“Oh, nice,” I say, attempting to sound as though I care.
Pete fishes a sandwich out of the basket. “See you tonight, Thelma. Hope to see you around, Daisy.”
Once he’s gone, I’m finally able to get the skinny on Thelma. She was married for forty-three years, but her husband died seven years ago. She used to be a painter but hasn’t painted a thing since he passed away. She’s originally from Charleston, South Carolina—which explains her slight southern accent—but she lived in Manhattan for thirty years before migrating to the island. After one visit to this piece of paradise, she and her husband decided to plant roots.
When I ask how she gets through a normal day—because I would be bored out of my mind if I lived here full time—she says she spends most of her time organizing fundraisers and setting up big table dinners. Apparently, the spots at her table are coveted by many. Suddenly I’m eager to see what it’s all about.
“Do you like crab?” she asks out of the blue. “I think I’ll make soft-shell crab for dinner tonight.”
“I certainly do,” I reply enthusiastically.
“Good, then that’s what we’ll have.”
I grin. Sitting here shooting the breeze with Thelma is lovely. Suddenly, I don’t want to push my flight up to Friday. “You know what? I think I’ll stay until Saturday.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” she says.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she says before heading to the kitchen to get dinner started.
I’m content, at least for the moment.
Chapter 13
Get A Clue
***
Belmont Lord
The muffled sound of a cell phone ringing woke Belmont out of a deep sleep. He sat straight up and his eyes darted around the room. He searched for a way to turn off the chime. “What the hell?” Then he squinted down at his pants. The phone was in his pocket. He reached in and dug it out.
“Hello,” he said, sounding jittery.
“Where the hell are you, Jack?” Troy, his manager at the Aquinnah work site, barked in his ear. “Andrea and I have been calling you all morning. The architect is waiting for you.”
“Ah, shit,” Belmont cursed and hopped out of bed. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty. What the hell? Did you overdo it last night?”
“No,” he sighed. “I’ve been having problems sleeping.” He massaged his forehead. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He hung up and remembered why he was in such a state in the first place. “Daisy,” he muttered.
He would have to continue his search for her after meeting with the architect. He was still in last night’s party attire, but he had no time to change. He partnered with a non-profit to erect a private retreat. The goal was to build a structure that would coalesce with nature, which was why he’d asked Pete to design rooms that flowed into an atrium. It was an arduous undertaking, one Belmont almost passed on. The entire project felt too pretentious for his taste but he could use the tax break.
Belmont hopped into the pickup truck he used for work and zoomed up South Road. He used speed dial to call Adam. He had one question, and as soon as his friend answered, he asked it. “Did she leave yet?” Desperation flooded him.
“Nah, not yet, Jack. We’ll call you when she returns the car,” Adam reassured him.
Belmont felt more at ease as the truck rolled along the dirt road at the edge of the duck pond and onto the construction site. He planned to have Andrea, his assistant, get Leslie Birch, Daisy’s travel agent, on the phone for him as soon as he was done consulting with Pete, the architect.
Most of the crew had left for the day, and the rest were just about ready to call it quits. As soon as Belmont exited the truck, he caught sight of Troy and Pete and took long strides in their direction. Although he’d been asleep for twelve hours or so, Belmont felt like crap.
“Jack, you made it,” Pete said. “Rough night?”
“Sorry about that,” Belmont replied. “Yeah, it was a long, rough night.”
“You going to be okay, Jack?” Troy asked, definitely concerned about the state Belmont was in. He clearly didn’t expect his boss to show up in last night’s suit and looking like shit.
Belmont glanced at Troy, who was still watching him with ruffled eyebrows. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “So what do you think, Pete?”
“Troy was just telling me that they want to connect four open fields in the woods without harming any of the surrounding trees.”
“That’s right. It was a last-minute decision. All I need to know is whether or not it can be done.”
“Let’s see!” Pete sang enthusiastically.
Belmont lifted an eyebrow. He knew he had to be careful, ask the right questions, and rely heavily on his own experience when deciding whether or not the project could take such a dramatic turn. An architect was an artist, and Pete would take to the project like a hungry bear to a stack of honeycombs. So Belmont started the tour, guiding the two men down the natural trails the foundation wanted built into glass-walled hallways that would run between the structures.
An hour later, as expected, Pete was committed. He’d drafted some ideas as they went. The drawings had it all–tennis courts, gym, accommodations, dining facility, atrium, and a conservation park.
“We have to get the geologist out here first,” Belmont said after studying the draft.
“Lowell’s available tomorrow. If we don’t catch him then, then we’ll have to wait three more weeks,” Troy chimed in.
“What time? Do you know?” Belmont asked, wearing a severe frown. His work was taking him further away from Daisy. If only he knew where she was. If only they were together without a doubt. Then, and then only, would he have a better response to having a reputable architect onboard and a solid plan to move forward.
“Five, six…” Troy said.
“In the morning?” Belmont complained.
“No, in the afternoon.”
“Can’t do it at six,” Pete said immediately. “Aunt Thelma’s big table dinner starts at seven.”
“It’s Thursday tomorrow?” Belmont suddenly remembered receiving the informal invitation.
He’d run into Thelma at the Menemsha Fish Market last Monday. She asked him about the work he was doing in Nicaragua and then invited him to her dinner on Thursday night. He had attended a number of them. It was equivalent to getting inside of the old boys’ club. Over four hours or so of eating, drinking lots of liquor, and casual but stimulating conversation, a lot got done. Hollywood films were pitched; government policy made; and sometimes love matches were formed.
“Thelma has a guest. She’s a travel writer,” Pete said, revealing it as if he was bragging a little.
“A travel writer,” Belmont strained to say. He felt the blood leave his face. He had no doubt that Pete was speaking about Daisy. Once again, fate worked in his favor.
Pete dropped his face, embarrassed. He mumbled, “Yes, but the point is, I have a dinner tomorrow evening. Five o’clock is my cut-off time?”
“Maybe Lowell can come out earlier,” Belmont answered before Troy could. “I’ll give you a call in the morning—bright and early.”
Belmont planned to call all day long, up until dinnertime, just to make sure the architect kept
his
hands off of
his
travel writer. Plus, he had other plans, and as soon as he hopped back into the truck, he set off to fulfill them.
Chapter 14
A Slight Diversion
Just like the first morning I woke up on the island, I’m stirred by the chirping of a bird. It sounds as if it’s perched right outside my window. This time, I jump out of bed to get a look. Upon seeing the little red furry bird, I gasp.
That cannot be the same bird we saw off the trail in the forest, the Scarlet Tanager—although stranger things have happened since I arrived. Its round and fuzzy chest is facing me, and its beady black eyes watch me. It must understand that we’re separated by glass; that’s why it’s staying put.
This is the back of the house, the part that faces the thick forest. There’s no way anyone will see me standing here wearing nothing but my white bikini panties, so I stand shamelessly, remembering how relaxing yesterday evening was. I was able to put my life in perspective over soft crab and two glasses of cabernet sauvignon.
Maybe I’m not meant to fall in love and all of that stuff. Every single relationship I had with the opposite sex has taken a turn for the worst. There’s my real father, Jacques, who’s a sourpuss in general. I’m closer to Joseph, my stepfather–and that ain’t saying much. My brother, who was more of a father to me than Jacques, died. Adrian, my first and only boyfriend… Well, he betrayed me in the worst way. Thank God, because his actions forced me to do what I should’ve done a long time ago, and that’s admitting that I stayed because being with him was a facade. I could say I had a boyfriend, and that made me appear normal. I couldn’t say that I had intimacy, or trust, or even a real friend in him, though.
If the relationship between Belmont and I had worked, that would have been nice. Then I could say that I had all three–intimacy, trust, and a friend. He, in the end, wasn’t real, but at least I know now what my heart could experience if the real thing ever presented itself to me.
Suddenly my red, furry friend leaps off the branch and flies off like it’s been disturbed. Its sudden flight takes me by surprise, and then I get the feeling that I’m being watched. My eyes seek and find the culprit. Pete is standing beneath the branches, boldly gazing up at me. It takes me a moment to remember that I’m topless. I take a step backward, and then another until I fall down onto the bed.
Jeez, Thelma’s nephew saw my chee-chees! I wonder how long he’s been standing there. Then I remember that I promised to have breakfast with Thelma at seven. There’s no way I can bow out at this point. Was he being a Peeping Tom? It looked like he had on workout clothes. Maybe he was returning from an early-morning jog. There are trails throughout the forests. I’m sure that’s it.
Feeling less embarrassed, I put on a green silk bra and a green striped sundress. I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror. Belmont accused me of always appearing sexy, and I certainly don’t want that to be the case for breakfast. So I study myself at all angles. I don’t think this dress could be sexy. It fits my body, but it’s not tight. Pete will be able to see my green bra straps, but that’s more of a fashion faux pas than anything. After another final pass, I conclude that I look fine–not sexy, but quite casual.
Just to be safe, I pull my too-straight hair into a ponytail. I haven’t showered yet, but after breakfast, I’m going to wash the straight right out of my hair. Belmont was right; there is something sensual about the way my bushy, wavy locks sit on top of my head and spray down my shoulders. My current look is no frills or thrills. Maybe that will wash the sight of me standing in the window topless out of Pete’s head–if he shows up for breakfast. Maybe he’s just as embarrassed as I am.
So I slip on my flip-flops and head out to the deck for breakfast. I’ve never eaten as much as I have since yesterday afternoon. That’s because Thelma keeps feeding me. I’m starting to become like Pavlov’s dogs. She knocks to invite me over to eat and I’m instantly famished. My mouth is already watering imagining the next meal. As soon as I step outside, the smell of pancakes or waffles hits me. My stomach growls. It’s ready to metabolize at least two stacks, which is a lot for me. Adrian used to accuse me of eating like a bird on purpose. At first it bugged me because that was definitely not the case. I simply only take what I need, even when it comes to food. I think it has to do with not overstepping my boundaries and remaining tolerable to others. However, when I work, I indulge—that’s why I’m always on the road. I’m like Myrtle Wilson in
The Great Gatsby
. When I travel, I’m lively, extravagant, and oh so happy, like she is when she sneaks off to be with Tom Buchanan in the hip New York apartment. Everywhere else, I’m like her in George Wilson’s garage: dull, miserable, and careful.
I nearly run back to the guesthouse when I see Pete is already sitting at the table. He’s holding a
Time
magazine with one hand and sipping coffee out of a mug with the other. He’s behaving as if he didn’t see my breasts in the window.
“Good morning,” I say, as chipper as possible, as I sit down across from him.
He lowers the magazine. Dang it! He’s trying too hard to focus on my face. “Good morning, um…”
“Daisy,” I remind him.
“Yes! Daisy,” he says with a smile. “Now I’ll never forget it.”
“It’s okay.” I lift a hand as if to say no offense taken.
“Oh no…” He puts down the magazine. “I’m an imbecile for forgetting it. Especially since you’re someone I would like to impress.”
“Don’t worry,” I say as I scope out the spread. “I’m easily impressed.” My nose did not betray me. There are pancakes, home fries, bacon, biscuits, and spinach quiche. Thelma has sliced up many different varieties of apples and pears. I pour myself a cup of coffee and add cream and a little sugar.
“I’m not easily impressed, but you’ve impressed me,” he says hoarsely and then clears his throat.
I glance at him but only for a second. I debate whether or not I should come right out and ask him. I want to. Another thing Belmont has taught me is that it’s okay to be direct.
“So, Pete,” I start and wait for him to shift his eyes off of the magazine. “Did you see me in the window this morning?”
A huge grin spreads across his lips.
“I thought so,” I say before he’s able to say anything.
“I didn’t mean to look. I was returning from a run, and there you were.” He lifts his eyebrows as if he’s entertained by the memory.