The Widows of Sea Trail (The Widows of Sea Trail Trilogy)

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “You don’t need any more of this,” he said as he took up my cup and sipped. “Mmmm, not bad. What is it?”

  “Casa Familia Chianti 2004.”

  “Man this feels good,” he said as he put his head back and looked up at the moon. “God, am I beat.”

  “Busy day?”

  “Busy day, bad day, certainly not one I’d like to do over.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Yeah, how about getting me some wine first?” He held up the cup and in the light he did a double take as shiny green eyes looked back at him. “What’s on this glass?”

  “Cat’s eyes. Stephen gave it to me. Said it reminded him of my eyes, curious, green, and sometimes sinister.”

  “Mmmm, sinister, huh? Don’t think I’ve seen that side of you yet. I think I could be in the mood for that side tonight though.”

  I stepped out of the tub and took the cup from him, enjoying the subtle caress of his fingers as he relinquished the cup to mine. “My evil side would have surfaced if I hadn’t heard from you today.”

  He laughed heartily and as I went back inside he sank under the water again.

  I winced, as I wished I hadn’t said that. If this was a tennis match that would be a set point. The advantage was clearly his.

  “How’s Kelly doing, and what’s going to happen between Connor and his wife,” I asked when I returned.

  “Kelly is recovering. The rash is clearing up with the help of some heavy-duty cortisone shots. But she’s emotionally strung out, so much so that he thinks she’s going to sue. As to Connor and Amelia? I don’t know. Amelia has retained an attorney so I guess the games have begun. Connor’s an idiot. He should never have married. He seems to need a lot more variety in his life than most men do, he always has.”

  “And you, how about you, what do you need?” I asked as I climbed over him to get back to the lounger.

  He reached up and using my hair pulled my face down to his. “I need you, that’s what I need. And this cup filled a few more times. Then I’ll be a happy man.”

  We did things in that hot tub that if photographed would undermine all our efforts if either of us were to ever run for office. He was in a strange mood, and so was I. We were rough with our hands, damn near brutal with our bruising mouths, and twice I nearly drowned fellatiating him. I’d never known him not to be a gentleman, in all aspects, until tonight. Tonight it was as if he wanted something from me that I was not able to give.

  His fingers were buried deep inside me but the hot water of the spa was washing away lubricant as fast as I generated it. Scant moments later, he became attuned to the fact that I was not going to come again, at least not this way. He had to know I was getting waterlogged; I’d been in the hot tub for the better part of an hour with him, and that’s where he had found me when he arrived. He withdrew his hand, picked me up, cradled me against his chest and took me dripping into the house. Then he carried me into the master bathroom, deposited me in the huge Jacuzzi tub, pointed a finger and said, “Stay.” Then he left me. I heard the toilet flush in the hall bathroom then I heard the pantry door open and close. Moments later, with a wicked gleam in his eyes he drizzled canola oil all over me, using the better part of what had been half a bottle.

  He smiled as he eased himself over the edge, placed his hands carefully into the holes for the jets and covered his body with mine. “We must lubricate,” he whispered into my ear as he moved his hips and ground his pelvis onto mine.

  “Mmmm, feel how slick we are together.” As we moved around every inch of our bodies became coated with the oil and we fought to keep from sliding away from each other. I felt his hands slide up and down my body, grip my buttocks with firm massaging fingers, and heft and cup but fail to hold onto a slippery full breast. He licked my nipples and kissed my shoulders, and asked, “Are you going to send me into a cholesterol overdose, or is this zero trans fats?” I took a breath to answer him but his mouth covered mine and he took my lips over and over again, each time, moaning and sliding off to kiss first a cheek, then a jaw, then an ear. Without warning he slid between my legs and entered me. He was slick and hard and I was oh, so ready for him.

  His hands, no longer able to find purchase on the sides of the tub threaded through my hair where he anchored himself to me. He had to lay flat against me as any pressure on his knees tended to make us slide off to either side. His forearms snug against my body held me tight to his chest. I arched up to meet his full hard thrusts and he let me know he had found the spot I needed by shoving into me and holding hard before withdrawing. Over and over again he made contact with my sensitive nub, each time holding longer and harder until with one heartfelt grunt, he zeroed in on his mark and held. My muscles clenched and unclenched so hard that I finally forced him out. He chuckled and gently flipped me over so that I was straddling him. He placed his hand between us and with his thumb nudged his rigid, slick cock back in place. Then with his hands on my hips he entered me. He effortlessly lifted me up and down on him until I saw his eyes glaze over and then quickly shut. His face became a grimace of sublime confusion as if he couldn’t decide if he was in pain or being relieved of it. The moan that was imparted between his tightly clenched lips was perhaps the most sought after sound a woman could ever hope to hear. His agony was my ecstasy and I knew in that moment that no woman had ever pleased him more. I was shaken to my core as I realized that I was desperately in love with him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Tessa The Oyster Queen We slept together that night as close as two people could be. My back was snuggled into his chest and he had his arm around me, gripping a breast and holding me close. I felt his breath on my neck, tickling me as he slept. Every once in a while one of us would restlessly stroke a leg against the other and he would lean in and kiss me on the nape in his sleep. I was very comforted by that subtle, sweet gesture. After all, he was practically unconscious, so that meant he was truly content, didn’t it? I gave that thought a lot of credence. If he was happy with me, he’d want to keep me, right? I hated that I was becoming so needy and so dependent on Matt for my happiness.

  I woke up in the bed, all alone. There was a note on the dresser. “To my unctuous lover, let’s be sure to replay last night again sometime soon. If you have any turpentine you could use that on the tub to clean it. I’ll call you soon. M.”

  Unctuous lover. I actually went on line to look unctuous up. Fatty, oily. I sure hope he meant the latter.

  He hadn’t said why he’d left so early, but I suspected he was having problems with his new factory. I’d overheard him on his cell phone sometime after midnight muttering, “If you strike, you’ll be sorry,” and “You’re the ones who need to work, not me, so I’d be a bit kinder with your words to me if I were you,” and my favorite, “I swear to God, I’ll shut this place up tighter than a gnat’s ass, and let it rot into the ground before I agree to that.”

  So it was pretty obvious to me that the new plant was the acquisition from hell. We’d talked about a lot of things, but his motivations for keeping this particular holding were unclear to me until I realized that it was probably just a matter of pride, and that he truly did care about people, but just didn’t choose to show it very much. I was reminded of Connor and Kelly. He had really been upset when she had been hurt. A touch of jealousy raised its ugly head until I remembered her situation and how her life was clearly not going the way she had planned it right now.

  The phone rang and I ran to answer it thinking it might be Matt. It was Viv, she wanted to know if I wanted to go “driving.” Which was her way of saying she wanted to drive around the plantation, look at all the houses being built, and nod at all the yards that managed to make Yard of the Month. At Christmas time she was on the committee that awarded the prizes for the best decorated houses and I always had to go with her at least three or four times for her to make up her mind before the actual day of judging. The Kreuzburgs were usually her hands down favorite. And of course, we had to go in her d
eceased husband’s pickup truck. Often we stopped on the way home at How Sweet It Is to end the jaunt with a pistachio ice cream cone. Today she wanted to do that plus go to visit Clarice and Sharon at Island Breeze. Too late I realized I’d been roped into helping her pick out four outfits for a benefit fashion show she was going to be in for Hope Harbor, one of the local woman’s shelters.

  One thing led to another and we ended up having dinner with Clarice and her husband Ronnie at their Twin Lakes Restaurant. By the time I got home it was dark, Gimlet was hungry and I was ready for a replay of happy hour.

  Stephanie had called from Italy and I had missed it. Which turned out to be a good thing as she was calling to tell me she’d overdrawn her debit card account again and the bank was refusing to give her any money.

  Of course I wasn’t thrilled about that, but as she hadn’t gotten me, she’d called my mother and she’d had to be the one to run to the bank and deposit funds for her. It was a darned good thing I couldn’t get her on the phone, as this was becoming an all-too-familiar scenario. I’d spoiled her horribly since Stephen had died, giving her all manner of things to compensate until I realized she was taking advantage. Now in her last year and working on her master’s degree, I was anxious for her to become more independent. I hated arguing with her about money, so all-in-all it had been a good thing that I hadn’t been home when she called. Still, I drove to the bank the next day and deposited five hundred dollars into her account.

  The next day I was committed to helping the South Brunswick Islands Woman’s Club re-seed an oyster colony with Tessa. I sat next to her while she drove a new group of recruits acquired through the Brunswick Newcomers to a collection site in Calabash. Her dissertation, practiced as it was, was enlivened by her great enthusiasm for the project.

  “Only a handful of the people transplanted to the area understand the importance of the lowly oyster. For years the locals have watched the oyster beds steadily decrease. Once a thriving harvest, old timers used to fill bushel baskets until their backs gave out, these days it’s hard to round up enough for a decent oyster roast.

  “In fact, the Oyster Festival, and you really must go to it this year, it’s a hoot, is where oyster shuckers vie for speed titles. Well, unfortunately, they frequently have to import the oysters needed for the showdown and to feed the crowd of thousands.” She took a deliberately big breath and continued her monologue.

  “The reason, you say? Well the chief reason is the change in their environment. With the advent of golf course communities came chemicals. Caustic weed killers and fertilizers joined raw sewage from old septic systems as run off and made its way into the tidal creeks and marshes. Eventually the oyster beds were so full of bacteria that they had to be put off limits. The North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries has had to post no trespassing signs in almost every coastal habitat within the last fifteen years. And with each hurricane that comes our way, the chances lessen that there will ever be a bountiful, healthy oyster crop in the county.” She sure knew where to put the emphasis, I had to hand her that. I turned around and saw the women in the back seat, eyes wide in rapt attention, clearly shaken about the oysters’ downfall.

  “Well, after our club heard Sabrina Varnam tell us about the recycling program, we were all eager to help. I, for one, never knew how important oysters were as I don’t care to eat them. Fried, steamed, raw, they just don’t appeal to me. But I had no idea how important they were to the overall water quality. One oyster can filter up to fifty gallons of water a day. Think about it, fifty gallons! It stands to reason that the healthier our oyster population is, the cleaner our water will be.” Another deep breath and she went in for the kill.

  “Sabrina told us that baby oysters start out as freefloating organisms but quickly settle to the bottom to attach to hard surfaces. And their favorite surface to adhere to? Other oyster shells, namely clumps of long-gone relatives.

  “A mound of shells, empty or otherwise, placed in brackish water with a good tidal flow moving past will colonize a multitude or marine organisms, including oysters. This mound becomes a reef that helps to produce even more oysters. And as we all know, reefs attract all manner of fish, so soon you have a nice viable little fishery, and cleaner water.

  “So,” she was clearly going in for the close now, “our little group collects used shells from the restaurants that actually get paid by the state to recycle them. How sweet is that? Then we either take them out to sea and dump them overboard to start new reefs, or we find a sanctuary site to place them and after they’ve had a chance to age and we’re assured that they are not contaminated, they’re sent out too.

  “It’s all so easy, collect the shells, take them to a disposal site, and distribute them where they are needed most.” She parked the car behind Captain John’s next to the oyster dump.

  But as soon as she opened her door, our prospective volunteers got a whiff of the ripe, rotting oyster shells.

  “Ugh!” they all cried as they covered their noses and slammed their doors shut. I watched comically as their faces contorted in every kind of grimace there was.

  Tessa, by this time had retrieved shovels from the trunk and was motioning for us to get out of the car and join her. The truck we were supposed to shovel the shells into had arrived and there was no use postponing the inevitable. I knew, even if the others didn’t, that there was no way she was leaving until every shell was removed from the bin and loaded into the truck.

  “C’mon girls,” I said, “let’s get it done before lunch hour is over and they just add more. Now that she’s got you and you’ve heard the speech, she’s not letting you off the hook. The smell will shower off and if you use some lemon juice as a rinse, you may even get it out of your nose.”

  With loud groans, they all piled out and took the shovels Tessa was holding out like battle gear, and like a drillmaster she led the way and took charge. Since we had six volunteers it didn’t take us long to move the shells from the bin to the truck. But I swear, after being around that stench, it makes you wonder why anyone would ever want to eat those damn things!

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Doubts? I’ve Got ‘Em It was Friday and T.G.I.F. night on the Plantation. Every other Friday two couples host the come-as-you-are, B.Y.O.B and a dish-to-share party. It was a nice way to meet new people on the plantation and a way to stay in touch with the old-timers. I hadn’t gone to many, but the ones I’d been to, I had thoroughly enjoyed. Tonight Kathy and Brian Blaine and Bob and Mary Lou Miller were hosting. Kathy and Mary Lou were in my aerobics class and I knew their parties were not to be missed.

  I made a veggie pizza from a recipe that was very popular a few years back. It made a lot, so I knew there’d be plenty and it was one of my favorite things to nibble on although it wasn’t all that healthy with the cream cheese and crescent dough crust, but it was an alternative to the ubiquitous Domino’s pizza. When I was in the mood to be bad, I relied on Joey O’s to deliver their positively sinful meat lover’s special. But what woman in a new relationship wants to pile on the pounds? I was even determined that I was going to add diet tonic water to my wine.

  I hadn’t heard from Matt, but after receiving a beautiful dish garden delivered by Shady Grove, I wasn’t so worried. I knew he was busy and I knew what was at stake for him with his new, “old” factory. He had told me once that the investments he made from the money his parents left were like a legacy for him. He said he knew he had to take some risks if he was going to build a strong portfolio for each of his sisters, and that he didn’t mind taking risks with his own money, but risking theirs often terrified him. One of his sisters had opted to manage her inheritance with her husband who was a stockbroker. His expertise and up-to-the minute input was appreciated but their bantering rivalry was something he relished. Matt had indicated that speculating in the market wasn’t nearly as profitable as buying, revamping and selling businesses, and that he was sure if they cashed in now, he’d be way out front. But he was worried about this
new factory. If he wasn’t careful, it could all crumble down around him. So I knew he was putting in extra time trying to tie things up and work on employee relations. Still, how long did it take to make one little phone call?

  It was my misfortune that later that afternoon I missed his call. I was talking to Stephanie and even though I heard the clicks on the line, I didn’t switch over. It wasn’t often that we got a chance to catch up and I didn’t want her to feel that anyone else was more important to me than her. But I did cringe when I checked the caller I.D. and realized that I’d missed the call I’d been waiting all day for. Damn!

  The message he left on the voice mail was that he was going to try to get back if the afternoon meeting he was getting ready for went well, but that he had his doubts. I couldn’t help but notice that he sounded tired. I sympathized with him, as I knew that it wasn’t always easy even when dealing with people who had a like mind; negotiating with those who had opposing views had to be terribly difficult. And in this case with both sides having such drastically different agendas, I knew things could become disheartening very quickly. I wished I could be there to hug him and to reassure him and to make sure he was taking care of himself.

  Using the number on the caller I.D., I tried to call him back but it went right to voice mail and since I had no idea what to say, I didn’t leave a message. I took Gimlet out for a quick walk up to the Maples Pool and back and then I finished getting my things together for the party.

  I was in the kitchen at the Pink Palace, slicing the pizza into small bite-sized pieces when I happened to turn and see Matt walk through the door. There was a stunning woman beside him that he was sheltering under his arm as he held open the door. He was looking down at her and smiling and I knew without a doubt that he loved this woman. I felt a hot slash of pain rip through my core at the same time that I felt a devastating chill in my bones. He looked up and saw me and there was such a look of utter confusion on his face that I quickly turned away from it. Clearly he had not expected me to be here. I felt like falling to the tile floor and crying my eyes out. Instead, I finished running the pizza cutter over the pizza again and again, unmindful of whether I was cutting in straight lines or not. Tears gathered and pooled and I blinked as fast as I could trying to hold them back. I was not going to cry, I was not going to humiliate myself by showing that I even cared. I finished cutting the pizza into the smallest pieces imaginable then I took a deep breath, picked up the pizza pan I had made it on and carried it to the serving table in the center of the party room. I turned just in time to see the woman Matt had brought putting on a nametag. Deborah Hunter. She was his wife. And he had never even bothered to tell me that he had one.