The High Tide Club

Marie drove slowly, following Varina’s directions until the pavement ran out, and they were on a narrow shell road that grew narrower still, and darker, with the thick oak canopy overhead nearly blocking out the moonlight.

Varina peered into the inky night. “I hadn’t been back here since that night. We all swore we’d never come near here again.”

“It’s okay,” Marie assured her. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll back out of here, and we’ll go on back to the house.”

“No,” Varina said stubbornly. “It’s right up here. See that break in the trees? Stop there.”

Marie cut the engine but left the headlights on. The warm night air folded in on them like a blanket. They heard the insistent thrum of cicadas and the croaks of tree frogs. From somewhere overhead, a pair of owls hooted from the tops of opposing trees.

A swarm of stinging gnats descended upon them, and soon the women were frantically slapping and trying to wave them away.

“This is the place,” Varina said solemnly. She opened the car door and stepped out, clinging to the side of the car for balance. The others followed suit, with Felicia taking her great-aunt’s arm.

“Just a little ways up here,” Varina said. Her steps quickened, and in two minutes they stood in a clearing dominated by an imposing oyster shell mound.

“This is where we put him,” Varina said. “Nobody else on the island would come back here. It’s an Indian mound, you see.”

“Geechees are superstitious about Indian things,” Felicia whispered. “When I was a kid, we used to dare each other to come back here, but nobody ever would because it was supposed to be haunted.”

Varina stared at the shell mound, then turned her back to it. “No,” she said firmly. “Not haunted. Not anymore.” She turned to Marie. “I’m ready to go home now, please.”

83

Kavanaugh Park was a lush, green enclave of oaks, magnolias, and head-high azaleas a short walk from Brooke’s childhood home in Ardsley Park. She’d dropped Henry off at Marie’s house, then bought a picnic lunch at Back in the Day, a nearby bakery and restaurant. Now she sat on a bench under the shade of an oak tree and checked her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes.

He was late. She’d texted Pete earlier in the week, asking him to meet her in the park where she and the neighborhood kids had romped and played as children. It was the same park Marie liked to walk to, back in the days when Henry agreed to sit placidly in a stroller, something he rarely agreed to these days.

Would Pete show up? His return text had been a terse, three-word reply.

See U there.

Her stomach was in knots, her pulse racing. She’d dressed with care that morning, trying to look casual but pretty, sexy but not desperate. It was hot. Of course it was hot. This was June in Savannah. She could feel her mascara already starting to run, and the concealer she’d painstakingly applied to the still-healing scar on her cheek was melting. What had she been thinking when she’d planned this ridiculous affair? She should have met him in a restaurant, or better yet, a bar, where she could have soothed her nerves with a drink. She found a paper napkin and blotted her face with it, then glanced at her phone again. He was ten minutes late. Maybe he’d had problems calling a cab from the airport. Or maybe he was having second thoughts and had caught an earlier flight back to Alaska. If he was having second thoughts, so was she.

She twisted the platinum-and-diamond ring on her right ring finger. Marie had found it in a box of jewelry in Josephine’s room and insisted she take it. “If you and Pete don’t get together, you can at least wear it on your left hand and tell people you used to be married.”

“Ha-ha, Mom. Good one,” Brooke had said. But the ring was stunning, and let’s face it, nobody else had offered her a diamond ring lately.

Where the hell was Pete? Why hadn’t he called? Her cell phone hadn’t rung. Really, it was so thoughtless. Hashtag rude. She clutched the bag and decided she would leave. It would serve him right. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him he had a son. Maybe he didn’t deserve a child as wonderful as Henry.

She saw a yellow cab pass by on Forty-fifth Street, slow down, then drive past. A few minutes later, the car was back. It rolled slowly past, then stopped again. The back door opened, and Pete climbed out. Brooke jumped up and waved as the cab sped away.

The Grizzly Adams beard was gone, and his straight, square jaw was back. Her pulse did funny things as he drew closer. He’d gotten sunburned in Florida. His smile seemed self-conscious. Well, maybe hers was too.

“Hey!” he said, reaching the bench.

“Hey,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He drew back a moment as though he were startled.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. The kiss made her look anxious or desperate. Or both.

“Let’s sit,” she said finally. “How was the conference?”

“Great,” Pete said. “Our paper was a huge success, and it’s been accepted by a pretty prestigious journal.”

“And the job interviews? How did they go?” Oh God. She sounded like his mother. Next thing you knew she’d be asking if he’d been eating vegetables and flossing.

He nodded. “They went better than I’d expected. The wildlife foundation position would be a perfect fit for me. I’d be based on the Georgia coast, but they’d want me to travel as far south as Amelia Island, Florida, and as far north as Daufuskie, in South Carolina. Pay’s good, and they’re establishing a relationship with the University of Georgia Marine Institute, so I’d have access to lab facilities.”

“That does sound nice,” Brooke said, trying to sound noncommittal.

“I’m not the only applicant, but I’d say there’s an 85 percent chance I’ll get an offer.”

“You said there was another position too?”

“Yeah. It’s with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and that one would be based out west, in the Sierras. I could continue my work on migration patterns, which would be sweet. The guy who interviewed me told me in confidence that I’m pretty much their number-one choice.”

“Is there a downside to that one?” Brooke asked.

“I’m worried about the political situation,” Pete admitted. “Conservation isn’t exactly a big priority with the current administration. If there are layoffs or budget cuts, I’d be the first one to be let go.”

Brooke tried to clandestinely wipe her sweaty palms with the crumpled paper napkin she still clutched in her fist. “So,” she said cheerfully, “would you want to go back out west?”

Pete’s gaze was level and direct. “That would depend on where I stand with you, Brooke. I mean, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw you last week. I still have no idea how you feel about us. I mean, give me a clue here, will you?”

He looked down at her hands and frowned. He gestured toward her hand. “What the hell? Is that an engagement ring? You got engaged since I last saw you?”

“No! I mean, no, it’s not an engagement ring. It’s a gift from my mom, who just inherited it, which is another long story.”

She took a deep breath and reached into her pocket. She handed him a color photo of Henry as an infant, his hair downy, eyelashes thick and lush.

“This is Henry at six months, right after he started sitting up. I named him that after my grandfather, my mom’s father, who we called Pops. He died before I was born. You want to know something funny? Last week, I found out that Granny had a secret affair with her best friend’s older brother. His name was Gardiner Bettendorf. It was at the very beginning of the war. She’d been in love with him most of her life but never dared let anybody know. They had a one-night stand, and then his plane was shot down over France.”