by Ben Marney
My first instinct was to ask her if Jerry knew that if she died before she did this, that he would be in control of all her money? But I bit my lip and said nothing.
“Grant, after you left last night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought about what you said over and over. And then I asked myself, what would happen to Molly if something happened to me? Would Jerry really use her money to make sure her future life was secure? Or would he waste it like he’s wasted mine? And I had my answer.”
Then she stepped forward, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. “I’m not sure why you showed up in my life, but I thank God you did. Please forgive me for being so foolish about so many things. I really am trying.”
When she kissed me again, my heart started pounding in my chest and I felt the exact same electricity racing through me I had felt on the first day she had touched me.
As Charley, Donna and I watched them drive away on my front deck, I started laughing.
I looked down at Charley. “What is it about that woman? How can someone frustrate and infuriate me so much I want to break up furniture...and then almost stop my heart…with just one kiss?”
13
Beverly Beach
It was one of those damp, gray, foggy mornings. The haze was so dense I couldn’t see the beach or even the ocean from my back deck. I was concerned about Melissa driving through this low hanging soup and tried my best to get her to wait until it lifted, but she insisted on leaving, concerned about making it to Savannah in time to have lunch with her aunt. She could be so stubborn sometimes. One more item on that list that infuriated me about her.
I looked at Charley and Donna, who were snuggled together, laying side by side on the deck. “What do you think Charley? Is she gonna be okay?”
He lifted his head and looked up at me. “Woof.”
“Are you sure? This fog looks pretty bad.”
“Woof, woof,” he said, wagging his tail. Then he laid his head back down next to Donna. I relaxed a little after that.
When I finished my coffee, I walked into my home office and started opening up the box my new drafting table was in. When I finally got the parts unwrapped and out of the box, the pieces were scattered around the room, taking up most of the floor space. Charley and Donna were watching me from the doorway. They were both smiling and wagging their tails.
“What’s so funny? You guys don’t think I can do this, do you?”
It took me three hours and two beers, but I eventually got it together. Fortunately, the stool was already assembled, so after attaching and plugging in the boom arm lamp, I taped a sheet of paper to the slanted desk top and started sketching. It felt good.
I started with a small rough sketch of my new beach house. Then I gradually added more and more detail. Before I realized it, three hours passed by. When I finally stood up, both of my knees cracked loud from sitting there in one position so long, but I had loved every minute of it.
I pulled back the tape and held up my drawing. “What do you think?”
“Woof, woof, woof,” Charley barked, smiling, spinning around in a circle.
“I agree. It’s not bad. I guess I’ve still got it.”
The fog had finally lifted, so I fed Donna and Charley and then we all took a short run on the beach. When we got back, my message light was blinking on my home phone. I had two messages. I assumed they weren’t important, probably a salesman or something, because only a few people had that number and all my friends knew to call me on my cell, so I didn’t listen to the messages. Instead, I grabbed a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator and plopped down in a chair under the umbrella on my back deck. The second I got settled, the phone rang again. I didn’t get up to answer it, but listened to the message.
“Mr. Nash, this is Les Patterson. You are a hard man to get a hold of. I need to talk to you. I don’t mean to be so persistent, I realize I’ve left you two messages already, but I’m in Saint Augustine and I was hoping I could meet with you tonight. It’s very important. Please give me a call back as soon as you get this message.”
I walked to the kitchen, wrote down the number on the pad next to the phone, then took out my cell and dialed it.
“Mr. Patterson, this is Grant Nash. You’re in Saint Augustine?”
“Grant, thanks for calling me back. Yes, I’m here for the day and was hoping I could buy you dinner. Are you free tonight?”
I sat down on a stool next to the kitchen island and tried to gather my thoughts. The only reason I could think of why he would want to take me to dinner would be to offer me a job. My brain began to spin with several different scenarios. What would I say if he offered me a job? His firm was in Jacksonville. Did I really want to drive all the way to Jacksonville and back every day? Did I even want a job?
“Grant, are you there?” he asked. “Did I lose you?”
“No, sir, I’m still here.” I said, “And yes, I’m free tonight. Where would you like to meet?”
We met at one of those trendy overpriced five-star restaurants called “The Purple Olive.” I only assume it was overpriced; I really didn’t know because Les picked up the check, but any time I see a menu with no prices written next to the entrées, it’s usually outrageous. It did have a creative dinner menu with a great wine selection, fresh baked artisan bread, homemade soups and made from scratch desserts. So at least the food held up to the advertised five-star rating.
Throughout dinner, Les didn’t talk about business like I assumed he would. Instead, he filled me in, telling me the backstory of his life. The more I listened, the more I began to think that this dinner may not be about a job offer after all.
Les had grown up in a small town like I did. After graduating college with his degree in architecture, he married his high school sweetheart and had a child...again, just like I did. But when he told me what had happened to his wife and only son, I was beyond stunned.
“I never learned how to fly a plane myself,” he said. “I was way too busy to take the lessons, so I hired a pilot. His name was Alexander Post, but when he became a Navy pilot, everybody started calling him Wiley. You know, like Wiley Post, the guy that was Will Rogers’ pilot. Anyway, Wiley was a good one. He’d flown fifteen successful bombing missions in Nam, came highly recommended and worked for me for years. I trusted him completely, and that’s the only thing I’ve been able to rely on and it’s what got me through it. I know in my heart If anything could have been done, he would have done it.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Sorry. It’s been almost forty years since I lost them and it’s still hard to talk about. But somehow, knowing Wiley was behind that wheel and there was nothing he could do to prevent it helped me to accept that it was...their time. It hurt like hell...it still does, but I moved on with my life.” He folded his handkerchief, put it back in his pocket and looked at me. “What about you, son? Have you moved on with your life?”
I put down my fork, lifted my glass and took a sip of wine. “How do you know about that?”
He smiled. “I’ve been in this business a long time and made a lot of good friends. Do you know Sterling Clark?”
“I know who he is; he owns a large architectural/design firm in Dallas, but I’ve never met him. Why do you ask?”
“Well, he sure knows a lot about you. We went to school together and he’s a good friend. He said he’s been following your career for years.”
I tilted my head and lifted my eyebrows. “Why would someone like Sterling Clark in Dallas care about me and my little one-man operation in Huntsville?”
He grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Oh I don’t know...maybe it has something to do with the fact that your designs from your little one-man shop, as you call it, have been featured in Architectural Digest five times?”
I shrugged. “I just got lucky on that.”
He frowned. “Getting featured once might be considered lucky, but five times? Come on, Grant. We’re in the same business, remember? You ca
n drop the modesty act around me. From what I’ve heard about you, I’m impressed. Actually, I’ve been impressed with you since I met you three days ago.”
“When Sterling told me about your wife and daughter, I knew we needed to talk.” Looking over his readers perched on the end of his stubby nose, he stared into my eyes. “Grant, I don’t believe in coincidence. Our meeting in that store was predestined. There is a reason for it and I think I know what it is.”
I smiled. “Let me guess. We met because I’m supposed to go to work for your firm in Jacksonville, right?”
“Wrong. You are supposed to go to work for my firm here in Saint Augustine.”
I sat up in my chair. “You have an office in Saint Augustine?”
“Yep,” he said, smiling, “You want to see it? It’s only a few blocks from here.”
After he paid the check, I walked with him a few blocks through the old historic district. He stopped in front of an old two-story brick building, unlocked the door and flipped on the lights.
“Go on in and take a look around. There’s a full kitchen, a small meeting room and a bathroom on this first floor. Your design station is on the second floor.”
I tilted my head and looked at him. “MY design station?”
He chuckled. “Well, assuming you take the job. And I sure hope you do, because I’ve had to jump through a hell of a lot of hoops to get all this set up in two days. Before you say no, at least walk up the stairs and check it out.”
Upstairs, I found two computer workstations, both with dual large screen monitors. They were positioned on the back wall next to two huge windows that overlooked King Street. The view was great. There was also a large drafting table, a stool, a large format printer for printing blue prints, a desk and chair, a small wet bar and a large full bathroom.
The blank walls smelled of fresh paint and the carpets still showed the tracks from the recent shampoo and vacuuming. I turned around and looked at Les. He was beaming, his eyes were sparkling reflecting the overhead light.
“How did you do all of this in three days?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with his broad smile. “It was actually only two.” He chuckled. “Like I said, I have a lot of friends. Okay, now that you’ve seen this part, before you say anything, I want you to look in the kitchen downstairs.”
When I walked into the kitchen, I immediately knew what he wanted me to see. On the floor next to the sink were two silver bowls with bright red letters on them that said “CHARLEY.”
I heard him laughing behind me. “I thought you’d want to know that it’s a dog friendly building. So what do you think?”
I smiled. “I think I’m a little overwhelmed. Could I take a few days to consider this?”
“Of course.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out some papers. “While you’re thinking, would you mind taking a drive down the coast to look at this property? It’s only about thirty miles from here at Beverly Beach. I’m thinking this would be perfect for your first project.
I opened up the paper and studied it. It was a land plot. “Is this oceanfront?”
“Yes,” he said. “There’s almost a quarter mile of beachfront there, plus all the land on the other side of A1A.”
“Is this going to be private residences or a large condo project?” I asked.
“Condos.”
“Humm, I don’t know about that. Charley hates condos.”
He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. “What? Who hates condos?”
I grinned at him. “I forgot, you only saw Charley, you haven’t met him yet. How about a nightcap on my deck? It’s a clear night and the ocean will be beautiful. I’d like you to meet Charley. If I’m gonna do this, I’ll need to run it by him first.”
I had no doubts Les was having some major second thoughts about me as he followed me to my beach house that night. Wouldn’t you?
Charley and Donna greeted us at the front door with great enthusiasm. Donna actually jumped up on Les, something Charley never did. Fortunately, he was a dog lover and didn’t seem to mind.
“I thought you only had one dog?” he said, petting Donna’s head.
“She’s not mine. I’m just watching her for a few weeks. Her name is Donna and she belongs to my next-door neighbor. I think you know her; her name is Melissa Dean Hollingsworth. She said you were a good friends of her father.”
He thought for a second. “Are you talking about Jacob Dean’s daughter? That Melissa?”
“Yes. She lives next door. She had to go to Savannah and asked me to look after Donna for her. And Charley here,” I reached down and rubbed his head, “didn’t mind that one bit. Isn’t that right, Charley?”
He smiled and wagged his tail. “Woof, woof.”
Les laughed. “I saw him at the store the other day, but I didn’t realize what a beautiful dog he was. What is that color called?”
“He’s mahogany red. He’s a full blood Irish Setter. His parents were champion show dogs in Ireland. His registered full name is Sir Charles Radcliff the Third, but he doesn’t like being called Sir Charles.”
Les turned his head and looked at me. “How do you know that?
I grinned. “He told me.”
“Okay, Grant. I can take a joke as good as the next guy, but don’t you think this one’s gone far enough?”
“I’m not joking. That’s why I wanted you to meet him. I know you’re gonna think this is crazy, it sounds nuts and hard to believe, but Charley understands English and...” I smiled, “he’s psychic and knows the future. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d never met. I went to that architectural store to buy a drafting table, that’s all. But Charley wouldn’t leave and kept barking for me to sit down behind that computer. To be completely honest, I hadn’t even noticed it was there. I had already loaded my truck and was ready to go, but Charley wouldn’t come when I called him. He was standing next to the computer and insisted I sit down. That’s when you came in and saw me. I can’t explain it, but Charley knew you were going to be there.”
He threw up his hands. “Aw, come on, Grant. You don’t really believe that, do you? How the hell could you possibly know that? Did he tell you that, too? I’ve had dogs my entire life and I know it seems like they understand you, but it’s simply not true. They’re just really good at reading our body language. That’s all it is. Charley doesn’t understand English any more than you understand Russian. And honestly, I don’t know what to say about the psychic thing.”
He smiled and lifted his eyebrows. “You keep talking like that, and they’ll come and get you and put you in a padded room.”
“Are you sure about that? I’ve got several friends, including a world renowned doctor, who would disagree with you. But I’ll let you decide for yourself.”
I walked to the kitchen, spread out and flattened the Beverly Beach land plot on top of the Island and opened a bottle of Mirlot. I grabbed a couple of glasses and directed him out to the back deck. The still ocean was glistening, reflecting the glow of the half moon on the water. It seemed extra quiet that night with hardly any wave action crashing on the beach.
After I filled our glasses and we spent a few minutes sipping the wine and admiring the view, I motioned for Charley to come sit between us.
“Charley, this is Mr. Patterson. His name is Lester, but he likes to be called Les. He’s kind of like you. You don’t like to be called by your full name either, do you, Sir Charles?”
Charley lifted his lip, exposing his teeth. “Gurrrrrrr.”
I glanced at Les. “I told you he didn’t like it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Good trick. One of my dogs could smoke a pipe.”
I laughed and sat back in my chair. “Okay, then you ask him something”
Les bent down and looked at Charley. “Grant thinks you understand English. I don’t think you do. He also thinks you are some kind of a psychic. I personally believe he’s one brick shy of a full load when it comes to that!”
Charley didn’t move.
He remained very still staring up at him, listening carefully.
“So I guess we’re going to have to come up with some kind of a foolproof test.” Les leaned back and sipped his wine. “Ok...if you understand English and you are also psychic, you should already know what we were talking about at dinner. Do you have any ideas how to ask him that?”
Les’s last question was meant for me, but before I could answer him, Charley ran inside the house. When he came back, he dropped something in Les’s lap. It was too dark for me to see what it was, but when Les picked it up and looked at it, his eyes flew open and he gasped.
“Well I’ll be God damned!” was all he could get out, before he grabbed his glass and chugged down the rest of his wine––it was the Beverly Beach land plot.
Les didn’t make it back to his hotel that night. He crashed at about two a.m. in my guest bedroom and that was a good thing, because neither one of us was in any shape to drive after finishing off that third bottle of Mirlot. I must admit I haven’t had that much fun in years, listening to Les and Charley arguing about the new condo project. The more wine we drank, the funnier it got for both of us.
“Come on, Charley, just think about it.” Les’s words slurred more and more with each glass of wine. “We could only build a few houses on that property and only rich people would be able to buy them.” He was very animated when he talked, waving his arms and spilling his wine as he made his point. “We don’t want a bunch of spoiled rich assholes living there, but if we build condos, then anyone with a good job could afford them. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? What’s wrong with that?”
“Arrr, arrr, arrrrrrr.”
“Grant, what the he...hell’s he sayin’?’”
