Rose stopped just inside the doorway and glanced around the shop. “Do you have anything in my size?”
“Well, I . . .” Then something in Janelle clicked into gear. She tilted her head and narrowed one eye, scanning Rose head to toe. Rose willed herself not to squirm. “I think I can scrounge up something. What’s the occasion?”
Rose swallowed and lifted her chin. “A date. I have a date.”
Janelle’s eyes bored into hers, and then she turned on her heel. “Follow me,” she said, leaving a trail of perfume behind her.
Rose tried on outfit after outfit as Janelle tossed them over the dressing room door, but everything was too tight, too sheer, or too pink. She thought she’d have to go to dinner with Coach dressed in her gardening clothes until Janelle passed a flowy blouse over the door. It was light as a whisper and blue as a Caribbean sea. When she slipped it on, it fell against her skin like silk. She pulled on a pair of white linen pants that hugged her curves and angles but rose high enough in the waist to keep everything securely in place.
When she opened the dressing room door to check herself in the three-way mirror, Janelle stood completely still. She eyed Rose for a moment, then sighed and took a step back so Rose could walk to the large mirror. Janelle clicked her tongue. “I think Coach will approve.”
Rose checked herself in the mirror, then turned to appraise her backside. “I don’t know about him, but I approve. I’ll take it.”
Now, standing in her bedroom and assessing her appearance one last time, nerves rippled through her stomach. She took a deep breath just as the doorbell rang.
Downstairs Coach stood on her doorstep wearing khaki pants and an untucked linen button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His gray hair was in disarray as usual, but it appeared recently trimmed, though still longer than most old men would dare. He’d brushed it off his forehead and tucked the loose ends behind his ears. One lock had escaped, and it fell over his forehead. Without thinking, Rose reached up to smooth it back. As she lifted her hand, he did the same, just barely touching the ends of her hair. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in surprise.
Then, without speaking, he extended his elbow and led her off her porch to the street where a blue four-door sedan was parked at the curb.
“Is this yours?” Rose laughed. “I didn’t even know you had a car.”
“Did you think I’d pick you up in my golf cart?”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know. I guess I just assumed.”
He opened the door for her and gently closed it behind her. He waited until he sat down and started the car before speaking. “I had to get out my real car, considering the golf cart is illegal on major roadways.”
“Major roadways?” Rose looked at him in confusion as he drove slowly down the road, passing the café on the left. “We’re not going to the Sunrise?”
Coach glanced at her, then pulled carefully onto the oyster shell gravel on the side of the road and stopped the car. “Rose, when I asked you to have dinner with me, I intended to take you on a real date. A real date means a real car that takes us away from here. It means a white tablecloth, candles, the whole bit. Now, if that doesn’t work for you, or you’ve changed your—”
“It works just fine.”
A glimmer of a smile relaxed his bearded face. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
As they pulled out of the gates and drove toward civilization, anticipation replaced the nerves bubbling in her chest. She had assumed they’d be dining at the Sunrise with neighbors’ faces all but pressed against the windows, hungry for gossip about their reticent manager and her unlikely date.
But in truth she and Coach would be alone, far from curious glances and prying eyes. She’d be free to test out—cautiously, of course—her newfound boldness without worrying about how she appeared to the rest of the village. The change in the evening’s plans—even if the change was only in her mind—was a welcome one.
Instead of questioning him further about their mysterious destination, she enjoyed the suspense and let herself relax. The inside of Coach’s car was clean and shined, and when she inhaled she breathed in a blend of musk and mint. The decidedly male scent was both foreign and delicious. Despite the absolute riot that was his golf cart, his car was surprisingly sedate.
She smiled, then turned back to the window.
“What’s that smile for?” Coach asked.
“Nothing. You just surprise me.”
“The night is young, Rose. There may be more surprises yet.”
* * *
The restaurant overlooked Terry Cove, which was aglow in the last sun rays of the day. Their table—indeed covered in a white tablecloth and topped with a single candle—sat out on the back deck under a perfectly situated ceiling fan, with a view up into Bayou Saint John. The mouth of Old River was just visible past the boats docked around Robinson’s Island.
They ordered drinks from the waitress, then relaxed back into their chairs. They laughed when they both exhaled at the same time.
“We made it,” he said.
“We did.” She gazed at the full tables around them. “Sometimes I forget other people are out here living lives while we stay behind our gates.”
“That just means you and I should get out like this more often.” He gave a sly grin and cocked an eyebrow, pulling a laugh from her.
“Something’s changed in you, Rose. And not just the hair, though your hair is . . . astounding.” Rose’s cheeks warmed. “It’s something else, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “It is something else, though what that is, I’m not sure I can explain.”
“Well, if you want to try, it’s a perfect evening for a good story.”
The waitress returned with bread and a dish of olive oil sprinkled with black pepper.
“You’re not one of those women who avoids bread, are you?”
In answer, Rose picked up a slice, dipped it in the oil, and took a big bite. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the peppery smoothness, and when she opened them, he was smiling.
“I guess that’s a no.”
Out on the water, a long sailboat crept by, its sails crisp against the early evening sky, the wooden rails gleaming.
“I used to sail a boat like that,” Coach said when he noticed her watching the boat.
“When?” She didn’t remember him ever having a sailboat at the village.
He shook his head. “Long time ago. I bought it after my wife died. Sailed it down to the Bahamas, then sold it and flew home.”
“You . . . What? Why?”
“Have you ever been on a boat for four solid days? I was so seasick I could hardly stand up straight. And it was my first time to sail farther than a few dozen miles. Still can’t believe I didn’t end up in France. Or Canada.”
Rose laughed, though her mind was still circling what he’d said about his wife. She’d never heard him mention her. “Why’d you sail to the Bahamas if you hardly knew how to sail?”
“I needed to do something big. Something daring. Something to jar some life back into me. I knew if I didn’t, my grief over losing Carol would kill me.” He laughed, a quick burst of air from his nose. “Instead, the Atlantic Ocean almost killed me.”
Rose was silent, digesting that devastating piece of information. All around them was laughter and conversation, the clinking of silverware, the popping of wine corks, but all Rose could focus on was Coach’s face. “What happened to Carol?” she asked after a moment.
He rubbed the edge of his napkin between two fingers. “Short version or long?”
She shrugged. “Your choice.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and crossed an ankle over his knee. “I’ll shoot for somewhere in the middle. Carol and I had been married for thirty-seven years when we got the diagnosis. Ovarian cancer, advanced stage four.”
Rose put her hand to her cheek, then rested her chin in her hand.
“Carol was always the fun-loving one in our marri
age. She’d plan vacations, decorate the house for every holiday, even ones I’d never heard of. She was generous to a fault and never had a bad word to say about anyone. I, on the other hand, was an ogre.”
Rose smiled, then widened her eyes when she realized he wasn’t kidding.
“Nope, I’m serious. I was a stockbroker, always focused on financial reports, tickers, Wall Street ups and downs. I was a hard man and a workaholic. Not much fun to be around. Carol deserved someone much better than me, but for some reason she stuck around. She loved me. And all those years that love never wavered. It held all the way to the very end.”
Rose shook her head. “I can’t . . . That’s— You were a stockbroker?”
He nodded slowly. “After she died and I made that ill-fated sailing journey, I decided I needed to change. That fast-paced, high-stress work just didn’t matter to me anymore. And I wanted to honor Carol in some way. The only thing I could think of was to take up her mantle of . . . well, of joy. Of fun and lightheartedness.” He held up his hands and shrugged. “So here I am, helping people like you learn to have a little fun. I like this life much better.”
A shot of dread shot through her at his words. Was that the whole reason he was here? Was she just a project for him?
He must have seen the worry on her face, because he reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand. “You don’t need my help, Rose. I think you’re learning to have fun all on your own. And I, for one, am enjoying watching it happen.”
“But . . . where did ‘Coach’ come from?”
“Oh.” He laughed. “After the sailing gig, I quit my day job and coached football at an inner-city high school for a few years before finding Safe Harbor. From day one everyone from the kids to the other teachers called me Coach. I guess it stuck.”
“So you just . . . went out and got a job coaching football?”
“Yeah. Well, I played in college, so . . .”
Rose laughed and shook her head. “Talk about surprises.”
He rubbed his cheek. “So now you know me. I’m still waiting on you.”
The waitress appeared again to take their dinner order and refill their tea glasses. “Are you two celebrating anything special this evening?” she asked as she poured.
“No, not anything . . . ,” Rose began.
“We are celebrating, in fact.” Coach sat forward and leaned his arms on the table. He picked up his glass and tapped it against Rose’s. “To starting over.”
He continued to watch her, not looking away even as the waitress spoke.
“Well, if that isn’t just the sweetest thing.” She stepped back from the table. “I’ll have your food out soon.”
Rose finally looked away, smoothed the front of her blouse, and tucked her hair behind her ear. When she looked back at him, he was watching her. “I’m still waiting.”
Rose sighed and clasped her hands together in her lap. “What do you want to know?”
“What happened to your husband?”
“He ran off with his receptionist.” It came right out, blunt as the day it had happened. He stared, uncomprehending, and she lifted a shoulder. “I figured you’d appreciate me getting right to the point.”
“I do. Although . . .” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t seem like a woman to cross. Either your husband was an idiot or . . .”
“Or I let him leave.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that what happened?”
Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not.”
Coach shifted his seat so it angled more toward the water. He leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and propped his chin in his hand. “That’s all you’re going to give me, isn’t it?”
Rose sighed, and as she did she studied him. Such a rugged face, so handsome in its color and lines. Years of living written in the angles and curves. She was surprised to realize she already knew his face, as if she’d been watching him all these years, taking him in bit by bit. And in a way she supposed she had. Even when she was pushing him away, she’d been preparing to let him in. She hoped he was as sturdy as he seemed.
“It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you the whole thing if you want to hear it. But not tonight. Tonight I’ll just say I married exactly who I deserved, and I ruined friendships in the process. Then having Terry hire Joan, second-guessing what was happening behind closed doors, and watching the whole inevitable thing play out in front of me—it felt almost like . . .”
“Like penance?”
Rose looked up and met his understanding gaze. “Exactly. Penance.”
“Is that why you’ve stayed bottled up all these years? Removed from everyone else, like you deserved to be alone?”
She looked down, no longer able to hold eye contact.
Coach reached across the table unexpectedly and took her hand. His skin was warm and soft against hers. “Rose, I don’t know you well, though I hope that after tonight that can change. What I do know of you tells me that no matter how distant or how grumpy you may be”—she raised an eyebrow and he grinned—“regardless of all that, you are not a cruel woman. You would not purposely hurt someone you loved.”
“But what if I did?” Her voice was so low, he had to lean across the table to hear her. “What if I did something—something big—even though I knew it was hurtful?” Her voice dropped to a whisper now. “What if I did it because it was hurtful?”
Her cheeks burned, but he just shook his head.
“There’s more to that story. Whatever it is, there has to be more. And whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen.” His fingers tightened on hers and she didn’t pull away. “People change, Rose. All the time. Every day.” After a moment he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“What’s that smile for?” Rose asked.
“I’ve wanted to sit across a candlelit table from you for so long, I just can’t believe it’s finally happened. That I had the nerve to ask and you actually said yes. Well, come to think of it, you did say no first.”
Rose chuckled but shook her head. “I’ve not been kind to you. I haven’t been very kind to anyone, for that matter. But after all this time, why are you still pursuing me?”
He rubbed his thumb softly over the skin on the back of her hand. “I see what others don’t. I see you.” She soaked in his words. “I’ve always known there was something else hiding underneath your sharp exterior. Something soft.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted to be the one to get to the soft part. Call it stubbornness or pride, but I wanted it to be me.”
When the waitress arrived with their food, neither of them noticed. Finally she cleared her throat, prompting Rose to pull her hand back from Coach’s to make room. As the waitress set down their plates, Rose took a second to collect herself and her scattered thoughts. It was a lot all at once—the focused attention, the intimacy, the revelations. She was only just now learning to let anyone in, not least of all a man she’d known for years but had never thought of as anything but irritatingly upbeat.
But that wasn’t the entire truth. The truth was, in the deepest, most honest places of her heart, Coach was already there, with his flip-flops and his messy hair. His wide smile and his big heart.
* * *
After bowls of gumbo, plates of redfish and crispy potatoes, and an on-the-house salted bread pudding—“You are celebrating, right?” the waitress had said with a wink—Rose and Coach returned to his car and began the trek back to Safe Harbor Island.
“Do you mind if we make a stop before heading home?”
Rose shook her head. “Not at all. Unless it involves more food. I don’t think I could eat another bite if you paid me.”
“Nope, it’s not food.”
She expected him to stop somewhere before they got to the long, dark road that led to the island and the village, but that was the direction he went.
“Weren’t we making a stop?” she asked, but Coach didn’t answer.
&
nbsp; They passed Safe Harbor Village and continued around the island. Rose’s heart sped up as they approached the turn to Willett Fisheries and Jim’s house, but Coach passed the road and kept going. Finally he slowed at the roadside shack that had been a staple of life on the island for decades, though she hadn’t gone farther than the front porch in many years.
“The Land?” she asked. “Surely you don’t expect . . .”
“Oh, but I do.” He parked and climbed out of his car, then opened her door, extending a hand to help her out. “The Mudbugs are playing tonight, and they’re my favorite.”
“Do you come here often?”
He laughed. “Does that surprise you?”
“Actually, no. Not at all.”
The inside looked remarkably unchanged from its appearance the last time she was there. Same stage, same sticky bar, same card table in the back, possibly even the same men playing chess.
“Can I get you a drink?” Coach had to lean close so Rose could hear him above the music.
She nodded. “Whatever you’re having.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Sure,” she said, laughing a little at her own spontaneity.
“You got it.”
Through the crowd, Rose could just barely make out the knot of men on the stage producing a happy jumble of sounds from a washboard, two triangles, a stand-up bass, and a banjo. The dance floor was packed full of bodies of all colors, moving and swaying and laughing together.
Coach reappeared and handed her a can of beer.
She took it and popped the can open and took a slow sip. “I don’t know what it is, but I like it.” Then in a further burst of boldness, she set down her can on the table next to them and took Coach’s can from his hand and put it next to hers.
“What . . .”
She tugged his hand, nodding her head toward the dance floor. “Care to dance with me?”
He hesitated for just a second before following her. They found an open space and began to move, letting the twangy, upbeat music move their hips, their knees, their arms. Coach was a good dancer—confident and comfortable—and she was relieved.
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