Beach Rental

by Greene, Grace

  “Yes. No. It’s a nice place to hang out when I don’t have enough time to go home on break, but it’s not mine—it’s temporary. Everything’s temporary.”

  The call of the gulls and the slap of the water relaxed her, as it always did, taking her out of her real life. She wandered over to an ancient live oak. It was bent by a century or more of relentless onshore winds, yet it thrived.

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared out across the water. She waited. Any minute now they would have the awkward ‘can we date discussion’ and she was pretty sure she was going to shoot him down.

  Pretty sure? Was she actually considering seeing him again?

  She asked, “Are you married?”

  “I was. A long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  He turned away, but she’d already seen the sorrow on his face.

  No, she wouldn’t see him again. She had enough of her own baggage; she didn’t need his, too.

  “I have an offer to make. I hope you’ll consider it.”

  Juli opened her mouth and shut it again. Not a date? She crossed her arms.

  “I hope you aren’t about to suggest something illegal.”

  His eyes widened. “No, nothing like that. A job, one might say, but better paying.”

  “What?”

  “A business arrangement. Companionship.”

  She was startled. She examined her sleeve as if discovering a flaw and plucked at it, buying herself a moment. Around them the breeze whispered as it stirred the leaves of the oak. When she had her cool in control she said, “I think you’re trying to buy something I’m not selling.”

  “No, I meant it as said. A friendly companionship.”

  “Under your roof, is that it? I told you I’m not for sale.”

  “But that’s just it—”

  “Listen, Ben, I think you’re a nice guy. Strange, but nice. I’d like to go on thinking it. Let me give you some advice. If you want companionship, get a dog. If it’s love you’re after, you can’t buy it, not the real thing.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. Arranged marriages have been around for as long as marriage itself. Marriage was often based on political or economic necessity. In many places around the world, even now, marrying for love is a luxury. Some cultures only have arranged marriages.” Ben leaned back against a low-hanging tree branch under the canopy of the oak.

  “I know that. I’m not stupid. I read.” She kicked at a stray scrap of paper that had blown across the asphalt and sparse grass and had come to rest near her sneaker.

  Ben’s sad look was gone. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation now, almost as if he’d rehearsed his lines and was pleased he’d delivered them well. Why was she willing to listen? Everything costs something, even free meals. Maybe this was the payment she owed.

  “Love often followed. Not always. Life was uncertain then and now. That’s what pre-nuptial agreements are for.”

  “Prenups? You mean like rich people get? Always seemed cynical to me they go into marriage expecting it to end.”

  Ben shrugged lazily. “Proves my point. People get married for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes it’s love, but marriage for love doesn’t come with guarantees either.”

  What could she say? Her own experience could be cited as proof nothing good came of love. Ben was staring out across the water. It was a beautiful view, but couldn’t compare with what he saw every day from his own front porch. She’d glimpsed it in the dark and even that was convincing. He had the relaxed contentment of someone enjoying where he was and knowing what he’d go home to was even better.

  Some people were born to luck. Some weren’t. Juli knew she was in the latter group. Had been all her life.

  She checked her watch. “It’s five-thirty. I have to get back to Singer’s by six o’clock.”

  He faced her. “What if I said you didn’t have to go back?”

  “I’d say I don’t enjoy hunting for jobs.”

  “Consider my proposition.”

  “You never said what it was.”

  Ben looked into her eyes. “You’re a smart girl. You know what I’m suggesting.”

  “I think you’d better spell it out.”

  “Marry me.”

  As nice as he seemed, and she kind of knew what he’d been hinting at, she was still hurt he would play with her feelings. She wasn’t well-to-do or well-educated, but she worked hard. Juli glared at him and started to walk back up the asphalt drive.

  “Wait, please.” He grabbed her arm, then quickly released it. “Please. What do you earn per month? I’ll double it. No, I’ll triple it.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got some fancy friends who can help you out. Go ask one of them to marry you.”

  He was silent. She saw he was sorting his words for one last effort.

  “Please think about it, Juli. For as long as the marriage lasts, I’ll pay you triple what you’d make each month, with a guaranteed minimum.”

  “Okay, I’ll play this what-if game with you. Why would I quit my jobs when, sooner or later, I have to go back to pounding the pavement, looking for others?”

  “Use your imagination.” He sounded rude, harsh for the first time. “Is Singer’s Market what you want for the rest of your life? I can’t believe you’d settle for that if you had the opportunity for more.”

  “More? With you? What kind of opportunity is that?” Deep breath, Juli.

  “You’ll have money. Money buys education. A better job. Who knows what else could open up for you? Remember, I’ll guarantee a minimum. Dream a little.”

  Bitterness rose in her mouth and twisted her face. How easily he spoke the words. How privileged. So easy for him and those like him to say, dream, as if it were no more complicated than picking an apple from the fresh produce bin.

  “Companionship? Why now? Why me? Why marriage?”

  “Marriage? Because we’ll be living together in the same house. Even in a platonic arrangement, I’d only feel comfortable as husband and wife. I don’t need a housekeeper. I mean it when I say I want companionship. Someone to hang out with. I think you and I would get along well. I liked you from the moment we met. I admire your strength of spirit.”

  “My spirit? Please. Don’t patronize me or make me out to be something I’m not.”

  “I’m not perfect, either, but I’m a good judge of character. Always have been.”

  He held her gaze until she broke it off. She did a slow boil inside. There was nothing polite to say. In fact, there was no point in saying anything more because her supper break was over.

  “Consider this, too. Marriage combined with a pre-nuptial contract will provide more protection for you and your financial interest in the arrangement.” He reached into his pocket. “You asked why now? I’ll tell you when you accept the offer. Until then, it’s personal.” He pressed his business card into her hand. “Call me, but don’t wait too long.”

  Arrogant. She hurried up the drive to the road, then strode, almost ran, down the sidewalk. After she crossed the road she tucked his card in her jeans’ pocket, down deep where it couldn’t slip out. After all, never turn down a free meal and never close your mind to an opportunity even if the proposition sounded outrageous at first hearing.

  The heat that set her cheeks afire lessened with each step she took, each step that left Ben behind and brought her back to the automatic doors of the market and the cash register.

  Living day by day and letting the future take care of itself hadn’t prepared her well for life. She feared she’d created her own, personal dead-end. Late in the evening, she stood at register number five. Sheila was at the express lane and doing double-duty at the customer service counter. Billy was re-stocking the plastic bags. They outnumbered the customers at this hour and closing was a short time away.

  Time is relative, she’d heard it said. As she progressed through her twenties, she’d noticed her co-workers getting younger, except the older women w
ho’d suddenly found themselves in need of employment because a marriage dissolved or a spouse lost a job. The kids had plans for better, or at least for Spring Break in Cancun or a car or whatever. That’s who I used to be. The older women and retirees were earning extra cash until their health gave out. She wasn’t there yet. The question was who didn’t fit in this picture?

  “Juli?”

  “Sorry, Sheila. Didn’t see you.”

  “Go ahead and close down your register. Have you been thinking about the assistant manager position? If you say you want it, I know Smith will be thrilled.”

  “He mentioned it. I’m thinking about it.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and fingered the sharp edges of Ben’s business card. She was still young, but her feet hurt and her lower back ached from standing all day.

  All of her good intentions about getting more education or specialized training had come to nothing. It was hard to get ahead when your energy and time were dedicated to keeping a roof over your head and the utilities on.

  She’d taken his card out and read it at break. It had the name of an art gallery with a Beaufort address, along with his phone number. She’d seen his house at Emerald Isle when she’d driven him home that night. A house on the oceanfront. An art gallery. The only time she’d ever experienced success was in middle school. Eighth grade art. Mrs. Timberlake had had great hopes for her. Until she was sent to a new foster home and a new school.

  She worked an assortment of nothing jobs that earned her barely enough to live on. She did no more than tread water and was losing against the inevitable tide. Even applying for the assistant manager position was a problem. It would draw attention to her application and she’d probably have to fill out more paperwork. She’d gotten away with it when they first hired her, but she’d be pushing her luck to try it again. Her other employers didn’t care if she’d graduated from high school, but Singer’s would, especially since she’d lied about it from the start.

  She bit her lower lip and stared at Ben’s card.

  How sad it was to think she’d peaked in eighth grade.

  Chapter Three

  By the time Juli dialed the phone her restless fingers had worried the sharp corners of the business card down to soft, papery edges.

  “Hi, this is Juli Cooke.” She groaned. Dumb. He knew her last name. He’d proposed, for heaven’s sake.

  “Juli. I’m glad to hear from you.”

  How could she be doing this? He sounded so eager. Like a kid.

  “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not agreeing to anything.” Juli watched as a woman passed by on the way to the restrooms. Not a co-worker. Juli turned back to face the wall phone. “I have questions, some concerns.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  Someone else walked by. Juli watched him turn the corner and disappear into the warehouse area.

  She cupped her hand around her lips and the mouthpiece. “Not now. I’m at work, but I’m off early today. About two p.m., if you’re free?”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “Where will we go?”

  A moment of silence, then he said, “No worries. I’ll think on it. We’ll go out for coffee or an early dinner. Whatever you like.”

  “Park in the side lot and I’ll meet you out there a few minutes after two.”

  They said goodbye and disconnected. The phone hung on the wall, still available. Her fingers itched to grab it back, re-dial and call it off, but then she touched the card again, in her pocket, in her hand. It was a stupid business card, not a lifeline. What was wrong with her?

  A trashcan with a rocking top was near the opening of the short hallway. She should call him back and ditch the card. It was the only decision that made any sense.

  He had a nice voice. Warm eyes.

  He was a stranger, almost.

  She slid the card into her shirt pocket, nearer her heart, and hurried back to the register.

  The clock on the wall above the front plate glass windows ticked with the slow gravity of molasses. As she was switching off the OPEN light above her station, one last customer ran up with a cart. She gritted her teeth and smiled. It was a thin smile because she didn’t want to invite conversation. She was conscious of Ben sitting outside in the car, waiting.

  “Cash?” Good, that was quicker. She slipped the bills and coins out of the cash drawer with nimble fingers and counted it back into the woman’s hand. A man approached the register. She said firmly, “I’m sorry. This register is closed.”

  She turned away, tugging behind her back at the apron ties.

  “Juli?”

  “Mr. Smith. Hi. What can I do for you?” Doggone it. If only she’d moved a second faster. Managers always had a sixth sense for when you were in a hurry to get out.

  “Can you stay this afternoon?” He smoothed his tie.

  “Sheila approved me leaving early.”

  After a surprised pause, he said, “Roger called in sick. We’re short-handed.”

  One hundred out of one hundred times, when asked to work longer or extra, she’d said yes. She felt her chest rise and fall and she kept her lips pressed together to keep the ‘sure, I can’ from slipping out. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment.”

  “Can you re-schedule? Or maybe take an hour and come back?”

  “I’m not sure.” Deep breath. “That is, I don’t know how long it will take.”

  “We really need you.”

  “Mr. Smith, I’m sorry. I don’t want to commit and then find out I can’t come back. I don’t want to let anyone down.” She saw in his eyes she already had. “Marty can probably come in. Did you try her?”

  “Not yet.” He waited, using the silence to pressure her, but she didn’t give in. “Well, if you’re certain you can’t stay.”

  “I’m sorry.” She folded her apron and shoved it under the counter with the bags. A sinking feeling nearly swamped her. It wasn’t fair. She’d done her part. It wasn’t her problem Roger had called in sick.

  Singer’s wasn’t going to fail and no patrons would go without milk, eggs and toilet paper because she took a few hours off.

  She let Smith walk away, her fingers gripping the chrome partition of her cashier station. She kept her back turned, fighting the need to say she’d stay if they needed her. She’d change her plans. They expected it of her. It was retail, after all. Groceries.

  No, it was only groceries.

  She held her head up, straightened her shoulders and headed for the door, but she couldn’t throw off the guilt. It tore at her as if she was crossing some invisible barrier from the wrong direction.

  Forget it, Ben. I’ve changed my mind. She could tell him and go back inside. Al Smith would be grateful and maybe this job would lead to a better one, after all, diploma or not. Cashier to management? Did she believe that would happen?

  Ben’s car idled near the parking lot exit. The engine ran smooth and steady. He slipped out of the car when he saw her approaching.

  Cashier to management, never. Even if it did happen, Mr. Smith worked long hours, and for what? Was it about a paycheck? If it was, then it was a poor bargain because the money wasn’t any better deal than the hours.

  Ben extended his hand. “I’m glad to see you again.”

  “Ben.” She accepted his hand for a quick shake. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I know the perfect place for us to discuss this.”

  “Where?”

  “Trust me?”

  She did. She was stupid, a dunce, to trust this guy. But she did. With reservations, of course. She wasn’t entirely air-headed.

  He drove them over the bridge to Atlantic Beach, then several miles west until they reached Emerald Isle and his house—the route she’d driven four days earlier. Her pulse rate picked up. Her hands fisted.

  He must have seen her tension. “Don’t jump to conclusions, please.”

  She hopped out of the car before he could come around and open the door. They walked under
the house, to the steps that led up to the crossover, near to where it joined the front porch.

  “I’ll wait outside. I want you to see where you’d live. Look everywhere. There are three levels. You’ll see my room on the second floor. You can have your choice of the others.”

  She cautioned him. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

  “I know. Take as long as you like. I’ll be here on the porch.”

  Did this seem as strange to her as the rabbit hole had seemed to Alice? She looked at the door, wondering if she was walking into a trap—as Alice had. Alice’s trap had turned into a bizarre adventure. Juli had nothing against a little adventure, but bizarre she could do without.

  “I understand your concern. Take my keys. Lock the door behind you. There’s no trick.”

  Was her face so easy to read? As easy as his?

  She looked out at the beach and to the left and right. House followed house in both directions, but no one was nearby. A partition divided this porch from its twin, the other half of the duplex. Out beyond the dune barrier was a pristine white-sand beach. A boy chased a dog. A couple of people had fishing poles and their cast lines rode the swell of the waves. A family group was building a sand castle.

  “Okay.”

  He nodded and smiled, anxious, but calm. He walked over to one of the white rockers, sat and stared out at the ocean.

  She took him at his word. When she entered the house she locked the door behind her.

  From the inside, looking out through the glass panel in the front door, she watched Ben. He continued facing straight ahead, but he’d stopped rocking. She read tension in the set of his shoulders and in the stillness of his hands on the arm rests.

  This was important to him. She didn’t get it.

  She was drawn to him. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Substantial, but not putting on airs. He spoke his mind, but wasn’t arrogant or aggressive.

  Juli rested her forehead against the cool glass. She wanted to touch his shoulder and reassure him. Reassure him about what?

  There was a vulnerability to him. It showed in his guileless, light brown eyes.

  She unlocked the door and stepped back outside. His head turned and his face expressed dismay in the sad eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth.