Mayhem in Myrtle Beach

by T. Lynn Ocean

  “You’ve had groups before, right?” Sherwood said, a sinking feeling in her belly.

  “We’ve done golf packages and family reunions. Yours is our first bus group.”

  That explained a few things. “In addition to the key packets, I’ll also need two copies of the rooming list.” One for her, and one for Freddy. That was another tip she’d read during the drive. “Also, is your luggage person here?”

  Frowning, the manager slid the key packets and rooming lists across the counter. “Luggage?”

  “Yes, you know, the stuff that a person uses when traveling to put clothes and such in?”

  Gregory ignored the sarcasm. “Unfortunately, our bellhop has already gone off shift.”

  Sherwood looked from the manager to the clerk who was tucking in his shirt and back to the manager. “You should have someone to carry all the luggage up to their rooms, based on the rooming list. All the bags are tagged with their names. That service is included in our group rate. It’s in the contract.” She’d read the paperwork that Jane Sullivan had given her, and knew what she was talking about. On this matter, anyway. She wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  “They don’t handle their own luggage?” Gregory said.

  Sherwood kept a steady gaze on the manager and shot him the same look that her mother used to give her when Sherwood asked a stupid question. Gregory eyes his front desk clerk, who was still tucking in the shirt. Finally, something dawned in the kid’s eyes and he quit tucking.

  “You want me to carry the luggage?” the clerk said.

  “Yes, I can’t get anyone else on such short notice. I’ll have someone else available to take care of it at check out,” Gregory told him.

  It was nearing ten minutes since the coach pulled up to the curb, and Sherwood knew that her group was growing more impatient by the minute. She hurried back to the idling bus armed with the key packets and a rooming list. Once there, she called out names and handed out room keys as the passengers disembarked with infinite slowness and a cacophony of grunts and moans. They reminded Sherwood of sleep-ridden bears coming out of hibernation and seeing sunlight for the first time in many days.

  Slouching on the sidewalk, the clerk viewed all the luggage and shook his head. A plastic pet carrier with a latching wire door was among the bags. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it contained clothing, not an animal.

  “Criminy,” he said, tucking in his shirt.

  “Gretta Rafferty and Mabel Jones?” Sherwood called inside the coach. There was no answer.

  “Gretta and Mabel?” she asked again. She was greeted with silence until Ethyl Froogin spoke up.

  “You, know, I thought this coach didn’t look like everyone was here when we loaded up,” Ethyl said twisting the neck pillow off herself. “I’ll bet you they missed the bus.”

  “Are you sure they didn’t already get off the bus just now?” Sherwood said, a sickening feeling pooling at the bottom of her stomach. She’d counted heads before they’d left Great Wings, just like she was supposed to. But she hadn’t done a head count when they’d stopped for lunch and later, when they stopped at a highway rest area. If she had, she would have realized much earlier on that they were missing two people. She’d totally screwed up, and prayed to God the women weren’t roaming around at the rest area in North Carolina. Hopefully, she’d left them at Great Wings. But then why hadn’t Jane or somebody from the retirement community called her? She retrieved her smartphone from her handbag to find a dead battery. Oh, crap, crap, crap.

  “Goodness, no,” Ethyl said. “You couldn’t miss them. Mabel’s got this head of red poofed hair, and Gretta always talks a mile a minute. And she’s always watching news on her iPhone. She’s from New York, you know. They’re always together, those two. No way could you miss them.”

  “Well, apparently, we did,” Sherwood laughed in disbelief wondering if she’d have to refund her hundred dollars spending money when Jane told her she wasn’t getting hired for the job. “Ethyl, why didn’t you—” she stopped herself in mid-sentence, trying not to panic. “Never mind. Let’s just get the remaining residents off the bus for now. Who’s next on the list?”

  “Gus O’Malley and Smith, uh, Mr. Smith?” Freddy called, helping out.

  A pink putter appeared ahead of Gus who ambled down the aisle from somewhere near the rear of the coach. Following him, Smith stood, staggered, and steadied himself. “This should be fun, rooming with Putter Pan,” he said rubbing numb legs. Gus muttered something in response to the nickname as he stiffly navigated the three steps down to the curb with an awkward side-to-side motion.

  “You’ll make fine roommates,” Sherwood told him.

  “Hmmph,” was all Smith said as he trailed Gus down the steps onto the sidewalk.

  Sherwood finished dispersing the room keys and everyone quickly disappeared to their rooms. The hotel was oceanfront, and all the rooms had a direct view. Even though they complained about having to wait, Sherwood hoped that the beach would quickly work its magic on her residents.

  The clerk stood in the middle of an eclectic assortment of luggage, his features twisted into a perplexed expression. “Criminy,” he said and looked back and forth between the luggage and the rooming list, and tucked in his shirt.

  Gregory materialized and handed Sherwood a pink slip of paper.

  “Message,” he said, “from the director of Great Wings. You should call her back right away. I think it’s something about leaving two women behind.”

  “I think I’m going to need a drink tonight,” Sherwood said. And she didn’t even drink alcohol.

  Five

  Sea Shell Hotel

  Outdoor pool deck

  Wednesday, late night

  The two college buddies sat on opposite sides of a poolside lounge table, hands nearly touching, the silence cut by methodically breaking waves on the expanse of beach beyond. Bluish-white moonlight illuminated the outdoor deck and the stacked balconies of the Sea Shell Hotel behind them. Sherwood’s bare feet were propped on a chair in front of her, tanned knees bent, and a pair of uncomfortably new leather sandals were discarded on the ground beside her. She wore a stylishly short black sleeveless cotton dress with a simple white tie sash. Head thrown back over the edge of the plastic chair, she examined slowly moving cloud formations in front of a big moon and her glossy black hair blew in swirls around her exposed neck. Through a flex-straw, she sipped a rum and cola and didn’t bother to raise her head to swallow. She wondered if she was allowed to drink alcohol while on duty as the activities director. She wondered if she was even considered as being on duty since there were no more activities for the evening. She wondered if she still had a potential job.

  Freddy viewed her long neck and wondered if the skin would feel like silk beneath his fingertips. He watched the delicate muscles move when she swallowed and had the strongest desire to run his tongue along their path, up to her jaw line, and around to the corner of her lips. He’d love to pour a few drops of the sweet rum drink into the inviting notch at her throat’s center, then lick it out, slowly. Their assigned rooms were adjacent—only a single hotel room wall would separate them tonight—and sleep would be impossible.

  A large center hull sailboat was moving south, well beyond the breaking waves but close enough to see the several people aboard, partying above deck. Steady on course, it rolled smoothly over the water’s small swells. Freddy didn’t want to be caught staring at Sherwood, so he turned his attention to the boat. Viewing it with moonlit-blue eyes, he swallowed gulps of a Coke over crushed ice with about the same frequency as Sherwood sipped rum through the flex-straw.

  “Well, at least they’ve been fed, entertained, and are hopefully in bed,” she pronounced with the straw still in her mouth. Not a move that Emily Post would endorse, but she was too exhausted to care about etiquette. It was now almost eleven o’clock in the evening. Somehow they’d managed to get the Great Wingers assembled in the outdoor pool area for their Hawaiian Luau. It was a full-fare
catered event with brightly-costumed dancers and thundering drums. The dinner show culminated with a dazzling fire dance that had her group mesmerized and drew a crowd of late evening beachgoers to the rear of the Sea Shell Hotel.

  “Right,” Freddy said. “All except for Maggie who has wandered off somewhere, supposedly in search of some A&W Root Beer, which the vending machine in the lobby inexcusably does not have. And of course, Gus who was last seen sitting by himself in the hallway because Smith got the bed nearest the window and the two of them are having a lover’s quarrel,” Freddy said. His eyes were still fixed on the sailboat. He estimated it to be a forty-eight or fifty footer. Faint laughter and music could be heard in wisps above the breaking waves.

  Sherwood’s laugh had a hint of incredulity. “And of course, Mabel and Gretta—whom I inadvertently left behind in Norfolk.”

  “What was the deal with them?” Freddy asked. Keeping up with the group was her responsibility; his job was simply to drive them. Still, he felt like they were a team. A motorcoach duo.

  “They put their luggage out along with everyone else’s and you loaded it. I counted people and checked off names as they got on the bus. But these two slipped back off the bus without me seeing them. Apparently, at the last minute, they decided to buy a case of Moon Pies for everyone to eat on the bus. They thought they could get to the convenience store and back before we left.” Sherwood sipped through her straw. Liquid gurgled through crushed ice as she reached the bottom of her glass.

  “Moon Pies? Really?”

  Sherwood nodded. She’d had the same reaction when Jane told her. “They figured it would be a good southern snack for everyone since we were heading south.”

  She sighed, dark head rising off the back of her chair to look at him. “It was so early when we left and still sort of dark. Not that that’s any type of a good excuse…” Her voice trailed off into thoughts of the wonderful new career she could have had by going to work for Jane Sullivan as activity director. No way would she get the job offer now, Sherwood mused. “On top of that, I forgot to charge my phone battery so Jane’s message went straight to voicemail. She was going to call Luxury Lines to get your cell number but decided it was too late for us to turn around anyway, by the time she found out what happened.”

  “My dad would’ve flipped out if he got that call,” Freddy mused. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. They’re not missing the trip.”

  The two women were on a Delta flight and Freddy would be picking them up at the Myrtle Beach International Airport in fifty-five minutes. If it weren’t for the fact that he had to drive again, he would have been drinking a beer to relax after his long day. And to help calm his stomach, which had been slightly jumpy ever since spotting Sherwood at the Great Wings community.

  “By the way, thanks for volunteering to pick them up,” she said. “That’ll be a bit weird—a big bus pulling up to the airport for just two passengers!”

  “Better than having them take a cab. Besides, it’s only fifteen minutes from here, if that. We won’t even have to park. I can wait in the shuttle lane while you go retrieve them at the luggage carousel.”

  “I hope they’re not too upset about missing the first show. Those twirling fire batons were awesome. And the food was incredible, too.” She’d enjoyed herself, despite worrying about the fact that they were minus two residents.

  “The food was delicious,” Freddy agreed. “That’s why I filled up to-go containers for our two absent ladies. It’s in the employee’s fridge behind the front reservation desk.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Thanks, Freddy. Thanks for helping me look out for this group. It never occurred to me to save some food for them,” Sherwood muttered. “I leave them behind and then I don’t even remember to feed them!”

  “Stop the pity party already,” Freddy teased, his foot involuntarily reaching out to poke hers. “You’re an amazing, smart person. This is your first bus group. Heck, your first planned senior activity ever. All things considered, you’re doing great.” He wanted to reach out and hug her, comfort her, make her laugh. He wanted to take her in his arms as he had over and over again in his dreams. He wanted to totally make her forget about the two ladies left behind.

  Sherwood blushed and the heat spread from her face downward. Is that the rum talking, she wondered. “Um, thanks for the compliment. And you’re right, I am feeling sorry for myself. I’m second-guessing myself. Am I in over my head?”

  “Look, it was an easy mistake to make. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “They hate me.”

  “The Q-tips don’t know even know you yet.”

  “Q-tips?”

  “You know, all the white hair. You ever look in rear view mirror of a bus when you’re driving an elderly group? That’s what my dad calls them. Q-tips.”

  Sherwood burst out laughing. Freddy was making her feel much better already.

  “They’ll come to love you.” Just as I have during our four years on campus together.

  The party on the anchored sailboat was in full swing. Shimmering moonlight outlined two couples slow-dancing around the deck. Freddy and Sherwood periodically tracked their progress.

  “After all,” he mused, “I’ve hardly driven a bus before. You told me that the hotel has never had a bus group before. And you’ve never been a group leader before. We’re all kind of in this thing together.”

  “Why did you used to want to go out with me?” Sherwood asked, changing tacks as easily as the sailboat would with a good westward wind. The question caught him off guard. No great answers came to mind so he decided to be honest.

  “You—you’re, well, beautiful. And smart and funny. And you brought me homemade chocolate chip cookies that time I broke my finger and was really bummed because I couldn’t play my trumpet and missed the homecoming game performance with the band.” He looked straight into her eyes. “They had walnuts in them and were great.”

  “My mom made those,” Sherwood confessed, remembering the incident. Her professor boyfriend had told her that he didn’t appreciate her taking food to ‘other men’. But he’s not another man, Sherwood had responded. He’s just a study partner.

  “It’s the thought that counts,” Freddy said. “You were thinking of me.”

  “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through chemistry. Or calculus.”

  “Yeah, well. Tutoring you wasn’t work, believe me. I always looked forward to seeing you. And since we’re reminiscing, why didn’t you ever accept when I asked you out? Besides the fact that you thought I was nerdy and always had my face buried in a book, I mean. And played in the marching band, which was a major popularity faux pas.”

  “I never thought—” Sherwood started but realized there was no point to lie. “Okay. I guess I did kind of think that you were too serious and studious for me. But mainly, I was brainwashed by my professor. I never went out with anybody else, the whole time I was in college.” Blue eyes met blue eyes, sharing, accepting. Sherwood shrugged. She didn’t know what else to say without going into what a gullible idiot she’d been. And she didn’t want to talk about Jake, anyway. There was a much more interesting man right in front of her. She’d never before noticed the depth to the color of his irises and wondered why. They were almost mesmerizing.

  “I got contact lenses and lost the wire-rimmed coke bottles,” he said, reading her thoughts.

  After a few minutes of listening to the rhythm of the waves, Sherwood giggled. “Q-tips,” she said, and giggled some more.

  “Well, it is a fitting term. Yours is the only dark head among a sea of mostly white ones when we’re on the bus.”

  Sherwood blew out a deep breath to stop the giggles. “I totally considered you a friend, Freddy. I still do. But I never thought of us in a romantic way.” If she admitted what she suddenly felt for him now, he’d think her a fool. What kind of a person could plan on being married to one man and two weeks later, be attracted to somebody else? She’d look like a fi
ckle airhead. Besides, he’d obviously grown and changed during the past few months. He was more confident and easygoing. Better looking. Surely he was over his crush on her. For that matter, he probably had a girlfriend.

  On the other side of the table, Freddy wondered if he’d been reading his friend wrong. This new Sherwood seemed genuinely pleased to see him. And he knew she’d been checking him out when he wasn’t looking. Was it all his imagination or perhaps wishful thinking? Or maybe she’d simply never think of him as anything more than an old study buddy.

  Movement to their side snagged their attention. Two elderly forms were ambling up the access ramp from the beach, one of them utilizing a side-to-side wobble for momentum. What appeared to be a putter served as a walking cane for the man. The woman carried a bottle of soda.

  “It’s Gus!” Sherwood said.

  “With Maggie, I think,” Freddy added. “Yes, I can tell by her hair. Curly and orange-ish.”

  Sherwood raised her near-empty glass. “All is well with the tour group from Great Wings. Maggie got her root beer. Gus has been sighted. And Mabel and Gretta are on the way. Life is good.”

  Freddy touched his plastic glass to hers. “I’ll toast to that. Speaking of Mabel and Gretta, we need to head to the airport soon.”

  Gus and Maggie shuffled into the hotel without noticing their bus driver and group leader sitting nearby, highlighted only by moonlight. When the rear door opened Sherwood caught a flash of the night clerk. He was vacuuming the rear lobby with one hand and tucking in his shirt with the other. He should really get some longer shirts, she mused.

  Music emanating from the sailboat had completely faded now as the boat continued southward, probably to a marina in Murrells Inlet or Pawleys Island. Somewhere on the beach a dog barked. The moon dimmed as a cloud floated by. Sherwood pictured herself with Freddy, dancing, their bodies pressed together. Freddy imagined himself with Sherwood, on the boat, arms around each other as they watched the ocean. Both knew it would never happen. But it was fun to dream.