Shem Creek (18 page)

“Sure! Snicker! Go ’head! He looked like he had been crawling around in the freaking swamp! In fact, he had been! Anyway, he starts impressing me right away by telling me what he does for a living. . . .”

“Reenacts war games?”

“Worse. He just moved here from North Carolina, where he got himself in trouble—almost—for being a political activist. Seems they’ve got some kind of problem with the runoff of hog waste from farms that’s trickling down to the Cape Fear River. You may not know this, but if you pile enough hog waste in the river, it can kill everything in its path.”

“I’m just . . . shocked! Do I look shocked?”

“Exactly! Like who cares, right? I just sat there, drinking my miserable little glass of white wine listening to his whole way-too-well-rehearsed lecture on watersheds and waste management, thinking I might throw up any second.”

“Hog poop is some toxic shit.”

“Very funny, boss. Anyway, that was my date with Mr. Wonderful. You know what I think?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I think that even though it’s not fair, that love is for young people. You know?”

“That’s pretty depressing, don’t you think?”

“No, yes, maybe . . . but it sure seems that way. I mean, I have two almost grown daughters, spider veins in my ankles and little wrinkles around my eyes. I know that I’ve got mileage and that should be okay, but it’s not.”

“Of course it’s okay! What kind of a mood are you in?”

“Look, Brad, on the rare occasion when I meet someone who is available, I look at every possibility and try to see myself in that person’s life. But you get to a certain age and your own world is already so orchestrated, there’s almost no room for somebody else and their whole load of stuff. And, you know what else? I’m tired.”

“Tired? Tired from what? One date with a tree hugger?”

“No, I’m just tired of the whole mental exercise of sifting through other people’s minds and struggling to see myself with them or that I’m like them—it just never works. For me, anyway.”

“Well, Robert actually has a woman he wants me to meet. She’s supposed to be gorgeous.”

“She’s probably just out of high school.”

“Oh, come on . . .”

“So, call her up!”

“Sure. Easy for you to say. Loretta’s not even cold yet!”

“True, but listen, you hadn’t lived with her in ages. You’re entitled to some female companionship. If you’ve got the strength.”

“I’ve got the strength, Miss Jersey, thank you. But, Alex just got here and I think it would upset him, you know? I’m just going to wait for a little while, that’s all. Besides, I’m not ready for women yet and this may sound funny, but I don’t think Alex realizes that Loretta is really gone. And in a little ironic twist, here I am divorcing her for adultery and she dies before I have the pleasure. There’s just no justice in the world anymore.”

“Boy, you can say that again.”

There was a long pause in our conversation then. I was thinking that my girls probably still viewed being in South Carolina as a temporary vacation. Moving into the boathouse would alter that for sure. When I looked at Brad again I sensed that he was confiding things that perhaps he would not have told someone else. I was getting to know him and we were becoming friends.

“I think losing parents is hard enough when you’re our age, you know? I mean, Alex is young and Loretta didn’t exactly die easily. You know, it was pretty tragic.”

“Yeah, tragic for her and for her father. I couldn’t tell you what Alex is thinking for the life of me.”

“Well, boys are notorious for not talking about what’s bugging them. I mean, that’s what they say, anyway.” I waited a moment before speaking again. “About boys. Have you heard from her father?”

“He calls Alex every night.”

“That’s intense.”

“Yeah.” Brad breathed a deep sigh. “Yeah, it is.”

Brad got up to leave and begin his workday.

“Hey, Brad?” I said. “Maybe you should have Alex see a therapist for grief counseling? I mean, it’s done all the time . . . very normal and all that.”

“Maybe in New Jersey,” he said.

“Oh, fun-gool!”

“Um, that’s Italian for something very bad. . . .”

“So what? And, how do you know?”

“I’m Italian.”

“Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“I became Italian when I moved to South Carolina—at least in my brains. I decided they have a better attitude. You know, about life.”

“You’re a little odd, you know. Anyway, my sister knows all these doctors and if you decide a counselor might be a good thing . . .”

“I just want to get Alex settled in school. When does it start?”

“August the eleventh.”

“That’s soon! By the way . . .” Brad reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to me. “Here’s the name of his guidance counselor at Lovett . . . you had mentioned you might . . .”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll call him first thing. I’m taking Gracie in to register at Wando next Tuesday at noon—want me to pick up Alex?”

“Sure. You know what? Let’s go together—Alex would probably feel better if I’m there too.”

“You’re right. I’ll arrange it.”

Needless to say, the weekend was crazy on Shem Creek. Countless boats decorated with red, white and blue balloons and crepe paper, and of course American flags, floated by the restaurant and the take from the sunset bar broke all records. That night on the sunset deck, you could see fireworks from every direction, and although my feet were aching, the display was so fabulous that I was exhilarated and giddy every time another blast of fire and color would explode in bursts and waterfalls all over the dark sky. We all were. Brad was up top with O’Malley and while none of us were the types who would wax patriotic, all of us were misty-eyed by the depth of the meaning behind the holiday.

O’Malley said, “Thank God for the Chinese!”

To which Brad added, “Thank God for our forefathers!”

I just remember nodding my head and continuing to take drink orders.

I was exhausted by Tuesday, but ready and determined to do battle again. One of the wonderful things about public schools was that they were very accommodating. I had set everything up at Wando in less than five minutes, including an appointment with a guidance counselor for Gracie’s curriculum planning. Getting the copy of Alex’s transcript was more problematic.

The gargantuan endowment funds of private schools landed me on the other end of yet another experiment in technology. First, I had the pleasure of listening to an electronic laundry list of what extension I wanted and none of them fit the bill. I redialed the number and sat on hold for so long that I forgot who I was calling, who it turned out was not there anyway. I finally got somebody in the guidance department who said Brad had to sign a release form and then . . . I mean, the whole world had become so suspicious . . . I mean, were they really worried about identity theft of a fifteen-year-old boy? Probably.

I was trying to think about my blessings and finally finished preparing the bank deposit from last night’s business when a flashy blonde appeared at the reception area with an old geezer who was at least twice her age. Not only was she flashy, but she was buxom. Now, I’m not an expert in plastic surgery, but I would venture a guess that she was something of a graduate from a spot on
Extreme Makeovers
.

We were not open yet, but the front door was, so occasionally someone would wander in, looking lost. It probably wasn’t a good idea to leave the door wide open until I returned from the bank, just for security reasons. We took in a large amount of cash every night, especially at the bar because some patrons didn’t want their watering habits to show up on their credit card bills.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi!” she said and stuck out her hand. “We’re getting married Labor Day weekend, that Saturday—just a small wedding and my fiancé and I—um, this is Douglas Lutz. . . .”

When the old man smiled, twenty years fell away from his face. He was mad for her. I thought she said her name was Lucy.

“So, Doc and I thought it might be fun to have a little dinner reception here.”

“Sure!” I said. “What’s the date?”

“Saturday, August thirtieth.”

“How many people will you be?”

“Oh! I think around twenty to twenty-five. It’s not exactly our first waltz around the barn, if you know what I mean?”

I just nodded my head and thought, well, there’s hope for everyone.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, “why don’t y’all just look over the menu for a minute.”

Shoot, I thought, Louise usually handled private parties. I had zero experience with special events. But how complicated could it be? I decided I would show them around and give them a menu to take home. Then I would call Louise and find out what to do.

I was on my knees, putting the bank deposit sack back in the safe because I had decided to go to the bank after the bride and groom left or maybe on the way to Wando High School, when Gracie and Alex bounced in. Gracie’s bounce nearly scared the liver out of me.

“Hi, Mom! Waddup?”

“Good Lord, honey! I didn’t even hear you come in!” I threw the sack in the safe, which was hidden in the closet. I turned the key to lock it and returned it to its hiding place on the top of the door frame. “What time is it?”

“We’re early, but I figured if you weren’t busy maybe we could go get this root canal over with. Besides, I’m starving to death.”

“Well, we have an appointment. We can’t just go walking in. Go get yourself a crab cake or something.”

“You want a crab cake?” Gracie said, turning to Alex, who was leaning against the door to the office, exuding young masculine scent, which I could not have caught a whiff of in a thousand years but which had Gracie thoroughly intoxicated. “I mean, we should eat something before we go sign our lives away to this redneck hell.”

“Sure,” he said.

“It’s not hell. Hell is no air-conditioning and I’ll be about ten minutes—just finishing up with a bride and groom.”

“Okay,” Gracie said. “Come on, Alex.”

“Okay.”

This Alex kid may have been short on conversation but he was way long on dangerous good looks. And although Gracie was still taking cheap shots at the south in general, the arrival of Alex had mitigated her pain.

I found Lucy and Douglas out on the dock. There they were, just as I was every day, completely mesmerized by the continuous rhythm of Shem Creek’s dance. They were holding hands and cooing like young lovers. They were thoroughly adorable. A shrimp boat was attempting to tie up at the far end of the docks. Several small fiberglass boats were motoring by, barely observing the
no wake
rule. Pelicans and seagulls swooped all around while others stood guard on the pilings. It was a gorgeous morning with a sky so blue and the air so sweet with salt and breeze it would have lifted the heart of the worst curmudgeon. Even mine.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” I said.

“I was just saying to Doc that I could feel my soul flying all around, like it had thousands of eyes and just wanted to take it all in. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I do. Everything here is so alive, right?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, “like us.”

I smiled at that. “Sometimes I try to memorize it and I can’t hold it all in my head. When it rains and it’s overcast for a few days, I forget how everything just sort of pulsates when it’s clear because it’s all moving, all the time—the water, the birds, the sun—well, it really is something.”

“It’s just what we wanted,” Doc said, “someplace unpretentious, lively and romantic all at the same time. And, slightly Italian. No better spot that I know of.”

“Me either,” I said. “Tell me. If you don’t think I’m being nosy, how did y’all meet? I love stories about brides and grooms.”

“I’m marrying the girl next door,” Doc said. “Well, actually, she lives next door to my daughter on the Isle of Palms.”

“I went over with a casserole the day she moved in and we met. I took one look at him and my heart just started
raaacing!
”

“See? Southern hospitality!” I said. “You never know, right?”

“Yep! It’s a good thing I had something in my freezer!” Lucy said and brushed Doc’s hair away from his forehead. “And we’ve been together ever since!”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, handing them a card with my name and phone number and also Louise’s name. “Louise will be back tomorrow, I hope. Anyway, if you’ll give me your phone number . . .”

We exchanged contact information and talked about a few other things like flowers, a wedding cake and the frozen margaritas Lucy wanted to serve for sentimental reasons.

“I know you don’t have the final say-so on this,” Lucy said, “but Doc and I were just talking and we thought it would be so romantic if we could use the roof bar for our dinner. You see, that’s how we fell in love . . . on my widow’s walk where we used to go to watch the sunset, gosh . . . remember?”

She raised her chin to Doc, who looked down at her like Romeo to her Juliet.

“All those blender drinks? I sure do, kitten,” he said.

“And don’t you think we should have Italian food?”

“Whatever you want, kitten.”

What could I say? Meow? We were not truly an Italian restaurant, but we could fake that part. And, I knew that Brad would kill me if I let them take over the sunset deck for their dinner, because that was the cash cow of all times. It easily held a huge crowd and that would be a lot of money to flush in the name of love. So I weaseled around with my answer.

“You know what? I can’t commit for that because of the size of the space, but let me ask. Maybe we could work out something special for a cocktail hour and then dinner downstairs with a little privacy. Maybe if we book it before the regular dinner hour begins? I don’t know. But I’ll ask.”