Love Is for the Birds

18. Teddy

ON THE DAY OF THE CONCERT, JACK HELPED TEDDY LOAD THE fudge into the refrigerator for the drive to Corpus. She prayed the frozen fudge would survive the journey long enough for her to plug in the refrigerator at the convention center. Still on probation, Pickles stayed with Pete, who wasn’t well enough to attend the concert.

Perfectly on key, Jack sang along with the country music on the radio. To make matters worse, he sported her favorite look—starched jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and a loose unbuttoned denim shirt.

“You’re so pretty you’d make a man plow through a stump.” Jack patted her knee.

“I guess that’s a compliment.”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

She owned one cute dress, red and sleeveless with a flirty skirt, which she wore with a pair of cowboy boots. “You’ve seen this dress before.”

“You wear it well,” Jack said. “Especially today.”

“How’s that?” Teddy lowered her eyes. Was she blatantly asking for another compliment?

“It’s something in your face. I don’t know, like you’re about to make some big money.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.” Teddy’s stomach fluttered. With one good break, her luck could change. She’d jumped through a major hurdle, and even though Jack helped, she’d masterminded this.

To be fair, without Jack’s aide, she’d still be knee-deep in fudge. She chuckled, thinking of Jack hosing down an orange-fudge-covered Pickles. Any other time, she would have refused anyone’s help, especially Jack’s. But desperate times meant desperate measures. As much as Teddy hated pity, she hated poverty more.

Business aside, she enjoyed Jack’s company. Outwardly, she pretended not to be interested. Inside, she knew her objections were a perfect Shakespearean example of the lady protesting too much.

Jack steered into the parking lot, and two barn-red smokers came into view, both strategically placed at each gate to greet arrivals. Angie’s name blazed in orange flames and wisps of white smoke coiled from the apostrophe to circle the wagon’s serving doors.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Her throat burned with a bitter taste.

“About what?”

She swallowed. A sick sensation swelled in her stomach. “Just let me off next to Angie’s smokers.” She turned away.

“I’ll take you.” He squeezed her hand.

Teddy pushed him away. “No need. I’m sure you have a lot to do with your barbecue. Angie’s Place is front and center.”

Jack pulled his head back and widened his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

He checked out his window where an Angie’s smoker was front and center. Then, as if he just now remembered the name of his business, he dropped his jaw. His mouth hung open as he appeared to be thinking of what to say.

Finally, he said, “Those are our big smokers. I guess you haven’t seen them.”

“No.” Men could be so clueless sometimes. She gave him her best fake homecoming queen smile and said, “They certainly attract attention.”

“Angie liked the—”

“Thanks for the refrigerator.” She stepped out of the truck and stared at the refrigerator.

“I can’t hear you,” Jack said.

“What?!” She shouted. As she stared at Angie’s name, she kicked herself for ever daydreaming about a relationship with Jack.

“Did you just say, ‘Would you please help me?’”

“We better get going with this if you want to get on over to Angie’s.”

Jack touched her shoulder. “I—”

“Are you going to help me with this, or what?” She pointed to the fridge.

“Just waiting for you to ask.” Jack jumped into the bed of the pickup and rolled the refrigerator to the edge. He whistled, and Jimbo came running up to the truck.

“A fridge of fudge from the ferry,” Jimbo said. “Say that ten times.”

Teddy laughed. “Good one.” She’d been a total jerk to Jack. Yet, he delivered her fudge to her kiosk in the convention center with no complaints. If things were to go any further with Jack, she’d have to get past his life with Angela. Angie’s Place Pit Barbecue didn’t help. They were top-of-mind in Jack’s life every day.

Thankfully, the fudge remained moist and perfectly set. “Thank you.” She saluted him.

He saluted back. “So, we’re good?”

She nodded, aware that the name Angie or Angela didn’t pass from his lips. The shiny floors of the convention center sparkled like a river in the sun. She drew in a breath. Shouts of workmen echoed from the second floor. She took a picture for a before-and-after shot. In a couple hours, a stream of people would crowd the floors. She’d be ready.

She set out the labels for the paper bags of fudge: Sweet Somethings, Artisan Candies on Bird Isle. Barb, Walt, and Estrella promised to help. Walt’s time commitment depended on his gig with Ace. Walt had practiced all week. Teddy prayed Ace London would ask Walt to play.

When Jack returned to her kiosk, his sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to the outline of his pecs. Her fingers tingled. She tried recalling a time when she experienced such desire around Daniel and came up short. She drew in a breath, then another, and reminded herself that he owned at least five restaurants named Angie’s Place. If that wasn’t enough to stop her schoolgirl emotions, then she needed another hard dose of reality—he still loved Angela.

“They’re already lining up.” Jack examined one of her bags. “The Whooping Crane is brilliant. And, using the word artisan is so fresh.”

“You’re already selling?” Teddy asked.

“Yes, its crazy busy. I need to get back. I just wanted to warn you.” Jack leaned over the table and pecked her on the lips. “I’m taking you home, remember?” He walked away.

Barb craned her head to be in front of Teddy. “You’re opening up yourself to other options?”

Teddy shoved her away.

“I see the way you look at him.” Barb clicked her tongue.

The tingle in Teddy’s fingers turned into a warm shiver. “He’s handsome. Just because I’m not in the market, doesn’t mean I can’t read the menu.”

“I’d say you’re wanting the prime rib and lobster.”

“With béarnaise sauce.” Teddy laughed. “Seriously, you know I don’t want to be with anyone right now. Just trying to get my life in order.”

“Sometimes a man is helpful in that regard.” Barb elbowed Teddy.

“Sometimes they’re not.”

“You could do worse than Jack.”

Teddy glared at Barb. “I want you to march yourself outside right now and see the name on his barbecues.”

Barb frowned.

“Go on. Then you tell me if I could do worse.”

Teddy followed Barb down the corridor to an entrance where mesquite smoke swirled out of Jack’s barbecue and filled the air with the scent of burning wood and the meat’s peppery rub. Her stomach growled.

“I forgot about that little wrinkle,” Barb said.

“Little?”

“She’s dead.” Barb paused, as if to let that sink in.

She should feel sorry for Jack, not angry with him. He’d been nothing but kind to her. Teddy shut her eyes, pulled in a few good breaths. “You’re right.”

“Do you expect him to change the name of his business before you’ll date him? It’s his livelihood, after all.”

“I know. You’re right. But you know what they say about widowers. They put their dead wives on pedestals.”

“I believe that’s called prejudice. You’re living back in the Dark Ages.”

“Maybe so.” Slow down, live in the moment. That’s what her mother would say. And here she acted like they were in a relationship. She and Jack were just friends.

“Promise me you won’t screw this up with Jack just become of some dumb adage.” Barb glared at her. “Promise.”

“I promise.” Teddy turned away. She knew better than to get into a stare down with Barb.

“Hey, Tedster.” An unrecognizable Walt stumbled up to Teddy, holding a hand on his cowboy hat to keep the thing from falling.

“Did you rent that outfit at a costume shop?” Teddy asked.

“Jack told me everyone would be wearing Texas clothes.” Walt modeled a pair of cowboy boots. “How do people wear these?”

She wondered if she’d ever seen Walt in blue jeans, let alone Lee jeans. As for the boots, she’d never seen him in shoes. He did have a pair of rubber boots, but they’d been borrowed from the community chest. Poor Walt. The cowboy hat overpowered his surfer boy face. He also wore a pearl snap shirt and a gleaming silver and brass rodeo belt buckle the size of a dinner plate.

“You can’t wear that.” Teddy shook her head. “Jack said Texas clothes, not rodeo clothes. You’re a surfer. This is a benefit for the Gulf towns. Be yourself.”

“But—”

“Trust me.”

Walt tilted his belt buckle and examined it. “This thing weighs a ton.”

“And how could you play guitar with that buckle around your waist?”

“Man, I traded a good amp for this belt buckle. How about board shorts, flip-flops, and a tank top to show off my guns?” Walt flexed his biceps.

Teddy nodded. “That’s more like it.”

A few minutes later, the old Walt returned dressed in beach fashion, except for the cowboy red bandanna headband to hold his wild blond hair.

By the time the gates opened, Teddy and the team finished bagging the fudge and were ready for business. She sold out her entire stock before the concert even started. This could be enough money to pay her mortgage for the next few months. Tears filled her eyes. If only her mother were here. She’d be so happy to see Teddy doing so well. Maybe her luck was about to change.

At eight, the crowd roared as the emcee walked onto stage. He made a plea for donations to RebuildTexasTogether.org , they played a video about Charlie’s Ark, a man in Houston who helped rescue people—twelve at a time—in his boat. The audience waved lights from their cellphones in the air, fought back tears, and stomped their feet.

The big screen flipped to a picture of Jack standing under a pop-up tent and slicing brisket. A long line of construction workers and a few locals held plates filled with barbecue. The video then played the tape of the news team who interviewed Jack his first night in Bird Isle.

Jack dropped his mouth, turned to Teddy, then to Barb, mouthing, “I didn’t know.”

Teddy grinned and patted Jack’s knee. At the end of the video, the emcee introduced Ace London.

Ace sauntered onto stage with his guitar in hand. “I believe Jack Shaughness is here tonight. Jack, would you stand?”

Teddy nudged him to stand. The entire auditorium applauded.

“Thanks to Jack,” Ace said, “hurricane survivors in Bird Isle chowed down on some real Texas food. It’s those little things that make a difference. Am I right, Bird Isle?”

All fifty of the Bird Isle party stood and applauded.

Other musicians joined Ace on the stage and struck the chords of “Texas Flood.”

The bluesy music made Teddy think of wrapping her arms around Jack for a slow dance. Instead, her leg moved to touch his. So junior high. Jack must have been thinking the same thing because he reached for her hand. A smoky, earthy scent covered his clothes and skin. Jack closed his eyes and rocked his head to the music. She started moving her hand away, but he gripped it tighter. Maybe Walt and Barb were right about Jack. Maybe Teddy should give him a chance.

Walt disappeared backstage as Jack had instructed him. Ace London played his biggest hit. Then, other stars joined him on stage, but no Walt.

“You asked Ace if Walt could play, and he said yes?” Teddy asked Jack.

“He said he would have him come on for the last song.”

“But he’s not there.”

Barb wrinkled her forehead. “Maybe he got lost.”

“I’ll go check.” Jack weaved through the crowd to the back of the stage.

Teddy crossed her fingers as Ace started the last verse of his song. She imagined Walt behind the stage pacing, or maybe he’d got thrown out. Maybe he should have worn the cowboy hat after all. In his beach clothes, he’d stand out like a hodad on the surf.

Barb yelled, “Surfer Walt! Surfer Walt!”

Teddy joined in. Soon, all fifty of the Bird Isle residents were chanting, “Surfer Walt!”

Ace stopped the song and put a hand to his ear. The fiddle player whispered in Ace’s ear. Ace motioned backstage. “Ladies and Gentleman.” The drummer teased the crowd with a drumroll. “From Bird Isle, I present Surfer Walt.”

The Bird Isle constituency stomped their feet, hollered, and clapped. Walt ran onto the stage. Ace motioned to the mic next to him. With an adorable full-on grin, Walt moved his mouth closer to the mic and said, “Thank you, thank you very much,” using his deepest Elvis voice. He managed to do this while displaying his “guns” to their best advantage. This brought a roar of whistles and hoots from the women in the audience.

Laughing, Ace said, “I know a few surfing songs.” He turned to the drummer. “You remember ‘Wipe Out?’”

The drummer nodded. He let out a shrill laugh, “ Hahahoo , wipe out,” and started the opening drum riff. Then, Ace and Walt led the rest of the musicians in the song. They played as if they’d already practiced. The crowd waved their hands in the air and pretended to surf in the aisles.

Jack slid in next to Teddy. “Happy, now?”

Teddy spun in a circle and then wrapped her arms around Jack.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jack squeezed her tight.

After the song, the crowd cheered for Walt. Ace stepped aside. “Show us what you got, Walt the Surfer.”

Walt played a series of short guitar riffs—“Layla,” “Smoke on the Water,” “Sweet Child of Mine”, “Sweet Home Alabama,” and ended with “Money.”

With that final song, the emcee took back the stage. “Alright, alright, alright, Surfer Walt. Ladies and Gentlemen, he nailed it. Money, that’s what we want. Donate now. Text 91999. Thank you, Corpus Christi.”

As promised, Jack drove her home. They both were exhausted after breaking down their respective businesses and loading the truck. Halfway home, Teddy remembered they needed to stop for Pickles. Pete had insisted that they come by, no matter how late. He wanted a full report.

With Pickles loaded in the truck, Jack said, “Does this mean Pickles is forgiven? Still on probation?”

Teddy laughed, scratched Pickles on the chest. “I think she’s eaten her fill of fudge. Enough for a lifetime.”

Jack pulled into Teddy’s driveway a little after midnight. “Could we take a walk on the beach with Pickles?” Jack asked.

They walked down the path to the beach where the night hummed with the rush of waves, and the sand glittered with moonbeams. Teddy allowed Pickles to walk on a loose leash. This provided Pickles an opportunity to stop and smell a pile of trash, then a beached jellyfish.

“Leave it,” Teddy commanded, and Pickles obeyed.

“I’ll be interested to hear how much money they raised tonight.

We made at least twenty thousand on barbecue.”

“Believe it or not, I made five thousand.”

“I believe it.” Jack whistled a song from the concert.

“You’re famous, you know. They televised the event.”

“Would you like my autograph?” Jack flashed her a grin. “Now that I’m a celebrity, does that change anything between us?”

“Nice try,” Teddy said. “Rules, remember?”

“A date. I would like a proper date with candlelight, fine food, and wine.”

“Do you want to ruin a perfectly good friendship with a date?”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Everything’s all upside down right now. Let’s just keep things simple.” Teddy led Pickles closer to the water and away from Jack. Over the rush of the waves, she said, “I’ve got too much work to do.”

Jack frowned. “In that case, anything I can do to help with the store? Will you go out with me when the store’s open?”

She pictured Barb glaring at her saying: Don’t muck things up. “You’ve got a deal, Shaughness. I’ll go out with you when the store is open.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” He extended his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

Clouds draped the moon and turned Jack into a shadowy image. Teddy shook his hand, her heart beating fast, until the moon vanished, and darkness blanketed the beach.