Creola's Moonbeam (26 page)

I readied myself for a brisk walk. I would attempt to get back into a healthier routine. The downside of her visit had been our total lack of self-discipline. We were a terrible influence on one another. We started the week out with good intentions, but soon lapsed into eating too much junk food and allowing exercise to go completely by the wayside. I felt guilty, and she felt fat. But, great goodness above, had it been a wonderful time!

Are your boobs getting bigger
? I couldn’t laugh again, not just yet.

I walked rapidly — all but ran — toward Beatrice’s cottage. I couldn’t wait to see my friend. Even with Mary Pearle’s company, I’d missed Beatrice and thought about her frequently. Other than at the ‘safari’ dinner party and chatting a couple of times on the phone, I’d not spent much time with the dear lady, lately.

I wanted to tell her about Mary Pearle’s upcoming marriage. I delighted in predicting her reaction. Total surprise? Screams and hugs? Perhaps a cartwheel? It was also possible that Beatrice would be disappointed because there was no longer a need for her as a matchmaker.

I knocked on her door. No answer. I left a note, but there came no response. After several phone calls that day, I left a message on her answering machine. Beatrice abhorred those messages. Predictably, she didn’t reply. I didn’t worry too terribly much about that, expecting a cheery postcard from her, as before. But none arrived. Where could she be?

Three days later, Oscar called. By then, I was frantic. He said Beatrice was in Atlanta visiting Jennings.

“I was just by the cottage and came upon your note. Poor, dear Beatrice, she’s fine, I’m sure. She’d not want to cause you a moment’s concern. The dear left rather in a rush. I ran into her quite by happenstance. Beatrice was getting into a cab and shouted to me that Jennings had finally gotten his big break!”

“I’m so relieved to hear she’s all right. That’s marvelous about Jennings, too.”

“I’ll say. It’s been a long time in coming. Never met the lad myself, but Beatrice has always believed in him, so I do as well.”

“Oscar, you’ve never met her son?”

“No, have you?”

“Not yet, but she and I have been friends for such a short time. I assumed you knew Jennings well.”

“I’m afraid not. In some ways, I’ve known Beatrice for several lifetimes. In other ways, I am no closer to her than are you, my dear.”

Soon, Beau and I met Stuart. Both of us genuinely liked the man. In fact, Beau was so taken with him that he offered to host his and Mary Pearle’s wedding.

I leapt to my feet when Beau made his generous suggestion. “And we’ll have it right here, right here at the beach!”

Mary Pearle didn’t know what to say. She’d already made preliminary plans to have a small gathering in her home. Nevertheless, she quickly got into the spirit of the beach venue. She stood up, put her arm around me and, raising her wine glass, roared, “What the heck, I’ll just wear my bathing suit. Stuart and I will march right into the Gulf of Mexico!”

“That gets my vote,” shouted Stuart.

On a cool September afternoon with a gentle Gulf breeze blowing and the sun about to set, Mary Pearle and Stuart, her daughters, Katy and Susan, Susan’s husband Matthew, and Stuart’s son, Stuart IV, along with Beau and I and several dear old friends of the bride and of the groom, gathered at the condo. I wanted to invite Beatrice, but she was still visiting Jennings.

In my view, Mary Pearle had never been as peace-filled.

My sister had apparently managed to put her life back together. Even Katy, the daughter who wasn’t so sure her mother should remarry, seemed content.

Creola, I know you are smiling down on us this day
!

As we sipped pre-wedding champagne, I squeezed Beau’s hand and kissed him.

He smiled at me. “What’s that for?”

“I’m just glad you and I —”

The sound of a truck cut me off. It pulled into the condo’s delivery lot with a rumble we could hear four stories up, through the open balcony doors. “Looks like the caterer has
finally
arrived,” Beau groused. “What did you say, Honey?”

“I was saying I’m glad I married you, but looks as if you’re more interested in the food.”

“No, no, I just —”

“You’re just adorable.”

I swear, he almost blushed.

A little while later, a minister led our group to the beach. We gathered at the edge of the tide, in a circle around Mary Pearle and Stuart. As the minister pronounced them man and wife, a wave washed over his feet. Startled, the minister hopped aside — and bumped into Mary Pearle.

Stuart steadied her by one arm. “Wait a minute, sir, this is my wife. I get the first dance!”

Laughter.

The minister recovered. “As I was saying, it is my great pleasure to present Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Honeycutt.”

Applause.

Stuart’s son embraced Mary Pearle and welcomed her into the Honeycutt family. Her daughters each gave their stepfather a kiss, Susan’s with more enthusiasm than Katy’s, but hers was a kiss, nonetheless.

Beau said, “Okay folks, let’s all go inside and celebrate.”

“Wait, wait, we’ve got to take pictures first!” I quickly gathered the family and friends. As I danced around trying to capture the joy in my sister’s face, I noticed her wrinkles had magically melted away. Snap. Snap. My camera popped off shot after shot. The euphoric couple couldn’t take their eyes off one another long enough to smile directly into my lens.
  

“Just look at that sun,” I swooned. The brilliant red sunset was picture perfect.

“Can we eat now?” pleaded Beau.

Mary Pearle took her brother-in-law by his arm. “Would somebody please feed this poor, starving man?”

“What the devil is that?” shouted Beau as he broke away from the bride and hurried up the steps toward the condo’s swimming pool deck. “Scat, get away, damn bird!” The guests ducked as a pelican soared past them. A large cocktail shrimp fell from the pelican’s bill.

I chuckled, “Seems my pelican, like my husband, took too large a bite!”

With the successful wedding
behind me, and Beau back in Atlanta, I settled into a final few days of intense editing on the first draft of my book. I ate at my computer, dining on my usual diet of caffeine-rich tea and crackers. So much for my “eat healthier” resolve. I replied only to phone messages from family and from the dearest of friends.

Beatrice called to say she was having the most divine time in Atlanta and that she’d eventually return to her cottage. “We’ll have the grandest reunion of all time! That’s a promise. Do tell me you forgive me for dashing off in such haste?”

“Of course, Beatrice, I could never be angry with you.”

“
Never
is a very strong word, Honey Newberry.”

As happy as I was for Mary Pearle, I was sorry that Beatrice hadn’t been the person responsible for finding my sister’s Prince Charming. She would have relished the challenge.

She agreed. “You do know me well. Naturally, I’m filled with joy for your Mary Pearle. Alas, I did miss a golden opportunity to make a match. I’d tentatively considered Sonny Gilmore. Nice looking. Stable. Certainly well read. A teacher such as your sister would appreciate that quality in a man.”

“All good points.”

“I thought so. I’d fancied inviting him to your Hawaiian party. Don’t you recall, we were going to offer hula lessons? I was to bring my drum!”

“And, we
will
have our luau, just as soon as you get back. So do hurry, please.”

“I miss you, and Oscar, our other lovely friends, the birds,
and
my Gulf! Oh dear me, I’m so sea-sick. You must know that is a far more serious condition than is home-sickness!”

“You know the cure.”

She ignored my remark. “I do want your Mary Pearle to know how truly happy I am for her and for that gentleman of hers, lucky fellow. I’m certain he is every bit as fine a catch as our bookseller would have been. Honey, you do understand the romantic wanderings of my octogenarian mind? Much of what I say is strictly for fun.”

“You’re a pip, Beatrice. Please bring yourself back here.”

“As soon as I can,” she sighed, as her voice trailed away.

“Beatrice, is anything amiss?”

“Definitely
not
. Again, dear girl, I’m sorry. This moment I am on my knees begging you to forgive me for leaving without an appropriate farewell.”

“Beatrice, I’ve been terribly busy myself. Say, wasn’t it you who chastised me for saying too many ‘I’m sorry’s?’”

“Touché! I miss you most dearly, my honey of a friend. Well, tah-tah for now —”

“Don’t try to hang up just yet, Beatrice. I’m on pins and needles about Jennings. Do tell me everything about your son’s success. Oscar told me the news.”

“The announcement will be much better when shared in person. Just as you really wanted to share Mary Pearle’s engagement with me. I must run this minute, but, you, young lady, you keep up your good work.”

“Wait, wait!”

“I’m off on an adventure, my dear. Beatrice loves you! Tah-tah!”

I slowly put down my phone. How I yearned to sit in Beatrice’s cottage and spend precious time with her. Instead, I got back to my computer.

With Mary Pearle away on her honeymoon, my long distance calls were curtailed. So much so that Beau remarked, “What we’re saving on phone bills more than pays for the wedding reception.”

“You were a dear to give Mary Pearle and Stuart such a generous gift.”

“I agree.”

E-mails and telephone calls from my editor urged me on. My previous lack of enthusiasm was nothing more than a vague memory. Toward the end of the project, I was e-mailing entire chapters on a twice-daily basis.

One morning on the phone, as we went over a few of the changes in the text, I said, “Honestly, I cannot explain exactly what brought me out of my funk. If I knew, I’d bottle it to sell. Maybe it was being at the beach with so few distractions, or simply the fun I had when my sister and I discussed our memories of Creola. Whatever it was,
Creola’s Moonbeam
has practically written itself.”

What I did not elaborate on was the role Beatrice played. If I’d tried to describe all the essential threads of my transformation, my editor would have fallen asleep. After I hung up, I had to laugh. The answer was simple. Honey Newberry’s home remedy for her mid-life crisis had been a spoonful of Creola’s heart along with a dash of Beatrice’s soul.

As I packed up
to return home, Beatrice’s absence was my single downer. How I missed seeing that wise and caring woman one more time before I left. However, I could take comfort in knowing my beachcombing buddy was enjoying a long visit with her son.

With the completed manuscript of
Creola’s Moonbeam
overnighted to my editor and my bags piled in the car, I locked the condo door and headed north. What a different woman I was from the one who had driven down three months prior. Out of the rearview mirror, I watched as the Gulf faded from view. “See you next summer!”

I’d driven about an hour when I thought about Beau. It was my habit to let him know the moment I was on way. I called on the cell phone. “It’s me, I’ll be home for dinner. So, where are you taking me?”

“You mean, after all these weeks of bachelor meals, my woman isn’t going to cook my supper?”