Stones of Sandhill Island

by Peggy Chambers

  “I’m on vacation. No work, no kids, just my best friend in the world. It’s never too early for ice cream.” Crossing the street, they were met by the occasional tourist with red noses and white legs. They left their desk jobs once a year for a little rest and relaxation, brought the kids and played like beach bums for a week. They were intent on having a good time—too much to eat, and too much to drink—before returning to the grind.

  Inside the artificially cool shop they ordered ice cream cones, and then stepped back outside to the tables in the front. Like most mothers, Sandy instinctively picked up extra napkins and laid them on the table between them.

  “I love this little town,” Sandy licked the Rocky Road, sucking out a marshmallow, and then chewing it. Rocky Road had been her favorite even as a kid. She said the marshmallows reminded her of clouds.

  Billie used a spoon to pick the peach pieces from her frozen concoction, spooning them into her mouth, and then licked the cream itself. There hadn’t always been an ice cream shop on the island, but they spent many summers in each other’s yard licking the sticky sweetness from their fingers.

  “It’s funny the things that come back to you. Do you remember the block parties we used to have, and the old man who made his own ice cream? I can’t remember his name.” Billie licked the bottom of the waffle cone that started to drip.

  “I don’t remember either. But I do know where he lived. He always had the best ice cream, and Mom would bring her award-winning cookies. The same ones she took to your mom this morning.” Sandy searched for the nuts frozen in the ice cream.

  “They are award winning. At least in my mind. How does she get them so light and crisp? Do you think she would teach me?” Billie now sucked the melted cream from the bottom of the cone, as it dripped in earnest, then wrapped it in several layers of napkin.

  “She’d love to. It would give her something to do and pass down a skill. You know she won’t be around forever. Neither of them will.” Sandy looked up as the Mercedes convertible pulled into the parking space in front of the ice cream shop. There were two young men in the car—snow birds. Probably here for the warmer weather and to get out of the office for a week.

  “Hi, ladies, good to see you out and about.” The dark-haired man behind the wheel nodded at Billie as he got out of the car.

  “Hi, Neil. I see you have company.” Billie smiled at the man and his guest.

  “Yes, this is Mike Anderson. He’s my buddy from Montana, here for the week.”

  “Sandy, this is Neil Towers. He owns a boat in the marina and has been coming to hear me sing. He is a fisherman who MAY learn yoga someday. And this is my friend Sandy Miller. She grew up on the island and now lives in Biloxi.” Billie gestured to Sandy as she wiped the ice cream from her chin.

  “Nice to meet you both.” Sandy smiled around the ice cream. “I’d shake your hand, but mine is a bit sticky at the moment.” Sandy noticed Billie’s ease with the stranger. That had to be a move in the right direction.

  “Do they have good ice cream?” Neil looked at Billie over the top of his sunglasses.

  “Mine’s good. They’ve only been opened a short time. This place needed an ice cream parlor.”

  “What do you say, man? Ice cream?” Neil nodded to Mike then the door of the shop. The men walked in the door.

  “He seems nice.” Sandy looked at Billie knowingly. “Do you think they really want ice cream or is it just an opportunity to talk to a couple of really hot girls?”

  “Girls?” Billie smiled. “I think I quit being a girl a long time ago. But yes, you might be right. Neil has been very attentive lately. He brought me coffee the other day as I practiced yoga.”

  “I thought you didn’t allow any interruptions when you practice yoga and meditation.” Sandy bit the cone which collapsed into her hand. She shoved the entire thing into her mouth, barely able to close it.

  “Well, there had been an incident at the restaurant the night before and he checked up on me.” Billie bit into the waffle cone.

  “What kind of incident?” Sandy wiped her mouth.

  “The Joe Franks kind of incident.”

  Sandy raised her eyebrows.

  “I haven’t had time to tell you. He showed up at the restaurant and wanted me to write him a letter of recommendation, so he could get a better job. Now that he’s served his time and all.” Billie wiped the melted ice cream from the table.

  “What? That worm! I didn’t even realize he got out of jail. And the bigger question is, why is he out of jail? He should never get out as far as I’m concerned, but the courts felt differently.”

  “Well, Sam and String were there, and Neil. He wanted to help. The next morning, he sat fishing on the beach when I got there and told me his life story. Divorced, drinking and a suicide attempt. He has had a lot of therapy and he just wanted me to know I wasn’t alone.” Billie licked the sticky cream off her fingers and then sucked them clean.

  “Well, he’s right, you’re not alone. But I wonder how your therapist would feel about you getting involved with someone who has had emotional problems? I mean, would it be like a crutch?” Sandy wiped her mouth again, thankful for the extra napkins.

  “I don’t plan to get involved with him, but he is nice, and I enjoy talking to him. I also saw my therapist that day and told her about him.”

  Sandy looked at her friend across the table. “I think that might be a good thing for you to come out of your shell a little and enjoy people again. Just be careful. And, don’t look now, but they are coming back.” She nodded slightly at the men as they walked out the door of the shop.

  “Can we sit with you?” Neil asked walking up to the table.

  “Of course. We’re finished and about to leave anyway.” Billie nodded to the empty chairs.

  “Well, don’t leave. We just got here.” Neil looked genuinely upset that the women would not stay.

  “Well, we can stay for just a minute. I’m showing Sandy around her old hometown.”

  “Mike and I are seeing the sites too. Do you ladies have plans for later? Could we buy you dinner or maybe just some coffee?”

  Sandy could see Billie put on the brakes. “No thanks, we’re just enjoying a girl’s day out. But it was nice to see you.” Billie rose from the table and Sandy followed. Obviously, Billie could still be scared off easily.

  “Well, come down to the boat later and we’ll take you for a ride.” Neil looked hopeful.

  “Maybe,” Billie said and walked away with Sandy in tow.

  “You’re pushin’ man.” Mike said looking down at the cup of ice cream after the women left.

  “I think I’m out of practice.” Neil laughed and shoved the ice cream away.

  Chapter 17

  The dog, heavy with puppies, slid under the porch grunting as she went. The shade felt cooler there and the sea breeze blew across her nose. It told her of fish and water and kids—and also danger. Splashing through the cool water was fun chasing crabs, but these days, with her body heavy and cumbersome, play was more trouble. The waves would surely knock her down, and she might not get back up.

  The puppies were her first litter. She was a nurturer by nature, even if she didn’t understand the changes in her body. She felt protective of what grew inside her and consequently made her hungry all the time. The man at the restaurant fed her daily if she met him out back. He also had cool water for her to drink. But she had come to think of the porch at the little house as home. She heard the comings and goings of the people who lived in the house and knew instinctively that they were good, like the man at the restaurant, and would let her stay. And she dozed with the cool sea breeze blowing up her nose.

  ****

  “You know that dog is back, and I think she plans to stay.” Raven wiped her hands on the apron that covered her scrubs. It told of the double duty she pulled daily—that of nurse and often cook. The kitchen smelled of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato basil soup. The soup, one of Sam’s specialties, Billie brought home
with her every time he made it.

  “I can’t stand to see her without a home. Do you know someone who would take her in?” Billie stood at the sink as the warm soapy water covered the dishes and her hands.

  “Well, I can think of one person who might need her.” Raven eyed Billie up and down. “You know, one of these days you’ll be alone, and that dog might just be the ticket.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a dog.” Billie wiped the soap from the plate and then dunked it in the rinse water placing it in the rack to drain.

  “Maybe you don’t and maybe you do. I love you honey, but you know when your mother goes, I must go too. I can come back and visit, and we’ll always be friends, but I’ll have to move on to another job. You don’t need me like your mother does.” Raven picked up the dishtowel and dried the plate. “I’m just saying a companion—even the furry kind—is what you need.”

  “Oh, you’re a psychiatrist now.” Billie smiled at the nurse who often had two patients for the price of one.

  “Just sayin’.” Raven dried the last dish and put it in the cabinet.

  The soapy water drained down the sink, and Billie wiped the cabinet top. Her mother was taking her afternoon nap, and Billie had time to herself. She walked to the bedroom and picked up the novel beside the bed, taking it to the front porch swing. Maybe a nap, or a little reading, whichever came first.

  She leaned back on the pillow that cushioned the arm and drew her legs up on the other end, sliding her toes under the afghan that lay on the swing. The gentle breeze blew through the screens and gently rocked her, reminding her of why she lived here. She felt the seashore in her soul and breathed deeply, then she heard the rumblings beneath her.

  The dog was back.

  Billie sat up as the brown nose poked out from under the porch. The dog obviously struggled to free itself from the encumbrance. She wiggled loose and stood stretching in the sun, her soft brindle coat shining. Her girth had increased since the last time Billie had seen her. Puppies grew much faster than human babies. She took a step and sniffed the salty air, turned and looked back over her shoulder at Billie.

  “Good afternoon.” Billie nodded at the pregnant hound. She knew the dog had nowhere to go and would give birth to the babies where she felt safe. And she felt safe under Billie’s porch.

  The dog nodded back with her doggie smile and then looked out to sea. She trotted off in the direction of Le Chez for her afternoon snack. The lunch rush would be over, and Sam would take out the trash. Like it or not, Billie and Sam had a dog. They probably couldn’t run her off, and Billie found she didn’t want to.

  Opening the screen door to the porch, Billie stepped out onto the warm sand barefoot and looked at the tiny place the dog had burrowed under. She walked to the back porch knowing she had a garden trowel there. Billie got down on her knees and began to dig out the sand where the dog made a temporary home. She would make her a bed on the porch if she liked. Maybe later she could graduate to the house. She wondered what kind of dog food a pregnant mother needed. The dog reminded Billie of herself. Raven was right, the dog needed someone, and Billie might need someone too.

  It had been a long time since she had a dog in her life. She’d call her Lillie after the grandmother she never knew but her mother spoke of fondly. And she would begin to look for someone to take puppies when they were born. Of course, that would be a while. At least she thought so.

  She had a dog—assuming it wanted to stay. The chances were good it wouldn’t leave.

  Chapter 18

  Tying the apron around her, Billie gazed at Martha’s spotless kitchen. Everything in place, unlike Billie’s homey and warm kitchen that often looked like a tornado hit it. Clean, but cluttered.

  “So, I hear you have a new pet.” Martha pulled out the flour tin and blue glass mixing bowl. The shortening and sugar were within arms-length.

  “Lillie. She is so sweet. Do you want a puppy? We’re going to be having some soon.” Billie reached for a wooden spoon in the crock nestled in the corner.

  “Oh, I think I’m too old to start over with a puppy.” Martha laid the recipe next to the bowl.

  “Well, I felt so sorry for her when I realized she slept under the porch. I tried to make a bed for her inside, but she was having none of that. She likes being under the porch. She has dug out the sand, and I keep thinking she is going to get stuck. Her belly keeps getting bigger.”

  “Well, she’s yours now. You feed her and give her a home, and she’ll never leave.” Martha handed the measuring cups to Billie.

  “I’m not sure I want her to, actually. I haven’t had a dog in a long time, and she’s a comfort to me. Besides, she needs help—and I understand that.” Billie picked up the recipe and looked at the ingredients. “We had a discussion the other night, and I told her the rules. She doesn’t eat off my plate, she has a bowl, and she is not to get run over by a car, because that would make me cry, and Lord knows I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. Anyway, she promised, and we formed a human-doggie bond. I know Mom won’t be around forever and when Mom goes, so does Raven, then I’m alone again.” Billie measured the flour according to the recipe.

  “Well, I live close. I know that Sandy won’t be here all the time, but I will, and you and I can do things together, like make cookies. I can be a second mother, probably not as good as the first, but I’ll be around.” Martha smiled at the woman she’d known since a child.

  “Martha, you’re so sweet. I remember you taught me to swim. Sandy and I were playing in the water, and you came out to play with us. Mom didn’t swim much, mostly just sun bathed.”

  “Well, you were floundering out there, and I didn’t want you to step in a hole and drown three feet from shore. Now, the secret to this dough is to refrigerate it for two hours or even overnight. Then you form the dough into balls about the size of a walnut, and we’ll roll them in the sugar-cinnamon mixture.” She took the bowl and placed it in the refrigerator as Sandy came in the door carrying sacks.

  “Hey girlfriend.” She nodded at Billie and then kissed her mom on the cheek. “Okay, I hope I got everything on the list.” She placed the groceries on the cabinet top and began to put away the salad greens. “I also stopped and got the things we need for a pedicure. I know there is no place around here for that, so I guess we can do it on the front porch.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of nail polish and handed it to Billie.

  “Lime Sherbet? We’re going to have green toenails?”

  “Why not. It’s a beach. By the way, I ran into your boyfriend again, and he wants us to go out on his boat.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Billie eyed her friend over the nail polish bottle.

  “Well, then that cute guy who keeps chasing you. Neil, I think you called him. Anyway, as I recall, we have at least two hours before we can bake cookies, so what do you say ladies—pedicure?”

  “I don’t know if I want green toenails, Sandy.” Martha looked at her daughter. “But I think I have a pale pink in the bathroom. I’ll join you out front.”

  Martha sat with her feet in the dishpan of warm soapy water, last in line as the women clipped, cleaned, filed and prepared their toenails for the crowning glory of color. Sandy put the final coat of Lime Sherbet on her toes and reached for the top coat to protect her art work. Billie swung in the swing with foam wedges between her toes as the color dried.

  “I don’t know if the Air Force would approve of this color, but they’ll never see it through my flight boots.” Sandy picked up her mother’s foot and dried it placing it on her knee and began the process all over again. The older woman sat with her arms folded in her lap and smiled.

  “So, you really think you’ve had enough of storm chasing?” Martha watched as her daughter filed the last nail and applied the base coat.

  “I filed an application with the university the other day. Yes, I’m tired of my children being worried—well one of them anyway—and I think I’m ready to move on to another chapter in my
life. I can teach meteorology instead of flying into the middle of it. And I have a wealth of experience to bring to the job.” Sandy put the final touches of pale pink on her mother’s toenails, placed her flip flops on her feet and moved the pan of water. “Can you walk? Cause I think the dough should be about ready.”

  The warm crisp cookie crumbled onto the plate as Billie sipped the iced tea. “These are wonderful, Martha. And I can’t believe they came out this well with me baking them.”

  “You did a great job. My mother’s Snickerdoodle recipe is wonderful, but remember to refrigerate the dough and bake them no longer than eight minutes. That’s the key. And I think the dough is even better if it is refrigerated overnight.” Martha dried the big blue bowl as Sandy washed the last of the dishes.

  “Giselle likes shrimp, doesn’t she?” Sandy looked at her friend sitting at the table breaking another cookie apart.

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t we go down to the dock and get some shrimp for tonight. We could cook at your house, Billie. And Giselle and Raven could eat too.” Sandy looked at her mother and her friend.

  “Oh, my mother would love that.” Billie stood putting the last of the cookies in the plastic container.

  “Okay, Mom, get the shrimp pot out; we’re taking the feast on the road.”

  Chapter 19

  At the dock, you could easily pick out the shrimper alongside the yachts. Paul’s shrimp boat was not only twice as big, but much older, a workhorse, not built for pleasure. The seagulls screeched overhead as the men brought the boat into the harbor, dinner time for the birds as well as the customers.

  “What are a couple of pretty ladies like you doing on the dock this evening?” Paul’s deeply tanned face still smiled even after a hard day of shrimping. He loved his job.

  “We’re looking for shrimp. You got any?” Sandy stepped on board the boat and gave her uncle a hug.