Bulls Island (21 page)

“No, it’s too breezy, I think. We can go back to Dominick House to go over the papers, right?”

“I think so. If we need to.” He tossed the briefcase back in the truck and slammed the door.

Carrying lunch and a blanket he retrieved from the depths of the storage containers in the back of his truck, we climbed the natural berm that separated the land from the dunes, and right before us was the spectacular curiosity known as Boneyard Beach.

It should have been called the Eighth Wonder of the World. Hundreds of oaks and loblollies were spread all over the gray sand for miles like a spooky sculpture garden. Storms and erosion had left them all dead. Some were askew and some upright, in every position, bleached to a stark white by the intensity of the beach’s southern exposure and the heavily salted air. It was a surreal landscape.

“Well, this sort of puts our relative importance in the cosmos in perspective, doesn’t it?” he said, sweeping his arm across the expanse.

“I’ll say. It’s madness to think we have a say in the planet, isn’t it?”

He spread the blanket on the soft white sand and we sat.

“Yep. But that’s exactly what we’re trying to accomplish. Feed me.”

“Okay.” I unpacked the bag with what I thought was nonchalance, as though we had lunch alone on a blanket on an abandoned beach every third Tuesday. “Chicken or tuna?”

“Wanna go halves?”

“Sure. Tea?”

“What are my options? Is that French-maid thing you mentioned one of them?”

“Yeah, sure.” I lifted my sunglasses and rolled my eyes. “Look,
J.D., that was a very inappropriate remark and I knew it as soon as I said it. I could make that same stupid comment to a hundred other guys I know and they would laugh it off. You? You’re still thinking about it. We’re in trouble here.”

“Why are we in trouble?”

“Because I’m thinking about it, too. Not the French-maid outfit, but you know, us in general.”

“Hmm. I think you mean us
specifically
. Well, that’s why Valerie was so pissed. She can smell trouble, and seeing you in action made her feel very insecure.”

“Seeing us in the paper made her even crazier, right?”

“Yes. The Langley women were not pleased.”

But I was pleased that they were irked. So, shame on me.

We were quiet then, watching dolphins play in the water and pelicans dive-bombing for fish. After devouring my lunch, I decided to lie down and look at the clouds above us; surprisingly, so did he.

“Remember that game we used to play as kids? What does that cloud remind you of?” I said.

“Yep.”

We were lost in our own thoughts; one of mine was how absolutely lovely it was to lie next to him, even though we were not touching each other. He was probably thinking about how a certain cloud formation resembled his favorite dog.

“May I ask you a question?” I said “I mean, one that’s absolutely none of my business?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I hesitated for a moment and then said, “You and Valerie? Y’all get along all right?”

I heard him laugh, but it was an incredulous laugh, as though I had just asked a dying man what he was looking forward to.

He rolled over onto his side, propped himself up on his elbow,
and stared at me. I could almost hear the wheels of thought turning of his brain, raking his thoughts together like a pile of leaves to present them to me neatly in a stack.

“If you asked me, ‘Do we get along all right?,’ the answer is yes. She drinks vodka like water, pretends to suffer from migraines, and goes from one doctor to the next collecting prescriptions for OxyContin. You can’t fight with someone who’s stoned out on drugs and alcohol all the time. So, technically, we get along. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

“No. But that tells me a lot. Was it always like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you must have married her for a reason.”

“I married her because Mother wanted me to marry her. It was a long time ago. Anyway, after a number of miscarriages and other issues, whatever bloom there was is long off that rose.”

“You’re going to tell me that your mother
made you
marry her?”

“Not really. Of course not. I was supposed to marry
you,
remember? And after your mother died and you left, I just didn’t care about very much, outside of getting an education and somehow getting very far away from my family, a plan that failed miserably. Obviously. I even called you to see if maybe you’d had a change of heart, or something. Do you remember that?”

“Vaguely. I mean, I remember you calling. But I sure don’t remember you asking me to run away with you.”

“Because I was so young and stupid I thought you hated my whole family after what happened.”

“Well, I did. I always liked your father well enough, but your mother? She’s yours and you can keep her. She had a lousy attitude toward my family…still does. Who needs it?”

“That bull goes back for generations. It should be ancient history…”

“Except that it seems to keep repeating itself,” I said. “And I was
innocent enough to think we might have been the generation that stopped all the craziness.”

“Well, maybe this project for Bulls Island will build something good between all of us.”

“Aren’t you the optimist? There’s a lot of bad ink out there, you know.”

“Yeah, I saw the papers. Look. We will just prove them wrong, that’s all. One issue at a time. We’ll have a series of feature articles or something placed in the press that shows how sensitive we are to the island’s fragile ecosystems. Maybe some public lectures. I was thinking of hiring a publicist for the short term. What do you think?”

“A publicist. Might not be a bad idea. How much?”

“A couple of thousand a month. Not terrible.”

“Well, while we’re working on image, can we get someone to undo that picture of us? Jeesch!”

“Why? I love that picture. Screw the Langley women. Moody bunch. I’m just glad to have the chance to see you again, Betts. You have no idea how many times I have thought of you.”

Here it came, I thought, a little seduction on the beach. Finally!

“Um, me, too. You know that without me saying it. But pictures like that just don’t look good, J.D. And you know it.”

“Well, it’s not like we’re having an affair, Betts.”

“J.D.? It’s not like we aren’t on the brink of one either.”

“Well, I won’t let that happen.”

“Really? You’re lying there looking at me like this? Honey, your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are saying something entirely different.”

He was very quiet then, just staring at my face. He smelled so good that I wanted to wipe my hand on him to take some of that scent home. If you don’t think the sounds of surf pounding on the shore and the squealing of gulls, the sight of J. D. Langley’s eyes, and the
feel of a salty breeze floating across your face are an aphrodisiac, please tell me what is.

“Betts? You’re right
but,
and this is a very big but, there are two things a life of mediocre satisfaction teaches you. One is to lower your expectations and the other is how to control yourself. I am the unfortunate master of self-control.”

I sat up then, no longer feeling the rush of anticipation I’d felt on the drive here. In fact, I was let down. And annoyed.

“Well, bully for you,” I said, “and your ‘masterful self-control.’ I guess my question is
why
? You want to kowtow to a drug addict and alcoholic, that’s your business. Have a happy life. Now let’s see those golf-course plans.”

“Hold on there, partner. Aren’t
you
?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Entitled to personal happiness?”

“Who says I’m not happy? And besides, what’s happy
worth
if making yourself feel better makes everyone else feel worse? Doesn’t it become some kind of exercise in narcissistic self-indulgence?”

“I don’t know, Betts McGee. These are the kinds of questions I’ve been avoiding for years. Let’s get moving.”

“No, wait. Are you saying it’s better to just ‘keep the evil that you know’?”

“I don’t know, Betts. I don’t know.”

“Whatever. ‘Master of self-control’ sounds like ‘big fat wimp’ to me.”

“Ooh! Betts! Them’s strong words! That sounds like a challenge.”

He was actually smiling at me—and I could feel my temper rising, so I backed off to recoup my composure.

“Take it however you want,” I said. I’ll admit that the smile on my face was a forced one, put there in order to veil the bruise to my ego.

He had no intention of seducing me.

We cleaned up the remains of lunch in weighty silence and walked back to the truck. J.D. cleared his throat and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“Okay. Are we speaking now?”

“Of course we’re speaking.”

“Good! All right. Look.”

He showed me how the second nine holes would wind around Boneyard Beach, using the existing freshwater impoundments as water features. I had to admit, it was a brilliant plan.

He infuriated me.

We talked for a while at the Dominick House then rode to the northeast end of the island, where the most expensive houses would be constructed. Our conversation was focused on plans and budgets, and then, before we knew it, it was time to go back to the mainland as it was getting late.

“So, you think a publicist is the answer?” I said, still fuming.

“In the short term.”

He looked at me with an expression that gave me no personal satisfaction whatsoever, except that I knew from our meeting that I could report back to Bruton that we had a fair partner in Langley Development. He knew his business inside and out. So far.

We headed back to the dock, and despite the fact that there were no protesters that day, I was surprised at the depth of my own petulance. In my fantasy world, J.D. still loved me, we would have a blazing-hot affair, maybe he would or would not dump his wife, and I didn’t know what else. I was very confused about everything except that it had seemed fair to assume that my return to Charleston would rock his world a little harder than it had. I felt like a fool, that I had revealed too much of my own feelings, that he was confident that I wanted him, and that it would give him just as much pleasure to tell me no as to tell me yes. What kind of masochistic nonsense
was this from him? Worse, what kind of a woman was I to contemplate interfering in someone’s marriage, no matter how ill matched they may have seemed?

We rode across the water in silence, stealing a glance at each other now and then, smiles of resignation passing between us. I just kept thinking how different things might be if he knew about Adrian, but I wasn’t going to use Adrian as a weapon to get what I wanted. If J.D. had no desire for me, there was no reason to tell him about his son now. I knew in my heart that the time was coming closer when I
would
tell J.D. about his son, but not yet, not now. We had a huge job to do first. A very lucrative job. Seven hundred million lucrative.

When we docked, I climbed off the boat with the help of the boat’s captain and J.D. was behind me. He followed me to my car—Sela’s car—and he caught my arm with his hand as I went to open the driver’s-side door.

“What?” I said.

“I’m stuck, Betts.”

I looked in his eyes and knew exactly what he meant. He was in a loveless marriage with nothing to keep him there except his sense of duty and honor. And where would he go anyway? To me? And where was I? I had raised our son, he had gone off to college, and now who was there for me? No one. I was one of those people who was excluded from all the alleged joys of marriage and a traditional place in my community. And why? Because of three choices I had made almost twenty years ago during the worst trauma of my life—to leave Charleston, to have my baby, and to keep that child a secret. It didn’t seem fair. But life, the universe, fate—call it what you want—the Force did not seem to be particularly concerned with an equitable distribution of happiness.

“So am I, J.D. So am I.”

We stood apart from each other and sighed. I was certain he didn’t know why I thought I would be stuck in any
way
or in any
thing,
but he accepted what I said as though if I believed it to be so, therefore it was.

“We should get together tomorrow,” he said. “Why don’t you come to my offices?”

“Sure. What time?”

“Well, I’m meeting with the power-and-gas guys out here at ten. I should be back by two or two-thirty, so why don’t you come at three? I’ll bring you up-to-date on our plans for waste management.”

“Do you need me to come out here for that?”

“Nah, just come to my offices at three and we can go over everything.”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

Neither of us moved an inch to get into our cars. We just stood there, like a couple of discombobulated teenagers, waiting for the other one to say, “Don’t worry, things will be fine, just go about your business. Don’t worry.” Or something, some words of solace or encouragement.