by Natasha Boyd
“Forcing him into retirement? I did no such thing .”
“And forcing Beau into some quicky marriage out of desperation,” I went on. “Why? Why are you acting like such a bitch ?”
I froze as the word came out. I’d never used that to anyone’s face before. For a second I wanted to take it back, but seeing her lack of response, stiffened my resolve. Fuck her and fuckity resting bitch face. I said it. There .
I lifted my chin .
“Well,” Isabel Montgomery said. “Can I offer you a drink? A cup of tea ?”
“Excuse me ?”
“I’m going to have one. Come and join me.” She walked across the room and through another doorway toward where I assumed the kitchen was .
Against my better judgment I found myself following .
“Tell me, Gwendolyn,” she asked as she filled a tea pot and set it on the stovetop. “Why is it that you haven’t joined your father in his family business ?”
What on earth did that have to do with anything ?
“You like boats, right? You know so much about them. You work down at Sylvie LeClerc’s little showroom ?”
“So?”
“So why do that and not your father’s business ?”
“It’s different .”
“Is it?” She pulled two cups and saucers from the cupboard and two packets of tea .
“Yes,” I doubled down. “It’s selling luxury yachts with a massive company name behind you. People either can or can’t afford them. And I like that they trust in the big name brand. It makes me feel part of something bigger. It’s completely different. And it’s my own thing. One has nothing to do with the other .”
“Oh, but it does. It sounds to me like you don’t trust your father’s brand ?”
“That’s not what I said .”
The tea pot whistled. She lifted it with an oven glove, pouring the hot water into two cups .
“Why didn’t you want to work with your father and continue the family legacy?” she asked again .
“I told you why .”
She handed me a cup and saucer and motioned me into a small parlor with a couch and chair. It was all done up in pink and green, like Lilly Pulitzer gone mad. She sat on the couch, and I sat on the chair and she waited .
Fine , I thought and shrugged. “I—I always thought Beau would work with my father,” I found myself telling her. “That it would be him who took it over. He deserves it. He’s worked so hard. My father adores him. He deserved it more than I did. He loves it more. Trust me. You should see some of his work.” I felt weirdly emotional talking about Beau’s passion. His talent. My eyes pricked. “He’s truly an artist. He’s a master. That’s what makes this, what you are doing, so awful. He deserves the business. He deserves to have the name of my father helping him. He deserves to have his beautiful creations sailing the oceans of the world. I backed away because I wanted it to be his, and now you’re taking it away from him. From both of us.” God, I’d never admitted to myself why I’d stepped away from my dad’s business. Damn her for making me face it. “Now thanks to your meddling, no one will carry on Rhys Thomas Boatworks .”
“You love him .”
“Beau? Of course I do,” I snapped. “He’s been my best friend since we were teenagers .”
“I should clarify. You’re in love with him .”
I exhaled. Who the heck cared if she knew? She was now one of, like, a gazillion people. There was no way in a million years she’d tell him though. She’d keep it to herself like a dirty secret. “Yes,” I admitted. “So what ?”
“Then why aren’t you marrying him ?”
“You may have a low opinion of me, but luckily I respect myself enough for both of us. So no, I’m sure you think I’d jump at the chance like the little gold digger you’ve always thought I was, but lucky for you I have enough self respect not to marry someone who doesn’t love me like I love him. No matter what .”
Isabel Montgomery snorted. Her lined face split open into a laugh, and I didn’t recognize her. I’d never even seen her smile. But here she was laughing at me. And lucky her, she still had all her teeth. “Pride,” she chortled inexplicably, almost looking impressed .
I set down my tea cup untasted and stood. I couldn’t stand one more second with this cruel woman. As it was I felt like she’d stolen something from me. Telling her my secrets had made me feel vulnerable, like I was going to walk out of here with less than I’d walked in with, and I didn’t like it. Now she was laughing at the fact I was in unrequited love with her grandson .
“You should know,” I told her, “that even though you’ve tried to put him in an impossible situation, you are going to fail. He’s getting married despite how you’ve tried giving him an ridiculous timeline, and he’ll get his loan. And you won’t be able to stop him .”
She’d stopped laughing and was listening at least .
“He’s marrying some woman he’s never even met in a legal proxy marriage. You should be proud of yourself. Nothing like forcing people into loveless marriages for money. But that seems to be the way of all you blue bloods. I just hope for your sake, you’ve protected your family’s assets .”
Isabel’s face fell and she looked shocked .
“Who?” she asked .
“I’m not telling you and risk you derailing him again .”
“That’s not—I’m not—oh dear.” She reached for me. “Who?” she demanded .
I backed away. “The paperwork is already rolling.” Beau told me by text he’d scanned and emailed everything Tuesday morning, I’d promptly gone back to bed, which made me an hour late for work. “He’ll be married within a few days. I’ll see myself out.” I marched back the way I’d come. Trystan was nowhere to be seen, and I was grateful. I’d forgotten he was in the house, but the last thing I needed was for him to tell Beau I’d just harassed his grandmother .
“Gwendolyn, wait.” She came after me, slow but determined. She looked so sad, I hesitated .
“Gwen.”
“What?” I sighed .
“I don’t dislike you at all. I’m sorry you think I do. Wait. No. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel that way.” She amended her words to take on more blame .
“Is this a trick ?”
“No. And I just want Beau to be happy .”
“You have an interesting way of showing it .”
“I’ve made a big mistake .”
“Just one? Never mind. I wish you well, Isabel Montgomery. I hope you don’t end up alone .”
I left her muttering something about stupidity. Beau’s, mine, or hers, I didn’t care .
26
Beau
T he days after I leave Gracie’s bed are spent doing everything I can not to think about making love to her. The scent of her, the sounds she made, the way she said my name. Shit. I feel like the farther away I get from the event, the more I’m obsessed with reliving every single moment of it. And the afternoon right after we made love, at the boat shop, dancing around and singing to Rod Stewart, I couldn’t stop staring at her as the realization that everything was changing was hitting me over the head repeatedly and how much I wanted it to stay the same. How much I wanted to keep her in my life .
I think of Trystan’s harebrained suggestion about Gwen being in love with me. And it does something in my gut. A feeling I don’t like. A longing .
I laughed at him .
I wouldn’t now. Not because I think it’s true, but suddenly I want it to be true .
What is romantic love, if not a combination of friendship, respect, and buckets of sexual chemistry? I’ve been avoiding it for almost twenty years, but there’s no doubt I’m sexually attracted to my best friend. But even I can’t say definitively that I love her. I mean “being in love” is the kind of thing that hits you over the head, isn’t it ?
But there’s no way she’d be helping me find someone if she wanted me for herself, and I find the thought that she doesn’t, crushingly depressing .
&
nbsp; I spend the day with Trystan on Sunday and get so shit-faced I can’t literally think about anything other than puking. I haven’t done that since college days and realize at my age can no longer handle the hangover. Especially when all I want to do is lie on Gracie’s couch and watch Disney movies and eat delivery food until I feel better. And maybe make her make those sounds again. Have her look at me in awe again, all flushed and panting .
But Gracie is off my menu .
On Monday, I spend the day scanning documents, going past the police precinct to pick up South Carolina Law Enforcement Division reports, one on myself for Marjorie Smith and one on her for me. I email everything to her and to the marriage event company in Montana. I’m going through the motions. I hear more about Marjorie’s situation with her brother, and I focus on that when I start second guessing what I’m doing. I call the place in Montana and speak to the pastor. I know I’ve checked out the legality of what we’re doing every which way I can and it’s passed muster, but I still need to hear someone tell me. Maybe I’m hoping he’ll tell me it’s a joke. It’s not. He tells me he has Marjorie and me slotted for Friday evening if all the paperwork comes through. It does .
All the rest of my time is spent helping Rhys Thomas finish the boat. I expect to see Gwen in the evenings, but she doesn’t show up. On Tuesday evening her father tells me she has a date, and I feel like punching something. On Wednesday evening she can’t come because she’s going out with the girls .
One positive thing for Gwen out of my situation is that she, Penny, and Daisy have become thick as thieves. I’m glad she has girlfriends, but I’m also ludicrously jealous .
I go home that night and watch Beauty and the Beast .
My grandmother repeatedly asks me to call off the wedding and not bring a stranger into the family, and I tell her I have no choice .
“You always have a choice, Beau,” she says. “I’ll cosign your loan .”
She’s never offered to help me in this way. I’ve never asked. And I won’t be changing that now. I make sure to call Tom Middleton so he knows I don’t want Isabel on the loan, in case she tries to put one past me .
Then Trystan comes to me and offers. Apparently, Grandmother thought I might take money from him instead .
The answer is no again .
* * *
The result of the week is that by the time I’m on the Monty, the sea wind in my hair and driving it from Shem Creek, around the Charleston peninsula, and into the mouth of the Ashley River to meet Gwen at the City Marina, I’ve never felt so despondent and alone .
The feeling of making a colossal mistake is almost suffocating me .
I try and chalk up the feeling to my worry about the weather system moving in, but I know we’re ahead of it. We’re leaving Friday evening now, having moved the whole trip forward, so we can deliver the boat first thing on Saturday morning and get back up here by the afternoon on Saturday when the weather is supposed to blow in .
Eileen, who’s sitting next to me on the captain’s chair, her ears flopping wildly and her whiskers blown back, seems to sense my despair. She keeps glancing at me, her eyes full of worry. I’ve never known a dog to have so much humanity .
She leans over and licks my arm. I smile. “Thanks, girl.” She licks me again with a whine .
I look out over the water. Everything is calm. The sun is on a downward trek. It’ll be a beautiful afternoon ride down the Inland Waterway. I wish Gracie and I could ride down together, but then we’d have to rent a car to come back and we always love the journey so we try to do it by boat pathways when we can .
What I haven’t told anyone is that sometime on the journey down the coast, by myself, while the sun is setting, I’ll become a married man .
* * *
An hour later, Rhys Thomas’s latest boat with Gwen aboard, her blonde hair tucked in a ball cap from the wind and sunglasses protecting her eyes is ahead of me cruising the Wappoo Creek toward the Stono River which will take us the back way around Johns Island .
The radio crackles with Gwen’s voice .
“Measuring nine knots. Wind’s picked up in the last twenty minutes .”
I look at my gauge. “Roger, I see that .”
Normally before we did this, we’d plan out our route better, but since we’ve hardly spoken this week that hasn’t happened .
“Do you want to go out to open sea at Kiawah? Or do Wadmalaw and Edisto?” I ask .
“I’m worried about the wind picking up. Makes me want to stay inland .”
I pull up the radar on my phone. “Yeah, but I’m tracking a small cell near Walterboro. I don’t know where that’s going to track out to, but we might be safer on the coastal side. Give us more time to get down there before it swings out .”
“Roger that. Let’s cut down between Kiawah and Folly. See what this little fishing boat is made of .”
“You feeling secure on it?” The engine we put in this week is one of the most powerful for boat of its size. It can definitely handle deep sea fishing excursions, so running down the coast should be no big deal .
“Yeah, the engine is purring .”
“Gwen?”
“Yeah,” she responds .
I look ahead to her boat and see her look back at me .
This is fucking awful. Stilted, distant. We may as well be on different planets .
“Beau?”
“Gracie, I fucking hate this,” I say .
There’s no answer for a bit .
“What do you hate?” she asks, but at least she doesn’t correct me over her name. And she seems to know I don’t mean the boat ride .
“How can I go from feeling like I’ve never been closer to you one minute, to feeling like a stranger in our friendship the next?” I ask. I try to feel sorry for referencing what happened between us last Saturday, but I’m not. “Tell me it’s going to be okay,” I continue .
“It’s going to be okay,” she parrots .
“Is it ?”
“I don’t know, Beau .”
“I’ve missed you this week .”
She doesn’t answer .
“Jesus. I miss you every second of every day. I feel like I’m about to lose you. And I can’t stand it.” I watch the greenery slipping by. I look at the blue sky in one direction and the gathering clouds in the other. “Can you hear me?” I ask her when she says nothing .
“Roger that,” she says, making me smile .
My chest is aching, and I run through what I had for lunch that could possibly be making me feel this ill with indigestion. I rub a hand down my solar plexus and try and breathe deeply .
I look at my watch. Jesus, I could be getting married right this second. My skin prickles as a wave of nausea travels over me, sweat trickles down my temples even though the wind on the water has whipped the heat away .
My stomach turns over, the ache in my chest intensifying .
I’d never felt closer to Gracie, I’d never felt closer to anyone in my life than I did in her bed. I’d felt like a hero and like a desperate man. It was all the years of our friendship, our love, our respect and our adoration, because I really adored her, coalescing into a singularity. It was bliss and agony at once. The need to love her and please her and take her love in return. I can’t believe I’ll never feel that again .
I’ll be married .
Even if she wanted, Gracie won’t ever touch me like that ever again. Real marriage or no, I know how much she respects the institution. Even when her mother died, Rhys Thomas stayed married to her. “I married for life,” he’d told me. “I love my wife. That doesn’t stop because she’s somewhere else waiting for me .”
And suddenly I know without a doubt what my gut has been trying to tell me all week. That this marriage of mine will lose Gracie from me forever .
The thought is crippling. I exhale sharply and the wind steals it .
But the realization that comes next almost floors me .
I love her .
I love h
er .
I’m in love with her .
I am exquisitely, brilliantly, painfully, and uncompromisingly in love with my best friend .
And I am about to be married to someone else .
27
Beau
I have no service .
The bars on my cell phone are non-existent. Every few minutes one pops up, and my thumbs are a blur of panicked activity .
I have two emails in the outbox trying to go out .
One to Marjorie Smith apologizing .
One to the marriage event company in Montana calling the whole thing off .
I have their phone number and I try and call but it doesn’t go through. I even try and send a text to the number on the off chance it’s a cell phone and not a landline, but it comes back undelivered. I have no one else’s number to text who can help me .
I am so fucked .
Fucking fucked .
We are sailing merrily out the mouth of the Stono River. There’s marsh as far as I can see in either direction to the left and right. Ahead is the horizon .
Normally, I’d find this beautiful .
The afternoon sun is making everything glow. The sky looks so blue. The marsh so green. The sea iridescent .
People spend thousands on paintings of this view, and I’m going out of my fucking mind .
We are about to hit the open sea and I can only hope that once we pass Seabrook, I can get close enough to land for a signal to go out .
I try the radio .
“Gracie, come in .”
“Go ahead,” she answers .
“Do you have a signal ?”
“On my phone? No. Why ?”
“No reason .”
“Everything okay ?”
“No. Not really .”
“Beau?”
God, I want to tell her. But I can’t over the radio. I need to see her .
And I’m also well aware she may not feel the same way. Trystan’s viewpoint was one thing, but he doesn’t know her. And there’s no way she would have let me get this far without telling me how she felt, right ?