The High Tide Club

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “Perfect,” Marie agreed. She set down the basket she’d brought from the house and slipped out of her shoes, easing herself down onto the quilt beside Brooke, Lizzie, and Felicia.

  Brooke uncorked the wine, pouring it into plastic cups that she handed around to the others.

  “Auntie Vee?” Felicia held out a cup.

  “Oh, no, honey,” Varina said.

  “Just a sip? To toast the full moon?” Felicia teased.

  “All right, a sip.”

  When everyone had been served, Brooke raised her cup. “Let’s drink to Josephine.”

  Felicia frowned and looked away, muttering something unintelligible.

  “Felicia Shaddix, don’t you go acting ugly,” Varina chided.

  “Well, I don’t mind toasting Josephine,” Lizzie said. “She’s the one who brought us all together here on this island. She helped me understand a little about my grandmother Ruth and, indirectly, my messed-up, dysfunctional family.” She looked at the other women. “Did I tell you I got my ex to go through the boxes of my grandmother’s stuff I’ve had in storage? He’s sending me the rest of her letters and scrapbooks so I can look for more of Ruth’s correspondence with Josephine and Millie.”

  “You’ve got an ex-husband?” Felicia asked.

  “Josephine’s not the only one with secrets,” Lizzie said with a touch of sadness. “We were together for nine years but never actually married, which might have been our problem.”

  “Sorry,” Felicia said. “I know what that’s like.”

  “Not to mention Josephine seems to have reignited my stagnant writing career,” Lizzie said, brightening. “I’ve never been as productive as I’ve been since I came to Talisa. I’ve sold my piece about the High Tide Club ladies to Vanity Fair, and I’ve even started fiddling around with a screenplay. So here’s to Josephine.”

  Brooke tapped her cup against Lizzie’s. “She made me take a closer look at my family too. I’ve gained a new appreciation for my amazing mom, and I’m suddenly on speaking terms again with my dad. More importantly, I’ve reconnected with my own son’s father.”

  “Does that mean you and Pete…?” Marie asked.

  “We’ll see,” Brooke said. “He’s coming back into Savannah tomorrow, and he wants to have a serious talk about the future. Whatever that means.”

  “Josephine almost got you killed,” Felicia reminded Brooke, pointing in the direction of the lighthouse.

  “That was my own fault. I fell for Gabe’s lies. I wanted easy answers, and he was only too willing to give them. Maybe if I’d listened when my dad tried to warn me about him, none of this would have happened.”

  Varina took a tiny sip of the wine and made a face. “Why do folks like this stuff? Tastes nasty to me. Josephine was my first friend and my oldest friend.” She patted Felicia’s shoulder. “I know you can’t understand it, but that’s a fact.”

  “Auntie! She stole your child, told you he was dead, then gave him to strangers to raise. It’s obscene! She treated you just like those plantation owners treated their slaves right here on this island. It kills me to think about it.”

  Varina was unfazed by her niece’s brutal judgment. “Or maybe she did what she did out of love. I was so young. Had no money, no friends or family in Savannah. No education. How could I raise a child? And maybe I wouldn’t have been able to love that baby, knowing how he came into the world. I had nightmares for a long time about that bad man. Sometimes I would wake up, crying and sweating, thinking about him, about what he did to me. Maybe I would have seen his face every time I looked at that baby.”

  “But she had no right,” Brooke said. “That should have been your decision, not hers. And what about C. D.? How different would his life have been if he hadn’t been dumped in that orphanage and then shuttled off to a children’s home?”

  Varina shrugged. “I guess that was God’s plan. For him and for me.” She looked at Brooke, and her eyes seemed to brighten. “I know it was God’s plan that brought me back to this beautiful island where I was born, and then, it brought my son here too. After all these years. You see that, don’t you?”

  “No,” Felicia said, shaking her head again. “I don’t. I don’t see it that way at all.”

  “Try it this way, then,” Varina said. “It’s easier to walk around with love in your heart than with hate.” She clutched her chest. “I don’t want that burden. I let go of all that mess. You need to do that too.”

  “I’ll drink to dear old Aunt Josephine,” Marie said. “It’s been painful, I’ll admit, but finding out that my biological father was Gardiner Bettendorf has been a blessing in disguise. It gives me a new appreciation for Pops, who loved and raised me as his own, and it’s deepened my admiration for my mom. I had no idea of the depth of her courage and quiet determination. And her strength. And now … all of this.” She waved her arm at the landscape around them. “Talisa is such a wonderful opportunity and a challenge, especially for somebody my age. Ever since I found out, I wake up every morning and my head is spinning with plans and ideas for Shellhaven and Talisa.” She grinned. “After all those years of being a wife and stay-at-home mother, of being a volunteer and a fund-raiser, I have a project again. And it’s big and inspiring and intimidating. I tell you, it’s like a youth tonic!”

  “What kind of plans do you have?” Felicia asked, sipping her wine.

  “I really want to fulfill Josephine’s dream of saving the island and keeping it out of the state’s hands, but I’m going to need all of you to get on board.”

  “Us?” Felicia looked skeptical.

  “All of you,” Marie said. “Josephine had the right idea.”

  “But the wrong lawyer,” Brooke said. “Which was my fault.”

  “I’m going to honor her intentions as best I can. I’ll create the Talisa Trust, with all of you as partners. First priority is to preserve and update Shellhaven.”

  “Please tell me that means central air,” Lizzie said.

  “Central heat and air, a new roof, updated electrical. All new bathrooms and a new kitchen. I’ve got a contractor coming over Monday to start working on an estimate.”

  “Does that mean you’re moving to Shellhaven?” Lizzie asked.

  “Full-time? No. I’ve got a much better idea. I want to turn Shellhaven into a nonprofit retreat house for writers, painters, musicians. We could offer residencies for creative types to come for, say, two weeks or maybe even a month’s stay. That’s why all the bedrooms will need new en suite baths. Then, I want to convert the barn into studio spaces, maybe with moveable walls so there could be a central performance space for readings or art exhibits or concerts. I’m not going to live here full-time, but I was thinking maybe you”—she pointed at Lizzie—“might agree to that. I wouldn’t want you to give up your writing, now that it’s going so well again, but maybe you could live on-site and help vet the writers applying for residency.”

  “Twist my arm,” Lizzie said.

  “Mom, that’s a genius idea!” Brooke exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Marie tapped her skull. “A lot of it’s still just up here. But you won’t mind, will you? Not inheriting some big old white elephant of a house to clatter around in during your old age?”

  “No.” Brooke laughed. “And I definitely won’t mind missing out on the upkeep or the tax burden.”

  “What about all of Josephine’s cars? She loved those old things,” Varina said wistfully.

  “I’ll have a new garage built, and of course, I’ll keep the Packard, but those other cars are too rare and valuable to keep here on the island, where the salt air is so destructive and nobody really drives them. I want to sell them and use the money for something that does real good.”

  “What kind of good?” Felicia asked.

  “I’d like to buy a new, larger capacity boat for the children going over to the mainland for school. Right now, they have to rely on the state-run ferry, which stops running at five on weekdays. This way, they could
participate in after-school enrichment programs they miss out on because they don’t have a reliable way to get back to the island late in the afternoon.”

  “I notice you haven’t said much about Oyster Bluff in all your grand schemes,” Felicia said.

  “That’s my department,” Brooke spoke up. “You all know that Josephine had finally decided to sign over all the deeds for the houses she bought there over the past twenty years or so. I was working on that before she died. It’s complicated, but we’ll get there.”

  “Felicia, it sounds like you’re still not really on board with any of this,” Marie said.

  “I don’t want to sound ungracious, but it’s still hard for me to believe good can come out of all the destructive things that woman did,” Felicia said. “I know you mean well, Marie, but do you really believe you can just wave some money around and think that fixes things?”

  Marie gave it some thought. “You’re right. Money won’t fix everything. It will certainly help with things like roofs and plumbing, but I’m under no illusion that I can turn Talisa into some kind of utopia. So I’m going to invest in brick and mortar, but I also want to establish an after-school tutoring program and a college scholarship fund for Geechee children on the island. Maybe that’s something you could get involved with. You’d sure be a great role model for them.”

  “Too many children leave the island and never come back here,” Varina said sadly. “You know there’s only ten school-age children living at Oyster Bluff right now? When I was coming up, we had our own schoolhouse. Every house had five or six children.”

  “There are no jobs to keep them here,” Felicia reminded her. “Talisa can seem so closed off from civilization. I remember I couldn’t wait to get off the island to go to school and drive through a McDonald’s and shop at a real mall.” She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at the sky with its dazzling array of stars twinkling in the blue velvet sky. “It didn’t occur to me that one day I’d choose to come back here just to get away from the fast-food restaurants and the malls and the traffic and pollution. And to be able to look up and see all these stars, so far from the city lights.”

  “You’re a Geechee girl,” Varina said fondly. “Ain’t nothing you can do about it. You got salt water in your veins, and it pulls you back here just as surely as the moon pulls that tide.”

  Felicia refilled her wineglass. “Maybe. Oh, hell. You know what? You’re right, Marie. It’s a start. It’ll make a difference.”

  “We’ll make a difference,” Brooke said, taking the bottle from Felicia. “All of us.”

  “Okay, I’ll toast to that,” Felicia said. She raised her cup, then clicked it against Brooke’s, who clicked hers against Lizzie’s, who clicked against Marie’s glass. Varina touched her glass to Felicia’s, completing the circle.

  “Here’s to the High Tide Club,” Felicia said. “Here’s to us. And here’s to the ones who brought us here.”

  “To Varina,” Felicia said, blowing her great-aunt a kiss.

  “And Ruth,” Lizzie declared.

  “And even Josephine, God forgive her,” Marie said, raising her glass.

  “But mostly to Millie,” Brooke said, tears springing to her eyes.

  They all drained their glasses.

  81

  October 1941

  Russell had backed the pickup truck out of the barn. He was dressed in what Millie recognized as his hunting clothes—long-sleeved tan shirt, tan trousers with leather chaps meant to deflect the burrs and brambles of the island’s thick undergrowth, and stout boots. He was loading a pair of rifles into the back of the truck.

  “I, uh, was looking for you. Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Where does it look like I’m going?” He slammed the tailgate up and walked around to the front of the truck. “What do you want?”

  She swallowed hard and gave him her a demure smile. “About last night. I’m … sorry. It’s just there were so many people around, and I was afraid Mother might catch us in the act.” She giggled innocently.

  Russell opened the door of the truck. “Hadn’t you better get back in the house?”

  “Why don’t I go with you?” Millie asked, placing her hand on his arm and giving it a slight squeeze.

  “Hunting? Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t know the first thing about it. You’d probably wet your panties or faint if you heard a gun fired.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “You’re wrong, darling. Papa was a great shot, and he taught me. And we practiced skeet shooting at boarding school.”

  “Hunting isn’t the same as sporting clays,” Russell retorted. He looked up at the sky and seemed to consider her request. “It’ll be daylight soon. I should be up in a tree stand by now.”

  “Let me come,” she wheedled. “It’ll be fun. My first kill.”

  “All right, you can come along if you like.” He gestured at her clothing. “Will you be warm enough? I don’t want to hear you whining about the cold, and there’s no time to go back to the house to change.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Millie assured him. “Anyway, like the song says, I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

  “Get in, then, before I change my mind.”

  She clapped her hands softly. “I can’t wait to show you what a good shot I am.”

  * * *

  The old truck bounced and jounced over every rut in the crushed-shell road, jarring Millie so thoroughly she was sure she could hear her bones rattling. The headlights illuminated a narrow tunnel through the lush greenery.

  “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  “One of the colored boys showed me Gardiner’s tree stand just up the road here,” Russell said. He had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other arm was slung carelessly across her shoulders. “There’s a big buck—the fellows call him Zeus—an eight-pointer. I was out here early Friday morning and saw him, but before I could get a shot, something spooked him.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get him this morning,” Millie said. His fingertips massaged her shoulder, and she cringed inwardly.

  “Damn right I will. And I can’t wait to see the look on Bettendorf’s face when I show up with the carcass of his buck strapped across the hood of his truck.”

  He whistled tunelessly as they rode through the inky darkness. “How can you tell where we’re going?” she asked, peering through the windshield. “There are no road signs, and it’s so dark, I’m hopelessly lost.”

  “It’s just up here, where the road forks,” Russell said. “If you go to the left, that’s the road to the dock; to the right is where we’re going.” A hundred yards later, he turned the steering wheel sharply to the right, and several hundred yards later, he pulled the truck off the road. The headlights illuminated a path cutting through the tree line.

  He cut the engine and jumped out of the cab. Millie joined him as he pulled the first rifle from the truck bed.

  “Where—”

  He clamped a hand hard across her mouth. “Quiet, goddamn it,” he whispered. “You’ll spook the damn deer.”

  She nodded her understanding, and he removed his hand. “Now listen, because I’m not going to explain it again.” His voice was a harsh whisper. He pointed at a towering live oak across the meadow. “The stand is in that pine tree just up there by the oak. You can come with me, but you don’t say a word, don’t move, don’t breathe until I give you the nod. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He sat down on the tailgate and pulled a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and took a swig.

  Picking up the rifle, he jammed three cartridges into the magazine before turning it right-side up again. He yanked the lever down and propped it beside him before taking another swig of bourbon. “See how I did that?”

  He demonstrated the aiming process and blabbed endlessly about the trigger and firing. Finally, he handed her the rifle. “Got that?”

  Millie took the rifle and cocked it. “Like this?”

  “Don
’t point it at me, goddamn it!” He nearly knocked the rifle from her hands. “Didn’t that useless father of yours teach you anything? Never point a loaded weapon at somebody unless you mean to fire it.”

  She took exactly five steps backward, her heart pounding. The words she heard in her head weren’t Russell’s but instead, her dear, sweet papa’s.

  “That’s the girl, Millie,” he’d said. “Plant your feet wide to absorb the shock of the recoil. Sight it. Hold your breath. Pull down steadily on the trigger.”

  Russell was tipping the flask up to his lips. His eyes widened in disbelief. Millie held her breath and pulled.

  The blast echoed across the field and knocked her onto the ground. Slumbering birds rose up, squawking from the treetops, but Millie was momentarily deafened. She stood up, her ears ringing, knees shaking badly, her hands still trembling.

  The minutes ticked away slowly. Finally, she forced herself to walk back to the truck. The single shot knocked Russell onto his back in the bed of the truck. The silver flask, her engagement gift to him, was still clutched in his hands. She picked it up and tucked it into the waistband of her slacks. Somehow, she managed to push his body backward far enough to close the tailgate.

  Millie slid behind the wheel of the truck and clutched the steering wheel with both hands, trying to still the waves of nausea and panic.

  The first few purplish-pink streaks of sunlight broke over the distant treetops. It was nearly dawn. She had to get back to the house. Finally, when her hands quit shaking, she pulled out the flask and drank the last few swallows of bourbon.

  She was searching for the cap when out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. As she watched, wide-eyed, a buck emerged from the tree line. His rack was so magnificent it seemed like he might topple over from the weight of it. He walked slowly into the emerging daylight, swung his head in the direction of the truck and, for just a moment, seemed to be staring directly at her. Two seconds passed. The buck turned his muzzle upward, alerted to something. Finally, with a swish of his white tail, he bounded back into the tree line, back to safety.