.
thud of boats knocking against the dock, and the laughing cry of a gull.
She laughed back. What a hoot her life turned out to be. She had left her executive job in Chicago, her condo overlooking Lake Michigan, her beautiful wool suits and fine leather shoes to be the wife of a boat captain struggling to make ends meet on the Isle of Palms. Wouldn’t her mother have just loved the way things ended up?
She chuckled at the thought, then sighed, missing her mother terribly, wishing she had lived to see her daughter happy at last, wanting to drive over to the beach house for a spot of tea with her and a quick chat. She would have told her mother that the only ingredient missing in her romantic saga was a child. She knew how much Brett wanted a baby and she felt a deeply rooted guilt that she, somehow, had let him down.
“Please, God, let this baby come,” she whispered.
The car seat burned her thighs as she climbed into the compact sedan. The humidity and heat were so thick she could barely breathe. She quickly started the engine and rolled down the windows, welcoming the offshore breezes that whisked in. She didn’t wait for the air-conditioning to cool things down. It had been a hectic day and she wanted to feel the cool water of a shower down her back. She guided the car around ruts in the lot, turned onto Waterway Boulevard and headed home.
A short while later she pulled off at the small, pink stucco house on Hamlin Creek that she called home. A sporty, blue BMW convertible blocked her entry into the garage. She cut the engine and checked the plates. She didn’t recognize the sexy car but the license plate showed the orange peach of Georgia.
It could only be one person. She scrambled from the car and trotted along their winding front path, digging for her house keys. Just as she reached the door, however, it swung open. Standing before her was her best friend in all the world, Emmi Baker Peterson, arms wide and her flame colored hair a fiery wreath around her grinning face.
“Surprise!”
“Emmi!” she screamed, throwing her arms wide.
They squealed in unison like little girls as they threw arms around each other. Cara closed her eyes and instantly she was thirteen again and it was the beginning of summer and she and Emmi were arriving at Isle of Palms with their families for a whole, glorious season! Emmi’s beach house was only a few blocks up the road, but both families lived the rest of the year in homes on the mainland.
They’d discovered each other early one summer morning while collecting sea shells near Breach Inlet. They couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. Emmi was searching for an angel’s wings shell and Cara had one in her bucket. Cara coveted an especially bright orange whelk in Emmi’s bucket. That morning they’d traded shells—and they’d been trading secrets every since.
Cara leaned back, her hands still holding tight to her best friend.
“Emmi, there’s nothing left of you to hug!” she exclaimed, blinking as she took in the dramatic changes. Emmi’s body was long and lean and wrapped in tight, bleached jeans and a pink, form-fitting T-shirt. When she’d left Isle of Palms two summers ago, Emmi had been broad in the beam, all plump curves and full breasts. Looking at her, Cara guessed she’d lost over fifty pounds. And that wasn’t all. Her short red hair was now as long as it had been in college, cut in layers that fell past her shoulders and highlighted with bold streaks of gold.
“You look incredible,” Cara said, eyes popping. “So…sexy. Girlfriend, just how much weight did you lose?”
With a saucy shake of her head, Emmi placed her pink tipped fingers on her hips. “Sixty-three pounds,” she announced. Then, her wide mouth stretched across her tanned face. “Can you believe it?”
Cara’s mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. “Sixty-three pounds… Unbelievable.”
“Ain’t it, though.” Emmi laughed in a way that indicated she was damned pleased with herself. “Divorce turned out to be the wonder weight loss program. Who knew? When you think about it, I really lost about two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight. What a relief.”
Cara shook her head. “I’m all amazement. And extremely jealous. In fact, I’ve decided to cast off our friendship of years and to hate you instead. It’s just too inconsiderate of you to come home looking so good. You make the rest of us—meaning me—look like old crones.” She skewered her eyes. “You look like you lost about ten years, too.”
Her smiled hardened. “I lost twenty-five years.” Then just as quickly her face lit up again. “And I aim to make up for lost time.” She winked and clicked her fingers. “There isn’t a single man safe in the South today!”
It was a sassy gesture, even feisty, and though Emmi smiled her signature wide grin, Cara noted that the smile was not reflected in her eyes.
“Well, before you get too crazy,” she said, “I’m desperate for a cool shower and a glass of white chilled wine. You pour while I shower. Then you can bring me up to speed.”
Cara entered the tiled foyer of her compact house and dumped her purse on the small wooden table and her keys in a small sweetgrass basket. Over the years she’d carted out of the house Brett’s old, battered furniture and sporting goods and decorated their home in the cool, pale blue tones she loved. Each piece of furniture was carefully chosen and the dark wood and glass were polished. She noticed a glass vase filled with white roses on the table and cast a glance of thanks to her friend. “Thank you, darling, I love them.”
“No biggie.” Emmi lifted a wine glass. It was nearly empty. “I hope you don’t mind. I already helped myself. It was a long drive from Atlanta with my car packed to the brim. It’s stuffed with every whatnot in this world I hold dear, including a goldfish.”
She laughed, then coughed as wine went down the wrong way. “I’m fine,” she rasped, waving Cara away. “I choked just remembering that trip. Thank the Lord I survived. On the highway I was fine, but every time I had to stop, the water in the damn fish tank went splish splashing all over the backseat. It’s a miracle that fish made it here alive!” She pointed to a three gallon Aquarium now sitting on Cara’s kitchen counter. “Meet Nemo.”
Cara saw a fairly large goldfish with beautiful fins doing a dead man’s float at the top of the tank. “Good God, Emmi, I think it’s dead!”
Emmi went to the tank and tapped it. The fish jolted to life and swam madly in circles. “Nemo, it’s not nice to scare the guests,” she said. Then to Cara, “Can he stay here for a couple of days? I think he really will die if he has to go back into that car.”
“Sure, why not? Speaking of cars, that’s a sporty one in the driveway.”
“Like it?”
“What’s not to like?”
“Exactly.” Her green eyes glittered over the rim of her glass. “I traded my clunky old SUV in for a convertible. I’m done with station wagons, SUVs, big cars in general. No more schlepping kids and garden supplies around. This is the new me.” She tossed her hair back again, a new gesture she’d picked up.
“Is it?” Cara looked at her friend through narrowed eyes. Emmi was slender and sexy, yes. But there was something off-putting about her aggressive youthfulness that she couldn’t put her finger on.
“You’re looking at me funny,” Emmi said. “Sort of like the way you looked at me when I got my hair done for the prom. Remember?”
Cara burst out a laugh. Only Emmi could stir up memories that deeply stored. “How can I forget it? It was two feet of copper curls held together with a hundred bobby pins and two cans of hairspray.”
Emmi threw back her head and laughed. “It was that high! I thought I was going to fall over with the weight of it. At five feet seven inches, plus heels and hair, I towered over Tom.”
“My God, what were we thinking?”
“I was thinking I looked beautiful. Tom thought I did, anyway.” Her smile slipped but she caught herself and shrugged.