Is this what Cabot wanted for Stargazey? Is this why he took such an interest in keeping developers out. Did he have his own plans for Stargazey Point? Why else would someone from Boston be living in a back-of-beyond near ghost town.
“Are you really from Boston?” she asked as they stopped at the corner to let a car go by.
It was like she’d pulled the plug. His face, which had been animated, became passive, and his voice lost its fervor.
“Partially,” he said.
“And which part of you would that be?”
“I spent my teenage years there with my father and stepmother.”
“And before that?”
He frowned slightly. “I was born and raised in Charleston. Why?”
“Just curious. Occupational hazard.”
“From being a weathergirl?”
“From working at a television station, I guess.” She’d recovered smoothly enough. She didn’t love the idea that he thought she was still the weathergirl, but it was better if she just let him keep this misconception. She could easily talk about the weather. She couldn’t talk about what she had been doing for the last eight years. It was too painful, too raw, too humiliating. Too final.
“So how did you wind up in Stargazey Point?”
Cabot shrugged. “I spent every summer in Stargazey Point with my uncle. I went to college, worked in Atlanta for a while—”
“As an architect by any chance?”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “I found I didn’t really like the job so I came back here.”
“Where you raise horses?”
Cabot smiled. “Who told you that, Beau?”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah? When did you meet her?”
“In town yesterday. I met Sarah, Bethanne from the inn, and Penny Farlowe, who owns Flora’s.”
Cabot’s eyes narrowed. “What did they have to say?”
“Well,” she began. “I went in to buy some paper and Bethanne was just going over to Flora’s and invited me to go along. Sarah came in. Then, you might as well know, I said something that made Bethanne cry, she ran out, and I left.”
“It doesn’t take much to set her off. What did you say, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Abbie sighed. She had a feeling he’d find out anyway, so she might as well tell him herself.
“Sarah said you were showing me around; she called it a date. Just as a joke. I merely said it wasn’t a date. Bethanne burst into tears and ran out of the shop.”
Abbie had often gotten unexpected truths from people she was interviewing and usually took it in stride. But Bethanne’s reaction had hit her out of the blue and hit her where it hurt.
“Her husband died. It’s been hard for her,” Cabot said. “She cries a lot. It’s healthier than keeping grief to yourself.”
She searched his face to see if he was talking about her but decided she was just being paranoid. Celeste had promised not to tell the Crispins about her reasons for the visit.
“It might do her good to have someone to talk to. You know, someone who doesn’t know everything about Jim’s death.”
Abbie shook her head. She wasn’t going to encourage any kind of friendship with Bethanne. The two of them would end up crying into their appletinis and commiserating like two old widows.
“So what does Sarah do? Her accent doesn’t sound nearly as thick as everyone else’s. Is she from around here originally?”
Cabot took her elbow as they stepped off the curb. “She’s from here, but she’s lived in New York for about ten years now. She teaches at Columbia in cultural studies and is taking some time off to spend with her great-grandmother until she goes back in the fall. She runs the after-school program at the community center—by default. The last person left without notice.”
He led her down to a wooden walkway that ran along the edge of the water. There was a cool breeze and Abbie was glad she’d worn long sleeves. Alfresco dining places were lined up side by side, the different establishments marked off by low wooden fences or glass surrounds. Upscale dining and wine bars rubbed elbows with hamburger joints and crab shacks.
“I suppose she gets lots of opportunity to study culture around here,” Abbie said.
“Yeah, but mainly she’s paying back. The community got together to send her to school.”
They stopped to look out over the water.
“Don’t feed the alligators?” Abbie asked, looking at a metal sign posted on the railing. “Is that sort of like no shoes, no shirt, no service?”
“Actually, it’s serious. Not only is it bad for them, but the restaurants don’t want to encourage them to get any closer.”
Abbie shuddered.
“Not to worry, I don’t believe they’ve ever tried to get in without a reservation.”
“Very funny.”
“Really, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
They stood side by side, looking out at the river and watching the sun set. It was later than Abbie realized. She also realized she was having a good time.
She wasn’t sure that she should be having a good time. She should be taking solitary walks and trying to figure out what came next. But somehow Cabot the third made it easy to forget the reason she’d come here.
“Nothing like sunset over the marshes,” Cabot said.
“No, there isn’t.” She’d watched the sunset from the beach the night before. She could almost be standing on the beach now. She tried to imagine Crispin House as a popular museum. Stargazey Inn filled with people year-round, the shops thriving. A smaller version of this town.
She sighed. More than likely the businesses would continue to go under, the house would gradually fall down around the siblings’ ears, destined to be razed to build a private gated community like the one they’d passed on the way to Georgetown. And another little bit of the past would be swept away.
“What?”
She started. “I was just thinking about the Crispins. It seems a shame that they couldn’t get some help restoring the house. It must date back from plantation—real plantation—days. Why doesn’t it have landmark status?”
“I doubt if it qualifies. Much of the land was sold off years ago. The storms have destroyed some parts of the house and had to be rebuilt. Most of the antique furnishings have been sold. It’s an interesting part of history, but the house is mainly just old.
“Now. Would you rather dine with linen tablecloths and an extensive wine list or eat crab legs off a newspaper chased by microbeer.”
“Newspaper and beer,” she said automatically.
“Great. I know the place.”
They walked down the boardwalk to the marina where wooden tables were crowded around a weather-beaten shack. Strands of lights were draped over a latticed roof suspended over the dining area. Almost every table was filled, but just as they walked in a couple at a table next to the water stood up. A busboy cleared their table before they reached the exit, and a hostess hustled Cabot and Abbie toward it.
As soon as they were seated, she began rattling off things in an accent so thick that Abbie had trouble following it. They ordered beer and crab legs that came in a huge metal pot, which a muscular waiter dumped onto the table.
“Wow,” Abbie said, contemplating the pile of crabs before her. They were beautiful; bright orange against the black and white of the paper, as if the setting sun had found a space in the lattice overhead a
nd spilled onto the table. Beautiful and heart wrenching, but mostly beautiful.
Please, please, Abbie prayed. Let it all stay beautiful—just for a little while.
Chapter 8
Millie stood watch at the parlor window. “They’ve been gone for a long time.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Marnie said, looking up from where she was stretched out on the sofa reading a magazine.
“I suppose. And I hope they hit it off. Don’t you?” Millie turned from the window.
Marnie looked back at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “I think that would be very nice.”
“Oh, you. And you, too, Beau.”
Beau looked up from his carving. Marnie noticed that he’d placed yesterday’s newspaper at his feet to collect the shavings.
“I’ve been hopin’ Cab would find a nice girl ever since he came back. At first I thought maybe Bethanne, poor soul, but I just don’t think they would suit. Do you?” Getting no response, she went on. “Well, I don’t. It’s goin’ to take her a long time to get over Jim passing like that. Why, she might never marry again.”
“Mm-huh,” Marnie said. Beau leaned over, rolled up the newspaper and shavings, and stood up. “You leave the boy be. He’ll find somebody to marry in his own good time.”
“Hmmph. Something you would know all about, being an old confirmed bachelor.”
“That’s right, Sister.” He strode over and gave Millie a peck on the cheek. “I’m going on down to town for a bit. If I see the two of them, I’ll tell them not to miss curfew.” He paused at the arch. “And you never know, I might give him a run for his money with that girl myself.” He grinned and left the room.
“He was kiddin’, wasn’t he?” Millie asked as soon as they heard the front door close.
“I don’t know, Millie. He charmed many a girl in his day. I don’t think he’s lost a bit of that charm over the years.”
Millie felt behind her for a chair and lowered herself slowly to the cushion. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear.”
He liked her, Cab realized as he watched Abbie dig into the pile of crab legs. He liked her energy. The way her eyes lit up on occasion only to be quickly extinguished, as if she had some sadness that she couldn’t quite escape. It made her interesting.
He no longer thought she was working for a developer. But he also didn’t see her as a weathergirl. She’d said she was between jobs.
“Are you looking for another job as a weathergirl?” he asked.
Abbie froze with half a crab leg shell in each hand. “Weathergirl?”
“You said you were a weathergirl but between jobs.”
“Oh, yeah. I was, but I’m going to do something different now.”
He watched that darkness descend and then dissipate with a flick of her hair.
“Actually, I thought Bethanne might need help when the tourist season starts.”
Cabot stared. She was going to stay in Stargazey? It wasn’t exactly the place to get ahead. And along with the sadness, he’d sensed an underlying energy in Abbie that never seemed to rest. He didn’t see her as being content to make beds for a living. “I’m not sure if she’ll . . . really . . .”
“There’s a tourist season, isn’t there?”
“More or less.”
She’d picked up her beer but put it down with a thud. “What’s wrong with that town?”
“Nothing,” Cab said.
“Look around. These people are going great guns, and as far as I can tell they don’t even have the ocean.”
“And your point is . . .”
“Don’t be obtuse. Stargazey Point has businesses, some anyway, and Crispin House could be a drawing card like the house we saw. Maybe they could do tours or something. There’s a beach . . . It must have something to offer tourists. I know you don’t really care for tourists, but—”
“I don’t mind tourists, but I don’t want it to become another resort that none of the people who live there could afford.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you had plans for Stargazey yourself.”
“I do, just not those plans.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “What kind of plans?”
“Why do you care?” Cab asked, more sharply than he’d intended. She wasn’t just making dinner conversation. She was really curious. Suspicion crept back into his consciousness. He couldn’t help it; suspicion was in his nature.
“Because . . .” She picked at the beer label. “I like the Crispins, and I don’t want to see them lose their home.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
“So what kind of plans do you have?”
He shrugged, attacked another crab leg.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. But Cab sensed a storm brewing across the table. He couldn’t remember knowing someone whose moods shifted so quickly. Bailey had two moods, satisfied and not satisfied, shoes, salads, sex—it was all the . . . He stopped himself, unnerved that he’d been comparing Abbie to his ex-fiancée.
He had barely thought about Bailey in the last few months. An indictment of the happiness of that relationship. Actually Bailey had just been a symptom of his former life. It must be the call from Frank. He’d have to call him back and make up some excuse for them not to come. He didn’t want to share his new life with any of them.
“Coward.”
Cabot knocked his beer over and barely righted it before it spilled over the table.
“Did you just call me a coward?”
“Well, yeah, but I was just trying to get your attention. I guessed it worked.”
“I guess it did.” He couldn’t help himself, he started to laugh. For a second he thought she’d pulled an Ervina on him and was reading his mind.
“So are you going to tell me or is it a secret?”
He studied her face. She didn’t flinch or look away but met his eyes, intense, interested, and suddenly very appealing. “I’ll go you one better. I’ll show you.”
Ervina peered into the flames even though the smoke from the fire burned her eyes. The storm was a-comin’ right over that horizon. It was beginning.
Oh, Lord, it had begun years ago with Mr. Beau Senior and his heavy-handed ways. He set these things in motion just as sure as he was the puppet master hisself. But now he was gone. His three children were out of his reach. And now this girl.
Ervina smiled through the smoke. Old Mr. Beau be rollin’ over in his grave if he knew what was comin’.
Cab began to get cold feet on the drive back to Stargazey Point. He’d been rash to offer to show Abbie what he was working on. She might have the same reaction as his friends had when he announced he was quitting the firm. Or as his father and stepmother when they learned he’d given up everything to follow in Ned’s footsteps.
Still, it wouldn’t kill him to try it out on a stranger. He knew the advantage of beta testing. And she was the only new person in town. He tried not to think of how he would feel if she laughed in his face. Or dismissed him summarily like his father and his fiancée had.
And so what if she did? She was just one person. He was doing this as much for himself as for the future of Stargazey Point. It could turn out to be a gigantic failure. Unfortunately for a lot of people, it had become the panacea for putting them back on the map.
It was dark by the time they stopped in front of the community center. The center was dark. Most of the town was dark. Cab got out of the car.
“Look at that moon,” Abbie said.
The moon had risen over the derelict old pier, its light picking the broken boards out in stark relief.
“When I was a kid, there were games on the pier, and food and dancing at night out at the end.” Cab pointed to the remnant of the old pavilion. “It survived a bunch of storms. Was rebuilt time after time. But
after a while, most of the vendors moved on.”
“And no one bothered to build it back,” she said.
“I don’t know that it was a question of not bothering. There just wasn’t the need for a boardwalk with Myrtle Beach only a drive away. We just kind of slowly gave up.”
“Hmm,” Abbie said, and he wondered what she was thinking. He didn’t ask. He’d spent a whole day with her, and she knew more about him than most people would in just a few hours, or even in a few weeks. But he knew very little about her. It wasn’t that she was evasive exactly. She just seemed much more interested in the sights he showed her, which was nice, and in him, which was even nicer.
“Is this what we came to see?” she asked.
“What? No. This way.” He led Abbie over to the plywood door, opened the lock, and pulled the panel across the dirt.
“This is yours?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought it must be a church or an old meeting hall. You don’t live here?”
Cabot laughed. “Sometimes it seems like it, but no. I have a house a few blocks away.
“It’s kind of dark. I’ll get the switch.” On the other hand, he might as well go for the full effect. So what if he appeared ridiculous. “Close your eyes.”
“What?” she asked nervously. Another of those lightning-fast changes of energy. “This isn’t going to turn out like etchings, is it?”
“Nothing kinky. I just want you to get the full experience. Promise.”
He heard her take a deep breath.
“Are they closed?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, just come this way a little . . . a little more.” He maneuvered her farther into the space, turned her around. Had second thoughts. “It’s not finished. There’s a lot of work left to do.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Just a second; stand right there. Don’t move.”
He hurried to the old power board. Hoping that he didn’t blow a fuse, which would be a terrible anticlimax to his buildup, he pulled the levers. Lights flickered.
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