Beach Reads Boxed Set

by Marie Force

  Life with Doug was all about him—his work, his clients, his life. Georgie had grown weary of meals interrupted by urgent calls from prima donna golfers, weekends spent watching golf on TV, shooting balls at the driving range, or worse yet, attending golf events during which she hardly laid eyes on him.

  As she unlocked the center and flipped on the lights, she reasoned that it should have been her decision to end it with him, but that too had been taken away from her by the events of the past few months.

  A whiff of stale air greeted her at the center. From her first day there, she had marveled at how the place smelled like old people. How she longed for the perfumed gentrification of Davidson’s. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Doug.

  As he liked to remind her, he could have any girl he wanted, so she was certain he wouldn’t be on the market for long. She hadn’t planned to marry him—no way. In fact, long after she decided their relationship wasn’t going anywhere, she’d stayed with him because so much of her social life in Atlanta was tied up in him. She had to admit, though, she’d liked the attention he had showered her with—fancy dates, flowers at the office (no doubt arranged by his secretary), spontaneous weekends away with him, his cell phone, and his BlackBerry. But she hated the way he called her Georgia in that snooty upper class accent he had worked so hard to perfect.

  Leaving the donuts and coffee on a table in the large common area, she went into the kitchen to fetch cream and sugar, closing the old refrigerator with a harder-than-necessary kick.

  “God, it’s hot in here,” she muttered, turning the air conditioning down to sixty-eight. They complained if it went any lower, but after living in the South for twelve years, Georgie had grown used to frigid air. This place was stifling in more ways than one.

  She took a good look at the big, open room full of beat-up round tables and orange folding chairs to make sure everything was where it belonged before the daily invasion began. In one corner, her mother had arranged sofas around a big-screen TV where the women enjoyed morning talk shows and the men watched afternoon Red Sox games. Off the far end of the main room, a hallway led to the office.

  Georgie remembered her mother battling the city council for the money to buy the TV. Somehow Nancy always managed to find what she needed to keep the center going—like the hideous orange chairs that had been donated by the Elks Lodge after they bought new ones. The only decorations were the scenic Newport posters on the wall. So while the place wasn’t pretty, it got the job done. And where Georgie was used to stylish, here she was stuck with serviceable.

  The front door swung open, and Georgie suppressed a groan. Five more minutes of peace. Please. But it was not to be. In walked Gus Souza, or Good Gus, as they called him to distinguish him from the other Gus at the center. Of all the old men, Good Gus was Georgie’s favorite. He always had a warm smile and a friendly greeting for her, and unlike the others, he didn’t hit on her or make inappropriate comments about her body, her hair, her smile, her dimples, her clothes, or anything else they could think of. Nothing was off limits.

  “Morning, Gus.”

  “Hi there, Georgie. How are you today?”

  “Same as yesterday.” Since they had the exact conversation every day, she could have written the script.

  His snow-white hair was combed back off his cherubic face. Even at seventy-six, his blue eyes were still bright and animated. Once he had told her about his proud military service during “the war,” which meant Korea or Vietnam with this crowd, and his long career as a car dealer and entrepreneur.

  “Georgie, I wondered . . .”

  Satisfied with the display of coffee and donuts, she turned to him.

  “I hate to ask because I know you’re inundated with requests.”

  “What’s up, Gus?”

  “Do you think you could call Blue Cross for me today? I can’t hear them on the phone, and I got this notice that says they denied my claim.”

  He was so cute and so sweet, how could she say no? “Of course,” she said with a sigh she knew he couldn’t hear. “I’d be happy to.”

  His face lifted into a relieved smile. He had children somewhere, but from what the others told her, he didn’t see much of them, which was their loss. She heard he played Santa the previous Christmas when the seniors invited their grandchildren to the center. Georgie could picture him pulling it off with his easy charm. She took the denial of payment notice from him, wrote down his date of birth and the social security number she’d learned she would need to gain access to his account, and promised to get back to him before the end of the day.

  “Thank you, honey.” He reached out to squeeze her arm. “Your mother was so proud of you for stepping up for us the way you have.”

  Mortified by her emotional response to the compliment, Georgie mumbled, “Thank you,” and escaped to her office at the end of the hallway before she could embarrass herself by bawling all over poor Gus.

  The morning flew by as she attended to a number of crises, broke up an argument over who was prettier—Angelina Jolie or Farrah Fawcett in her prime—waited on hold for twenty minutes with Blue Cross to find out that Gus had failed to notify his primary care provider that he was seeing an “out of network” doctor for his prostate cancer follow-up—info she could have lived without knowing—and helped the kitchen staff dole out more than one hundred servings of breaded flounder with baby red potatoes and asparagus.

  The smell of fish permeated the center, and Georgie fought off a gag as she went around the common room collecting the used Styrofoam lunch trays into a big garbage bag. On her way past their table, she heard Bad Gus, Gus Richards, telling a filthy joke about a woman, a goat, a bucket, and something else Georgie chose not to stick around to hear. The other old men gathered around him at the table—Walter Brown, Henry Stevens, Bill Bradley, Good Gus, and the oldest of the regulars, Donald Davis—hung on his every word. Their guffaws at the raunchy punch line followed Georgie out the back door to the Dumpster.

  Stinking of flounder and vinegar that had somehow splashed onto her shirt, she wrestled with the top of the big Dumpster but couldn’t get it open. Sweat ran down her face as she gave one last heroic but unsuccessful attempt to get the lid open. Defeated, she slid open the side door and took a step back when the stench of yesterday’s Salisbury steak smacked her in the face.

  Since the garbage bag wouldn’t fit through the smaller opening, she gritted her teeth, reached into it, and, dreaming of Lancôme and Clinique and Donna Karan and Jones New York, she grabbed a handful of smelly Styrofoam and jammed it into the Dumpster. She was on her third handful when the slam of a car door startled her.

  “Hey! What’re you doing? That stuff is recyclable!”

  Georgie whirled around and almost passed out from the shock. Him! Jogger Guy! He wore a crisp dress shirt with pressed khakis and a glare in his deep blue eyes.

  Taking the garbage bag from her, he peered inside and winced. “Are you aware that Styrofoam never breaks down? It’ll still be sitting in the landfill when your great grandchildren become grandparents.”

  Georgie stared at him, unable to breathe, let alone form a coherent word. Apparently, he had the same effect on her when he was outraged as he did when he ran by the house dripping with sweat.

  “Where’s your recycling Dumpster?”

  “We, um, don’t have one,” she sputtered.

  “Are you kidding me?” His face got very red. “You jam all this Styrofoam into a regular Dumpster every day? Oh my God!”

  Wiping away a piece of flounder that had somehow gotten stuck to her cheek, she felt the surge coming and couldn’t stop it. It was only two o’clock, but she’d already had more than enough of this day. She burst into tears.

  He stared at her, seeming shocked by her emotional reaction.

  “What’s going on here?” Bad Gus demanded from the doorway. The other old men followed him as he pushed Jogger Guy out of the way and put his arm around Georgie.

  “What did you do to her?” Walter
asked, invading Jogger Guy’s personal space.

  “Nothing,” he insisted. “I asked her why she wasn’t recycling all this Styrofoam.”

  Georgie’s tears descended into deep, gulping sobs that had little to do with garbage and everything to do with months of unbearable stress.

  Good Gus took over from Bad Gus, leading Georgie into her office while whispering gentle words of comfort. The others made a barricade at the door to keep out Jogger Guy, who had followed them.

  “There, there, now Georgie, honey.” Good Gus squatted next to her, offered his monogrammed handkerchief, and gripped her hand. “Someone get her a glass of water.”

  “I’ve got it.” Pushing past Jogger Guy, Bill stopped all of a sudden and eyed the younger man with suspicion. “Where do I know you from?”

  “I work with your daughter.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Detective Nathan Caldwell, Newport Police Department.” He extended his hand. “I’ve seen you around the station with Roxy.”

  Because he was too polite not to, Bill shook Nathan’s hand while continuing to give him the once-over. “You made Georgie cry. We don’t care for that.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just driving by, and I saw her—”

  “It’s not me you need to apologize to, young feller.” Bill nodded toward Georgie, who was still mopping up the torrent of tears.

  The men parted to let Nathan through.

  Good Gus stood up but didn’t leave his post at Georgie’s side.

  They waited expectantly.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Nathan said.

  If he’d had a hat, it would have been twisting in his hands. The old men could be intimidating when they wanted to be, a discovery Georgie found intriguing—and endearing.

  “It’s okay,” she said, mortified by the entire episode.

  “I was just wondering why you don’t recycle,” he mumbled.

  “My mother requested a recycling Dumpster from the city a year ago.” Georgie gestured to the stack of paper on the cluttered desk. “There’s a copy of the form here somewhere. Apparently, she didn’t get anywhere.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Nathan said.

  “So go arrest someone at City Hall,” Bad Gus growled. “And stop picking on Georgie.”

  “I wasn’t picking on her—”

  “You can move along now, son.” Walter tugged on Nathan’s arm to lead him from the office. “We’ll take care of her.”

  “I really am sorry,” Nathan said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” On his way out, he brushed past Walter and Bill, who was returning with the glass of water.

  “I’m okay, you guys,” Georgie insisted. “I’m sorry to make such a scene.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Good Gus said.

  Georgie took a long sip of water. “Thanks. Go on back to your game. I’m fine. Really.”

  They began to filter back into the common room for their afternoon round of Euchre, a card game Bill had imported to Rhode Island from Minnesota. Good Gus lingered. “Are you sure you’re all right? It’s not like you to break down like that.”

  “I miss my mom,” she said, knowing she could confide in him and it wouldn’t be all over the center in ten minutes.

  His face softened. “Of course you do, honey.”

  “And to add insult to injury, my boyfriend in Atlanta dumped me this morning.”

  “What? Is he crazy? I’ll tell you what,” Gus huffed, “if I was thirty years younger, why I’d court you myself. He’s a fool.”

  Amused by his righteous indignation, Georgie smiled. “I’d be honored to be courted by such a lovely gentleman.”

  “Don’t you worry. You’ll meet a nice young man in no time. Once the word gets out that you’re on the market, we’ll have to beat them off with a stick. Heck, Walter is ready to run away with you the minute you say the word.”

  Smiling, she got up to hug him. “Do me a favor and don’t put out the word, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” he said, returning her embrace and kissing her forehead. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll let you get back to work, but we’re right out there if you need us.” He headed for the door.

  “Gus?”

  Turning back, he raised a white eyebrow.

  “Thank you. Tell the others, too.”

  “Our pleasure, honey.”

  When she was alone, Georgie dropped her head onto her folded arms and took a deep, rattling breath. So embarrassing. Flipping out over trash of all things. What he must think of her. Nathan Caldwell. It was a nice name that suited him. Too bad he’d gone and ruined all her fantasies by being a jerk. Now what would she have to look forward to every day?

  A cloud of depression hung over her as she slugged through the rest of the day. Closing the center at the stroke of six, she felt bad—as she did every day—ushering the last few stragglers to the door, knowing many of them wouldn’t see or talk to another living soul until they returned the next morning. They were why she kept coming back every day, despite her overwhelming desire to be anywhere else.

  After an hour of paperwork, she walked through the heavy humidity to her car.

  Parallel parking in front of the house a short time later, Georgie focused on what to have for dinner and the things she needed to get done that night—including laundry and a list of her mother’s assets for the probate attorney.

  She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a huge arrangement of fragrant, festive lilies sitting on the porch. With a glance around to see if anyone was watching, she went up the stairs, her heart heavy with dread. How predictable of Doug to do something like this. He’d probably had his secretary order the consolation bouquet. So sorry to dump you, she imagined the card would say. Have a nice life. Love, Doug. She plucked the envelope from among the flowers.

  Inside she found a card describing the eco-friendly environment the flowers had been grown in. That’s odd. What does Doug care about that? Reading the message, her heart skipped a crazy beat. “Sorry I made you cry. Forgive me? Nate Caldwell.”

  “Oh,” she gasped, turning to find Jogger Guy, still fresh and polished in his work clothes, standing in the street watching her with his hands jammed into his pockets. Tongue-tied, she stared at him.

  He made his way toward her. “Do not cry,” he ordered, softening his tone when he added, “Please don’t.”

  “I won’t.” The stink of flounder clung to her clothes and hair as he reached the bottom step and looked up at her with startling blue eyes. “How did you know where I live?” He’d seemed so intent during his runs that she was certain he hadn’t paid much attention to them drooling over him from the porch.

  “I’m a detective,” he said with a smug expression.

  “Oh, so you just, like, tracked me down?” she asked, not sure how she felt about that.

  He grinned, causing his tanned, handsome face to crinkle in all the best ways.

  Her heart pounded. God, he was hot and not as much of a jerk, apparently, as she had thought earlier.

  “Actually, I run by here every morning and recognized you.”

  “We didn’t think you ever looked,” she said, quickly adding, “not that we’ve discussed you or anything.” She was babbling. She knew it but was powerless to stop it. Why did this particular guy have this particular effect on her?

  “I’ve taken an occasional peek. Running in this neighborhood has become much more interesting since you ladies moved in. Are you new in town?”

  “I grew up here. My roommate Cat is also from here. Tess is from Connecticut.”

  “Which one has the spiky red hair?”

  “That’d be Cat.”

  “Wasn’t there another one? I seem to remember four of you.”

  “Oh, that was my sister, Ali. She’s gone home to New York.” Georgie wondered if he could smell the flounder from where he stood on the sidewalk. Fortunately, the lilies were putting out a powerful perfume that she hoped was strong enough to
do battle with the fish stench.

  He glanced at the flowers. “So what do you say?”

  “About?”

  “Forgive me?”

  Why do you care? she wanted to ask but didn’t. “Of course. Thank you for the flowers. They’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re welcome. Since I’m not in the practice of making pretty girls cry, I needed to make it up to you.”

  Did he just call me pretty? Looking like a frump and stinking like fish? Georgie ran a self-conscious hand through her rumpled hair and yearned for the shower. “Well, thanks again for the flowers.” She reached down to pick them up off the porch. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did. Are you free for dinner?”

  Stunned, she could only stare at him from behind the huge bouquet while wondering if her mouth was actually hanging open with surprise or if it just felt that way.

  “Hello?” He waved a hand. “Georgie?”

  “Um, I . . .”

  “You what?”

  “I stink. Like flounder. Today’s lunch special.”

  He tossed his golden head back and laughed. “I can wait while you clean up. But if you don’t want to go out with someone who made you cry, I’d understand.”

  Studying him, she remembered the list of things she had planned to do that night, but suddenly none of it was at all appealing when stacked up against him. Why the hell not? After all, Doug did say we should see other people, right? And I like what I’m seeing… “Are you sure you don’t mind waiting?”

  He gestured for her to go for it, and she turned toward the house, stopping at the front door. “Do you, um, want to come in?”

  “I’ll wait for you out here.” He strolled up the stairs and plopped down on the porch sofa.

  Georgie wondered if it was a coincidence that he picked the very spot where she watched for him each morning. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”