Twice in a Lifetime (11 page)

“Let’s back up. All right, yes, I did say that I needed a client of my own.” His eyes darkened with pain. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting to succeed here. I have Lindsay to consider.”

His voice roughened, twisting her heart against her will. “My daughter doesn’t have anybody else. I took a

chance, moving here. I have to make it work.”

She didn’t want to sympathize. Didn’t want to understand. “My grandmother—”

“Miz Callie came to me.” He said the words evenly, as if to give equal weight to each of them. “Georgia, I did not try to convince her to do this. She had already decided exactly what she wanted. She laid it all out for me.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Do you really think I could talk her into anything she didn’t want to do?”

“No.” Her voice was small when she admitted it. “I guess not. But I thought you were doing this because you wanted to help her. Because you liked her. Not because you thought her influence would establish you here.”

“I do like her. How could I help it? Her kindness to Lindsay is enough to put me in her debt.”

The passion in his voice moved her. “Even so…” “Even so, I hope doing this job for her will bring me

new clients. But from what you’ve said, it might have exactly the opposite effect.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She’d jumped to conclusions about his motives without thinking it through, maybe because she’d had enough of men who’d sacrifice anything or anyone for the sake of success. Shame colored her cheeks. “I hope that won’t happen. For all of our sakes. I’m sorry, Matt. I reacted without thinking.” Her cheeks were

hot, and she had to force herself to meet his eyes.

He didn’t speak for a minute, though he looked as if words hovered on his tongue. With his hand closed around her wrist, he must feel the way her pulse was racing.

“It’s okay,” he said finally, and she had the feeling that wasn’t what he’d intended to say. “I hope that, too, but either way, I’m in this to the finish. No matter what happens.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

He held her hand for a moment longer. Then he let it go slowly, maybe reluctantly. He picked up the chairs.

“We’d better go in.”

As she followed him toward the house, she knew that something had changed between them again, like the sand shifting under her feet when she stood in the waves on the ebbing tide. She knew how to keep her balance in the surf. But this change—she didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid or both.

Window panes rattled as the wind whipped around the beach house. Georgia leaned against the sliding glass door, shielding her eyes with her hand as she peered out into the dark.

“It sounds as if there’s rain coming.” She couldn’t see much, but she recognized the signs.

“A line of thunderstorms is coming through, according to the weather.” Miz Callie looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “I already drew some water and got the candles out, just in case it gets bad.”

Miz Callie believed in being prepared, like most of the old-timers. The island had seen its share of bad weather over the years.

Thunder boomed overhead, and her grandmother put the paper aside. “I’ll get the candles…”

“I’ll do it.”

Georgia waved her back to her padded rocking chair and hurried into the kitchen. The candles, stuck into a motley assortment of holders, sat on the counter, along with a pack of matches. Georgia carried three into the living room, setting one on the table next to Miz Callie and the others on the mantel.

As she did so, lightning cracked in a spectacular display over the water, lighting up the beach for a split second. Then the power went off.

“That was fast.” Georgia groped her way back to her

grandmother, fumbled with the matches and lit the candle. She made quick work of lighting the other two, welcoming their soft yellow glow.

“Thank you, sugar.” Miz Callie patted the overstuffed hassock next to her, and Georgia sat down. “There now, all safe and cozy.”

A roll of thunder sounded, so loud it seemed to rattle the dishes in the cupboard. Georgia moved a little closer to her grandmother. “This is just like old times. How many summer thunderstorms have we waited out in here?”

Her grandmother chuckled softly. “Remember when Amanda hid under the bed?”

“I sure do. But it’s probably not safe to remind her of that anymore.” The polished, efficient Amanda she’d lunched with bore little resemblance to the terrified child who’d refused to come out from under the bed in a storm. “This house stood through Hugo. I don’t reckon

anything short of that will bother it.”

Sorrow touched her grandmother’s face for a moment, and Georgia knew she was thinking about her own family home. Before Hurricane Hugo, it had been on the lot beyond where Matt’s rental house stood.

“I’m sorry. You lost so much in Hugo.”

“Plenty of people did.” Miz Callie patted her hand. “I just hope Lindsay’s not frightened. Maybe I should have warned Matt to have some candles ready.”

“I’m sure he’s capable of handling the situation.” The mention of his name brought back those moments on the beach. She wrapped her fingers around her wrist. She could feel his grasp, see the play of emotion in his eyes.

Miz Callie leaned back in the rocker, her gaze on Georgia’s face. “I s’pose it’s too soon, but I can’t help but wonder…” “Nothing new to report yet. Matt is searching the military records as a starting point.” She needed to do her

part—to get Miz Callie talking in hopes that more would emerge. “If there’s anything else you can remember about that time, it might help.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” She took something from the bookcase behind her. “I had a look around today, and I found this.”

Georgia took the book she held out—an old leather album, its cover watermarked. She opened it carefully. The brittle pages cracked at a touch, and some of the photos had washed out so much that they were indeci-pherable, especially by candlelight.

“They’re in a bad way, I’m afraid.” Miz Callie touched a faded picture. “That’s my mamma and my little sister, your Great-aunt Lizbet. Mamma and Daddy bought me that little Brownie camera for my birthday, and I was so proud of it. Never stopped taking pictures that whole summer.”

“The summer Ned left?” A little shiver of excitement went through her.

Her grandmother looked surprised. “That’s right, it must have been, because that’s the year I got the camera, 1942. We had a crab boil on the beach, I remember, but we had to have it before sunset because of the blackout.”

“Blackout?”

“Georgia Lee, don’t tell me you didn’t know there were blackout regulations during the war.” Miz Callie shook her head at such ignorance.

Georgia flushed. “I knew. I just didn’t think about it affecting your having a fire on the beach, I guess.” It seemed incredibly long ago to her, but obviously not to her grandmother.

“Goodness, child, that was crucial, because of the U-boats. German submarines,” she added, as if doubting Georgia would know the term.

“You mean you were actually in danger here?”

Her grandmother’s gaze misted. “They sank ships along the coast from here up to Cape Cod, so I’ve heard. Grown-ups would stop talking about it when we came into the room. But we knew. We talked about what we’d do if the Germans landed. Your granddad was going to fight them off with his slingshot, as I recall.”

Miz Callie’s words made it all too real. Her skin prickled, and she rubbed her arm. “I can’t imagine living through that.”

“You mustn’t think we were frightened all the time. Land, no. We played on the beach just like we always did—a whole crew of us kids. We just weren’t allowed to roam as far as we wanted—there was a gunnery range from Station 28 all the way up to Breech’s Inlet, and of course they expanded Fort Moultrie down at the other end.”

She tried to picture it. “You were living right in the middle of a military installation, it sounds like. I’m surprised your folks stayed on the island.”

“Pride, I guess. My daddy used to say that Hitler wasn’t going to chase him out of his house.” Miz Callie smiled, as if she could still hear her daddy’s voice. “Folks took it personally, you know. I guess that’s why the family was so upset with Ned.”

“Did you know that at the time?”

Her grandmother turned a page in the album, frowning down at it. “I think maybe us kids knew something was going on, even if we didn’t know what it was. We were in and out of each other’s houses, and we’d hear things. I remember Ned’s daddy being in an awful mood, it seemed.” She pointed to a faded photo. “There we are— the whole bunch of us.”

The photo was a five by seven, so it was a little easier

to see than the others. Kids in swimsuits, the front row kneeling in the sand. She picked out Miz Callie and Granddad without any trouble. She put her finger on a tall figure in the second row. “Is that Ned?”

Miz Callie nodded. “Fine-looking boy, wasn’t he? And there’s my cousin Jessie, and the Whitcomb boys—my, I haven’t thought of them in years.”

This might be exactly what she needed, and there seemed no way to ask the question except to blurt it out. “Are any of them still around?”

“My sister Lizbet, down in Beaufort, you know that.” She touched the young faces with her finger. “I don’t know about the Whitcomb boys. They were good friends of your granddad and Ned, but they moved away to Atlanta, I think. Tommy Barton—he was Ned’s pal. He got into the army that next winter, died somewhere in the South Pacific.”

All those young faces, their lives encapsulated in a few brief sentences. Georgia glanced at her grandmother, another question on her lips. But she stifled it. Miz Callie had tears in her eyes, and the finger that touched the photo was trembling.

Georgia clasped her hand. “Will you let me borrow the album for a few days? Adam has a scanner, and I know he’d be glad to scan the pictures into his photo program on the computer. He can probably restore them, at least a bit. Okay?” Miz Callie nodded, leaning back in the chair. “You do that, sugar. We’ll look at them again. Maybe I’ll remember

somethin’ useful.”

“You’ve already helped.” She rose, bending to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “We’ll work it out. I promise.”

Chapter Eight

M
att hesitated on the dock at the Isle of Palms Marina, watching as Georgia stepped lightly onto the deck of a small boat. When he didn’t immediately follow her, she looked at him, eyebrows lifting.

“Is something wrong?”

“You’re sure you know how to drive this thing?” He grabbed a convenient piling, using it to steady himself as he negotiated the transfer to the boat. Falling into the water wouldn’t do a thing for his confidence level.

“Positive.” Her face relaxed in a grin. “Trust me, Adam wouldn’t let me take his boat if he weren’t sure I knew how to handle it. He taught me himself, and he was a tough taskmaster. He had me in tears more than once, but I learned.”

“Adam is the brother that’s in the Coast Guard, isn’t he?” He slid onto the seat, hoping he could get through this day without making a fool of himself.

“They both are.” She bent over a locker and came up with two life vests, tossing him one. “But sometimes I think Adam has saltwater in his veins. It’s not enough for him that his work is on the water—his play has to be, too.”

She moved to the seat behind the controls, tugging her ball cap down over her forehead. With white shorts showing off her tanned legs and that well-worn Cooper River Run T-shirt, she didn’t look much like the Atlanta businesswoman he’d originally thought her to be.

“Do you want me to do anything?” Assuming there was anything here he could do.

“Just sit still.” Moving with easy grace, she cast off the lines. In a moment the boat pulled away from the dock.

Georgia concentrated on steering them through the maze of boats in the marina, and he concentrated on her, impressed by her competence. He just liked watching competence. This wasn’t about Georgia.

Lying to yourself doesn’t help, he thought. When Miz Callie had suggested he have a look at the island property, he’d quickly agreed. Then he’d discovered that her plans included having Georgia take him there by boat.

If he could have found a way out, he’d have taken it. Georgia Bodine was too disturbing to his peace of mind. Every time he thought he had a grip on who she was and how to deal with her, she showed him another aspect of herself. And he was beginning to like all aspects of Georgia

Lee Bodine.

This trip was business, he reminded himself. All he had to do was keep it on that plane, and he’d be fine.

Georgia didn’t speak again until they were clear of the marina and out into the channel. Then she gave him a questioning glance. “You don’t seem very comfortable on the water. I always thought there was a lot of boating in the Boston area.”

Not in his neighborhood, where an open fire hydrant provided the most water he’d seen. “I never got into it, unless you count the swan boats on the Common.”

“I’ve seen pictures of them. They look like fun.”

“Not like this.” He lifted his face to the breeze. “I didn’t realize we had to go by boat to see your grandmother’s property.”