It Burns a Lovely Light (15 page)

But you were wrong about one very, very important thing. You said you might not be smart when it comes to real life. Kiddo, you see life through
eyes that are true and honest. You react to life with a heart loaded up with love. When it comes to real life, William Justus James,
you are brilliant.

Your loving sister,

Farley

Dear Claire and Veda Marie,

I hope you don't mind sharing this letter, but I wanted to say something to you both. Thank you for the love and care you've given William and me. You took in two lost souls without a second thought. I'm only now beginning
to realize what a mess I've been. Thank you for helping me to get away when I so dearly needed to.

I feel myself growing stronger, inside and out. I try to experience each breath as it fills my body, chipping away at the heaviness in my heart
that has become too familiar. (I know - how September of me!) You were right, Veda Marie; hurt and pain does diminish when I allow myself feel it.

I doubt I'll ever understand why Pauline did what she did. (Sorry,
Claire, it seems easier if I don't call her 'Mom.') I don't know if I can ever forgive her for leaving us when she had a choice. But I am starting to believe that I can move past all that and get on with my life.

Love,

Farley

P.S. One of the best things about this beach house is the outdoor shower. I think Bridge Manor could use an outdoor shower, don't you?

In her dream a phone was ringing and she had to go to the
bathroom in the worst way. The ringing went on and on...and on... she had to
peeeeee....riiiiiingggg.
Opening her eyes, she threw out her arm and knocked the receiver to the floor. A man's voice drifted up from the floor.

"Hello?"

Sizing up the distance to the bathroom door, she groped for the phone.

"Farley? Is anyone there?"

"Hang on," she said, her voice groggy.

Half-way across the small room the telephone cord reached its limit. Crossing her legs, she kept her eyes on the bathroom as she brought the receiver to her ear.

"Sorry. This is Farley."

"Farley, its Henry." Silence. "Henry Freeman."

She spun around, wrapping her ankles in the cord. This wasn't Henry. This was a man.

Dion,

You'll never guess who called me this morning. Henry Freeman. It's wild; his voice is really deep now and he sounds so masculine. I guess that makes sense since he must be around twenty-five. He and a friend are planning a
trip down south in three weeks, and wanted to know if they could stop by Kiawah a few days. I thought it was nice of him to ask, since this
is
his beach house. Of course, I said yes.

I know you said you couldn't come down this summer, since all of
your money is going toward nursing school. But I beg to differ. You need to take the occasional beach-beer-crab-picking-break to reenergize yourself. Any health professional will back me up.

Plus, you'd be doing me a big favor.

I'm nervous about having my long-lost-friend-visitor come to stay. Even though we were post-card friends for a while there, face-to-face is...real life. Not to mention I'll be a third wheel if this 'friend' is a girlfriend.

Just think about it. You've been working so hard; you really do need a vacation.

Love,

Farley

P.S. All begging aside, no pressure. And I promise I'll understand if you can't come. But please try!

Farley,

Henry of the big ears? The guy who refused to be a zombie? I wonder if he grew into those ears.

All right. Enough with the begging. I'll come.

Love,

Dion

Farley had fallen asleep, apparently rolling on to her side at some point. Half of her body was sunburned, including an exposed breast that
must have slipped out. There was sand in her mouth. She spit a few times and wiped her tongue with the towel, which merely deposited more sand into her mouth. She spit again as a shadow fell over her.

"That's attractive."

Covering her breast with her hand, she looked up; straight into the sun.

"It's about time," she said.

The familiar ease Farley and Henry fell into as kids was
still there. They took their time walking back to the house, talking and laughing.

"I'm glad you're still you," said Farley, dragging her towel behind her. "You're just a taller, hairier, you. With big
muscles and a deep voice."

"You haven't changed a bit," he teased, his dark hair partially concealing his brown eyes.

Henry was handsome in the most perfectly imperfect of ways, she noted. In addition to his six-foot-four height, he had a sturdy nose, dark
brown eyes with thick eyelashes, and an understated cleft on his chin. The slight scar on his forehead added a rugged touch, which balanced out those deep dimples when he smiled.

The porch door swung open.

"How's our favorite non-zombie?" cried Dion.

Henry laughed. "I wasn't about to compete with 'Catholic School Zombie and 'Hockey Player Zombie.'" He gave her a hug.
"Did you meet Colette?"

"She's sampling the boxed wine. I love her already."

"Hello!" The voice sounded far away, like a tiny, French mouse.

A pale girl in her mid-twenties with shiny black hair
stepped through the small doorway. She wore cut-off shorts and a white tee shirt, and had long legs and an endearingly toothy smile.

"Farley, meet Colette D'Aubigne." Henry put his
arm around her shoulders. "The best sous-chef in New York City."

"Get out of here, Henry," said an obviously delighted Colette. "So nice to meet you, Farley. We picked up some fresh seafood.
I hope you like lobster."

Farley loved the way Colette's 'Henry' was '
on-ree,
' 'hope' was '
ope
,' and each word was enunciated. So French.

They dined on boiled lobsters, steamers, corn on the cob,
and red potatoes, and a great deal of beer and boxed wine. In the background, beach music competed with the rhythm of the ocean. Henry entertained the table with stories of kitchen disasters. He and Farley compared the best crabbing and
fishing spots, which led to Farley's concern for the Loggerhead turtles, which led to a slightly drunk Colette bursting into tears.

"I love your little turtles," she sobbed. "I'm sorry, wine makes me gentle."

Later, Dion and Colette tried unsuccessfully to dance the shag while Farley and Henry picked at the empty lobster shells.

"Did you two meet in school?" asked Farley.

"Colette was a year behind me. We re-connected at our current restaurant." He grinned. "Which leads me to why we're here."

Farley gasped. "You're getting married!"

Dion and Colette stopped dancing.

Henry choked as his wine went down the wrong pipe. When he recovered he shook his head.

"No, we're here because I'm looking to open a restaurant of my own." He waved a lobster claw at Colette. "That
courageous woman has agreed to come on as my Sous-chef."

Farley noticed that Colette's cheeks had gone from wine-shiny to blazing red.

Henry dumped the shells into a plastic bag while Dion filled the sink with hot soapy water. Colette had snuck away; Farley found her asleep on the pull-out sofa and spread a light blanket over her.

"I'd like to stay in New York," said Henry.
"The problem is, I can't afford much more than a cardboard box in the city. We looked at some properties in Maryland and Virginia, on the drive down here."

Farley grabbed a rag to wipe down the table. "See
anything you like?"

"Not yet. I've got a few places lined up to see in Charleston. But so far nothing seems right."

"Because they're not in New York," said Dion, her
mouth pulled down, drunk-sad. "If you want to stay in New York, the right place will come along. Keep looking."

Farley smiled. Or, find a city
like
New York, with less expensive real estate...a city like Pittsburgh.

"What do you mean you don't know if they're an item?" asked Veda Marie. "It isn't too hard to spot romance. I can smell it in the air."

"I don't know, because it's none of my business,"
said Farley, frustrated. Henry and Collette were due back from Charleston any minute.

"Where did they sleep?"

"What?"

"Did they sleep together?"

Farley exhaled a long breath. "All right, Veda Marie. You got me; they slept together. We all did. We all got naked and had wild, raunchy, horny, sweaty sex. I'm so exhausted I can't think straight."

Silence.

"I'm sorry, Veda Marie. I'm not feeling very well today."

"I guess not. Orgies can take a lot out of a girl."

Pressing her fingers to her eyes, Farley counted to ten.
"Back to Henry's restaurant. What do you think?"

"I think you're on to something. Claire and I will get started in the morning, scouring the city for empty buildings."

"Not just empty buildings; empty
restaurant
buildings. So he'll already have something to work with. And don't say anything to Mary. If this gets back to Henry, he'll just tell us we're wasting our
time."

"There is no way in hell I'm getting out of the car in this area," said Claire, peering through the dirty window.

"Its broad daylight, for crying out loud," said Veda Marie.

Turning down Baum Boulevard, they searched for address markers on the mostly empty warehouses. Some of them had been turned into rock
clubs, others were in the process of being torn down. She and Claire had decided against calling in a realtor; they would have had to use Billie out of respect for Ham.

"These buildings are going for a song," she said. "We're bound to find something for Henry."

Claire decided against mentioning the obvious; buildings were going for a song because the city was in the midst of the collapse of its great steel industry. Something, despite all the signs, nobody believed would
happen. Empty mills and factories were sprinkled throughout the city like coal-black confetti. Paddy's mill - one of the rare hold-outs - was closing down its continuous strip and sheet department. Hundreds of steelworkers would
be out of a job.

"I know, Claire. The buildings are going for a song because the economy is bad. But Caliguiri is making progress. There are signs of life all around us. Every time I look down at the city from Bridge Manor,
the skyline has changed."

"Here we go," mumbled Claire.

"I heard that."

It was no secret Veda Marie admired their long-standing mayor. She loved to spout specifics about his efforts to renovate the city, as
if no one else ever read the newspaper or watched the news.

Claire grunted. "I loved this city long before you ever stepped off the train from South Carolina."

"Don't get snippy on me; all I'm saying is Pittsburgh
is perfect for Henry."

They drove in silence.

"Remember that summer Henry and Mary stopped here on their way to look at cooking schools?" Veda Marie smiled. "He was all
ears and elbows. Seven years...hard to believe."

"Eight."

The memory pinched Claire's heart; Pauline had been there. Instinctively she lowered the passenger mirror and examined her face, searching
for signs of her sister. She had never minded being the 'less attractive' twin. Not much, anyway. Growing up, Pauline's world of peroxide, Saturday night dates, and 'I'll just have a bite of yours' was as foreign to Claire as kissing
games and permanent waves. She tilted her head to catch the light. Pauline never would have taken these crows' feet lying down.

Dear Farley,

I'm so happy you're feeling better, lovey. We all are. William is
doing fine, although he misses you more than he will admit out loud. He is really getting into this back and forth letter writing. We'll have to get him a pen-pal when you get home.

Sounds like the four of you had a wonderful time during Henry's
visit. Mary told me all about the lunch you treated her to, and said she's never seen Henry so happy. (By the way, she is of the opinion that Colette and Henry are
not
romantically involved. Not that it's any of our business.)

Now for the big news. I scotch-taped the article below:

"Yet another landmark is about to be lost. With the steel industry imploding all around us, the ripple effect is in full speed.
Railroads, factories, stores and restaurants are calling it a day at a heart-wrenching rate. The South Side is the latest victim of our dismal economy. The Fingerling Restaurant is closing its doors."

So you see, after scouring West Liberty, Squirrel Hill, Polish
Hill, Bloomfield and all corners in between, we found the perfect building
two blocks from Grady Square
! I'll tell you all about it when we talk this weekend, but I wanted to send you the article from the Post-Gazette that started
it all.

Love,

Veda Marie

P.S. You'd think I would have found the article first, being that I am the only true 'morning person' around this place. But Mr. Winston has taken to putting the coffee on before I come down, so I guess he gets the credit.

"Henry drove in from New York just to humor me," said Veda Marie, during their weekly call. "But I could tell the moment he
stepped through the doorway we found the perfect place."

Farley swept the floor of the beach house as she talked. "You really think he'll make an offer?"

"He had to go back to New York, but he's already set up
meetings with an inspector and someone from the bank for a week from Monday. If all goes well, he said he'll make an offer. As we speak; Henry's dream of owning his own restaurant is being rerouted to Pittsburgh."

"I can't believe it's really happening!"