Shem Creek (17 page)

“Line two,” Louise said, “it’s Lindsey.”

Lindsey was euphoric.

“Mom! My hair looks fabulous!”

“Woo-hoo! That’s wonderful!”

“Mimi wants to talk to you. Hang on!”

“Hey!” Mimi said. “Remember that cute doctor I went out with last week?”

“Yeah,” I said, with no clue of what was to follow.

“Well! How’s this? He’s got a friend he wants you to meet! A
date,
Linda! He’s gonna call you this afternoon!”

I broke out in a sweat and I couldn’t think.

“Who?”
I said. “Who’s going to call?”

“His name is Jason-something and he’s this environmental scientist or biologist or I don’t know . . . anyway, he came to Charleston to work at the aquarium but he wants to teach and so now he just took a job teaching at Wando High School. So! He’s gonna call!
Be nice!
”

“Fine!”
I said.
Be nice?
What did she think I was going to do? Go through the phone, bite his neck and suck his blood?

“Let me know when he does, okay? Oh, and wait until you see Lindsey! Don’t you know she . . .”

All I could hear was
blah, blah, blah . . .
a man was going to call me and ask me for a date. Okay. Okay. I could handle it. As long as he wasn’t married like all those bastards who had—

“Linda? Answer me!”

“What? Listen, I can’t talk right now. Brad just got back and—”

“Oh! How’s he doing? Did you meet his son? That was just awful, wasn’t it? I’ll tell you—”

“Mimi! I love you madly, but I gotta go! I’ve got piles of work here!”

“You know what, Linda? Sometimes you can be just a little bit coarse, do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll call you later.”

I went back to entering data on the word processor. I was setting up a directory with contact information for everyone we did business with—fishmongers, kitchen supply companies, plumbers, greengrocers, electricians, cleaning supply houses—not very sexy, but it had to be done. And, I had to do payroll.

Brad did the rounds, checking out everything and talking to everyone and then came to my office, plopping himself in the chair opposite my desk.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.”

He did look tired, especially around his eyes.

“Funeral went all right?”

“It was horrible. First of all, Theo must have taken a Xanax or something like it because he could hardly speak. Then, Archie, my worst enemy of my entire life, comes up to me and says he’s sorry for my loss.”

“Holy hell! What did you say?”

“I wasn’t very nice, I’m a little ashamed to say.”

“Let’s hear it word for word.”

“I said,
My loss was your gain, wasn’t it?
”

“Good for you! Nobody ever says what they think!”

“Yeah, well, I was so completely pissed off to be back there and reminded yet one more time that those three had brought so much pain and confusion to Alex’s life, I just wanted to kick him in the teeth.”

Brad had crossed his legs and his arms and it was clear he was still deeply upset.

“You know something?” I said. “I know we are all entitled to the pursuit of happiness, but I don’t think it should be at the expense of somebody else’s.”

Brad stared at me for a minute.

“Look, if Loretta wanted Archie, that wasn’t exactly fine with me, but our marriage was such a tangled web of duplicity and psychotic behavior, it didn’t surprise me that it fell apart. I guess what bothered me was that Loretta never showed
any
remorse. And, Theo knew he was wrong about me and that he hadn’t been fair with me on any one of a thousand issues over the years, and he never showed any remorse
either
.”

“Well, you know what they say; the nuts don’t fall very far from the trees.”

“I think it was apples, but whatever. I just feel bad for Alex, you know?”

“Well, sure! Of course you do. He didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”

“Exactly. Anyway, horrible as it all was, Alex is probably better off with me. I just didn’t like going through seeing that asshole Archie. And, you know? I actually felt sorry for Theo.”

“Well, he’s an old man and nobody, no matter how awful they are, should ever have to bury their child.”

“Yeah. That’s true. I’m just glad that part is behind us. Now there’s the estate stuff, but thank God for Robert.”

“He’s taking care of it?”

“Yeah, he’s got a cousin in Atlanta who’s an estate lawyer, got a big firm and all that. I could not care less, but if Alex has any inheritance coming to him he should have it, right?”

“Right.” I could sense that Brad had discussed the whole disaster as much as he could endure and I didn’t want to pry. “Where’s Alex now?”

“He’s out on the dock with Duane, learning how to cut a deal with a longline guy.”

“What’s he got?”

“A load of blue mackerel that could feed half of Charleston County.”

“I love blue mackerel—baked with crab meat? Yum!”

“So, what are you up to?”

“Organizing everything, a dull and dreary job to be sure. You know what I was thinking?”

“What?”

“That once a year we should put all our vendors out to bid, you know? Keep them honest so they don’t inch up their prices and we get gypped?”

“Well, some of these guys are friends, so that makes it sticky, but some of the others aren’t. I mean, they’re nice guys and all . . .”

“Yeah, but isn’t this a
business?
Come on, Brad! This isn’t a frat house, is it?” I thought that a little teasing was in order, something that would get his mind back on work and lift his spirits.

“Well, we don’t walk away from the kitchen supply guys so fast because they’re invested in this restaurant! Before you go off and pull a vendor, you’d better let me know who it is.”

“Ah! I see. Oopsie?” It had never occurred to me that some of the vendors might be investors. I hated to get caught being stupid. “You’re right.”

“This time, but not always. So tell me what went on while I was gone.”

“Well, the cleaning service sent us this new man who looks like somebody from a rehab center for hard drugs.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Brad said. “By the way, your Gracie is a very pretty girl. I think Alex is a little taken with her.”

“Thanks. And she’s already gasping for air. Maybe they can go to the movies or something or the beach? Hey! I just remembered, I have to register Gracie for Wando High School next week. God, school starts so early here! Want me to take Alex too? Oh! Have you thought about where he’s going? I mean, you might want to put him in Porter-Gaud or something.”

“I’m a big believer in public school education,” he said. “My mom was a teacher for thirty years. Taught English and American literature. Gee, God. I didn’t even think to bring his transcript.”

“I can call for it, if you want. Just tell me where he went to school and I’ll do it right away.”

“He went to Lovett in Buckhead.”

“Private school?”

“Thought you had me?” He gave a small grin.

“Just kidding!”

“Lovett was Loretta’s doing, not mine. Anyway, things are going to be very different for him now.”

“As they are for Gracie too.” I looked at him and he seemed so subdued. “Look, anything I can do to help . . .”

“The school thing would be great—where is Wando High School anyway?”

“Out on Mathis Ferry Road—hey, we can carpool!”

“Excellent. We can meet at the Piggly Wiggly.”

The office phone rang and Brad picked it up.

“It’s for you,” he said, holding his hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s a man named Jason. Who’s Jason?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

The old Brad was back, at least for the moment.

“My next husband,” I said. I held out my hand to take the receiver and he held it over his head out of my reach. “Oh,
grow up
and give me the phone!”

He handed it to me and said, “Someone you met in a chat room?”

“Hello? This is Linda Breland speaking,” I said, in my very professional voice.

“Hi! This is Jason Miller calling—I’m a friend of Jack Taylor? He said I would call?”

“Yes! Of course! How are you?”

“How are you?”
Brad said in a little girlie voice, teasing me.

“Great!” Jason said. “I thought maybe we could meet for a drink or something?”

“Sure! That sounds fine! When?”

“Sure! That sounds fine!”
Brad said, then whispered, “You’d better make sure he’s not a serial murderer, you know.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I missed it because I have a juvenile delinquent in my office harassing me!”

“No problem,” Jason said. “I said, how about tonight around seven? How’s the Shem Creek Bar and Grill? We can spy on the competition!”

“Perfect! See you then.”

I hung up and looked at Brad, who was pretending innocence.

“I have a life, you know,” I said.

“I hope so,” Brad said.

“Hey, Brad? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Seriously, I am.” He stared at me for a minute and then said, “This weekend is gonna be crazy—Fourth of July and all that. You’d better get your rest.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Carry on with this guy all night?”

“No. Of course not. I just . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home before curfew.”

I had a date. Brad was teasing me about it. Was he jealous? Was that it? Not a chance. Maybe Jason Miller
would
be the man of my dreams. Who knew?

I went to work early the next morning because I had a ton of phone calls to make. Louise had to run up to Pawleys Island to take care of her cousin who was recovering from an emergency appendectomy. Fourth of July weekend and we were shorthanded again.

“I feel terrible,” she said.

“Don’t think a thing about it,” I said.

I was in my office, drinking my third cup of coffee for the morning when Brad arrived.

“So, how was your hot date last night?” he said.

I was reasonably sure that his question, his itsy-bitsy innocent question, was intended as polite. But the prior evening’s close encounter had been one of the terrorist kind. Reliving any part of it put me in a foul humor.

“That guy can kiss my endangered species,” I said. “Would you like to hear why I’m gonna be single for the rest of my life?”

Yes, Brad was mourning but all the signals he was sending my way said that he wanted life to be normal around the restaurant, and as normal as humanly possible when dealing with him. If he wanted to talk about Loretta, he would probably do so with Robert and with his son. Or if he wanted to talk to me, I would gladly listen.

“Sure, why not?” He sat opposite me. “We got any fresh coffee around here?”

“Oh, sure! I juss run fetch ’em fuh yah, massah!” It was not evolving into one of my better days. The feminist bitch in me climbed not quite all the way back in its cage. “Let me get you a cup.”

I leapt from my seat, bolted from the office, poured him a cup of black steaming coffee and presented it to him, bowing low, indicating my grasp of my lowly stature. A serf. A peon. An indentured servant. An untouchable. A little joke.

“I like a shot of half-and-half in mine,” he said, shooting me a grin of mock disappointment.

“Get it yourself,” I said and sat back down in my chair.

He sort of laughed and I pretended to be wildly irritated, making the same kinds of teeth-sucking sounds my daughters made when I served Brussels sprouts.
Snnnk! Snnnk! Snnnk!

“Ooh, hoo!
Somebody
didn’t have fun last night! What happened? Rape artist?”

“I wish! Listen . . . oh, God! Can I just tell you something? Ever since I divorced Fred, if there’s a
psycho,
or a
nut bag,
or a freaking
maniac
out there on the loose, he’s got my phone number and I’ve been out with him at least once!”

“Come on, tell Uncle Brad what happened.”

Uncle Brad.
I thought, well, he wants a diversion so I’ll give him a story to lighten things up.

“You’re not going to
believe . . .
okay, so I’m supposed to meet this guy Jason Miller at seven o’clock at Shem Creek Bar and Grill, right? I walk in and there are three guys at the bar. One of them is wearing a suit and has a briefcase, so I say, nah, not him. The next one is wearing camouflage and rubber boots—not him. And the
third
guy is wearing khakis and a knit shirt. . . .”

“So you go up to the guy in the khakis and . . .”

“Right! Guess what? Jason Miller is wearing camouflage and rubber boots to meet me for a drink. Nice?”

“Very polished! Suave fellow, this Jason.”