I flipped the light switch in the parlor and felt my jaw drop.
Holy disco ball! My house looked like the inside of a drag queen’s closet. Shiny silver drapes hung at all the windows. The parlor looked like an explosion of white and pink flowers, candles, orchids, pearls, and marabou feathers. Four dozen Louis XIV gilt ballroom chairs were lined up in rows in front of the fireplace, which was now flanked with flower-bedecked plaster columns. And was that a chuppah?
The dining room was just as bad. A chandelier I’d never seen before hung over my dining room table, which was covered with what looked like an acre of living green sod. Flowers spurted out from urns atop plaster columns.
I was almost afraid to see the kitchen. But here, at least, the boys hadn’t decorated. They’d merely filled every horizontal surface with silver serving dishes, crates of wine and liquor, and more flowers. On the center of the kitchen island my cut-glass cake plate held Mama’s three-layer chocolate cake. It looked pretty enough to taste. And I was starved. But then I remembered the “secret ingredient.” Parked right next to the cake was a bottle of chilled Dom Pérignon in a silver champagne bucket. A note in Cookie’s flowery handwriting was propped in front of it.
Welcome home to our favorite bride!
How could I stay mad at those two? Or at Mama?
I dragged my suitcase upstairs and collapsed into my own bed. Just before I drifted off to sleep it occurred to me that it was my last night as a single girl. And I was good with that.
Chapter 31
BeBe
Jethro must have sensed my agitation. He shadowed my footsteps as I restlessly paced the small apartment, then, tiring of that, went to the front door and whined to go out.
I pulled on one of Harry’s oversized rain slickers, slipped my cell phone into the pocket, and clipped a leash to Jethro’s collar.
The rain had subsided, but the wind pushed at our backs as we worked our way down Butler Avenue. The neon signs of the Shell station and the liquor store were mirrored in the dark, wet street pavement.
Jethro tugged impatiently at the leash and I let him lead me across Butler, which was largely deserted. Winter at the beach is always a quiet time, but the beach, a couple of nights before Christmas, was especially solitary.
We turned down Tybrisa, and at a glance I saw that most of the souvenir shops and bars were closed. Except Doc’s Bar, where the red “Open” sign blinked on and off.
Standing beneath the red and white awning I could hear laughter and voices from inside, and the strains of music drifted out on the cool night breeze. I peeked in the window and saw that the bar was decorated for Christmas, with gaudy red and gold strands of tinsel fluttering from the smoke-darkened rafters. The barmaid, a woman I didn’t recognize, wore a jaunty fur Santa hat and leaned over the bar, deep in conversation with two grizzled regulars. Half a dozen other customers sat at tables and booths, and a lone couple, oblivious to everybody else in the room, necked at a table near the window.
Doc’s was where I’d first met Harry. He was working as a bartender, his boat had been repossessed by his ex-wife, and he was living in the manager’s unit at the Breeze, in exchange for acting as general manager and handyman.
Jethro stood and sniffed the nearby fire hydrant. We walked down to the end of the sidewalk and crossed over to the concrete municipal pier. At the end of the pier I stopped and stared out at the ocean. Off in the distance, I could see the lights of a huge oceangoing freighter as it glided toward the port. Waves crashed against the beach and the wind whipped my hair into my eyes.
Harry was out there somewhere, I knew. My fingers curled around the phone in my pocket, willing it to ring and bring me the news that he was safe.
At least it had stopped raining. And was I imagining things or had the wind died down—just a little?
I’d crossed Butler and was on my way back to the Breeze when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket.
The caller ID screen read USCG.
“Hello?” I said hurriedly.
“This is Petty Officer Brawley,” a male voice said. “Is this Ms. Loudermilk?”
“This is she. Do you have news for me? About Harry Sorrentino?”
“Ma’am, our helicopter spotted a vessel in some kind of distress in the approximate location you described, about eight miles out from the sea buoy. We don’t know if it’s the Jitterbug or who is on board, but the boat fits the description you gave us. I was asked to let you know that the passengers on that vessel have been transferred to the Coast Guard Cutter and the cutter is currently towing the disabled vessel back to the Coast Guard station.”
“Are they all right? Were there two men on the boat? Can’t you tell me any more than that?”
“Afraid not, ma’am,” Brawley said. “We’ve had two more distress calls related to the storm tonight, and we’re shorthanded. That’s all the information I can give you.”
“When can you tell me something?” I cried. “If they’re on the cutter, can’t you get somebody to ask their names? Please?”
There was a pause. “Ma’am? Stand by. When we have more facts, we will call you. Will you be at this number?”
“Yes. I’ll be right here.”
* * *
I walked slowly down Butler Avenue, checking my phone every few steps to see if it was ringing. We were walking past St. Michael’s Catholic Church when Jethro abruptly sat down on his haunches and refused to move. I jerked impatiently at the leash, but at that point he spread himself flat out on the wet sidewalk.
“Come on, Jethro,” I coaxed. “We’ve stretched our legs. Let’s go home where it’s warm and dry and wait for some good news.”
He sat up reluctantly, but when he started walking, it was toward the church entry instead of home.
“Wrong way,” I muttered, but he pulled me along after him until we were standing in front of the church’s big carved oak doors. A hanging lamp above the door was lit.
He pawed at the door.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I muttered. “What is it? Do you smell a cat or something inside there?”
Just to humor him, I yanked at the door handle. I’d expected it to be locked. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. It didn’t occur to me that Doc’s Bar and St. Michael’s Church would be the only two Tybee establishments open at that hour.
But the door swung open, and the next thing I knew, Jethro was trotting down the main aisle of the church. I tried to pull him back, but being Weezie’s dog, he had a mind of his own.
He didn’t stop until we were directly in front of the altar, at which point, he plopped himself down onto the floor. I glanced around to see if we were alone. Did churches allow dogs? Especially Catholic churches? I’d been raised Episcopalian, but hadn’t been a regular churchgoer in many years.
Jethro seemed to feel right at home. He rested his brown muzzle on his front paws, and his tail swished contentedly.
“Okay,” I relented. “We’ll sit. For a little while. Until somebody shows up to chase us out.”
I sat in the pew and looked around.
Chapter 32
Weezie
Something warm was tickling my ear. Somebody lifted the corner of my quilt, and I became vaguely aware of a body sliding in beside mine.
“Daniel!” I sat straight up in bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting in bed,” he said, yawning. “My plane just landed an hour ago, and I’m beat.”
“You can’t sleep with me,” I protested, giving him a shove.
“Since when?”
“Since we’re getting married tomorrow. I’m the bride. You’re the groom. You’re not even supposed to lay eyes on me, let alone crawl into bed with me.”
“Aw, Weezie,” Daniel groused, pulling a pillow across his face. “Cut me some slack. I spent the last ten hours trying to get out of LaGuardia. I’m not interested in having sex with you—I just want some sleep.”
“Not in my bed you’re not,” I said, pushing at
his bare shoulder. “Come on, out. It’s bad luck for you to see me before the wedding.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of. Who came up with that bad luck bullshit? Your mother?”
“My mother has nothing to do with it,” I retorted. “It’s a well-known custom. Like something old and something new and a sixpence for your shoe.”
“I never heard of any of that crap. Just pretend you don’t see me. I swear, I won’t look at you.”
“You certainly won’t, because you’re not staying here tonight.” I knelt on my side of the bed and shoved hard, and he slid right out and onto the floor.
He gave me a wounded look, but with a sigh he stood and pulled on his jeans.
I turned my back to him and pulled the quilt up to my shoulders. “Sweet dreams,” I called.
“Bullshit,” he muttered, stomping out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind.
Chapter 33
BeBe
“Ms. Loudermilk? This is Petty Officer Brawley with Coast Guard Station Savannah.”
“Yes?” I clutched the phone so tightly my knuckles were white. “Do you have news for me?”
“We’ve had word from our cutter that the vessel they have in tow is the Jitterbug.”
“Thank God,” I breathed. “And Harry?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been authorized to tell you that Captain Sorrentino and his passenger, a Dr. Templeton, are on the cutter, and there are no medical issues.”
“They’re fine? No injuries? You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. Our communication with the cutter indicates that they will not need medical attention. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, ma’am?”
“How soon? How soon will they be back?” It was after three now.
“We expect it within the hour,” Brawley said. “Good night, ma’am.”
Tears were streaming down my face. “Good night, Petty Officer Brawley. I can’t thank you enough for calling. And Petty Officer?”
“Ma’am?”
“Merry Christmas.”
* * *
It was four thirty in the morning when I heard the key turn in the lock. Jeeves and Jethro threw themselves at Harry’s ankles as soon as he walked in. I managed a little more restraint, but only because I was too exhausted to do much more than sink my head against his chest.
“Thank God,” I murmured. “Thank God.”
* * *
By the time he got out of the shower and into dry clothes, I’d fixed him a hot toddy of Earl Grey tea, honey, and bourbon. He told me what had happened in between sips of tea.
“Around two this afternoon, we noticed the sky was starting to look a little ugly and the water was getting choppier. But the fish were biting like crazy, and we were having one of those days where it seems like every time you throw out a bait you reel in a keeper. Then the wind changed direction, and the temperature dropped—like twenty degrees in what seemed like just a few minutes. I heard radio chatter about that storm front moving down the coast, and I thought we ought to hightail it for home, but damned if Templeton just kept fishing.
“Finally, about four, I picked up the anchor, and we were heading in, but the seas were pretty high, and we had headwinds of twenty-five or thirty knots, maybe higher, beating us to death. We were three miles out, near the Savannah light. And all my electronics blanked out. They just quit. A wave came over the bow and knocked the engine down to idle speed. I was able to keep the boat pushed into the wind, but nothing more. Then my antenna snapped and the radio went before I could send out a mayday.”
I shivered at the mention of the word “mayday.”
“I knew something bad had gone wrong,” I said quietly. “You promised to be home by dark. I knew you wouldn’t deliberately break your promise. Not after last time.”
He reached over and gave me a rough kiss, and the scratch of his day-old beard on my face reminded me that he was home. And alive. And all was well.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “I feel like such a shit. I should never have let Templeton talk me into taking him out. I’m done with fishing, BeBe. Swear to God, I’m done with it.”
“I don’t want you to quit fishing, Harry. What I want is for you to quit your day job. You think I don’t know how much you hate it? For the past week, you leave here and you look like you’re getting ready to go to jail. That’s no way to live.”
“Risking my life fishing in high seas—that’s no way to live either.”
“You’ve been running charters for how many years now?”
He shrugged. “Thirty. Round about.”
“And have you ever had to be rescued by the Coast Guard before?”
“This was the first time. I’ve had close calls before, but this was the first time I ever really wondered if I’d get back to the dock in one piece.”
“It was a freak storm, right?”
“Pretty much. I wouldn’t have gone out as far as we did if I’d known what kind of weather we were heading into.”
I thought about the Jitterbug, pitching and bucking in those high seas, seven miles offshore, and it made me shudder. I liked to fish with Harry, but I’d never enjoying deep-sea fishing.
“Is there any way you could change your charter business?” I asked.
He looked puzzled.
“The Jitterbug is a deep-sea boat. I get that. But it’s so expensive—all the gas it takes to run six or seven miles offshore. Couldn’t you just as easily fish inshore?”
“Not in the Jitterbug. I’d need a boat to fish the shallows, to get through the narrow creeks. Something smaller.”
“Is there money in that?”
“Sure,” Harry said. “Guys are getting interested in light tackle, fly-fishing. And it’s not as much of a time commitment. There’s definitely a market for inshore fishing around here.”
“Nobody know these waters like you do,” I said, entwining my fingers in his.
“That’s true,” he acknowledged.
“The inn is making money now,” I said. “With the baby coming, it’d be good to have you around a little more—but not too much more. If you were fishing in-shore, I don’t think I’d worry as much.”
“It’s a cheaper business model, that’s for sure,” Harry said. He raised our entwined hands and kissed the back of mine.
“It’s a lot to think about,” he said.
“We don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” I said. “Right now I just want us to enjoy what we have. Each other, the baby, the new house. That’s enough for me. Actually, it’s all I need.”
“Me too,” Harry said. He reached down and ruffled Jeeves’s fur and scratched Jethro’s ears. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
Chapter 34
Weezie
Sunday. My wedding day. I sat up in bed and gazed out at the clear blue sky beyond my third-floor window. The downtown church bells were chiming. Eleven o’clock already.
I could smell the coffee brewing by the time my feet hit the landing downstairs.
Cookie stood in the middle of the kitchen at the island. He was wearing elbow-length rubber gloves and an apron, and he was humming while he smeared polish on the outside of the largest sterling silver punch bowl I’d ever seen. It was the size of a birdbath.
“Good morning,” I said, pulling up a stool to the island.
“Precious Weezie!” He planted a kiss on my cheek. “What time did you get in last night? We were starting to wonder if we’d have to start this wedding without the bride.”
I helped myself to a mug of coffee and took a sip.
“Late,” I said. “My one-hour layover in Atlanta turned into two and three, and then four hours. By the time I finally got on the plane, I could just as easily have rented a car and driven home.”
“Poor girl.”
“Poor Daniel. He got here around three, and I had to kick him out. He was not a happy camper.”
“Bad luck for him to see you before the wedding,” Cookie agreed.
He paused in his polishing. “What did you think of our little decorating scheme?”
“Wowsers! I hate to come off like a Bridezilla, but I thought we had an agreement. Tasteful? Understated? Does any of that sound familiar to you?”
“Sweetie, we tried. Really we did. We sprinkled those little pathetic flowers around, and put your sad little white tablecloth on the dining room table … but it was just all so…”
“Appropriate?” I offered.
“Skimpy. Boring. So we added a few little flourishes.”
I took another sip of coffee.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I am a little sad about my dining room. That was a hand-blocked de Gournay wallpaper, you know. I saved up for years to buy the stuff.”
“Whatever. Your silly period-appropriate wallpaper is just fine, dear girl. The silk is just tacked on top of it, and then I hot-glued gimp as a border. It can all come down in less than an hour, if that’s what you really want.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t want to think about all the tack holes he’d inflicted on my wallpaper.
“Where’s Manny this morning?”
He gave me a mysterious smile. “He had an errand to run. But don’t you worry, he’ll be back in plenty of time for the final fluffing.”
More fluffing? How was that possible?
* * *
Mama called just as I was about to eat my toast.
“Oh, good. You’re home. Did you try on the dress yet? I left it hanging in your closet.”
“I just got up and I’m having breakfast. I’ll try it on as soon as I’m finished.”
“Don’t eat too much now,” Mama warned. “I don’t have time to let out any seams today.”
I crossed my eyes and shook my head. “Talk to you later.”
“I’ll be over in an hour or so,” she said. “You know your daddy. He has to have his lunch at noon. Wedding or no wedding.”
* * *
Mama bustled into the kitchen at two. She’d already worked herself into a state, and the wedding was still five hours off.
Christmas Bliss Page 20