Pink Slips and Glass Slippers (29 page)

Hanging up, Brooke sighed, thinking she’s another person I wouldn’t trade places with in a million years.

Brooke sat in silence for a moment, then picked up her phone and dialed Melissa. She was relieved to hear voicemail. “Hey Melissa, it’s me. Sorry I keep missing you…I’m thinking of going to my Daddy’s for a few days,” Brooke’s eyes fluttered as she fibbed to her friend, “Hope you’re doing well. I’ll call you when I return. Love you.” Pressing end, Brooke hoped Melissa wouldn’t call back immediately. She brought her journal out to her deck, then settled, seeking inspiration from the calm pond. No alligators or spiders within sight, Brooke exhaled. A crane stood stock still at water’s edge near a turtle sunning himself. A squirrel jumped from a huge oak branch to a smaller one beneath it, causing a few leaves to descend like cottonwood flakes to the pine needles below. Brooke’s forehead beaded up; she wondered if humidity bothered them. Or the frost of winter. Nature seemed to adjust to change without effort, something Brooke envied.

Hunger pangs clicked inside Brooke’s stomach like an alarm clock, reminding her to shower. After one full day without a watch, Brooke was on Hilton Head time—adapting like nature. While showering, Brooke forgot what day it was…Saturday? Though she pondered returning to Steamer’s, she didn’t want to look like a stalker—or a total loser.

Struggling to untangle her hair from the torments of the sand and wind, Brooke frowned. I can’t go out like this on Saturday. She craved Italian, but didn’t feel like sitting solo at a candle lit table. And, pizza delivery wasn’t what she had in mind. Then, looking at the floor, her T-shirt strewn on top of the unmade bed flashed like an advertisement—Salty Dog. Great outdoor pizza. Perfect.

Grateful for her insider island knowledge, she drove the back way to South Beach. Ever since grade school math with
Sister Rulerpain
, Brooke prided herself on applying the shortest solution. Unlike long division, this methodology proved useful in traffic. On Hilton Head, like in life, there were usually at least two ways to go.

The Salty Dog Café offered the ideal setting. Against the backdrop of the Marina, the Cape Cod style buildings resembled honeycombs with all the bustling tourists dining, shopping, and jostling for seats around the tiki hut outdoor bar. The expansive wooden deck—cut around the palm trees, of course—served as a main meeting area to eat, drink, and be merry. Brooke rounded the corner and winced at the parking options. She remembered her secret spot, then pulled onto the grass, under a majestic oak. A minivan followed and parked right behind her.

Once outside her air conditioned Lexus, the muggy air assaulted her skin. She decided to grab a cool drink and adjust in the shade, before her sundress clung to her like a one-piece swimsuit. Ambling toward the circular bar, she heard the guitar guy singing. She spotted an opening at the bar, and wedged on a stool beside a cute couple who glowed like honeymooners. Like the night before, this performer had talent. He was playing a spirited rendition of
Rocky Top,
as a table of orange-clad adults acted like kids, while their unattended children bounced around on the makeshift dance floor. She figured she’d wait to request her songs.

After missing her chance with one of the three scrambling bartenders, the taller one made eye contact with Brooke, and she panicked. Keeping her eyes fixed, she pointed at the young girl’s drink beside her, and said, “I’ll have one of those.”

“One lava coming right up.”

Brooke glared at the drink she just ordered, and the pretty patron beside her said, “Oh, these are scary good. I think that’s why they call ‘em ‘lavas’.”

The bartender flashed an
I just had my braces removed
smile, and said, “They’re a mix of Piña Colada and Daiquiri.”

Brooke shrugged as she watched bottles flipping and heard two blenders whirling. The bartender filled the clear cup half way with a red icy concoction, then, with a concentration that stunned Brooke, eased the yellowish drink to the top. He presented the drink to Brooke with flair—like he just accepted his Harvard diploma, then beamed. She sipped with an audience, then said, “Good,” thinking, it doesn’t taste or look like lava—go figure. Noticing the bar was packed three deep, Brooke considered ordering another one. The first sip turned to gulps, each time flowing easier; Brooke realized why they called it lava.

The cute couple next to her struck up a relaxed conversation—where are you from, are you just getting here, where are you staying, then where did you go to school? When Brooke said, “UNC, Chapel Hill,” the brown-eyed brunette beside her said, “Oh my God, me too. I knew I liked you.” They both laughed as a guy with an orange cap standing nearby frowned. “My name’s Christine, but my friends call me Sissy.” Brooke thought, that name makes about as much sense as lava. Her boyfriend caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for another round for his girlfriend and Brooke—that’s nice.

Brooke noticed the sparkling diamond ring on her finger. “When are you two getting married?”

“We just got engaged last night.” Sissy gazed lovingly at her new fiancé.

“Sorry, I think I need something to eat.”

The musician just finished
Every Rose Has It’s Thorn
—fitting—then pacified the loud mouth across the way by launching into
Bohemian Rhapsody.
Sissy spun, then pressed her finger and thumb under her tongue, and whistled, drawing a grin from the performer. She said, “Oh my God. I love it when he does this song.”

Grateful for the diversion, Brooke turned and faced the shaded mini-stage. After the opening, which drew all eyes front and center, Brooke said, “This guy’s good. I think I’ve heard him before.”

Sissy stared at the singer like a teen idol, then said, “Dave’s my favorite. I want him to play at our wedding.” Jake nodded.

Brooke blurted, “I hope this isn’t your wedding song?” Laughter. Brooke realized the second drink, sans food, was erupting inside her small dehydrated body, dropping her IQ like trees in a volcano’s path.

Much to Brooke’s astonishment, Dave sang the operatic section. Brooke wondered how he’d pull it off, but, as if on cue, everyone joined in like a Queen video. After the rousing riff—that actually sounded great on acoustic guitar—Dave finished to a standing ovation. Brooke heard the words “short break,” and took her cue.

“I need to eat something before I pass out. I should’ve bought you guys a drink…”

Jake said, “Nonsense. It was great meeting you. You’re welcome to join us. We’re waiting for our table inside the restaurant and can easily—”

“No, I kinda feel like pizza,” Brooke eyed the short line on the opposite side of the café. “Thanks though, you guys remind me of…” Brooke stopped herself, then grabbed her cup and toasted the young couple. She didn’t need it, but Brooke downed the remainder of the drink, then waltzed away.

Her smile ended abruptly as the name of the pizza stand registered—Tanner’s Pizza.

I can’t win.

Dave passed by Brooke and nodded, then headed to the men’s room. She thought, everyone here is so friendly.

***

“Wake up, Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Huh?” Chase shook his head as Parker’s tiny hand tugged on his golf shirt. Oksana and Dmitri, her boyfriend, formed a triangle with Parker. The image startled him. Chase said, “What time is it?”

“Dinner time. Can we go back to Salty Dog? Please,” Parker finished with a cute but phony pose.

Chase rubbed his chin, then said, “Oksana and Dmitri, it’s your pick tonight. What do you feel like eating?”

Oksana glanced at her boyfriend, then said, “We don’t care.”

“Well, we were just there yesterday. Don’t you feel like—”

“I want pizza, pizza,” Parker crinkled his eyebrows, looking more adorable than angry.

Before Chase could respond, Oksana said, “It is okay, we can go where Parker wants. We like Salty Dog, and they have more stuff other than pizza.” She glanced at Dmitri, who nodded.

“Yippee, let’s go,” Parker said, hoping to preempt a rebuttal.

“Give me five minutes.”

Driving their BMW SUV along the winding single-laned road in heavier traffic than usual, a silver Lexus sped by in the opposite direction. Chase’s eyes popped wide as he peered through the side mirror. He shook his head.
That couldn’t have been…I have to get her out of my mind.

***

A tapping jolted Brooke out of a vivid dream.
Huh.
She heard it again, and realized a woodpecker had perched just outside her window. With blood rushing to her head, Brooke felt pregnant—including morning sickness. The pancakes, pizza, and lava had hoodwinked her brain, but hadn’t fooled her stomach. She slowly descended back into her foam pillow and tried out several excuses not to run. She was unable to persuade her inner voice.

Running was the cure-all remedy, the one constant in her life. She realized it more than ever when sidelined by her ankle injury. Still lying down, Brooke remembered the Run for the Cure was next weekend, and it catapulted her out of bed. After swallowing two aspirin with an extra large gulp of water, she laced up her shoes, threw on her running garb, and jogged down the shaded path.

Once on the moist sand, past the searing zone, Brooke kicked off her shoes and decided on running the opposite direction. It looked clear and she could stop at Marriott for one of their poolside fruit plates. After a few easy paces, her food and lava coma subsided. With the rising sun and soft breeze, she felt lucid. The tide was midpoint and she felt centered. To her right, something moved—two dolphins arced through the air, then cut into the calm ocean without leaving a ripple.

Keeping her eyes trained right, they lunged up again as if synchronized, then two babies followed. They matched Brooke’s pace. After a few seconds, the four repeated their show. Memories flooded in. She recalled her fascination, observing her first dolphin while on vacation with her father. Today, Brooke’s eyes widened each time the dolphin family emerged, just like the old days. Even though the scene was just as it looked the first time, the dolphins captivated her. Suddenly, she realized she was in front of the Marriott.

Brooke watched until the dolphins faded from view. Feeling exhilarated in her runner’s high, time stood still for her. Brooke puzzled—I must be hungry.

Brooke savored each bite of the fresh fruit medley with her feet dangling in the pool. She felt like a new woman—a noticeable improvement from yesterday; and it wasn’t only the change in diet, though that helped. On her return, Brooke decided to lazily stroll rather than run. The tide had shifted out further than before, revealing plenty of underwater treasures.

Splashing through the irregular ocean’s edge, Brooke spotted the top of what looked like a buried conch shell. She nudged it, then gripped and pulled, until the entire shell swooshed out. Brooke examined it, marveling at its shape and color. She made sure the snail-like creature was gone, “It’s a keeper.” Wandering further, she collected an assortment of seashells.

Arriving back at her shoes, the hot sun beckoned her to stay. Low tide invited the incoming beach goers, and Brooke decided to join them. She spotted a cute little boy plunked inside an unfinished sand castle—doing more playing than building. He glanced up and smiled at Brooke, impressed with her overflowing collection. His adorable smile caused Brooke to drop several shells near his burgeoning sand fortress. His eyes widened, then he squinted back up and said, “Did you find all those pretty shells yourself?”

Brooke smiled, “I sure did.” She rubbed her hands together, deciding against picking them up. Inspecting the ground, she said, “That’s a nice sand castle. Did you build that all by yourself?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wow. Didn’t your parents help?”

“A little bit, but they’re over there taking naps on their blankies.” The boy pointed to the couple, who lounged on beach towels nearly fifteen feet away. Neither noticed.

Brooke wished she had a video camera to capture his enthusiastic innocence—his squeaky voice and delightful eyes. Brooke smiled lovingly and thought of her doll collection.

“Hey, you wanna play?”

“I have to…” Brooke bit her lip, then gazed at his eyes with his long lashes, and said, “Sure, why not.”

“Yippee.”

Brooke giggled—I have to find a camera, “You want these shells to protect the castle?”

The little boy bobbed his head, considered the reach of the shells, then said, “Okay, you can use ‘em to keep the big sharks out. I can teach you how.”

Brooke shot a glance at the distant shoreline, then with wide eyes, asked, “Are there sharks?”

“Uh huh. I caught one with Captain Carlos.”

Oh you cutie,
“Okay, I’ll try to protect us with these shells then.” Brooke lined some shells face down around the front.

The boy scanned the first few shells, then said, “Should we dig sand for them first?”

“That’s a great idea. Why don’t you shovel and then I’ll put the shells on top to keep the sharks out.”

As the two wiled away the afternoon, they constructed a creative shark cage. Though she could spend the entire day with this delightful boy, her skin screamed for sunscreen. She feared a horrible burn enflamed her back and shoulders. Brooke had to use the bathroom and her stomach’s compass pointed toward a seafood salad bar.

Brooke frowned at the boy’s parents, who hadn’t budged, but said, “I have to go.”

The boy peered into Brooke’s eyes as if staring into her soul, then asked, “Are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to eat lunch and do some stuff…” Brooke’s heart stopped—his eyes could melt the sun. She continued, “I’ll try to come back, but if I don’t get here in time, you can keep my seashells.”

“Wow, thanks. I’ll get them before the sharks eat ‘em up. I can’t wait to show my dad.”

“Good idea,” Brooke smiled, then grimaced at the young man still collapsed on the towel, missing so many glorious moments. She felt a magnetic pull and didn’t want to leave, but then said, “Take care.” After two steps, Brooke paused and said, “What’s your name?”