Authors: Carly Alexander

The Eggnog Chronicles (22 page)

BOOK: The Eggnog Chronicles

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“You're missing the point!” He found a can of cashews and cracked open the aluminum lid. “Don't you want to blaze a trail out of here, babe? Let's hit the road and never look backâat least, not until we're eating lobster in the posh back room of Agora's.” He popped a cashew in his mouth. “Remember how you loved that place?”

“That was a hundred years ago.” I shook my head. “Now I'm happy with a cup of chowder at the Crusty Captain. Or a dinner at Calico Jack's. Or even frozen drinks at Kokomo Joe's Tiki Bar. I don't need fancy restaurants and city life. I'm happy here.”

“Oh, really? You really like living in a place where surfboards, kites, and hammocks are big business?”

When I just stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “You really have sunk low. And while we're on trailer trash, this place is a mess. What's with the merchandise hanging on the doors?” He nodded toward the French doors.

“The coats are a gift.” I turned to look him in the eye. “For a needy family. I just need to wrap them.”

Nate shook his head. “You got sucked into that? You actually think that family can't afford their own coats?”

“Actually, Nate, I know they can't.” I took the coats down, one by one, and started folding them neatly into the gift boxes I'd bought.

“And what about welfare or food stamps? They're probably loaded up with government subsidies. Raking in our honest tax dollars, while you're encouraging them with free handouts.”

A vein pulsed in my eyelid as I stopped folding and stared across the room at him. His intense brown eyes, that dark beard stubble over his square chin. What had once seemed so attractive was now repulsive and raw, as if his moral malignancy brimmed over and showered ugliness over his skin and hair and eyes like a fountain. “You're wrong this time, Nate. I know the family, so you can put your Republican paranoia aside.”

“How much did you spend on all that stuff? What'd they take you for?”

Ignoring him, I folded tissue over Joey's coat and closed the box securely.

“God, I'm hungry,” he said. “What's that smell? Did you cook fish?”

“I did, and it was delicious.”

He routed through the fridge. “Well, where's mine?”

With the boxes stacked in my arms, I tromped into the kitchen and pressed my foot on the pedal of the garbage can. The lid flopped open to the aroma of fish and lemon with a hint of capers. “There's your portion,” I said with a smile. It would have given me great satisfaction to grab a handful and slap it onto a plate for him, but my arms were full of packages.

“That's disgusting,” he moaned, but I was already headed out the door. I could tell Nate was shocked, off his game. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Just getting these out of the way.” I had decided to stow the merchandise in my trunk. Not that Nate would hurt anything, but I didn't want him tarnishing my act of goodwill.

“When are you coming back?” he called after me. “Your coat . . .”

Actually, I hadn't planned to
go
anywhere, but now that Nate mentioned it, escape seemed like a far better evening activity than sitting around while he moped over food and made plans that probably did not include me.

And as I slammed the trunk shut and went back inside for my coat, I realized that was the real issue between us. Nate's plans had never included me. Never, never. And me, fool in love that I was . . . I thought it was all about
us,
about our adventure together. I thought we had a shot at falling in love.

But Nate was not a candidate for love. Not now, and not before, when he'd been with Gina. I actually felt sorry for her as I slipped on my down jacket and zipped up. She and I had more in common than I'd thoughtâwe shared an attachment for a dark-eyed, attractive man with a mercurial temper and a penchant for self-indulgence, a man we thought we could reform and refine into a reasonable human being worthy of sharing our lives. On that point, Gina and I had both been mistaken.

I got in my car and drove, heading toward the center of town. At the turnoff for the Crusty Captain I kept going, not really wanting to see anyone, not wanting anyone to see me in turmoil. I parked in the empty lot by City Hall and walked to the beach. The wind, such a constant at the ocean, was surprisingly mild, though it tossed my hair around my face, making it difficult to see. I scraped it back and tied it off with a scrunchee from my pocket. There.

And suddenly, I could see again. That clarity of vision had returned, and the velvet darkness revealed variegated lines of seaweed over the hard-packed sand just above the break where waves crashed and foamed violently. Dots of lights stretched up the coast, each one a home that stood occupiedâquiet sentinels along the beach, unlike the days Ben had described when nags pulled lanterns along the shore to confuse merchant ships.

Strange that such a desolate scene could bring me any peace, but I could see myself in those banging waves, I could see my relentless search for symbols and meanings. It hadn't really been an open-eyed search so much as a quest to find the symbols I wanted: the path to love, to happiness which, as defined by me, would be marriage and motherhood. As my sneakers slid over sand I thought of the fluctuating temperature of my moods over the past year . . . so tied to Nate's progress with his divorce, so tied into Nate's shifting temperament. Nate's desires, Nate's sense of humor, Nate's demands. My life was wrapped around Nate's; I was emotionally reliant on a man who had disappeared for six days and returned without a phone call, without a kiss, without a welcoming embrace.

And now he wanted to move north, go back, after I'd built a business here, made friends here, found a family hereânone of those things were considerations for him. When had he lost track of me?

I stopped walking and planted my sneakers firmly in the sand, lifting my face to the sky to search for the constellations Ben had shown me. Was that the Big Dipperâor just a blinking satellite? I considered wishing on a star, but felt way too sober to muster the enthusiasm. Besides, what did I want, anyway? What were my desires? As Lola had said, where did I want to be in five years?

I wanted to stay in the Outer Banks, of course, running my little shop. I'd pictured myself married to Nate, with a baby. But how would that be?

Well, honestly? Awful.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket and shivered at the image of a little crying baby, me pacing the cottage with baby on shoulder, Nate pestering me about his dinner. Nate's patience was thin now, but a baby was not going to improve his self-centered, sour disposition.

Nothing good would come of it.

I shot ahead and started running, my feet pounding the sand, my arms pumping at the air. At first I was just trying to channel my anger, then I realized I had a place to go. Lola's one-story house stood in a cluster about a mile ahead, and a light was on.

My torch in the darkness.

“H
oney, look what the wind blew in from the beach,” Tito said with his usual deadpan expression.

Her hands curled around the control stick, Lola was so intent on the video game that she could only spare a quick glance. “Ricki . . . hi, honey. I just got to this level and Gollum is killing me.”

“It's The Hobbit,” Tito explained. “The boys just got the game.”

Rusty and Taylor sat on either side of Lola, their arms crossed, their dark eyes intent on the screen.

“NoâMom! You can't get there from here,” said Rusty.

“It doesn't hurt to try,” Lola said as a thundering crash sounded from the TV and the occupants of the couch relaxed.

“You're toast, Mom!” Taylor grinned.

“Don't call your mother names,” Lola said in a half-serious voice as she handed the control stick to Rusty and stood up. “I'll try again later.” She went over to a small wooden box on top of the mantel, then motioned to me. “Let's go on the porch. It's more quiet there.”

The porch was a glassed-in room that overlooked the ocean, furnished with a couch, table, and chairs covered in tropical-print cushions. Lola took a seat at the table, lit a votive candle, opened the box, and started shuffling her tarot cards.

“How did you know I needed a reading?” I asked as I sat across from her. Not that I stopped by all that often, but I had been here a few times just to visit.

Lola shrugged, her purple velour robe shimmering in the dim candlelight. “Let's put it this way, I had a feeling you weren't here for more clam chowder. How was it, anyway? Did Nate like it?”

“We didn't get that far,” I said.

She stopped shuffling, her eyes catching mine, as if the room had grown suddenly darker. “And now you're at that crossroad.”

“I think I'm beyond that point.” I pulled the scrunchee out and finger-combed my hair. “Lola, I think it's over for Nate and me. And that makes me feel like a failure. It just seems so wrong, that somehow, I just need to know I'm doing the right thing. A sign.”

“You and your signs.” She bit her lower lip and tapped the cards with a coral fingernail. “Cut the cards. I'd like to give you a longer readingâmaybe the Celtic Crossâbut we don't have much time.
CSI: Miami
is on at ten.” Lola had her chosen shows; just a handful, but she never missed them.

“Can you take the Fool out of the deck?” I asked. “I don't want to be a fool, not anymore.”

Lola splayed her fingers over the cards, as if performing a spell over them. “I cannot remove that card, but I can tell you that if it does not apply, it will not appear.”

I rested my hand on my chin, sulking. “Promise?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Something tells me you are now enlightened?”

I swallowed back my lingering reservations. “I've taken a hard look at myself. Picked up on some of the not-so-subtle signs from Nate. All the signs I've ignored and denied for so long.” I twisted a strand of hair over one shoulder. “I used to be so good at understanding things, reading between the lines. What happened to my ability to interpret the world?”

“You've been trying too hard. Not every sign is an omen. Sometimes the stop sign simply means that you stop your car while someone else goes by. It's not always a message to stop your entire life.”

“Well . . . duh. What can I say? As the cards know, I've been a fool.” I cut the cards, not even trying to put a whammy on them this time. Maybe I was moving up in the learning chain.

Lola lifted the cards and turned over the top three. “The Death card, the Two of Wands, the Prince of Cups. And for your significator . . .” She turned over a card with a trill of delight. “Ah! The Magician! It's textbook tarot.”

I blinked, relieved that it wasn't the Fool. “What does that card say about me?”

“That you've embarked on a journey. What's intriguing is that this card follows the Fool in the deck, so it looks as if you yourself have embarked on the journey through the secrets of tarot.”

“At least I'm moving on,” I said.

“The Magician is often connected to the god Hermes, who was a good shepherd to souls. Hermes was the god of journeys. In pre-Christian times, Hermes pillars stood at main crossroads in the Greco-Roman world. Do you see the symbols here? Journeys, crossroadsâmany of the things we've been speaking of.”

“As long as it's just a spiritual journey, I'm in,” I said. “Nate wants to move back to Rhode Island, and I'm
so
not ready for that.”

Lola shook her head over the cards. “No, I don't see that type of movement. Maybe a visit, but you're not going back there.” She reached across the table and pressed my hand. “We won't let you go.”

I squeezed back. “I'll hold you to that, though you may find me sacked out on your living room sofa.”

“You're always welcome, though, as you can see, it gets crowded in there.” She stared intently at the other cards. “The Death cardâtransformation. This is the end of an era, the beginning of something new. Could signify the end of your relationship with Nate, but with that card in the past position, it looks like that already ended. Then you have the Prince of Cups in the current position. This man is a visionary messenger,” Lola went on, barely able to contain her enthusiasm for this card. “This is a complex hero who inspires. He is gentle. Sensitive. Courteous.”

I laughed. “Sounds great! When do I get to meet him?”

Lola smiled. “This man is already in your life. Someone you know.”

I shook my head. “Definitely not Nate.”

“Definitely not. But Ricki, you are surrounded by people who love you. Sometimes I think you don't see that; with your eyes focused on the big symbols, your sights are set on such a distant destiny that you don't see what's around you.”

Clarity of vision. “I think I know what you mean,” I said.

Next Lola tapped the card in the future spot: the Two of Wands. “This indicates that you are in the process of building an alliance. A partnership of two powers. Yin meets yang.”

I shook my head, confused. “Romantic? Or in business?”

“It could be either, though coming with the Prince”âshe touched the two cardsâ“I would suspect romantic. Do you see the two figures on the Two of Wands? One is like the reflection of the other, and yet they are polar opposites. Lunar and solar, male and female. The basic idea of this card is that alliance is necessary if anything is to be accomplished, and each partner must be reconciled to the different qualities of the other.”

“Well, I've always been big on teamwork,” I admitted, “though I don't see where this card fits.”

“Let's say there's an alliance in your future, and that is a good thing.” Lola checked her watch. “Do you want to stay and watch
CSI?”

I sighed. “I think I'd like to stay the night, if that's okay. I'm not really up for facing Nate right now.” It occurred to me that he might not realize that it was over, which would entail another huge argument in which he would outline his achievements and finer points in much the same fashion that he profiled a vacation rental home.

She frowned. “What will you do? Do you have a plan?”

“I'm working on it,” I said, hoping that Nate would move north sooner rather than later and let me keep the rental cottage. Fortunately, money was not an issue and I could easily pay the rent on my own. But what if Nate didn't leave? “I'll figure it out tomorrow,” I said as I followed Lola into the living room, glad to be in the comforting home of a friend.

The next morning, I awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffeeâTito's favorite blend, which he ordered online from Hawaii. Sipping it in the quiet of the kitchen was heaven. Tito insisted on giving me a ride to my car on his way to work, and by the time I pulled into the drive of the cottage, it wasn't even seven. Nate was asleep, which was fine by me as I'm a huge advocate of delayed confrontation.

I showered and pulled on fresh jeans with a winter-white sweater set and wondered if I should risk waking Nate with the noise of the blow dryer. My question was answered when I cracked open the bathroom door and saw the empty bed. Uh-oh.

“What happened to you last night?” he called from the kitchen. “You didn't even call.”

He'd been away for how long without calling, but now I was in trouble after one night? “Look, Nate, let's not nitpick here. It's clear that things between us are not going to work out, at least, not in the long run, and I think it's best for us to just separate now and cut our losses.”

“What?” he snapped. “What's this about? Did you meet someone while I was gone?”

I thought of the conventional wisdom about how it's always easier to break up when you can claim that there's “someone else,” but I couldn't lie just to get myself off the hook. “It's not about someone else, Nate. You and I have different priorities, different goals. I want a family and, well, you've already got one, and it sounds like you're ready to head back to them, and honestly, I don't want to stop you. Maybe I've been too indecisive before, but recently I realized that you've always made the decisions in our relationship; you charted our course with no input from me. Well, I want to make my own plans now, and to be blunt, they don't involve you.”

“So dramatic.” He cracked open a soda and sat at the table. I have always hated it when he drinks soda in the morning, but I wasn't about to harp on that now. Drink away, Nate! Come tomorrow, you drink alone! “You know, Gina told me you would do this.”

“Did she?”

“She said you wouldn't wait for the divorce to be final.”

“Smart woman,” I shot back, resenting the image of me as a gold digger. “She must have realized that most women don't hang around for ten or twelve years.” I stewed over Gina's last stab as I ducked back into the bedroom to dry my hair. Annoying, but I was leaving all this aggravation behind. Though I admit to being surprised at the way Nate was taking this. So far, no broken glass.

As I coiled the wire on the blow dryer, I tried to broach the subject of territory with some delicacy. “So . . . since we can't live together, when do you think you'll be heading up north?”

“What's it to you?” he groused. “I expect you to have your things out of here by the end of the week.”

“But Nate . . . since you're leaving, I figured I'd keep the cottage. I can pay the rent, andâ”

“My name is on the lease,” he said. “It's mine.”

“But you're leaving!”

“So I'll sublet. But not to you.”

“You've got to be kidding.”

He tossed back a swig of soda, his eyes glittering dangerously.

“You're not? That is so low.”

He shrugged. “I'll need your key by Monday.”

At that I slammed the bedroom door in his face. My hand quivered in fury as I took out two suitcases and started piling in my clothes, shoes, cosmetics. I wanted to take as many things as possible right now to avoid small trips back. With productive anger I slapped in pairs of jeans, tucking in bulky sweatshirts and sweaters and zipped-up cases of shampoo and lotion and conditioner.

Somehow I hadn't expected Nate to be mean about this break, but his cruelty underlined my resolve in bold, red strokes.

It was over with Nate. Time to move on.

BOOK: The Eggnog Chronicles

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