Swimming Lessons (20 page)

The three women swung their head to look at her, their eyes round with surprise.

“I beg your pardon,” said Flo.

“I said I’ll buy the house,” Emmi replied.

“Emmi,” Cara said with a hint of warning in her voice. “Careful what you’re offering. Are you aware of the value of Flo’s house?”

“Of course. I squeezed out an exorbitant price for my beach house from Tom and have money in the bank from the sale of my house in Atlanta. I can afford it.”

“But do you want this old house?” Flo asked, searching Emmi’s bright green eyes for signs of jest, or worse, pity.

“Flo, I’ve
always
wanted it,” Emmi replied plainly. “Don’t you know that? When we were kids, Cara and I both used to wish we lived here and dreamed of owning it someday. Now, I can!” She turned to Cara with a tilted chin and a wry smile of victory on her face.

“You mean you’d have bought this house before?” Flo asked, incredulously.

“Honey, if I’da known sooner, we’d be in escrow by now.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“This is like an answer to a prayer. I’ve sold my house and have been looking for a new place. It’s been very hard to make this transition. But never in a million years did I think you’d ever part with this house.”

“But, where will
you
live?” Toy asked Flo.

Flo opened her mouth to sputter something pat like she’d find someplace, most likely in Mt. Pleasant, but Emmi’s voice interrupted.

“Flo will still live here, of course.”

“Here?” Flo responded, dazed. “Here in this house?”

“Don’t you want to stay in your house?” Emmi asked.

“Well, yes, of course. I…I’m just in a state of shock. I can scarcely believe this offer, that’s all.” She reached out to take a sip of her wine. She felt the red liquid flow down her throat, warming her senses. Feeling a bit more composed, she looked again at Emmi, who was engaged in a heated exchange of whispers with Cara. Something about being sure and not getting hopes up.

“Emmi,” she said, interrupting them. They both turned their heads to give her their full attention. Sitting side by side, Cara with her glossy dark hair and Emmi with her flame colored hair, she could still see the bickering, laughing, joking eight-year-old best pals. Her own face softened, remembering.

“You’re an angel to make this offer,” she began. “An angel of Mercy, and I appreciate it. But, offering to buy my house is one thing. Offering to take me in is quite another. I’ve always managed to take care of myself and I’m not so old that I can’t continue. Most of all, I can’t take advantage of your affection for me, or this house.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Emmi replied in her matter-of-fact tone. “And, Flo, I may be taking advantage of you. Let me lay my cards on the table.” She spread her palms down on the table. “Simply put, I can’t afford to buy this house and keep up the expenses on it all on my lonesome, either. The money I received in my settlement and the house sales is all I have in the world. I need to plan ahead so my money won’t run out. The last thing I want to do is become a burden to my children or, God forbid, lean on Tom. So, here’s what I’m thinking.

“I’ll buy the house from you at a fair market price determined by an independent appraiser. Then I’ll set up a rent you can pay me that’s fair. That way, you’ll have
enough in the bank to live comfortably on and not have to move. And I’ll have the help I need to keep up the payments. Plus, it’s nice to have someone else in the house, isn’t it? I’ve never lived alone and after these past few months, I’ve decided I don’t like it. It gives me the creeps and I wake up at every bump in the dark.”

“It just seems too easy.”

“Life doesn’t always have to be hard, does it?” Emmi asked. “I’ve done hard, and frankly, easy is better. Aw, Flo, the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s not just a good plan, it’s a great plan. Please, say yes.”

“Best of all,” Cara added, “I won’t be losing my two best friends.”

“And the turtle team won’t be decimated in one season,” Toy said with a wry grin.

“In that case,” Flo said, “yes.”

Flo lifted the bottle of Chianti and poured more wine into the glasses, noting as she did that Cara hadn’t touched a drop of hers. Her hand was shaking a bit from all the excitement of the moment and she spilled a few drops. She raised her glass for a toast. Her gaze swept the women at the table and for once, she was short of words.

“What do I say? My heart’s too full.”

“To my new house,” Emmi opened, raising her glass.

“To my new neighbor,” Toy said, glass in the air.

Cara topped them all with, “Here’s to the turtle team!”

The women raised their glasses, feeling the bond in the clinking glasses. As they sipped, Flo cast a surreptitious glance at Cara, noting that though she brought the glass to her mouth, she barely let her lips touch the liquid.

Flo set her glass down on the table. The color had returned to her cheeks and she felt for the first time in
weeks that her feet were on terra firma once more. She took a deep breath, relieved, as a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

“Emmi, I just wish you’d have told me this plan of yours earlier. I haven’t slept a wink in weeks, worrying about selling this place. My mother has been haunting me.” She let her gaze slide to Toy and added with a sly smile, “It’s amazing what wonders one sees sitting out on the porch late at night. Oh, the things that go bump in the night.”

Toy’s cheeks flamed and her pale blue eyes widened with wondering what possibly Flo could be referring to.

Flo chuckled, pleased that her comment had the desired effect of veering the attention away from herself. As she walked to the stove to set the pasta boiling, she heard behind her the relentless questions and ribbing of Cara and Emmi as they pried information from a reluctant, red faced Toy.

Medical Log “Big Girl”

I
t was a Sunday morning in the dog days of August and Toy indulged by sitting at the kitchen table lazily cutting coupons from the
Post
and
Courier.
She was exhausted and looked forward to a morning she could keep her jammies on and linger over a second cup of coffee instead of shooting out of the house in a blaze that wouldn’t snuff until she came home again in the evening.

Kiwi, her calico cat, came in the room to meow piteously at her feet for breakfast. “Okay, okay,” she crooned, stroking the silky fur. She put an end to the rising crescendo of meows by placing a bowl of kibble before the calico. While Kiwi was eating, Toy measured coffee beans in the grinder then started a fresh pot of coffee. With a little more time this morning, she skipped the cold cereal and put strips of bacon in the cast iron fry pan. Soon the air was filled with its tantalizing aroma, luring Little Lovie into the kitchen, her stuffed turtle tucked under her arm, hair askew, and yawning.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

No reply.

Little Lovie climbed into a chair and sat, blinking
heavily, before the table. From the stove, Toy turned the bacon and watched her daughter slowly awaken like a flower blossoming in slow motion. It took a while for her senses to absorb the rays of sunshine and the smells of bacon and the world at large.

“May I be excused?” She was already climbing from her chair.

“If you eat two bites of bacon, you can watch your cartoons.”

Lovie stuffed the bacon into her mouth and tore off to the living room to watch her television. It was a special luxury for Lovie to stay in her pajamas and not be rushed to school or to Flo’s house in the morning. She yawned and lazily put the remnant of the bacon into her mouth, savoring the peace.

It didn’t last. The doorbell rang, startling the cat. As Kiwi disappeared around the corner, Toy glanced at the clock, annoyed at the interruption of her relaxed morning. She wasn’t even dressed. Who could be calling at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning?

“Mama, there’s a man at the door.”

Toy grabbed a towel and drying her hands hurried into the front door. “Honey, I told you not to answer the d….”

Her voice vanished. She stopped dead in her tracks and felt her blood draining from her face. The seconds ticked on like hours as she stared.

He didn’t look a lot different than when he’d left her nearly six years ago. He still looked sexy in a rough, cowboy kind of way. His dark hair was chin length and tucked behind his ears, only now he had a small gold loop in one lobe. She didn’t care much for the long sideburns that traveled down the lines of his cheekbones like daggers. He wore dark jeans that belted with a large
silver buckle and ended at a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. His brown T-shirt bore the image of a skull and crossbones swathed in fire, and over this was a thick black leather jacket that had seen a lot of wear. Around his neck was a leather strip holding a silver ring.

Her gaze swept across him, then landed at his eyes. Those sad, soulful eyes still had the power to hold her.

“Hello, Toy.”

“Darryl.”

She wasn’t sure if she actually spoke the name or not. Her mind screamed at her to slam the door in his face, or to grab her child and run from the back door. But she felt rooted to the spot.

Darryl made the first move. He crossed the threshold.

Toy instinctively took a step back but clutched the door handle, barring his entry. He stopped awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was thick and raspy.

“I came to see you.”

“What for?”

“What for? What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. It’s been over five years. I stopped looking for you a long time ago.”

“Well, I ain’t never stopped thinking about you.”

They stared at each other in the thick silence that comment inspired.

“Mama, who is that man?” asked Little Lovie. She was standing by the door, her hand holding the flipper of her stuffed turtle.

Once again, she froze. What should she tell her?

Darryl cocked his head, his eyes piercing into hers.

“He’s just someone I know,” she replied over her shoulder. Then lowering her voice she said, “Darryl,
there’s nothing much for us to talk about. So why don’t you just go?”

Darryl’s gaze traveled to Little Lovie. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“No, we don’t.” She blurted out the words.

“Your mama, she’s just funnin’ you,” he said in an easy voice to Lovie. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Little Lovie shook her head.

Darryl leaned close to Toy and said in a low whisper, “She favors you.”

“Darryl, don’t.”

“What’d you tell her about me?”

“That her daddy was in California,” she hissed in a whisper. “That’s a world away to a child. Like France.”

He snorted and stroked the small beard at the edge of his chin. “Well, least you didn’t tell her I was dead.”

“You might well of been.”

“I’ve come back and I’m here now.”

“It’s too late….” Toy said in warning against the conviction in his tone. But inside she knew it was like watching a twister coming, swirling fast and carrying in it all manner of old trash. It was a powerful force and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Darryl turned to Lovie. “Well, what’s your name, honey?”

“Lovie.”

Darryl slanted an amused glance at Toy, telling her he realized that she’d named the child after old Mrs. Lovie Rutledge. “That’s a right pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Thank you.” Lovie was eyeing him with intense curiosity.

Darryl turned back to Toy. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s only mannerly.”

Resigned, Toy dropped her hold on the door and walked over to Little Lovie and placed her hand instead around her daughter’s shoulders in a protective gesture. “Come on in,” she said without invitation in her voice.

“I appreciate it.”

“Do you want some coffee?”

“I’d kill for a cup. Black. No sugar.” He paused. “Same as always.”

The implied intimacy of that statement rattled her nerves. While pouring the coffee in the galley kitchen she kept close watch on her daughter in the front room. Darryl sat on one of the big upholstered chairs before the picture window and was looking out at the ocean, seemingly oblivious to the child leaning against the opposite chair, her eyes glued to him.

Of all the times she used to dream that Darryl would come back to meet his child…Today, Lovie was utterly disheveled. Her hair was unbrushed and her pajamas wrinkled and blotted with spots of juice. A coloring book and crayons littered the floor in front of the television that was still blaring. The beeps, bops and animated music of the cartoons sounded macabre in the importance of the moment.

Toy looked down at her cotton camisole and thin pajama bottoms. She knew she looked a fright with her hair loosely tied back in a pony tail. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth. Why didn’t he come calling when they looked decent, she thought? Then she scolded herself for caring one whit how they looked for the man who unceremoniously dumped them at a shelter and never looked back.

Carrying the cup in one hand, she walked into the living room, detoured to flick off the television and then gave him the coffee with a thrust that bordered on rudeness.

“Thanks,” he drawled with appreciation and promptly took a swallow. “Best cup of coffee I’ve had in days.”

Toy just bet that was true.

He took another sip while she stood awkwardly clasping and unclasping her hands. Then with another resigned sigh, she sat down in the chair opposite him.

“Isn’t this cozy,” he said, eyes crinkling. “The three of us sitting together.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

He chuckled and put the cup down on the wood table. She reached over and thrust a coaster at him.

Darryl’s brow rose at the gesture, but he took the coaster without comment and put it under the cup.

“Aren’t you going to take off your jacket? It’s kind of warm for leather.”

“Okay then.”

He was being too agreeable and it made her nervous. He slid out of his jacket revealing slender yet muscled arms. They were heavily tattooed, a signal of his wild past.

“I’ll hang it up.” She began to rise.

“Don’t bother. I’ll just set it here on the back of the chair.”

“Suit yourself.”

After laying the coat beside him he picked up his cup again and took a sip while his gaze traveled across the room. “Nice place you got here.”

She saw the room as he did, saw the charm and pared-down elegance that defined Miss Lovie’s distinctive Southern style. It wasn’t that the room was showy—just the opposite. The modest cottage reflected her personal, confident taste. Outdoors on the veranda, under a pale blue ceiling, wicker chairs and a rocker said,
come on out
and sit a spell
. It was the kind of place folks like Darryl and she used to dream about.

“It’s not mine.”

“It’s that old lady’s, I know. Where is she?”

“Miss Lovie passed on, God rest her soul.”

“Really? So you live alone here?”

Toy saw the speculation ignite in his eyes and immediately set up her guard. “I only rent here. For the time being. From Cara. It’s her house now.”

Darryl’s eyes hardened. “Oh, yeah.
Her
.” He rose to stand, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Listen, I know I busted in on you unawares. It’s a lot to take in. Tell you what. I meant to just stop by and invite you out to dinner. You and Lovie, of course.”

The invitation took her by surprise. She stammered, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is,” he urged in an easy drawl. “We can have a nice meal, catch up some. You can pick the restaurant.”

She took a breath. “I…I suppose dinner couldn’t hurt.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about Shem Creek? Lovie can look at the boats and the dolphins.”

“No, not Lovie. Not this time.”

“Mama…” Lovie cried out in disappointment.

“I said no.” Her tone brooked no disagreement.

Darryl pointed playfully at Lovie and said, “You just wait, pumpkin. I’ll take you out another time, when your mama says it’s okay. You can wear your best dress.”

“Ethan calls me pumpkin.”

Darryl’s face stilled. “Who’s Ethan?”

“If you’re going to start in on that, we can say goodbye right here and now,” Toy told him.

He understood that she meant it and shrugged. “Hey, no problem. Shem Creek it is, then. I’ll make a reservation. How about six?”

“I reckon that’ll do.”

“Don’t forget, now,” he said and tilted his head with a smile of promise.

“I won’t.” How could she forget, she thought as she woodenly followed him across the room and opened the door? He stepped close to her and she stiffened, drawing back from any physical contact. He paused, then only smiled and said softly, “See you later.”

Closing the door behind him, Toy slumped against it. She was trembling and had to close her eyes. Inside, she felt ravaged, like a twister had spun off, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake.

Toy ordered coconut shrimp. Darryl had the grouper.

Not that it mattered. Her stomach felt tied up in knots and it was an effort just to swallow. Around her other couples leaned forward over their tables, sipping wine and allowing conversation to flow. Toy felt like a mannequin trying to smile and listen politely to Darryl across the table. In contrast, he wasn’t the least uncomfortable and talked like he’d never left. The wine had loosened his tongue and he went on and on about the fancy gigs he’d played in California, the record producers who’d come within a breath of signing him to a big money contract, and the big name country stars he’d opened for. He was real good at name-dropping.

Toy quietly listened, barely touching her wine, watching the shadows on Darryl’s face created by the flickering candlelight. As far as she could tell, Darryl had become a contest groupie. He’d spent the last five years
traveling around the country entering one music competition after another, winning some, losing most, scraping together enough winnings to keep on going. As long as the dream was alive, he didn’t see himself as a failure.

It struck her hard that she did. He’d always been the one with talent and brains, the great hope they’d both hitched their star to. He’d often told her how lucky she’d been to have him, and oh, how she’d believed him. Seeing him now, in the light of her own growth and experiences, she wondered how she ever could have been so naive.

And yet, he did still have his undeniable charm. His blue eyes, framed with a thick fringe of black lashes, shone in the candle light as he told his story. He leaned forward across the table.

“Do you know what’s coming to Charlotte next month? Go on. Guess.” When she shook her head, bewildered, he answered with great import, “American Idol.” He smiled and slammed his palm on the table to drive home the impact of that announcement. “Yes, ma’am. American Idol is having auditions and you know I’m going to be there.”

“That’s real nice, Darryl.”

His face fell in disappointment at her lackluster reaction. “That’s nice? Is that all you have to say? Don’t you think I can make the cut?”

“Oh, I feel sure you can. I always thought you had talent.”

He inclined his head and his gaze swept her face. “Yes, you did. I miss that, you know. Your confidence in me. It gets lonely out on the road.”

Toy drew back and did not reply.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Thank you,” she replied, her hand darting to tuck her
hair self-consciously behind her ear. She wasn’t used to compliments.

He leaned forward again and reached for her hand. “Toy, I miss you.”

She withdrew her hand and tucked it in her lap. “That’s too bad.”

Darryl’s brows rose and he dug into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. His movements caused a silver ring on a chain around his neck to slip out from his shirt.

Toy released a silent gasp when she recognized the ring as the one he’d given to her when she was seventeen and had moved into his apartment. He’d told her then that it was silver but the next one he gave her would be gold when they were married. Toy had returned the ring to him at the shelter when she’d said goodbye to him before he left for California. It stunned her to see that he’d kept it.