Beach House Memories (36 page)

Lovie counted on her fingers. “September, October, November, December, January, February,
March
. If in March—the Ides
of March—if on March fifteenth either one of us chooses to leave our spouse, we will come back here to the beach house. If I come and you are not there—”

“No, that won’t happen.”

“Shhh . . . Or if you come and I am not there, there will be no recriminations, no anger, and no hatred.” Her lips trembled. “Russell, don’t let there ever be hatred between us.”

“Never.”

“If either of us chooses not to show up, then the other will never call again. We will abide by the decision, no matter how hard it may be to accept. Are we agreed? Oh, please say yes!”

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes kindling with hope. “Absolutely.”

Lovie felt her heart spring back to life. “And if we both decide to come that day to the beach house?”

He gave her a wistful smile and smoothed the hair from her face. “We may never know if our decisions were right or wrong. That is the uncertainty of every choice. If we both show up, it will be a new beginning. If one of us does not, it will be an end. Lovie, I can’t predict what the future holds, but I can promise you this: Whatever decision you make, I will always love you.”

Lovie felt like waltzing along the beach path as she made her way back to the beach house. She felt the moon’s silvery light on her shoulders as her toes dug into the sand that was gloriously cool. She felt buoyant inside, her hope rising in her chest like helium, making her feel dizzy with joy.

She
knew
she would keep that date with Russell. It all seemed so easy now. She would return home to settle her affairs with Stratton. A divorce would cause a scandal in Charleston, her family and friends would never forgive her, but she was willing to risk that. She would take Palmer and Cara, and they’d live somewhere else with Russell. Florida, first. And if he traveled, they would go
with him. Who knew where? What did it matter? Wouldn’t the children love that? She would ask nothing from Stratton but her freedom. He could take the house, the furniture—he could have it all. That’s all he wanted, anyway.

She felt so free. Her heart was aglow with light. Her hair flowed freely down her back. She lifted her arms and twirled in the sand, laughing, feeling the weight of her decision lift from her shoulders. She felt brave and confident, once again the young girl who had made it to the Point. The girl who bought her own car. The girl who kissed in the waves. Her path was clear, she thought, as she danced home.

She saw her pale yellow beach house perched prettily on the dune. The wild grass, yellow primroses, and gaillardia blanketed the earth and sand that rose and fell in an undulating pattern. She would miss her dear cottage, she thought with a tug of her heart. Perhaps someday she could return, after the scandal died down. She would return like the turtles, every few years, arriving under the cloak of the darkness. What changes the hatchlings must face when they return home to the beach of their birth after twenty-five or thirty years. What would Isle of Palms look like in ten years, twenty, thirty when the forest was gone and the resort was finished and more and more people moved in? Would it still be her quiet little island?

She couldn’t worry about that now, she told herself as she walked up the porch stairs. She had enough changes to handle right now. The future would take care of itself. She had so much to do to leave the day after tomorrow. She wondered when Stratton would arrive home. How would she tell him that she was leaving him? She chewed her lip in thought as she set her canvas bag on the porch floor, then slipped off her sand-crusted sandals and shook some of the sand from her clothes. A mosquito hummed at her ear. She swatted at it, not wanting the pest to come inside. The door creaked as she swung it open.

Lovie’s mouth froze open in a silent gasp when she saw Stratton sitting in the wide, cushioned chair with a glass of scotch. He stood and set the drink on the table when she entered the room.

His face was pale with restrained fury, and his eyes were dark. His shoulders were hunched, his meaty fists were clenched at his sides, and he was panting through his mouth, like a pierced bull about to charge. Lovie held tight to the doorframe, in part to steady herself from the shock of finding Stratton here at the house, tonight, and in part because she was a breath away from running.

That one second seemed to last minutes as a million thoughts raced through her mind. What was he doing here? Why was he so angry? Oh, my God, what time was it? Uppermost was relief that she’d come home alone. Russell had wanted to walk her back but she’d refused and said her good-bye at the beach. Surely he couldn’t know about Russell, she thought in a breathless panic. How could he?

He knew
.

It was the way he looked at her, his dark eyes narrowed and his teeth showing like one of his hunting dogs when it catches the scent. And it made her very afraid.

“Stratton! You’re home.”

“Where were you?” he ground out through thin, white lips.

She forced a look of innocent surprise on her face. “Why, I was at a turtle nest. I go out to check on them most nights.”

“All alone? So late?”

“Of course. I do it all the time. It’s quite safe.” She feigned a relaxed attitude, but her voice sounded tinny and high. She brushed a bit of sand from her shorts as she moved into the house. “What a surprise to see you home at last! I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. I would have picked you up at the airport. Did you have a good flight?”

She was babbling. She had to stop herself. Flo’s words came
back to haunt her,
You’re a terrible liar
. Lovie raised her hands to pull back her wild hair. Her hands shook as she pulled the elastic from her wrist over her hand to make a sloppy bun. Bringing her hand down, she noticed that her Tiffany diamond and wedding band were off her finger. Her eyes darted to his, and in that second she saw that he’d noticed, too.

He lifted one brow as his gaze bored into hers. “Where’s your ring?”

“Oh, I never wear that big ol’ thing to the beach. It collects too much sand and I’m afraid I’d lose it when I dig . . .”

“Who is he?” His voice was low, like thunder, and his eyes flashed like lightning.

Lovie’s heart hammered as she stared into the dark abyss of his eyes and instinctively knew this was a turning point. She had to trust Russell and their love enough for honesty. She had to find the courage. If she was going to tell him the truth, now was the moment. Come what may.

Her eyes darted around the room. It was just the way she’d left it a few hours earlier. Tidy, everything in its place. Too perfect. She had the numb feeling she often got right before a hurricane hit. It all could disappear in an instant. In a breath of time, all she loved and treasured could lie scattered and irreparably broken. She looked up again at Stratton’s eyes. He took a step forward.

“Who is he?” he repeated. He spoke in a low voice, but it resonated in her body like thunder.

She took a breath, and in her mind, she ran.

“Who?” she replied. Even as she spoke, she knew she was damned.

It all happened so fast. He swooped down upon her like a hurricane.

“Who is he?” he roared, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

She felt her head whip back and forth, like a branch in the fierce storm’s wind. Lovie was shaken, afraid, but still she refused to tell him. Some instinct told her never to mention the name.

Stratton released her with a disgusted shove. “Tell me, goddamn it!” he shouted, and swung his arm.

She felt the sharp sting of his hand against her cheek and fell back against the desk with a muffled grunt. She held up her arms protectively over her head. “Stop!” she begged him. “Stratton, no!” But her cries only seemed to urge him on. Her defiance was like oil on a flame. He screamed at her to tell him the name, hitting her each time. He asked her many times. Her wails rose up like the cry of a wounded animal and she tasted blood on her lips.

Her hair sprang loose from its hold. He grabbed a fistful and yanked her to her feet. The pain exploded in her head.

“Tell me his name, or by God I’ll kill you,” he shouted at her. His face was inches from her own, and she felt the heat of his breath and smelled the stink of drink. When she didn’t speak, he bunched his fist, reared back his arm, and landed a punch against her face so hard her world exploded in white. She went sprawling over the desk, then tumbled in a heap to the floor. The desk, her papers, the lamp all came crashing down around her. She knew she was hurt, she could feel something was very wrong. Moaning, in a panic, she tried to crawl away from him, she needed to get away from the source of pain.

The door flew open, and from the corner of her eyes she saw Flo burst into the room. She ran to Lovie and stood in front of her, wide legged. All Lovie could see were the bottoms of her rose floral pajamas. Craning her neck, she saw that Flo was carrying a baseball bat.

“Don’t you touch her!” Flo screamed at the top of her lungs. She stood glaring at Stratton, wielding the bat threateningly.

“Get out of my house,” he shouted back at her.

“You’re the one who’s leaving. Now! Get the hell out before I call the police.”

Stratton stood, breathing heavily, but reason slowly returned to his face. He looked at Lovie for a long moment, then again at Flo.

“You’re her best friend,” he said bitterly. “Suppose you tell me what’s been going on this summer.”

“I’m not telling you squat.”

“You’ve just told me all I need to know.” He teetered as he waved his hand in disgust. “And you’re protecting her? I had a right to be angry.”

“A right? You have no right to hit a woman like this. For
any
reason!” Flo shouted at him. She was so angry her chest heaved. “Now get out of here. Go on back across that bridge. You hate being here anyway. Go on! We don’t want you here, you wife-beating son of a bitch.”

Stratton staggered forward, Flo raised the bat, and Lovie cringed.

The door opened again and Miranda rushed in, her long pale orange hair flowing wildly down her scarlet Chinese silk robe. She stopped short when she saw the overturned furniture and Flo standing with a bat confronting Stratton before a huddled Lovie.

“What’s going on here?” she said in her imperious voice. “I could hear the screams all the way to my bedroom.”

“None of your business, Miranda,” Stratton said. “Nor yours either,” he said to Flo. “This is a family affair.”

“Not any longer,” she said to Stratton. “You should go. Right now. Or we will call the police.”

Stratton worked his mouth, then lifted his arm and jabbed his index finger at Flo. “I’m going. Not because you told me to go. You’re disgusting, do you know that? It’s no wonder you’re not married. Who’d have you? But
you
,” he said, pointing to Lovie.
“You get things cleaned up here and bring my children home. I’ll expect you back at the house by tomorrow. Not a day later, hear?”

He rolled his shoulders, salvaging his dignity, and went to the sofa to grab his jacket. Then picking up his bags, he strode to the door, turning once more to deliver a warning look to Lovie before he walked out.

Flo released a long sigh and lowered her arms. She turned and kneeled beside Lovie. Miranda hurried to their side, settling in a puddle of silk.

Lovie coughed and whimpered as she felt Miranda’s fingers gently smooth the damp, bloodied hair from her face. Miranda gingerly lifted the arm that Lovie was cradling against her chest and tenderly moved probing fingers along the bones, stopping when Lovie yelped.

“I think your ribs could be broken,” she said. “Oh, Lovie,” Miranda said in a pitying tone. Then she turned her head and said to Flo, “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“No hospital,” Lovie said. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, shut up,” Flo said, though there was no anger in it. “I know why you’re saying that. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now honey, listen to me. You’ve got to see a doctor. I’ll stay with you the whole time. Now come on, Lovie, try to stand,” she said, firmly guiding Lovie to her feet. “Real easy now. Mama, grab her other arm and help her up.”

Lovie could barely straighten and squelched her cry of pain as something sharp jabbed in her side. She found it easier to hold her breath while she rose. At last she was on her feet and found a wobbly balance. The women guided her to a chair.

Miranda hurried to the kitchen and returned with a cool damp cloth. With a mother’s care, Miranda dabbed at the blood on her face. Lovie closed her eyes and caught the scent of Miranda’s perfume.

“Flo, darling, get me some ice in a clean towel, would you?” When Flo left, Miranda asked, “Where are the children, dear?”

“At friends’,” she said, realizing how extraordinarily fortunate they were not to be here to witness her shame.

“Thank heavens,” Miranda said kindly. “You be a good girl now and go with Flo. And we’ll clean up the house. Don’t fret. We’ll take care of you.” She sniffed back a sob that caught in her throat. “Child, it’s all going to be all right.”

Nineteen

L
ovie had only been in a hospital three times in her life. Twice for the births of her children, then again for the death of her father. Life and death.