Chapter 11
Eleven
Ali
An overnight stop in North Georgia was all she needed. Ali had made the drive by herself in two days, spending one night at the Hampton Inn.
She’d experienced the wonder of Buc-ees in Richmond, Kentucky, and the terror of a sketchy 2 am, ill-selected rest stop in Tennessee. But she’d crossed the state line in Florida at 5 pm, and as she traveled toward the Gulf and Mangrove County, there was still a little daylight to go.
On day two, she’d traded her oversized turtleneck and leggings for a cotton blouse and, well, leggings. But she was able to fold up her down-filled parka and shove it under her suitcases in the back of the Jeep.
“No need to see you for a few days!”
The warm air in February was a novelty. She was so used to being frozen to the bone. She was so used to layers and having to scurry to get back inside this time of year. But here, even at the gas station, she was taking deep breaths and embracing the air instead of bracing against it.
“Why do I live where the air hurts again?” she asked no one in particular.
I-75 was easy, but as she neared Haven Beach, she gripped her steering wheel and turned her music down so she could hear the signs. Sure, that was an oxymoron, but she didn’t want to get lost. Ali followed the GPS instructions. US-41, Tamiami Trail, Manatee County, each road getting smaller and slower.
After she crossed over the Manatee River, she really started to feel the difference between driving around Tampa or Orlando and what it felt like here. Could the ocean call you? It felt like that was happening. Or else she just had been behind the wheel too long and needed to stretch her legs. Maybe both were true.
Ali had never been to this side of Florida. Bruce had no time for family vacations, and Ted insisted all their vacations were to visit “historical” sites. In his philosophy, the kids should learn something while on break. They couldn’t do that at Wally World, as he liked to call the entire state of Florida.
Ali wished she would have pushed; she knew both her kids loved Disney movies. But they’d never given them that as kids.
Maybe someday with the grandkids? Grandkids? Was that next? Ali had a lot to sort out before she went shopping for a grandma name. She had been to Orlando, on a conference, and once in college, Daytona. But this gulf side was new to her.
One beach after another stretched before her. She knew she was supposed to take Gulf Boulevard Drive. Hang a right. To the left, she’d be on Long Boat Key, to the right, Haven Beach, and if she went too far, she’d fall off the barrier island into the Atlantic.
Haven Beach was the tip of the strip, according to her map.
She wondered why she’d never heard of it. Although she had not been to this part of Florida, many of her Toledo friends had, from St. Pete to Treasure Island.
Haven Beach though? She’d never seen vacation pics or family portrait sessions from the place. It worried her a bit; what would she find?
Ali had booked a hotel room online at the Marriott Courtyard. The sun was setting, and she didn’t want to go to the property they allegedly owned in the dark. She didn’t know what she would find, but whatever it was, daylight was a better proposition than night.
Her hotel was across Gulf Boulevard. It was clean, easy to find, and she’d accumulate a few hotel points by booking it. Ali was tired, and her body ached a bit from gripping the steering wheel for two days straight.
She’d hauled in her small bag and sat on the hotel bed. It was almost dusk, but she wanted to be outside. She had the urge to stretch her legs a little. Maybe she’d just walk along Gulf Boulevard a bit and find a bite to eat.
She was still in leggings and a tunic, but every person she’d seen here had flip-flops on and shorts or a sundress. She didn’t own a single sundress. And her legs were whiter than the snow she’d left behind. Leggings it was. She switched out the tunic for a Mud Hens t-shirt. This was hardly fun-in-the-sun chic, but she wasn’t really on vacation either. She was on a mission.
By the time she’d changed, the sun had already gone down, though it wasn’t dark yet. Something about the vibe here was so different from any other place she’d been in this state.
The idea of donning a conference I.D. lanyard or getting in line for a ride? Nope. The vibe was flip-flop.
Ali grabbed her wallet and phone and double-checked that she had a room key. She’d just walk a little to loosen the stiffness in her bones.
The air was different here. She could almost taste the salt! And the congestion she’d seen along Gulf, at other points on the trip, had slowed to a trickle. There were only a few cars going back and forth as she used the crosswalk to get to the beach side of the road.
At first, she couldn’t put her finger on what made this little stretch of road different, but it started to dawn on her as she walked. There weren’t any high-rise condos.
Almost every square inch of road on both sides along the coast, there were huge condo complexes five stories or more high. She supposed it made sense. It was to pack in as many vacationers or timeshares or whatever.
Here, there were condos, for sure, but also beach houses that weren’t brand new. Or if they were brand new, they were made to look lived in.
It felt cozy here. That seemed ridiculous. Skeptically, she wondered if it had been designed to make her feel like that by some Disney-esque Imagineer.
Ali had walked for about ten minutes when she realized she ought to probably turn around and head back to her room. But then an aroma caught her and seemed to pull her toward it.
She realized all she’d eaten in the last two days was food from gas stations and drive-throughs. The smell reminded her that an actual meal, sitting at a table would be a good idea.
She followed her nose, or her stomach, to the source. Several weathered wooden planks nailed to a post pointed the way—or rather, pointed the way for several options. On top of the sign sat an odd assortment of seashells for decoration. Ali decided to follow the painted red arrow that pointed from the parking lot to a small restaurant, which was conveniently right on the beach.
When in Rome , thought Ali, eat on the beach .
She did as the sign instructed: This way to the Seashell Shack .
There was a decided lack of gloss in this little stretch of Florida, and it turned out the Seashell Shack was aptly named. The restaurant had the trappings of a beachy shack, all weathered boards and sandy floors, but it was also fresh, clean, and inviting. A wall of windows looked out to the water, and beyond that, Ali could see a patio and the beautiful beach.
This will do just fine!
Ali also hoped they were still serving something. She’d noticed more people were heading out than in at the fairly early time of 6:30 pm.
But no one stopped her, so she walked further into the Seashell Shack. She continued through toward the porch. She was itching to take off even her flip-flops and get in the sand.
This really was seaside.
The smallest picnic table was a four-top and Ali felt a little guilty taking one all by herself. In fact, she felt a little self-conscious about having dinner at a restaurant on her own. For so long, she’d had a family of four, or Ted, or some combination of her sisters as dining companions.
A tall but broad busboy in beat-up jeans had his back to Ali as he cleared a table. She’d just ask, to make sure it was okay.
“Excuse me, is it seat yourself?”
The busboy turned around, and it turned out to be more of a bus “man.” A man with salt and pepper hair, similarly hued scruff on his chin, and a fair amount of smile lines turned his friendly face in her direction.
“Well, the floorshow is over, so yes. You’re welcome to whatever table suits you. Though, there is a breeze; maybe one there on the corner to get a little shelter from the wind?”
Ali found herself smiling back. If this was what bussers looked like on Haven Beach, maybe she needed to rethink the length of her stay.
“I appreciate it, thank you.”
“I let some of my waitresses go early, so get settled and I’ll be out with a menu. How about our signature drink? You have a look of up north to you. Our job here is to help you shake that off.”
Ali hadn’t been thinking of cocktails when she wandered in, but then again, she also hadn't expected to be gob-smacked like a teenager by a middle-aged busboy. They made them handsome here in Haven Beach.
Though, wait, what did he say? He let his servers go. Maybe he’s the manager?
She found herself nodding in agreement, and he put an arm out toward the table he’d recommended.
Ali sat at the table and realized he was right; the breeze was a little chilly, but the side of the building blocked it a bit. She should have brought a sweater.
She looked out at the water. There were people enjoying beer, finishing baskets of fish, and just relaxing here at the Seashell Shack.
Relaxing. That was something she had a hard time with. Ali reminded herself this wasn’t a vacation; it was a fact-finding mission. She needed to figure out where this property was and how to unload it.
But plenty of time for that tomorrow.
Right now, food .
The salt and pepper manager returned. On top of his faded jeans, he wore a t-shirt with the same Seashell Shack logo she’d seen on the sign outside. He had a menu in one hand and a bright orange drink in the other. It looked fruity.
“This is the patented Seashell Shack Daq.”
“Daiquiri?”
“In that same neighborhood.” He handed her the menu, which was one sheet laminated and printed on both sides.
“Can you tell me what that wonderful smell is?”
“Ah, yes, that’s our Key Lime dessert. Normally, the fresh seafood draws our newbies, but that pie just came out of the oven.”
“I’d love that, but I suppose I should have a dinner. Diabetes isn’t the greatest choice for my visit.”
“Ah, well, how about this?” He pointed to crab cakes and coleslaw, and she nodded. “My menu is simple, not much to choose from, but what we do, we do really well.”
“Okay then, dinner it is. Hold off on the pie.”
“Come on, live a little, Mud Hen.”
Ali looked down at her t-shirt. Someone always said something when they saw that logo.
“I guess so. Pie, too.”
“My name’s Henry, by the way. I own the place. If you need anything, I’m your man. On that note, hang on?—”
Henry disappeared, and Ali looked around. She smiled. She was sort of surprised, as nice as the owner was and as great as the food smelled, that it really was deserted so early.
Henry returned and offered her something that was not on the menu. “Here, take this sweatshirt from our little gift shop. You really aren’t dressed right for the beach now that the floorshow is over.” He handed her a sweatshirt with the same logo as the t-shirt he wore.
“You said that before. Is there a band or entertainment?”
“Every evening, the greatest show on Earth. It’s winter so tonight it was 6:00 pm. Tomorrow a little later.”
He put his arm out to the horizon. She looked out to the ocean. A couple people were strolling, and a few kids were still running on the beach, but mostly, it was quiet.
“The ocean is your floorshow?”
“Actually, the sunset. You came just a touch too late for it today. But you can catch it tomorrow, our Grand Finale.”
“Ah, well, that’s a lot more family-friendly than I usually associate with floorshow.”
“Yeah, just a joke. So you from Toledo, or just a M*A*S*H fanatic?”
“From Toledo, born and raised. Go Hens.”
“Go Hens. I hear you have a nice new baseball stadium. I played in the old one, Ned Skeldon, I think they called it?”
“Yes, well, we’ve had the new one for over twenty years, but I remember the old one, The Ned.”
“Yeah, my very short, very non-illustrious career had me in your fair city one summer.”
Ali couldn’t believe the coincidence and said as much.
“Yeah, except everyone down here has some connection to up there. It’s crazy.”
“Ah.”
“Now, you get your Shack Daq in you, and you’ll be on beach time by the time I bring out the crab cakes and pie.” He winked at her.
Oh, wow, what a charmer, she thought. From busboy to restaurant manager to owner to former baseball player. Ali figured he must have quite the story.
She watched as Henry disappeared into the restaurant.
Ali didn’t know what beach time was, but she did know that, even with the little breeze, this was lovely.
Her phone buzzed; she looked down. The news app on her phone let her know that it was a First Alert Snow Advisory in Toledo.
She took a sip of her Shack Daq and let the cold drink warm her from the inside out.