Mark bit his lip. He’d met Phil the second day of his catering job to help pay his way through college. Phil, a couple of years older and wiser, always seemed to be the cleverest, smartest, hardest working guy in the room. When Mark’s love of numbers and order and contracts rose him quickly up the ranks from staff to management, he’d watched as Phil settled even more into his studies and graduated a year early with honors. It hadn’t occurred to him to look practically at the cost of his education and what it was buying him until Phil, at two years older, had done it. He’d dropped out with only a year left to go.
“I could always go back,” Mark replied, crossing his arms over his chest for protection.
“Yeah, you could. But we both know you won’t. If you aren’t going to stay there forever, then what do you want to do?”
“I want to have a life.”
“And this won’t give you that? It sounds like you’d have more time.”
“I’ll probably apply for it. I’ll probably do it. I don’t know why I’m hesitating.”
Wouldn’t more time be appealing? Isn’t that reason enough?
Initially, nine years ago, he’d taken the job transfer to escape frigid winters and spend his free time at the beach. He’d worked hard to get to this point in his career, where he could delegate more and slow down and enjoy himself. What was wrong with him?
“I don’t either. Especially when it gives you a legitimate excuse for not asking out a girl you’re clearly interested in.”
Mark pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “And with that, it’s time for me to leave.”
“Chicken,” Phil muttered. He followed suit and led his friend back to the front door.
“Thank Trish for lunch and I’ll see you around.”
“I will. Thanks for coming by. Give that big mutt of yours a hug from me.”
“Ha, I can do that.”
Mark opened the door and jogged down the steps. He heard his friend shut the door behind him as he reached the bottom. He shook his head. What had gotten into him? Why had he opened up so much? Had stream of consciousness become his new source of conversation? He needed to clear his head from the confusion of his unintentional confessions.
He walked out the back door and over to his car, but hesitated. It was late afternoon and he was in no rush to go anywhere or do anything. He’d have preferred to stay and finish the job, but that was out of the question.
Walking around the building from the alley, he followed the main drag, Mallery Street. Running straight through the shops and restaurants, it ended where the pier began. Strolling down the pier, he passed a couple fishermen and their accompanying large pelicans, all waiting on a big catch. He turned to look back on the island, taking in the beauty of the huge live oaks and the lighthouse rising over the palms in the park above and the water lapping against the rocks at the shore below. He loved the peace of standing out on the pier and taking in all the activity around him.
What am I doing? Why am I hesitating on this? Is it because of that girl?
No, he shook his head. His reluctance hadn’t begun this morning when he’d run into her again. He’d found himself unsure of many decisions over the past nine months. It all stemmed from one source.
Turning back to look across the sound towards Jekyll, Mark watched a giant cargo ship navigated the waterway with the help of a tiny tugboat. He marveled every time he witnessed it, sure that this would be the time the boat would run aground. But it never happened.
He felt the same about himself, he decided. Every time he felt sure he was done he found something in himself to keep going. It was either madness or resilience. He turned his back on the ship, put his hands in his pockets, and stared at his feet as he walked back the way he’d come. He had to do what he’d always done, just keep going, no matter what.
Chapter Three
Lizzie longed to pick up the water bottle on the desk in front of her and put the cool plastic to the back of her neck. Sitting on a padded office chair in a suit and pantyhose would have been fine if the window air conditioning unit hadn’t conked out from overuse when she walked in at nine. Instead of seeking relief, she remained seated, sweating through her seersucker blazer, and nodded along. This is my specialty. Saving a wedding at the last minute is why I’m made for this job.
“But I’ve told everyone about the views and they’re expecting that we’ll be outside,” the bride vented and continued on.
In many ways, it was a typical Saturday for Lizzie. Listening, reassuring when required, and then stepping in to take charge of the day, defined her weekends. But with this bride, in the stuffy, sticky office, she had a hard time focusing on the bride’s words. Staring at a point past the bride’s shoulder, she offered a few murmurs of understanding.
Think of the arctic circle, imagine you’re on a cruise ship sailing through Alaska. But her imagery couldn’t stop the perspiration. The weather forecast promised a break from the unrelenting humidity in a few hours when a massive storm system approached. If I don’t melt before then…
She wanted to run into the storm, eager to feel the cool relief and escape her swampy office. Of course, the forecasted rain ruined this bride’s plans. Lizzie stopped her nodding when the bride exhausted herself and shut her mouth.
“I know you’re disappointed. And there is still a chance that the cocktail hour can be held outside on the terrace with no fuss tonight. But even if the rain passes by quickly, the ground will be soaked through and would be in no condition for setting up chairs.”
The bride opened her mouth to speak but Lizzie held up her hand to stall her. She had no more time to waste. She had to take charge of the situation and, if she could manage it, sneak out to get a shower and a fresh outfit.
“Even if we did set up the chairs, which would ruin the lawn, your heels and everyone else’s would get stuck in the ground. You wouldn’t be able to move and your grand entrance would be ruined. Think about it.”
As she watched the bride’s face turn white. Getting up from her chair, she came around to lean down and put a comforting arm around the bride’s shoulders. Understanding when to offer comfort was as important as taking charge.
“I promise you. The chapel will be stunning and everyone will be talking about it forever.”
And this is exactly why I won’t let anyone book a wedding in the spring without reserving the chapel too.
“We won’t let you down,” she told the bride, her grin never leaving her face.
“Okay,” the bride agreed. She nodded and Lizzie dropped her arm and stood up to her full height. The bride got up from her chair and followed Lizzie to the door.
“You have a day of pampering. The wedding starts at five and I will be over to see you at four. No more worrying about this or anything today. Drink champagne, get your make-up done, have a wonderful day.”
The bride nodded, Lizzie opened the door for her, and waved her off. Lizzie shut the door behind her and sighed.
Despite planning for any and every foreseeable possibility, she could still be blindsided on the big day. More times than she could remember, the last minute saves had ended up being some of the most unforgettable moments for her brides and grooms. Okay, one more time, go save the day.
Pulling her cell phone out of her skirt pocket, she dialed the number for the florist. As the phone rang, she began mentally making a list of what she had to change in the next three hours.
Call the ceremony musicians, get the cleaning crew over to open the doors and mop the floor of the chapel, get a sign made and put out at the original ceremony location by the river directing people to the chapel.
The phone kept ringing and ringing as Lizzie paced her office in a big figure eight. She had plenty of room for aimless wandering. She’d been promoted to full-time staff when the other event planner had quit. Lizzie wasn’t sure if it had been the quality of her work or mere chance from being in the right place in the right time that had gotten her the job. But she’d take luc
k any day and refused to look at it too critically. She had had to put in enough of her own hard work since shouldering what had been the responsibilities of two people all on her own. She knew she had plenty to learn still and she searched for every opportunity. But she’d argue that she did a pretty good job figuring it out.
“Come on, pick up.”
The phone kept ringing, not even clicking over to voicemail, and then her desk line began to ring too.
“Fine, you win. I’ll call back.”
Racing over, she grabbed her other line before it went to voicemail. She hated voicemail. She never had enough time to sit and listen to a message.
“Hello. Lizzie speaking. How may I help you?” She answered, slightly breathless after jumping into her chair.
“Elizabeth?” A man’s voice asked.
“Yes, speaking.”
“Elizabeth Shaw?” The man asked again.
Lizzie bit her lip and fought to keep her composure. I don’t have time for this. I have too much work to do. Swiveling her chair to keep an eye on the work outside, she took in a deep breath. It was a wedding day which meant long hours and dealing with stressed clients. But more than that it was a last minute venue change which meant even more of both. She didn’t have time to play games with whoever called. Especially as she watched the first large drops of rain fall and splatter on the chairs set in the lawn.
“Yes, Elizabeth Shaw,” she replied absent-mindedly, her attention focused on the crew rushing out to collapse the chairs outside. “But please call me Lizzie. I don’t think I’d respond if someone called me by my full name.” She chuckled.
“This is Frank Cade,” the man said sternly. “I’m calling to schedule a time to interview you.”
“Oh great.” She snapped to attention, swiveling her chair back to face her computer. “I can come in Monday or Tuesday. Those are my days off.”
“Tuesday at eleven then,” Frank Cade bit out. “And Elizabeth?”
“Yes?” Her stomach clenched at the formality of the man on the phone.
She’d never met Frank Cade but couldn’t shake an ominous feeling. Does he already dislike me? If his sharp and short tone is any indication… already dislike her? No one had scolded her like that in years, not since the one time she had been called into the principal’s office for fighting with her brother. Her ears burned and tears formed in her eyes remembering the sheer terror of the moment.
“You need to answer the phone using your full name and title. Greeting with your nickname and then insisting I use it makes you sound unprofessional.”
Her cheeks flamed even hotter. She grabbed the water bottle off the desk and pressed it against the left side of her face. Had she screwed up already? Had she lost out on her chance because of how she answered the phone on a busy day? Taking in a deep breath, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She refused to let frustration and stress tear her down. She’d never be reduced to an emotional mess at work, no matter how unprofessional Frank Cade thought she was.
Raising her chin and sucking in her stomach, she pretended he could see her. Letting him see a weak, slumped figure simply wouldn’t do. Show him the bold, brave girl you are.
“Absolutely,” she continued, putting more force and self-assurance then she felt into her voice. “I’ll see you then. Thank you, Mr. Cade.”
She hung up the phone before he could admonish her further, grateful that she hadn’t been yelled at in person. Would this be her future? Working for a boss who’d pick at her over every little detail? She shivered. She didn’t look forward to being constantly treated like an inferior and a child.
No, she shook her head. She couldn’t think like this. She couldn’t let herself start dreaming up every potential problem or what if scenario. She could only focus on her present and control her own reactions. The job would change everything for her and she refused to give up. She needed this change.
Don’t go looking for trouble, it’ll find you soon enough.
Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and set it on the desk. The florist returning her call. She pushed any worries about the first impression she’d left with Frank Cade to the back of her mind. I don’t have time to sit around and worry about it now.
“Jen? Hi it’s Lizzie.” She pushed back her chair and stood at the window. “It’s the Thompson wedding all over again. Do you have any spare signs? I need to set them up to direct everyone to the chapel.”
“Sure thing, we’ll met you there,” the woman replied.
“Great. You’re the best!” Lizzie hung up the phone.
She stepped into the center of her office and surveyed the room again, taking inventory. Her desk and another desk sat side by side, facing the door in front of two large picture windows overlooking another cottage. The wall next to her desk was comprised entirely of shelves and opposite it sat a deep couch, perfect for spending late nights on when leaving the island to go to her own home didn’t make sense.
Lizzie turned to survey the wall entirely comprised of bookshelves. Nearly every spare inch was occupied by a four inch binder, with the event name and date listed on the spine. She had originally organized the binders by last name but found it too hard to resort the entire wall every time a new binder was added. Instead, she’d begun to arrange the binders by event date. She’d developed a knack for remembering the names and dates of her couples and could find anything she needed in a snap.
It only took her a few seconds to walk over and find November 2014, the wedding that had similarly required a complete location upheaval. She flipped through the pages of emails with the bride and her mother, the contracts and copies of checks to the contingency plan she’d printed off and thrown into the binder after the wedding. Lizzie opened the binder, pulled out the page, and smiled as she read through the In Case of Emergency checklist. She’d never let a bride see anything that said emergency on it in relation to their wedding. She’d never be anything less than cool, calm, and composed with her brides. But it never hurt to have a back-up plan and after having to develop this one on the fly, she was grateful to have saved it.
Step one: Call maintenance
She peeled the wet jacket off her body, threw it on the couch, and rolled up the sleeves on the Oxford shirt underneath.
“Let’s get this thing started.”
* * * * *
Mark and Scooter walked together along the water’s edge. For once, he did not feel the urge to push his body as hard as he could with an evening run. Instead, it felt nice to walk and think. He’d dropped off his resume for the job on his way out of the office that night. It had been a typical slow Monday, reviewing the numbers from the events of the weekend and forecasting what needed to be ordered for the coming weeks.
Dropping off his resume had been an after-thought. If he got the job, it would be a positive for him he decided. He’d begun to think of the entire year as a waste of his time and energy. He needed to think more positively and change his outlook if he wanted to change the direction of his life.
The job he could do in his sleep. Would the role be enough of a change for him to feel satisfied? Would all of his work and all the struggles of the past year be worth it? He’d been spending too much time questioning everything, he reasoned. He’d grown tired of it.
Mark slowed down to walk alongside his dog. He loved that he could reach out a hand and pet the top of Scooter’s head, as they fell into step together. He also loved that he didn’t need to leash the dog to go on a walk on the beach. As the thought formed, a tennis ball darted in their path and Scooter raced off to chase it down.
“SCOOTER! STOP! SCOOTER!”
He hesitated for a few seconds before chasing after the dog. Shock at the speed of the old dog and his actions froze Mark in place. Scooter had had enough time to disappear from view into the horizon. Mark sprinted down the beach for five minutes, furtively looking up the sand to see where the dog could have gone. He thought he saw a flash of black fur run up
the beach towards the dunes and the more powdery sand.
Mark swore under his breath. If Scooter left the beach, he’d get hit by a car for sure. Being a black dog at twilight on the street wasn’t a great combination. Mark jogged up and watched as the black fur ball stopped by two women. He got within a few yards of the group and identified that it was Scooter. He watched the dog drop a tennis ball at their feet and Mark picked up his speed again to stop them from throwing it.
“Stop him,” he yelled as he approached the group.
The women froze and the dog lay down on their blanket. Mark walked up to them and put a hand to his side as he tried to catch his breath. He looked towards the women, but past them. Not seeing anything in the bright sun.
“Mark?” one of the women asked.
Mark put a hand to his eyes to block the light and peered closer at them. Lizzie’s bright brown eyes and big, contagious grin came into focus. He smiled back at her and her companion, an older lady. Running into her might become my favorite pastime.
“Hi Lizzie,” he said, out of breath. “Sorry about the fur ball crashing on your blanket.”
“This guy? Are you kidding? He’s great,” Lizzie replied.
Mark watched her stroke the dog’s back and with each movement, Scooter relaxed and pushed himself closer against her. Mark fought an eye roll at his dog’s antics and worked on getting his breathing back to normal.
“Do you have a dog?” he asked.
“No, not right now,” she replied, keeping her eyes on Scooter. “But I grew up with dogs.”
“Me too,” the other lady piped up.
Mark looked over to her and realized how rude he’d been. He’d completely failed to acknowledge her or even glance in her direction.
“I’m so sorry,” Lizzie apologized. “Mark this is Rose, Rose this is Mark.”
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you Rose,” Mark said, shaking the older woman’s outstretched hand. He shot Lizzie a sideways glance, taking in the delightful blush coloring her features. He liked her blushing, it made her vulnerable and the complete antithesis of the pulled together business woman who’d run him down in the office last Friday.
Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) Page 4