The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  “Cootie, Harold,” Lee states by way of greeting. A chill washes over the table the likes of which you could ice skate on.

  The woman, Cootie, ignores Lee and stares at me. She demands, “Who are you?”

  Emmie stands up and says, “Mrs. Wilcox, this is my dear friend, Lexi. She’s visiting from New York City.”

  “What are you?” the woman demands of me.

  I’m not sure what she’s asking so I reply, “I’m a New Yorker.”

  She scoffs inelegantly and clarifies, “I mean, are you some kind of Mexican or something?”

  Everyone at the table stops eating and stares at Cootie like they can’t believe she asked that. I know I’m in shock. I briefly wonder if I’m going to need those brass knuckles Bertie and Regina bought for me after all.

  Shelby unexpectedly stands up and faces the woman. “For the love of God, Mama, what kind of question is that?” OK, that shocks me further. She is Shelby’s mother?

  “It’s the kind of question I’m interested in having answered.”

  Beau angrily interjects, “Mrs. Wilcox, Lexi is a guest of my family. While you’ve recently done your best to ruin your own reputation, if you try your hardest to use some manners, you might be able to save the precious little you have left.”

  Shelby’s mother gasps at the reprimand and snaps, “Don’t you talk to me that way, Beauregard Frothingham. As Shelby’s mother, you ought to treat me with more respect.”

  He sits back down and replies, “I’ll get right on that when you learn to show some respect yourself.”

  Harold, Shelby’s dad, looks about as comfortable as me, and suggests, “Come on, Cootie, let’s go sit down and order.”

  She follows him warily, all the while casting dirty looks at our table. After they walk away, Shelby immediately tells me, “I apologize for my mother’s rudeness. I don’t know what gets into her sometimes.”

  I smile at Beau’s girlfriend. “I’m not going to lie, that was a bit of a shock. But, you don’t need to apologize for her.”

  Emmie’s Uncle Jesse says, “Old Cootie’s jealous of your exotic good looks.”

  “I don’t know how exotic I am,” I reply. “I’m half-black and a half-Jewish on my mom’s side, and one hundred percent English on my dad’s. Pretty standard stuff, if you ask me.”

  Emmie interjects, “Lexi’s mama is a college professor. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “That’s a huge accomplishment,” Gracie, says. “I never even went to college. I can’t imagine how smart you’d have to be to teach it.”

  Lee asks, “What is she a professor of?”

  “Women’s studies,” I reply.

  “You mean like home economics and the like?” Lee wonders.

  I choke on my wine. “Nothing like that. Women’s studies are about women’s achievements and how they have affected sociology, history, and literature.”

  Gracie says, “I wish your mama taught closer. I think I’d like to sit in on some of her classes.”

  Emmie’s uncle Jesse asks, “What does your daddy do?”

  “He’s an artist,” I answer.

  Beau looks at me questioningly. “Just like your boyfriend, huh?”

  Before I can tell him the truth about Emmie’s invention of a fictitious boyfriend, she declares, “Lexi likes artistic men.”

  Lee looks disappointed. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

  “Only a month, Auntie Lee,” Emmie answers for me.

  “What does he think about you being down here for so long?” Davis wonders.

  “He’s in Paris right now,” Emmie seems bent on digging this hole even deeper.

  I’m going to be hard-pressed to remember all the lies being told. My friend leans in and whispers something to her aunt and Lee looks over with a big grin on her face. She points at me, then she taps the tip of her nose and winks. I’m guessing Emmie told her the truth. As likeable as Lee is, she seems particularly nosy regarding the lives of her children.

  I don’t tell my parents when I’m dating someone new unless he’s been around for a good three months. No sense in getting them attached if it isn’t going to work out. Actually, Regina has never shown signs of getting attached to any of my boyfriends. Bertie’s the one who’s looking to add some testosterone to the family dynamic.

  The rest of the meal feels like it lasts a month of Sundays, as Mimi used to say. Beau barely speaks to me, and Jesse, who’s sitting on my other side, spends most of his time talking to Emmie’s mom. When our dinner plates are finally cleared, Shelby stands up and announces, “I’m going to head home now. Thanks for dinner y’all.”

  Beau jumps up and says, “I’ll get our coats.”

  “Please, don’t. I want to go and get some sleep. You stay with your family.”

  Beau doesn’t put up a fight. Instead, he offers, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She walks off without commenting one way or the other.

  When she’s gone, Amelia says, “My god, watching you two is like watching a car wreck.”

  Beau nods his head and says, “I know it. But Shelby’s the one who lost the baby and she’s going through a lot. I’m not going to be the one to walk away from her. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Lee says, “Honey, she’s always walking away from you. You need to take the hint already.”

  “When she says she doesn’t want me around anymore, I’ll hit the bricks. Until then, do y’all think you can mind your own business and leave us alone?”

  By unspoken agreement, his family changes the topic of conversation and moves onto whether or not they have room for whiskey bread pudding. I sneak a peek at Beau out of the corner of my eye and find that he’s sneaking his own peek at me. I quickly look away and fake interest in the dessert menu. I do not need the distraction of this man and I’m going to have to redouble my efforts to ignore this strange attraction I feel toward him.

  Feeling the need for space, I ask Emmie, “Can you point me in the direction of the ladies’ room?”

  “I’ll take you there,” she says as she stands up to join me.

  Beau beats her to it. “I’ll show her.”

  Well now if that doesn’t defeat the purpose of my leaving the table, I don’t know what does. I reluctantly let Emmie’s cousin lead me across the dining room. I swear I can feel the eyes of the whole Frothingham family following our progress.

  As we exit the restaurant into the main lobby of the club, Beau leans down and says, “I’m sorry about what Shelby’s mama said. That was totally uncalled for.”

  I shrug my shoulders like it was no big thing, but the truth is, it really was. Verbal assault is still an attack. “Thank you,” I offer. “You have nothing to be sorry for though. You didn’t do anything. In fact, you came to my aid by telling her off.”

  “That woman can be a real she-wolf.”

  “It’s hard to believe she’s Shelby’s mother,” I say.

  Beau shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything else until we’re standing outside the restrooms. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  “I can find my own way back,” I assure him in an almost panicky tone. I don’t need any more one-on-one time with this man. Not if I want to keep my composure.

  “No ma’am,” he says. “I’ll be right here when you get out.”

  My first impression of Beau was that my presence angered him, but now I feel something entirely different. He’s being gentlemanly and kind. It’s a very appealing combination. It’s also evoking sensations that I don’t want to be having.

  Chapter 12

  I hurry up and do my business before taking time to scrutinize my face and reapply my lipstick. When I exit, Beau is exactly where he said he’d be, waiting for me. He scans me from the top of my head all the way down to my shoes. A look of admiration crosses his face. “I like your dress,” he finally says.

  “Thank you,” I reply. I’m not a shy person by nature, but I’m also not in the habit of being so boldly appreciated. “Your mom
and Aunt Gracie took me shopping today.”

  “Watch out for those two,” he cautions. “When they get cooking on something, they can create a storm the likes you’ve never seen before.”

  I got that impression, but I don’t say as much. “I had fun,” I tell him. “My mom doesn’t like to shop, so it was a new experience for me.”

  “Just be careful. Mama has a penchant for sticking her nose into things she has no business getting involved in.” He’s obviously been on the receiving end of his mother’s machinations, and he doesn’t seem to care for the experience.

  Beau puts his hand behind my back as though to guide me to the dining room. His touch is so light I can’t be sure when he removes it, but I feel the heat long after I see both of his hands at his side.

  While we don’t speak, there’s an electricity in the air that’s probably charging every phone in a ten-foot radius. I feel it and I know Beau feels it, but I remind myself that I’m not interested.

  Beau pulls out my chair for me and I take a seat as Lee announces, “I ordered bread pudding all around.”

  “That sounds delicious,” I tell her. Bread pudding is not a dessert I’ve had more than a handful of times, and truth be told, it’s not my favorite. But I want to be polite.

  “So, what did y’all talk about?” Lee asks her son.

  “On the way to the bathroom?” Beau wants to know.

  “Yes, on the way to the bathroom. That’s where you went, right?”

  “Actually, Mama, we took a moonlit stroll around the veranda.” While I detect the sarcasm in his voice, Lee does not.

  “Really?” she exclaims excitedly.

  “No,” I tell. “I really did use the restroom. Beau and I discussed what an enjoyable meal it’s been.”

  Lee admonishes, “Beauregard Frothingham, you’d best watch yourself. I don’t appreciate you being a wise apple.”

  “I wouldn’t have to be Mama, if you’d mind your curiosity once in a while.”

  Lee ignores his comment and addresses me, “So, Lexi, tell us about your boyfriend.”

  Beau’s posture becomes ramrod stiff. I can tell he’s purposely not looking at me and I’m about to set the record straight, when Emmie says, “Lexi and her boyfriend are perfect for each other!”

  The waitress arrives with our pudding, momentarily taking the spotlight off me. For some reason, I lean into Beau and confess, “Bertie is my dad, not my boyfriend. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

  He noticeably relaxes and asks, “Then why did Emmie say you were?”

  “I think she has hopes that something might happen between you and me. But clearly that’s a pipe dream on her part.”

  He quirks his eyebrow at me and flirtatiously drawls, “Why’s that?”

  Tingles of attraction start at the base of my neck and shoot through my extremities like a fuse on a stick of TNT. “Well, there’s Shelby to consider.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, his demeanor shifts back to its prickly past. “Yes, there is.” Beau distances himself as surely as if he’d gotten up and moved to another table.

  I’m not sure what he’s angry about. After all, he’s the one with a girlfriend. I spend the rest of the meal talking to Emmie’s family about god knows what—my thoughts are clearly elsewhere. Beau goes back to acting like I’m not even there.

  After dinner, Jesse pulls my chair out for me, as Beau makes his excuses and nearly sprints out of the restaurant ahead of us. His departure leaves a gaping hole in the atmosphere. What in the heck is going on with that man?

  As we walk out of the dining room, we pass the table where Shelby’s parents are still dining. I consciously speed up to avoid further contact, and while I make a point not to look at her, I hear her hiss, “Stay away from him, Mexican. He’s not for you.”

  Chapter 13

  Emmie and I sit on her bed after we get back to her house. “I’m so sorry about what Cootie asked at dinner. That woman has the manners of a tarantula.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of ethnic diversity at the club?” I ask, despite Shelby’s dad having darker skin than I do. My coloring is tied to undiluted generations ending with a jazz-singing, fortune-telling enthusiast I used to call Mimi.

  “Not so much, no. Let’s face it, we’re a long way from New York, but we have mostly great people here. Don’t let Cootie fool you into thinking she speaks for the masses.”

  “Where in the world did she get a name like Cootie?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Emmie laughs, “Story I heard was that in grade school she was always picking on someone, telling them that they had cooties, and one day the kids started to call her that. It stuck.”

  “It seems appropriate,” I say. “But what’s up with Shelby? She doesn’t seem to like her mother or her occupation.”

  Emmie grimaces. “Shelby was totally different before losing the baby. She was always dressed up and lording it over everyone like Cootie does. She hasn’t been herself lately.”

  I suggest, “Do you think she’s depressed?”

  “I do, but I don’t think she knows what to do about it.”

  “Can’t Beau help?” I ask.

  My friend shakes her head. “She doesn’t listen to him. He’s tried suggesting she get some counseling, but she just tells him that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “What a mess,” I say for a lack of anything else. I feel sorry for Shelby. She’s clearly in distress, but she’s not liable to accept help if she doesn’t think she needs it. I have a good deal of respect for Beau for staying close in case he’s needed.

  Emmie says, “What Shelby needs has to come from within. She and Beau aren’t good for each other.” A yawn clearly takes her by surprise, so she suggests, “The days are long with a baby and working. You must be tired, too. Let’s get some sleep.” She adds, “I’ve got an early start in the morning. You’re welcome to drive into town with me, if you’d like.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” I tell her. “I’m looking forward to getting to know my way around.”

  Emmie gets up and leads the way into the guest room. “I put some fresh towels in your bathroom. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I give my friend a hug. “I will. Thanks for being such a great hostess, Emmie. I’ve missed you more than I can say.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. I like the idea of your living here and even though you claim you wouldn’t fit, I’m still going to campaign for it.” She warns, “If I can’t get you to agree to move here, I’ll be pushing Atlanta on you. It’s way closer to me than the Big Apple.”

  I think of all of my friends in New York and I realize how different they are from Emmie. It’s like they’re always on the go. When Emmie lived there, we used to sit and talk, a lot. It’s part of the reason I’ve missed her so much. Ever since she left, I’ve lost my ability to feel peaceful. I’m alone a lot of the time, like when I’m at home, but I still feel like I’ve lost the art of enjoying the quiet moments. If nothing else, I’m going to recharge my battery while I’m in Creek Water.

  I open the window in my bedroom and feel the cool breeze float in. Not something I do in Manhattan. I’m always trying to shut out the noise there. But here, I want to enjoy all that comes with rural America. After changing into my pajamas, which are a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, I crawl under the covers to warm up. The only sound is the tinkling of wind chimes, which is oddly soothing.

  I can’t recall the last time I heard wind chimes in the wild and not in some gift shop. My bedtime serenade is more along the lines of sirens blaring, horns honking, loud music from my downstairs neighbors, and the bottle that gets smashed somewhere under my window every night at eleven. I’ve never discovered the source of the breakage, but it’s become an expected part of my nightly symphony.

  The perpetual pulsing of energy that always flows through me starts to subside, like it’s on a slow leak. I close my eyes to welcome unconsciousness, but I can’t seem t
o shut my brain off. Maybe I need someone to break a bottle to signal my sleep cycle.

  After a full hour of restlessness, I put on some wool socks and a robe I found in the closet, and throw a blanket over my shoulders before tiptoeing out to the living room. Then I open the sliding door and go out back to sit on the patio. I spot a wooden Adirondack lounger and make short work of settling in.

  The only time I sit outside at home is when I’m in the park with thousands of other people. There’s something unreal about laying under a zillion stars that really makes you appreciate the magnificence of the universe.

  It makes me feel small, but at the same time, incredibly connected to the idea that I’m part of something so much bigger. How have I lived nearly thirty years without doing this?

  Suddenly, I recognize that by spending my whole life in the greatest city on earth I’ve missed out on something fundamental. A premonition fills me like a presence under my skin. Something life-changing really is going to happen while I’m here. I only hope it’s a good change. The fortune-teller from my childhood was never clear on that point, and all of the unexpected changes that happened in New York were not good ones.

  Chapter 14

  I wake to hear Emmie singing “Proud Mary” at the top of her lungs. My friend is no Tina Turner, but what she lacks in talent, she more than makes up for with raw enthusiasm. Once she hits, “rollin’ on the river,” ten-month-old Faye lets out a squeal of delight. I imagine there’s a pretty righteous dance performance that accompanies her serenade.

  The screech catapults me into full consciousness. That’s when I realize I’ve slept outside on the patio. I have no memory of falling asleep or dreaming or anything. Pulling my robe tightly around me, I make my way into the house wondering why I conked out so deeply.

  Emmie and her mom are both wearing yoga pants, t-shirts, and wickedly high heels. They’re getting their Tina on in a way that could win them a fortune on America’s Funniest Videos. Two of the whitest women ever born imitating the best performer to ever live … I wish I had my phone on me. Not to be left out, Faye is sitting on the floor in front of them shaking her teddy bear to the beat of the music, releasing an occasional shout of joy.