by Mary Monroe
Understanding dawned and his blue eyes flashed with amusement. He looked down at her sandals. “New shoes?”
“They weren’t that bad, you know.”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.
“Not that I’m not enjoying your company, but aren’t you a little busy for flirtation right now?”
He looked over to see people queuing up in front of the boat ramp. “Come on. You’re here for the tour, aren’t you?”
She hesitated, but he flashed her a full smile that melted any resistance. Telling herself that she was going to regret this, she followed his imposing physique down the ramp.
The line of people inched their way up the dock to board the boat. She took her place in line and watched as he casually stuffed the money into a metal box and wrote down the amounts on a piece of scrap paper. Not exactly high-tech but it worked, she thought, admiring his neatly formed letters and numbers. When it was her turn to pay he said, “No, that’s okay.”
Cara shook her head and pulled out her wallet. “Thanks, but I’d prefer to pay.”
He hesitated, then lifted his shoulders as though to say “As you wish” and accepted her money.
She found a seat in the rear of the boat, behind two middle-aged women who giggled like schoolgirls and whispered loudly how handsome they thought the tour guide was. Cara’s attention, like everyone else’s, shifted to the guide as he leaped from the boat to untie the ropes, then leaped easily back with the grace and finesse of Douglas Fairbanks. Everyone was in a good mood, taking pictures, joking, excited to be out on the water. Cara felt their enthusiasm but sat quietly alone, taking it all in.
Suddenly the big engines churned, the boat rocked, then slowly backed out of the dock. They made a wide turn, straightened, then headed out full speed into the waterway. The children hugged the railing on tiptoes, transfixed by the sight of the glorious sprays of water shooting out a wide wake. The breeze grew stronger and the mood shot skyward. They were on their way!
He was taking them along the Intracoastal Waterway, a stretch of water that went from the Florida Keys all the way north to Boston. He informed them that it was created in 1942 by joining two waterways so that ships could travel inland and safely transfer supplies during WWII. Their destination was Capers Island, a small barrier island designated as a State Heritage Preserve.
While the others looked out at the panoramic view of water and marshes, she watched the man at the wheel. He stood with his back to her in a wide-legged stance, a Viking of a man, taller by a head than any other man on the boat. The tails of his blue shirt flapped in the wind and the sleeves were rolled up exposing darkly tanned forearms and large hands. Though she sat in the rear of the boat, she sensed he was aware of her presence. The crackling of tension she felt was too strong to be one-sided.
From time to time as the boat chugged along he handed over the wheel to his assistant to talk to the group about the scenery. He introduced himself as a naturalist and it soon became evident that he wasn’t just giving himself an inflated title. He spoke with authority in simple, declarative sentences, reeling off an enormous number of facts about the area, the history and all the creatures in the sea. The passengers gathered around him, fascinated. He didn’t speak with the grand flourish that Palmer did. He was more a teacher than a storyteller, but he could make the molting of a crab sound every bit as thrilling as a ghost tale.
He was a pro, saving the best for last. The boat slowed to a stop in the Waterway. He reached over the side to pull up a small, bobbing, red buoy. As the tourists leaned forward in their seats, he bent low to pull at the long rope attached. Up from the water came a big, black, dripping mesh cage. The kids and women alike started squealing when they spied several blue crabs inside, their pincers out and snapping. Then he reached inside to pick one up with his bare hands. Cara gasped, kids clapped and adults grabbed for their cameras.
“This one’s aggressive,” he said, holding it up for all to get a good look at. The crowd gathered close but remained cautious. “It’s probably a female.”
The tourists chuckled, as they were supposed to. He released a short laugh and glanced again at Cara. She felt the smile widen on her face as their eyes met.
After a short while, the crabs were released into the water and the boat was underway again. He turned the boat over again to his assistant, then looked her way and gave a quick wave, indicating she should come up to join him.
Cara shook her head no.
He twisted his face in an adorable grin that said, “Come on.”
The two women in the seat ahead of her peeked over their shoulder with curiosity. Reluctantly she rose and walked up the aisle, grabbing hold of the seat backs so she didn’t fall over in the rocking boat into some stranger’s lap. Up in the front the rush of wind was brisk and teased at her hat.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, coming near.
“Very much.”
“I have to admit, you’re the last person I expected to see on my boat today.”
“Me? Why?”
“Well, for one thing, you grew up here. I’d have guessed you know Capers pretty well.”
She looked at him, astonished. “How did you know I grew up here?”
He looked back at her with equal astonishment on his face, then his face shifted to express chagrin. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Her mind went blank. “Should I?”
“Ouch. That cuts deep. Not even a glimmer of recognition?”
“I’m afraid not. Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure. It took me a minute to place you when I saw you in the bar, but it hit me when I saw you again at the shrimp boat. I came by to say hey but you ran off before I got there.”
“Where? How?” she sputtered.
“High school. I used to see you around. I was kind of fascinated with you, actually. Your nose was always in some book.”
“Do you remember my name?”
“Sure. Cara Rutledge. That is, if it’s still Rutledge.”
“It is,” she replied, amazed that he really knew her. She studied his long, squared face, the deep dimples camouflaged by a faint stubble, the aqua-blue eyes, the tawny hair that curled in the wind. How could she forget a face like that? “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“Come on. Venture a guess.”
She drew a complete blank. “How about giving me a hint?”
His eyes crinkled as he warmed to the game. “I was a jock.”
“Ah, well, that explains why I don’t know you. We didn’t exactly travel with the same crowd.”
“I was also senior class president.”
She blinked and squinted her eyes, realizing she should know that one. What was the name of their class president? Then she remembered and looked at him askance. “My class president was Mary Pringle. My, my, Mary, but how you’ve changed.”
He laughed and his eyes glittered with mockery. “I never said I was your class president. I’ll give you another hint. I went to Wando.”
“Now that’s not fair. There were too many kids in that school. You win. I give up. Who are you?”
He made a mock grimace. “You’ve just shattered my ego. Does the name Brett Beauchamps ring a bell?”
Brett…Oh. My. God. Her mind reeled back to senior year high school and how every girl, not just at Wando but also at Charleston High, Ashley Hall, Bishop England, Porter Gaud and probably all high schools within their football league as well, had a crush on the dashing quarterback. Brett Beauchamps had it all: good looks, popularity, a natural talent for sports and a grade point average that had Ivy League colleges dropping scholarships at his feet.
“Of course I remember you. But by reputation only. We never met. Trust me. I would have remembered. Though I’m amazed you remember me. Guys like you didn’t have much interest in skinny, brainy liberals. I seem to remember that the cute, blond cheerleaders were more your speed.”
He shrugged that off. “
You were different than those other girls. A loner, but kind of cool about it. Mysterious.”
“Like a shark?”
He laughed. “No, though maybe in debate. I used to watch you. You stood so straight with those big red glasses slipping down your nose. There was no holding back with you. You pulverized your opponents.”
“Oh, God, those glasses! I was pitiful. But it was the eighties. I should be forgiven all fashion gaffes. I do remember being terribly jealous of you when I heard you got offered all those Ivy League scholarships, though. I thought it utterly sexist and unfair.”
He shrugged modestly. “They were athletic scholarships.”
She studied him, wondering if his modesty was sincere. “But you had to have the grades to get into Dartmouth and Harvard. I’d have given my eyeteeth for either. And you turned them down! I still can’t get over that. Where did you end up going?”
“Clemson. I knew I wanted to settle down in South Carolina and I didn’t want to leave. I never applied to those other schools. They came to me. I always wanted to go to Clemson to study field biology.”
“You never even applied,” she repeated disbelievingly.
“So,” he asked with disarming sincerity. “Where did you end up going? You just sort of disappeared after high school.”
“I didn’t. Go right to college, I mean.”
“You didn’t? That’s a surprise. You were such a…an academic.”
“You were going to say nerd?” She grinned then turned more serious. This part of her history she gave in shorthand. “I left home. Moved to Chicago. I worked but eventually I got my degree. Then my Master’s.” With a spark of pride, she added, “All on my own.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”
His smile dissolved the last hurdle of restraint and for a while they had nothing more to say. They looked out at the water as the boat made its way along the Intracoastal at a brisk pace.
“Back to work,” he said when she could see the long white beaches of Capers Island in the distance. He moved to take over the wheel while his assistant readied equipment.
Cara took her seat under the close perusal of the two women who seemed put out that she had had such a long, private conversation with their guide. Brett maneuvered the boat to a small dock that led to a wooded section of the island. The group disembarked and Cara felt as if she were on a school trip as she and the others followed Brett on the walking tour. His height made him easy to spot as they passed oyster beds in mud flats, a cluster of ancient oaks that spread a magical webbed canopy of leaves dripping with Spanish moss and alligators sunning in freshwater ponds.
They ended up on a sparkling white beach strewn with dark, fallen tree limbs called Boneyard Beach. Everyone had an hour to wander off on their own before they headed back home. Cara felt her skin tingle, not from the sun but from the certain knowledge that Brett would seek her out. She slowly walked along the sand, stopping from time to time to inspect a shell. From the corner of her eye she saw that he was trapped by the two women who seemed determined to keep his attention this time. Catching her eye, he cocked his head and smiled. The women at his side turned to look her way, their mouths pinched.
She smiled back, then bent to pick up another shell. A moment later, she saw his shadow stretch long on the sand beside her.
“That’s a whelk you’ve got there.”
She looked at the large curling shell that resembled a small conch. “I used to know the names of all of these when I was little. But I’ve forgotten.” She shook the sand out from the center, checking to make certain no snail inhabited the shell. “Can I keep this?”
“If you like. I ask that folks only take one. And no sand dollars. People take so many of those, even the green ones, that they’re becoming endangered. Come on, let’s walk a bit.”
“How did you get away?” She looked over her shoulder. The two women were walking leisurely toward the water.
His smile came slow and seductive. “I told them I had to go join my wife.”
They walked toward the cluster of dead trees that rose from the sand in a ghostly forest, their roots curled around shells and rocks. The sun shone with exceptional clarity and the sea sparkled. Brett stopped to put his hands on his hips and look around in a proprietary manner.
“Isn’t this the most beautiful place?”
She had to agree. It was low tide. The beach stretched far, far out and gulleys coursed through the sand like rivers. In the distance, a small child chased a gull along the surf. What was most captivating, however, was the quiet. The din of humanity seemed so very far away. The only sounds they heard were the gentle roar of the surf and the cry of the gulls.
“It feels a million miles away,” she said. “I see a tent over there. Can anyone do that?”
He nodded. “It’s open to the public. There aren’t many barrier islands left for folks to enjoy. They’re being sold off, lot by lot. It’s a real shame. If things don’t change soon, there’ll be a whole lot of people who’ll never get to see what you’re seeing now. But here you can pitch a tent, bring a can of beans and a fishing pole and you’re set.” He bent to examine a shell. “It’s a good place for lovers, too.”
He said it so fast she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Doesn’t it get a bit crowded?”
He straightened, turning his head to offer a cocky smile. “When it is, I’ve got my own secret places I like to go. I could take you there sometime.” When her brows rose, he added, “For a picnic.”
“I hate bugs.”
“I know where there’s a nice breeze.”
“Brett, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Twenty years too late. Yes or no?”
She brought up her shell and scraped the last bit of sand out from the center. It had a symmetrical shape and a lovely tangerine color. She’d give it to her mother.
“Yes.”
While Cara was on her tour, Lovie sent Toy shopping. Palmer had said he wanted to stop by and see her. In a fluster of delight she’d invited him to lunch and prepared some of his favorite summer dishes: shrimp salad, corn muffins, raspberry iced tea and cold baked custard for dessert. He arrived on time, but seemed rather stiff and waxy faced. He warily cast his gaze around the beach house.
“Is Cara around? Or that girl?”
She put on her hostess smile. “No, they’re both off on errands. I wanted to have a quiet lunch. Just the two of us.”
His face visibly relaxed and he seemed grateful that she would arrange that. He removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He’d always hated wearing a jacket and tie and her heart felt a pang of sympathy that he’d had to assume the heavy mantle of the family, in so many ways.
She led him to the screened porch where the weather accommodated them with offshore breezes heavy with the sweet scent of honeysuckle. The tablecloth fluttered prettily in the breeze. She carried the lunch to the table while he stretched his legs out. She saw longing in his eyes as he stared out at the ocean.
“This sure is a nice spot. It’s been such a long time. I’d forgotten just how great a view you have. Very nice.”
“You sound like a real estate agent.”
“Do I?” He laughed and picked up his fork.
“Remember how you used to surf your kayak right out there? I would worry about you, sure you’d drown or be bitten by some shark, but at the same time I thrilled to watch you. You were so lithe and brown as a berry.”
He smiled and she saw the boy in his face. “Not so much anymore. I wonder what ever happened to that kayak? I might oughta get another one. Cooper could learn.”
“And Linnea.”
“She’s more interested in the boys in the kayaks.” He paused and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “We don’t get out to our place on Sullivan’s much. It’s always rented.”
“What’s the point of having it if you don’t take time for yourself?”
His face clouded and he stabbed his salad. “I need the money, Mama. Things
aren’t so good at the firm. Nothing to worry about,” he hastened to add.
Lovie wasn’t so sure. She’d heard enough comments from Julia that made her worry. “Have you talked to Bobby Lee?”
Robert Lee Davis was the family banker and an old, trusted friend. “I did. He says we have to retrench. Tighten our belts. I don’t agree. We need to expand. Take advantage of the growth going on here. Why, I know folks who are cleaning up on real estate deals all over the state. Doubling their money in a year.”
The panther was prowling, she thought to herself. So much like his father, never satisfied with what he had or taking the time to enjoy it. Or his family. Stratton was always out to build a bigger empire. It wasn’t the ambition that she found so distasteful, but the sense of entitlement. Like his father, Palmer believed the world owed him not just a living, but a grand lifestyle. Or, as he often put it, “the style to which I’ve become accustomed.”
“Why don’t you bring Julia and the children here for the Fourth of July? We could eat barbeque.”
“Sorry, Mama, but I can’t. We’ve already got three invitations to juggle.”
“I just thought it would be nice to spend time together. Perhaps another time.”
“Sure!” he exclaimed. “Real soon.”
They lapsed into a silence during which Palmer finished his meal and Lovie tried to put together the words she wanted to say.
“That’s a fine, fine piece of property,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
Lovie realized with a start that Palmer hadn’t been staring at the ocean at all, but at the lot directly across the street.
“There’s nothing else like it on the island,” he said in an easy drawl. “Three lots in a row. Look at that,” he exclaimed, extending his hand. “You are so lucky to live across from it. Even if someone builds on the lot in front of you, you’ll still have a view to the left. Damn, I wish I knew who owned that lot.”
“I thought you told me they were deeded to the Coastal Conservancy.”
“Those two over there are. Not the one directly across from you. No ma’am, that one is owned. And I’m aiming to buy it.”