The Writing Desk

by Rachel Hauck

  “What’s going on?” she said, phone still pressed to her ear.

  More than his gorgeous self made her step off the veranda. It was his aura. The peace he carried with him.

  He was the sun and she a weak, wandering planet, caught in his gravity.

  “Do you like seafood?” He met her under the vine-covered trellis, the broad expanse of his chest beckoning her to fall against him and bury her burdens there. It was almost too much after that emotionally empty call with Holt.

  “I love seafood.” She lowered her phone, ending the call, and peered up at him. “Hey—” she whispered.

  “Hey back.” His hand brushed hers as he motioned down the beach. “Mom wanted to have a picnic for Wednesday night dinner.”

  Following Jonas, Tenley found the entire Sullivan clan setting up portable tables and chairs, unloading big blue coolers and trays of food.

  Mrs. Sullivan waved. “Hope you’re hungry, Tenley.”

  “I’m starved.”

  “Tenley, we saved you a seat over here,” Erin said. Or was it Elaine?

  Jonas nodded for her to follow, whispering, “Erin’s in pink, Elaine in white.”

  “Back off, Sullivan, you’re starting to read my mind.” She tried to wink at him and he laughed.

  “Got something in your eye?”

  “No. I just can’t wink.”

  “Stop. Watch.” He stepped around in front of her, gazing down, smiling, then slowly, almost seductively, winked. Heart. Be. Still. “Like that.”

  “Y-yeah, like that.” She tried again. He laughed again. Well, it was hard to wink when he was making her so . . . crazy. Like she wanted to grab hold of him and not let go.

  “You can do it. Just practice.” He walked her over to the family. After only one meeting, she felt oddly a part of this gregarious group, not like an outsider looking in.

  Outsider. That was the way she looked at the world after Blanche left. She was a motherless oddball. It didn’t matter half the kids in her class only had one parent. She felt isolated and lost.

  “Mom,” Jonas said. “Blanche is asleep.”

  “Well, good. She needs to rest. I’ll make a plate for her in a bit and run it up to the house. Tenley, she can eat it whenever she wants.”

  Setting up and sitting down apparently required all the family to talk at once. Because that’s what they did. Tenley no sooner got involved in one conversation than another one wove in. How the Sullivans managed to keep them all going was a mystery to her.

  At last the plastic cups, plates, and forks were set out with a stack of napkins and food spread the length of the table. Shrimp, corn, and potatoes, with coleslaw and green beans.

  “Low-country boil,” Jonas said, leaning over her shoulder, snatching a taste of shrimp.

  “I always wanted to try low-country boil.”

  “You’ve come to the right place.”

  “Fill your own drink,” Mrs. Sullivan said, pointing to the coolers. “We’ve got sodas, water, and iced tea. Tenley . . .” She motioned to the men and the twins. “Get in quick or there won’t be anything left. Joe, help her get some food before the vultures land.”

  “Really, Mrs. Sullivan, I don’t need to—”

  “Are we ready?” Mr. Sullivan grabbed her hand and one by one, the Sullivans linked themselves together around the table. “Let’s bless the food.”

  When Jonas’s palm met hers he winked, causing her to wobble and tingle.

  Bowing her head, she saw her attire. And caught a whiff of her unwashed self, noticing for the first time a Blanche stain on the sleeve. She tried to slip her hand from Jonas’s to rub it off, but he held on.

  “I really should clean up,” she whispered, digging her feet into the warm sand, tucking her stained sleeve behind her back.

  “You’re fine.”

  Up front, Mr. Sullivan prayed on. “. . . our blessings. You are so gracious and good to us.”

  “If you leave . . .” He tipped his bowed head toward his brothers. “There will be nothing left by the time you get back.”

  Upon the amen, everyone moved to the table.

  Tenley released Mr. Sullivan’s comforting hand and Jonas’s reassuring one, and reached for a plate, shoving in with the E’s. Jonas followed, introducing her to his brother Cameron, who’d been absent the night she ate with the family.

  When her plate contained a sufficient amount of low-country boil and coleslaw, Jonas suggested two chairs in the middle of the long table.

  She ate—so, so good—cocooned in the harmonic dissonance of a large family, where every sound was distinct yet blended. She could make no distinctions in the conversations yet somehow heard every word.

  The Sullivans talked baseball, politics, and faith, the upcoming graduation of the E’s, and the boy twins’ expectations for fall football. They laughed at scenes from The Bob Newhart Show and debated whether the Florida coast would see a quiet hurricane season.

  Note to self: Leave if hurricane approaches.

  After every stomach was full, the boys got up a Frisbee game, running and diving on the sand. Mrs. Sullivan carried a plate up to the house for Blanche. The E’s set up a volleyball game with their Dad and Jonas.

  Tenley declined an invitation to play ball—her sport was reading—and sat on a beach blanket watching, fascinated by the large-family dynamic.

  The twin boys kept changing the rules of the sand Frisbee game in their favor. Their big brothers challenged and taunted them.

  The E’s were uncoordinated at volleyball but never gave up. She laughed when Jonas tapped the ball over the net and hit Erin square on top of the head.

  When the game ended, Jonas dropped down on the blanket next to her. “Having fun?”

  The best. “Your family is crazy.”

  “Insanely.” He offered her his hand. “Want to go for a walk? I need to create some room for another piece of cake.”

  She gave him her hand and he pulled her to her feet, releasing her as they started down the beach.

  “You know how you told me your dad asked for—”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “And how you once got kicked out of your house?”

  Jonas walked on, his bare feet kicking through the sand.

  “At least you have this.” Tenley gestured behind her, to the family setting. “You stayed together. As far as I can tell, you love each other.”

  “The folks made sure of it. Always found a way. It wasn’t fun feeling like a charity case . . . I was embarrassed. I’d never invite my friends over. But now—”

  “The Sullivans are the place to be on Wednesday night.”

  “I never thought of it like that, but yeah, we are.” Jonas hooked his arm around her shoulder. “You miss your dad?”

  “Every day.” Holding up the hem of her robe, Tenley splashed through the surf. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Should I brace myself?”

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  “Ah, the first pitch and she goes personal.” Jonas mimed holding a bat and swinging. “Ball one. Next question.”

  “Looks like a strike to me,” Tenley said. “Come on, give it up, Cocoa Beach. Why are you not married?”

  “What makes you think I should be married, New York?” The breeze swooped between them, spraying a salty dew against their skin.

  “Really? You are so the marrying kind.”

  “Really? Wow . . .” He laughed. “Do tell. What makes me the marrying kind?”

  “Look around.” She pointed back to the picnic, then at his sand-stained shirt. “You’re a big brother, a doting son. You still attend family dinners and play games with your father, brothers, and sisters.”

  “It’s family. What do you expect?”

  “Why aren’t you off in some big city chasing your furniture-design dreams? That’s what most guys would be doing. Family, schmamily. But no, not you, Cocoa Beach. You stayed near home. You’re devoted. Kind and sweet, clever.”

  “You’re descri
bing our old golden retriever.”

  She bumped into him, laughing. “You’re telling me there’s not a half-dozen women vying for your attention? I don’t believe it.”

  “Nope.” He stopped, gazing down at her. “Not even one.”

  “Then what’s her name?”

  “Who? There’s no—”

  “Come on, whenever a gorgeous, single male with all the apparent qualifications to be fantastic marriage material does not so much as have a girlfriend”—Tenley wagged her finger at him—“I know his heart was broken.”

  Jonas cleared his throat, smoothing his hand over his chest. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “What? No, I mean, yeah, sure, you’re gorgeous. But focus, Cocoa Beach, focus. Answer the question.”

  “What was the question?”

  She walked on through the low-tide water. “She must have really broken your heart. I’m sorry.” Tenley waved off her question. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s really none of my business.”

  “Cindy,” he said, coming alongside her. “Her name was Cindy. We dated for a year and a half, got engaged, and were about six months from the wedding when I woke up one day to find a note stuck under the truck’s windshield wipers. ‘Joe, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. But it’s better this way.’” He paused, facing the sunset. “Took me a week to find out what happened. A week living with questions and hurt . . . Felt like a lifetime.”

  “Wow, Jonas, I’m sorry I asked. But for the record, she must have been cray-cray to walk out on you.”

  “I thought so at the time, but looking back, she did me a solid. We would’ve been miserable as a married couple.” He reached for a broken shell and tossed it toward the waves. “You’re right, I’m the marrying kind. When I met her, I was ready to settle down. She seemed to fit the bill . . .”

  “Love, for all its pleasures, can sure be blinding.”

  “What about you? How’d you meet your fiancé?”

  “Starbucks. He was there the night the police told me Dad died. It was a little after midnight, I was tired, trying to write . . . I just stared at them, unable to comprehend what they were saying.”

  “I’m sure you were in shock.”

  “Felt like a weird dream. But Holt was at the next table, working, listening. He stepped in to help. We’d become friends after arriving at the same Starbucks night after night to write. He took me back to the apartment. Slept on the couch. Called my friends, called Blanche. I just wept on Dad’s bed.”

  The memory flooded over her, and for a moment, she was back in the Murray Hill apartment, rushing through the door after school, dropping her backpack to the floor and raiding the kitchen.

  “What’s to eat, Dad? I got another A on my paper. Mrs. Merkle said you had to have helped me. It’s too good for a fifteen-year-old. Can we order pizza for dinner?”

  “You tell her you have the blood of Gordon Phipps Roth in your veins.”

  “I’m sorry, Tenley. I can’t imagine.” He peered down at her, compassion in his blue gaze.

  “It’s okay. I’m healing.” She brushed her hand over his arm. “And you? You’re healing, right?”

  He nodded, peering toward the sunset. “Cindy didn’t just leave me. She ran off with my business partner, Mason. Took my designs and all the money, set up shop in Colorado with someone Mason met in design school.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “Did you hunt them down?”

  He laughed. “I should’ve. I’m a self-taught designer and worked hard on those designs. But I was too brokenhearted, and to be honest, too humiliated to hunt them down. You know what? It bothers me more that Mason took my designs than my girl. Who does that? Get your own designs. Creative work is personal, hard fought, mined from the deepest places of imagination. Well, you know, you’re a writer.”

  “You’ve really thought about this.”

  “Yeah, because I felt like he took more than one piece of me with him. A piece I can’t get back. How would you feel if you worked super hard on a story and Holt just walked off with it?”

  “Sick to my stomach. Like I wouldn’t want to write again for a long time.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So if you’re more concerned about the designs than your girl, why are you sitting on the sidelines of the dating game?”

  “Because I don’t trust myself. How could I have been so blind? What sort of character flaw do I have that allowed me to be duped by both of them? Even when I realized Mason was also gone, I never suspected he was with Cindy. Of course, by then I knew the plans were gone, and I was going through every backup I had to find the originals. He took those too.”

  “And you had no idea?”

  “Nope. Apparently everyone around me had suspicions but not me. I was fat, dumb, and happy.”

  “Fat, dumb, and happy?” Tenley patted his lean middle. A move that felt more intimate than teasing. “Hardly, Cocoa Beach.”

  He grabbed her hand. “So, have you figured out why you’re engaged but not wearing your ring?”

  Tenley pulled free, the exchange between them feeding a hunger in her heart to feel special, to feel loved. “Hey, I’m asking the questions here.”

  “Now I’m asking. Did you fall in love with him because he was there for you when your dad died?”

  “I’m sure his compassion caught my attention, but no, that’s not why. It took six months before we started . . . dating. I moved to a new place and he . . . came with me.” The confession felt as awkward as it sounded, and she churned with the idea Jonas might change his view of her if she confessed to living with her lover. Tenley glanced toward the picnic area. “You know, I should go. Check on Blanche.”

  “Are you the marrying kind, Tenley?” Behind him, lights from the hotels and shops raised a golden glow along the shoreline.

  “Oooh, foul ball. You can’t ask a question that’s been asked.” She turned for home.

  “Oooh, sorry, but I call fair ball. You asked me why I wasn’t married. I’m asking if you’re the marrying kind.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Nope, it’s a different thing.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know if I’m the marrying kind.” Tenley faced Jonas as inquisitive seagulls landed beside them. “And I’m not sure why I don’t wear my ring.”

  Jonas brushed the ends of her flyaway hair from her eyes. “Does he tell you you’re beautiful? Because you are.”

  “Jonas, don’t.” She moved out of his reach.

  “Joe!” The boy twins raced his way. “One game of football before we go. Dad agreed to play. Tenley, you want to play?”

  “I’m going to check on my mom, but thanks.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Jonas said, taking hold of Tenley’s hand. “Does he?”

  “Why do you want to know? What difference does it make? Go. Play ball.” But this time she didn’t pull away. Didn’t step out of his touch.

  “I’m sorry.” Jonas released her. “I stepped out of line. I just . . . ah, never mind.”

  “You just what, Jonas?”

  “Don’t do what I did. Don’t stick with someone who doesn’t love you. Your dad wouldn’t want it. I’m pretty sure Miss Blanche wouldn’t either.”

  “But he does love me.” Bravado. She said it with the hope of it being true. He’d proposed, but Tenley couldn’t remember the last time he’d said he loved her. Most likely in a moment of passion.

  “Good. I’m glad. Because you deserve to be loved.”

  “So do you.”

  He grinned. “And that is why I’m not married. I haven’t found her yet.”

  Tenley watched him as he joined in the football game, head and shoulders above his brothers, playing the quarterback, one of the twins trying to bring him down as he passed the ball.

  He was stunning to her, effortless in his movements, his thoughts, his honest confessions. No, Holt didn’t tell her she was beautiful. Well, once in a while. But it was perfunctory. Said
when expected. Like when they attended a wedding or cocktail party. Or an awards reception on a Manhattan rooftop.

  Jonas told her she was beautiful with her unwashed hair and stained robe.

  Tenley curled her toes into the sand and for one long, aching moment, she wished to be her. The one who captured Jonas Sullivan’s heart.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ELIJAH

  He spied her sitting on a Central Park bench under the spring trees, a pink bloom on the limbs.

  He sailed home with the Gottliebs tomorrow, and he could not do so without saying good-bye to Birdie. Though being alone with her presented certain challenges. Could he restrain himself from wanting to kiss her once more?

  He had debated posting the letter until he could no longer bear his own cowardice. This one was short and to the point.

  Are you free to meet in Central Park Saturday next?

  She replied affirmatively the same afternoon, and now there she was, waiting for him. A few years ago this sort of one-on-one meeting would have been unheard of, but Eli took advantage of New York’s growing metropolitan ways.

  “Good afternoon.” Eli removed his hat and sat next to her, shoving his unruly hair aside. He’d see the ship’s barber on the journey home.

  She peered at him, then at the cyclist riding through the park. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? There’s no place like Central Park in the spring. I don’t care what anyone says.” When she faced him, she smiled.

  “What do you make of those new carriages? I find them rather clever.” He motioned to the street just beyond the wrought-iron gate as one of the newfangled collapsible-top carriages paraded down Fifth Avenue.

  “Did you bring me here to speak of carriages?”

  “No, indeed not. Did you have trouble coming away?” He glanced around, looking for her maid. “I hear from the Gottliebs your mama is very ill.”

  “She makes herself ill. But she can’t last. She’s only trying to manipulate me into accepting Alfonse.”

  “He proposed, then?”

  “I did not accept him.”

  “I see.” Eli surveyed the park, his heart pounding. “Was he angry?” Hold steady, chap. Remember your family. Your honor.