Queen of Broken Hearts (24 page)

Lex and I hurried to the pier just in time to see Cooter dancing around in the shallow water, waving his hat high, and whooping. Then he fell down on his knees and raised his arms to heaven like a praying evangelist as he cried, “Thank you, Jubilee Joe! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Would you look at that,” Lex muttered in astonishment. “Is that old coot nuts or what?”

“Just another of Fairhope's many characters. And that's his name, believe it or not.”

Lex's eyebrows shot up. “His name is Nuts?”

“Of course not.” I laughed. “It's Cooter. Cooter Poulette.”

Lex shrugged. “Can't ever tell with you Southerners. Just the other day I met a fellow named Fuzzy, and he had a buddy with him called Screwy Louie.”

“Look!” I grabbed his arm and pointed to the moon-bright waters of the bay, where hundreds of mullet were exploding into the air like popcorn. Zoe had been right: The salty smell of fish rode strong on the breeze blowing in from the east. Tugging on his sleeve, I dragged Lex closer to the water's edge, then turned my flashlight downward to show him the droves of blue crabs crawling out of the bay sideways, making their way past the spidery seaweed that lapped at the water's edge.

“Holy Mother of God,” Lex Yarbrough said reverently, and crossed himself. All around us, people were running and shouting and laughing, splashing barefoot in the fish-filled waters. Some were gigging the flat, bug-eyed flounder and whiskered catfish, while others were scooping up nets full of gray shrimp and claw-waving crabs. Wordlessly, Lex and I worked together, pointing and bending and gathering the riches of the sea as though picking from a garden at harvesttime. In a matter of minutes, the croker sack, which I'd kept at the water's edge to submerge the fish, was full.

“We've got all we can handle,” I said, straightening up and rubbing my back. “And we need to get them put away immediately.”

It was getting close to dawn when we made our way through the ecstatic crowd, Lex half toting, half dragging the soggy croker sack and yipping playfully when one of the crabs tried to pinch him through the hemplike material. We spoke to folks we passed on the way, and I was surprised at how many called out to Lex in greeting. When I commented on the number of people he knew, he regarded me oddly, then said he'd met lots of folks since he'd moved here. Since he'd been alone when I encountered him, I'd concluded he must be reclusive; it wasn't long until I realized what an absurd notion that was, as friendly as he was.

Once we came up behind the marina, Lex pulled up the croker sack as though to hand it over to me. “These are yours. Gathering them was one of the great experiences of my life, and I thank you for including me.”

“So your first Jubilee was good, huh?” I said, pleased.

“It wasn't just good, it was unbelievable,” he said. “If I could convince Maine lobster to have a Jubilee sometime, I'd make a fortune.”

Laughing, I motioned toward the sack. “Although it's not lobster, a lot of good eating there. For several days, too.” But Lex shook his head in protest, still trying to hand over the sack.

“No way I'm taking all of them,” I cried. “Eating your catch is part of the Jubilee experience. Unless you don't like fish?”

He looked shocked, as though I'd suggested he might prefer eating the croker sack instead. “Me not like fish? Ha. That's a good one. Not only was I raised on the sea, I was born into a family of professional fishermen.”

“Yeah, but those were Yankee fish. Lobsters and clams and mussels.” I racked my brain for other fish I associated with New England. “Cod and haddock and halibut, right? You haven't lived until you've had a Southern feast from a Jubilee, blue crabs and shrimp and flounder and catfish.”

Lex nodded toward a door in what appeared to be a storage room under the marina and said, “Tell you what. I know a place we can get these fellows in a cooler of salt water, then we'll sort this out.”

The room was a large area obviously used not only for storage of fishing and boating equipment but also for cleaning and keeping fish. Against one wall was a deep, old-fashioned sink and drainboards, two chest freezers, and several coolers. Lex dumped the contents into the sink, and we sorted through our wriggly treasures like kids after Halloween with trick-or-treat loot. Lex admitted he'd turned down the fish not because he didn't like them; it was that he had no place to cook them. Since he was a relative newcomer to town, inviting him to my house the following night for a seafood feast seemed like the only neighborly thing to do.

“I'm tired but not sleepy. What about you?” he asked as we washed up after storing the fish and deciding that he'd be the one to clean them, since I was doing the cooking. We'd walked out to my car, where he'd placed the cooler of shrimp for Austin and Haley, and we stood looking at the bay. It was still dark, the white moon hanging high above us, but the beginnings of dawn could be seen on the horizon. A tinge of gray lightened the blackness of the sky where sky and sea merged. Most of the crowd on the shore had gone, the festive atmosphere dissipated.

“I'm always too wired after a Jubilee to sleep,” I said, stretching my arms wide. The exhaustion would hit later.

“Want a cup of coffee, then?”

“I'd kill for one. But nothing around here will be open this time of the morning.”

Lex tilted his head to indicate the marina, looming behind us. “Marina is.”

“Really? Looks closed to me. Oh! You're having me on again, right?”

“Nope. I got the keys, remember?”

I blinked, then gasped when it hit me. “Oh my God. You're the owner of the marina!”

“I told you that. It's got a coffeemaker and plenty of decaf inside.”

“Y-you … you're …” I stammered and blushed, realizing that he had said it earlier, yet I hadn't heard it. Not really.

Lex was looking at me suspiciously. “I'm
what?
” he said with a scowl.

I swallowed rapidly, buying time. This had happened to me before in my profession. Not too often but occasionally. I'd meet someone at a party, and after hearing the name, I'd have to struggle to keep my face expressionless while making small talk. But I'd be thinking, So this is the woman my client's husband is having an affair with.

Whether it was the intimacy and camaraderie of sharing a Jubilee or what, I told Lex why I reacted as I did. In spite of my strict policy of being closemouthed about my clients—even former clients—I admitted, “It seems that I've met your ex-wife.”

“Elinor?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up again.

“Do you have another one?”

He shook his head ruefully. “She's more than enough.”

Amen to that, I thought, but said instead, “I didn't make the connection until now. But your wife—or ex-wife, I mean—well, she told me … ah, that you two had moved here after you retired, and that you'd …”

When I faltered, Lex put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “No telling what the hell Elinor told you. She's been bad-mouthing me all over town.”

“That makes two of us, then,” I said, and we stared at each other. I could tell the moment it clicked by the startled expression that crossed his face.

“Holy crap,” he gasped, taking a step backward. “Clare Ballenger! You're that therapist.”

I nodded, grimacing. But Lex surprised me by what he did next. Throwing his head back, he bellowed with laughter. He then threw his arms around me and pulled me into a bear hug.

“I've been wanting to do this ever since she told me about you. Matter of fact, I thought about looking you up, just to give you a hug. I've never met anyone else with the guts to tell Elinor Eaton-Yarbrough to piss off.”

When Lex came over for the Jubilee feast, I invited several others, thinking it'd be a good chance for him to meet some other Fairhope folks. Dory and Son were still together then, and I wasn't surprised to find that Son and Lex already knew each other from the marina. Etta and R.J. came, too, along with half a dozen other friends of mine. Ironically, the two closest to me who ended up being the most curious about Lex couldn't make it: Rye had another party to attend, and Zoe Catherine was too worn out after being up all night with the Jubilee. The feast was a festive evening, full of platters of seafood, mugs of beer, and much talk and laughter, telling endless Jubilee tales. After everyone left, Lex stayed and helped me clean up. Asking if he'd like to return the next night to help me finish off the leftovers seemed the natural thing to do once he described in such pitiful detail the little galley kitchen in his quarters and how he never cooked anything but TV dinners.

Within a couple of weeks, Lex and I were spending almost every free minute together—a big change for me. The first evening I walked into the reception room of Casa Loco, long after my last client had left, and found Lex waiting for me, I gasped. He'd called earlier that afternoon, and I'd agreed to meet him for a drink after work. “Lex!” I cried, then looked at my watch. “Oh, dear. I stood you up.” He scowled and took me by the arm, escorting me out the door over my protests. After it happened a few more times, I learned that if I didn't get the office closed by six o'clock at the latest, he'd be waiting with his dark scowl. Lex became Etta's hero, since she'd tried unsuccessfully for so long to keep me away after closing time.

Once he introduced me to sunset rides on one of his boats, he had me. I loved sailing, which I'd had few opportunities to do during my childhood, in spite of being raised near so many bodies of water. Mack had once given me a sailboat named after me; after it was destroyed by a hurricane, we never replaced it. Sometimes Lex and I sailed, with me as eager helper, hoisting jibs and pulling ropes; other times we took out his twenty-seven-foot Sportfisher; occasionally we cruised in a smaller sloop. Whatever the vessel, Lex succeeded in luring me from my office in the late afternoon, and we spent endless hours exploring the wide waters of Mobile Bay, or the hidden coves and channels along the shoreline.

The question that inevitably comes up between any man and woman who spend that much time together was settled early on in our relationship, and once it was settled—except for Lex's kidding—it did not intrude again. Looking back, I can still make myself laugh, remembering.

Since so many of my weekends were spent with the retreats or group meetings, I took Friday afternoons off, and Lex and I would spend Friday and Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday boating. One Sunday afternoon Lex loaded his small sailboat on a trailer and picked me up, saying he wanted to try out a channel of water around the Bon Secour area that he'd heard raves about. We both agreed that it was our most glorious afternoon yet. It was late June, before the heat wave of July hit, and it'd been balmy and almost cool, coming right after a sudden shower. Lex grumbled because there was no wind, so still that the sails hung limply, and the boat barely rocked. To me, it was sheer heaven. There wasn't another boat in sight, and we drifted aimlessly down a creek so golden it looked as though the sun had tipped over and poured it out.

Once we anchored the boat, we opened the supper we'd picked up at the deli, cold bottles of pinot grigio, goat cheese, rustic bread, and olive spread. Afterward, we propped ourselves up on the cushioned benches of the boat and watched the sunset. Because the boat was small, we were scrunched together, shoulders touching.

“I never want to leave here,” I said drowsily, lulled by the food, the wine, and the gentle rocking of the boat.

“Peaceful, eh?” Lex agreed. “Pretty, too. Don't know when I've seen the water this nice. But wake me up if I fall asleep, Doctor Lady.”

“Same here, Man of Maine,” I said, yawning and fighting to hold my eyes open. Within a matter of minutes, both of us had dozed off.

I awoke with a start to discover that my head was nestled against his shoulder, his arm around me. I looked up, sleep-dazed, to find Lex gazing down at me speculatively. Not for the first time, I admired his very fine eyes. I stirred, trying to straighten up, and Lex tightened his arm around me. With a touch like the flutter of a moth's wings, he reached out to stroke my cheek with the back of his hand.

“I'm thinking maybe I ought to make a pass at you,” he said gruffly.

I couldn't help it; I laughed, loud. “Oh, please. No reason to feel obligated.”

“Yeah, there is, too. For one thing, you're practically lying on top of me.”

Blushing, I tried to pull away, but he didn't loosen his grip. “Then let go so I can get off you,” I said, red-faced.

“I don't think I want to. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I don't.”

“Lex—” I began, and he sighed mightily, moving his arm so I could wiggle out from under it.

“Oh, crap. Here comes the part I've been dreading.”

“And what is that?”

“You know. When I put the move on you and you tell me that, based on my ex-wife's description of me as a lover, you wouldn't have me on a silver platter.”

“Surely you don't think she told me things like that. Do you?” He'd been relentless in trying to get me to tell him what Elinor had said about him. Out of the blue, he'd bring it up, eyes twinkling with mischief. At a restaurant, I'd ask him to pass the butter, and he'd refuse, saying he'd do so only if I told him what Elinor said.