“Goodbye, Zeus,” Millie whispered.
Swallowing her fears, Millie gripped the steering wheel to head back to the mansion. Just as she was about to pull onto the main road, she heard a car coming and stopped, just short of the intersection. It was the roadster! She dove for the floor, praying she wouldn’t be noticed, and by the time she pulled herself back to a seated position, she saw Josephine’s dark hair whipping in the breeze, and Gardiner, upright in the passenger seat, beside his sister.
She felt a deep wave of longing and regret—and something else—as the car passed. And then Millie squared her shoulders and drove back toward Shellhaven. She allowed herself to feel nothing. Except relief.
82
Brooke stood up and kicked off her shoes. She unzipped the sleeveless black sheath dress she’d worn to the funeral and pulled it off over her head. “Who’s up for a swim?” she asked.
Lizzie and Felicia jumped to their feet and immediately began to strip.
“Come on, Marie,” Lizzie urged. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Brooke said, reaching down to help her mother stand.
“Oh, my goodness.” Marie giggled. “I’m too old for this nonsense.” But she turned around to allow her daughter to unzip her chic black silk dress, then folded it neatly and placed it on top of the basket with the wine bottles.
“I’ll just swim in my bra and panties,” she said.
“Nuh-uh. No way,” Felicia said. “Skinny-dipping means naked.”
“As a jaybird,” Brooke agreed, tugging at the back of her mother’s bra.
“Y’all going in without me?” Varina struggled to get out of the lawn chair.
“Auntie Vee! Of course we’re not going without you.” Felicia and Lizzie each took Varina by the arm. She stood, and her fingers fumbled as she tried to work the buttons on her blouse.
“Let me,” Felicia said, and a few minutes later, the old lady stood naked and beaming up at the full moon overhead.
By unspoken agreement, the five joined hands and walked slowly toward the waves, pausing as the warm ocean lapped at their ankles, wading farther in until the water was neck-high on the tiny nonagenarian Varina.
“Ooh, this feels so good,” Varina squealed. “But don’t let go, y’all. You know I can’t swim. I’m afraid that tide will pull me clean out to sea, and I’ll end up naked in some country where they don’t even speak English.”
“We’ve got you,” Lizzie promised, clutching Varina by the elbow.
The old woman let the water sweep her off her feet, and for a few minutes she floated, bobbing tranquilly in the gentle waves, until one swept her under and she emerged, sputtering and coughing, then giggling at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
* * *
It was nearing midnight as the women, laughing and talking softly, finally made their way back to the Packard.
It took two tries, but finally the engine turned over, and Marie carefully backed the car onto the pavement. They were passing the lighthouse when Lizzie tapped Varina on the arm.
“Varina, do you ever think about that night? The night y’all skinny-dipped and then slept at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage?”
“Hmm?” Varina yawned. “Sometimes I do. Other times it seems like everything that happened that night and the next day was all a dream, it was so long ago. I miss my old friends Ruth and Millie. And now Josephine. Can’t hardly believe I’m the last one here.”
Lizzie gave her a conspiratorial look. “Since everybody else is dead now, it wouldn’t hurt, would it, if you told us where Russell Strickland is? I mean, it would make such a powerful ending to my magazine story if we knew.”
“Hush!” Felicia said fiercely. “She doesn’t want to think about that. Or talk about it.”
“It’s all right, honey,” Varina said. “I don’t reckon it matters anymore. Maybe it would give C. D. peace to know it.”
“You really don’t have to tell us,” Marie assured her.
“No. I think it will be like finally owning my own story,” Varina said. “Go on down the road here a little ways, Marie, then turn like you’re going to the dock. When you come to the two oaks that look like they’ve grown together, right before the road to the dock, you take a right at that fork, and you keep going until you see the creek running in front of you.”
Marie drove slowly, following Varina’s directions until the pavement ran out, and they were on a narrow shell road that grew narrower still, and darker, with the thick oak canopy overhead nearly blocking out the moonlight.
Varina peered into the inky night. “I hadn’t been back here since that night. We all swore we’d never come near here again.”
“It’s okay,” Marie assured her. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll back out of here, and we’ll go on back to the house.”
“No,” Varina said stubbornly. “It’s right up here. See that break in the trees? Stop there.”
Marie cut the engine but left the headlights on. The warm night air folded in on them like a blanket. They heard the insistent thrum of cicadas and the croaks of tree frogs. From somewhere overhead, a pair of owls hooted from the tops of opposing trees.
A swarm of stinging gnats descended upon them, and soon the women were frantically slapping and trying to wave them away.
“This is the place,” Varina said solemnly. She opened the car door and stepped out, clinging to the side of the car for balance. The others followed suit, with Felicia taking her great-aunt’s arm.
“Just a little ways up here,” Varina said. Her steps quickened, and in two minutes they stood in a clearing dominated by an imposing oyster shell mound.
“This is where we put him,” Varina said. “Nobody else on the island would come back here. It’s an Indian mound, you see.”
“Geechees are superstitious about Indian things,” Felicia whispered. “When I was a kid, we used to dare each other to come back here, but nobody ever would because it was supposed to be haunted.”
Varina stared at the shell mound, then turned her back to it. “No,” she said firmly. “Not haunted. Not anymore.” She turned to Marie. “I’m ready to go home now, please.”
83
Kavanaugh Park was a lush, green enclave of oaks, magnolias, and head-high azaleas a short walk from Brooke’s childhood home in Ardsley Park. She’d dropped Henry off at Marie’s house, then bought a picnic lunch at Back in the Day, a nearby bakery and restaurant. Now she sat on a bench under the shade of an oak tree and checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes.
He was late. She’d texted Pete earlier in the week, asking him to meet her in the park where she and the neighborhood kids had romped and played as children. It was the same park Marie liked to walk to, back in the days when Henry agreed to sit placidly in a stroller, something he rarely agreed to these days.
Would Pete show up? His return text had been a terse, three-word reply.
See U there.
Her stomach was in knots, her pulse racing. She’d dressed with care that morning, trying to look casual but pretty, sexy but not desperate. It was hot. Of course it was hot. This was June in Savannah. She could feel her mascara already starting to run, and the concealer she’d painstakingly applied to the still-healing scar on her cheek was melting. What had she been thinking when she’d planned this ridiculous affair? She should have met him in a restaurant, or better yet, a bar, where she could have soothed her nerves with a drink. She found a paper napkin and blotted her face with it, then glanced at her phone again. He was ten minutes late. Maybe he’d had problems calling a cab from the airport. Or maybe he was having second thoughts and had caught an earlier flight back to Alaska. If he was having second thoughts, so was she.
She twisted the platinum-and-diamond ring on her right ring finger. Marie had found it in a box of jewelry in Josephine’s room and insisted she take it. “If you and Pete don’t get together, you can at least wear it on your left hand and tell people you used to be married.”
“Ha-ha, Mom. Good one,” Brooke had said. But the ring was stunning, and let’s face it, nobody else had offered her a diamond ring lately.
Where the hell was Pete? Why hadn’t he called? Her cell phone hadn’t rung. Really, it was so thoughtless. Hashtag rude. She clutched the bag and decided she would leave. It would serve him right. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him he had a son. Maybe he didn’t deserve a child as wonderful as Henry.
She saw a yellow cab pass by on Forty-fifth Street, slow down, then drive past. A few minutes later, the car was back. It rolled slowly past, then stopped again. The back door opened, and Pete climbed out. Brooke jumped up and waved as the cab sped away.
The Grizzly Adams beard was gone, and his straight, square jaw was back. Her pulse did funny things as he drew closer. He’d gotten sunburned in Florida. His smile seemed self-conscious. Well, maybe hers was too.
“Hey!” he said, reaching the bench.
“Hey,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He drew back a moment as though he were startled.
Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. The kiss made her look anxious or desperate. Or both.
“Let’s sit,” she said finally. “How was the conference?”
“Great,” Pete said. “Our paper was a huge success, and it’s been accepted by a pretty prestigious journal.”
“And the job interviews? How did they go?” Oh God. She sounded like his mother. Next thing you knew she’d be asking if he’d been eating vegetables and flossing.
He nodded. “They went better than I’d expected. The wildlife foundation position would be a perfect fit for me. I’d be based on the Georgia coast, but they’d want me to travel as far south as Amelia Island, Florida, and as far north as Daufuskie, in South Carolina. Pay’s good, and they’re establishing a relationship with the University of Georgia Marine Institute, so I’d have access to lab facilities.”
“That does sound nice,” Brooke said, trying to sound noncommittal.
“I’m not the only applicant, but I’d say there’s an 85 percent chance I’ll get an offer.”
“You said there was another position too?”
“Yeah. It’s with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and that one would be based out west, in the Sierras. I could continue my work on migration patterns, which would be sweet. The guy who interviewed me told me in confidence that I’m pretty much their number-one choice.”
“Is there a downside to that one?” Brooke asked.
“I’m worried about the political situation,” Pete admitted. “Conservation isn’t exactly a big priority with the current administration. If there are layoffs or budget cuts, I’d be the first one to be let go.”
Brooke tried to clandestinely wipe her sweaty palms with the crumpled paper napkin she still clutched in her fist. “So,” she said cheerfully, “would you want to go back out west?”
Pete’s gaze was level and direct. “That would depend on where I stand with you, Brooke. I mean, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw you last week. I still have no idea how you feel about us. I mean, give me a clue here, will you?”
He looked down at her hands and frowned. He gestured toward her hand. “What the hell? Is that an engagement ring? You got engaged since I last saw you?”
“No! I mean, no, it’s not an engagement ring. It’s a gift from my mom, who just inherited it, which is another long story.”
She took a deep breath and reached into her pocket. She handed him a color photo of Henry as an infant, his hair downy, eyelashes thick and lush.
“This is Henry at six months, right after he started sitting up. I named him that after my grandfather, my mom’s father, who we called Pops. He died before I was born. You want to know something funny? Last week, I found out that Granny had a secret affair with her best friend’s older brother. His name was Gardiner Bettendorf. It was at the very beginning of the war. She’d been in love with him most of her life but never dared let anybody know. They had a one-night stand, and then his plane was shot down over France.”
Pete looked puzzled.
“Granny got pregnant that night. But by the time her letter arrived, telling Gardiner he was going to be a father, he was already dead. Being an unwed mother back then, in her social circles, would have been unthinkable. So she married another man, Henry Updegraff, my pops.”
He was still looking deeply confused.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the bag at him. “I brought us lunch. Have a sandwich. They make these amazing sandwiches at Back in the Day. From their own bread. There are cookies too.” She was babbling, and she knew it.
He unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite, chewing slowly. “Why are you telling me all this? I mean, it’s interesting, but what’s it got to do with us?”
“Take a good look at that picture of Henry, please. Tell me what you see.”
“I’m not sure. I mean, I guess he looks like you. He has your lips.”
She sighed. “And he has his father’s eyes. And nose. And jaw. Henry’s yours, Pete. He’s your son.”
Pete’s sandwich dropped onto the bag on his lap. “You said the other day it was some guy who wasn’t in your life anymore.”
“Which was true. I let you slip out of my life, Pete. You were so far away, and things were so new and raw between us. You were so excited about your work in Alaska, I told myself I couldn’t ask you to give that up and come back here. You said it yourself, remember? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I thought you would have resented the baby and resented me.”
“No!” Pete said. “Goddamn it! You had my baby and you didn’t even tell me?”
Brooke bit her lip. “I know now how wrong I was. You had a right to know. And you have a right to know your son now, if that’s what you want.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. His voice was hoarse, choky. “You mean you didn’t want me to come back when you found out about the baby, isn’t that it? I would have come back. I would have been here for you, no question. Don’t you know that about me? Do you think so little of me that I would resent you or our child?”
“It’s not you that I think so little of, it’s me,” Brooke said, looking away. “When I figured out I was pregnant, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you would want me. Who would? I was a mess. And now I am a mess with baggage. A kid.”
Pete stared down at the photo of Henry.
“I’m telling you about him now, Pete, because I finally realize what a horrible thing I did. I hope it’s not too late. Henry needs a father. He deserves a family, whatever that means.”
She reached out and touched the hand holding the photo. “I’m so sorry I screwed this up. Seeing you now, all my careful reasoning doesn’t hold up. It never did.”
Pete got up and slammed the bag lunch into the trash. He whirled around to face her. “So what am I supposed to do with this information? You spring this on me out of nowhere. ‘Hey, guess what? You’ve got a three-year-old son.’ What the hell, Brooke?”
“You do whatever you want with this information,” she said, her voice strained. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, I know. But I couldn’t keep this secret any longer. It should never have been a secret.”
He paced back and forth in front of the bench, staring down at the photo of Henry. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to one,” she said.
“I gotta go,” he said abruptly. “My flight’s gonna leave soon. You think I can catch a cab or an Uber or something from here?”
“I’ll drive you,” Brooke said. “My car’s parked at my mom’s house, right around the corner.”
* * *
He kept staring down at the photo of Henry on the short walk to Marie’s house. “My son,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “Who is he? I mean, I saw him at the airport, for what, thirty minutes, and he wouldn’t even look at me for most of that time. Maybe you could catch me up on the first three years of his life. What’s he like?”
“He’s a funny little guy,” she said, ignoring the sarc
asm. “He walked at exactly nine months. I thought he’d never sleep through the night. He loves to be read to. He has a favorite cartoon, this heinous Canadian kid, Caillou. He adores Caillou. He’s crazy smart, Pete. He asks a million questions. He’s a climber. He broke his arm climbing on a jungle gym in the spring. He’s almost potty trained, but I think he gets a subversive thrill from pooping in his pants at the most inappropriate times. Please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what to say.”
He gave her a long, steady look. “If you don’t already know what to say, then it’s goodbye.” He started to walk away, his long legs eating up concrete. He stopped suddenly and turned to her. “I’d like to keep the picture of our son, if that’s okay.”
“You’re really going back to Alaska without seeing him?” she asked.
He stopped walking.
“Henry’s at my mom’s house. Right up there.” She pointed at the two-story brick house two doors down from where they were standing.
“What if I want to do more than just see him occasionally?” Pete asked, his jaw still set in anger.
Brooke held her breath for a moment, wondering what that meant. “Are you talking about some kind of joint custody thing?”
Pete shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, I just learned I have a son five minutes ago. It’s gonna take time to figure this out.”
“Whatever you want,” Brooke said softly. “Henry needs a dad. He needs you in his life. I know that now. But I guess how that happens is up to you.”
They were standing on the front porch at Marie’s house. Brooke’s hand was on the doorknob. “Are you seriously thinking of taking the job out west?” She was holding her breath, waiting for him to say something, when the door opened.
“Hey,” Marie said, looking from her daughter to Pete. “I thought I heard voices out here.”
Brooke exhaled slowly. “Mom, this is … Henry’s dad. Pete, this is my mom, Marie.”
Marie smiled and held out her hand. “So good to finally meet you, Henry’s dad. FYI, Henry’s up from his nap. Do you two want to come inside?”
The High Tide Club Page 46