The Beach House (44 page)

“Cara, when we were together at the cross,” Brett said, stroking the damp hair from her neck, “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

“Oh?”

He took her hand from his chest and played with her fingers, his brows furrowed.

“The reason I wanted to go there wasn’t just because it was the anniversary of the accident. I went to put my past to rest. I’ve made an important decision, but I was scared. I am scared. And seeing that Richard guy didn’t help. I tried to tell you this once, but you didn’t want to listen then. I hope you’re ready to listen now.”

She sensed what was hovering at his lips. Her heart rate accelerated and she was grateful the darkness masked her face. “Brett…”

He took a breath. “I love you, Cara.” He blurted it out like an admission. “It’s crazy, I know, to fall in love after all these years of swearing I never would. The only explanation I can come up with is that I was meant to fall in love with you when we were sixteen but neither you nor I were ready for it and we had to go on our separate ways before meeting up again. Now. At forty.”

It came out in a long rush, a recitation of love not memorized and practiced, but ripped from the heart. Once the words were spoken, however, he looked at her, unsure, like a little boy. “It’s Tolstoy’s bicycle again,” he added, grinning, delighted with the comparison. Then, quite quickly, his expression turned very serious. “I love you, Cara. And I want to marry you.”

Her heart stopped and she could only look back at him, speechless.

He cocked his head. “Are you shocked?”

“Totally.”

“Didn’t you see this coming?”

“I might have caught a glimpse, but I never thought…Brett, you’ve said so many times you were a loner.”

“I was wrong.”

“Were you?”

“You said the same thing about you.”

She took a breath and slipped her hand back from his. “Brett, I was right about me.”

It took a moment for him to accept what he’d just heard. The light in his eyes clouded. “What are you saying? You don’t want to get married?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet. I’m sorry.”

“I thought…”

“It’s not that I don’t love you. I do.” She rose to a sitting position, crossing her legs Indian style. Her skin was bare and she shivered in the cool night air. He reached over to grab his shirt and slip it over her shoulders. It was little gestures like this that made her love him—and made what she was about to say so hard.

“You don’t want to marry me,” she said. “I’m not easy to live with. I’m crabby before my coffee. I like to work late at night. And I’m not much fun, really. All I know how to do is work. And I’m a terrible housekeeper. My mother can tell you what an absolute pig I can be. I’m forever shrinking something in the dryer. And cook? Forget it. I burn water. Run while you can, Brett.”

“I’ve been cleaning my own house and cooking my own meals for a long time. That’s not what I’m looking for.” He reached out to put his hand around her neck and draw her face closer to his. “Why do you always have to do everything the hard way? Just say yes.”

When his lips covered hers, they were filled with hunger and need and were incredibly persuasive. She moaned and pulled back, half laughing, half crying.

“You aren’t making this any easier.”

“Good.”

It wasn’t good. It was breaking her damn heart. She raked her hands through her hair, clenching it in fists at her neck. How could she avoid breaking his?

“Do you remember when I said that Richard had offered me a job? I was a little surprised when you didn’t ask me what that job was.”

Her tone had changed and he answered in kind, drawing back. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, your instincts have always been good,” she said cautiously. “I was a little hurt that you didn’t ask.”

He moved his body to join her in a sitting position. The ribs and muscles of his chest were illuminated by the moonlight making him appear as inflexible as stone.

“Okay, I’m asking now. What did he offer you?”

“He offered me a big promotion. And the biggest lure was that it was for the account I’d worked so hard to get.
My
account. I got it—and they want me!”

“
I
want you.”

Her face fell. “I told him I’d take it.”

His face closed and he looked away. “Congratulations.”

He was the only one to offer her the accolade, but it fell flat.

“Why does this have to be so damn sad?” she argued. “We’re not breaking up. We can go on as we are. I’ll be back here a lot. And you can come to Chicago. Just because we’re not married doesn’t mean that we can’t see each other anymore.”

Brett shook his head and the finality of it frightened her. “No. That’s not good enough for me. I’ve gone too far to settle for that.”

“How can you say it’s settling? What’s wrong with what we have right now? It’s working. We both love our independence. We enjoy having our own space. Tell me, honestly, what’s the advantage of getting married? Certainly not taxes. Marriage is highly overrated if you ask me. People like you and me, we do better alone.”

“Then let me ask you this. Why are you always comparing us to famous movie couples? Mr. Allnut and Rosie. Tarzan and Jane. Those two kids on the island. They’re together because they’re stronger and happier together than apart.”

“Those are movies. That’s not real life.”

“How do you know it’s not like that in real life if you won’t give it a chance? Let me tell you something about real life. Animals come together all the time and mate for the survival of the species. Most of the time it’s just rutting. But did you ever see what happens when the male sticks around and he and the female help each other watch over the young? It does something to you because it’s so damn beautiful.”

“And rare.”

“That’s what makes it all the more precious.”

“But you forget my name is Caretta. I’m named after the loggerhead. She’s a solitary creature.”

His brow furrowed and he looked totally defeated by that argument. He reached for his clothes and climbed to his feet. She saw him step into his shorts, heard the hum of the zipper.

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep under the stars.” He slipped into his sandals and took a few steps.

“Don’t go.” When he wouldn’t stop she called out, “Why do you have to be this way?”

He stopped and turned his head angrily. “Be what way?”

“Stubborn.”

“Cara, I’m sorry if I’m not doing this right. But you’re the first and only woman I’ve ever asked to marry me and you just turned me down. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” He narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that what you say we’re so good at?”

“Wait. If I said yes—I said
if
—would you come to Chicago with me?”

“Chicago? Why would we have to go there?”

“Because I have a job there.”

“I have a business here.”

“I see. Right. So, the answer is no.”

“Cara…”

“Why is it okay for you to say no and not me?” She saw him struggling for an answer and pushed on. “Brett, why can’t we just keep going with what we have?”

“Because I can’t.”

She was so frustrated she wanted to scream. “So, you’re saying it’s got to be your way or no way?”

He looked so sad, so defeated, she wanted to weep.

“I’ve said all a man can say. And you’ve answered my question. Good night, Caretta.”

“Brett…”

She watched him walk away into the darkness. He was right. There wasn’t anything more to say. She reached out to pull the towel up over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body. The ground felt hard and lumpy. The night air was cooling quickly. All around her, the night was alive and the noises no longer seemed soft and gentle. From somewhere in the dunes she heard the scurrying and rustling of the hunted and the sharp cracking of twigs. All around her was the incessant high-pitched hum of insects. Beyond, in a booming crescendo, was the rhythmic pounding of the surf.

She slowly rose to her feet, shook out the towel, gathered her things into her bag and slipped her feet into sandals. She was beyond exhausted. The day had been too long, too much had happened. Suddenly her limbs felt as if they couldn’t make the short walk home. Nonetheless, she doubted she would sleep. It would be, she knew, the longest night of her life.

The hatchlings are carried by the North Atlantic system of gyres to the islands off West Africa where the dinner plate sized loggerheads may remain for a decade or more. When seen again along the eastern seaboard, the juveniles have grown considerably in weight and size.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T
hey named the hurricane Brendan.

Unpredictable as these storms often were, Brendan was changing course and weakening one day, gaining strength the next, causing havoc for weathermen and rattling the nerves of everyone living on the eastern coast. On the Isle of Palms, the weather was still clear but there was a new heaviness in the air, thick and expectant. Cara had spent hours waiting in long lines to buy sheets of plywood, nails, batteries, bottled water and other emergency supplies and provisions. Just in case, she told herself. Long lines of cars bearing license plates from North Carolina, Ohio, New Jersey, Illinois and other states were crawling across the connector back to the mainland.

“At least he’s still a category one,” Emmi said between pants as she helped carry a sheet of plywood to the front porch of Lovie’s house.

“But a category one is still seventy-four-miles-per-hour winds,” answered Cara, struggling with the other side of the wood. The rough edges were digging into her palms. “If it hits at high tide, we’ll get flooding.” She grunted as they reached the top step. “There’s a reason they call these the barrier islands, don’t forget.”

“I know, I know. I hate this!”

“It’s the price you pay for living in paradise, kiddo.”

“What’s the latest report? I heard at the hardware store that it’s going to go out to sea.”

“Mama and Toy are listening to the radio for updates.”

They set the heavy piece of wood down while they gathered their own strength.

“This is the last window, thank God,” Cara said, stretching her arms.

“What about the side windows?”

“We’ll just close the wooden shutters at the last minute. Otherwise it would be like living in a coffin.” Cara shuddered at the unfortunate image and looked out at the ocean for the hundredth time that day. Everything out there in the distance looked serene but a dingy gray. It was deceiving. No matter what the weather reports said, she could feel the coming storm in her bones. It was nothing she could identify, not the temperature, the wind or the humidity. It was more a heaviness in her chest that she couldn’t shake and made it hard to breathe. And it was the quiet of the birds. Even the insects were silent. The stillness was eerie.

She shook off her wariness and focused her attention on the tasks at hand. There was too much to do to dawdle. “Rest time is over. Alley-oop!” she said, grabbing hold of the sides of the plywood again.

“Why are we doing all this work now?” Emmi complained as she investigated a long white scratch down her arm. “If it misses us, we’ll just have to take it all down.”

“Consider it insurance. If this is what it takes to strike a bargain with the gods, it’s worth it. Come on, now. Just one more. Lift on the count of three. One…two…three.” They hoisted the plywood over the front window, their muscles straining while Cara moved quickly to hammer nails into the corners. She slumped against it when she was finished. “There, that’s it. The last one. We’re done.”

Cara lowered the hammer but could still hear hammering throughout the neighborhood. Many people had hurricane shutters these days, but the die-hards still relied on plywood and taped windows to get them through such storms.

“You
would
pick a time like this to break up with Brett,” Emmi said, bent over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “We sure could’ve used his muscles now.”

“He called and offered to help.”

“And you turned him down? Again? Girl, you really are nuts.”

“I didn’t. Mama did. He talked to her.”

“Oh. I see.”

“We couldn’t very well have him come over here to do work after I’d just refused his marriage proposal. That wouldn’t have been right.”

“I suppose not.”

“Besides, he’s got his own worries. He has to batten down the hatches and take his boats out to safe water. He’s already long gone.”

Even as she said the words, she heard the double entendre. She cast a quick glance at Emmi, whose expression told her she understood all.

Cara walked over to retrieve the two glasses of iced sweet tea, as much to cover her discomfort as to quench her thirst. Toy had set out glasses, ice and even little sprigs of fresh mint. Cara smiled at seeing it. Toy was becoming a mini-Lovie, she thought as she carried the glasses back and took a seat beside Emmi on the front steps.

“Drink up.”

“Thanks.” Emmi took a long swallow. “Mmm,” she said with relish. “Nothing like sweet tea.”

Cara drank thirstily. The tea was as thick as syrup and so sweet it made her teeth hurt. But on a hot day, when she was working hard, Southern sweet tea packed a punch.

Emmi turned to look at Cara and her eyes were shrewd. “You okay about all this?”

“I think so. We’ve got all the windows done. Emergency supplies and medical records are packed. And Mama’s putting all her photograph albums and important papers in a plastic bin to take with us.”

“I’m not talking about the hurricane, you idiot! I’m talking about you and Brett.”

“Oh.” She frowned and rested her elbows on her knees. “Well, there isn’t a me and Brett anymore, is there?”