Beach Rental (2 page)

Sometimes it was important to know when to call it a day.

She held out her hand for his phone. “My name’s Juli Cooke. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bradshaw. I need to get my backpack and tell my ride I’m leaving.”

“It’s Ben, please. I’ll wait here.” He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead.

“Don’t get any ideas, right? This is just about a ride home. Nothing else.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Sammy Robards was in the kitchen. She saw him note her entry through the back door and watched anger flash across his face.

He stabbed his finger in her direction. “Is that what you’re paid for? I’ve got guests in there. You’re paid to serve them.”

She held her shoes in one hand and the tray in the other. Without a word, she handed him the tray and kept moving. What was there to say?

Frankie was in the coatroom. He looked startled, caught hiding from work. He was only marginally reliable although people tended to like his gently tousled sandy hair and boyish looks.

“I don’t need a ride home tonight. I’m leaving now. Got another ride.” She knelt and scrounged in the back behind the hanging wraps for her backpack. It wasn’t exactly where she’d left it, but her fingers finally touched the mesh side pocket and she pulled the pack out. When she stood, Frankie was giving her a look, no doubt amazed.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

He followed her to the door. She glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m going home.”

“How are you getting there?”

“No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow or the next day.”

The tall man who’d stared through her, Luke, the one who’d made her feel invisible, stood in the coatroom doorway. They nearly collided. Guests always wanted something, but if she was walking out on the server job, she certainly wasn’t going to fill in for the coat check person and definitely not for this snobby guy who’d started her whole evening crashing downhill. She swerved around him and kept going, glad to exit the back door for the last time.

Ben was as she’d left him. She sat on the bench to pull her sneakers out of the backpack and shoved the broken shoe and its mate into it, along with her little white server cap.

“Ready?” Ben asked.

She had doubts, but she’d made her decision. “I am.”

When they moved into the light, she saw how truly pale he was. She touched his arm, then pulled her hand back, resisting the impulse to offer support.

“Are you okay?”

“I can manage. I don’t want to draw attention.” He leaned back against a white pillar while the valet brought up the car.

When Ben went to the passenger side door with an unsteady gait, the valet smirked and eyed Juli in her server outfit. Ben didn’t seem to notice and Juli ignored it. A server leaving mid-party with an unsteady guest was bound to give a bad impression. That was life.

Ben asked, “You know the way to Emerald Isle?”

His car was decent, but nothing fancy. She could manage it, even in the dark. “I do.”

“I’ll give you directions to the house after we cross the bridge.”

After that exchange, Ben went silent. The silence was heavy and awkward. Nagging tales about foolish women who get into cars with strangers nipped at her nerves. Yet, she couldn’t imagine any threat from this man. Had her good sense abandoned her?

To fill the emptiness, she began to talk—more than usual. As they drove through Beaufort and crossed the bridge into Morehead City, she told quirky, probably rude stories about the foster families she’d grown up with, about her co-workers, about the lessons she’d learned for getting by in life. Juli chatted on, surprised at herself. It was unlike her to open up her history for inspection. Once or twice she suspected he’d fallen asleep, but when she looked at him, his eyes were fixed upon her and he seemed fascinated by her monologue. So she talked. She knew the words were lost in the void, spoken to a man she’d never see again.

That night she felt as clear-headed as she ever had. Juli suspected it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When life as you know it pauses and you realize there’s nothing else to do, but to go on in the same unsatisfactory way you always have, it’s a black moment. Driving through the night, over the bridge, and along the ramrod straight, mostly dark, Atlantic Avenue that stretched the length of the island, Juli sensed a change coming. She caught her breath and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

Soon after they crossed the town line into Emerald Isle, Ben said, “Turn here.”

His house looked impressive, a duplex rising several stories. It seemed immense in the moonlight and on the far side, the beach side, the full force of the Atlantic Ocean crashed onto the shore, sounding violent and reassuring and timeless, all at once.

She experienced a first
—
a serendipitous flash of being in a place where she belonged.

Wishful thinking
.

She parked his car in the open area below the house and walked with him to the base of the wooden stairs. The stairs scaled the exterior side of the house. They were steep, especially in the dark with the night wind whipping around from the ocean side, flinging sand and salt.

“You’re welcome to come up while I call the cab service. I don’t have their number programmed in my cell.” For the first time, he seemed nervous.

“No, thanks. I’ll wait down here.”

“I understand.” He drew some bills from his wallet. “Here. I can’t thank you enough for your help. I’ll go up and make the call. If you get worried or it takes too long for the cab to arrive, let me know.”

“Your keys and your phone.” She handed them to him.

He started up the stairs and she couldn’t help watching—he moved like an old man. Well, he’d gotten his wish and was home now, and she had picked up a nice bit of cash.

Juli perched on a low rock wall to wait. It was dark, but only about eight o’clock or so. The street was quiet despite the many houses and most had their exterior lights on. Above her, a window scraped open.

She looked up and he called out, “Are you okay down there?”

“Fine.” She waved. The house blocked most of the onshore breeze, but she was still chilly. She pulled a sweater from her backpack and settled in to wait. The tangy smell of the ocean and the sound of surf, artificially loud in the quiet of night, transported her a thousand miles away from practicality and reality.

The mood was lovely and lasted until the cab dropped her off at the entry to her second floor walkup on the backside of a renovated apartment house. Not bad. Worn and slightly dingy, but as neat as she could make it. It was her own place and she worked hard to support herself. She was self-reliant and proud of it.

Juli tossed her backpack into the corner behind the sofa. When she removed the elastic band from her hair, she sighed and massaged her fingertips into her scalp. It felt as good as getting out of those pumps.

So much for Sammy and his catering crew. She’d stuck with that job as long as she had because it was convenient to grab a ride with Frankie, but everyone had their limit and she’d met hers this evening. Convenience and a paycheck didn’t justify every job.

She needed to concentrate on finding work that offered some kind of future.

Chapter Two

Juli watched Ben Bradshaw walk into Singer’s Market on Tuesday morning. Her cheeks grew warm and she tensed when he stopped to survey the line of cash registers.

She hadn’t expected to see him again, not ever, and she didn’t believe in coincidence. She raised her hand to get his attention.

He was thin, but had a hint of color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his warm, toffee-colored eyes. “Miss Cooke, I was hoping I could talk to you.” He glanced around. “I guess this isn’t a good time?”

She smoothed her blue work apron and straightened her name tag with its big white letters. “It’s Juli, remember? I’m on the clock. I can’t leave my register.”

A female customer walked by with a sulky, pointed look at the empty-handed man who was obviously
not
checking out and stopped to glare before moving on to the next cashier. Any minute now the manager would be striding across the polished tiles to ask if there was a problem. Juli couldn’t afford to lose this job. The odd jobs she took came and went, but this one was her anchor.

“How about lunch? My treat.”

“Are you a stalker? How did you find me?” She half-smiled, not sure whether she should laugh or prepare to defend herself. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was always slipping out of its pony tail no matter what type of fastener she used or how tightly she secured it.

“You mentioned working at Singer’s Market the other night.”

“I talk too much.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Al Smith approaching.

“Is there a problem?” Smith tried to sound stern, but with caution.

Juli knew Smith didn’t want to risk offending someone who might only be asking where the cheese crackers were stocked. Her reply was brusque. “No problem here, Mr. Smith.”

She turned away, gesturing to an approaching customer as she spoke, “My lunch is at noon. I’ll be at Cox’s, a few blocks over.”

Presumably he’d be there, but would she show up? When they’d met at the party he’d been a nice guy whose path she’d crossed on a dark night, a guy who needed a favor and would never be seen again. He seemed different from the other guys who wasted their time coming on to her, but what did he want?

When noon hit, she folded and stowed the apron in her locker on top of her book. No reading over lunch today.

Cox’s Family Restaurant was a favorite of the locals. In Juli’s opinion, they had the best, to-die-for, grilled cheese sandwiches and today the almost-stranger sitting across from her was willing to pick up the tab. Never turn down a free meal, right? She'd learned that from her third foster family.

They each took a menu from the holder and pretended to read it. Or maybe Ben wasn’t pretending, but she was. Uneasiness was there at the table with them from the first moment.

This was foolish
. This wasn’t worth the price of the sandwich and it wasn’t too late to leave. She reached down to the purse on the seat beside her and grabbed the shoulder strap.
No, not too late at all
.

He asked, “Are you from Morehead City?”

“No. Listen, I—”

“North Carolina?”

“Yes, but—”

“Hi, Juli. Ready to order?” Brenda stood by the table in her jeans and t-shirt, holding her order pad and pen. She gave Ben an appraising grin before turning back to Juli. And winked.

Brenda winked.

Juli twisted the edge of the menu, anxious, but Brenda didn’t tease her further. She just wrote down their orders and left.

Ben said, “I’ve eaten here many times over the years and I guess you have, too, since she knows you by name.”

“Food’s good, it’s convenient, and I can afford it.” It annoyed her that he seemed so pleased they’d both eaten here before. Them and how many thousands of others? A family with two kids was seated nearby, a quartet of retirees, two Marine Patrol officers in their gray uniforms—an endless variety. She and her lunch companion weren’t special.

Juli watched him struggle to find a conversation starter as she considered whether to stay.

Ben cleared his throat. “I was born and raised in the area, mostly in Beaufort. Do you have family around here?”

They were in a public place in the middle of the day and here was Brenda, already heading in their direction, carrying plates. Juli released her grip on the purse strap.

“Good, convenient, and quick, too.” Ben smiled at Brenda. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy. Yell if you need anything.” She put the check on the table and moved on.

Juli opened the paper napkin and spread it across her lap. As she picked up her sandwich Ben said, “Excuse me.” He bowed his head and spoke words that took her back to being six years old. “Father, we thank Thee….”

She missed the end of the blessing and, instead, was tossed backward in time to a long-forgotten moment. His “Amen” returned her to the present with a breathless rush. She took a quick look around the room, but the other diners seemed not to have noticed.

Ben asked again, “Do you have any family around here?”

She took a long drink of ice water and set the glass down carefully. “We’re not past the weather stage.”

“Pardon?”

“Discussing the weather. We aren’t past that yet.”

His smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

She’d blabbed so much personal business on the Friday night drive she could hardly blame him for asking, but being asked was different from volunteering info.

They ate in silence. Ben sat across from her, biting into his grilled cheese sandwich, lips trying to snare a great glob of yellow cheese that had squeezed out. He had a good appetite. She took it as confirmation he was recovering from an illness. He’d said something along those lines when they met, hadn’t he?

His eyes were beautiful, but somber. She judged him to be in his late thirties, about ten years older than she. He was too thin and had an academic look, like a professor or something.

She dealt with her own grilled cheese sandwich while considering whether to re-start the conversation. She’d come across harsher than intended, but he’d handled the rebuff well.

“You seem better today than you did the other night.”

He jumped at the opening. “I am better. You were a lifesaver.”

“Someone else would’ve driven you home.”

“You were the one who was there when I needed a hand. My Good Samaritan.”

“I was there, it’s true, but not coming to help. I was running away from a job. I stumbled over you. Literally.” Sammy would never take her back as a server and that suited her fine. She was tired of arrogant men, including the jerk at the party who’d looked through her as if she wasn’t there. She should shake it off. That sort of thing had never bothered her before. Pride wasn’t something she concerned herself with, but then again, maybe it had always bothered her and lacked only a trigger to set it off.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. Cobwebs. I usually eat alone. You don’t owe me anything, not even thanks. It was a good deal for both of us.”

He nodded. “You work for a caterer and at the grocery store, too?”

“Grocery store, yes. Caterer, no longer.”

“Not married?”

“No. On my own. Always have been.”

“No family?”

“Enough with the questions.” She spoke sharply.

“Just making conversation. Does any of this strike you as providential?” He wiped crumbs from his fingers with a crumpled napkin. He looked up, appearing chagrined. “Sorry, I know you don’t understand.”

“I understand the word.”

“No, I didn’t mean that, nor that it was providential you grew up in foster homes.” He shuffled the salt and pepper shakers around. “What I’m trying to say is… It sounded good in my head when I was thinking it out.”

“Why
are
you here?”

“Would you have supper with me tonight?”

She knew she was being stalled. “I have to work the evening shift, but even if I didn’t, why would you buy me another meal?”

“I’ll meet you wherever and whenever you say. Timing is important to me. Forgive me for seeming secretive or mysterious.”

What kept her here, talking? Him being a gentleman despite her barbs?

Most people had two sets of manners. One set—the pretty, on display set—they reserved for neighbors, friends and maybe their co-workers. The attitude they handed out to the help reeked. Maybe Ben had only one set. He seemed authentic and his interest in her was intriguing.

“I’m off at four, but I have to be back at work by six.”

“I’ll be waiting for you outside of Singer’s.”

“Just meet me here at the restaurant.”

****

This time Juli felt less awkward and more in charge. She’d decided to take the meal at face value. It was just a meal, after all. Not a commitment. No one could make her do anything she didn’t want.

Ben said, “I used to be involved in several businesses, but I’ve been making changes.”

She chewed her cheeseburger.

“I was in business with my cousin, that is. We’re about the same age. We’re good friends.”

Juli gave a little grunt, but offered nothing more as she took a long sip of iced tea.

“I have a sister, but she lives in Ohio. We lost our parents several years ago.”

This time, she did speak. “I’m sorry.”

He left openings for her to question him or to offer information about herself, but she didn’t—deliberately. Finally, he, too, fell silent until the end of the meal.

“Could we take a walk?” Ben asked.

“What do you want from me?”

“Please?” He looked around at the filled tables. The supper crowd was building.

This was her neighborhood. Her turf. She didn’t feel vulnerable here and she was curious. One walk and then they’d be done. Afterward, she’d send him packing.

A few blocks down route 24 a patch of nature was nearly lost amid the businesses along the busy road. The remains of an asphalted drive began at the sidewalk and led them back between the lines of oaks. There was no undergrowth, just dirt and grass, so they were perfectly visible from the road, yet set apart from business and traffic at the same time.

At the end of the spit of land, the cliff dropped off and the water below lapped at the rocks tumbled at its base. Across the sound, Bogue Island stretched in both directions—the water between the two shores glittered in the late afternoon light.

“You come here often?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes on break, I bring a book and read here. It’s peaceful.” She gave him a steady look. “Peaceful, but not too private. Lots of traffic out that way.”

He followed her pointing finger. “We passed a huge For Sale sign by the road. Do you worry you’ll lose your peaceful spot?”

“Yes. No. It’s a nice place to hang out when I don’t have enough time to go home on break, but it’s not mine—it’s temporary. Everything’s temporary.”

The call of the gulls and the slap of the water relaxed her, as it always did, taking her out of her real life. She wandered over to an ancient live oak. It was bent by a century or more of relentless onshore winds, yet it thrived.

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

He stared out across the water. She waited. Any minute now they would have the awkward ‘can we date discussion’ and she was pretty sure she was going to shoot him down.

Pretty sure? Was she actually considering seeing him again?

She asked, “Are you married?”

“I was. A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

He turned away, but she’d already seen the sorrow on his face.

No, she wouldn’t see him again. She had enough of her own baggage; she didn’t need his, too.

“I have an offer to make. I hope you’ll consider it.”

Juli opened her mouth and shut it again. Not a date? She crossed her arms.

“I hope you aren’t about to suggest something illegal.”

His eyes widened. “No, nothing like that. A job, one might say, but better paying.”

“What?”

“A business arrangement. Companionship.”

She was startled. She examined her sleeve as if discovering a flaw and plucked at it, buying herself a moment. Around them the breeze whispered as it stirred the leaves of the oak. When she had her cool in control she said, “I think you’re trying to buy something I’m not selling.”

“No, I meant it as said. A friendly companionship.”

“Under your roof, is that it? I told you I’m not for sale.”

“But that’s just it—”

“Listen, Ben, I think you’re a nice guy. Strange, but nice. I’d like to go on thinking it. Let me give you some advice. If you want companionship, get a dog. If it’s love you’re after, you can’t buy it, not the real thing.”

“That’s not necessarily true. Arranged marriages have been around for as long as marriage itself. Marriage was often based on political or economic necessity. In many places around the world, even now, marrying for love is a luxury. Some cultures only have arranged marriages.” Ben leaned back against a low-hanging tree branch under the canopy of the oak.