“Does it feel like home to you now?”
“You know, it’s starting to.” She reached forward and brushed away a clump of dirt from the pot of geraniums and thought of Hazel asleep upstairs. “Will she come out here if she needs something?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but she won’t be needing anything. Her eyes were already half closed by the time I shut the door behind me. She plays hard and crashes even harder.”
“She’s such a funny little girl.”
“She really is. She catches me off guard sometimes with the things she comes up with. The other day she told me she was going to stay a child forever so she could always live with me and make sure I don’t open the door to strangers.”
“She thinks you need some looking after?”
“I guess she does.” He stood and rotated the kebabs, then closed the grill again. “She’s probably right.”
“You mentioned at the bar that you wish she could stay with you. For good. Do you think that could happen?”
Rawlins shrugged. “We haven’t figured it out yet. Honestly, I think Tara would be happier if Hazel lived with me. I don’t think she ever meant to be tied down. She’s kind of a free spirit. So much so that having a child who needs stability cramps her style. But she hasn’t given me the green light yet.”
“What do you think Hazel will say?”
“I’ve tried talking to her about it a little. If we do change the custody agreement, I want her to be prepared. But it’s hard to talk to a kid about something this heavy, you know? She’s so young. It’s hard to know what she’s taking in.”
A few minutes later they brought the finished kebabs back upstairs to the table on the porch. Lily poured glasses of tea while Rawlins cleared off Hazel’s plate and cup and a stack of coloring books. Finally they sat down to eat.
The shrimp was seasoned lightly but to perfection, and the sausage had just the right amount of heat. “This is delicious,” Lily said.
“Thanks. I’m not much of a chef, but I can cook shrimp pretty much any way you can imagine.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Sometimes. But thankfully Hazel loves it. And it’s not a bad thing to have a steady supply of fresh seafood straight from the gulf.”
“Have you talked to your dad yet? About the market you were telling me about?”
He nodded and took a sip of water. “He said no.”
“What? Why?”
“Stuck in his ways, mostly. He thinks adding a market is pretentious. That it’s straying too far from what ‘all the Willett men’—he loves to throw that phrase around—have worked for all these years.” He propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead. “I think he’s worried about the money we’d have to shell out at the beginning—to add on space for it, plus hire someone to make the food, extra employees to work that part of the business . . .” He paused. “I get it’s a hard call to make, but I really think it’d be a boon for us. Something to set us apart from the other guys. And maybe it would help us stay in the black.”
“Are you going to talk to him about it again, or . . .”
“Yeah. I’ll let him cool off, then try again. I ran some numbers, but he didn’t care to see them. The bottom line is we’re not doing as well as we used to. Definitely not as well as he thinks we are. I don’t want to have to do anything drastic, but . . .”
“What would be drastic?”
“I don’t know. If he refuses to let me do anything to help turn things around, I’ll have no choice. If it were just me, it’d be one thing, but I have Hazel, and I can’t afford to . . .” He sighed. “I have a friend who has this big company. They do environmental work. He’s called me a few times over the years, but I’ve always told him no.”
“Are you thinking about it now?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
“I imagine that’d be a last-resort type of decision.”
“Yeah. And a hurt-my-dad kind of decision.”
Later, when they’d both finished dinner, Rawlins stood and carried their plates to the kitchen and called back to Lily, “Do you like peach cobbler?”
“Very much,” she called back.
He reappeared with scoops of cobbler on two plates with forks. “Rose sent us home with this today.” He nodded to the screen door. “Let’s take it down by the water.”
The sun had just about set over the trees to their left, leaving the sky over the river a splash of coral and pink, with scattered clouds darkening to a deep purple. Two old wooden chairs were set up near the water, and when Lily sat, she immediately slipped off her shoes and dug her toes into the thick, cool grass. He handed her a plate, and she set it on the wide arm of the chair.
He took off his hat and rested his head against the back of his chair. She did the same and sighed. “Do you sit here every night?”
“Pretty much. It’s hard to get tired of this view.”
Here at the edge of Rawlins’s yard, the river was fully shaded to a dark blue-green, but farther out where it widened, a swath was illuminated by the waning sunlight, setting it ablaze with fiery orange and yellow. The shoreline was dotted here and there by pilings and docks jutting out from the land.
The silence between them was broken only by the gentle lapping of the water and the creaking of a sailboat at the neighbor’s dock. As they watched, a huge heron swooped close and landed on the end of Rawlins’s dock. It fluttered its wings once, then tucked them in behind him.
“So are you ready to tell me a little more of your story?” Rawlins’s voice was quiet.
Lily turned to look at him.
“You don’t have to. I’d just like to get to know my friend a little better.”
Lily’s heart picked up its pace at the mere thought of talking about Worth. Of explaining everything. It felt like an intrusion here in this moment of utter peace. But the way Rawlins was watching her, she saw no judgment, or even pity.
“I think I’m ready. Thanks for being patient.”
“Of course. So how did you and your husband meet?”
“You want to know how we met? Lately most people have wanted to know about the end, not the beginning.”
He shrugged. “Endings are always ugly. I try not to dwell on the bad stuff anymore.”
“Well, we met while I was on a date—a rare date—with someone else.”
“You left one guy for another?”
“Kind of, but not exactly. My date got sick and had to leave, and I told him I’d find a way back to my apartment. I met Worth while I was sitting at the bar.”
“And you let him take you home?”
“No—I got a ride home with a friend, but Worth and I talked while I was waiting, and . . .” She trailed off, thinking how quickly everything had moved after that one chance meeting.
“And the rest is history.”
“Don’t they usually say that when things turn out well?”
“I guess you’re right.”
She took a bite of her dessert as a chorus of tree frogs filled the evening air, their croaks and chirps overlapping to create a wall of noise. Rawlins waited until the frogs quieted down before speaking again. “So what does that history look like?”
She turned to look at him. Even in the falling darkness, she could see the gentleness in his eyes. He wasn’t prodding, wasn’t demanding. He was just offering her a safe place to rest. And in that rest, she told him the story, from the first night when she wondered if she’d stumbled on the one, to the last, when Worth had pressed himself against her, held her close, then disappeared before she awoke. She told Rawlins about the papers and the ring sitting in the drawer of her bedside table. About Mertha and her interference, her hounding and badgering. And about her own mother and how even though she’d been gone five years now, Lily felt her presence with her much more now than she had back in Atlanta.
As she spoke, Rawlins was quiet, only asking for clarification here and there. At one point
he rubbed his forehead, and by the end he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring out at the water.
Finally he turned to look back at her. “You are remarkably well adjusted for what you’ve been through. What he—and his mother—put you through. I think a lot of people would have crumbled. But you didn’t.”
“You didn’t see me the day he left.”
“However you handled that was the right way, I’m sure.” He paused. “When Canaan and I showed up to move you out of your house, he’d recently left?”
“Just a couple of weeks before.”
“And look at you now.”
Lily laughed. “I’m no poster child for overcoming adversity. I’ve had plenty of doubt this summer. I’m swimming in doubt. But . . . I think the tide has turned for me. Or at least it’s turning. I’m feeling pretty good.”
“I’m glad. You know, it sounds like Worth never had a chance, with a mother like that.”
“You’re probably right. I do think his problems likely stem from her.”
“Not that he’s the victim in this.” He turned to her, his eyes searching. “But you’re not either. Regardless of what Worth’s life looks like now, I’d say you’re the survivor.”
In the deepening dusk, Lily could just see the outline of the heron as it ruffled its feathers and tiptoed down the dock.
Rawlins sat back in his seat and sighed. Then, “My mom died too.”
“Really?” Lily breathed.
He nodded. “It was a long time ago. I was only two.” He smiled. “I named my boat after her.”
“I bet she’d love to know that.”
He reached down and rubbed the side of his leg. In the dark, she could barely see the scar.
“When I was out here earlier with Hazel, she . . . said something about your bad leg.”
He chuckled. “Did she?”
“She blamed your leg when I said we should ask you to show us your cartwheel.”
That got a full laugh from him. “That may be the first time I’ve been thankful for this thing.” His fingers trailed over the line at the side of his knee.
“I saw the photo inside. You in an army uniform.”
He nodded slowly. “My dad kept that photo in his Bible, even after I came home. Hazel found it at his house and insisted on me framing it. Now she displays it in unexpected places all over the house.”
“What happened?”
He sighed. “I thought I’d do my part for my country. I knew shrimping would always be here waiting for me, so I went off to prove something first.” He shook his head and blew air from his nose. “Can’t very well do your part with a hole in your leg.”
“Were you in combat?” She was reluctant to ask the question, not knowing how he’d react, but he shook his head.
“I was in Iraq in 2004, so we were all in combat to some extent, but this”—he reached down and ran his thumb over the scar—“it was just an ill-timed roadside bomb.” He was quiet for a moment. “That’s pretty much when the drinking started. I had a long recovery for my leg, and then I started working full-time on the boats, but my head was all over the place. I took some classes but couldn’t really focus enough to stick with it.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over the tops of his legs, then turned back to her. “After everything happened with Tara, I quit drinking, finished my classes, and actually got a degree. So now I’m here with a five-year-old and some shrimp boats and . . . well, you and me sitting here.” He smiled. “And it’s a beautiful night for such sad stories.”
“Yes, it is.” Their eyes met and she lingered on his face, drinking him in in a way she never would have had the nerve to do in sunlight. His mouth lifted in a small smile, and she wanted to reach out and touch it, right there at the corner. She dropped her gaze and swallowed. “So you’ve been divorced for how many years now?”
“Four.”
“Has there been anyone else in that time? Anyone you’ve considered . . .”
“There was someone, a little while back. A part of me wishes it had worked out, but . . .” He shook his head. “But now I think it was really more for Hazel. To give her a chance to be around someone more, I don’t know, more nurturing than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I think you’re a very nurturing dad. I think you make her happy. And I think . . .”
“You think what?” He reached over to where her hand lay on the armrest. He hesitated, then grazed the back of her hand, his fingertips trailing over her skin. It was such a brief touch, there then gone, but it caused goose bumps to rise on her arms.
Her thoughts scattered and it took her a second to remember what she’d intended to say. “I think . . . if you’re going to be with someone, choose someone who makes you happy. Hazel will sense that. Your happiness will be good for her.”
They sat that way for a long while, their hands close, their eyes out to the water. In the moon-swept dark, their conversation flowed easily, drifting from memories of their mothers to childhood dreams, to future hopes. As they talked, high clouds crossed the inky sky, blotting out the moon, but then its light returned, piercing through the thin cloud cover. Faint glimmers danced on the ripples and swells in the river.
“I should get going,” she finally said, though she didn’t really want to leave this moment or this place.
He sighed. “I’ll walk you out.”
She grabbed Hazel’s sign from the patio table and tucked it under her arm, then followed him around the side of the house to where her car was parked. She opened the door and set the sign inside, then turned back to him. All of a sudden she felt sixteen again, nervous in front of a cute boy.
“Thank you for coming.” A streetlight a few houses away cast a glow in the road, but it faded before it made it to her car. “And thank you for being so sweet with Hazel.”
She smiled. “It was my pleasure. Really. And I’m glad I came.”
“Would it be okay if I called you sometime?”
“Yes. You can call me.”
“Okay. Good. I don’t want to keep using the excuse that I need to fix something anytime I want to see you.”
She laughed and he took a step closer, making her heart stumble. Then he hesitated and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to be pretty busy the next few days, but I’d love to see you again. Soon.”
She nodded. “I’d like that too.”
“Okay then.” He stepped back, and she sat and cranked the engine. He closed the door behind her, and she rolled down the window.
“Thanks for dinner. And for the conversation. You’re easy to talk to. I appreciate that.”
“Likewise.” He took another step back, and she drove off, the breeze through the open window cooling her warm cheeks. It felt so good to be alive, to feel the night air and the zip of electricity on her skin. She inhaled deeply as she drove, then let her breath out slowly, pushing away the lingering aches and sore spots in her heart.
The Village Vine
Your Source for Neighborhood News
July 25, 2018
Compiled by Shirley Ferrill
Good day, Safe Harbor Village!
Weather
We’ve been lucky with hurricanes this summer, though there is a slight disturbance out in the Gulf that could potentially grow into something worth watching. Keep your eyes on the radar in the coming week.
Marine Life
The manatees have finally made their way back out to sea. It wasn’t due to anything anyone did—they just moseyed out on their own. As far as the alligator, Ruth has neither seen nor heard it again, but she did find what appears to be an alligator tooth on the swimming pool deck. I’m not one for superstition, but it feels like a bad omen to me.
Recreation
At the last association meeting, someone brought up the possibility of adding a shuffleboard court on the concrete area to the side of the tennis courts. Who knew something as benign as shuffleboard could divide the village so starkly? Many are excited about the prospect of c
ompetitive shuffling, while others feel adding a court would only reinforce the stereotype that seniors do nothing but play shuffleboard all day. It goes without saying that a decision has not yet been made.
Three of Coach’s paddleboats now have holes in the hull. He’s working to fix them, but for the time being, paddleboat tours are on hold.
Important Reminder
Friends, I mean no offense by this, but didn’t your mothers raise you better? In just the last week, I have seen trash bags outside their receptacles, wet towels hanging over balcony rails, and golf carts parked at haphazard angles. Please remember we must all work together to keep our village looking its best.
Twenty-Four
Though she’d never been much for vanity, Rose couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror. Or any reflective surface, really. Anytime she caught a glimpse of her new, swingy hair, she froze and stared. It was so unlike her to do something so drastic. So reckless and impulsive.
But was it really that impulsive—that reckless—if the change had been years in the making? She didn’t know, and frankly she didn’t care. Her new hair made her feel like she had a new life, and standing in front of the bedroom mirror mere minutes before the first date she’d had in too many years to count, she was determined to shut down any rogue thoughts that threatened to derail what could potentially be the best evening of her life.
Or the worst. It could go either way.
She let her gaze fall from her hair to her clothes. She still couldn’t believe she’d darkened the doorway of the Pink Pearl, much less shelled out good money to buy clothes from there. But seeing as she didn’t have much in her closet aside from office-appropriate knits and soil-stained capris and tees for everything else—and she was short on time—she had no choice but to patronize Janelle’s saccharine-sweet, and yet oddly sensual, boutique.
“Rose? Is everything all right?” Janelle had sputtered as soon as Rose walked in that afternoon.
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