Beach Thing

by DL White

  “Obviously, I shut the show down. The manager said Ruben paid him five grand for a booking—”

  “Five thousand? Where did—”

  “I don’t know. But I told him I wasn’t going to have another conversation about using my name. I said I didn’t want to see him again, and I didn’t want him bothering you. And that if I heard about it, I would make a call to his parole officer, because there’s no way he came up on five thousand dollars legally.”

  She sighed into her mug of tea, then took a sip. And another. “To think,” she said, “I risked my family for him. My mother and father knew. They saw right through the charm and the handsome face to what he really was. Dumb teenager that I was, I knew everything. I “knew” him. Thought I knew him, anyway.”

  “You were too close, too young, too naïve to really know him. You have to step back a minute to really get a good look. I didn’t see him until I was… I don’t know, twelve? And I heard about what he was really in prison for.”

  Until then, I was only told that he’d made some mistakes and that he was paying for them. I hadn’t been told the truth, that he’d been a part of an armed robbery, that he’d been the only person arrested at the scene and had refused to give up his accomplices. I guessed that was supposed to make him some kind of hood hero, but having grown up without my father, he wasn’t much of a hero to me.

  Ma had forced me to keep up the monthly visits so he could see me and know me, but… he’d lost his shine. When I was fifteen, I asked to stop going. Refused to take his phone calls. Never read his letters. Ruben Marshall was no one to me, and I had no plans to make him someone any time soon.

  “I wish… almost wish I would have been wiser. But were it not for meeting him, for silly, too-young teenage love, for risking everything for the man I thought I loved, I wouldn’t have been blessed with the perfect son.”

  If I was the kind of man that blushed, I would have been beet red. But I was nowhere near perfect. The memories of my teen years made me shudder, the way I didn’t want to know my father, but acted out because I didn’t really have a father. How she made it through without killing me, I’ll never know. Mrs. Coleman being willing to take me for a few days to save me from sure death probably helped a lot.

  I leaned over to her so she could give me her customary peck. Then she tapped my cheek with her palm. “Go shower, we have things to do. And brush your teeth. You could knock over a horse with your breath.”

  “That’s where I was going before you stopped me to waste time talking about Ruben.”

  “Don’t sass me, son. You’re not too big for me to turn you over my knee.”

  “Yes, I am,” I called over my shoulder, headed toward the spare room. “But I wouldn’t dare tempt you.”

  * * *

  Between the trip to the home improvement store, installing a new water filter in her refrigerator and a long drawn out appointment at Goodyear tire, I let it slip that I had been seeing someone out on the island. I could have kicked myself the minute Ameenah’s name fell from my mouth. A smug expression crossed her face, her lips pressed together in an mmhmm, I thought so way.

  “What’s that look for?” I asked back in her kitchen at the island.

  “Nothing,” she said. “You like her. I can tell. Ameenah, you said her name was?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Porter. Her family owns Porter’s Steakhouse.” I sucked my teeth and gulped down more water. I was still trying to recover from my hangover. “But you know… it’s… I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to get in deep like this. It was just supposed to be some fun.”

  “Sounds like it’s been fun and then some. But you’ll be leaving the island soon.”

  “That’s the problem. She lives there. Full time. I live here full time. How do I make that work out?”

  “Do you want it to? You haven’t really been the type to settle down with one woman.” I groaned, shielding my eyes from her with my hand. Lightly, she smacked my hand away. “Come on, now. You’re a grown man and I know you better than you know yourself. You’re not that type. Or you haven’t been. What makes her different?”

  I couldn’t even count the ways. Everything about Ameenah was everything I wanted, everything I’d been looking for and didn’t know it. Why hadn’t I met her years ago? All those times we’d gone to Porter’s for dinner and we had never crossed paths?

  “She’s just… She’s got her own thing going and I like that. Her own plan, her own dreams. She’s smart. Funny. Hilarious. Like… happy. And she’s not waiting for me to shower her with gifts and attention. I haven’t even talked to her in a couple of days and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa there. Stop.” Ma leaned onto the counter, her hands clasped. “You like this girl — woman, but you haven’t talked to her in days? Is that some new macho dating ritual? What’s that about?”

  I shrugged. “We… took a step back from things. We needed to slow down a little.”

  “For what reason?”

  “For… the reason I’ve been saying. We don’t even live in the same state. No reason to get in deep with her just to leave her—”

  “Like phones don’t exist? You text Gage nonstop. You Skype Gage every day, but couldn’t do that with her? Email? You can’t catch a flight, take a long weekend off? Gage won’t let you use his jet account?”

  “Ma, I just… we said we weren’t going to even consider the long distance thing. Once I’m gone, I’m gone. And Gage is already funny about her — I can’t see him being happy about me flying out to see her.”

  Her thick lips puckered in a scowl, causing a deep “V” between her brows. Her head bounced with her indignance, the pieces of her wooden earrings clanging against each other. “Who asked Gage to be happy about anything? Doesn’t he have enough to handle with Sheree? That boy got to mind his own business — he’s got enough of it to never have to mind yours.”

  I smirked, pursing my lips. “Exactly what I told him.”

  “Back to this girl. Have you considered that perhaps you feel more for her than… like?”

  “Like… what?”

  She frowned. I saw the threat to pop me upside my head brewing on the horizon. “I do so love it when you play dumb with me, son. It keeps me on my toes.”

  Just then, her cell phone rang. I let out an audible sigh of relief. Saved by the bell. Ma straightened, heading off in search of the phone in her purse. “Don’t think this conversation is over.”

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled through missed calls and texts. Nothing from Ameenah. She was pissed or she had given up. I couldn’t tell which. I opened up her contact and sent her a text. I’d planned to be back on the island the next day and asked to see her.

  When I didn’t get an answer right away, I locked the phone again and slid it back into my pocket. She would either answer or she wouldn’t. Nothing to do but wait.

  “That was Davina. Wanted to know, do I want to go to this Brazilian place she’s been hearing about. You got plans for dinner?”

  I sighed. “Looks like I’m taking the Biddies to dinner tonight.”

  She nodded, accepting the proposal she’d hinted at me to make and had no plans of refusing, then headed toward her bedroom with her cell phone. “I’ll say this and then I’ll get out of your business. You’d better call that girl. Or Email, text, carrier pigeon, something. You never know what might happen with her, but you don’t want to ruin it by ignoring her.”

  The forceful closing of her bedroom door ended the conversation.

  “Guess she told me,” I mumbled to myself.

  17

  Ameenah

  “You look lovely tonight, Ameenah. You always looked pretty in blue.” Mama shook the folds out of her napkin and spread it across her lap. Next to her, Daddy did the same, while ordering his second... or third bourbon of the night. “Take it easy, Russell. You’re not young anymore and I’m not catering to you in the morning.”

  “I
’ll be alright, Elise,” he said, perusing the leather folder that held an expansive menu. Clinks On the Bay was famous for its fresh seafood and upscale clientele since it was on the upper crust end of the island. The menu seemed to meet with my father’s approval, since he didn’t have anything to say about the selection or the prices.

  “So how is Andrew doing with the restaurants?”

  “I would think you would already know,” answered Mama. “He says he speaks to you regularly.”

  The server appeared with a bottle of Sauvignon, pouring a glass for me and my mother. When he left, I said, “He says he’s doing well. He seems busy.”

  Busy wasn’t really the word for it. The last time I’d called Andrew, he only had five minutes to talk because he was ten minutes late for his next meeting. But Andrew thrived off of that schedule. He loved everything about Porter Hospitality and had always dreamt of taking over once our parents retired.

  With me gone, it looked like they’d have to work a little longer before that happened. My cousin Liam was taking my place, but it would be awhile before he was up to speed. I’d had a lifetime of lessons and experience. Liam, who had only worked in one of our restaurants, had a lot to learn.

  “He’s fine,” Daddy said. “He’s stressed of course. It’s the busy season, but it’s starting to slow down.”

  I nodded, remembering the height of summer at all six Porter restaurants. “For me, too. The change of the season is already in the air. After Labor Day, we see a serious decline in traffic. I’m interested to see how serious a decline.”

  My parents exchanged a glance that set me on edge. I asked about it, but the server showed up again to ask if we knew about the specials and were we ready to order? They chose seafood and pasta dishes. I ordered a grilled salmon salad and waited for him to go away.

  “I feel like you two are here for a reason, not just to visit.”

  Daddy set aside his bourbon and rested his arms on the table, clasping his hands in front of him. His wedding band and fraternity rings gleamed in the light from the chandelier overhead. “We… of course we came to see you. Houston was too close to not swing by, but—”

  “We had a meeting in Houston,” Mama said, picking up the story. “We met with a couple — husband and wife, like us — that want to open a Porter Steakhouse location. They’d pay a franchise fee, the menu and decor would remain the same. Everything would be the same, but we’d have two locations. Practically bicoastal! And if that takes off, maybe we would look at opening more locations. The thing is…”

  “Thing is,” said Daddy, taking over. “What with already having six restaurants to manage, and without you to help out, we don’t really have the time.”

  “And you came down here to see my shop? Hoping it was doing terribly so you could talk me into moving back to New York?”

  “No, Ameenah, no.” Mama’s head shook back and forth but I didn't really believe her. It was just a convenient answer. “We would never hope that your business would fail. You’re still a Porter. Still connected to us. We want you to do well—”

  “But only if I’m working for you?”

  My mother’s lips were a tense, tight bow on her face. A blush crept through her light complexion and heavy layer of makeup. “I don’t appreciate this backtalk, young lady. I know you’re an adult, but we are your parents and we deserve respect. Pretend you believe that and fix your tone.”

  I exhaled a long breath. Closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened my eyes. My parents were staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “Yoga meditation. It helps me… relax.”

  “Mmmkay,” said my father, lifting his bourbon to his lips.

  “So what is the proposal? I close up shop and move to Houston and open this franchise location?”

  “You said yourself that you’ll probably be slow after Labor Day. That coincides with the time when we would need someone in Houston working on our behalf. And wouldn't it be better for you to be making…”

  Mama glanced at Daddy like she was asking for input or permission for something. He shrugged and sucked down more of his drink. “Say… a hundred thousand a year to start. Compared to struggling to keep that little shack open all winter.”

  I’d taken a sip of my wine but began to choke when my mother threw out that number. One. hundred. thousand. dollars. I couldn’t think. Or breathe. I pushed my chair back from the table, excused myself with an index finger and ran for the front door and cool, fresh air.

  I paced the dimly lit parking lot, very tempted to just get in my car and drive away. It took a few minutes to get my lungs back. A few minutes longer for my brain to kick in.

  My parents— my father especially— had never been fans of Black Diamond Isles. Daddy thought his mother and father were foolish, frittering money away on a house on an underdeveloped man-made island. They didn’t know it like I did, hadn’t watched it grow and change into the bustling corner of resort industry it had become. They still thought of Black Diamond as an empty coastal town with nothing to offer but a shack on the beach. They hadn’t seen the house since I was a teenager, had no idea the upgrades and loving care that Gran had put into it.

  And, just as I’d suspected, because they considered Black Diamond inferior, my parents came down to the island to try and lure me away from something I worked hard for, something they never believed I’d do. When I moved out of my apartment and packed up my car, they seemed shocked that I was leaving.

  I had left. And I was living my dream. And never going back.

  As soon as I was calm — not choking or shaking — I made my way back inside the restaurant and resumed my seat at the table.

  “Are you alright?” Mama asked me. I nodded, spreading my napkin over my lap again. Our meals had arrived, but my grilled salmon salad didn’t look appetizing at all.

  “I have something to say,” I announced. Mama and Daddy straightened, paying rapt attention. “I appreciate you both coming down here to check on me, and to see the shop. But it seems to me that we’re at an impasse about what I want to do with my life. I want to live here. On Black Diamond Isles. Not Houston. And not New York. I want to work here, running my shop. If it fails, it fails, but it won’t be for lack of trying.”

  “Ameenah—” my father started.

  “I’m not done,” I interrupted. “I’m not shutting down my little shack to go back to work for Porter. How much money could someone offer you two to walk away from what you’ve built?”

  I looked from one to the other. Both dipped their heads, averting their gazes. “So why you think you can come down here and offer me money to give up my dream is beyond me. Everything you taught me about running a successful business, I’ve put into Tikis & Cream. I owe it to myself and my business to give it every effort.”

  I picked up my fork and speared a serving of salmon. “Now…if you’d like to enjoy a few days visiting your daughter and giving well meaning, unsolicited advice on running her new business, I’m happy to have you. If the offer was the only reason you came down here, feel free to head back home tomorrow. Either way, I’m not having this conversation again.”

  * * *

  I had dropped Mama and Daddy at their hotel, not sure if I’d see them again before they left the island. The conversation we’d had was so much unlike the exchanges we’d had before, where they cut me off before I even got started because they didn’t believe I’d go through with it.

  But I had, and their weak attempt to lure me back hadn’t worked.

  I put the car in park, expecting that they would return to New York without another word to me, but just as Daddy was reaching for the passenger seat door handle, Mama, from the backseat, laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “Ameenah,” she started, her rich voice uncharacteristically low and emotional. “I don’t think we realized the message we’ve been sending you all this time.”

  I unhooked my belt and turned in my seat so that I could see them both. “Even though I’ve been telling you all this time how you s
ound to me? How you shoot down all my ideas and don’t want to hear anything except about how I’m taking over the business, despite what I want to do?”

  “We just want the best for you,” she responded. “We don’t want you to have to struggle. We don’t want you to make a costly, unnecessary mistake—”

  “But if it’s costly, it’s my money, isn’t it? If it’s a mistake, it’s mine to make isn’t it?”

  “It is,” said Daddy, with a slow, solemn nod. “It’s just that you’re our baby girl. A part of us. We thought we’d be doing a good thing for you and Andrew. You’ve shown us… and told us tonight that we just need to let go.”

  “And that’s hard. Really, really hard when you’ve been around us your whole life.”

  Mama sniffled a little, and I realized for the first time how difficult it must be to let one of your baby birds fly away. “We don’t mean to be so pushy about the business. Of course we had plans for you, but your plans for you are more important. We want you to succeed. That’s all we have ever wanted.”

  My throat closed up, nice and tight. I tried blinking away the tears that gathered in my eyes, but in the end, my emotions won over and they spilled down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I choked out, reaching for Daddy with one hand, Mama with the other. I squeezed their hands, and they squeezed back. “I love you guys. I need you to believe in me, that I can do this. I need your support.”

  “You have it,” said Daddy. “You’re a good girl, Ameenah. We’re proud of you. Believe it or not, we are proud of everything you’ve done out here.”

  “Well.” Mama sniffled and popped open her door latch, bathing the car in the dim glow of the overhead light. “We’d better get inside. Russell had a few too many glasses of bourbon and I’m interested to see how tomorrow morning goes.”