by Sandra Hill
The bald guy came over to Cassie and said, “Don’t be afraid, honey. Duke, and Prince, and Earline are saying hello. Dogs do that with their noses, you know.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” she said, leaning down to pet each of them, “but sometimes I lose my balance if I get jostled.”
“Me, too,” he said with a laugh. “Can’t tell you the times a dog knocked me to my bum and licked my face like a lollipop.”
“Do all these people live here?” Cassie asked once she and Wendy were seated in a little window nook at the other end of the kitchen.
“No. Just Aunt Mil and a couple of her friends, most of the time. I’ll only be here with my guests for the holidays.”
“You’ll be going away again, then?” she asked. That could be a problem for Cassie’s idea.
“Yes. My work is in California.” Cassie could tell that she wanted to say more, but Aunt Mil came then and handed out the tea, which was in pretty cups and saucers decorated with flowers. There was also a platter of cookies on a plate that matched the cups. Along with a bear squirt bottle of honey. Watching Wendy put two squirts of honey in her cup, Cassie did the same, stirred, then sipped. It was strange, but good, especially when she took a bite of cookie, too.
“Oh, you picked my favorite,” Wendy said. “Raspberry shortbread cookies. Now, before we go any further, you need to call your grandmother or father and tell them where you are.”
Cassie started to protest. She hadn’t even had a chance to bring up the reason for her visit. And she’d only taken one sip of tea and eaten half a cookie. “But—”
“They’ll be worried about you, sweetheart. I’ll just go see if Aunt Mil needs help loading these cookies into the car.”
Pulling her cell phone from her backpack, Cassie decided to call her father since he was the one who was supposed to pick her up. He answered on the first ring.
“Hello.”
“Dad?”
“Cassie, where are you?”
She gulped before revealing, “I’m at the Patterson house.”
“What?” he yelled.
She held the phone away from her ear for a moment.
“How did you get there?”
“In a cab.”
She heard him mutter something under his breath that she was pretty sure were swear words.
“Why? Were you invited?”
“Not exactly. Dad, don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, princess, but I was worried when you weren’t at the church when I got there. And you know better than to barge in on people.”
“They don’t mind. In fact, me and Wendy are about to have a tea party with ginger tie tea and cookies, and there are three dogs here named Duke, Prince, and Earline. And a bunch of people are making a gazillion cookies for the church bazaar. And did you know that old folks can dance to Beyoncé?” She stopped to catch her breath and added, “And Wendy wears her mother’s red coat to remind her of her mother, just like I wear pink to remind me of my mother, but maybe I could get a blue sweater sometime, just for a change.”
She thought she heard her father sigh. Then he said, “I’ll be right over to pick you up.”
“Okay, but . . .” She paused. “. . . could you maybe wait a little while before coming?”
When she clicked off the phone, Wendy came back and sat down next to her. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded.
“Cassie, I think I know why you came here to see me today.”
“You do?”
“Uh-huh! Your dad told me what your mother said about a ‘Wendy kind of love,’ or some such thing. I just wanted you to know that it meant nothing, except—”
Cassie waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not why I came.”
“It isn’t?”
“Nope.” She leaned down and unzipped her backpack, pulling out a book with “The Pelican” embossed on its cover. It was her father’s high school yearbook.
She could see that Wendy recognized the book, too, which only made her frown more with confusion. Cassie flipped the pages until she got to the photograph she wanted to show her. It was a half-page picture of a girl wearing a black one-piece bathing suit and a white bathing cap, caught in the midst of a perfect swan dive. The caption read: Wendy Patterson, First Place, State Diving Championship, third consecutive year.
“Can you teach me to do that?”
Chapter 13
Shagging down memory lane . . .
It killed Ethan but he waited before rushing over, as Cassie had pleaded. So, it was forty-five minutes before he pulled up in front of the Patterson house. Only the father of an almost-twelve-year-old girl would understand his terror when he’d arrived at the church to find his daughter missing.
At least, it had stopped him thinking about, you know, screwing for closure. That is, until the object of his waking wet dreams stood before him.
Wendy was already opening the front door when he bounded up the sidewalk. Wearing white socks, gray, calf-length tights, and a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt, she looked about sixteen years old. And sexy as hell!
Putting a fingertip to her lips, she motioned for him to follow her into the hallway and toward the open door on the left, leading into what used to be her father’s reception room for patients. He probably would have followed her into a closet at that point, that’s how pathetic he was becoming, but then he remembered the reason for this visit . . . his daughter. Wendy wasn’t beckoning him off for a little afternoon delight. More like an afternoon rude awakening, in the form of his daughter.
Speaking of whom . . .
He stood frozen in place for a moment, looking through the archway on the right, seeing Cassie at the other end of the living room. Because of the loud music, he remained unnoticed, so far. And he hadn’t rung the doorbell.
Four couples—Cassie and a short, bald guy with red suspenders, Aunt Mildred and her Latin Lothario, Wendy’s WEALS girlfriend from California and Gloria Solomon, the longtime town librarian, paired with two of the Navy SEALs—were all doing the Carolina Shag to that old Temptations song “My Girl.” And they were good! All of them, including Cassie, who was laughing as she did the intricate steps. A half-dozen other seniors and guests sat about clapping and offering advice.
Was it like this all the time? Maybe the rumormongers were right about the goings-on here. Crazy town, for sure!
Ethan was about to step forward and stop Cassie. The rest of them could act as wild as they wanted, but Cassie might twist her hip the wrong way, and it would be weeks of rehab before she was walking normal, or semi-normal, again. Funny, though, her limp didn’t show when she danced. He’d never realized that before.
Wendy stopped him by putting a hand on his upper arm and tugging him across the hall.
“But she might hurt—”
“She’s fine. C’mon. Remember when we used to do that dance?”
“Oh, yeah.” I remember that and a lot more.
“We did have moves.”
Seriously? You expect me to react to that? He just grinned.
“I was referring to the shag,” she chided him, but a cute blush tinted her face.
He could have pointed out that the word shag had more than one meaning, but he was being nice today. At least, that’s what he told himself.
When she closed the door behind them, he saw that there were a number of boxes about, both here and in the adjoining examination room, visible through the open pocket doors. “Packing up?” he asked.
“Yes, and about time, wouldn’t you say? The local clinic is going to take some of this stuff. The medical books can go to a needy doctor just opening a practice here in Bell Cove. And the rest, to a thrift shop, I suppose. Too bad I didn’t get to this sooner, I could have donated a lot of it for the church bazaar.”
“That sounds like you’re planning to sell the house?” There was a slight buzzing in his head at the thought, though why, he couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as if Wendy had been here much at all for the past twelv
e years.
“No, nothing like that. Not yet, anyhow.”
The buzzing stopped instantly and relief flooded him. He would have to think about why, later.
“I’ve known for years that medicine isn’t in my future. So, this is a first step in that direction.”
He sank down into a low leather sofa and said, “About Cassie showing up here . . .”
“Right.” She sat down next to him, but not too close, so that she could turn and face him. Reaching to the coffee table in front of them, she picked up an old Pelican yearbook.
“Strolling down memory lane?” he teased.
“No, Ethan. This is your yearbook, not mine.”
“Huh?”
“Your daughter brought it here, with this page bookmarked.” She handed it to him, spread open to a page showing Wendy in a bathing suit, performing her trademark swan dive that had won her three state championships.
“I don’t get it.”
“That’s what she wants.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Cassie asked me if I could help her accomplish this.”
He was still confused. “The body or the dive?”
“Probably both. You have to realize that Cassie is at an age where girls first start to be aware of their bodies, and Cassie has been forced to be more aware than others because of her hip issues. When she looks at that picture, the body posed in a perfect position to show muscle definition and body toning, well, to her that’s an ideal she wants to reach.”
“Cassie won’t be having a permanent hip replacement until she’s fifteen, or sixteen. Until then, that,” he tapped the photograph, “would be an impossible dream.”
“She knows that. She’s a precocious little thing, isn’t she? It’s a long-term goal she’s setting for herself, but something she wants to start working towards now.”
“And you learned all that in . . .” He checked his watch. “. . . an hour and a half?”
She nodded.
He bristled. Why would Cassie confide in someone who was virtually a stranger to her, and not to him? And he didn’t want to hear about any of those “girl talk” arguments. Hadn’t he been the one who talked to her about sex and menstrual periods? Didn’t he buy her a training bra for her nonexistent breasts? Hadn’t he held her when she was sobbing over a remark Billy Sampson had made about “gimps”? He’d thought, until now, that there was nothing his daughter couldn’t speak with him about. But then, she’d shocked the hell out of him this week with the “Wendy kind of love” remark, which she’d been keeping to herself for a long time now.
His hurt feelings must have shown on his face, or in his demeanor, because Wendy said, “Don’t get bent out of shape. Cassie just thought I could help her. She didn’t realize that I wouldn’t be staying here in Bell Cove.”
“Even if you were, I’m the one who knows Cassie’s limitations. Swimming is actually good for her condition, but there are certain strokes that put too much stress on her hip, like a frog kick. She has to be careful.”
“I understand that, but Cassie thinks you’re too cautious.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking, but—”
“Wendy, you don’t have a clue what I’m thinking.” About anything.
“Okay, poor choice of words. Let me rephrase that. I know it’s none of my business how you raise your daughter, but if you’re willing, I could spend a day at the pool with Cassie before I go back to California. The health club in Sunset Dunes still has a high dive, doesn’t it? Oh, don’t go getting all frowny faced again. I wouldn’t be putting her on a high dive. Just demonstrating.”
“You would do that?” he asked, but what he was thinking was “frowny face”? Really, all this grinch crap was getting to him. Next he would be walking around with a loopy smile on his face, just to prove he wasn’t a grouch. Jeesh!
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Don’t be an ass. As a favor to an old friend.”
Number one, yes, I am being an ass. A grinchy ass. Number two, “friend,” my ass! “What would just one day accomplish? Wouldn’t that set her up for disappointment? I mean, she might get attached to you, and, then, bam! You’re gone. Again.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That was a cheap shot.”
“I’ve been burned, Wendy. I don’t want my little girl to get burned, too.”
“So much for closure! I got burned, too, you idiot!”
He put his hands up in surrender. “Listen, I appreciate your offer and your good intentions. I want my little girl to be happy. If you think one day in a pool with her would help, in any way, go for it.”
“Thanks a bunch!”
Ethan couldn’t seem to speak for tripping over his tongue . . . around Wendy, anyhow. “Can we start over?”
“I thought that’s what we did yesterday.”
“That was before you brought up ‘screwing for closure.’”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what this is all about?”
“No!” He inhaled and exhaled before admitting, “Yes.”
She smiled slowly and shook her head at him, as if he was hopeless.
He was—pretty much—when it came to her.
“So, friends with benefits for the week or so until you leave town?” he suggested, reaching out a hand to flick one of her earlobes, to show he was teasing. “Classic ‘screwing for closure’ method, if you ask me.”
“Not a chance!” She laughed and smacked at his hand which had strayed to her nape.
He shrugged. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“It’s good to see you being so playful. I’ve hated how hostile you’ve been toward me. It’s not right. Remember, Ethan, we were friends long before we were . . . anything else.”
“I remember.” Everything. “And you’re right. Our kind of friendship was too special to lose. Hell, Wendy, I know you better than anyone in the world, or I did.” He laughed. “Do you still sneeze three times in a row, never more, never less?”
She nodded. “And you always comb your fingers through your hair when you’re nervous.”
Like now. He deliberately folded his hands into a single fist on his lap. “You love broccoli. Yuck! But can’t stand corn on the cob.”
“Yep. Gets stuck in my teeth.” She grinned, enjoying the memory game. “You could live on ribs with Maybelle’s Southern Barbecue Sauce. And hamburgers, medium rare, with mushrooms and fried onions.”
“Your pinky toe on your right foot is stunted.”
“It’s not stunted!” she declared with mock affront. “Just a little stubby.”
He smiled. “Your favorite color is green. You wear a size eight shoe.” And you squeak when you’re about to climax.
She smiled back at him, and he suspected she’d just had a similar intimate reminder about him. Instead, she said, “It’s good to just kid around like this with you. I’ve missed that.”
I’ve missed you, he thought. More than I realized. This is dangerous, dangerous territory. Quicksand for the soul! Before he did something really stupid, like pull her over onto his lap and kiss her silly, he stood and held out his hand to her. “C’mon. Let’s show those amateurs the way the shag should be done.”
And that’s just what they did.
The shag originated in the 1940s along the Atlantic Ocean strands between Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and Wilmington, North Carolina. Perfected over the years, especially by teens with their beach music, it was like a jitterbug, but smooth, with no bouncing, the emphasis on the footwork. Every Southern boy and girl knew the basic steps.
To “Sixty Minute Man,” he and Wendy demonstrated how the six-count, eight-step pattern could be perfected by two people who knew each other’s bodies so well they anticipated and complemented each other’s moves. They were laughing as hard as everyone else when the song was over. The best part was Cassie staring at him with wide open eyes and parted lips, totally impressed that her dad wasn’t as mu
ch of an old fogey as she’d thought.
After that, Mildred went into the kitchen to get a tray of cookies Wendy was preparing for Cassie, along with some ginger chai, not tie, tea bags. Ethan talked a little bit with Harry Carder, the retired financial consultant, who’d given him much advice over the years in improving his business plan. Gloria Solomon, the longtime Bell Cove librarian, reminded him of how he’d had a passion for books about animals when he was young. He’d heard that Ms. Solomon was getting Alzheimer’s, but she seemed okay today. After that, he walked over to the dining room table where JAM and one of the other SEALs, Geek he was called, were looking over some maps.
“Treasure maps?” Ethan asked, jokingly.
“Exactly. Geek is thinking about buying out a New Jersey treasure-hunting company that has the rights to salvage these three ships off the Carolina coast.”
Ethan glanced at the maps and said, “I know those names. The Three Saints . . . the St. Martha, the St. Cecilia, and the St. Sonia. Seems to me there was some news story a year or two ago about the competition among various companies to get the licensing rights to this site. There was some ill-feeling from local outfits who felt they should have gotten favored treatment.”
“Could be,” Geek said. “Are you familiar with this section of the ocean?”
“A little.” Ethan studied the map. “The shoals out there can be wicked under the best of circumstances, but during or after a storm, the shifting sandbars have sunk many a ship. Add to that, you have two strong ocean currents that collide near Cape Hatteras. As the ocean settles to its natural level, after a hurricane or even a regular nor’easter, no evidence is left behind. On the surface anyhow.”
“The company in question does more than shipwreck salvaging. Treasure hunting of all kinds. But this particular project would be a start,” JAM explained.
Ethan knew lots of shipwreck salvors. Mostly they were a crazy lot. Dreamers at heart. Gamblers to the bone.
“And you would operate out of New Jersey?” Ethan asked.
“Nah. We could locate a headquarters anywhere,” Geek said.
“Even here on the Outer Banks?” Ethan asked, having a sudden inspiration.