“Okay, so I looked into this guy, this Cryder guy,” Mac said.
“And?”
“And he checks out. He really does work for that big Atlanta company, Vista Properties. They’re going all over the Southeast, buying up land.”
“For houses? You think the market’s really picking up that much?”
“Not just houses. All kinds of development. Commercial stuff, industrial, all of it. And they’ve got their eye on Utina, Frank. Lots of people are starting to.”
“Shit,” Frank said. He looked out the open door of Mac’s office, which led directly down a hallway into the front room of Bait/Karaoke. Through the store’s front window, he could see across the street to the Lil’ Champ, where Tip Breen stood outside, smoking a cigarette and scratching his crotch. “I’ve heard that before,” Frank said.
“Hell, Frank. It’s about time. They’re seeing it now. We’ve always known it was coming. Look how close we are to the ocean—these yuppies will pay anything to live here. And we’ve got the Intracoastal—they can pull their big yachts up behind their houses, drink wine, and listen to their Jimmy Buffet shit or whatever it is they do. And here’s the thing—where you are? Aberdeen, and Uncle Henry’s, and Morgan’s place? That’s the whole enchilada, right there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Frank, this is big. It’s bigger than you could have imagined. You knew your property might one day be golden, right? Well, guess what? It’s platinum.”
Mac paused for effect, then continued. “I got a buddy of mine in Jacksonville to look into this. He does maritime law. The stretch of the Intracoastal you’re on is one of a kind, Frank. We looked at the depth charts.” Mac slid a sheet of blank paper across his desk and did a quick sketch of the long watery line of the Intracoastal; he added three squares along the east bank. “Here,” he said, pointing to the three squares in succession, from north to south. “Here’s Morgan’s property, right? And Uncle Henry’s, and Aberdeen. Those three properties, together, are large enough for Vista to build this big crazy-ass marina they’re talking about. And here’s the thing, Frank. This is the
only
place it would work. The water right off the banks isn’t deep enough anywhere else, between St. Augustine and Jacksonville, for them to build the kind of facility they want to build. The shore depths are workable
only
off those three properties
.”
Mac leaned back in his chair and put his left ankle up across his knee. He jiggled his leg up and down and smiled.
“St. Johns, Duval, and Clay are some of the fastest-growing counties in the country. Even in this market. And you’re right in the middle of it. Morgan and your family have got the only pieces of land that would work for the kind of money-making venture they’re planning. Do you see, Frank? You stepped in shit.” Mac was grinning, gleeful. “They want your land.”
“For a marina? Where’s the money in a marina?”
“You’re not thinking big, Frank. You’re thinking with your Utina brain. That’s the problem with everyone around here. Nobody’s seeing what this place could really be—except these people on the outside. They’re seeing it for us, Frank. And they’re going to come in here and take it from us, we’re not careful.” Mac got up, started pacing around the office.
“It’s not just a marina they’re talking about,” he said. “We hear marina and we think a boat ramp, a couple of slips. They’re talking about something else entirely, Frank. I saw the proposal at the County. They’re talking about a hundred slips, big ones, two-hundred-footers, and fuel, and dockmasters and pump-out—all that. And that’s not all. They’re talking about condos on the property, and a big hotel, and restaurants and shops and all that shit. Starbucks coffee. Art galleries. For Christ’s sake, art galleries, Frank! You getting me here?”
Frank sat back in his chair, looked at Gooch. The dog was watching Mac pace the office, and when Frank looked at him, he sat down uncertainly, wagged his tail hesitantly.
“Damn,” Frank said quietly. He leaned forward and looked at the pencil sketch on Mac’s desk. “I knew we were talking about money. But I guess we’re talking about real money.”
“Yeah,
real
money,” Mac said. He whistled. “Big money, try.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Frank said. “It’s not up to me. Morgan owns his own land. And the restaurant and Aberdeen are my mother’s, not mine. None of this is mine to sell.”
“You’ve got the influence. They know that. They’ve been doing their homework. They know you’re running the restaurant. They know Morgan’s working for you. They know Arla’s—well, Arla’s getting older. They’re coming to
you
, Frank. They know you’re the one who can make it happen.”
Frank’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and saw it was Aberdeen.
“Shit,” he said.
“You need to get that?”
“Naw. I’ll get her later. It’s my mother.”
Mac raised his eyebrows. “Speak of the devil.”
“You got that right,” Frank said. He clicked the phone to vibrate and watched it shudder until the number had disappeared from the small screen. Something inside his head was buzzing. This new information was big. What Mac was talking about was staggering. Given the uniqueness of the parcels—the shore depths factor—the stakes were higher than Frank had realized. Vista couldn’t just move on down the road and make an offer to someone else. Vista needed
this
land. Vista needed
this
family. The Bravos. It wasn’t just about selling the restaurant. It was about changing the course of destiny. And Mac was right: Frank was the one most likely to be able to make this happen. Morgan would be on board, no doubt.
But Arla. Arla would never agree to it. Never. She’d lived more than forty years at Aberdeen, though he’d never argue that she was particularly happy there, especially the last twenty of those years. At sixty-two, Arla was young enough to still make a life for herself somewhere else. But move from Aberdeen? Frank closed his eyes. Where would she go? And what about Sofia?
He opened his eyes and shook his head. “My mother,” he said. “There’s no way.”
“Are you kidding? You just need to convince her, Frank. With that kind of money, she can have anything she wants. A nice condo, ground floor, no stairs. Someone to drive her around. Anything she wants. It’d be better for her—and Sofia, too—they can have anything. Right now they’re just stuck out there in that old house.”
“I don’t know, Mac,” Frank said. “This is a big deal. I just don’t know what to think here.”
“Think money, you idiot,” Mac said. He smiled. “Think big. Think life changing. Think that if you play this deal right, you can do anything you want. Anything.”
A small picture of Elizabeth presented itself to Frank, a picture of Elizabeth and Bell, and a bright cabin, and a cool mountain stream. Cullowhee. He shook his head again.
A red flash entered his field of vision, and he turned to the window in time to see Susan Holm’s Mazda pull up outside Bait/Karaoke. Her powers of observation were evidently improving; she must have seen Frank’s truck at the back of the long drive, because she pulled her car into the driveway and made the same tight maneuver between the palm tree and the utility pole, effectively blocking Frank’s truck in Mac’s lot. She parked the car, opened the door, and extended one long high-heeled leg out onto the pavement while she reached back into the car and rummaged for her purse.
“Oh, my,” Mac said.
“Oh, crap,” Frank said.
“Good stuff,” Mac said, and then he wrenched his gaze away from the window and turned back to Frank.
“Carson knows all this, too,” he said. “He called right before you stopped by.”
“Oh, great,” Frank said. “I’m sure he’s beside himself. Money. His favorite thing.”
“Now listen, Frank—you decide to talk with this guy from Vista, you gotta play hardball. You let your properties go cheap, you’re setting a bad precedent for the rest of the town. You have control, Frank. The sale of your place is going to set the standard, establish the market price.”
“Establish what market price?” Susan Holm said. She stood in the doorway, clutching a thick stack of manila folders, her head cocked to one side. Gooch thumped his tail on the floor. “Who’s talking about market prices? You boys know what that does to me.”
Frank raised his eyebrows to Mac, shook his head slightly.
“I saw that, Frank Bravo,” she said. “You’re keeping secrets.”
“Don’t be crazy, Susan. I got no secrets from you,” Frank said.
“Oh, you’re full of secrets. Don’t I know it.” She shifted her weight in the doorway. “I’ve got a couple of closing packets for you to look at, Mac. Two properties in South Utina. What kind of men are you? Nobody even offering me a seat? Even the dog won’t get up.” Gooch thumped his tail again, but she was right. Nobody had risen.
“Here,” Frank said. “I’m just leaving.” He got up and made an elaborate swooping gesture to the chair. Susan sighed and sat down.
“Frank Bravo, how come every time I walk into a room, you walk out?” she said. “I’m starting to get a complex.”
“That’s not true,” Frank said, though he realized guiltily that it was.
“Don’t worry, Susan. I’ll keep you company,” Mac said.
She rolled her eyes, but then looked at Frank.
“When are you going to let me list your house?” she said.
“Now you see? That’s making me crazy, Susan,” he said, irritated. “You’re always wanting me to sell my house. Everybody’s always wanting me to sell everything. What if I don’t want to sell? What if I don’t want to change?”
“Who else wants you to sell?” Susan said. Frank realized he’d just made a grave tactical error. Mac’s eyes grew wide, and Susan noticed. “Who? Somebody else trying to get to you, Frank?” she demanded.
“No, no. I just mean you—you, Susan, always trying to get me to sell.”
“Frank Bravo, God help you if you ever let some other Realtor list that house of yours. After all the years I’ve been trying to work with you on it, after all the—”
She stopped. Mac’s eyes got wider. “After all the what?” he said. He looked from Susan to Frank and back again.
“Shut up,” she said, flushing. “None of your business.”
“There’s no other Realtor,” Frank said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
She stared at him. “I’m just saying, Frank, that every property on your street has now sold for at least a quarter of a million. And those are empty lots. If you wanted to—”
Frank’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it. Aberdeen again. “I better get this,” he said. “It’s my mother—she keeps calling.”
“Sure,” she said. “Change the subject.” He turned away, pressed
ACCEPT
on the phone.
“Hello?” he said.
The voice on the phone was not Arla’s.
“So now you got four crazy women on your hands out here, not just two, you know that?” Elizabeth said. “Bell and I. We’re here at Aberdeen.”
Frank stepped out of Mac’s office and into the hallway.
“What do you mean?” he said. He tried to quiet the adrenaline running through his veins. She’d never called his cell phone before. Something was up.
“We’ve been here all week. I asked your mom not to say anything to you, until I figured out what we were going to do. But we’re going to stay a bit longer,” she said. She cleared her throat. “Carson and I, we’re taking a break.”
“Taking a break?”
She laughed—a short, clipped sound. “Yeah, a break,” she said. “Like a time-out, or something. Your mother says Bell and I can stay here. We’re in your old bedroom. There’s a real pretty magnolia. Right out the window here.”
He looked back through the open office door. Mac and Susan were going over the closing documents she’d brought, but Frank could tell, by the way Susan jiggled her ankle and kept her eyes just to the left of the stack of documents, that she was listening to Frank’s conversation. He tried to remember if he’d mentioned Elizabeth’s name.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“Oh, yeah. We’ll be fine. You know, we’ll get it figured out. One way or another, I guess.” She spoke quickly, ready to change the subject, he sensed.
“And guess what?” she said. “We solved the piano crisis.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Well, it was Biaggio, really. I don’t know how he did it. But he talked to Sofia. Convinced her to let him put it back where it was. She caved. So he moved it back. Your mother’s happy. Everything’s back to normal. Well. Back to the way it was, anyway.” He could hear the grin in her voice. “But, Frank,” she said. “I was wondering if I could ask a favor?”
Anything, he thought.
Anything.
Susan glanced up at him, caught his eye.
“What’s up?” he said into the phone. He turned to the wall, leaned his forehead against the paneling.
“We need another bed out here,” Elizabeth said. “Bell and I are sharing, and she’s, like, doing gymnastics all night long, it feels like. I can’t get a wink. I was wondering if you’d help me, with the truck? I need to go to my house, get her bed, and bring it out here to Aberdeen. And maybe a couple of other things while we’re there. Do you think you could?”