Forever Friday (12 page)

They ate under a large umbrella at Mermaids, an outdoor restaurant at the end of a long pier whose sign boasted Dine Out Over The Deep. A fussy waiter informed them that since it was midafternoon and lunch was over, they could only order shrimp cocktail or crab gumbo. But the bar was open, and he’d be right back to take their drink order.

“What about Prohibition?” Huck asked, as soon as the waiter disappeared. The only liquor she’d ever seen was the amber whiskey her father drank at Christmas. She knew where he hid it—up in the hayloft underneath a loose floor plank. As a child, she’d sneak out that year’s bottle, pretend to take a swig, and act drunk. At age eleven, she dropped it one day and noticed a hairline crack at the base. Petrified, she’d never touched Papa’s “yuletide vice” again.

“Rumor has it that Prohibition isn’t enforced on the island,” Gabe said. “And you thought the beach was what attracted multitudes.”

“Do you think we could order pink champagne?” Huck leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve read about people having champagne brunch. It sounds so daring.”

“It’s too late for brunch,” Gabe said, then laughed. “And since this meal falls between lunch and supper, we’d have to call it ‘lupper.’ ”

“Champagne lupper,” Huck replied. “Doesn’t have quite the same romantic ring, at least the lupper part. But the pink part sounds interesting, don’t you think?”

When the waiter returned, Gabe ordered two shrimp cocktails, two cups of crab gumbo with extra rice, and a bottle of pink champagne. Since they weren’t on any kind of schedule, they ate and drank leisurely, talking about favorite foods, books, and movies, while ocean clouds wisped high overhead and waves white-capped beneath their feet.

“I think my numb is getting nose,” Huck said finally, then giggled.

“I think the lady’s had a bit too much bubbly.” Gabe reached for a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Not in the least.” Since childhood, the aromatic quality of tobacco was an odor Huck found comforting. She’d first smelled it on Gabe while riding the interurban, then at the beauty pageant when he whispered close. She laughed softly, reminded of a story.

“What’s so funny?”

“Papa used to smoke,” Huck recalled, “until Mother finally insisted his suit be sent to the dry cleaners for a proper going-over. The next Sunday, he wore the suit less than five minutes, saying it reeked of kerosene, so he dunked it in her washtub. Said he ‘baptized’ it, the humorous analogy completely missed by Mother. And then …” Huck paused,
the remainder of her story floating adrift her brain in the champagne’s smoothness.

“And then your mother murdered him?” Gabe scooted an ashtray to his side of the table and thumbed open a book of matches.

“No, silly.” She giggled a third time. “Slow torture is Mother’s way.” Huck peered into her empty champagne glass. “Where was I?”

“Your Papa dunked his suit in the washtub.”

“Oh, yes. And then he never smoked again. Began chewing tobacco because he swore the kerosene odor wouldn’t come out. Papa worried about fire and was afraid the flammable fumes had infiltrated his shirts and overalls as well.”

Gabe laughed. “Why not just buy some new clothes?”

“What? And waste perfectly good garments?” Huck replied facetiously. “Threadbare/comfortable is Papa’s way, and after almost fifty years of marriage, Mother still can’t persuade him differently.”

“Sounds like how my folks were.” Gabe lit his cigarette, exhaling the smoke away from Huck. “So what did your father wear to church the day he baptized his suit?”

“Oh, Papa never goes. Never has. Says he holds nothing against God’s flock but doesn’t need to visit the Lord’s house because he hears enough preaching at home. So when Mother and the rest of the family attend Sunday service, he puts on his suit and quietly reads the Bible. Then he lays the Good Book aside and ‘ponders,’ while chewing tobacco and spitting off the gallery.”

“I think I like your father.” Gabe appeared lost in thought for a moment. “I’d bet he loves reading the Psalms.”

“Why, it’s his favorite book.”

“And he enjoys discussing his ponderings? Especially with you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?”

“The poetry in your voice.”

Huck felt herself blush. “Mother’s favorite book is Proverbs. I’ve memorized more than a few.”

“My next guess.”

“Because I’m so wise?”

“My next answer.”

They laughed.

“A wise woman who speaks her mind is greatly respected,” Gabe said.

“Is that a proverb?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking about your mother. I’d like her too.”

Huck smiled. Contentment colored the afternoon.

Gabe signaled the waiter. “Two coffees please.”

“How did you know I love coffee?” Huck asked, wondering if Papa felt this lightheaded when he drank whiskey.

“I took a guess.” He grinned. “Besides, doesn’t the lady always get what she wants?”

Huck smiled back. Even if the champagne had clouded her mind, it was clear her heart wanted Gabe Alexander. And any unpleasant thoughts about ending things with Clark had evaporated, including how and when she’d tell her mother.

Several hours later, after poking through a variety of souvenir shops and applauding a troupe of sidewalk acrobats, they watched the sun set, munching salted peanuts and caramel corn on a deserted stretch of
beach. At one point Huck commandeered Gabe’s hat, which resulted in a merry chase, until both she and Gabe were hysterically out of breath. They kicked off their shoes and stockings beside a lonely log of driftwood, then wandered along aimlessly, the surf slapping their bare ankles under the dusky soar of seagulls.

“I’m thirsty,” Gabe said, then pointed to a rustic beach house built above the sand on stilts. “Bet there’s a cistern. And that looks like a mighty comfortable porch swing hanging underneath.”

“It would be nice to have some water and sit for a few minutes,” Huck said. “No one appears to be home. Do you think they’d mind?”

“Honored.” Gabe grinned. “It’s the rule of the West to accommodate weary travelers or, in this case, beachcombers. Which means it would be okay to borrow the privy too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Huck replied, scampering toward the privy. Lupper’s pink champagne and coffee were begging for departure, and she’d about decided to tour the tallest sand dune.

“Be careful,” Gabe called. “Bang on the door first, in case it’s occupied.”

She knew he meant occupied by varmints, recalling her childhood days before indoor plumbing and her mother’s stern warning about scaring away any “uninvited visitors.” The term always made her smile because it automatically inferred the opposite: guests receiving an invitation would be welcome. And who in their right mind would entertain in an outhouse?

Five minutes later, they quenched their thirst from the same tin dipper, then lounged in the weathered swing as a brilliant moon rose, sparkling its path across the placid Gulf of Mexico. “Not exactly spring water, but a good clean cistern gets the job done,” Gabe remarked,
offering Huck his handkerchief. “You must have a hole in your chin. Your dress is wet.”

“I beg your pardon?” Huck daubed the damp spots and returned the handkerchief. “You bumped the dipper.”

“At least it’s water rather than chocolate smears.” His face crinkled into a grin.

“Was that today?” Huck thought back to the toddler on the streetcar. Morning in downtown Houston seemed a lifetime ago, but she was glad the boys had finger-painted her future.

“If it wasn’t today, I’ve slept in this suit,” Gabe said, then winked.

Huck laughed. “I’ve been up since dawn and should be exhausted, but …” She stood, twirling around on bare tiptoes, her shadow spinning happy girlish shapes against the white moonlight. “It will be May Day until midnight. Dance with me.” She stuck out her hand and pulled Gabe to his feet.

They barefooted back and forth across the blanched sand to the soft rhythm of night waves, holding each other close while millions of stars popped to life. After dancing a hundred carefree dances to a timeless clock, they shared another dipper of water, then returned to the swing, Gabe speaking quietly in the pre-lovers’ language of “what if.”

What if
this date led to another?

What if
they began a serious courtship?

Into their mostly one-sided conversation, Huck inserted an occasional “I would like that” or “Sounds wonderful.” But when Gabe paused to light a cigarette, her brain ricocheted thoughts like an answering line of melodic counterpoint. She knew that her roller-coaster romance with Clark was over, whether or not Gabe ever asked her out on another date. And when he’d mentioned the possibility of—how
had he put it?—“future encounters,” she was thrilled for them to spend more time together. She definitely longed to be with Gabe and was in the process of picturing them married when he uttered the words “our serious courtship.” Even though Huck’s mind had already considered a step even further than courtship, Gabe’s words caught her off guard, catapulting her heart into a state of thrill. She had no choice but to laugh.

“Telling yourself jokes?” The ash end of Gabe’s cigarette glowed orange in the night.

“Just happy.” She rested her head on his shoulder, his clean smell now augmented with the pleasant leftover traces of sun and surf. Her mind whirled, wondering over and over when she’d fallen in love with him. Was it this morning, when she’d stumbled into his lap on the floor of the streetcar? Or was it that blustery March day they’d met … the corny oyster comment … the sea-sky eyes?

Huck listened to the distant surf and measured the pulse of her feelings. But more than mere feeling, her in-love-ness was a knowing, a severely protected knowing undergirded by the gentleness shared between soul mates. It felt safe, and it provided the freedom to communicate hidden fears and innermost desires without mock or rejection. She snuggled closer, and a joyful tear rolled down her cheek as she began to tell Gabe her story, her secrets. As she spoke, Gabe stroked her hair. She explained in detail about Mister Jack and the unusual Anacacho orchids. Finally, she revealed her mistaken engagement to Clark Richards and her decision to end it.

“I’m not surprised about the other guy,” Gabe said tenderly, “not really. What man wouldn’t want to be engaged to you?”

She didn’t answer but snuggled even closer as Gabe continued
stroking her hair. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, after taking a few deep breaths, she told him about the foolish accident that had left her unable to bear children. “That’s why I teach school,” Huck finished. “It’s my life’s grand calling.”

Gabe stopped stroking her hair. “I need to tell you something.”

Huck said nothing, feeling his chest muscles tighten as a sudden tremor of doubt jarred her insides. Had she been wrong about her inner knowing, or had the lingering effects of alcohol made her bold? She wanted to look at him but was terrified she’d revealed too much. Not the Mister Jack or Clark Richards part. Angels were biblical, and engagement to another man could be remedied. However, being unable to bear children was another matter. Mocked by hard hindsight she closed her eyes, ready for the worst.

“Remember this afternoon when you said that we were so much alike, it was scary?”

“Yes?”

“Well …” Gabe briefly paused, then continued. “I decided years ago that married couples shouldn’t base their happiness solely on the children God chooses to give them … or not give them. It has to do with a concept I call ‘The Long Division.’ ”

“Sounds like an arithmetic problem.”

“It’s more of a marriage dilemma,” he replied, then explained his idea about how the pressures of career, multiplied with life’s never-ending responsibilities, constantly divided and redivided a couples’ time together, finally producing comfortable strangers rather than passionate lovers. “Unless I inherit a gold mine, working for a living is not a choice.” Gabe cleared his throat, then chuckled lightly. “Do you think it’s unrealistic to want lasting romance?”

“Of course not.” Huck wanted to leap out of the porch swing for a hundred more moonlit dances. Besides calming her worst fear, Gabe was implying they might end up together. “Count me in on the concept.”

“Since we’re telling secrets,” he continued, “there’s more I need to say.” He told about his near engagement to an old girlfriend, Amelia Addison, then recalled the terrifying duty of serving his country overseas during the Great War. Huck felt him tremble as he remembered the untimely deaths of his parents.

She sat up and faced him. His eyes were wet with tears.

“I love you, Gabe Alexander.” Huck knew it was early in their relationship to say such a thing, but her words were spurred by the honest tenderness between them and the strong conviction that he was the soul mate she’d been searching for since age ten. She placed her arms around his neck, her childbearing worries now weightless. “Want to know
why
I love you?”

“Tell me.” Gabe wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Because we’ve just bared our souls into the wee hours for the first time. And you weren’t afraid to show your emotions.”