by Kim Alexis
The award-winning Atlanta-based architect who’d designed the complex had a “signature style” that emphasized distinctive rooflines with wide eaves, deep gables, and varying degrees of pitch throughout. That sort of thing might have been well and good for a more inland location, but Marcus knew that to replicate it there on the coast would be disastrous, an open invitation to the high winds to lift off entire sections of roofing like so many Coke bottle lids being flipped off by a massive, unruly bottle opener. Judging by the blueprints, however, each cluster of these elaborate, oceanfront structures would feature eave after eave, each one wider than the next, some of them even tilted slightly upward at the tips.
By the time Marcus left the coffee shop, he had exactly one goal, to convince the key players why the most prominent element of their new design simply could not stand. The design may have been aesthetically striking, but it was also an engineering nightmare for a coastal region routinely pounded by high winds and subjected to a fierce annual hurricane season.
Not wanting to make his company look bad for having missed such an important issue, Marcus started by calling his boss from a pay phone outside. Their conversation didn’t go well. At least he got the man to grasp the severity of the situation and to agree that something “might” need to be done. On the other hand, Marcus was told to keep his mouth shut and proceed with the ceremony as planned. They would deal with this matter later.
Marcus hadn’t been happy about that, but he’d done as instructed. Investors, local officials, the architect, some media, and a handful of local citizens all came to the ceremony. Once the symbolic shovelful of dirt had been dug and thrown, a brief question-and-answer session ensued. To his dismay, one reporter raised the issue of building an oceanfront structure with such wide eaves, which would surely be no match for the region’s high winds. The architect was the one fielding most of the questions, but when that one came up, he suddenly turned and gestured toward Marcus, saying that might best by answered by their resident engineering expert. After a bit of hemming and hawing, Marcus had finally blurted out that they were “still exploring the matter at this time” and that it “may involve slight modifications to the design.”
“But we were told the final design had been approved,” the reporter persisted.
Marcus tried not to look like a deer in the headlights as he managed a response. “Every structure is, in a sense, a work in progress, and this one is simply undergoing some final tweaks.” He’d meant his words to be vague while still addressing the question, but judging by the glaring looks the investors and the architect all gave him, Marcus had made a serious misstep.
The moment they were alone and behind closed doors, a major shouting match erupted. Apparently “final design approval” was a big issue here on the Georgia coast, and any mention of modifications would set off all sorts of red lights with zoning approvals and committee restrictions and more, possibly even kicking the project into some no-man’s land of pre-construction purgatory. In the end, one very unhappy investor got on the phone with Marcus’s boss, who promised to take the next flight out and handle things here in person himself.
Brother.
With the boss on the way despite the storm that was closing in, Marcus had no choice but to get in his car and head to the airport to pick the man up. Big, fat raindrops began to fall when he was halfway there, and by the time he’d parked and was running inside, the winds had whipped up so furiously that the rain was practically blowing sideways. Though technically it was no longer a tropical storm, it was still quite fierce.
Marcus didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate this job. As he dashed through the rain, two questions pounded in his head: How much longer can I stand it, and is this really what I should be doing with my life anyway?
Looking back on that moment now, Marcus could see how the hand of God had been working out the details of his future even in the midst of such turmoil. Had his boss not decided to fly out to the coast, Marcus wouldn’t have gone to the airport. Had he not gone to the airport, he would never have met Juliette Taylor. Had he not met Juliette, he would never have found the nerve to make so many big changes in his life.
Taking a deep breath, Marcus could feel himself growing sleepy. Before he drifted off, he said a silent prayer, asking God to bless their coming encounter and to open Juliette’s heart to the idea of seeing him again after all these years.
He knew now what he’d refused to admit to himself before, that his hoped-for reconnection with Juliette was every bit as much about the enduring strength of his old feelings for her as it was about protecting her from harm.
Chapter Fourteen
JULIETTE PADDLED ACROSS THE pool and used the steps to climb out. She was done. Though her soak in the grotto had been incredibly relaxing, she was starting to feel uncomfortably hot—not to mention sleepy.
The cool night air felt good on her skin as she dried off and slipped back into her robe. It would’ve been so lovely to stroll all the way back to her room, but she didn’t want to be foolhardy—not to mention that she’d made a promise to Didi. Thus, once she was ready to go, she tossed her wet towel in a bin and approached the nearest security guard. Before she could even say what she wanted, he offered a ride to her room.
Five minutes later she was in the shower.
Ten minutes after that she was in the bed.
The sheets were cool, the pillows fluffy, the blankets the perfect weight and softness. After such a long day, she thought she would fall asleep in minutes, but as she lay there in the darkness, she found that her mind was still racing. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the inevitable as her thoughts returned, once again, to that day twenty-five years ago, when Marcus came into her life.
There in the airport Juliette had dozed for a while in her alcove hidey-hole. She awoke feeling antsy and unsettled, so she decided to take a walk.
There wasn’t much to see. After strolling from one end of the airport to the other, she finally returned to the gift shop in the middle and killed time by flipping through a rack of greeting cards on the far side of the cash register.
As she did, she couldn’t help but listen to the running commentary of the woman at the checkout counter, a cashier with a nametag of Kitty. Practically ancient, with a sun-wrinkled face and a cap of white hair, Kitty’s lipstick had gathered in the vertical lines of her mouth and caked into waxy stripes of bright red. She seemed like one of those perpetually upbeat kind of people, always at the ready with silly cracks and one-liners, the cornier the better. Most of the customers reacted favorably, with a laugh or chuckle. Juliette was glad. She could use an encounter with a sunny disposition herself.
At one point a mother and child entered the store, complaining that they’d lost a quarter in the nearby vending machine. The little boy was whiny and petulant, but as Kitty reached a wrinkled hand into the register, fished out a coin, and gave it over to the mother, she asked if either of them had ever heard the joke about the sun.
They both looked back at her, their faces blank.
“You ain’t heard the joke about the sun? Oh well, never mind. It’s way over your head.”
It took a moment to sink in, then the mother laughed and her tight stance relaxed. She thanked the checker and led her child from the store, explaining the joke to him in a voice far less harried than it had sounded when she’d first come in.
Juliette was still smiling to herself when someone else entered. From behind the card rack, she stole a glance at the customer and saw that it was a man in his late twenties—a strikingly handsome man, despite the fact that his expression was surly and dark. Pulling out a card and opening it, Juliette pretended to read as she listened to what might happen next. If Kitty could get a smile out of this one, she deserved a medal or something.
Without a word, the guy slapped a pack of gum and a newspaper on the counter.
“Gum and a newspaper, that’s all for you today?” Kitty asked brightly as she began to ring him up.
&nb
sp; “Yes,” he snapped. Then he reached into a candy bin next to the register, pulled one out, and tossed it onto the pile. “And a Peppermint Pattie.”
“Fine, and one peppermint.” After a beat, Kitty added, “But don’t call me Patty.”
A giggle burst from Juliette’s lips, she couldn’t help herself. Much to her surprise, however, the man didn’t laugh at all—nor even crack a smile, for that matter. Instead, without saying another word, he simply paid, accepted his bag of goods, and walked out.
Feeling bad for poor Kitty, Juliette moved to the cash register herself and set down a card. With a smile, she told the woman how much she’d been appreciating her humor. “You’re one funny lady.”
Kitty rang up the purchase, bagged it, and handed it over. “Yeah, I guess sometimes I can be a real card.”
Groaning, Juliette handed the woman a five-dollar bill for the two-dollar total, telling her to keep the change. “And keep the humor too. The world could use more cheery people like you.”
“Hey, thanks.” Kitty sounded genuinely touched as she made the change and slid it into her pocket.
Moving out of the shop, the smile remained on Juliette’s face all the way back to the main terminal. She found her crew—the men snoring loudly, the women reading magazines—and still didn’t feel like dealing with them.
Modeling was such a lonely profession sometimes, especially when what she wanted most was just another person to hang out with who really understood what her life was like. A lot of people thought models traveled in packs and spent plenty of time together. But for Juliette—and the other models at her level—nothing could be further from the truth. Nine times out of ten she was the only woman on a shoot. Even when the project used other models, the women were usually photographed in sequence, not simultaneously. At the most, supermodels passed each other in transition, like vaguely friendly ships in the night.
Feeling a surge of sadness, Juliette decided to return to her little alcove and read her Bible. Maybe some time in the Word would comfort her aching soul.
She settled down and began to read, though it was hard not to be distracted by the scene outside the massive airport windows. From where she sat, she could see trees whipping around in the wind and debris skipping across the tarmac. The storm was so mesmerizing, in fact, that eventually she gave up for the time being and put the Bible away.
Others must have also realized that this vantage point offered a perfect view of the storm, because frequently people would come and stand at the window to look out for a while. Most didn’t even notice her there.
When someone new came to the glass, she glanced up and saw that it was a man, his posture tense, his jaw clenched. With a start, she realized it was the same guy who’d been in the gift shop earlier, the surly one who’d bought the Peppermint Pattie and hadn’t even cracked a smile at Kitty’s joke.
For some reason she called out to him. “Hey. You. Didn’t you see the movie Airplane? ‘Don’t call me Shirley,’ and all that?”
The man glanced at her and then looked to one side and then the other, obviously trying to figure out to whom she was speaking.
“That’s right, I’m talking to you,” she continued. “Remember in there, in the gift shop? When the woman said don’t call me Patty? It was just a joke. The least you could’ve done was be nice to her.”
After a pause, he focused in on Juliette. “Why are you saying this to me?”
Gazing back at him, she realized that his eyes were a vivid blue-gray, the color of sea glass. His thick, dark hair was clipped short, and over a muscular build he wore dark slacks and an oxford button-down shirt. Studying him, Juliette thought he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, far better looking than any of the male models she knew.
“Look, the woman was just trying to be friendly, but when you didn’t even laugh at her joke, it hurt her feelings.” Trying to lighten the mood, she flashed him her famous smile. “Sorry. I’m aware that this is none of my business, but I just felt bad for her is all.”
At that point Juliette expected one of two reactions. Either this guy was going to snap at her and tell her to mind her own business, or he was going to spout off some excuse for his earlier behavior and then try to make a pass at her. Instead, he surprised her by doing neither.
“Wow, good for you, calling me out on that.” He turned to face her fully, hands on his hips, as she looked back at him, eyes narrowed. “I’m serious. I appreciate you bringing it to my attention. I really didn’t even hear her. My mind was elsewhere, totally caught up in my own thoughts.” Hesitating, he added, “What did she say to me again?”
“You said to add the Peppermint Pattie and she said ‘fine, one peppermint, but don’t call me Patty’.”
He frowned. “That was a punch line?”
“Of course. Like in the movie Airplane, somebody says ‘Surely you can’t be serious,’ and the guy goes, ‘I am serious. But don’t call me Shirley.’”
The man’s eyes widened then crinkled into a smile. “Ah. I get it now.” He chuckled. “Hey, thanks. Thanks a lot.”
And with that he turned and walked away. After a moment Juliette leaned forward to peek around the wall and see where he was going. She spotted him making a beeline for the gift shop, where he walked right up to the counter and started talking to Kitty. Though Juliette couldn’t hear what they were saying, this was obviously a far friendlier exchange than the one before. Soon Kitty was laughing and the man was talking and gesticulating and the two of them were having a good old time together. Juliette was pleased.
She tried to put him out of her mind, but eventually she peeked around the corner again, looking toward the gift shop. He was no longer there, and Kitty was busily cracking jokes with a new batch of customers. Wondering where he might have gone, Juliette stood and brushed off her slacks, gathered her things, and went for another walk through the airport. Fifteen minutes later she had made the rounds of the entire place, but he was nowhere to be found. Feeling oddly disappointed, she decided to get some coffee.
Soon she was sitting in the airport’s lone restaurant, sipping a cup of the nasty brew and trying to pretend it included cream and sugar. Turning to look out of the window, she saw that the sky was a roiling mass of black clouds. Rain pelted the rounded, silver sides of the grounded airplanes and puddled on the dark pavement.
To her right Juliette heard a soft thunk against the table, and when she turned she saw a Peppermint Pattie right there in front of her. Glancing upward, she met those blue-gray eyes, sparkling now. It was him, waiting expectantly.
She grinned. “Thanks for the Peppermint Pattie.”
To which he replied, of course, “You’re welcome. But don’t call me Patty.”
They both laughed, Juliette’s cheeks growing hot when she realized how happy she was to see him again.
“May I join you?” He held up his own cup of coffee as if for proof that he, too, was a paying customer here.
“Please do.”
He sat and extended his right hand toward her. “My name is Marcus, by the way.”
He seemed so earnest, his movements so formal, that Juliette had to suppress a smile. Though he couldn’t have been a day over thirty—and was probably even a few years younger than that—he acted like someone far older. By this point, most guys would’ve had their hand out for her phone number, not to make a formal introduction. How absolutely . . . quaint. Taking his warm hand in her own and giving it a shake, she replied that her name was Juliette.
“It’s nice to meet you, Juliette.”
“You too.” And she meant it. So much so in fact that she had to hide her silly grin by taking another sip of her coffee.
He gestured toward the window and the storm raging outside. “Your flight grounded?”
“No, I just like the coffee here.”
He smiled at her joke.
“Kidding. Yes, of course, I’m here because my flight was grounded. Aren’t you?”
He shook his head. �
��Actually, I’m here to pick someone up. No telling how long I’ll have to wait now.”
“Wow, you’re a lot more patient than I am. Can’t you leave and come back later? They could call you when they get in.”
He shrugged. “Nah, couldn’t do that.”
“It could be hours yet, you know.”
He met her eyes. “No, it’s my boss, and he’s not happy with me. I need to be waiting when he arrives. I don’t want to aggravate him more than I already have.”
“Yikes. What’d you do?”
“Long story.” He waved off the question and took another sip of his coffee. From the pained expression that clouded his features, Juliette realized that it had to be something pretty serious.
After a moment she lowered her voice. “Do you . . . feel like talking about it? You did seem pretty upset and preoccupied in the gift shop earlier.”
He didn’t reply, and after a long moment Juliette felt her cheeks warming. She sat up straight, brushed her hair from her eyes. “You know what? Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not that. The truth is, I’d love to tell you all about it, but I don’t want to bore you to death. This has been a long time coming. I’m just afraid if I get started, I’ll never stop.”
Suddenly Juliette wanted nothing more than to be a shoulder for this man to cry on. She gestured around them, palms upward. “Does it look like I’ve got somewhere else to go? Feel free to spill your guts, and I promise I’ll let you know if you go on too long.”
“Really? Thanks.” Marcus seemed to collect his thoughts as he drained his coffee. Setting the empty cup aside, he crossed his muscular arms, rested them on the table, and launched into his tale. It took him nearly an hour to get through it—yet she remained spellbound the entire time.
He started by explaining his work as an engineer and his constant battle with a world that measured human life in terms of dollars. He seemed disillusioned and angry but also noble and good. The more he expressed his frustrations, the more she could see what a compassionate man he was, and intelligent too. She didn’t offer advice, but by the time he was finally done, he seemed to feel much better just for having talked about it.