Stoned or not, Sean knew where to find the fish. When they grew tired of reeling them in, Sean drove the boat to a nearby deserted island and anchored close to the beach. They swam for a while before stretching out flat in the sand. Jamie was surprised when Sean removed a plastic flask from his pocket and took a swig of the clear liquid.
“Want some?”
Jamie shook his head at the offered flask. “We have to be at work at six, you know.”
“So? That’s hours from now. Come on, bro.” He pressed the mouth of the flask to Jamie’s arm. “You’re in college. Don’t you ever day-drink?”
“I don’t drink much at all, actually, aside from an occasional beer. Watching my mother struggle with her addiction has shed new light on our drinking culture.”
“Too bad for you, dude.” Sean took another gulp and put the flask away.
Jamie closed his eyes and basked in the warm sun. He was dozing off when Sean asked, “When did you decide to make a career out of the seafood business?”
He opened his right eye. His cousin had rolled over on his side and was staring at him expectantly. “That’s hard to say, cuz. I’ve never really considered doing anything else. Sweeney’s is in my blood.”
“Sweeney’s is in my blood too. How come nobody ever gave me a chance to work there?”
“What’re you talking about?” Jamie said, tossing a handful of sand at Sean. “You’ve been supplying us with seafood for the past three summers.”
Sean sat up and drew his knees to his chest. “That’s not a real job, though, like working in the kitchen or taking care of the customers.”
“Believe me, your role is vital to our success. But I understand what you’re saying.” Jamie paused for a minute, thinking. “I was exposed at an early age because Mom was a single parent and I had nowhere else to go during the summers. Let’s face it, dude, your mom is not the biggest fan of the seafood business.”
“You’ve got that right,” Sean said, rolling his eyes. “Have you ever thought about living somewhere other than Prospect?”
Sensing his cousin had a lot on his mind, Jamie scrambled into a sitting position so he could make eye contact with him. “A lot of my friends at school can’t wait to explore the world. They envision themselves living in exotic places like Hawaii and Australia. I don’t have the wanderlust gene. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to live in Charleston or maybe Wilmington. But I like the South and I want to live on the water.
“I have a feeling that Prospect is going to explode in the next few years. It’s a charming little coastal town with a lot to offer young people who are looking for a safe place to raise their families. The world is getting smaller, Sean. It won’t be long before we’re considered a suburb of Charleston. Think of what it’d mean for our economy if we landed a large company like Boeing.”
“That’s true,” Sean said. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“What’re you thinking?” Jamie shoulder-bumped his cousin. “Are you trying to decide what you want to be when you grow up?”
“Something like that.” Sean rested his chin on his knees. “I can see myself in the restaurant business. Not as a dishwasher. And not as a chef. But maybe in management.”
“I can totally see you working in the restaurant business. As long as that restaurant is on the waterfront. But don’t sell yourself short. Think bigger than management. Think ownership. Your parents have the means to back you.”
“My mother would sell her shoe collection before she gave me money to open a restaurant.” Sean picked up a nearby piece of driftwood and drew the outline of a crab in the sand. “Are you glad you majored in restaurant management? They have a similar program at the College of Charleston. I’m thinking of applying.”
“That would be perfect for you. What’re you waiting for?”
Sean lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m afraid I might screw up again.”
Jamie wasn’t sure if by “screwing up” his cousin meant flunking out of college or if there was something more. “If you work hard, you won’t screw up. You’ll find your classes easy if you enjoy what you’re learning.”
Jamie’s words seemed to strike the right chord with Sean. His face lit up and his eyes glistened. “Maybe I’ll give it a shot.” He got to his feet and brushed the sand off his butt. “I’m starving. Let’s go get some dogs.”
#
They purchased three hot dogs apiece from the HotDog Hut at the marina and sat down to eat on a nearby bench on the boardwalk. Back in their grandfather’s day, commercial fishing boats had been the only boats that docked at the marina. But over the years a string of different owners had added several more docks. They still held a fair number of fishing vessels, but plenty of leisure yachts rented year-round slips as well.
“How do you like working at the restaurant?” Jamie couldn’t let the day go by without warning his cousin about the unsavory employees who worked there.
Sean cut his eyes at him. “What do you think? I’m busing tables. I’d much rather be bartending.”
“Bartending isn’t much of a job when you don’t have any customers. I hope business picks up after Memorial Day. From what I’ve seen of the kitchen, I don’t know why the health department hasn’t shut the place down. There are some questionable-looking dudes working back there.”
“They’re not so bad.” Sean stuffed the last of his first dog in his mouth.
“Are you kidding me? Julius looks like he came straight out of prison. Whatever you do, don’t invite him home to dinner.”
“Chill, cuz. You sound just like Jackie.”
They watched the boats coming and going as they finished their hot dogs in silence. The gentle salty breeze made Jamie feel lazy. He stretched his legs out in front of him and propped his hands behind his head, lifting his face to the sun.
Sean wadded up his hot dog wrappers and tossed them into a nearby trash can. “Is it bad that I don’t have higher aspirations for myself like Cooper?”
“Not at all, bro. You are your own person. I know Cooper is your twin. Your identities are connected on some level I will never understand. But I totally get how different the two of you are. I don’t think of you as ‘the twins.’ I think of you as Cooper and Sean.”
“Really?” A wide grin spread across Sean’s face, pushing his freckles closer together.
“Truly,” Jamie said, punctuating his proclamation with a firm nod.
Sean jumped up off the bench. “In that case, you won’t think my idea is stupid. Come on.” He pulled Jamie to his feet.
“Where are we going?” Jamie asked, lengthening his stride to match Sean’s pace on the way back to the boat.
“You’ll see,” Sean said as he untied the rope from the cleat.
He started the boat and took off down the creek toward his house. They were almost to his dock when Sean changed course and headed down a winding marsh creek. “I need to check my crab traps,” he hollered over the whine of the motor. They meandered through the marsh creeks before he slowed the engine. He idled to the first of five red-and-white floats and put the boat in neutral.
Jamie looked around, disoriented. “Is this the same spot where we came the other day?” he asked, envying the twins’ knowledge of the inlet.
“Nah, I pulled those traps in the other day. The bait goes bad if you leave the traps out for more than twenty-four hours.” Sean tugged on the yellow rope and lifted the trap into the boat. The wire cage was filled with large blue crabs trying to claw their way out.
Jamie’s jaw dropped. “Damn! There’s dozens of crabs in there. That’s a fortune at forty bucks a dozen.”
“Exactly!” Sean returned to the wheel and putt-putted over to the next trap. With Jamie’s help, he had all three traps in the boat in no time.
“I have an idea how we can make money off of selling crabs,” Sean said. “I’ll tell you about my plan if you come with me to my house and help me steam these.”
Jamie, a pro at steaming crab
s, gave him a thumbs-up. The twins had always delivered the crabs live to the market for Jamie and Roberto, Sweeney’s full-time chef, to steam.
Sean put the boat in forward, and as they sped toward the farm, Jamie grew excited about the opportunity to cook in his uncle’s fancy outdoor kitchen.
#
Jamie and Sean set two large pots on the gas burners, put two cups of water and a splash of vinegar in each, and placed the steamer racks inside the pots.
“What did you do with the crabs you got the other day?” Jamie asked while they were waiting for the water to boil.
“My dad took them to the other doctors in his practice. You can take some of these home to Sam and Eli, if you want.”
They worked diligently for the next hour as they cooked the crabs in batches. Sean eyeballed their haul once the crabs were spread out on newspaper to cool. “I’d say we have at least twelve dozen crabs here. If we sold them for forty dollars a dozen, we would make four hundred eighty dollars, which is two hundred forty dollars apiece. Not bad for an afternoon’s work.”
Jamie pursed his lips. “Yeah, but who’s gonna buy them?”
“Our customers, who else?”
Jamie looked at his cousin as if he were crazy.
“No! Listen, man. Our customers are in the habit of stopping by Sweeney’s on Saturdays on their way to the beach. We can sell our crabs out of coolers from the parking lot. Word about the fire has spread on social media. People will slow down as they drive by to look at the damage and they’ll see us in the parking lot with our ‘Crabs for Sale’ sign.” He picked up a pair of tongs and began tonging the crabs into paper bags. “It’s how Lovie got started all those years ago.”
Jamie leaned back against the stainless-steel counter, rubbing his chin in thought. “If it worked for her, I don’t see why it wouldn’t for us. The human-interest angle alone could earn us some press. Mom hired a construction crew to clear the lot. They promised to be finished by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’m telling you, bro.” Sean jabbed the tongs at Jamie. “We stand to make a fortune.”
“You’re a genius, cuz. Let’s do it!” Jamie grabbed his cousin in a bear hug and swung him around until Sean belly laughed.
THIRTEEN
Jackie
Jackie was late meeting her prospective buyers for their scheduled appointment at eleven thirty on Thursday morning. Upon entering the kitchen, she was appalled to find a trail of mouse droppings on the kitchen counter. She should’ve thought to have Liza or Cecilia freshen up the house, as no one had been inside since she left for Prospect a week ago. Fortunately the Doyles, completely enamored with the craftsmanship of her cabinetry, took no notice when she ripped off a paper towel and quickly wiped up the droppings.
“Please make yourselves at home,” Jackie said to Hank and Catherine. “I have a family medical emergency and need to make a few calls. I’ll be on the piazza if you need me.” She aimed her phone at the glass door leading to the side porch.
The Doyles thanked her and ventured off to explore their potential new home.
Settling into the wicker chaise lounge on her piazza, Jackie placed the call to her husband. She burst into tears when he answered.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Bill asked in an alarmed tone. “Have you been in an accident?”
“My mother has Alzheimer’s!”
His voice fell flat. “Oh. Is that all?”
“What do you mean, is that all? Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes . . . Of course . . . That’s more than enough. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I’m just surprised that you’re surprised by the diagnosis. I thought that’s what we expected.”
Jackie squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the tears. “No, you’re right. That is what we expected.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Her doctor is an insensitive ass, by the way. He pronounced the diagnosis right in front of Mom. Hearing him say the word out loud—Alzheimer’s—took away any hope that Mom might be having another one of her spells. The woman who raised me, the mother I love so much, is never coming back. This horrible disease will eat away her mind and turn her into somebody we won’t recognize. It’s so degrading for her.”
“It is degrading, sweetheart, but more so for you and your sisters than for Lovie. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. You might find it easier to cope if you keep that in mind.”
“You’re right about that. She doesn’t have a clue.” Jackie stared up at the porch’s haint blue ceiling. “She didn’t seem to understand, or even care, about what the doctor was saying.”
“What exactly did Lawson say?”
“He ordered an MRI and a battery of other tests to confirm his diagnosis, but he explained that vascular dementia can coexist with Alzheimer’s, and he thinks she has both. He thinks she may have had a stroke that caused this sudden decline.”
Bill sighed. “That’s what I was worried about.”
Jackie heard the Doyles’ voices in the kitchen. “I need to run, honey,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise. “I’m meeting with some clients.”
“I didn’t realize you were staying in Charleston. I thought you were coming home after your mother’s appointment. Who’s looking after Sean?”
“Sean went fishing with Jamie. He’s twenty years old. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”
What Sean really needs is someone to whip him into shape, she thought after she hung up. A personal trainer, life coach, and prison guard all combined. And I’m not qualified for the job.
Jackie had been nagging and fighting with Sean all week and had accomplished absolutely nothing. She’d given him a list of family friends to contact about a respectable summer job, and he’d gone out and gotten hired as a busboy. And he’d missed his appointment with Moses on Tuesday. Big Mo had been gracious about it, but Jackie knew he wouldn’t be as understanding if it happened again. At least her son wasn’t doing drugs. Of that much she was sure.
The Doyles emerged from the house. “Do you mind if we take a look at the carriage house?”
Jackie got to her feet. “By all means. Have a peek at the garden and pool area too while you’re out here.” She swept her arm in the direction of the backyard.
She watched Catherine and Hank stroll hand in hand toward the carriage house. They seemed like such a nice couple, the kind of people who would take care of her home. Jackie left the porch and went inside to the kitchen. She filled a glass of water from the refrigerator dispenser, drained it, and set it down on the counter. She ran her hand over the smooth Carrara marble. She’d personally chosen every surface, paint color, and wall covering with extra care. She loved this house. She should probably talk to Bill before she accepted an offer, but three years ago, when she had her mini midlife crisis, she’d realized that having the freedom to make her own choices about her professional life was vital to her happiness.
She glanced at the clock on the oven. She was due to meet her Realtor and contractor at the house on Church Street in twenty minutes. In addition to four bedrooms—the smallest of which she planned to convert into a home office—the Church Street house had a living room, dining room, and family room adjacent to the kitchen. Stylistically, she was aiming for contemporary cozy, way less formal than Lamboll but more upscale than the farm.
She moved to the back window and watched the Doyles make their way through the garden to the pool. They sat down at the umbrellaed table, and for the next ten minutes talked with their heads close together. Jackie was thumbing a text to her Realtor, to let her know she’d be late to meet her, when the couple finally stood up and headed toward the house. She greeted them at the porch door.
“We’ve made a decision,” Hank said. “We’d like to make an offer on the house. Fully furnished, of course.”
Jackie worked hard to keep a straight face when he told her they were willing to pay her asking price plus a handsome amount triple the cost of the furnishings.
“We know you’ve t
urned down offers in the past,” Catherine said. “We’re willing to negotiate.”
If she didn’t accept this beyond-generous offer, word would spread around town, and she’d never be able to sell the house. But she had yet to consider the logistics of moving. “When would you want to close?”
Catherine shot her husband a glance of uncertainty. “The sooner the better for us,” she said. “But obviously that’s up to you.”
If not for Sean, she could manage a few months of commuting daily from Prospect. If it did work out for him to attend the College of Charleston, they would need someplace to live while the Church Street house was being renovated. And what about her business? She was banking on moving her workroom to the Meeting Street warehouse. If for some reason that didn’t work out, she would be stuck up a creek at low tide.
“I’ll need some time to get my new place ready, and to move my business out of the carriage house. I can probably swing early November, which would give you time to get settled before the holidays.”
Disappointment crossed Catherine’s face, but she quickly recovered. “We’ll make that work. Whatever it takes.”
A frown creased Jackie’s forehead. “I hadn’t really thought through to the next step, the paperwork and inspections. I want to make certain everything is taken care of properly. Do you mind if I involve my Realtor in the transaction?”
“As long as you don’t mind if I involve mine,” Hank said. “I’m a bond trader. I have no idea how to write a contract to purchase a home.”
Saturdays at Sweeney's Page 10
