Okay, she’d have fun, she decided, shucking out of her clothes, and met Symon in the parking garage. My goodness gracious. It wasn’t that she didn’t know about his broad shoulders, or expect a good-looking swimmer/landscaper would have a muscled chest and tight abs, she just wasn’t accustomed to seeing one with his shirt off. She reached for a board. “Race you.” Off she went with him right beside her.
“Haven’t done this in a long time,” she warned.
“Like riding a bicycle,” he retorted.
So they went out, over waist deep and when the good wave came, he yelled, “Now,” and she was a second too late, was deluged and stuck doing nothing while he rose and fell and glided into shore atop the waves.
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head, returning to her. “I’ll say now before it’s time.”
“That was deliberate,” she sassed. “I just wanted to see if you could do it.”
She really had enjoyed watching him. He looked like a porpoise gracefully gliding through the water. And she did get the hang of it and glided along with him.
“Oh, this is great,” she said breathlessly when they were standing in the deep water, waiting for another perfect wave. They missed one, or two, while she thanked him. “I really needed this,” she said. “Sometimes I forget to have fun.”
Then she wondered if they both did. They were just standing, looking at each other, and the sun was getting low, the tide stronger, and she was about to say they should go in when he yelled, “Ouch!”
“Ouch?”
He grimaced. “I think I just got stung by a jellyfish. Let’s go.”
They hurried ashore, and he hopped and looked at the red welts above his ankle. “If I recall,” he said, “this is the time of year they drift up this way.”
When they neared the balcony he called up to the women. “Have any vinegar?”
Clovis held up a bottle.
Apparently they’d seen him hopping around and examining his leg.
When they got to the balcony, Annabelle said she’d go ahead and shower. Symon said he’d sit there and absorb the vinegar. She felt better about that. She figured it might not seem proper for them to be completely undressed at the same time, even if there were two bathrooms.
After they were both decent again, Symon asked if he could take them to dinner.
“We ate while watching you two having fun out there,” Aunt B said. “We eat early, then have popcorn and watch TV or read later on. There’s a seaside restaurant down the way.”
So Symon and Annabelle went. And sat on the deck while the evening turned gray, the wind picked up, the ocean churned and moved onto the shore. They ordered and he talked about how pleased he was to be with Aunt B again.
“And thank you,” he said to Annabelle. “You’re an unexpected pleasure.”
She smiled. “Without your encouragement, I wouldn’t have done anything about that book. You’ve helped me look at some things in a different way. I’m grateful.”
For an instant she thought about having associated with Symon more in a few days than she had with Wes in a month or so. She’d shared some of her deepest thoughts about her life and plans that she and Wes simply didn’t have a chance to discuss. Not that there was anything wrong with it. If Wes hadn’t had to work again, she’d be with him.
She bit into her hot dog with chili and savored the bite. Symon was quiet. Maybe he was tired. She felt tired. It was a good tired.
She looked over at him and he looked at her with his unreadable expression. “You’re going to ruin me,” she jested. “I have a pink nose. Now I’m stuffing myself with fat and calories?”
“No problem. The pink will become tan. This indulgence is an occasional occurrence. Tomorrow you’ll return to your usual chosen lifestyle.”
She looked around, not really seeing the people, fading into thoughts. Chosen? Her life had been chosen for her. But it had been a good one, a happy one, a sheltered one, until her parents were gone. She had chosen. Tomorrow she would return to her job, her friends, her responsibilities and Wes.
Return to Wes? It wasn’t a matter of returning. She hadn’t left him. He was putting in all those hours for her, for their future.
Her focus reverted to the other tables, families, young couples, talking, laughing, belonging. They all were being whipped by the wind and didn’t care. Sand and salt were in the air, and in the hair. Something inside seemed unleashed today while riding the waves, being taken by the tide, letting go, not resisting its pull, its currents. She felt more alive than she had in a long time.
She remembered the more carefree days when she’d be at the beach with Wes. Times of holding hands, arms around each other, kicking the sand with bare feet, avoiding jellyfish, picking up shells, their arms touching, then stopping to kiss, rather passionately at times. And when it became too serious, they’d run off toward the ocean, laughing, splashing...playing...
“Would you like to walk on the beach?” Symon’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
She looked at the moonlight shining on the humming sea, saw the tide caressing the shore, ebbing, flowing. Yes, she would like it. So she said, “I should...” Return? “Get back.”
“I understand,” he said.
Heaven help her. She hoped he didn’t.
Chapter 17
On Friday, Wes called, really excited. He was worn out. “It’s over, Annabelle. Now it’s up to the jury. Let’s just have some down time tonight, okay?”
“Sounds great. Aunt B is coming back in the morning, so we’ll have tonight alone. I’ll fix something good for supper.”
“I’ll be...” He laughed because he usually said “late,” but this time he said, “early.”
During supper he talked about the case, how they were about as confident as they could get that the verdict would be in their favor. Then he said they’d have the weekend together, but he had to go away for a few days next week with his dad. After that, he’d have some decent hours.
That sounded good to her. After they cleaned up in the kitchen they went out onto the front porch with their Diet Cokes. The evening was growing cool after the hot, humid day. They sat in rockers.
Symon’s car was gone. He’d mentioned a movie he wanted to see and if Paul didn’t have to work he might go with him. She’d thought if Wes had to work, she might go, too. After all, it looked like Symon, more so than Wes, was the closest thing to a family member to Aunt B, besides her. They were...what had he jokingly said? Cousins?
She chuckled.
“What?” Wes said.
“Just thinking. I had a great time at Tybee last evening.” She began to tell him about riding the waves and that Aunt B still did that. And Symon being stung by a jellyfish and...
“You took him to Tybee with you?”
She heard the edge in his voice. “I didn’t take him. He drove his car. I drove mine after class. We both went to see Aunt B.” She huffed. “But what if I had gone with him? He’s a friend and visitor of Aunt B’s. And he’s been a friend to me.”
“I’ll bet,” he said and she could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“What’s your problem, Wes?”
He exhaled heavily. “He’s the caretaker.”
“What does that mean? Not good enough to run around with?”
“Is that what you’re doing? Running around with him? First it’s Pirate’s Cave. Then it’s the bookstore. Now it’s Tybee. What’s next?”
She could not close her mouth.
He lowered his voice when he said, “He’s going to get the wrong idea. I mean, he works for you. For Aunt B.”
“Really? And who does Jennifer work for?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s a paralegal. She has to come along on some
trips. It’s business.”
“Well, this is business, too. He and Aunt B are working on a book. He is helping me with my book.”
“Right. And didn’t you tell me he went out with Lizzie and that had something to do with ideas about a book?” He glanced upward. “It’s a line.”
“A line? He hasn’t pursued Lizzie although she wouldn’t mind.”
“Why not?”
She ignored that. “You know Celeste has wanted me to write this book. And he wants to honor Aunt B because she was instrumental in getting him into writing. You should see them together, Wes. They’re close.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t add up. Okay, so he and Aunt B were close. But who wants to read a book about it?”
Nobody, was the first thought that ran through her mind. Symon had entertaining, wonderful stories. But who cared? Just like who cared if she wrote about little girls learning correct posture, etiquette, fashion, makeup, nutrition. They were adorable just the way they were. She was reverting to her insecurities about it.
Who would care if Symon wrote a tribute to Aunt B?
“Okay, who would care?” she said defensively. “Symon and Aunt B. He said he speaks to writers’ groups. They like his childhood stories. Oh, and his editor likes them.”
“All right,” he conceded. “But how is he making a living while doing that?”
She raised her hands. “I don’t know. Wes, you’re making me feel like I’m on the witness stand and I don’t know what the charge is against the...the...” She waved her hand. “Whatever. The criminal? What’s the crime?”
He sat silent for a long time. She felt hot on the inside but was getting cold on the outside. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the rocker. Then stopped. He took a drink of Coke. “Okay,” he said calmly. “It’s my attorney mind at work. But, Annabelle, you’re different.”
She started to deny that. But then raised her chin. “I think you’re right. I’m putting closure on a time of my life. Which I guess leads me to tell you, I’m not going to enter any more pageants.”
After a long stare he spoke. “That is your life.”
“It was. Now I want to return to school. Get my teacher’s certificate.”
“Annabelle.” He stood and walked over in front of her, then backed against the banister. “We postponed our marriage, even the engagement, because of your pageants.”
“Right,” she said. “Do you want to postpone for a few more years?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve just assumed you wanted to go on to bigger pageants. I’d wait for you. I have waited for you.”
“It’s not one-sided, Wes. I’ve waited for you while you finished law school. Got established in the firm. Worked on court cases.” She shook her head. “I guess it’s not really settled in my mind yet. It’s unsettled. I think one way and feel one way. Then I talk to you and I’m back again to where I was.”
He nodded. “That’s what I mean. You’re different.”
Different? She felt different. Like she might not be as morose as she’d been since her parents died. She was getting on with her life. “I’m making decisions, Wes.”
“I think you’re being influenced.”
“I came out here to be alone and think about decisions.”
“But you’re not alone.”
“I’m alone in the house, Wes. He has not set one foot in the house. Not even attempted to. Well, the kitchen. But I invited him in to see the laptop. One time. Other than that, he’s come no farther than sitting on the edge of the porch. Except to paint the few slats on the inside of the banister.”
Wes turned with his back to her and his hands gripped the banister. When he turned to her again, he had that apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. It’s just that he’s a guy. And you’re a beautiful woman. He’s not going to take you lightly.”
“He’s never done or said one word—”
“He’s a guy,” he repeated, as if he’d made a profound remark.
“Well, so are you. And I make up my own mind about things. About...guys.”
“My girl doesn’t run around with other guys.”
“Fine. My guy doesn’t play golf with other gals, paralegals or not, and take them to dinner.”
Even in the moonlight, she watched the slow burn. The red face went away and she thought it might be replaced with ice, but he finally raised his hands. “This is going nowhere.” Then he grinned. “You love me?”
Oh, how many times had she said, “I love you.” He’d said it, too. They’d said it casually, they’d said it seriously, they’d said it emotionally. They’d said it after an argument or disagreement.
But they’d never argued about some other man. Why had Wes suddenly turned jealous?
“Of course, I love you.” There, she’d said it as confirmation, a reminder. She’d loved him a long time. They loved each other so much she’d sort of taken it for granted. But that was all right, too. Sort of like the times she’d sung, “I love you, Lord” and later realized she wasn’t even aware of the words. She took the Lord for granted. She could say she loved the Lord without emotion. She could say she loved Wesley without the emotion.
Oh, she wanted the emotion. She felt it come into her eyes and she went into his arms that opened to her. She welcomed his holding her.
It wasn’t easy going from defending herself, and Symon, to feeling lovey dovey. Then she lifted her face and felt his lips on hers. She felt the emotion. His emotion. Wasn’t that love?
Chapter 18
Symon noticed the change in her. As if she had lost confidence in her book project being accepted.
“Even if the publisher doesn’t take it,” he assured her, “there are other ways. It can still be printed, a good cover can be made, and it can be used for your classes and when you speak to groups.”
“Okay, I’ll keep on and you can keep giving me pointers. Thanks.” But her response seemed more polite than enthusiastic.
But, he had come here for the writing of The Cherry Tree. Annabelle was enthused about that. After she exercised on Monday and Wednesday mornings, the two of them sat at the kitchen table, one on each side of Miss B, and looked at the photo albums.
“Aunt B,” Annabelle exclaimed that first morning. “I had no idea you had all these. My goodness, this is as detailed as my parents had for me.”
“Well,” she said, “Symon was right here. And so was the camera.”
“And the newspaper clippings.” Annabelle was as surprised as he. Miss B had taken a lot of pictures, but he hadn’t expected this. But she had gone to many of his hometown swim meets. And his graduations. She had not been just kind. She had...cared. He should not have stayed away so long. Should have trusted his and her feelings. But he’d been only a boy. And she never said outright...
So he did. “She was like a...” He felt a little choked up. “A mom to me.”
He saw her shoulders rise, but her soft hand reached over and covered his for a moment.
Annabelle looked from one to the other. She looked very pleased. Then Miss B removed her hand and turned another page.
The three of them would sit and he would remember stories and they would laugh. Miss B would remember stories he had forgotten and they’d laugh, or wince or shake their heads.
He liked the idea of this family life. And as long as he controlled his thinking, remember who belonged to whom, all would be well. Of course, he was guilty of that excuse of being only human. But he was also a sensible man who could control his actions and his thinking. All he had to do was prove it.
One of those mornings, Miss B said he might want to go to church with them. “You still go, don’t you?”
“Sure. I’ve attended the big ones in New York, other places I’ve visited. I like to see the architecture. What different ones l
ook like. The different kinds of services and preaching. I like to compare.”
He looked at Annabelle. “I went when I was young. Miss B told my dad I should go and had the van pick me up on Sunday mornings. So I went. I didn’t have a family to sit with in the service so I’d walk home after Sunday School. As I got older, had a few friends who went, I went occasionally. It was cool not to go all the time.”
Annabelle was astounded. “Why didn’t you sit with Aunt B?”
He screwed up his face. “None of the pews had my name on them.”
Annabelle looked about ready to cry until she saw Miss B with her hand to her mouth and her shoulders shaking. Then she said, “Don’t believe a word he says.”
Then they laughed. He could have told the truth. He wasn’t about to sit with a bunch of women and he’d rather fight the boys than sit with them.
He knew Miss B, and probably Annabelle, would rather hear that he was active in a church. But that had not been his lifestyle in New York. “And,” he told them, “I went to Willamina’s church last Sunday. Got all those warm hugs and loud singing and amens and topped it off with Southern fried chicken.”
“She only works for me when I call,” Miss B said. “I don’t need her all the time anymore.”
“She’s coming to clean the cottage for me.”
Miss B smiled. Pleased.
And when Annabelle wasn’t there, he and Miss B sat on her porch, she in the rocker and he against the post. Thomas Wolfe was wrong. He had come home again.
The days became increasingly cloudy. Rain and storms were predicted. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” he told Miss B. “Then I can see what that troublesome part of the creek is doing. Dad had to rework it many times.”
Then the storms came. And true to form, that troublesome place on the bank washed out. The reinforcing plants and rocks would hold only so long and have to be replaced.
He assessed the damage. He’d need to place some stones in the water and some halfway out of the creek. He ordered plant hedges and bushes to replace those washed out. He’d use smaller stones to keep the plants in place and make it look like a part of the natural setting.
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