Haven Creek

by Rochelle Alers

  Irene ruffled his coarse sandy-brown hair. “Tell him we’ll eat when the food is done.”

  “Mommy says when the food is done!” Ethan Snell shouted loudly.

  “Ethan! What were you told about yelling in the house?” Irene said.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” he whispered.

  Irene looked teasingly at Morgan. “See what you have to look forward to? I have two teenage sons who have bottomless pits for bellies and an eight-year-old who pretends he’s a secret agent when he spies on his older brothers. Let me call Mama before I forget.”

  Even though her sister occasionally complained about her sons, Morgan knew she was very proud of them. The twins were honor students, and Ethan was a musical prodigy. Irene and her husband had sold their Charleston town house for a house in the Creek, which they renovated to accommodate their growing family. It wasn’t far from the house where the older Danes had raised their three daughters.

  Irene finished her call. “Mama said she’s going to bring the skillet.”

  “What’s up with Rachel?” Morgan asked.

  “James came to Mama’s and took her home. When he tried to put Amanda in the car she threw a hissy fit, so Daddy told him to leave her.”

  There came a roar of deep voices, and the sisters exchanged a knowing look. Nate and the Snell men had gathered in the family room to watch a baseball game. Morgan had made the introductions when Nate arrived with a decorative shopping bag filled with wine. He’d bought red, white, and rosé because he wasn’t certain what Irene was serving. Nate and Dr. Anthony Snell bonded quickly once they discovered they liked the same sports teams.

  Morgan raised the lid on a Dutch oven, which held two cut-up stewing chickens. There still wasn’t enough liquid to add the dumplings. “Can you check to see if the greens are tender?” Irene asked her.

  Mouthwatering aromas filled the kitchen when Morgan took the top off the pot of collard greens. Whenever it was Irene’s turn to host dinner, she prepared a variety of dishes because her sons and husband had prodigious appetites.

  “Mom, are you making biscuits?” A mop of sun-streaked light brown hair fell over a gangly teenager’s forehead.

  “Yes, Brandon. Now tell your father to stop sending you kids in here.”

  Brandon blushed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gussie walked into the kitchen, kissing Brandon’s cheek as he ducked his head. “You need a haircut, baby.” Irene took the shopping bag containing the skillet while Morgan hugged and kissed her mother. “What’s this I hear about Nate Shaw joining us?” she whispered.

  “I invited him, Mama,” Irene said.

  “That’s real nice of you.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” Irene quipped.

  “How’s Rachel?” Morgan asked her mother, hoping to defuse a potentially heated verbal exchange between her and Irene. Of the three Dane sisters, Irene had been the one who had most often challenged her mother, usually without much success.

  “She was complaining of back pain.”

  Irene laughed. “It won’t be long now. I can’t wait to hold my little niece or nephew.”

  The three women launched into a debate about whether Rachel was going to have a girl or a boy, while Irene insisted she would have twins because of her dream.

  Two hours later, Morgan sat between her identical twin nephews, Brian and Brandon, and across the table from Nate in the formal dining room. Everyone bowed their heads while Anthony blessed the table. Conversations started up again once the soup tureen filled with gumbo was passed around the table.

  Gussie swallow a mouthful. “Who made this?”

  “Irene.”

  “Morgan.”

  The sisters had spoken in unison.

  Irene shook her head. “It’s Morgan’s recipe.”

  Brian elbowed Morgan. “This is so good, Aunt Mo.”

  Morgan patted his back. “Thank you, Brian.” The twins were seven when their uncle Anthony Snell married Irene Dane. Irene had sat them down, telling them they were going to be a family. Anthony would no longer be Uncle Tony but Dad, and Irene would be Mom.

  “I believe your gumbo is better than Jack’s, baby girl,” Stephen Dane announced proudly. “It’s definitely a winner.”

  “I agree,” Gussie said, confirming her husband’s assessment. “You should enter it in the one-pot category at the Island Fair.”

  “Don’t forget her potato salad,” Irene added.

  Gussie stared directly at Morgan. “Do you plan to go to the fair this year?”

  Thank you for putting me on the spot, Mama, Morgan thought. “Yes. Nate and I are going together.” She felt the heat from countless pairs of eyes on her with the announcement.

  Stephen cleared his throat. “Won’t this be your first fair since you’ve returned to the Creek?” he asked Nate.

  Nate knew his smile spoke volumes. Unknowingly, Morgan’s mother and father had been instrumental in Morgan’s decision to go with him. “Yes it will, Dr. Dane.”

  Stephen waved his hand. “There will be none of that Dr. Dane business. If you’re dating my daughter, then I’d like you to call me Stephen.”

  Nate was gloating and he didn’t care who knew it. “Thank you, Stephen.”

  When Morgan had asked to speak with him at Jeff’s wedding, he never anticipated the effect she would have on his life. She’d gotten him to come out of his shell since his very public marriage and divorce. When he thought about the other women he’d dated, Nate could honestly admit he’d never been friends with them.

  Being in a relationship with Morgan would be deeper than any he’d had before, because he and Morgan could be friends as well as lovers.

  He met Morgan’s eyes. “You definitely should enter the gumbo in the fair’s food-tasting contests.”

  A secret smile trembled over her lips before they parted. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Anthony swallowed a spoonful of gumbo, chewing slowly on a tender shrimp. Brian and Brendan looked enough like him to have been his sons rather than his nephews. “What’s there to think about, Morgan? I went to med school in New Orleans and had my share of gumbo. But this is the best I’ve ever eaten.”

  “I’ll act as your sous-chef,” Nate volunteered.

  “What’s a soup chief, Grandpa?” Amanda asked.

  Everyone at the table laughed. Stephen dropped a kiss on his granddaughter’s hair. “He or she is an assistant chef, Grandbaby girl.”

  Amanda’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Wow. That’s cool.”

  Stephen kissed Amanda again. “Morgan bringing home a ribbon would be cool. The last time we had a ribbon was when my mother won first place for her peach cobbler. And that was more than forty years ago.”

  “Hear, hear,” everyone around the table chorused as they raised their glasses.

  “Don’t forget I still have to help Mama roll out crusts for her pies,” Morgan reminded those sitting around the table.

  Nate smiled at Morgan. “I told you I’ll act as your sous-chef when you make the gumbo, so that should give you time to make the crusts.”

  Gussie pressed her palms together. “That settles it. This year the Dane women are going to enter several contests. Morgan will make her gumbo and I’ll make my sweet potato pies. Of course she’ll make the crusts because I can never roll them that thin.”

  “That’s cool,” Amanda repeated.

  Nate wanted to say it was more than cool. Eating dinner with the Danes had become a time for healing and reflection. Today was the twenty-second anniversary of his mother’s death, and he’d felt the need to connect with her spirit before visiting her grave. Manda had been very involved with Haven Creek Baptist Church, serving on several of the many committees dedicated to improving the spiritual and physical health of its members.

  Sitting at the table with Morgan’s family made him feel as if he were truly a part of their family unit. That was something he was still working on with his own. His gaze had fused with Morgan’s, and he wondered if she was aware
of how much he liked her, how often he wanted to see her.

  Everyone took second helpings of gumbo before filling their plates with collard greens, stewed chicken and light, flavorful dumplings, and fluffy, buttery biscuits. A glass of ice-cold milk sat at Amanda’s place setting, while the other children drank freshly squeezed lemonade. The adults were given the option of choosing sweet tea or wine.

  After a dessert of coconut lemon cake, the table was cleared, dishes were stacked in the dishwasher, and containers were filled with leftovers for those who wanted them. Brian and Brandon protested loudly when Irene gave their grandfather a container of gumbo. They managed to look embarrassed when their mother opened the refrigerator to show them several large containers filled with it.

  Nate shook Anthony’s hand, and then hugged Irene. “Thank you again for inviting me.”

  Leaning back, she stared up at him with eyes that reminded him of Morgan’s. “Now, don’t you be a stranger.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  He exchanged handshakes and fist bumps with the twins. Nate stared at Amanda, who clung tightly to her grandfather’s leg. Holding out his hand, he smiled at her. “Good-bye, Amanda.”

  The little girl stared at his hand for at least thirty seconds before she touched his fingers. “Good-bye.”

  Walking into the kitchen, he found Morgan wiping down the cooking island. Smiling, she closed the distance between them. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. Dinner was wonderful.”

  “We enjoyed having you.”

  Lowering his head, he kissed her cheek. “May I come by and see you later?” he whispered in her ear. He heard the hitch in her breathing with the query.

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her again. “Good night, Mo.”

  Her eyes moved slowly over his face. “Good night, Nate.”

  Morgan was sitting on the porch steps when Nate drove up. He stuck his head out the driver’s-side window. “Lock up the house and come get in.”

  She rose to her feet. “Where are we going?”

  He smiled at her. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Do I have to change?” she asked Nate, holding out her arms at her sides.

  “No. What you have on is perfect.”

  Turning, Morgan climbed the steps and retrieved her house keys from the basket on the parlor table. Like so many island residents, she didn’t lock her doors unless she was out or it was time to go to bed. During daytime hours, even if the doors weren’t standing open, they were usually unlocked. It’d been a while since there had been a reported burglary or break-in. Maybe that was because everyone knew each other, or because all-seeing eyes were always on the alert for anything out of the ordinary—such as when Nate’s truck was parked in her driveway. It wasn’t as if it’d been there overnight. She wondered if there was a clandestine citizens watch group, in addition to the deputies who patrolled the towns around the clock, that went around peeking in windows or monitoring cars.

  Nosy neighbors were definitely a downside of living in a small town. But that wasn’t enough for her to consider moving. Living in Haven Creek made Morgan feel connected and protected. And going out with Nate was a plus. She knew his family. He knew hers, and there wasn’t much he could attempt to conceal from her.

  She locked the front door, pushing the keys into the pocket of her shorts. She’d come home, showered, shampooed her hair, and changed into a pair of shorts, an oversize T-shirt, and flip-flops. Rasputin had followed her around, making strange growling sounds until she picked him up. Her cat was an anomaly, because most cats were solitary and independent.

  Nate was standing outside the vehicle watching her approach. She smiled. He was similarly dressed, in cutoffs, a white T-shirt, and sandals. Morgan enjoyed the feel of him when he held her close, kissing her mouth. This kiss was different from the others they’d shared. It was an intimate caress.

  He ended the kiss, pressing his mouth to her eyelids. “You don’t know how much I wanted to kiss you today. I’m glad I was seated across from you instead of next to you, because I’m afraid my hands would’ve done things under the tablecloth that would’ve been unquestionably inappropriate while dining.”

  Morgan was grateful they hadn’t been seated together. It would’ve proven much too tempting to inadvertently have their shoulders touch or for her to lean into him. She’d never been one for public displays of affection, especially in the presence of her family. When Nate held her hand at the wedding reception, she knew why the gesture had elicited talk among her relatives.

  “Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?” she asked when he helped her up into the Sequoia.

  “If I tell you, then I’ll ruin the surprise.”

  Morgan didn’t have to wait long to discover what the surprise was. When Nate pulled into the area at the beach set aside for parking, it was obvious he wasn’t the only one who’d made the same plans. She counted eleven other vehicles.

  Nate retrieved a wicker picnic basket, blanket, a boom box, and two solar-powered lanterns from the Sequoia’s cargo area. She picked up one of the lanterns and the blanket as they made their way down to the beach. This is what she’d wanted so many years ago. She’d fantasized about sitting on the beach with Nate while pouring out her heart and telling him of her love for him.

  The sun was enormous, shimmering in the darkening sky over the pounding surf. The heat of the day was offset by the setting sun and the wind coming off the ocean. They found a spot away from the other beachgoers, spreading a blanket on the sand and anchoring the corners with the boom box, lanterns, and picnic basket. Morgan took off her flip-flops and sank down to the blanket on her knees. She watched as Nate sat opposite her, opened the basket, and removed its contents. There were plates, silverware, wineglasses, and bottles of red and white wine. There were also clear glass containers with hard and soft cheeses, grapes, and sleeves of stone-ground crackers.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Nate gave her a sidelong glance. “I bought the basket from the Pick Nick. I was in luck because it was the last one. Velma said they were selling like hotcakes. The cheese, fruit, and crackers came from the deli at the Cove’s supermarket.”

  Although smaller and less populated than the Cove or the Landing, Haven Creek was an artist’s paradise. Oak Street was lined with tiny shops selling canned preserves and vegetables, handmade quilts, and sweetgrass baskets; a number of shops sold paintings, sculptures, and handicrafts produced by local artists. Every Tuesday the vegetable stands in the open lot behind the church brimmed with fresh produce grown by local farmers. A portable refrigerated shed was set up for hog and chicken farmers selling fresh corn-fed chickens, eggs, ham, bacon, ribs, and whole and half pigs.

  “What about the wine?” South Carolina was still a blue state, which prohibited the sale of alcohol on Sundays.

  “I have an extensive wine collection in a cooler at my sister’s house.”

  She watched him quickly and expertly uncork a bottle of red wine. “I’d never figure you for a wine connoisseur.” Morgan remembered Nate had ordered beer at Happy Hour.

  “I’m more of a collector. Before I started going on the Napa Valley wine tours I didn’t know a Syrah from a Cabernet Sauvignon.” He half filled a wineglass with the Pinot Noir, handing it to her. He repeated the motion, handing Morgan the other glass as well. Then he opened the container of cheese, topping the crackers with Gruyère, Port-Salut, and Swiss. He retrieved his glass, touching it to Morgan’s. “Salud!”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Salud!” Morgan took a sip of the wine, savoring the medium-bodied, fruity wine and its woodlike flavor on her tongue. Morgan popped a grape into her mouth, chewing it slowly. “The wine is excellent.”

  The brilliance of the setting sun turned Nate’s white T-shirt a fiery orange-red. “It’s one of my favorite reds.”

  “I can see why.” It was the perfect complement to the fruit and mild-flavored cheeses.

  Morgan couldn’t
believe she was in love with a man who wasn’t willing to give her a happily ever after…again. And in a couple of days all of Cavanaugh Island would speculate about their being an item once they attended the fair together. What would she do when the affair ended? When he decided things were getting too serious?

  She shook her head as if to clear it. She couldn’t think about that right now. Instead, she would try and enjoy this time with him.

  Nate shifted position, sitting beside Morgan, she resting her head on his shoulder. They sat together, sipping wine, nibbling on fruit, crackers, and cheese, while listening to the music coming from the boom box. The voice of the blues singer was pregnant with raw emotion when he sang about finding the love of his life, then losing her to another man. The lyrics were so heartbreaking she wondered if Nate identified with the vocalist.

  “Do you hate your ex for what she did to you?” Morgan felt the muscles in Nate’s shoulder tighten.

  Nate couldn’t believe Morgan wanted to talk about another woman when he’d wanted it to be just the two of them. Easing her down to the blanket, he lay behind her in spoon fashion. “No, I don’t, and I don’t want to talk about her. Not tonight.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “You.”

  “What about me, Nate?”

  “I want to get to know you better. For instance, why did your parents give you a boy’s name?”

  “It was a peace offering from my mother to her in-laws. My grandparents never forgave my father for marrying a woman who wasn’t Gullah.”

  “I don’t know why, but I always thought she was Gullah.”

  Morgan laughed softly. “After being with Daddy for more than forty years, she’s picked up a lot of the traditions and vernacular.”

  Nate held his breath when Morgan moved, pushing her hips against his groin. “How did your parents meet?” he asked.

  “They were both students at Howard. My grandmother thought my mother was stuck-up. Grandpa gave them a gift of a quarter acre of land on the Creek for their wedding. It wasn’t until after they’d set up a practice in Charleston that they were able to save enough money to build a house. Mama and Grandmomma weren’t bosom buddies, but they dealt with each other because of Rachel and Irene.