Sweet Caroline(37)

Clearly, it was too late to run away screaming. Too late to bury my head in the marsh pluff mud. Then, it came to me—exactly what to do.

Mitch opened his Fripp Island manse and treated the entire Carrington clan like they were his closest friends, sprinkling his magnetic charm and Nashville stardust over everyone. He completely tamed a furious Mrs. Carrington.

“These things happen, Caroline. Don’t worry. See how it all worked out for the best.”

The younger Carrington women couldn’t contain their cool and swooned a little when Mitch serenaded their grandma. The birthday girl, Claire, seemed less impressed with her star host, preferring to sit on the back deck overlooking the ocean and reminisce.

“We didn’t have bridges to connect the islands when I was a girl, you see, so we caught a boat to go to school. There was only one theater in them days out to Parris Island. We took the movie boat over.”

More than telling her stories, I believe the older woman enjoyed having the rapt attention of her family.

Around eleven, a tired-but-happy Claire asked to go home, and slowly the family trickled out. I dismissed the Café crew, telling them I’d clean up.

Now the house is finally clean and quiet. I collapse on the deck steps, letting the ocean’s breeze wash my face.

“Here you are.” Mitch plops down next to me, bumping me with his shoulder. “It went well, don’t you think?”

“No, it went splendid. Because of you. I can’t thank you enough, Mitch.”

He stares straight ahead. Tiki lamps glow along the walkway down to the beach and around the pool. Waves coming ashore serenade us. The landscape is serene and beautiful. “I’m glad to help.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Feels like penance for having this great place all to myself.”

“You earned this place, Mitch. When did you start selling yourself so short?”

“You think I was kidding when I told you Paris changed me.”

“No.” Clearly, he’s viewing God from a different angle than I am.

“Did you smooth things out with J. D.?”

“We talked the other day. It’s good.”He twists open a bottle of water. “Are you in love with him?”

“Too soon to tell.”

“I’m passing on love for a while.” He swigs his water.

“Because why?” Good thing Elle moved him to her reserve list. She wouldn’t like this news.

He tears at the water-bottle label. “Clean up my heart and soul. Get some perspective. See what God has for me next.” He laughs. “Some people fast from food to seek God. I’m fasting my career, my love life, my reputation, my future, everything.”

I always suspected Mitch’s faith ran deep—like a thread of gold em-bedded in a cave wall. “You’re serious about this God thing, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.” His eyes meet mine. “If I could redo the last nine years, I would.”

“Really?” I knew the familiar sting of regret, but Mitch?

“In a Nashville minute.”





DAILY SPECIAL


Monday, July 2

Limited Menu

Due to electrical problems

Ask your waitress what’s available


16

Come on up here, Caroline.”I squint up the attic ladder, trying to minimize my view of Buster’s bagging breeches and all they’re not covering. “Really? You need me up there? I trust you.”

He peers down at me, shining a flashlight in my face. “Want to be an ignorant girl?”

I drop my forehead against the wooden ladder rung. Trumped by the ignorant-girl card. “No, I guess not.”

Buster disappears inside the attic. I climb up after him. He arrived at the Café this morning a little after six, did his electrician magic thing, and restored power just in time for the breakfast-club boys to come strolling in.

Andy set up a limited menu since we don’t want to run the risk of burning out the fuses, or worse.

“ Looky here.” Buster jiggles the flashlight beam over chewed wire. “Eaten clean through. And see this wiring here? Older than my granny. I hounded Jones for years to bring this place up to code.”

“Do you know why he didn’t?” I’m a bit stiff, slightly paranoid a rat might run across my clogs. Note to self: Do not jump in Buster’s arms if you see a rat.

Buster, a narrow-built man with generous facial features, curls out his lower lip. “Reckon he didn’t have the money, or plain ol’ forgot.” He floats the yellow flashlight circle over the rest of the attic floor and ceiling. “A few water spots. May have to fix those while we’re at it.” He stomps his foot on the insulation. “All of this needs to be replaced.”

“Buster, if Jones didn’t have the money, how am I supposed to have the money?”

“Don’t know, but you best find it. Can’t put this off any longer.” He sweeps the room one last time with his flashlight. “You’re on the inspector’s radar.”

As the light falls in the front corner, I spot a small box. “Buster, put the light over in the corner again. What’s over there?” Bending down, I point just beyond the trusses. “See the box in the corner?”

“That shoebox thing?”