the tents.

  “The one fashioned from the metal milk crates and the boardwalk top.”

  “Yes. I lucked out when snagging the planks after last year’s beachfront remodel.”

  Lincoln combed his fingertips through his beard, deep in thought. Opal thought the beard made him even more distinguished, the way he kept it neatly trimmed to show off those sharp cheekbones and the long column of his neck, but she decided not to comment on that.

  “What?” she asked when he remained quiet.

  “The bookcase you’ve made out of the wood wine crates should go along that wall with the desk next to it.” He pointed to the left wall that had no window.

  She could envision the rustic wood-and-metal pieces against the pale-teal walls. “Those two pieces will look good together. What else?”

  “A small love seat or two chairs in the corner, but that’s it for in here. You had it too cluttered before.”

  Before she could argue, the bell she’d replaced on the front door chimed. “Pizza!” She dashed off.

  “Here. Let me pay,” Lincoln called from behind her, but she kept on skipping to the door.

  “It’s a work lunch. It’s on me.” She met the young delivery guy at the door and handed over some cash. “Hello, Jamie.”

  “Hey, Miss Opal.” He handed her the pizza.

  “Seriously? I’m only twenty-six. I’ve not earned the old lady title yet.” She waved him off when he tried giving her some change. “Let that tip be a reminder that I’m not old.”

  The young man chuckled and stuffed the money in his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jamie!” she said in a warning.

  He laughed again and darted out the door before she could smack him.

  “You know us Southerners say ma’am to any female, infant or geriatric, doesn’t matter the age,” Lincoln said as he settled back at the table in the middle of the room.

  “I know, but I sure don’t like those manners aimed at me.” She set the pizza down and popped open the lid, releasing a garlic-infused steam. Licking her lips, she asked, “Will you say grace?”

  Lincoln shifted in his seat.

  “It’s simply thanking God for this meal. You can handle it.” She waved a hand in his direction. “The pizza is gonna get cold.”

  Huffing, Lincoln bowed his head. “Thank you for this food. Amen.” When his head rose again and he aimed his brown eyes at her, she returned it with a glare equal to his.

  “I’m giving you another shell before you go home today.” She pulled a piece of pizza from the box and took a substantial bite, loving the crunch of the super-thin crust.

  Lincoln followed suit, folding his piece in half before chowing down. “Why?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “Slowly but surely, Lincoln Cole, God is going to answer a lot more prayers on your behalf.” She tipped her head sideways and held his gaze. “I can’t wait to witness what you do with them.”

  He stopped chewing and stared. “That shell you left at my house was for my healing.” He chewed a few times and swallowed. “You realize my leg won’t ever be whole again, don’t ya?”

  “Oh, so you found my shell?” she asked, sidestepping his comment. Truth be told, the prayer was for the healing of his soul. Not his leg.

  “Yes.” Lincoln tossed his crust into the box and crossed his arms, frowning. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you that day. . . . It was beyond kind of you to take care of me in spite of that. Thank you.”

  Opal swiped his discarded crust, ready to eat it, but then froze. “You apologized and thanked me in the same breath?” Her eyes rounded, causing his to narrow.

  “It was two breaths; now let’s just drop it.” He reached for another slice of pizza, effectively closing their feelings-sharing segment of the day. “Now, about that back workroom . . .”

  The afternoon flew by with Lincoln sketching out a plan for the workroom, suggesting they use several pieces she’d crafted. Opal thought back to the wishes she made for the selected furniture and was surprised at how fitting they were for her at that moment in time.

  The milk crate desk—please bless this person with some structure.

  The wine crate bookcases—please bless the owner with a rich understanding of what their next adventure should be.

  The storage cabinets made from old kitchen cabinets—please let the next owner fill these shelves with what they love and understand the importance of cherishing it all.

  Lincoln picked out each piece and Opal was in pure wonder over how God was using him to bless her mess. She wanted to point all this out but knew it wasn’t time yet. He wouldn’t appreciate it and she just knew there was going to be a time it would really impact him, so she kept it to herself and only offered him knowing smiles throughout the day.

  That smile remained on her face until Opal got into her van to head home. It vanished as soon as she turned her key and nothing happened. “Oh no!” Frantically she looked at the time on her phone before trying to crank the engine again.

  “What’s wrong?” Lincoln appeared at the driver’s-side window she had rolled down. Her windows remained open most of the time so she could enjoy the briny air that fortified her life.

  “My van is dead.” She wrinkled her nose and turned the key again to show him.

  “Sounds like the starter.” He leaned into the window a bit.

  Opal looked at the time again. “Can you get the starter started? I’m close to being late for supper with my parents.”

  “This is a vintage VW van, so that part will probably need to be ordered and replaced.” He stepped back and looked behind her van to where his Jeep was parked. Sighing, he said, “I can give you a ride.”

  She perked up. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “But they live a good twenty minutes inland. Surely that’s out of your way.”

  “I ain’t got any plans except for eating a few sandwiches and watching a football game.”

  “Oh, who’s playing tonight?” Opal did a mental check of the Monday night lineup. It was the Packers versus . . . she couldn’t remember.

  Lincoln open
ed her door and beckoned her to get out. “You don’t strike me as the ball game–watching type.”

  “Well, there you go assuming again. And let’s be clear, you really stink with your assumptions.” Opal walked over, climbed into the Jeep, and waited until Lincoln fastened his seat belt and easily cranked his vehicle. “Head west on 17. Just so you know, my dad and I scored tickets to the Super Bowl last year. Great game, even though our team lost.”

  Lincoln cut her a dubious look before turning onto the main highway. “You seriously like football?”

  “Love it.”

  “Favorite team?”

  “Hello! Panthers, of course. But my favorite quarterback is hands down Aaron Rodgers. Green Bay is holding that man’s talent back by not having a strong enough offensive line, if you ask me.”

  Shaking his head, Lincoln muttered, “Opal, you are one surprisingly unique woman.”

  She thought he was talking to himself more than to her, but she answered brightly anyway. “Why, thank you. Turn onto Gilbert Highway another mile or so up on the left.” She turned slightly in her seat and studied his profile. “Now, tell me your favorite team. And if you say Patriots, you can stop the Jeep right here and let me out.”

  Lincoln barked in laughter. “Good thing it’s the Saints then.”

  They volleyed football stats back and forth until they made it to her parents’ street.

  “Linc, I have a request.”

  “What?” He remained focused on the road but his frown deepened.

  “How do you feel about fried chicken and collard greens?”

  “I’m a country boy, so what do you think?” He glanced at her briefly.

  “How about pecan pie? You like plain ole pecan pie?”

  “Sure.” Lincoln tapped the top of the steering wheel, keeping time with the Lee Brice song on the radio.

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I want you to join my family tonight for Thanksgiving. Well, everyone but Bubba. He’s still away at college.” She smiled warmly, hoping to sell him on staying for dinner.

  “Thanksgiving is over a week away.”

  “Yes, but my folks will be out of town visiting my brother and some girl he wants them to meet, and so we’re celebrating tonight. To make it up to me, Momma is making all my favorites.” Opal directed him to pull in at a gated driveway. She fished a small remote out of her purse and sent the wrought-iron gate sliding open, revealing a three-story plantation-style home just behind it.

  Lincoln put the Jeep in park and squinted at Opal. “Who are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who are your parents, Opal Gilbert?” Lincoln asked her, even though it was obvious he’d already pieced that answer together.

  “Daniel and Mira Gilbert,” Opal answered nonchalantly.

  “Senator Daniel Gilbert is your father, the man for whom that last road we took is named.” Lincoln hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  He snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “All this time I’ve been picturing a set of hippie parents living in a tent by the river, thriving on the land and each other’s love.”

  Opal snickered. “You and your assumptions . . . Will you please stay?”

  He looked down at himself as he scratched the side of his neck. “I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately for Thanksgiving.”

  “Jeans and a Henley shirt. It’s basically what I’m wearing.” She pointed to her flare-legged jeans with several patches dressing them and her tie-dyed long-sleeved T-shirt. “No worries.”

  With apparent reluctance, Lincoln put the Jeep in drive and began moving down the long driveway. “Are you adopted or something?”

  “Nope.” She could say more about him assuming things again but chose not to rile him up before they even made it to the door.

  Opal let herself and Lincoln in even though he whispered his protest. “This is my family home. It would be insulting to my parents if I knocked.” She glanced at his empty hand. “You forgot your cane in the Jeep.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Linc—”

  He came to a halt, his face lighting with an idea. “I can go get it.”

  And give him the chance to run? Nope. “It’s fine. We’ll be mostly sitting.” They walked through the massive foyer and around the table set in the middle that was brimming over with fall foliage and several plump arrangements of orange and yellow mums. “Hello! Your favorite daughter is home!” Opal called out as she grabbed Lincoln’s hand, even though his fingers refused to hold hers in return, and guided him to the kitchen near the back of the first floor.

  “You’re our only daughter!” Her mother’s voice drifted down the hall.

  They pushed through the heavy double doors and were engulfed in aromas of the holidays. Savory meats and sugary-sweet desserts perfumed the air in warmth. Opal’s mom turned from the stove, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her narrow waist, and froze. Her eyes skated between the giant man beside Opal and their entwined hands. Lincoln must have noticed because he wiggled free from her grip and put a little space between them.

  “Momma, I’d like you to meet my friend Lincoln. Lincoln, this is my mom, Mira.”

  Lincoln stepped forward and took her shocked mom’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gilbert. . . . We just work together.”

  “My, you’re so tall . . .” Her mom shook off the surprised look and replaced it with a friendly smile. “Welcome to our home, Lincoln. So glad you could join us. . . . Let me go get Daniel. He had a few e-mails to tend to . . .” She kept smiling and tucked a much-tamer red curl back into her neat chignon as she hurried off.

  “I think I’m gonna head out,” Lincoln whispered and began to turn.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Opal grasped his upper arm. “Help me set the table.” She pulled him over to the buffet in the adjoining dining room, where the china and silverware were waiting. It was the smaller of the dining rooms and was where she and her parents always took their meals. The other fancier space down the hall was for dinner parties with officials and other public guests.

  Lincoln gathered the silverware and followed behind her around the table. “You owe me after tonight.”

  She released an unladylike snort. “I’ve put up with your moody behind for the last month or so. After tonight we can call us even.” She looked at him, his lips poked out far enough to trip over. “Stop pouting. We’ll watch the game later while we eat our pie. You’ll survive.”

  “I’m not so sure . . . ,” Lincoln muttered under his breath just as her parents walked in.

  Another round of introductions. Opal summarized Lincoln’s injury overseas and how he’d been working with her ever since the hurricane. She grew a little more comfortable when her dad commented on his military service, thanking him and then moving on quickly to talk about tonight’s game.

  As soon as her parents vanished into the kitchen to grab the food, Lincoln whispered harshly, “Your folks are dressed in their Sunday best.” He flicked his shirt. “I thought you said we were dressed okay?”

  Her mom wore a pale-green sheath dress that reminded Opal of mint ice cream and her dad was in an oxford shirt and chinos—basically what they wore on a daily basis. “That’s as casual as those two get. They’re misdressed, not us, so chill.” She patted the chair beside the one she was settling into. “Take a load off.”

  Lincoln plopped his big form into the chair. “I don’t like you very much.”

  “If you say so.” She smiled sweetly at him and winked as her parents reentered the room.

  After her dad said grace, all appeared to be well until they were eating juicy fried chicken and her parents began making small talk.

  Mira passed Lincoln another fluffy yeast roll and asked, “Are you permanently disabled, Lincoln?”

  Lincoln studied the roll in his hand. “No, ma’am. Just not up to par enough to defend my country anymore.”

 
; The table fell silent until Mira chose to plow on with her interrogation. “Surely you had a backup career plan. I hope you took advantage of the free education the government provided for you.” She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t have Opal fooled. Her mom was in full-on snooping mode.

  Lincoln shifted in his chair beside Opal. Without looking any further than his plate, he answered, “Nothing’s free . . . but I did earn a master’s degree while serving this country.”

  No one acknowledged Lincoln’s sharp retort, but Opal’s dad perked up when he mentioned the degree. “That’s great, young man. What master’s degree did you earn?”

  Lincoln gave Opal a measured look, one that said she was going to pay for this, before focusing on her dad. “Astrology,” he answered with pride.

  Opal’s mouth fell open but she quickly snapped it shut and muttered under her breath just so he could hear, “And you call me the hippie?”

  Both her mom and dad looked stunned stupid for a few beats, which was exactly how she felt.

  “Astrology,” Daniel repeated, trying out the word, and by the looks of his scrunched-up nose and twisted mouth, he didn’t find it too appealing.

  Mira cleared her throat on a dainty cough. “What does one do with such a degree?”

  Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t figured that out just yet. All’s I know is that I sure do enjoy gazing up at the stars and pondering their meaning.” He took an obnoxiously large bite of his roll and garbled out, “But I’ll let you know when I do.” He nodded and smiled with his cheeks poked out from the mouthful of food.

  Opal didn’t consider her parents snooty or judgmental, but they were most definitely picky when it came to their only daughter and the company she kept. Taking a moment to see Lincoln through their eyes—a scruffy war veteran with no future ambition—she understood the lack of potential they saw on the surface. Fact of the matter, their eyes were missing a major portion of Lincoln Cole, and one night wouldn’t be enough time for them to see him as clearly as she did. Although he’d certainly thrown her for a loop on the whole astrology thing.

  His admission shut down the twenty questions game her parents were playing, much to Opal’s relief. After Lincoln helped her mom with the dishes, refusing her pleas to just go sit and enjoy the game, they took their pie into the den and cheered on the Packers as they took the game in overtime.