“Put those back,” Grandmama said, slapping the back of his hand. “I’m not studying carrying you to the doctor after you make yourself sick eating cookies.”
With a sheepish expression, he dropped the cookies back into the jar.
“And I saw that Kit Kat wrapper in the bottom of the grocery sack,” she went on. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, Spencer Loudermilk.”
She shook her head again and folded the empty plastic sacks into neat bundles that she stashed in a cloth bag she kept on the back of the kitchen door for that purpose.
“Enough messing around,” she said finally. “Do you love this man?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you say he loves you?”
“So he claims.”
“Then you need to get married,” she said. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. If you wait too much longer, those ovaries of yours will be all shriveled up, like Raisinettes.”
“I’m not that old,” I protested.
“You’re nearly forty,” she said. “I was nineteen when I had your father. And your mother was twenty-seven when she had you.”
“I’m only thirty-five.”
“And how old is this Harry person?”
“He won’t tell me,” I admitted. “But I know he’s older than me. Anyway, who says I want children?”
“I do,” she snapped. “We need a new baby in this family. And heaven knows, your brothers’ wives aren’t about to have any more. Which is probably a blessing.”
“You are too much,” I told her. “Trying to turn me into a broody hen just so you can play with a baby.”
Grandmama slammed the cabinet door shut. “That’s enough,” she said. “I’m not going to sit around here listening to your sniffing and moaning about your love life. Now, if you love this fella, you go on out there to that motel of yours and tell him so.”
She flounced into the living room and snatched the remote control out of Granddad’s grasp.
“Go on,” she said, shooing me out the door. “My stories are fixing to come on. That’s enough soap opera for me.”
67
The neon VACANCY sign was lit up when I pulled into the parking lot at the Breeze, which was appropriate, I thought, seeing Harry’s Vista Cruiser, the tailgate down, backed up in front of the office door.
He was a weasel, I told myself, waiting until I was gone to clear out his stuff. Grandmama was wrong about us. It would never work out, but I didn’t intend to allow him to leave without letting him know what he was missing out on.
“Damnit, Harry,” I announced, barging into the office. I stalked over to the bedroom area, where I found his suitcase standing by the door. Jeeves sat up on the sofa and barked a happy greeting to me, but his master wasn’t around.
“What now?” His voice, muffled, came from the utility room.
I went in, expecting to find him loading boxes with his fishing gear.
Instead, I found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, with what looked like the disemboweled guts of the washing machine spread out around him.
“I thought you were going,” I said.
“I thought so too,” he said, sorting through a pile of widgets on the floor.
“Why didn’t you?”
He sighed and looked up. “Give me a hand, will you?”
I put out my hand and hauled him to his feet. But he didn’t let go of my hand once he was standing.
“The damned washing machine is messed up again,” he said, gesturing toward a mound of sopping-wet laundry on the floor beside it. “It chewed up a whole load of towels.”
He held up a shredded white towel for my inspection, and the scent of Clorox almost knocked me down.
“You put in too much bleach again,” I said. “It’s not the machine that’s screwed up. It’s you.”
“That’s what Tricia said,” he answered, wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans.
“Tricia? Since when have you started listening to what your ex-wife has to say?”
He winced at the word “ex-wife.” “She can’t be wrong all the time. It’s statistically impossible.”
“What exactly brought on this new level of understanding?” I asked.
“I went over to the marina yesterday, to move the boat. And I ran into her. She was asking all kinds of questions about you. Like, if we were only friends, why were you shelling out $32,500 to buy back my boat for me?”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was a loan. I told her I intend to pay you back. That’s when she let me have it.” He shook his head. “Man, that woman cusses like a sailor.”
“I’m sure your tender sensibilities were shattered,” I said.
He grinned, then touched the watch hanging from my wrist. “What’s this?”
I took it off and showed it to him. “It’s my daddy’s. Reddy was wearing it when they arrested him. The cops took it off him, and that lawyer down in Florida, the one who works for Sandra Findley, overnighted it to James. I just got it back this morning.”
He turned it over and looked at the inscription, then handed it back.
“Pretty nice.”
I took a deep breath. “I’d like you to have it, Harry.”
“Me? No. Like you said about that painting of your aunt. It’s a family heirloom. I couldn’t.”
I took it and slid it onto his wrist and snapped the catch.
“It’s a gift,” I said lightly. “Not a loan. To thank you…for everything.”
“You bought my boat back,” he said. “We’re even. Only, not really. I still owe you.”
“I’m not talking about the money,” I told him, fighting back unexpected tears. “You taught me what’s important. When I met you, I thought I’d lost everything. In a way, I had. But I’m not talking about material things. I’m talking about trust. When I came out here to the Breeze, I had to trust you. I didn’t have any choice. As it turns out, I got lucky.”
“No,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I’m the lucky one. I got a second chance. According to Tricia, I don’t deserve it. She says I’m a stubborn, pigheaded, emotional retard. She can’t figure out what you see in me.”
“Well,” I said, taking one of his hands and kissing it, grease and all. “You’re a man of infinite possibilities. And you’re pretty good with your hands too.”
“Not to brag or anything,” he said, “but I’ve been told I’m the best damn charter captain on the coast. You’d never want for fish…if we, you know, stuck together.”
I took a step backward.
“Harry Sorrentino,” I said, eyes blazing. “Is that your idea of a proposal? Because if it is—”
He pulled me to him roughly, but kissed me with a tenderness that took my breath away.
When he was done, he didn’t let me go.
“Just now, I literally don’t have a pot to pee in. Well, I do have a thirty-five-horsepower Evinrude, and a half interest in a sixteen-foot johnboat, and a lot of expensive fishing equipment. But, you know I’m a hard worker. I don’t know anything about the restaurant business, but I’d be willing to learn. And to help out when the charter business is slow.”
“I’m selling Guale to Daniel,” I said. “But there’s this old motel out here at Tybee that I’ve got my eye on…”
He raised an eyebrow. “What about your town house? And your old life?”
I took a deep breath. “Turns out not everything in my old life was worth keeping. I’m buying back the town house. For sentimental reasons, I guess you’d say. I think I could make a new life out here. Fixing up the Breeze. Maybe opening a new restaurant out here, buying more property on Tybee.”
“It could be a great investment,” Harry said.
“And a great place to raise children,” I added.
“Children?”
From the doorway, Jeeves gave a concerned “YIP!”
“Eventually. My grandmother seems to think I owe her some. And she points out that I’m not getting any younger, an
d I have to admit she’s probably right.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “All right.”
“That is,” I said, “if you’re not too old to have children.”
I cocked my head and gave him the once-over, still liking what I saw. “Just how old are you, Harry Sorrentino?”
He picked me up in his arms then, and carried me out of the utility room and into the office. He set me down for a moment while he went to the office door and locked it. And clicked the dead bolt.
“One more thing,” I told him. I went over to the desk and flipped a switch. Outside, I could hear the faint buzz of the NO being added to VACANCY.
“Now then,” I said. “What was that you were saying about equipment?”
Breeze Inn Crabcakes
If you’re paralyzed by fear of frying, these crabcakes are a winner, because they’re baked in the oven, not fried. While they’re in the oven, mix up a batch of Blue Breeze cocktails!
1 tbsp. butter
2 tbsp. minced red onion
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tbsp. red bell pepper, minced
½ tsp. Old Bay crab boil seasoning
3 tbsp. half-and-half
1 tbsp. spicy brown mustard
1 egg
½ tsp. minced parsley
1 lb. white or claw crab meat, picked over for shells
Topping:
½ cup bread crumbs
¼ cup grated parmesan cheese
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
2 tbsp. melted butter
Sauté vegetables in butter till limp, about 3 minutes. Add Old Bay, half-and-half, and mustard. Mix well. Add egg, parsley, and bread crumbs, mixing well. Gently fold in crab.
Form into 8 patties about ½-inch thick, or smaller, for appetizer-size servings. Stir together bread crumbs and parmesan. Pat topping onto both sides of the crabcakes and refrigerate until firm, about 2 hours.
Place patties on cookie sheet, sprinkle with oil and butter mixture and bake at 400º for 7–10 min.
For appetizer servings, place mini-crabcakes on a bed of mixed salad greens, top with spicy remoulade. For entrée servings, top with mango salsa.
Blue Breeze Cocktail
Pour into cocktail shaker:
4 ounces lemonade
2 ounces vodka
1 ounce blue curaçao
Shake, pour over tall glass of cracked ice, top with seltzer, and stir. Garnish with lime slice and 3–4 blueberries threaded on a cocktail pick.
Acknowledgments
As always, I’m indebted to the kindnesses of friends—and strangers, who helped with the research for Savannah Breeze. Anne Landers shared innkeeping secrets; Bob Dykema and Jeff Johnston of Thunderbolt Yacht Sales told me about yacht shopping; Jimmy Marsden helped with boat stuff. Junking buddies Polly Powers Stram and Jacky Yglesias shared their love and knowledge of Savannah and Tybee, and Oline Cogdill helped out with Fort Lauderdale info. Thanks also to Virginia Reeve and Ron and Leuveda Garner for sharing their corner of Tybee with me. Any errors or misstatements of fact are my own fault and not theirs. Of course, I owe everything to the love and support of my family, Tom, Katie, and Andy Trocheck, who keep me sane and never fail to remind me that I’m nothing without them! I’m also deeply indebted to my HarperCollins family, especially Carolyn Marino, Jennifer Civiletto, Leslie Cohen and Elly Weisenberg, and the SKLA team, Stuart Krichevsky, Shana Cohen, and Liz Coen. I really am nothing without them.
About the Author
MARY KAY ANDREWS is a former journalist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and the national bestselling author of Savannah Blues, Little Bitty Lies, and Hissy Fit. She lives in Raleigh, North Carolina.
www.marykayandrews.com
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Also by Mary Kay Andrews
Hissy Fit
Little Bitty Lies
Savannah Blues
Credits
Jacket illustration by HELEN CHAPMAN
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
SAVANNAH BREEZE. Copyright © 2006 by Whodunnit, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition March 2006 ISBN 9780061753534
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Andrews, Mary Kay
savannah breeze / Mary Kay Andrews.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1.Savannah (Ga.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3570.R587B74 2006
813'.6—dc22 2005046251
ISBN-10: 0-06-056466-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-05466-7
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
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25
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27
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29
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31
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47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
Breeze Inn Crabcakes
Blue Breeze Cocktail
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Mary Kay Andrews
Credits
Copyright
About the publisher
Savannah Breeze Page 41