Chapter 21
Relieved that she wouldn’t start looking that afternoon, I was happy to see the beach crew come straggling in, putting an end to our conversation. It did not, however, end my concern for LuAnne and her new plan. Where in the world would she find another Sam? He was one of a kind to my way of thinking. Good men don’t grow on trees, you know.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—you never know what you’re getting until you’ve married him. And to my—and LuAnne’s—generation, that meant you were pretty well stuck with whatever you’d gotten. Everybody thought that I’d made a brilliant move when I entered into a marriage with Wesley Lloyd Springer. And I’d thought so, too, until I’d had to live in it. He’d been mature, wealthy, a town mover and shaker, and a churchgoer. And furthermore, he’d bathed frequently, dressed well, had good table manners—except for stirring his tea so long that I wanted to slap the spoon out of his hand—and didn’t snore. What more could a woman want?
Well, take it from me, a lot more. A little kindness now and then, for one thing, instead of critical commentaries. Some thoughtfulness occasionally wouldn’t have hurt, either. A few give-and-take conversations that didn’t end with a lecture on how wrong I was, for another. And what about taking a little pleasure just by being in my company?
But LuAnne had been on the right track—what a husband calls you or how he refers to you in the company of others reveals his true feelings. Wesley Lloyd had spoken to me and of me in terms of pronouns—you, she, her, and occasionally simply Julia. Never, never had words like honey, darling, sweetheart, or anything of the kind issued from his mouth. At least addressed to me, they hadn’t.
And don’t tell me that those words can be used when they have no meaning behind them. I know that, but I also know that being called a sweet name can warm a cooling heart and erase a lot of bitter feelings. And a lack of loving words is quite likely to indicate a dearth of loving feelings.
I’m not wrong about that because right soon after Wesley Lloyd had been laid to rest, I’d learned exactly where his feelings had lain.
But enough of that. Suffice it to say that I understood LuAnne’s longing for spontaneous indications of Leonard’s love and commitment to her. But of course if he had another woman on the back burner, she wasn’t going to get any. However, as much as I sympathized with her, I had heard about all I wanted to hear on the subject of Leonard Conover.
A sudden rain shower spattered against the windows and we both got up to look out. The ocean’s edge was white with breakers and the sea oats were bent over by the wind.
“Oh, my,” I said, thinking of the little ones getting sopping wet. “Everybody’s out in this.”
“They’re probably at the hot dog stand,” LuAnne said.
“There’s no shelter at that thing. Let’s hope they’re in the hotel lobby, waiting out the rain.”
“I hear somebody,” LuAnne said, turning toward the back door.
And sure enough, in came Hazel Marie carrying one twin, Etta Mae with the other one, Binkie with Little Gracie, and Latisha loaded down with hats and towels—everything and everyone looking like a gaggle of drowned rats.
“Look, Miss Lady!” Latisha screamed as she swung a little red plastic pocketbook, as bright and shiny as patent leather, from its red strap. “Look what Miss Binkie got me in the hotel. We had to go in there to get out of the rain, an’ they had a little store in there just full of all kinds of things. But this was the best of all. I been wantin’ me a pocketbook, an’ now I got one.”
“Run dry off, Latisha,” I said. “But your pocketbook is lovely and just perfect for Sunday school.”
“Yes’m, but for more’n that.”
Hurriedly bringing an armful of towels, I helped the mothers strip the little girls and dry them off, then reclothe them. And on top of that, entertain them while their mothers showered and dressed.
Latisha announced in her piercing voice that she was glad she’d gotten her hot dog eaten before the rain turned the bun to mush. “I never seen rain come down so hard,” she said, “an’ us out in it. I thought somebody was gonna get hit with lightnin’, ’cause you know it come with hard rain.”
“Well, you’re safe now, Latisha,” I assured her, although I’d not heard a clap of thunder in the first place. “But what’re we going to do with your hair?”
“It jus’ gonna dry by itself,” she said. “A little rain won’t hurt it, an’ Great-Granny’ll fix it when I get home.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” I said, somewhat relieved because I wasn’t sure that I remembered how to plait.
The men came in a little later, expressing surprise that we’d had rain. “It was clear as a bell in the city,” Sam said.
“And hot as hell,” Mr. Pickens said under his breath. “Well, ladies, who wants to go out to eat?”
We all looked at each other, torn between risking another near-drowning and having to cook a meal. Nobody said anything.
“Tell you what,” Coleman said. “Why don’t a couple of us go pick up some barbecue?”
Every face in the room brightened at the prospect, so Binkie set about making a list of who wanted what.
By the time we’d had our fill of barbecue and put the children to bed, the rain squalls had stopped and an almost full moon was lighting up the beach. Streaks of cloud, though, were hovering on the horizon with the occasional flash of lightning way off in the distance.
“Sam,” I said, as we prepared for bed, “where is that hurricane? Was this rainy day a precursor?”
He grinned, then said, “Might’ve been, honey. I just checked the Weather Channel, and the eye’s off the south coast of Georgia but it’s not expected to turn inward. In fact, they said it’s wobbling toward the east and out to sea. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”
“Well, I don’t want to be caught down here in a hurricane that’s turned tricky on us. Maybe we should think about going on home.”
“Still plenty of time, honey,” he said as he crawled in beside me. “I bet Marty’ll be hammering Bermuda tomorrow, and we’ll have a beautiful day.” He turned off the light, then turned to me. “If you’d like to take that bet, sweet girl, it’s time to ante up.”
With a brief sympathetic thought of LuAnne and what she was missing, I turned to my sweet-talking husband.
My eyes snapped open as a loud banging noise—blam, blam, blam—from the back of the house jerked me wide awake. Sam was already pulling on his pants, while the thump of feet hitting the floor resounded all over the house.
“What is it?” I asked, still sleep befuddled, although the room was bright with early morning sun.
“Somebody at the door.” Sam left, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.
The banging at the back door stopped, so Sam or Mr. Pickens or Coleman or maybe all three had gotten there to stop it.
What in the world was it? Maybe the vandal had returned and done some real damage to the cars this time. I threw back the covers, quickly put on a robe, and hurried out to meet whatever it was head on.
“Who is it?” Hazel Marie asked, peeking out from behind the door of her bedroom.
“What’s going on?” Binkie looked over the railing from the second floor, while Little Gracie and Latisha huddled next to her.
“Somebody at the door, I think,” I answered. “I just hope nothing’s happened to the cars.” By that time I was looking out the window over the kitchen sink, and my heart sank at what I saw. “Looks like island security or rent-a-cop or somebody official.”
I turned around as Sam returned, trailed by Coleman and Mr. Pickens. “Are the cars all right?”
“They’re fine, except for being close to empty,” Coleman said. “Ladies, we’re being evacuated. Get everybody packed while we go gas up.”
Evacuated? That meant that time was running out, didn’t it? It hadn’t been a suggestion, but an order—get out and get out now.
“Sam?” I said, getting his attention. “Sam, is it the hurricane? Is it headed this way?”
“Sure is. It’s roaring up the coast, headed for Charleston and the islands. Which means us.”
“Well, what happened to Bermuda is what I want to know. Last night you said it was wobbling that way.”
“Sounds like it stopped wobbling and worked up a head of steam. Get everybody ready to go, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Grabbing car keys, the three men didn’t stop to dress, just headed out in short or long pants, T-shirts or pajama tops, sans belts and shirts. At the door, Sam pulled up short. “Julia, honey, run upstairs and get Etta Mae’s keys. We need to get her car filled up, too.”
I hurried up the stairs, realizing that there were three men and four cars, so I’d have to roust Etta Mae out of bed.
She met me at the door of her room, and when I explained the situation, she proved how a single woman looks after herself. I hoped LuAnne would take note.
“No problem,” Etta Mae said. “I always fill up when I get where I’m going. I did it Friday night before coming here, and I haven’t driven it since.”
“Etta Mae, you are a wonder.”
“No’m, just thinking ahead.” She grinned. “I never want to be caught short.”
I doubted she ever would.