by Karen White
Despite the coolness of the morning, sweat was beginning to drip down her face, stinging her eyes. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, not feeling at all like the delicate bookworm girl Ben had known. She felt the pull of the muscles in her calves and thighs, the thought that maybe sweating wasn’t such a bad thing floating in her head like a pesky mosquito. Pushing her legs harder, she said, “I’m dying for storage space, especially if my rare-book business becomes anything, I’ll need a place for those books. Which means we’ll need to make it an air-conditioned space, with built-in bookshelves and electricity.”
He didn’t respond, and when she glanced over at him to figure out why, she saw that he was smiling.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m just amazed how a mention of sawing into your ceiling has become an entire addition. Do you want me to draw up plans?”
She smiled broadly, tasting sweat. “Yeah, I think I do.”
They’d reached the west side of Center Street, and Heath stopped, his hands on his hips and his breathing still annoyingly regular.
“Are we done?” she asked hopefully.
“Sort of. All we need to do now is go back.” He wasn’t smiling but his eyes were.
Emmy groaned and rolled her eyes, secretly glad that she hadn’t actually died of respiratory failure, and that she was almost excited by the fact that she might even make it back without keeling over from exhaustion. “Can we at least wait until I catch my breath?”
“Just for a minute,” he said. He turned to face the water. “There used to be a really great restaurant here: the Atlantic House. It was two old abandoned beach houses that somebody in the seventies joined together to make a restaurant. Everybody went there—except for us. For some reason that was never explained to me, Lulu hated the place and wouldn’t set foot in it. I don’t think it had anything to do with the food, because to my knowledge, she never ate there. My grandmother Maggie, too. She wasn’t as vocal about it, but whenever I suggested we go there to eat, she’d always steer us somewhere else.”
“What happened to it?” Emmy asked, trying to picture a building where now only water and sand existed.
Heath began walking back the way they’d come. “The same thing that happened to everything else in Folly Beach—Hurricane Hugo. Blew it away. With the newer zoning laws, the owner wasn’t allowed to rebuild.”
Emmy pumped her arms, finding it helpful in propelling her forward, although she still found that she had to take about two steps for every one of Heath’s. She’d have to remember to mention that later, so he’d know that she’d had a much harder workout than he had. “That’s a shame. A piece of history gone just like that.”
“Yeah. I always thought the same thing even though I’d never set foot inside. But it was an historical building not just because it was old. During World War II they used it during daylight to spot enemy planes and German submarines. There’s some other factoid associated with it that I can’t recall—something else to do with World War II. But, yeah, something pretty historically significant gone just like that.”
“They really thought the Germans were that close?”
“They were. Germany sent twelve U-boats in all to the U.S. They did a pretty good job of sinking ships along the Eastern seaboard for the first half of nineteen forty-two until the U.S. figured out how to fight back. It wasn’t really realized, much less talked about, at the time how close we were to losing the war before we’d barely started. We had no oil reserves to heat U.S. homes for the winter, much less ship to our allies in England for the war effort, and we were losing oil tankers at a pretty fast rate. If Hitler had sent more subs, or if we’d been a little later in defending ourselves, we might be speaking German right now.”
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t remember hearing any of this in history class.”
“Oh, you probably did as a footnote. But that’s in Indiana—here on Folly it was a little closer to home. There’s even a spot outside the Outer Banks that they call the Graveyard of the Atlantic. It’s a real hot spot for scuba divers because there’re tons of wrecks including at least one U-boat. They even sent the survivors of one sunk U-boat here to Charleston.”
“Well, at least they stayed in their subs. Can’t imagine they’d get very far inland. I mean, even in Indiana there was a pretty big prejudice against anybody with a German last name—even if they’d lived there for generations.”
He was looking at her oddly. “You should start reading some of those history books in your store, Emmy. There were landings by at least two groups of German spies—one in New York and one in Florida. They’d gone to spy school in Germany to learn how to speak English without an accent and fill it with American slang. They were sent here with lots of cash, plans, maps, and all sorts of things to sabotage factories and the infrastructure here in the States.”
“What happened to them?”
“By great stupidity on their part and sheer luck on ours, they were captured before they could do any damage. Still, it’s pretty scary when you think about it. And those are only the spies we knew about. There might have been more whose missions failed for whatever reason and then sort of just assimilated into American life.”
“That’s amazing. What’s scariest is that I didn’t know. My grandfather’s brother was killed in Normandy, but everybody knows about the D-day invasion. And here this is, close to home, and I bet the average person you grab off the street—like me—hasn’t a clue.”
“Well, then, you learned something new today. You’re welcome.”
Emmy smirked at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me that learning something new means that I’m supposed to go on living or something?”
“Nope.” Heath increased his pace and she nearly killed herself trying to catch up.
“Why not?”
“Because I was hoping you’d have figured that out by now on your own.”
If she’d had any air left in her lungs, she probably would have made a snorting sound that would have made Lulu proud.
Heath seemed to take pity on her, and their pace slowed on the way back, for which Emmy was grateful. Her calves and feet were killing her, not that she’d ever tell Heath. Frank continued on his experimental dives into the ocean as far as Heath allowed the leash to go, and then the dog sprayed them both with water every time he came back and shook. The water felt too good to complain, and Emmy found herself placing herself in the dog’s path every time he emerged from the water.
She’d passed the point of exhaustion and pain, since her muscles were now blessedly numb, but lack of physical discomfort seemed to make her brain function more clearly, or maybe it was the scent of the ocean, which didn’t seem so peculiar to her anymore: the potpourri of salt, sea life, and wind from faraway places that turned her mind inward. Recently, she’d found herself sleeping with the bedroom window open and enjoying the ocean’s perfume, which reminded her of her mother’s scent.
Emmy considered her conversation with Heath, and his seeming certainty that he knew what was best for her. Regardless of whether he was right or wrong, it still irked her that he could guess so much about her and be absolutely right.
“Why haven’t you asked Jolene for Maggie’s ring yet? If you don’t believe in looking back, then you need to tell her. Waiting isn’t going to help.”
His face reddened under his tan. “It’s different with her. She’s . . . ill. I have to tread very carefully as far as Jolene is concerned. It’s over, and she knows it. She just needs to wear the ring a little while longer.”
Emmy’s thumb found the gold ring on her own hand—the ring she hadn’t taken off since the day Ben had given it to her—and she found that she had nothing else to say.
“I’ve found a good rehab place and paid a deposit, but I can’t force her to go. And, not that you asked, but I think you should hire her for the Web site and marketing not just because she’s really good at what she does but also because I think she needs this right now. Her in
terior-design business has shriveled with the economy, and if I can get her into rehab, then she’ll have something to look forward to when she gets out.”
They stopped near the beach access across from her house, and Emmy had to pause for a moment before she could find the air to speak. “For somebody who’s so adamant about moving forward, the subject of Jolene is like quicksand to you, isn’t it?”
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him, wondering if he really was that blind when it concerned his ex-fiancée. “Well, it’s not like you’ve let her go, you know? You don’t discourage her visits to Folly, and from what I can see, you’re the only reason she comes here. She doesn’t even own the house I’m living in, right?”
Heath nodded, still frowning.
“So why does she keep coming back?”
“Lulu, mostly. Lulu seems to need her as much as Jolene needs Lulu.”
Heath turned his head and whistled, and Emmy watched as Frank returned to Heath’s side. She was suddenly too exhausted to call Heath on his faulty reasoning, as if any reserves she had left after wallowing in her own problems had already been used up.
Bending down to scratch Frank behind the ears, Heath said, “I’m going to dive in for a quick wash off. I don’t suppose you’re interested?”
She looked down at her soaked T-shirt and wanted, just for a moment, to be the kind of person who said yes to swimming in her clothes, or parking on the grass, or wearing flip-flops to church. She’d made it to the beach, and had used muscles that hadn’t been used in a long time, and figured she’d done enough for one day.
“No, thanks. I’ll go take a shower at the house.”
He bent down and began untying his shoelaces.
“Bye, then,” Emmy said.
He nodded as he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks. She turned before anything else came off and began walking away before realizing she’d forgotten to thank him.
She turned in time to see his shirt hitting the sand. It was hard not to remember how Ben had always carefully folded his clothes, putting them away neatly. His neatness had been a quirk she’d grown to love about him, and something she’d adopted as her own. Until lately. She’d taken to letting her clothes drop where she took them off, picking everything up once a week when it was time to do laundry. It was almost like Ben was fading from her like a dream upon waking, his image gone as soon as she opened her eyes.
Concentrating on Heath’s forehead, she said, “Thank you for the exercise. It wasn’t so bad.”
“You might want to hold judgment until tomorrow, when your muscles let you know how long it’s been since you’ve used them.” With a wave, he and Frank ran to the water and dove in, both of them disappearing into the surf. She watched them both for a moment, wanting to know what it felt like to go under like that, to completely let go enough to allow the waves to move you whichever way they wanted.
Emmy began walking away, trying in vain to remember the sound of Ben’s voice. She waited for the panic to come, but felt instead only a dull throb around her heart. Come back to me. The words were there in her head, but she couldn’t say them anymore. Because she had the sudden feeling that if Ben did come back, he might not recognize the woman she’d started to become.
She quickened her pace into a slow run, knowing that her muscles weren’t ready and that she’d be regretting it tomorrow. But for now all she wanted was to feel the power of her own body propelling her forward, her feet pounding into the sand, to exhaust herself to the point at which she couldn’t think anymore about Ben’s absence in her life.
LULU TURNED HER HEAD AT the sound of running feet approaching on the gravel drive, expecting to see Heath and disappointed to see it was that Emmy woman instead. She thought about ducking behind a piling and avoiding her altogether, but realized she’d already been spotted.
Emmy was covered with perspiration, her oversized gray army T-shirt darkened with moisture, her face a bright red from exertion. Her eyes were wet, but Lulu wasn’t sure if it was from tears or the running. Eyeing Emmy up and down, Lulu could see clearly that Emmy wasn’t the running type, and she made a mental note to ask Heath what in the hell he thought he was doing.
Emmy stopped and put her hands on her hips, breathing heavily and staring back at Lulu. “Can I help you?”
Ignoring her, Lulu jutted her chin at Emmy. “Is that your husband’s?”
Emmy looked down to see what Lulu meant, then nodded. “Yes. I don’t own any T-shirts of my own.”
The girl looked so small and fragile in the oversized shirt, her eyes wide in her reddened face. But there was something arresting about the eyes—something that made Lulu think of a battle between giving up and hanging on that reminded her so much of Maggie and the way she’d been after Jim. And Peter. “Are you still angry?”
Emmy’s delicate eyebrows dipped, like the wings of a gull. “Angry? At whom?”
“Your husband. The army. The bad guys. The whole world, even. With your husband for leaving you.”
Emmy looked at Lulu, pretending she didn’t understand. But Lulu knew a lot more about grief than most people, and she recognized anger behind everything Emmy did: the way she walked with her chin jutting out, her avoidance of other people—not that there was anything wrong with that—and the way she still pretended as if she were here on Folly just as a visitor. An angry person would resent the need for change in the first place, would be mad at everyone who put her there. At least until she turned the anger on herself for ever letting him go. But maybe Emmy had passed all that already, and was just waiting for another emotion to take its place.
“I’m not . . .” Emmy began, then stopped before dipping her head. When she looked up, her eyes were clear. “How long does it take? How long before I’m supposed to stop missing him?”
Lulu was silent for a minute, her thoughts on Jim. “Long enough. You’ll know when it’s been long enough.” Lulu scrutinized the younger woman, trying not to see so much of Maggie when she did. “Where’d they bury him?”
Emmy surprised Lulu by not crying as she would have done when Lulu had first met her. She still appeared delicate and fragile, but the girl had a backbone in there somewhere.
Sticking out her chin, Emmy said, “Back home, in Indiana. On his family’s farm next to his grandfather, who was a World War II vet. Why?”
Lulu examined the amber bottle she held in her hand. “Curious, I guess. It’s nice to have that, I guess. Cat’s husband, Jim—the one in the photograph. They never did find him. Figure he was drowned or blown up on the Oklahoma.”
“Poor Cat. How awful not to be able to bury her husband.”
Lulu tilted her head back and laughed. “Don’t ever say poor Cat out loud, or she’s likely to come back and haunt you. She wasn’t one who solicited a lot of pity—that’s for sure. Except from Maggie.” Her face darkened. “That’s another one who was never found.” She shrugged, studying the bottle in her hand. “But I think that’s where she’d want to be, in the end.”
Emmy stared hard at her. “What do you mean? Because she loved the ocean? Or because she had a thing for Jim?”
“Oh, we all had a thing for Jim.” Lulu began to move past Emmy, already tired of the conversation. She heard Emmy’s footsteps following.
“What do you mean? Did Maggie have an affair with Jim?”
Lulu swung around to glare. “Be careful which thoughts you decide to say out loud. Jim was true to Cat every day of their married lives, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.” She began to walk faster, already pulling out the keys to her golf cart.
“Why are you here?”
Lulu held up a bottle. “Needed this shade of glass for a tree I’m working on, so I substituted another one for Heath’s tree. He won’t mind. It was only stuck on there temporarily anyway. I’ll be back to solder it on, once I’ve figured out that I’m done.” She was already seated in the golf cart before Emmy caught up to her.
“I
forgot to ask you this when you and Abigail came to the house. Heath told me that he found documents showing a sale of your house on Second Street to a Peter Nowak in February of nineteen forty-three. Is that the same Peter who gave you and Maggie the books?”
Lulu paused as she focused on sticking the key into the ignition, imagining she heard Maggie humming “String of Pearls.” There was no trip down memory lane faster than riding a guilty conscience. She turned the ignition and listened to the motor whir.
“Yes, it’s the same Peter.” She turned the wheel and began to back into the street.
“Why did she sell it to him for only ten dollars—was it a gift?”
Lulu nodded without looking at Emmy, trying to focus on the road to see if anybody was coming. “Yep.” She put the cart in drive.
“What kind of a gift?”
Lulu paused. “A late wedding gift. To Cat and Peter.”
Lulu pressed the accelerator, not caring if she sprayed dust and gravel at Emmy. Maybe it would make her leave, make her stop asking questions that made the dead walk through Lulu’s dreams at night.
Without looking back, Lulu headed down East Ashley, afraid to see Maggie’s accusing eyes staring after her.
CHAPTER 19
FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA
August 1942
The months that followed Cat’s revelation became what Maggie would always think of as the sleeping time. She sleepwalked through her days, insulated from any emotion. She’d been this way after Jim was killed, too, but at least then she’d had a tangible grief to hold on to. What was she holding on to now? It didn’t matter that she still loved Peter with a desperation that scared her. Peter’s love had proven to be nothing but a fantasy, a romance from one of her favorite Bette Davis movies. Still, she clung to what she thought it had been, in the same way she imagined baby turtles clung to dreams of their mothers as they plunged into the foaming ocean.