Annie loved stepping into Parotti’s Bar and Grill. Summer or winter, sunny or gray, Parotti’s never failed to please. When Annie first came to Broward’s Rock, Parotti’s had been down-at-the-heels even though always clean and with the best home-cooking on the island. The heady smell of live bait, sawdust sprinkled near the open coolers, beer on tap, and hot grease pleased customers who came for food, not ambience. However, when bristly chinned (long before it became fashionable) Ben Parotti, partial to bib overalls, met the ladylike owner of a mainland tea shop, Miss Jolene, romance blossomed. Now clean-shaven Ben was spiffy in Tommy Bahamas casual wear, and Parotti’s offered quiche as well as fried and grilled fish, blue-and-white checked cloths on the tables, and carefully situated fans to diminish the rank reek of bait.
Ben moved to greet her. “Got flounder so fresh it could swim to the table. Max is already here. Wants his grilled.”
Annie hurried to their favorite table near the 1940s jukebox. She dropped into her chair and smiled at Ben, who never bothered to offer them menus. “Fried flounder deluxe with a side of guacamole.” Annie’s Texas roots appreciated this recent addition to the menu. The resulting meal would be blissful: flounder perfectly crisped, hot fresh French fries, heavenly hush puppies, and guacamole with just the right amount of lemon.
Max’s order, grilled with cole slaw, was no surprise, nor was the chiding frown he gave her.
She gave him a bland smile. “If God had intended for all food to be grilled, He wouldn’t have invented grease.”
As Ben headed for the kitchen, she leaned forward, eager to hear Max’s news before she shared her own. She always took happy over sad if she had a choice.
Max turned two thumbs up. “Jean’s job is safe. We have the votes. Henny, Frank, and, thanks to an international call successfully placed by yours truly, Pauline Prentice. Here’s what she said…”
Annie listened with delight. “That’s absolutely wonderful. Because,” and her smile slipped away, “I have news, too, and it isn’t good. Laurel called me from Beatrice’s. Beatrice volunteers at a hospice. She does hair for people who are terminally ill.” Annie took a deep breath, remembering the sob Jean had muffled as she spoke of Click, saying, “I don’t know why it’s always the nicest people who die young.” Now Annie understood that raw emotion. “Jean’s younger sister lives with her. Her name’s Giselle. She has terminal cancer. She’s dying. She’s twenty-four.”
Annie’s voice wobbled. Hot tears burned her eyes. She knew that kind of death. Her mother, sweet and kind and funny and bright, had died much too young, when Annie was in college.
Max reached across the table, took her hands in his. “I didn’t know.” His face folded in a tight frown. “Don’t you suppose Booth knows? He brought her to the island. He had to know something of her situation.”
Annie looked grim. “If he knows, he’s an even bigger jerk than we thought.”
Ben was at the table with their plates. He served them, refilled their tea glasses, but remained standing by the table. “Guess your ears have been hot today.”
Max stopped with a forkful of flounder midway to his mouth. “Somebody talking about us?” His tone was easy, but his blue eyes were intent.
Ben shifted the tray under his arm. “Everybody who’s anybody downtown comes here for coffee around ten. Not that I eavesdrop on customers, but when they’re all talking loud and fast and I’m bringing coffee and serving up Miss Jolene’s fresh turnovers, I can’t help overhearing. That’s why,” he spoke with quiet pride, “I know what’s up on the island. And it sounds like you got everything set for a big bust-up tonight at the Haven. Jed Maguire—”
Jed Maguire owned Maguire’s Drugstore. Annie played tennis with Jed’s wife, Aileen.
“—said everybody’s talking about the phone campaign you got going to honor the Haven director but some people aren’t sure about Miz Hughes in the job, much as they like you. The mayor, you know sometimes he don’t seem to cotton to you much, Max, he’s laying bets that you come a cropper. Frank Saulter took him up on it, said he’d back you over Booth Wagner any day. Frank plunked down a twenty and said he’d take five-to-one odds. I would of bet too but Miss Jolene don’t hold with gambling. I don’t even buy lottery tickets anymore.”
Annie would have jumped up and hugged Ben, but she knew his craggy face would turn crimson.
Max grinned. “Drop by tonight. There may be some fire-works after the talent show.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” For an instant, Ben’s usual aura of geniality faded. “That Booth Wagner’s getting too big for his britches. He came up on the bridge the other day when I was making the run to the mainland and told me to goose the Miss Jolene, she was too slow for his taste, that he liked his boats and women fast even if I didn’t. I can tell you I didn’t take kindly to him talking like that.” Ben, who treated his wife always with great deference and respect, looked like a porcupine in full bristle. “I told him next time when he wanted to cross he could find himself some water wings. He told me he could do better than water wings. The next week Reg—” He stopped, took a breath. “Somebody—”
Annie didn’t doubt Reggie Bates, owner of the island’s one bank, had been indiscreet.
“—said Wagner was talking about buying a hydrofoil and it would cut the trip to the mainland in half. Why, a hydrofoil’d cost him a quarter of a million. There’s no way he could make a profit. But he’d put me out of business. ’Course, anybody can boast.” But Ben’s voice was thin. He gave an abrupt nod and swung away toward the kitchen. Annie poked a salted French fry into a mound of peppered ketchup. “A quarter of a million dollars because Ben blew him off?”
Max squirted lemon on his flounder. His face was thoughtful. “If money’s no object and spite is your aim, anything’s possible.”
“It doesn’t seem rational.” Annie shivered. Was spite a strong enough word for the misery Booth seemed willing to inflict upon those who in any way opposed him?
Max looked past Annie at the door. “Speaking of the devil…”
Booth Wagner stood just inside the door, his gaze sweeping the room. As always, he looked on top of the world, golden ringlets tight as a Viking’s helmet, freshly sunburned, likely from golf, and island-casual in his favorite attire—a loose Hawaiian shirt, white slacks, and sandals.
His eyes stopped at their table. With a satisfied smile, he walked toward them.
Annie tensed. “He looks like a hammerhead moving in for the kill.” She always pictured sharks with let-me-eat-you smiles.
Max gave her a reassuring look. “We’ve got the hole card.”
He started to rise as Booth reached the table, but, without asking, Booth pulled out a chair, dropped into it. “Word’s out that you’re in Jean’s camp.” He shot an appraising glance at Annie. “Have you ever heard about other women, honey?”
Annie laughed though she would have liked to slap him once. Hard. “You’re the expert.”
“Pretty good.” His laugh rumbled, but his eyes glittered. “Anyway,” he leaned back, tilting the chair, looking big and amused, “it’s real nice that you two are working hard to show appreciation for Jean. ’Course, it won’t do any good.”
Max was direct. “Numbers don’t lie, Booth. Three votes to your two. If you can count on Larry.”
“Yep.” Booth’s tone was admiring. “I got to hand it to you. You’ve got three votes. Pauline sent me a fax. It was clever of you to call her. Just out of curiosity, the old bitch loathes Jean. How did you persuade her to change her vote?”
“I pointed out how much attendance has increased, and she found it interesting—” Max thought this was a fair interpretation of Pauline’s silence as he spoke, “—when I told her that you arranged for Jean to get the job because you thought it would offend her.”
“You should have seen Pauline’s face the first time she met Jean!” Booth’s wide mouth spread in a delighted smile. “Priceless, as they say. Not surprised she’d go your way. If there’s anyone she cottons to less than Jean, it’s me.” He shoved back the chair, towered over the table, big, burly, and commanding. “The question’s moot now. We’ll have to start a search for a new director.”
Annie looked at him sharply. He sounded utterly confident and, even more maddening, amused.
He radiated confidence. “See you tonight.”
Max came to his feet. “Hold on. The vote is next week.” But Max had the expression of a sailor who sees an approaching torpedo.
“Oh. By damn. I forgot to tell you. Dumb old me. Jean’s announcing her resignation tonight.” Booth’s false consternation ended in a belly laugh. “Be real nice for her to get the good send-off you’ve put together. Everything works out for the best, doesn’t it?”
ANNIE GLANCED AT Max’s set face. He was driving too fast. She braced against the door as the Jeep squealed around a curve. “If he’s right,” Annie didn’t have to define the pronoun, “there’s no hurry.”
Max glanced at the speedometer, eased his pressure on the gas pedal. “He’s too sure of himself. Somehow he’s forced her to quit. I have an ugly feeling that whatever he’s done, we can’t change anything. But I’m going to try.”
Leaving the Jeep in a swath of shade from a huge pittosporum shrub, Annie hurried to keep up as Max strode across the dusty ground. Annie glanced toward the lake. Shouts sounded as racing kayaks swerved around a marker and headed for the dock. The lake was the same and yet so different from that moment when they stood on the dock and gently threw roses in Click’s memory into still, green water.
Inside the old wooden building, they found the director’s office door open but the room was empty and the light off. As they turned away, a chunky young woman with frizzed brown hair, small gold-rimmed glasses, and a serious expression stepped out of a side room, her arms full of plastic ukuleles.
Max lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey, Rosalind, we’re looking for Jean. Annie, this is Rosalind Parker. She’s a college intern this summer. Rosalind, my wife, Annie.”
“Hello, Max. I’m glad to meet you, Annie.” Brown eyes looked at them worriedly. “The little girls—” she glanced at Annie, “—the girls five to nine are first on the program. Actually nobody can really play the ukulele. But they’re cute as can be in grass skirts. Of course,” she was quick to add, “they have their T-shirts and shorts on underneath.”
Max smiled. “Everybody will love them. Where’s Jean?”
Rosalind’s eyes rounded. Her lips parted in an O.
Max looked at her sharply. “What’s wrong?”
Rosalind clutched a ukulele that tried to slip free from her stack, and the strings thrummed. “Jean’s gone for a while. Can I help?”
Annie felt a jolt of concern. The intern’s distress was obvious. Something was wrong.
Max was direct and demanding. “Gone where?”
The strings thrummed again. Rosalind looked miserable. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. But you’re her friend. Everyone knows how you’re trying to get the board to keep her. Jean’s wonderful. She didn’t go to college so I hear the board wants to get rid of her, but all the degrees in the world don’t give someone a good heart.” Her face was flushed and her voice shook. “Now everything’s falling apart for her. She got a phone call just before lunch and she came out of her office and her face was gray, like dirty sand. She went home to have lunch with her sister, but she hasn’t come back. She never takes this long. I’d go after her, but I can’t leave here. Someone has to be in charge and there is so much to do with the program tonight and we’re going to practice the alligator act in a few minutes. It’s the cutest thing, we’ve used tape that shines in the dark on green cloth, and when the alligators come on stage, the lights go off and you see these wavy stripes and everybody chants a poem I wrote: ‘On the night when alligators prance, Abby Alligator got the first dance. With a wink and a happy glance, grab a partner and take a chance.’” She beamed.
Max seemed at a loss for words.
Annie said quickly, “I love it.”
Rosalind looked pleased and proud, then worry drained her face of eagerness. “So I can’t go and see about her but someone should.” She looked at them hopefully. “She looked dreadful. Maybe her sister got worse. She’s really sick.”
“Where does Jean live?”
Rosalind gestured vaguely to the west. “She and Giselle have that lovely little cottage on the marsh. There’s a really nice path through the woods. It only takes a few minutes.”
ANNIE WAS ACCUSTOMED to the nicely blacktopped paths in the more manicured parts of the island, where scrub had been cleared. She was always wary of venturing into woods that were, as she explained to Max, too close to nature. Nature in the maritime woods included alligators, which might be fun subjects for a dance but filled Annie with awe, plus snakes both benign and dangerous. She kept a wary eye for copperheads seeking respite from the sun in mounded leaves that had drifted across the narrow path. They brushed through ferns. Mosquitoes whined and birds chirped. A redheaded woodpecker drilled into a pine.
Ahead, a bright opening beckoned to the marsh.
Faintly, then more clearly with every step they took, poignant above the chirps and buzzes and rustling branches of the woods, came the unmistakable sound of a sitar. Annie caught her breath, recognizing “I Have a Dream.” She knew that music, knew it well. ABBA had been her mother’s favorite group.
As they came nearer the sunlight, as they had a view of the marsh and a cottage with a shaded porch, as the music rose and swelled, Annie saw two figures, one clearly unaware of scrutiny.
Max jolted to a stop. Annie reached out, gripped Max’s arm. They stood in silence.
On the porch, a young woman, her complexion almost translucent, curled in a wicker chair. She was covered, despite the heat, by a red-and-white patchwork quilt. She listened to the evocative, hopeful, mystical lyrics, nodding, a sweet smile giving life to a face clearly nearing the end of earthly existence.
Out of sight of the porch, hidden by the fronds of a weeping willow, Jean watched her sister. It was only when the song ended that Jean turned and walked heavily toward the woods, head down.
She didn’t look up, obviously knowing the path well, and walked without noticing or caring into the dim tunnel made narrow by encroaching fronds and vines and ferns.
“Jean.” Max’s voice was gentle.
With a quick-drawn breath, Jean’s head jerked up. She stopped and stared with eyes reddened from weeping. Her face reflected a misery that made the dusky tunnel seem darker, the heat heavier, the whirring of the insects ominous.
Annie held out a hand, wishing she could ease the pain that tormented the director. Knowing that was impossible, she offered a hand to hold, a human touch that said: I’m sorry, I care, I wish it could be different.
Jean’s lips trembled. Slowly, she reached for Annie’s hand, clung.
Annie hadn’t known what she was going to say and then she spoke from her heart. “My mother died of cancer.”
“Giselle,” Jean’s throat worked, “has a month or so at most. That’s what the doctor said. Maybe less.”
Max was gentle. “Is that the call that upset you?”
Jean blinked as if awakening. She seemed to become aware of her hand clinging to Annie’s and loosed her grip, stepping back a pace. “Oh.” Her gaze focused on Max. “I guess you talked to Rosalind. No. I’ve known about Giselle for a while.” Her voice was dull. “Booth called me.” She folded her arms across her front. “I asked you to help me, but there isn’t any help. I’m sorry I put you to the trouble. I should have known nothing could be done.”
“There’s lots to be done. Max did it.” Annie stepped forward. Everything in life was attitude. Jean had to shake free of defeat. “Max has the votes to save your job. You can fight Booth. You’ve got friends.”
Jean didn’t even bother to shake her head. Her face told the story. She was done, through, finished. “I’m sorry I involved you. I’ve put you and so many people to trouble. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll resign tonight.” Her voice was thin and flat, as if every word took extreme effort.
Annie started to speak, but stopped at Max’s quick head-shake.
Max’s face was thoughtful. “What has he threatened?”
A monarch butterfly fluttered near the tiny bright orange flowers of a butterfly weed. The movement caught Jean’s eye. “Everybody loves monarchs. Giselle knows the butterflies by name and which plants they like. She can see butterflies from the porch. You see,” and her tone was confiding, “the porch is her favorite place. She’s cold all the time. Even now when it’s so hot. She sits in a chair wrapped in one of Mama’s quilts and looks out at the marsh. She says the marsh changes all day, every minute there is something new to see and everything is alive. The porch means everything to her. That’s why I have to do what Booth wants.”
Max’s face folded in an angry frown. “What does Booth have to do with Giselle on the porch?”
“Oh, everything.” She gave a ragged laugh. “I was dumb. You know I always thought I was savvy when we lived in the city. I knew when some guy was hitting on me and was bad news, the worst kind of news. Nobody could scam me. Then Booth came. He was rich and polite. When he told me about the Haven, I pooh-poohed it at first. I said nobody would hire somebody like me and he told me the board wanted somebody who’d come up the hard way like I had and could understand kids who didn’t come from ritzy homes. Sure. I understood that. He persuaded me I had a chance. He said all he could do was offer my résumé and maybe it wouldn’t pan out. See, I thought that meant it was legit. I was just one of a bunch of applicants so I didn’t even really hope. And then it seemed like such a miracle when he came and told me I was hired. Oh, it doesn’t matter now, all the lies he told. But the worst lie was the cottage.”
Annie gestured toward the clearing. “What does Booth have to do with the cottage?”
Jean rocked back on her heels. For an instant, hatred burned in her eyes. “He told me the cottage came with the job, no rent or anything. When I came to the island, he had me sign a bunch of papers. He said they didn’t amount to anything, I didn’t need to read them, just stuff like I promised to stay a year and I agreed not to accept any gifts or extra money from anyone—he said that was to protect the Haven from people trying to get kick-backs—and then there was one for the cottage and he said I was agreeing to leave it in good condition.”
She watched the monarch, spoke in a monotone. “Booth owns the cottage, not the Haven. The paper I signed was an agreement to move out on demand. With one week’s notice. Today he gave me one week’s notice. But he said if I resigned, I could stay in the cottage for three months. That’s time enough.” She swiped at her eyes to wipe away tears. “Oh God knows, that’s time enough.”
“You don’t have to stay in the cottage. Maybe he’ll get the cottage, but Max has the votes to keep your job for you.” Annie was furious. “We’ll help you move.” Annie’s eyes glinted. “It won’t cost you a penny. We’ll get our friends to help. We’ll line up a convoy of pickups and—”
Jean was shaking her head. “I can’t move Giselle. We don’t have anywhere to go. Even if we did, I won’t move her. That kind of excitement would kill her. Oh, I know,” there was a sob in her throat, “she’s dying. But I don’t want to steal a day or an hour or a minute away from her. She loves the porch. In Atlanta, we lived in a little cramped dark apartment and there was no way for her to be outside unless I took her in a wheelchair. Now she sits on the porch and listens to her music and watches the marsh. The music lifts her up and she forgets that she’s dying or maybe the song gives her peace and she knows she can cross the street when the time comes. I’d kill to keep her on that porch.”
ANNIE PUSHED THE button to start the dishwasher. Their early dinner had been solemn. Usually they laughed and talked, each interrupting the other, glad to be together, eager to share, often dissolving in laughter, sometimes sparring but always with good humor. True, they were polar opposites in some ways. Annie’s Puritan ethic valued work. Max extolled the ideal of the Renaissance man. He was much more interested in dabbling here and there than tethering himself to a task. Beneath his frivolity, however, was a man who always kept his word.
Annie hung up her apron. Usually she looked forward to their evenings, a stroll on the beach, dancing at the club, working on an intricate picture puzzle. Max was so much better than she at turning a piece upside down and slotting it into sky or ocean. Sometimes Dorothy L., determined to engage Max’s attention, snagged a necessary piece and refused to part with it unless offered a kitty treat.
Annie bent down, petted the fluffy white cat. “Later, sweetie. We have to go out.” Annie felt dull with dread. They had to go to the Haven and pretend everything was all right and help Jean maintain her dignity.
Annie stepped out onto the back porch. In the spring and early summer the garden was glorious with banks of azaleas, red and pink and cream. Now bougainvillea and hibiscus bloomed. Calla lilies were majestic at the pond. She and Max loved sitting in their wooden rockers and watching their own small pocket of heaven.
This evening, as the sun hovered just above tall pines, he stood at the porch railing.
She came near. “There’s nothing we can do, is there?”
“No.” There was grim acceptance in his voice. “Staying in the cottage matters more to her than the job. Or anything else. All we can do is be there for her. After…” His voice trailed away. He took a breath. “We’ll help her find a new job, a new place to live. One thing I can do is raise some money for a bonus. She’s proud. She wouldn’t accept money from us, but if a group contributes and we make it clear that the bonus is in recognition of her work at the Haven, I think we can persuade her.”
Annie nodded. “Henny will help.”
Max slipped an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “We’ll ask Henny to be in charge. It will definitely be a group effort and how much any one person contributes will be confidential.”
Annie knew Max would contribute the most, but he understood pride and independence.
Annie felt a curl of sadness. Had Jean told her sister that she’d lost her job? Maybe Jean would say she was taking a vacation after this evening’s program. Had Jean forced a smile, promised Giselle she would tell her everything when she returned, that the program was going to be wonderful? Was Jean walking on the darkening path toward an evening that should have been joyful and now promised nothing but humiliation and defeat?
Annie faced Max. “I hate what’s happening to her. I wish we could do something to make tonight easier for her.”
“All we can do is go.” Max nodded toward the Jeep. “And now it’s time.”