The List (12 page)

“Tea with lime please,” Renny told a young waiter. Jo ordered the same.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Jo spoke first. “Let's relax.”

“That's easy to do over a plate of barbecue,” Renny said.

“Then, let's consider today's lunch as our first date,” Jo suggested.

“Sounds good to me.”

The waiter took their order. Jo selected the blackened salmon; Renny opted for broiled scallops. After the waiter left, Jo said, “Tell me about the trunk. It looked pretty old.”

“It was my father's, or at least he had possession of it for a number of years. He held an official position with the List, something called Custodian.”

“What kind of custodian?”

“He kept possession of the original List agreement, an old ledger book that contains the covenant signed during the Civil War and a record of all the members down through the years. Our ancestors all signed it. A cassette tape from my father and a letter from Desmond LaRochette ordered me to bring it to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Cassette tape?”

“I'd better start at the beginning. You had a letter from your father; I had a cassette message from mine.” Renny told Jo about the safe deposit box and the cassette tape from his father.

“Did he say anything personal to you?”

“Not unless ‘carpe diem' counts as personal. It was very businesslike, typical of my father. It didn't surprise me that he didn't say anything personal, and I didn't really think about it. I was so stunned by the existence of the List.”

“Don't you think it strange that he didn't say he loved you or would miss you?”

“Not really. I can't ever remember him saying he loved me.”

“He sounds cold-hearted.”

Renny bristled. Jo was right, and it stung. “I guess he thought he showed it in other ways. He would, uh—” Renny stumbled, unable to think of an example.

Jo softened. “I know there are different ways of demonstrating love, but it's still important to say the words. You read my father's letter to me. He never showed his love, and although I don't mean to be disrespectful to your father, it sounds like he never let you know how he felt either.”

“I don't disagree with you,” Renny admitted. “Except for my aunt, my father came from a reserved family, and ‘I love you' was not part of their family vocabulary.”

“Then someone needs to break the cycle.”

Hearing Jo talk gave Renny a tightness in his chest, a sense that there was something inside that could not get out.

Jo continued, “Several years ago, a major magazine did a survey of the three phrases people most want to hear. Number one was ‘I love you.' Guess number two.”

Feeling the constriction in his chest loosen, Renny ventured, “The check is in the mail.”

Jo smiled. “Good answer for a lawyer. Actually, number two was ‘I forgive you.' Unforgiveness and broken relationships go hand in hand.”

“Grudges can be a problem,” Renny said, remembering one he carried like a sharp nail in his pocket involving a former girlfriend who had lied to him.

“Number three is appropriate for us tonight.”

Renny erased the picture of his old girlfriend from his mind. “Let's see—” He glanced out the window at the water. “How about ‘Surf's up'?”

Jo laughed. “We're at the beach, but too narrow.” The waiter set their food on the table. “Good timing,” Jo said. “The third thing people most want to hear is ‘Dinner's ready.'”

The food was good, but Jo's presence made the meal superlative. Renny had never met anyone quite like her. With most people the eyes are the windows of the soul, and Jo was no exception. Her eyes could shift quickly from challenging to quizzical to compassionate. She was open, her openness flowing out of honesty and an “I've got nothing to hide” attitude that was like unclouded sunshine. There was something indefinable about her. She was attractive, but there was something more. She had a delightful personality, but there was something more. She was intelligent, but there was something more. He could not put his finger on it, but whatever it was, he liked it.

When Renny described some of his experiences growing up, she leaned forward as if she were listening with her whole body, not just her ears. She was undeniably, completely, alive.

Renny ordered dessert to fill his spot for sweets and prolong their time at the table. “Key lime pie with two forks, please.”

While they waited, Jo said, “I'd like to see the trunk sometime.”

“You will. Since I may not have it after tomorrow, you can have a look when we go back to the inn.”

They finished the pie, Renny paid without protest from Jo, and they stepped out into the fading light of the August evening. Walking slowly over to the restored frigate as a steady ocean breeze cooled their faces, they stood silently while three fishing boats chugged out of the harbor to begin their night's work.

Renny wanted to reach out and take Jo's hand in his, but something restrained him. In usual circumstances holding a date's hand in a peaceful moment would have been a natural, casual response to a pleasant evening, but this was different. He cast a furtive glance in Jo's direction. She was facing the bay, watching the fishing boats, her silhouette etched against a pinkish-red sunset. Renny felt the tightness in his chest return, but he felt no pain. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled.

At the sound, Jo turned her head toward him. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.” Renny took another deep breath. “Let's walk back along the wharf.”

They strolled toward the inn, taking a short detour onto the weathered black boards of the dock to inspect a sleek overnighter rocking to sleep in its slip.

The desk clerk was on the phone when they came through the door.

“Come up to my room, mademoiselle,” Renny said with an exaggerated French accent as they started up the stairs. “I would like to show you my rare stamp collection.”

“Is that a Charleston French accent?”

“
Mais oui,
and that exhausts my repertoire of the French language.” Renny unlocked the door and switched on the light. Jo sat in a small wooden chair as Renny put the old chest on the bed. “There's no pirate gold in here.” He quickly dialed the combination, opened the trunk, and took out the List. Renny handed her the old book. “Here's the ledger with the original agreement. There is some other stuff you may want to look at after you read the book.”

Jo rubbed her hand across the cover, opened it, and began reading. At one point she stopped, closed her eyes for a moment, then continued. Renny watched her face as her eyes went back and forth over the lines, but he did not interrupt her. She flipped through the pages, looking for her ancestors, pausing at each one. Closing the book, she looked up at Renny. “It's real, isn't it?”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

“What was your reaction the first time you read it?”

Renny thought back to the morning on the Isle of Palms. “I thought about the effect of compound interest—$110,000 expanding and multiplying since 1863. How much money is involved today? Then I wondered about practical matters: the subsequent history of the agreement, the decisions made about investments, the frequency and amount of distribution, you know, what a banker or accountant would like to know. Later, I started wondering more about the people—my ancestors, what they were like, how they lived, how they died. I even called my father's older sister and went to see her so I could learn more about the men who signed that book.”

“What did you find out?”

“Stories of prosperity mixed with personal tragedy. The cycle of life, I guess.”

“Life without God,” Jo murmured.

“What do you mean? My ancestors were Christians. You'll find their graves in the cemeteries of some of the oldest churches in South Carolina.”

“Where someone is buried is not proof of their Christianity.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Renny said. “You read what it said about God or the Supreme Being in the original agreement. These men established the List for the good of their families. Isn't that a Christian thing to do?”

“Maybe. Don't take me wrong, Renny, but words and substance are not always synonymous. It is not where they're buried or the sincerity of their motivation that counts. I'm just wondering about the results, or as the Bible says, the fruit of their lives after entering into this agreement. Remember what my father said in his letter.”

“I don't think you can evaluate this based on the Bible or your father's vague fears. He was obviously something of a misfit.” As soon as he said “misfit,” Renny wished he could take it back.

Jo bit her lip and nodded. “You're probably right about him. I guess he looks like a bum to a Charleston blue blood.” She handed him the ledger and stood to leave.

“Wait, I'm sorry. Please don't go.”

“I understand. It's OK. I just need some time alone. Thanks for dinner.”

Hearing her steps as she hurried down the hall, Renny shut the door and threw the book on the bed. The initial dinner meeting with the members of the List was not until seven o'clock the next evening, and he had hoped to spend the next day with Jo, taking her for a ride up the coast, maybe going for a walk on the beach. Now, he would be looking for seashells alone. He repacked the trunk, berating himself for not watching his words.

Jo wiped away the final tears that had coursed down her cheeks as she hurried down the hall and climbed the stairs to her room. Renny's callous comment breached the dam of pent-up emotion that still flowed from grief over her father's tragic life and death. After splashing her face in the vanity's sink, she put on her nightgown and sat in bed, leaning back against the headboard. As her breathing stilled, she prayed a simple prayer and waited for the familiar inner calm, the peace that passed understanding.

After a few minutes she reached for her Bible, read a psalm, turned off the light, and went to sleep. During the night she dreamed she was on board a frigate like the one anchored near the restaurant. She was a passenger, the only woman on board. A storm was brewing, and the ship began to toss to and fro. A young junior officer on the ship came to her and asked if she had seen the ship's maps because the captain had misplaced them. She said she would look for them. When she got to her cabin, she found a map rolled up under a chair, but when she tried to take it to the young officer, she could not find him. The ferocity of the storm increased, and searching with increasing anxiety, she lurched onto the deck, stopped, and cried out for help.

Renny tossed and turned for almost an hour. Finally, he switched on the light and found a piece of stationery with the inn's name across the top. The sheet had a palmetto tree in one corner and a rice plant in the other. He quickly sketched in black ink a seashell and a simple picture of two people walking on the beach. Under the picture he wrote:

Once again, I apologize. I would like to take you for a ride up the coast. I will be on the back porch at 9 this morning for your RSVP.

Sincerely,
Renny