Мэри Элис Монро – The Beach House (страница 17)

Damn, it was the man from the bar. She knew he caught sight of her, too, because after a second his eyes crinkled in recognition and he smiled.

It was a rogue’s smile, full of tease, and she turned away sharply, the mocking laugh of the seagulls in her ears. “Of all the luck,” she muttered as she turned on her heel and headed back to the shack. Her mother and Toy were already collecting the shrimp.

“All set here?” she said, anxious to leave, pulling out her wallet.

“Your credit card is no good here,” her mother chided.

Cara pulled out some bills and laid them on the table, but her mother, with agonizing deliberation, counted out the coins from her purse to give the exact change. Cara cast a nervous glance out back. From the corner of her eye she saw the man on the boat heave himself over the side and deliberately make his way toward the ramp.

She reached into her purse to pull out another dollar. “Keep the change.” Then, linking arms with her mother, she led a hasty retreat with Toy bringing up the rear.

“I don’t see what the big hurry was all about,” her mother exclaimed, doing up her seat belt as Cara spun gravel and veered out of the parking lot.

“We don’t want to keep Palmer waiting.”

“Waiting? For heaven’s sake! It just isn’t polite to arrive right on the dot. Now you slow down a bit, Cara, and show your manners!”

Palmer Rutledge stood at the helm of his Boston Whaler, one hand firmly on the wheel of his powerboat and another wrapped around a beer as he grandly gestured, pointing out the new, expensive houses as they made their way up and down the Intracoastal Waterway. Lovie and Toy sat together on plush cushions under a canopy. Cara chose to sit at the rear in the sun. It was a lovely, sunny, splashy trip and Palmer was pulling out all the stops. Cara leaned far back on the padded deck chair, hung on to her cap and acknowledged his comments with a smiling nod.

More houses and docks bordered the winding waterway than she remembered and many more boats were cruising. When she was young, she and her friends could jump from the dock and swim across the waterway to a small hammock of land where they could stand for a bit to catch their breath before they swam back. To try that today would be as dangerous as crawling on all fours across a two-lane highway. The wakes of boats rocked them as they sped by, but it was all in good sport with lots of waves and smiles.

As beautiful as the houses and marshes were, she far more enjoyed just sitting back and enjoying the vision of her brother in his own element. Palmer was a Lowcountry boy through and through, in love with every square inch of land and every drop of water that made up this special place on God’s earth.

He’d been a restless boy. Mama had called him Palmer the Panther because of the way he prowled with a hungry look in his eyes. But he was older now and Cara thought the paunch over the rim of his Tommy Bahama trunks and the extra roundness to his cheeks attested to a certain degree of satisfaction with his life—and his penchant for biscuits and barbeque.

“Auntie Caretta, do you want some soda?”

Cara turned her head to see a prim Linnea standing wide legged before her, trying desperately to maintain her balance while serving a cold Coke in a Koozie in a ladylike fashion.

“Why, thank you, darling,” she replied, taking the soda. “You are the sweetest, most adorable hostess I’ve ever seen. And you’re doing a wonderful job. Palmer, do you see how wonderful your daughter is? Not spilling a drop? She’s like a ballerina with all this bouncing around.”

“More like a drunken sailor,” he called back.

“Daddy!”

“Only kidding, sweetheart. You know I think you’re the best.”

“My mama told me I was the hostess,” she told Cara earnestly. “Since she’s back at the house fixing dinner. Do you want anything else?”

“Just a kiss.”

The little girl obliged, leaning far over to give a bumpy kiss on her cheek, then she was back on duty. “Grandmama Lovie, do you want something cold?”

Linnea moved across the boat, holding tight to seat backs, knees, anything she could grab to keep from tumbling over as the boat sped along. The child was trying so very hard to do her job right.

Cooper was only interested in driving the boat. His small but stout frame stood rigidly near his father, his round dark eyes trained on the gears and every move Palmer made at the wheel. Sadly, Palmer was too busy shouting out his comments to the adults over the roar of the engine to pay the boy mind.

“Daddy, can I hold the wheel? Please?” he asked for the tenth time.

“Cooper, go on over to your grandmother for a spell,” Palmer shouted, shooing the boy away.

Cooper’s face fell to a scowl but he obliged, moving stiff-leggedly to sit in the shade of the awning beside Toy and Lovie. Cara watched the boy as he squirmed in his seat for a few minutes, then chuckled to herself when she saw him sneak his way back to the wheel again to stare at his father, his brown eyes pleading. It was both funny and sad for Cara to watch, remembering how Palmer used to be the same way with their father, and how Daddy, too, had shooed his son away.

Palmer, Palmer, she thought to herself. Careful what you’re doing.

The red sun was sinking into the horizon as they headed back to Charleston and the waters took on a marvelous, glassy pink hue. The powerful engine churned as they cut through the choppy waters of the harbor.

“Look, Aunt Cara. There’s Fort Sumter!” Linnea exclaimed, pointing to a small island in the middle of the entrance to Charleston Harbor from the Atlantic.

Cara smiled and nodded, having seen the historical spot a million times in the past.

Linnea moved closer in an attempt to strike up a conversation with her. “Aunt Cara, did you know the first shot of the War Between the States was fired at that fort?”

Cara opened her mouth but was too surprised to find the words to reply.

Palmer let loose a loud belly laugh and shouted, “She thinks you’re a Yankee! That’ll teach you to live up north so long.”

Lovie only smiled and nodded her head as if to say, I told you so.

“Honey pie,” Palmer said between laughs, “if your Aunt Cara’s a Yankee, then so am I.”

Linnea looked at her father with confusion. “But Daddy, she lives in Chicago.”

“All too true, darling. But she was born and raised right here in Charleston. Just like you.”

Linnea turned to look at Cara again, the wonder in her limpid blue eyes mixed with speculation as to whether Cara was to be scorned or pitied for having lost her mind and leaving the Lowcountry.

Cara knew that she’d become something of an oddity in the family, the exile who lived somewhere cold and unfamiliar to warm-blooded southerners. Someone who only came to visit when duty called, wearing clothes that were different, and preferred to stay in a hotel than with the family. She felt the distance most acutely with these children who studied her now with measured glances.

“Don’t you worry, honey,” Cara assured her niece with a wry smile. “It’s not your fault for not knowing. I left long before the Civil War.” She exaggerated the phrase that marked her as a Yankee, just to tweak her brother.

“You just keep dating yourself, sister mine,” he drawled, not missing a beat. And though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his black sunglasses, she knew they were sparkling. “But I’ll always be your older brother, our mother’s darling and superior in every way.”

Cara took the ribbing in her stride, knowing full well that this was only the appetizer portion of what was yet to come. It was his way to make light of painful subjects—and it worked. Linnea warmed up to her once the family ties were straightened out. She took a seat next to Cara as much out of curiosity as affection. Cara felt the line of her slim body bump against hers as they headed straight for the tip of the Charleston peninsula and felt a surge of affection for her young niece. It was a new experience for her and she smiled warmly, gratified when Linnea smiled back.

Everyone in the boat quieted as they drew near to the city. Cara lifted her chin and felt a stirring of pride at seeing the cluster of historical homes along the Battery that gave the city its distinction. They loomed over the high stone embankment as pretty and desirable as a line of well-bred beauties leaning over an iron balustrade. No matter how many times one saw the view, stranger and local alike never got over the thrill of viewing the city in the same manner that travelers approaching by sea had seen the city for hundreds of years. Charleston showed herself off best from the water, she thought, still smiling.

The big motor slowed and the propellers churned the waters as the boat eased into the Charleston marina. The smell of gasoline mingled with saltwater. Cara’s stomach tightened as the boat rocked.

“We’re almost home,” Linnea said. Then, pointing toward the shore, she added with a child’s boast, “Our house is right back in there.”

Cara lifted her chin to look beyond the tall masts to Bay Street and the familiar row of stately homes. Home? She drew in a long breath while her thoughts traveled the few blocks farther back in that cluster of brick, wood and iron to the house that she had grown up in. She looked to her mother and was surprised to see Lovie’s gaze upon her, a small, knowing half smile upon her lips.