Chapter 16
Entering our bedroom to freshen up before going out for dinner, I found Sam sitting on the foot of our bed, gazing at the television set on the dresser.
“Watching the news?” I asked, thinking how out of touch with world events we’d been during our few days at the beach. And all for the good, if you want my opinion.
He smiled. “Just checking on Marty. It’s still whirling around in the Caribbean, trying to make up its mind which way to go.”
I sat beside him and watched as the meteorologist demonstrated on a map the storm’s potential tracks, indicating to me that he didn’t know any more about it than we did.
“It’s pretty close to Cuba, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to orient our position on the map. “Which means it’s far from us.”
“Right. And it’s slow, which is a good thing for us. Except the longer it stays where it is, the stronger it gets.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, my attention heightened as the program switched to pictures of Floridians boarding up windows and emptying grocery shelves. “Sam, should we be doing anything?”
“No, honey. Even if it heads this way, we’d have several days to pack up and leave.”
“I hope so,” I said, laughing, “because the way everything’s strewn all over the house, it’ll take several days to pack up. Well,” I went on as the weatherman relinquished camera time to the sports announcer, “I need to call Etta Mae and reassure her. I’d hate for her to come in tomorrow evening, then have to turn around and go home the next day.”
“Etta Mae?” I said when she answered her phone. “Are you packed? Got gas in your car? We’re expecting you tomorrow, you know.”
“Oh, Miss Julia,” she said, almost giddy with anticipation, “I am so ready. I can’t wait to get there.” Then, with a noticeable difference in tone, she said, “You still want me to come, don’t you? I mean, your plans haven’t changed, have they? Because if they have, it’s all right.”
“Our plans have absolutely not changed. We’re all looking forward to having you. About what time do you think you’ll be here?”
“Well, the funeral’s at one, and I’ll leave as soon as it’s over, about two, I expect. So, I don’t know, I should be there around six or seven, I guess. Maybe closer to seven, because I’ll stop and get something to eat on the way.”
“Call me when you’re about an hour out and we’ll wait supper for you. But, listen, Etta Mae,” I went on, “I hope you won’t mind sharing a room with LuAnne Conover. There’re two full beds in her room and a private bath.”
“Oh, I’ll sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter to me. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Mrs. Conover.”
“You won’t, though she may inconvenience you. Just don’t ask about her husband. She’d probably tell you about him all night long and you’d learn more than you ever wanted to know.”
After a few more back and forth comments, including my telling her to be careful driving, we ended the call. I hung up and sat for a minute thinking of what a pleasure it was to do something for someone so openly appreciative.
Friday morning dawned gray and overcast, but hot as an oven. As the children gathered buckets and sunhats for their morning walk to the beach, Hazel Marie went around slathering suntan lotion on faces, shoulders, and arms. She had to chase down Lily Mae, who hid behind the sofa because she didn’t like the feel of the lotion.
“Come on, now,” Hazel Marie coaxed. “You don’t want to get sunburned. We’re taking some cookies with us, so you don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”
Finally getting all the children thoroughly screened from the sun, she said, “Everybody else ought to use this, too. You can get the worst sunburns on a cloudy day.” Hazel Marie knew what she was talking about, because getting a tan every summer had always been number one on her list of things to do.
Since it had never even placed on my list, I lingered at the house while the rest trooped across the dunes, towels dragging in the sand behind them. In a little while, LuAnne came downstairs, wearing what Binkie had whispered to me was a vintage bathing suit. Actually it was simply old because I could remember when a one-piece suit with a little skirt was the latest seaside fashion.
LuAnne announced that she was going to the beach because Marty was on the move and we might not have many more days to sunbathe. “And, Julia,” she declared, “I’m not only going home with a tan, I’m going to lose weight. I’ve let myself get a little pudgy, especially around the waist, so I’m going to get back in shape.”
Oh, my, I thought, now she’s decided to woo Leonard back. Poor Leonard—being fought over by two women would certainly disrupt his television time.
With the house left to me alone, Sam having gone back to the boat show to take a second look at a fishing boat that had caught his eye, I poured another cup of coffee and sat on a sofa to watch a weather report.
From the graphics on the television screen, it seemed that Marty had ravaged Puerto Rico, then skirted Cuba and the Florida Keys during the night and was now churning along toward the northeast. With luck, it would continue on that course, sideswipe Bermuda, and head on out to sea. We would need that luck because it was now a category three storm, and people along the north Florida coast were continuing to be warned.
Suddenly I snapped off the television and sat up, listening more closely to what I thought I’d heard. I ran to the front porch just as Lloyd pounded up the stairs.
“Miss Julia! Come quick, you’ve got to see this!”
I think my heart stopped as images of one unspeakable horror after another flashed through my mind. “What? What is it?”
“Money, Miss Julia! Come on, hurry, you’ll miss it.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the beach.
My first thought was that more sand dollars had washed ashore, but Lloyd knew better than that. Nonetheless, I trudged as fast as I could over the dunes behind him. Reaching the beach, I stood looking up and down the strand where people were racing along the water’s edge, some stopping to bend down, others yelling as they waved something in the air. I saw not one soul lounging in the sun—they were all splashing along the water line, leaning over, searching, and grabbing at whatever was washing to shore. Binkie and Hazel Marie were at the water’s edge holding the hands of the little ones but gazing off down the beach where the most activity was.
“Come on, Miss Julia,” Lloyd urged. “Let’s get closer. Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Where’s Latisha?” I asked as I hurried after him.
“She’s with Coleman. They’re right down here. Come on!”
When we reached the center of the activity, the excitement had almost died down. Sunbathers were gathering up towels and tote bags, many already hurrying across the dunes to get away from the beach. Coleman and Mr. Pickens stood grinning while Latisha, beside them with her little blue bucket, looked grim.
Lloyd said, “J.D., did you get any? Coleman, did you?”
“Nope,” Mr. Pickens said. “We were afraid we’d get run over. Have you ever seen such scrambling?”
Coleman grinned. “Scrambling in the water, then scrambling to get away with what they found.”
“Well, I think,” Latisha solemnly announced, “that we oughta look around in case they missed some.”
“Me, too,” Lloyd said. “Come on, Latisha, maybe some washed farther up and we can find ’em.”
I was finally able to get a word in edgewise. “What in the world was it?”
“Hundred-dollar bills,” Coleman said. “Somebody found a couple of ’em washing in on a wave, then everybody started looking—and finding more and more. We think something—maybe a wallet or a pocketbook—fell off a boat somewhere.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he went on. “Maybe more like a strongbox or a duffel bag. There were bills floating around everywhere. Some people just paid for their vacations and then some.”
“You’re right about that,” Mr. Pickens agreed, as both men professionally considered what had just happened. “A lot of money goes up and down Interstate 95. No reason it wouldn’t go up and down the coastline, too.”
“Why?” I asked. “I mean, where does it come from?”
“Smuggling,” Coleman said. “Drugs, people, whatever.”
“Oh, my,” I said, understanding then why the apparently lucky ones had hurried away as fast as they had. Who would want to meet a smuggler looking to get his money back? “Lloyd,” I said, calling to him, “you and Latisha come on back to the house. I expect the police will be here soon.”
“Yep,” Mr. Pickens said. “Probably the Coast Guard, too. Let’s get everybody in. It’s about lunchtime, anyway.”