Destiny Lingers

by Rolonda Watts

  Chapter Nine

  The beach house is just as I remember it, looking like a little white matchbox with a black shingle hat atop four long toothpick-like legs. But there she is—Tranquility, standing tall, simple, and proud against the baby-blue sky and Mother Ocean’s deep blue-green. My eyes sting with tears, engulfed by this sudden rush of emotions. How could I possibly have been away from Tranquility and Topsail for this long?

  “Well, here we are.” Garrett tries to sound as if he’s not tense as we pull into the cracked-shell driveway, but I know he is. I lean over and give my husband a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you, baby,” I say tenderly. “You know this means the world to me. We’ll have fun—you’ll see. Just try not to fall into Mother’s old traps, okay?”

  “Okay, baby.” Garrett smirks. “Let’s go.”

  Excited, I honk the horn in our traditional way of letting family know we’re home.

  Da-da-da-dada-dada.

  The first thing I hear is a big squeal from inside and suddenly, Aunt Joy comes bursting out of the screen porch door at the top of the beach house steps. She has a huge smile on her plump face and a red plastic shrimp deveiner in her hand.

  “Praise God, you got here in one piece!” she exclaims to the heavens with her arms raised in the air. “Come here, kiddos. Let me get a good look at you! Praise God!”

  I dash out of the car, up the steps, and into my aunt Joy’s big open arms. I love her so much, and she still smells as fresh as the ocean breeze, with a hint of lavender—and of course, shrimp. In fact, whenever I see my aunt Joy, there’s probably a plump shrimp around somewhere. If she’s not baiting one on a fishing hook, she’s deveining a couple dozen for a family feast.

  “I love you, Aunt Joy.” I hug her again tightly, just so I can inhale her scent one more time.

  “Well, kiddo, I love you too.” Aunt Joy giggles and squeezes me back. “And I am so happy you and Garrett have finally come home. It’s been way too long, my dear.”

  “I know, Aunt Joy, I know.” I feel ashamed for having been away from Topsail for so long. I’ve always blamed that on my busy career, but I know it’s also been because of Garrett’s disdain for sand, sea, and family friction. It’s a shame he doesn’t enjoy that big beautiful beach out there. I can see in my aunt Joy’s dewy eyes that she has missed me. And I promise myself never to be away from this special place and this special lady for as long as I have been.

  “Whatcha got cooking, Aunt Joy?” I ask as we move into the house, arms still wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. “It’s smelling mighty good in here.”

  “Oh, just a little of this and a little of that,” she replies with a wink and a squeeze. “Your mother’s in there cooking up a big ol’ batch of salmon croquettes, but as I recall, your hubby doesn’t eat salmon croquettes, does he?”

  “No, Aunt Joy, he doesn’t,” I whisper.

  Aunt Joy chuckles and shakes her head. “Your mama is somthin’ else, I tell ya, somthin’ else. That’s why I’m fixing up some of my famous shrimp salad so the poor boy doesn’t go hungry.”

  “Oh, we love your shrimp salad, and that’s awfully thoughtful of you, but, Aunt Joy, Garrett can take care of himself.”

  “Well, we might have to help the poor boy out every now and then.” Aunt Joy nudges me. “Now, go on in there and speak to your mother and daddy. They’re worried sick about you. We all are.”

  “Hey, who’s that fine lady?” Garrett teases Aunt Joy as he enters the house with our weekend duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

  “Aw, Garrett, you are too many things!” Aunt Joy giggles, arms outstretched. “Get in here and let me look atcha, boy!”

  Garrett kisses Aunt Joy on the cheek as she pats and gently rubs his cheek.

  “So good to see you, Garrett,” she coos. “Where’ve you been?”

  “We’ve been really busy, Auntie JoyJoy,” Garrett says. “But we’re here now.”

  “And I’m so glad!” Aunt Joy beams. “Now, I know you two must be hungry. Garrett, put your bags down in the back bedroom and wash up for brunch, honey.”

  “You got it, Aunt Joy!” Garrett happily moves on.

  I am overwhelmed by all of the happy memories in this house—the tall wooden hallway shelf my late grandfather made to hold our newfound beach treasures of sand dollars, driftwood, and exotic seashells. I still hold precious memories of the screened-in back porch that kept the hungry mosquitoes out and our good times with friends and family in as we marveled at the sun setting over the sound while enjoying grilled oysters and cold beers and lots of good old stories.

  “Well, you made it in time for brunch!” I hear Mother calling out from the kitchen.

  “Hey, where’s my Diddle-Dee?” Daddy walks into the room, arms outstretched. I rush to him and hug him tightly. “How was your trip, baby girl?”

  “Oh, it was fine, Daddy. Nice to be home.”

  “Well, we’re glad you made it,” Mother says as she enters, wiping her hands on her apron. She gives me an air kiss while pitter-pattering her long bejeweled fingers on my back, never daring to get to close. “I’m glad you two got here in one piece.”

  I find it interesting how I hug and kiss my dad and air kiss and pitter-patter with Mother. She has never been the warm and fuzzy type. Never a hugger. In fact, Mother has never kissed me. I feel she’s more concerned about catching germs than giving affection, even to her own child. Mother seems to believe that providing strict rules, private education, social status, and special privilege is enough love for one girl. She doesn’t need to be touched too.

  “So, now tell me, Dee, do you think that exclusive hostage report will get you a better job or an Emmy?” Mother probes. “I mean, that’s the least they could do after putting your life on the line like that, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, DeeDee.” Daddy rubs my back. “We were very worried about you, but we are very proud of you too. We know you have the right stuff to shine. And you did.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” I blush. Nothing makes me happier than hearing my daddy’s praises.

  “Yes, but are you okay?” Aunt Joy’s soft eyes are full of concern. “I mean, what in the world happened up there in Harlem with that man getting shot, right there in front of you and that poor little boy, for God’s sake. What in the world was he thinking?”

  “He just wanted his kids back,” I reply.

  “Mm-mm-mm.” Aunt Joy shakes her head. “What’s this world coming to? I sure wish you didn’t live in such a dangerous city.”

  “I’m all right, Aunt Joy. I love New York, and I hope my stories’ll help make our city better. I’m still a little shaken up, but I’ll be okay. I really do care about what happens to Thomas, though.”

  “Care what happens to him?” Mother snaps. “Why in the world would you care about what happens to him? Let him rot in jail with the rest of the insane criminals of New York.”

  “He’s not a criminal.”

  “Destiny, he held a machete to a three-year-old’s throat!” Mother argues. “What part of being a ‘criminal’ don’t you understand?”

  Daddy frowns. “And it could have been you shot, DeeDee, if not killed.”

  “Oh, leave her alone, you two!” Aunt Joy interrupts. “The poor child’s exhausted. She’s been negotiating for hostages and traveling for hours. Give her a break. Come on; let’s eat.”

  “I’ll be okay, you guys. It’s my job.”

  “That’s right. And you are destined to win that Emmy and move on to be a big network news correspondent one day, just like Carol Simpson. I can just feel it. Don’t forget; you are pedigreed. You come from something. You were groomed for success, young lady!”

  “Did somebody say ‘groom’?” Garrett stands at the door, holding a bouquet of flowers and two big brown bags full of produce, like a shield and armor.

  “
Hey!” Everybody resounds a warm welcome to Garrett.

  “Hello, Garrett. Ready for brunch?” Mother is wearing her smile like an apron. “You got my daughter home just in time for some delicious, golden-brown salmon croquettes!” Mother is obviously proud of herself—and her ploy.

  “And your choice of a scrumptious ‘Full of Joy’ shrimp salad too!” Aunt Joy giggles at her quick save and catchy impromptu name and then darts a sharp look at Mother. “Why, I even whipped up some southern-fried hot-water corn bread and fresh butter.”

  “And we bought some delicious fruits and vegetables.” Garrett smiles as he places the bags on the kitchen counter in front of Mother.

  “How thoughtful of you,” Mother remarks.

  “I bet you brought some asparagus too.” Daddy chuckles as he shakes Garrett’s hand in welcome. “I’ve never seen anybody eat more asparagus than you, Garrett.” Daddy dislikes asparagus as much as he dislikes Garrett.

  “What’s wrong with asparagus?” Garrett asks in a playful yet defensive way.

  Daddy just shakes his head.

  We sit down and enjoy our brunch, chitchatting about what we’ve been up to and the latest news about the neighbors. Mother’s salmon croquettes are delicious, as usual. It’s one of my favorite recipes. I’ve forgotten how delicious they are. I realize that because Garrett doesn’t like them, he and I never eat them, like the beaches we never see. Instead of the croquettes, he’s busy gobbling up Auntie’s “Full of Joy” shrimp salad atop a piece of hot-water corn bread. He seems satisfied just being satisfied, munching away.

  I can’t wait to take a long walk on the beach and dip my big toe in the warm waters of the Atlantic. It’s my special ritual to say hello to Mother Ocean. Perhaps this will also be a good time for Garrett and me to rebond. Maybe we’ll enjoy a romantic Topsail sunset later in the day and finally unwind from our incredibly busy and separate lives.

  Mother insists on doing the dishes and sprucing up the kitchen for the summer season, while Daddy settles in front of the TV for a long afternoon of old western movies. Aunt Joy grabs her favorite Sidney Sheldon novel and looks ready for a long stint of heavy reading on the porch. Garrett goes to our bedroom and starts to unpack. I enjoy flipping through an old family photo album filled with snapshots of days gone by, when I was a little girl who dreamed of mermaids and played with porpoises and passing schools of fish in the sea.

  After a bit, I go find Garrett, who seems to be hiding out in our bedroom, watching a game on TV. I crawl into bed and lie next to him, nestling up against his big body, my head on his chest. His arms remain behind his head as he is totally engrossed in sports and seems not at all interested in me. I try to warm things up.

  “Hey, baby …” I start. “Wouldn’t it be nice to take a long walk on the beach together?”

  “Aw, c’mon, Dee.” Garrett rubs his head and sighs. “I’m tired. Damn! We’ve been traveling all day.”

  “I know, but, honey, we’re at the beach, and it’s so beautiful. Don’t you want to watch the sunset?”

  “There’ll be another one tomorrow.”

  “Please? C’mon, Garrett, we can relax on the beach … and … maybe …” I look up at Garrett, giving my husband a coy look.

  “Oh, hell naw, baby. You know I ain’t gettin’ down in no sand! No way; plus, I’m just tired, Dee. Maybe tomorrow.” Garrett gives me his puppy-dog look.

  I lie here wishing I had a husband, not a puppy, who would enjoy long walks on the beach with me in the sunshine and the sunsets of Topsail Island as we share long romantic talks about our promising future together and all the dreams we will build as one. But I don’t. I instead have a husband who despises the beach. He hates his feet touching sand and has apparently lost his appetite for conversation, sex, and me as well. So I decide to take my long walk anyway. When Aunt Joy gathers that I’m walking alone, she puts down her novel and insists on joining me.

  “I can’t go as far as I used to, kiddo,” she says, “but I’ll walk with you just a bit to feel the warm sand beneath my feet.”

  “Wonderful.” I smile, remembering the many long walks and talks Aunt Joy and I have shared. We head down the beach, as we have done hundreds of times before, and I am startled by how much our little island has grown. New, modern homes seem to be popping up everywhere. Our little Topsail Island is indeed changing.

  “Now, Dee, you are just going to have to tell me why you haven’t been back to Topsail in so long. That’s not like you.” Aunt Joy keeps a close sideways watch on me as we slowly stroll down the long stretch of beach.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Aunt Joy. I guess it’s mainly because Garrett has never really been into the ‘North Carolina beach thing,’ as he calls it. He says he wants to try more exotic places in the world, like Jamaica, St. Bart’s, or Puerto Rico.”

  “Well, what do they have that we don’t have, Destiny?” Aunt Joy looks incredulous. “What? What do they have?”

  “Golf courses,” I reply.

  I feel a sudden rush of shame, feeling that, like a fool, I gave up one of my favorite places on earth—a most sacred gift from my family—and for what? Love in a concrete jungle? Love that I now find myself suspicious of and fighting for? How could I have given up so much of myself and what means so much to me for a love I’m not even sure of? Love is not giving your family, friends, and foundation away.

  I look up and down the shore, and as far as I can see, there is not another soul around. I don’t want Aunt Joy to sense my sadness or witness my tears, so I suggest we walk with our faces to the sun, and we turn right, toward the pier—one bare foot after the other in the warm, powdery white sand beneath, as we have done time and time again. Except this time, only halfway down the beach, Aunt Joy appears exhausted. Her breathing is heavy and labored.

  “Well, I guess I’d better take my happy self on back home now,” she announces. “You go on and enjoy your walk, honey.”

  “You okay, Aunt Joy?” I ask, concerned at how peaked she looks.

  “Oh, I’m fine—just old,” she says, panting. “You go on, kiddo. Whew! Don’t worry about me. I just want to get back to my juicy romance novel, that’s all. Go on, now.”

  I give Aunt Joy a kiss on the cheek. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Fine as a Georgia pine!” Aunt Joy winks and turns to head back to the beach house. I watch her as she slowly waddles her way back home. For the first time, she looks small and frail against the wide stretch of our white-sand beach. Aunt Joy looks vulnerable and aged. I keep a close eye on her as she slowly disappears over the dunes.

  I think about the audacity and tenacity it took for my grandparents and Aunt Joy to build our family beach house here on Topsail Island back in 1948, smack dab in the middle of the horrid Jim Crow era. At that time, there were still “colored” waiting rooms, drinking fountains, and separate swimming pools. The idea of a “summertime beachfront sanctuary” for North Carolina’s black upper-middle-class—doctors, lawyers, and funeral home directors—was indeed an unheard-of vision. I still feel my grandfather’s rooted pride as I walk the same sands he walked decades ago.

  The summer sun feels amazing as its heat bakes my face. I close my eyes and inhale the ocean mist and salt air deep into my lungs. I see nothing but brilliant orange behind my closed lids. I hear the sound of the ocean waves pounding the shore. I can actually feel the earth rumble as the waves continue their mad and thunderous crashes. A little playful wave runs up the beach and zips around my ankle.

  I look down and see the little sand fleas desperately digging their way back down into the sand as the water recedes back into the ocean. I had forgotten about these little insect crab-like creatures. Just when I think my whole world is gone, Mother Nature has an incredible way of making me stop, look, listen, think, and admire her awesome beauty—no matter how ugly my reality might seem. Mother Nature helps me believe in things I can’t see or gav
e up on or have long forgotten about—like faith and God and love. But His stupendous things—like the sun rising and setting, the continual ebb and flow of the sea, or the constellation of the stars, are all the constant things in life. Some things, God says, I can count on.

  “Ah-gaaaaa! Ah-gaaaaa!”

  I look up and see a solo seagull soaring in the Carolina blue sky, and I smile a warm hello up to him and to the heavens. He reminds me that I am not the only solitaire being on the beach and, most important, that I am never alone. I remember when I was a child how Aunt Joy insisted I appreciate what she called “our little friends” in nature, like fireflies, butterflies, and bumblebees that would often hover right in front of our noses. Aunt Joy taught me that the bumblebee has no stinger, so she insisted I look that bumbling bee straight in the eye and instead of taking a big fat swat at him, take time instead to say good day. The bumblebee just hovers there, friendly, faithful, and unafraid. With that big, wide, hairy body, I wonder how he can even fly. I guess it’s like Aunt Joy said: “Because he doesn’t think he can’t.”

  A good mile or two from home, I decide to turn around and walk back toward the beach house. The sun feels so good on my back. I see that the beach is now peppered here and there with fishermen preparing for a late-in-the-day lucky bite. The serenity found in the faces of fishermen is priceless. They look out over the ocean with a squinted once-in-a-while glance at the end of their poles in hopes of big drama and a great story to later share over a delicious fried fish meal. They stand there on the shore with their poles stuck in the sand for hours, displaying the patience of Job.

  I pass one old man, and, knowing that any proud fisherman is going to open up his Styrofoam container and show off his latest catch, I ask, “Any luck today?”

  The old man pops the lid, as protocol promised, and proudly points down at a few fish still flopping around in the water before becoming the fisherman’s Saturday night dinner. Four medium spots and one big blue fish cling to life, when very soon hot grease and corn meal will be clinging to their gills.