Hatteras Girl (Heart of Carolina Book #3) (22 page)
“Wherever I lived, I’d want to be able to always see the ocean.”
Buck’s chin has a small dimple I’ve never noticed before. “I agree.”
“In Charlotte, I felt like I was always looking for a body of water. Like water balances my life. Isn’t that weird?”
“Not at all. I feel the same way.”
I’m surprised by his response. I was braced for teasing. Buck has barely teased me at all today.
He runs his fingers through his hair. Then he peers at me intently. “I’d like to make a suggestion.”
“Okay.”
For a moment he’s silent. “I want you to visit Kelly.”
“Kelly?”
“She and her husband run a little flower shop in Salvo. Go in there and ask her some questions.”
“An interview?”
“Sort of.”
“What do I ask her?”
“Who they rent from. How their landlord treats them.”
“Why?”
“It’ll help you. You know, get a feel for how things really are.”
I’m perplexed, but I try not to show it.
In a serious voice he says, “The shop is called Ocean Floral. Speak with Kelly. Tell her I sent you.”
When the first boom of thunder sounds, I’m pleased to be inside a coffee shop and not on the Sound flying a kite.
Buck stands and asks if I’d like a refill.
When I say I would, he picks up my empty cup and walks over to the counter. He later returns with my coffee and another chai latte.
Rain and lightning shatter the sky as customers huddle around tables, talking above the noise outside.
Buck gets my attention by touching my hand. “See that guy there with the cast?” He looks over his shoulder.
I see a young man with a mop of damp blond hair and a cast on his left arm.
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
“No, but he was talking to another guy about an accident he was in. He says God answered his prayers because his life was spared.”
“That’s good.” I take a satisfying sip of my coffee.
“The other car’s passengers all died.”
“That’s awful.” I look at Buck and wonder why he wants to bring this sad topic into our frivolous afternoon. What happened to the Buck who always teases me?
Gravely, Buck says, “Yeah, it is. Reminds me of how we were all hoping Lawrence would be okay, praying for his life.”
I nod. “I know.”
He sips his drink through a straw. “God is too often misunderstood.”
“What do you mean?”
“People usually expect Him to respond differently than He does.”
He isn’t teasing, so I get rid of my smile. “What do you mean? Don’t you think God should have spared the lives of everyone in that accident?”
“That would have been great.”
I sigh. “I don’t understand why some people live to say God kept them alive while others die. How does God save one person from death and allow another to die?”
“That’s a question we never will get past in this lifetime.”
I suppose he’s right; Minnie and I can’t seem to figure it out.
His eyes invite me to look deeper as he asks, “Have you ever wanted something and then when you finally got it, it didn’t feel the same because in the meantime you’ve changed?”
“Changed? How?”
“Well, it’s like you thought this part of your life you were praying for was all that mattered.”
“Like me and the bed and breakfast?” I take a sip of my coffee. “An obsession?”
“Actually, I have my own example. I really wanted to get into this art school about two years before I started working at the Grille. I applied and waited. But when the acceptance letter arrived, my heart had done some changing so that being molded by God was far more exciting than the acceptance.” He reaches for his drink.
“Okay . . .” I’m not sure where Buck is going with this topic.
He takes a sip of his chai as I wait for what he has to say. “I changed in the meantime. The thing that was so important to me when I first wanted it wasn’t as vital when it happened. God had changed my heart in the process.”
I wonder if that’s how it’ll be with the Bailey House and me.
“I liked the art classes,” he says. “I can see how I needed them to make me a better artist. But it turned out that what I asked God for over and over wasn’t the right thing for me after all.”
I think of Minnie’s sorrow and her prayer for one more day with Lawrence. “How do you think God stands this mess we’ve made of the world? Do you think He wishes He could deliver us all out of it?”
“He did,” says Buck. “He sent Jesus. Remember?”
“I know that.”
“He died to set us free from the bonds of this life.”
“But why do we have to continue on, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“How many more generations have to carry on before God says, ‘Enough!’ How many more car and boat accidents?”
“I don’t know, Jackie. I don’t think anyone can know that. But there’s a lot of good in the world, you know. You have to look at more than just the bad news.”
I think of Minnie, crying alone in her room. Zane, a boy without a father to raise him.
Buck glances at his watch and stands. He surprises me by reaching for my hand. “Ready?”
“Is it time to go?” I take his hand and let him help me to my feet.
“Well, we should make a run for it. The sun is coming out.”
I look through the window to see the road glistening under a sun streaming through a cluster of bright clouds. People who took shelter in the souvenir shop across the street are filing out into the day.
“Besides, I have to be at work in ten minutes.” His sigh is deep.
“I thought you liked your job.”
“I do.” Genuinely, he says, “But I hate that we have to end.”
“Buck,” I say with feeling, “I’ve loved talking with you.”
I hope he believes me because I do mean it.
When I get back home,
Bo, our neighbor in the adjoining duplex, is sweeping his deck and blasting his music. He lifts his head, his thick black hair splaying out like a feather duster. I greet him and then enter my front door.
I shut our door and then hear Bo’s voice. “I’ll turn it down for you, Jackie.”
“Thanks, Bo,” I call as the volume from his stereo lowers, causing “Smoke on the Water” to now be only a mild vibration. In the kitchen, I pour a glass of iced tea.
I settle in to imagining what it will be like to pack up this duplex and move into the Bailey House, but another thought nags at me: What if Davis changes his mind about giving me the property?
If he and I were to break up, he could decide I’m not the best renter for the house. What if Vanessa suddenly said she wanted it? Would he tear up the papers he’s given me to sign and hand the property over to her? Quickly, I call him. The phone rings four times and then I get his voice mail. I try to make my tone cheery as I leave a message. “I want to come over to your office with the signed lease papers. Let me know when a good time will be.”
Earlier today, as she was making her bed and asking Zane to make his, Minnie asked why I have yet to sign the papers. I told her that it was so final, so real—in a good way, of course—yet once I signed, there would be no backing out. I would owe a huge amount of money each month. It’s funny how we dream and hope and then sometimes when the dream is about to come true, right there within reach, we get scared, wanting to cower or wait.
Thinking of my conversation with Buck, I form a prayer to God, wondering why I haven’t been asking for His guidance more often. I can hear my mother cry, “Jackie, you ask God for wisdom and He gives. Just like Bible tells me so.”
I lie on my bed and read two chapters of the Manex Jethro biography Davis loaned me. When my cell rings, hope fills me. But it’s not him. Aunt Sheerly tells me she’s organizing a fundraiser.
“It’s going to be next Saturday. The group wants to do this. Can you make it?” Her voice is expectant; she wants an answer now.
When she refers to “the group,” I know she means All That Glitters Is Gold. But I’m not sure why she wants me at her fundraiser. “Next Saturday? What time?”
“The Rose Lattice at seven. I think we’ll be able to raise a lot of money for the Bailey House.”
“A fundraiser for the bed and breakfast?”
“That’s right. It’s our usual night to sing there, so there will be the local crowd. We’ll advertise and see if we can get more people to come. I’m going to see if folks will donate some items for an auction.”
“Wow, this sounds great.” Given the opportunity, my family can really get things done.
“I’ll be handing out fliers here at the shop and at Tiny’s store. Beatrice Lou has some posters she and Aggie made for the library. We can invite everyone.”
When I put my phone back into my jeans pocket, I feel grateful that my aunt wants to raise money to help Minnie and me make renovations on the house.
I call Minnie to tell her the good news.
“Have you given the papers to Davis yet?” She sounds just like she did this morning.
“No, but I will.”
“Has he given you a key yet?”
“No. He will, though.” I wonder why my tone sounds so defensive.
“I’m anxious to go inside again.” Then she tells me she has to help a customer and hangs up.
I make my signature as flamboyant
as I can and force a smile. This rent with the option to buy agreement is a dream coming true. So why do I feel so tense about it?
I head to Davis’s office to give him the signed contract so that he can add his signature to it. When I didn’t hear a reply to the voice message I left, I called him today. He answered and said to come by anytime.
When I walk into his office, my stomach does a flip as I see that Vanessa is there. She’s wearing a beige dress with a white collar and a necklace of rubies. Her dress looks like it was made for her to model. No amount of makeup or tailoring will ever make me as beautiful as this woman. I wish I had at least put on dress pants, but I’m in a pair of worn denim capris and a large Breakfast at Andrew’s T-shirt. The shirt was a promotional tool—the owner of the restaurant gave a box of them to our staff about four years ago.
Davis smiles, but my heart feels like someone has poured vinegar over it. Even so, I return his smile over Vanessa’s silky head. He looks at her, then walks from his desk over to me. He gives me a hug, and though I hope for a kiss, there is none.
Taking the signed papers in his hands, he lays them on top of his desk.
“Add your signature and it’s final,” I say. I wonder why my voice has to crack now.
Davis studies the pages, flipping through them over and over again.
“Is something wrong?” My mouth feels as if I’ve swallowed sand.
Vanessa straightens the gold pendant on her necklace. Her perfume lingers like a bad omen. For a second, I think she might shout, “I want the Bailey House! Let me rent it!” And then it would all be over for me because I know in my heart that Davis would choose her.
I avoid her eyes as Davis picks up a pen. I only breathe after he signs in two places.
“I hope you will be happy with the house,” Vanessa says when Davis has finished. “Seems like a huge undertaking.” She crosses her legs; her skirt exposes a toned thigh.
I look at Davis. “Do we need to get it notarized?”
“Nah,” he drawls, “it’s all good.” He waves his hand between us. “We don’t have to be so formal about this.”
“Okay.” My smile feels weak. “Do I get a copy?”
“Did you bring a check for the first payment?”
I’ve been so intent on the contract that I forgot about the required check for the first month’s rent. I find my checkbook at the deep end of my purse, open it to a blank check, and scribble in the amount.
When I give Davis the check, he points out, “You didn’t sign it.”
My face burns with the heat of embarrassment even after I sprawl my signature across the bottom line.
Within minutes, he has made copies of the documents on a Hewlett-Packard printer that sits behind his desk.
“See you later,” he says as he hands the copies to me.
Leaving the office, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. I reflect on the words we exchanged and conclude that I said nothing out of line. Clutching the pages, I walk to my truck.
I saw the way he looked at her.
Inside my truck, I turn on the air-conditioner, and with each wisp of cool air that blows through the vents, disappointment mounts. The Bailey House is legally mine to rent, and right now all I can do is ask questions. What is she doing in his office if she says it’s over? How can he tell me that she’s just an old friend?
When Minnie calls, her pleasure at hearing that the house is ours diminishes my worries. We talk about how much our room rates should be, and she agrees that omelets and banana bread would be a fine first breakfast to serve.
I drive through the minuscule town of Salvo and see the shop with the crooked sign: Ocean Floral. A week ago, Buck asked me to stop by here and talk with Kelly. That same day, he asked me to promise to get an inspection of the property before signing anything with Rexy Properties. Since I failed with the inspection suggestion, I will at least try to find Kelly.
The scent of flowers is strong when I open the door with a tinkling bell. The store’s interior feels damp, but the colorful flowers dazzle the floor and shelves.