The High Tide Club
He stood, went into his bathroom, and came back with a thick, white monogrammed bath towel. “Here, see if this will help.”
She toweled off her hair, made a half-hearted attempt to mop up the worst of the water, then draped the towel over her shoulders.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward one of the leather wingback chairs facing his desk. “Unless you want to go home and change first. I’m sure whatever it is can wait.”
“No,” she’d said quietly. “I’m afraid if I leave now, I’ll lose my nerve.”
“You? Never,” Gabe said. “But I don’t like the look on your face right now. As a matter of fact, aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”
Gabe Wynant was then in his late fifties, but he claimed his hair had turned white overnight after a particularly grueling lawsuit he’d filed against the City of Savannah. He was lean and tan, with a beaky oversized nose and dark eyes behind trendy tortoiseshell Warby Parker glasses.
Brooke took a deep breath. “I’m resigning.”
“What? Why? Aren’t you happy here?”
“I have been. I was.” She felt her upper lip quivering and swallowed. “I thought you would have heard by now. Harris and I … anyway, the wedding’s off.”
“I just got back from vacation, so no, I hadn’t heard,” Gabe said. “I’m sorry, Brooke. We all really liked Harris. He’s a nice guy.”
“The best guy in the world,” Brooke agreed. “And I’m the biggest idiot in the world. But I just can’t…”
She was crying now, big, huge, crybaby tears. He sat and waited. Finally, he handed her a box of tissues.
“I’m not ready to be married,” she said finally. “I thought I loved Harris enough to get past that, but I guess maybe I don’t. Love him enough, I mean. In fact, I’m terrified of being married. And I was terrified to tell anybody, which is why I ran away.”
“Okay,” Gabe said slowly. “But just because you broke off your engagement, that doesn’t mean you have to quit your job. Does it?”
“I can’t stay here any longer,” Brooke said. “I’ve lived in Savannah my whole life, except for when I was in school. I know this sounds like a horrible cliché, but sometimes clichés are true. For me anyway. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’ve made a huge mess of my life. I’ve let my family and friends down, hurt Harris and his family terribly. I’m a disaster. You don’t want me working here, Gabe.”
“You’re the furthest thing from a disaster. You’ve got a fine legal mind. Your work here has been excellent, and all your clients adore you. The fact that you were savvy enough to walk away before getting entangled in a marriage you had doubts about means you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
“I didn’t walk away. I ran. All the way to Cumberland Island. I was a coward. I’m still a coward. I snuck into town last night. My parents don’t even know I’m here. Harris is still at his parents’ house in South Carolina. I’ve packed up the rest of my stuff, and as soon as you and I are done talking, I’m headed back down there. I can’t face anybody, Gabe. It was all I could do to make myself come in here this morning, to hand in my resignation in person. I thought it was the least I owed you.”
Gabe nodded. “I appreciate that, Brooke. And you’re not a coward, so please stop saying that. A coward would have gone through with the wedding, despite the misgivings. The way I did, twenty-five years ago.”
It was an open secret around the office that Gabe Wynant’s marriage was over. He and his wife, Sunny, still lived under the same roof, but Sunny was an alcoholic who’d been in and out of rehab three times just in the time Brooke had worked at Farrell, Wynant.
Brooke didn’t know what to say to that. “I’ve gotta go,” she said, standing. She stuck out her hand, and Gabe took it and clamped it in both of his.
“Good luck, then,” he said.
She’d walked all the way back to her car before she realized she still had the firm’s bath towel wrapped around her shoulders.
Brooke still had that towel. And she still had Gabe Wynant’s direct number in her cell phone.
* * *
“Brooke? Is that really you?”
“Hi, Gabe,” she said. “Yes, it’s really me.”
“My gosh, it’s good to hear from you. How the hell are you? Are you still living down, where was it, Brunswick?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’m living in St. Ann’s. I even hung out my shingle here.”
“Did you go with an established firm?”
“No, I’m solo,” Brooke said. “My practice isn’t anything like it was in Savannah. I do a little of this, a little of that, whatever the other guys in town don’t want to take on.”
“That’s great. I’m so glad to hear you didn’t quit law. You’re not, by any chance, calling to tell me you want to come back to us at Farrell, Wynant, are you? Because my offer still stands. The firm would welcome you back with open arms.”
Brooke’s face flushed with pleasure. It was nice to be wanted.
“That’s so kind of you, Gabe. I can’t tell you what it means to have you say that. But no, I’m not calling about a job. What I could use is your advice. I’ve actually got a new client, and although I’ve tried to persuade her I don’t have any expertise at what she needs, she’s insistent that I’m the only lawyer she wants.”
“Happy to help out if I can,” Gabe said.
“Do you have a few minutes to chat? It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. Can you give me the condensed version?”
“I’ll try,” Brooke said. “Have you ever heard of Josephine Bettendorf Warrick?”
“Of course,” Gabe said promptly. “The queen of Talisa. My dad was a friend of her late husband, Preiss. I met her a couple of times, years ago, when she and Preiss came up here for parties and such. Is she your new client?”
“Yes.”
He whistled softly. “Did she dump her Atlanta law firm? Schaefer-Moody?”
“I wouldn’t say she dumped them. But if you know Josephine, you know she’s, um, fairly headstrong. And eccentric.”
“What’s she want from you?” Gabe asked.
“She wants me to keep the State of Georgia from condemning her house and the rest of the island. They want to annex her land into the existing state park on the other end of the island. They’ve made her an offer, and they’re pressing hard.”
“How much?”
“Six million.”
“For the house and how much land?”
“Twelve thousand acres, give or take.”
“I’ve never set foot on that island and I can tell you right now that’s a bullshit offer,” Gabe said.
“I agree. She’s got the only deepwater dock on that end of the island, all the beachfront, and the only freshwater supply on the island. And get this—the state paid her cousins three million for their little bit of the island back in the seventies. That’s where the existing state park is located now.”
“So, obviously, you need to fight the condemnation,” Gabe said. “Look, Brooke. I need to get to my appointment. Here’s an idea. I’ll be down at my place on Sea Island over the weekend. You’re not that far from there, right? Why don’t you come up and have dinner with me, and then you can give me more details and we can throw around some ideas.”