The Beach House (18 page)

“That’s easy for you to say. What do you know about what it’s like to be in my place? You had problems, sure, but you were rich. You went to a good school. You had chances girls like me just don’t get. You had a way out. People say things to me a lot worse than what Palmer said and I just have to take it because there’s nothing else I can do. You think you’re smart because you went to college and have an important job. But you just don’t know.”

“It doesn’t take brains or money to figure out that when a man breaks a woman’s spirit or beats the shit out of her—if he so much as raises his hand against her—it’s not love. It’s called abuse. It’s some guy wanting power and control over a woman.”

Toy bridled, jutting her chin out in defense. “Darryl isn’t like that! He’s real good to me. It only happened once and he was real sorry.”

“They’re all sorry afterward. But they do it again.”

Toy was feeling cornered and felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. “No!” She shouted out the word. “Don’t you talk about him like that. He’s nothing like your father. I love him. We’re gonna be a family. In fact, I’m fixing to call him today.” She pushed away from the table, rose clumsily and stomped from the room to go out on the porch.

Cara, watching her flee, felt guilty for arousing such defense from the girl when all she’d intended to do was warn her. She’d known a number of women at the agency who showed up to work with bruises. In time, it always affected their performance and she had to get involved and refer them to counseling so they could keep their jobs. The hardest thing to convince these women was that they didn’t deserve the violence.

Cara scratched her head and exhaled a great sigh. Though it was still quite early, she felt the need for a good stiff drink. She rose to go after Toy.

As she made her way to the porch the phone rang. Not wanting the persistent ringing to awaken her mother, she detoured to the phone in the hall, keeping her eye on Toy, who was standing with her arms wrapped militantly around her chest, looking out at the ocean.

“Hello?”

“Lovie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s Cara. Her daughter.”

“Why for heaven’s sake. Cara! It’s me! Emmi.”

Cara’s mind switched mental gears with a grinding crunch. “Emmaline Baker?”

“How many Emmis do you know on the Isle of Palms? I heard talk that you were back but you never bothered to call. What kind of friend is that?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been sick and it’s been a bit crazy here.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” she drawled. “Doesn’t matter. What are you up to today? I’d love to see you.”

Cara smiled faintly and leaned against the wall. “I’d love to see you, too.”

She conjured up a vision of Emmaline Baker the last time she’d seen her, God, twenty years ago? She was lanky, big boned, with a wide-smiling mouth. They used to call her Carly Simon’s long-lost cousin. But it was her hair that Cara always loved. Long, curly and a fiery red that Cara thought made her look like one of her wild Scottish ancestors. She had the tongue and temper to match. Emmi was smart, too. They went to different schools—Cara to Ashley Hall and Emmi to Christ Our King—and at the beginning of every summer when they came to the island they would compare report cards. Most years it was neck and neck. Though they were best friends, there was always this competition between them, in a good, edgy kind of way. Knowing that come June she’d have to compare her grades with Emmi Baker was what kept her nose to the books during the school year. What was Emmi like now, she wondered? Was she as fiery as ever? Or had age mellowed her?

“I hear you’re a Turtle Lady now.” There was a tease in her voice.

“Yep. Your mama finally roped me in. Took her thirty years, though.” They both chuckled over the line. “Remember how she made us walk the beach every morning to look for tracks?”

“I don’t know who hated it more, you or me.”

“That’s why I’m calling, actually. I spotted tracks this morning, right in front of your house.”

“We know. We saw the mother lay the eggs last night. Mama put some shells in a pile to mark the spot.”

“No kidding? Cool. Talk about beginner’s luck. I’ve been doing this for two years and I haven’t seen one yet. Those wily turtles. Is Lovie coming down to put the stakes in? The nest looks like it’s in a pretty good spot.”

“No. Mama’s not feeling well today. Tell you what. I’ll come down with the stakes and stuff and you can impress me with all you know. We could catch up.”

“It’s about time. I thought you’d been avoiding me the past two weeks but I told myself my old pal Cara wouldn’t do anything like that.” There was a pause, then she said with less bravado and more sincerity, “It’s been too long, sugar.”

“I know. Okay, I’ll be down in a flash.”

“I’ll beat you there.” She hung up before Cara could respond. It was an old game of one upmanship they used to play as kids.

Cara hung up the phone with a tightness in her throat. Emmi Baker. In all her life there was probably only one girlfriend who she’d felt was like a sister to her, who she could tell anything to and not worry about it leaking out. Someone who didn’t have to finish sentences to be understood, someone who could say it all with one glance, someone who was squarely on her side. That person was Emmaline Baker. And she couldn’t wait to see her again.

She walked out on the porch to Toy’s side, sticking her hands in her pockets as she approached. “Hi,” she said in a subdued voice.

Toy turned to face her. “Was that someone you knew?”

“Emmi Baker. We were friends growing up.”

Toy nodded, accepting that at face value. She seemed troubled and her distance was not so much the old aloofness as it was a new sadness.

“Toy, what I said earlier…I might have been a bit preachy. I’m sorry if I upset you. You’re right. I don’t know your boyfriend. I told you about my mother because I wanted you to know you aren’t alone. These things happen to a lot of women, and it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, smart or not so smart. We’re not judging. We just care about you. That’s all.”

Toy lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “That’s okay. I know you didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“You aren’t really thinking of going back to him?”

“Someday I am.” Then, glancing over her shoulder, added with less attitude, “Are you sure you want me to hang around now that you’ll be here all summer?”

Cara knew this was her chance. One word from her and Toy would leave and she’d have the house to herself and her mother. It was tempting. She looked at the girl—her protruding belly, her choppy blond hair and her kohl-lined eyes. Toy wasn’t really all that different from Cara at that age. At eighteen they were both outcasts, beaten by a man with nowhere to go. Except Cara had had her self-esteem and her stubborn determination to succeed while Toy…All Toy had was her baby and a fragile dream of a family.

“I’m very sure,” she replied. “Listen,” she added in an encouraging tone. “Emmi is going to meet me down by the turtle tracks. Something about marking the nest. Want to come? I sure don’t know what I’m supposed to bring.”

“I should stay here in case Miss Lovie wakes up. But everything you need is right there in the red bucket beside the door. Emmi will know what to do.”

“You’re quite sure? We could write Mama a note and tell her where we are.”

“I’m pretty tired myself.” She met Cara’s eyes, her expression one of utter defeat.

“Okay,” she replied, letting it ride. “Tell you what, I’ll treat us all to lunch when I get back. You pick where.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’d better get down to the beach.” She flipped on her cap and donned sunglasses, then picked up the red bucket. She stared at it in her hand and said ruefully, “I can’t believe I’m getting hoodwinked into doing this turtle stuff!”

He answered the phone on the fifth ring. “Yeah?”

“Hello, Darryl?”

There was a moment’s silence. “Who’s this?”

“It’s me.”

“Toy?”

“Of course it’s me. I thought I’d just call and see how you’re doing.”

There was a long pause during which Toy wrung the cord.

“Nice of you to call,” he said with sarcasm. Then tersely, “Where the hell are you?”

“Do you miss me?”

There was another long pause. “It’s been a long time, babe.”

She chewed her lip. “So, how are you?”

“I’m doin’ okay.”

She could tell he was mad. Was that good or bad, she wondered? “I’m doin’ okay, too. And the baby is, too. You’d be, like, shocked to see me now. I’m so big.”

“So you kept it.” It wasn’t a question. His anger was easy to hear over the wire.

“I told you I was gonna. It’s our baby, Darryl.”

“It ain’t no baby of mine. I told you that.”

“You know it is. I haven’t been with anyone but you.”

“Hey,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “Whatever. It’s your bod. Your life.”

She had to suck in her breath against the pain. “I gotta go.”

“Hold on a minute,” he said in a rush. “Toy?”

She agonized, bringing the phone back to her ear. “I’m here.”

“It wasn’t right what you did. Leaving me like that. I came home and you were gone. I mean, shit, Toy. What was that?”

“It wasn’t right for you to throw all my stuff out on the street, neither. Denise told me you did that. I didn’t even have a chance to get my things.”

“I was mad and I had a right to be. We had something real good and you went and broke it.”

“I didn’t want to! But it got too much. I was scared.”

“You were scared of me?” His voice rose.

“Not you exactly. I was scared for the baby.”

“See, that’s what I mean. That baby is coming between us. I told you this would happen and I was right. We don’t need this shit right now. You’re too young. I’m too young.”

“I’m pregnant. We can’t take it back. And don’t even say it, Darryl! I’m not getting rid of it.”

He inhaled his cigarette. She could hear him exhale a long plume. “Then that’s it, I guess.”

“I guess,” she said softly.

“Toy, baby, think what you’re doing. I’ve been going crazy these past few months, missing you. There was no reason for you to leave. You know I was sorry. I just got mad. Where are you?”

“I—I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me? What do you think I’m gonna do?”

She heard the anger building again and immediately tried to placate him. “I don’t think you’re going to do nothing. It’s what I might do. I might see you and want to come back to you.”

His voice lowered to a seductive note. “And what would be so wrong with that?”

She melted a little. “Nothing. Just not yet. I want to stay here while I’m pregnant. Then after the baby’s born, I’ll look the way I did before, you know? We can be together then.”

“That might work.”

She took heart instantly. “I know you’ll love the baby when you see it. I’ll take care of it and you won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Whoa. I told you. I’m not ready to be anybody’s father.”

“But Darryl, you
are
somebody’s father.” She heard a woman’s voice calling Darryl in the background. Gripping the phone tighter, she asked, “Who’s that?”

“Some girl.” He didn’t even try to make an excuse.

“What’s she doing there?”

“What do you think? You’re not here. Remember that. You made a choice.”

“You pig!” Seized with a jealous fury, she hung up the phone. Her breathing was erratic and she felt small pains in her belly. She took deep breaths and made circles with her fingertips along her taut abdomen. This had gone much worse than she’d imagined.

She leaned against the wall and brought her hand to her eyes. Everything was such a mess. She knew he was mad but she’d hoped he had missed her and wanted to get back together. What a laugh. How could he already be with another woman? She probably wasn’t even the first. How could she be such an idiot to think he still loved her? That’s what she got for getting involved with a player.

A moment later the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Just thought you’d like to know I have your number.”

“Darryl, you can’t call me here! You can’t come here neither, hear?”

“Don’t you go tellin’ me what I can and can’t do. You’re mine, don’t be forgettin’ that. I’ll come by when I’m good and ready. And when I do, you’re coming back home with me. Where you belong.”

“If you want me back, you’ll have to want the baby, too.”

But he hung up on her before she could finish the sentence. Her heart was pounding again as she put the receiver gently back. He always had to have the last word. And he usually came through with his threats.

She stared at the phone, chewing her lip. She didn’t feel anger anymore. Now, she felt fear.

Whenever she thought of Emmi, Cara thought of the day they’d learned about kissing under Emmi’s front porch. It was the summer after seventh grade and she and Emmi and Tom Peterson had sat on the cool earth in the dank shadowy light and played spin the bottle. She couldn’t remember who suggested the game—probably Emmi—but she vividly remembered the fierce, unspoken competition between them to get the first kiss from Tom. They both had a crush on the boy, even if he was shorter, skinnier and a year older than them. But he had dreamy eyes and a smile that showed his shiny white teeth and melted them both into pools of prepubescent desire.

Not that they really understood a lot about desire at thirteen, but they did understand kissing Tom Peterson first was a prize. They sat on the dirt in a tight circle of three, she perched on her knees, Emmi and Tom Indian style. Tom went first. It was a hot day and Cara felt beads of perspiration forming on her upper lip and brow. She gave them a hasty swipe with her forearm but kept her eyes peeled to the bottle. Round and round that Coke bottle spun. Cara held her breath and clenched her hands into tight fists on the ground. She glanced at Tom. He was looking at Emmi. With her fiery hair in pigtails high up on her head and all tied up with yellow ribbons, Cara knew that Emmi looked ten times prettier. She squeezed her fists even tighter, wishing she’d let her mom pull her own long dark hair into braids like she’d wanted to. Cara said it itched her scalp and had stubbornly insisted on letting it hang all loose and scraggly.