Chapter Twenty-Two
B rooke, Jessa, and Libby sat on Jessa’s sleeping porch, each on their phones trying to figure out who to contact about permission to hold a wedding at Camp Dogwood. As far as they could tell, it had gone into bankruptcy and was now owned by a bank. That didn’t look good. Plus, it was after five, so the bank was closed.
Brooke was in a rotten mood. Nate hadn’t texted her back. How could he not respond to her text about their grandparents knowing each other? That was big news! She didn’t know whether to be worried, mad, or disappointed, so she was all three. The last thing she wanted to do was be part of the current discussion about who would be doing what kind of work to make Libby Trotter’s wedding perfect. Raking up pine needles? Fixing the floats on an old dock? All for Libby? She’d rather cut off her arms with a butter knife.
They all leaned forward on the couch looking at everything Libby had chosen for the wedding—light pink roses and ranunculus, white anemones, clematis, and sprays in snowy whites and creams. It was all too pretty and pleasant for someone like Libby. She deserved black roses with sharp thorns and blackberry bramble for her bouquet.
Before the barn collapsed in the storm, Libby was going to have mason jars filled with lights hanging in the windows and from the rafters. They could do the same with the pine trees, Jessa said. They could have hundreds of them, hundreds , leading down to the water. Brooke could only imagine that she would be the one assigned to climb the ladder and hang the darn things. She was already a terrible bridesmaid, and didn’t have one more fake smile left in her. She was plum out of words like Wow , I love it , perfect , yes , and gorgeous.
It was time to leave.
“All right, y’all, I’m gonna head out now. Call me if you need anything.”
“Wait,” Libby said. “I need for y’all to get some things on your calendar.” She pulled up her Notes app to a list that would take ten minutes to scroll through. “I’ve got the bridal shower coming up, of course. I’m gonna need one of y’all to plan the bachelorette party. Mama’s doing the bridesmaids’ tea, there will be the rehearsal dinner, and of course, if I’m having my wedding out at The Dog, we’re gonna have to plan for several days of cleanup.”
“Text it to me,” Brooke said, unable to tolerate being here one more second. She walked out of Jessa’s front door wondering why on earth she was torturing herself. Was she being weak, or a compassionate person? Was staying and putting up with Libby’s demands the definition of sweet? She wasn’t sure. It felt more like the definition of a pushover.
Brooke drove straight to Dottie’s house where Tulip answered the door holding a fistful of green-dyed wool and a large needle. “Hey, Tootie,” Brooke said, remembering Tulip’s new nickname. “Is your mama home?” She needed her advice. There were too many otherworldly things happening.
“She’s with Uncle Fred. They’re deep-frying turkeys for next week’s menu.”
“Out at Fred’s place?”
“Yep.” She stabbed the needle into the wool several times in quick succession.
“What are you working on?”
“It’s called felting,” she said. “I’m making an alligator.”
Tootie had a new obsession every time she saw her. “You okay here alone?”
“I’m fifteen now, you know.” She shot her an annoyed look and kept stabbing at the fuzzy pile of green wool.
Her quirky bowl haircut made her look like she was twelve. The rainbow sweatpants didn’t help. “Oh, right. Okay, I won’t keep you, then.”
“Cool. Hey, when you’re there, can you tell Uncle Fred to order me some more of those circle hooks for shark fishing?”
“Sure.” Back in the car, Brooke checked her phone again. Still no text from Nate. She couldn’t text him again, could she? Would it be stalker-ish to ask if he was okay? She wished she knew who his friends were so she could ask them. She did have a business card with Noelle’s number on it. But if she reached out to her, that might be stalkery too. She had no choice but to sit tight and hope he contacted her soon.
Dottie and Fred stood in the middle of a clearing behind the old gas station. It was easy to tell they were related. Their smiles were exact replicas, except for the fact that Fred had all of his teeth. They even had the same haircut: short and brown. Fred’s long beard was perilously close to the boiling vat of oil as he pulled up a toasty dark brown turkey and walked it toward a metal pan to cool. Brooke waited until the bird was set down before she said hello.
“Well, hey there, sweetness,” Dottie said. “You got here just in time. We finished the birds, and are boutta crack open some beers.”
Fred’s big brown dog came up to sniff her. She reached down and scratched his soft head. “Hey, Whiskey. Stay away from that hot oil, ’kay?” Fred had disappeared through the back door of the station with the cooked turkey. “Thanks, Dottie. I can’t stay. I was just hoping you could help me with something.”
“Whatcha need?” Dottie moved closer. “Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She took a deep breath like she was pulling magical air into her lungs and then placed her hands firmly on top of Brooke’s head. “You can’t stand that girl Libby, and you’ve got a massive crush on a guy with a limp.”
Brooke physically recoiled. How could Dottie be so spot on?
Dottie laughed. “My Carolina Jessamine has been tellin’ me everything.”
“Oh.” Brooke laughed with her. Of course Jessa had been spilling the tea. “Okay, seriously, though. Do you have a second?”
Fred reappeared and walked right past them without saying hello to Brooke. He climbed the step ladder into his houseboat, which had been on blocks behind the station for so long that tall grass had grown around the concretec. Then, like he suddenly remembered they were there, he said, “Y’all want to come in for a beer?”
“Wait for me,” Dottie said. “Now, then.” She turned back to Brooke. “You got off track years ago. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have always had a strong tie to that camp. It’s a connection that is not of this world but the flow of positive energy was interrupted long ago.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you specifics. But you left with something you weren’t supposed to have.” Her brow furrowed. “No, no. That’s not right. You left something behind? No, that ain’t right neither.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s the interruption that I feel.”
“What interruption?”
“Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.”
Brooke was used to Dottie’s gruffness. “Can you tell me if I should be in Libby’s wedding?”
“I already told you!” Dottie sighed, then stared at the brick wall of the gas station for a full minute. “It’s not going to take anything from you.” She stared some more. “And it will make a difference for someone else.”
“I don’t want to be nice to her,” Brooke said. “After all she’s done to me, she doesn’t deserve it.”
“It’s not like you’re being forced. I don’t see you getting duct-taped into a bridesmaid’s dress. You get to decide.” She bent down and fiddled with Whiskey’s ear before saying, “Are you going to live in the small square of your own little life, or are you going to open up wide and give yourself freely?”
“But what if I give too much of myself away?”
“Maybe the wedding is not for Libby.”
“How is me being a bridesmaid going to help anyone other than her?”
“Anna Brooke, you are starting to annoy me. You know I can’t answer that.” Dottie began walking toward the houseboat. “And anyway, what if it is meant to help her? What’s so awful about that?”
“Wait, Dottie. I have one more question.”
“Ask it quick.”
“Should I call Nate?”
“For heaven’s sake, girl.” Dottie didn’t stop walking. “Use your own intuition. You’ve got it too, you know.” She climbed the step stool onto the white marine plastic stern where Fred sat on a lawn chair sipping a beer. “You can join us if you want.”
“No thanks,” Brooke said.
“Grab yourself a cookie before you go,” Fred called out. “Hot plate’s still warm and the back door’s open.”
There was no way Brooke would leave without a cookie. “Thank you!” she called before ducking into the store. There were few places she loved more than the gas station. It might look abandoned from the outside, but the inside was immaculate and stocked with every necessity that anyone on the island might need—and plenty of fun extras too. It was the heart and soul of Goose Island. And Dottie’s food truck was the outreach.
Brooke hadn’t gotten the definitive answers she’d hoped for, but she should’ve known better. Dottie almost always left people to decide for themselves. She checked her phone for the millionth time. Still no text from Nate. It was going on six o’clock. If she hurried home, she might get there in time for dinner.
Shoot. She forgot to tell Fred to order those circle hooks for Tulip. She hopped back out of her car and jogged to the houseboat. As she approached, she overheard Dottie and Fred. “I see a duck with Brooke,” Dottie was saying. “But I don’t know what it means.”
“Don’t look at me,” Fred said. “I’m just gonna tell you you’re nuts.” There was frenetic shuffling, scratching, and chittering, then, “Roscoe! I don’t have nuts for you. Get off me.”
“That’s what you get for keeping a squirrel as a friend,” Dottie said. “Git! Roscoe! I don’t have ’em either!” The scratching and chattering quieted down after a minute. “Back to the duck. It’s not a real one, I don’t think. So, it means good luck, maybe?”
“Why are you always asking me about this stuff?” Fred said. “I don’t know what a danged fake duck is supposed to mean.”
“I hate symbols,” Dottie said. “They are impossible to interpret. She might just be about to travel somewhere.”
Brooke hid near the step stool and heard Fred say, “Now, I’m not saying I know anything, but if I have to give you a meaning to get you to shut up, then I’m gonna say the duck you’re seeing is love. And maybe stability.”
“I don’t know how you get all that from a little ol’ duck.” Dottie slurped her beer. “All I know is that girl has been tied down harder than a cruise ship at port. And once Brooke gets back on track, maybe Carolina Jessamine can get there too.”
Held down? By Gates? By her parents? Brooke heard Whiskey wandering around, and she didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, so she quickly snuck away and drove home. Tootie could ask her uncle for the circle hooks herself. How had Jessa been off track? She was the same Jessa she’d always been. Plus, she had a good job and her own house. She didn’t want a man, so she wasn’t missing anything there.
Was it Libby? Was Libby interrupting Jessa’s energy flow? But if that was the case, wouldn’t Dottie be doing something about it? The whole thing was making her tired.
Brooke pulled in front of her parents’ house and saw them all sitting at the dinner table, an empty spot set for her. From what she could see, Nana had on a normal button-down shirt, so maybe it would be a drama-free meal. She ran up the front stairs. “Sorry I’m late!”
“Fix yourself a plate,” Cornelia answered. “We’re just getting started.”
Brooke loaded herself up with chicken and rice and a side of green beans. Despite the cookie she’d just devoured, she was still starving. When she walked into the dining room, she almost dropped her plate. Neither Cornelia nor Nana had bothered to fix themselves up for the meal. They wore dried ocean water in their hair, and their cheeks were makeup free and red from the sun. Trig was actually smiling, and so were the two women. It was like walking into another dimension. Brooke took her seat at the table, wide-eyed.
“And I’d have thought it was an alligator grabbing hold of my ankle if it weren’t for the white hair sticking out of the water.” Cornelia laughed, continuing a story that Brooke had missed.
“Lordy,” Nana agreed. “It was fun.”
The banter continued through the whole meal, and afterward, Nana didn’t run off to her cottage but took a seat on the couch to watch Family Feud while Trig sat in his recliner sipping his evening whiskey. Cornelia went to the kitchen to do the dishes.
“Sit, Mother. I’ll take care of this,” Brooke said.
“You will?” She put down the casserole dish she held in her hands.
“Go watch TV with Trig and Nana.”
“Cornelia!” Trig’s voice bellowed from the den. “Put those dishes down and come sit with us.”
“Someone has to clean them,” she yelled back, her face holding questions as she shrugged at her daughter.
“I’ll do it in the morning,” he said.
Cornelia grabbed hold of the counter like she might fall over. “Did he just say he would do the dishes?”
Brooke met her astonishment. “I think he did.”
“Miracles do happen.” She winked. “Leave them in the sink.”
It felt strange leaving the dishes for Trig to do. Never had that ever happened before. She felt a buzz from her back pocket and pulled out her phone, heart pounding.
“ Sorry.” It was finally Nate! “ I had to take care of some business in Atlanta. I can’t believe our grandparents knew each other. What a small world.”
She pulled out a chair at the breakfast nook and plopped onto it. He was okay. And in Atlanta. Now, how to respond. She wanted to know when he would be back, but was it too forward to ask? She read his message again. Was the tone a bit cold? It was awfully short and to the point. But maybe he was just a dry texter. She stared at the phone, hoping he would text again, add a little more, answer the questions she didn’t want to ask. But after several minutes, nothing else appeared.
“ Hope all is well in Atlanta,” she decided to write. “ Let me know when you’re back in town.” She tried to match his tone the best she could—not too interested but still nice. It felt awful.
She left the dirty kitchen and went to her room with plans to stare at the phone until he responded. Or, rather, if he responded.