Summer Rental

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “He was maybe the best-looking guy I’ve ever gone out with. I mean, gorgeous. Tan, muscular, elegant manners. He took me to dinner at this really nice Italian restaurant. And of course, he ordered in Italian, which was a little bit of a turnoff. I mean, who gives an entire order in Italian?”

  “You can’t hate the guy just because he spoke Italian.”

  “He did kind of remind me of Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda, but it wasn’t the Italian that was the turnoff. It was the fact that he took me on a date—commando!”

  Julia guffawed. “Seriously? How do you know? Maybe he was just wearing, like, you know, low riders.”

  Ellis blushed beet red and giggled. “I know, okay? He was totally commando.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Julia said, taking a long sip of her drink.

  “No, Julia,” Ellis said, leaning forward again. “The way his pants were cut, sort of loose, you know, I could tell he was, you know…” she whispered, “free balling. That’s what Baylor used to call it. But Baylor only did it at the beach, when he was a teenager. Not on a first date at a nice Italian restaurant!”

  Julia’s face contorted, and she pressed a paper napkin to her face. “No fair! You made me snort gin out my nose. What did you do when you realized he wasn’t wearing any underwear?”

  “What could I do?” Ellis said. “I didn’t realize it until he got up to go to the men’s room, and he was walking back across the restaurant, and you know, his goods were kinda jiggling around as he walked.”

  “Oh no,” Julia laughed. “Eeeeww. Poor Ellis.”

  “It wasn’t that funny at the time,” Ellis said, laughing now. “I just had to get out of there, but I’d already ordered dinner. So I scarfed down my entrée, then I faked a migraine, told him I was so nauseous I’d better leave immediately. I literally ran out of the restaurant, hailed a cab, and hightailed it home. And that was it for me and online dating.”

  “Oh my God,” Julia giggled. “I’ve been with Booker so long, I had no idea things were that awful out there in the dating world.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Ellis agreed.

  “So what changed your mind about dating again?” Julia asked.

  “Nothing,” Ellis said. “And everything. Losing my job—it’s corny, but I think it’s time to take stock. And I’ve decided it’s now or never. If I meet a nice guy, who knows? Anyway, Ty’s not really a bartender. He’s a day trader. He’s just moonlighting here because the stock market is so crappy right now.”

  “I’m no snob,” Julia said. “I wouldn’t care if he really was just a bartender. He seems like a nice guy. I think you should go for it, Ellis. Come on, a little summer fling would do you a world of good.”

  Ellis toyed with her second drink. “You think?”

  The waitress was back with another round of drinks, and this time she didn’t look happy. “Ty asked me to tell you ladies that he gets off in thirty minutes,” she said. “He was wondering if you’re going to stick around that long.”

  “Oh,” Ellis said. “Well, sure. I mean, does that sound all right to you, Julia?”

  Julia finished off her drink. “You stay, Ellis,” she said casually. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the car and go on back to the house. I think I feel a migraine coming on. Maybe Ty will give you a ride home.”

  “No!” Ellis said, feeling panicky. “You can’t go already, Julia.”

  “You can stay,” Julia said, reaching over and patting her friend’s hand. “You’re a big girl. You can do this.”

  The waitress cleared her throat to let them know she was waiting.

  Ellis gulped. Her heart was racing. She looked up at the waitress. “Tell him I’ll be here.”

  Julia stood up and put a twenty-dollar bill on the tabletop. “There’s the tip,” she said, nodding at the money. She dropped a kiss on the top of Ellis’s head. “Have a good time,” she whispered. “And don’t worry. I’ve been watching Ty all night. He does a lot of bending and stretching, getting beers out of that cooler on the back bar. I’m a hundred percent sure he’s wearing underpants.”

  22

  “Strawberry Shortcake is staying, but her friend is outta here,” the waitress told Ty.

  “Nella!” Ty said reprovingly. “Don’t be mean. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Can’t help it,” Nella Maxwell said, dumping her tray full of dirty glasses into the bar sink. “It’s my nature. Who is she, anyway?”

  “Her name is Ellis,” Ty said, filling a shaker with ice and vodka. “She’s a friend.”

  “Doesn’t look like your usual variety of ‘friend,’” Nella pointed out. “The hottie who left is more your type.”

  “Julia?” Ty frowned. “Not really. Anyway, I like Ellis. She’s … different.” He gazed over at Ellis, sitting alone at her table, chin propped up on her fists, watching the swirl of people around her. She was wearing a girlish pink-and-green sundress, and with her hair swept off her neck, he could see a sprinkling of freckles on her sunburnt shoulders and chest, and a surprising amount of cleavage, especially from a woman whose bathing suit looked like something you’d wear to a swim meet. Nella was right about one thing, Ty thought. Ellis looked just like a sweet, pink confection. Totally out of place in a bar like Cadillac Jack’s, with its writhing mass of on-the-make college kids and black-clad hipsters. He wanted to sweep her up and out of there, maybe back to the beach, someplace quiet, someplace without the throb of music and din of shrill voices.

  He’d been unaccountably thrilled to look up an hour ago and see Julia towing Ellis along in her wake, steaming towards the bar. He’d never expected Ellis would actually take him up on his invitation to drop by the club. She didn’t seem like the type to go club hopping, but maybe it had been all Julia’s idea. Not that he really cared. He was happy Ellis had come and even happier that Julia had bowed out.

  Ty looked down at his watch and frowned. “It’s after nine, and I’m supposed to be off. Angie told me Patricia was coming in to work the rest of the shift. You seen her?”

  “Nope,” Nella said. “But I need two frozen ’ritas and a Natty Lite for one of my tables five minutes ago.”

  “Patricia better get her butt in here,” Ty said darkly, dumping ice and margarita mix into the blender jar. “I’m tired of covering for her. Do you have her cell number?”

  “Patricia’s?” Nella hooted. “Get serious. Even if I had her number, she wouldn’t answer. She and Jason had a big fight last night, and he threw her out of the apartment. And you know that piece-of-crap car of hers quit running a week ago, so with Jason out of the picture she’s either gotta ride her bike or thumb a ride to get here.”

  “Swell,” Ty muttered, looking around the bar. It was a typical summer Sunday night at Cadillac Jack’s. The place was jammed and people were still coming in. Patricia Altizer was a sweet kid, in her midtwenties, but she had terrible taste in men, and worse luck when it came to managing her own life. When she made it in on time for her shift, she was a hard worker, but Ty had already had to fill in for her the past couple of times she was supposed to work, and he had the sinking feeling that tonight would be another of those nights.

  Sure enough, at 9:30, Angie, the club owner, slipped behind the bar, a look of chagrin on her face. “Patricia’s a no-show, as I’m sure you already figured,” she started. “Ty, honey, I hate to ask, but can you stay ’til closing?”

  “You can’t get anybody else?” he asked. “I’ve kinda got something to do tonight. And you swore you weren’t going to keep asking me to close.”

  Angie turned and looked in the direction of the table she’d seen Ty gazing at as she approached the bar. Ellis had finished her drink and was fiddling with her cell phone. Ty had been so busy, he hadn’t even had time to send over another drink—or an apology for keeping her waiting.

  “Yeah, Nella told me you’ve got a new friend,” Angie said, a note of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Nella needs to mind her own business,” Ty said.


  “Look, Ty,” Angie went on. “I’m desperate, okay? Patricia’s definitely not coming in, and I’ve called all over, trying to round up somebody else to work, but you’re it. If you’ll stay ’til closing, I’ll owe you big time. You name it, you got it. Just don’t walk out of here and leave me without a bartender.”

  Ty thought about it. Angie really was in a jam. If he left now, with only Nella and one other girl waiting tables, there’d likely be a riot. Anyway, he was in a jam of his own, wasn’t he? It was mid-August, and September was closing in. He needed to make some money, and he needed to make it fast. He looked over at Ellis, who returned his gaze. She smiled, raised her eyebrows, and gave a little wave.

  He sighed. “You’re gonna have to spell me for half an hour. Then I’ll be back, and I’ll stay and close. But this is the last time. And it’s gonna cost you.”

  “Anything,” she said fervently. “Name it.”

  “You’re paying me twenty bucks an hour tonight,” Ty said. “Plus tip out. And no skimming. Nella and I can tell what tips oughta be tonight, and if you try and short us, it’ll be the last time I set foot in this place. Understand?”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “Yep,” Ty said. “And you could always refuse to pay, and I could take a walk.”

  * * *

  “Hey,” Ty said, sliding into the booth across from Ellis.

  “Hey yourself,” Ellis said. “Pretty busy tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got bad news,” Ty said. “The chick who was supposed to be coming in at nine isn’t coming. Which means I’ve got to stay and close up—and I won’t get out of here ’til at least 1 A.M.”

  “Oh,” Ellis said, trying to hide her disappointment. “That’s too bad.”

  “It’s a pain in the ass,” Ty said. “But they can’t get anybody else this late, so it’s all me. Look, I’ve got, like, a fifteen-minute break. I’ll run you home, and if you’ll give me a rain check, maybe we could hang out another night.”

  “Sure,” Ellis said, trying to sound noncommittal. “But don’t worry about me. I can get a cab or something.…”

  “No way.” He held out his hand. “C’mon. The quicker we get out of here, the more time I can spend with you.”

  “All fifteen minutes,” Ellis said.

  Ten minutes later they pulled into the driveway at Ebbtide. The porch light was on, and Madison’s room on the top floor of the house was lit up, but the rest of the house was dark.

  Ty left the Bronco’s motor running. “This really sucks,” he said fervently.

  “It’s all right,” Ellis said. “It’s not like we had a date or anything.”

  “We didn’t really have a date, but that’s not all right with me,” Ty said. “What about another night this week? Most of the best restaurants are closed Mondays. Maybe Tuesday night?”

  “Uh,” Ellis said. Her brain was frozen. He was asking her out. For a real date. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, tongue-tied and paralyzed with shyness.

  “Wednesday night, then?” Ty asked.

  “No, I mean, yes, Tuesday night would be fine,” Ellis finally managed.

  “Great,” Ty said, relieved.

  Grateful that the awkward moment had ended, Ellis fumbled around, looking for the door handle. But before she could find it, Ty leapt out of the car, jogged around, and opened it for her.

  He took her hand and helped her out of the car, pulling her to him in one fluid movement, just as naturally as if he had done it a million other star-filled summer nights. And to her amazement, her arms went around his neck, just as though she’d been doing this all her life too. He found a tendril of dark hair trailing on her shoulder blade, and tucked it behind her ear, kissing first her shoulder blade and then her ear. Finally, his lips found hers. He teased her lips open with his tongue. And then the front pocket of his jeans began to vibrate, and then ring.

  “Damn it,” he said, reluctantly letting her go. “That’s Angie, screaming that I gotta get back. Which I do.”

  He kissed the tip of Ellis’s nose. “To be continued, right?”

  “Right,” Ellis agreed. “Absolutely.”

  She made a concerted effort to march briskly up the steps to Ebbtide, turning at the door to watch Ty’s car backing down the driveway. She hummed lightly as she swept through the ground floor of the house, checking the locks, corking a bottle of wine somebody had left on the kitchen counter, turning off the lights.

  Ellis was halfway up the stairs when she recognized the tune she’d been humming. “Dancing in the Dark.” In her bedroom, she hung up the pink sundress, slipped into her cupcake pjs, and climbed under the covers. She stretched and yawned contentedly, and clicked off the lamp on her bedside table. A summer fling! Ellis Sullivan was having herself a summer fling. As Julia had said, “It’s about damned time.”

  23

  Tuesday morning, Dorie rolled down the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms so that they barely rested on her pubic bone. She lay flat on the worn chenille bedspread, lifted her chin, and stared down at the soft, pale roundness of her belly. Sometime in the past ten days, when she’d been preoccupied with the future, the present caught up with her.

  She closed her eyes and rested the palms of her hands lightly on the bump. Her belly. Her baby. This was really happening. She’d dog-eared her second-hand copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. And at fourteen weeks, she—and the baby—were right on track. Her boobs had grown at least a cup size, spilling out of all her bras and the last bathing suit that still fit. The nausea was gone, she was starting to regain her energy, and just the night before, she was sure—positive, really—that the flutter she’d felt was the baby stirring. Now, if only the rest of her life would get on track.

  It was 10 A.M. She’d been watching the clock since waking shortly after seven. At every hour mark, she thought about Stephen. He’d always been an early riser. Should she call him at daybreak? Dorie couldn’t bear to think about her husband waking up in Matt’s bed. Or would he be alone? At eight, she forced herself to rehearse what she would say when she did call.

  “Stephen? There’s something I need to tell you. I’m sorry to do this on the phone, but I just couldn’t see you before. And I didn’t know how to tell you. But now I do. And the thing is … I’m pregnant.”

  She’d imagined a dozen different responses from him. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. Confusion. Happiness? Could this possibly be news he’d welcome? Could he possibly feel what she’d come to feel—deep, unalloyed joy?

  The joy was something else that had taken her by surprise. Not that she wasn’t still worried about the future—she was! But thinking about this baby gave her a feeling of peace, of such completeness, such absolute rightness, she was almost afraid to allow herself to dip her toe in such a fountain of happiness. The baby books said it was hormonal, but she didn’t care. Whatever else happened next, nothing could change the fact of this baby.

  At nine, Dorie told herself she should wait. Just a little longer. Let Stephen settle into the day. He would be at school now, she thought, putting together lesson plans for the coming year. Or maybe he’d be in meetings with the rest of the coaches, plotting the soccer team’s upcoming season.

  Thinking about school, about their colleagues there, made Dorie queasy, and not for the first time. Our Lady of Angels Academy was a small community. Six hundred girls, thirty teachers. It was a Catholic school with conservative values, ruled by the sixty-six-year-old Sister Mary Thomasine, who’d been running OLA with an iron will and a velvet voice since way before Dorie’s own school days there. What would Sister Thomasine make of Dorie and Stephen’s situation—of Stephen leaving his wife, and for another man? And what would she say about Dorie—and her pregnancy?

  Stephen was such an introvert; he had friends on the faculty, but Dorie couldn’t think of anybody he might have confided in about the demise of their marriage.

  At ten o’clock, she could stand it no longer. She tapped the icon on her phone for
Stephen’s number, holding her breath, half afraid he would answer, half afraid he wouldn’t.

  On the third ring, he picked up.

  “Dorie?” he was out of breath.

  “Hey, Stephen,” she said softly.

  “Hi,” he said. He took a deep breath. She did the same. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Yours too,” she said, frowning. He could have called her. He hadn’t even tried.

  “So,” he said finally. “You’re still in Nags Head? With the girls?”

  “Yes,” she said. Stupid question. He knew perfectly well where she was.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. “Is it as hot there as it is here?”

  “Maybe a little cooler,” she said. “We had a big rain Sunday, and that cooled things off. How is it down there?”

  This was ridiculous, Dorie thought. If she wanted a weather report, she could just look it up on the Internet. She had to quit stalling.

  “You know,” Stephen said wearily. “It’s Savannah in August. Hot. Muggy. Buggy. Pretty much unbearable.”

  “How’s your dad?” Dorie asked. “Any better?”

  “Oh.” His voice dropped. “Oh, God, Dorie. I … you didn’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Dorie, I left you a message. On the house phone. I thought you knew. Dad … Oh Jesus. Dorie, we lost Dad. It’s been, what? A week? I thought you knew.”

  “What?” she cried. “How would I know? I never check the house phone for messages, Stephen, you know that. Why didn’t you call my cell?”

  “It all happened so fast,” Stephen said, his voice sounding defensive. “They put him in hospice care on a Thursday, and Mom thought, well, we’d still have some time. And the next morning, as soon as she got to his room, he just … his heart just stopped.”

  “Stephen!” She was weeping now. “I am so, so sorry.” Sorry for the sweet man Henry had been. For Stephen’s mother, a quiet, reserved Midwesterner whom Dorie had never quite felt comfortable calling “Mom.” And yes, she was crying for Stephen, and for herself, and for this baby she was carrying, who would never know its grandfather Henry.