Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
J.P. took one last look around the second-floor deck, kitchen, and guest bedroom with the attached bathroom of Marlin Manor and locked all the doors behind him. He put his golf bag, garment bag and duffel in the back of his red Wrangler and Cliff hopped up and into the passenger seat.
“Everything is how we found it. Right, Boy?” J.P. said as he slid down his Ray Bans from the top of his head to his face.
Cliff sat on his hind legs and stared squarely at J.P.
“Good, I thought so, too.” He threw the car in reverse, pulling out of the two-car guest garage where Mr. Cunningham kept many of his water toys.
“Maybe I should’ve asked Kenny for her number.” J.P.’s eyes caught a glimpse of the kayak racks right before the door closed them out of sight. “The Old Man is right. Grabbing dinner with her doesn’t have to be a big deal. People share meals all the time.”
Cliff barked as they pulled down the driveway. J.P. interpreted this timely reaction as Cliff agreeing. Deep down he knew the dog was responding to nothing more than the squirrels scurrying up and down the trees that he wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle to chase.
“What do you say we stop at Harbour Town?” J.P. drove down North Sea Pines Drive and turned on his blinker to indicate he was going to make a right-hand turn on Lighthouse Road. “My legs are too sore for a run tonight, but I’m too stiff to sit around at home and watch TV.”
It wasn’t often that J.P. opted to drive the Wrangler rather than ride his bike around the plantation and was struck by how different the views were from behind four wheels instead of on top of two.
J.P. realized that he was like a character in a scene of a play when he was peddling around on a bicycle.
When he drove a vehicle, it was like he was a spectator observing the scene.
The island seemed busier from this vantage point; the trails that ran parallel to the roads seemed more congested, the parking lots seemed fuller, and the tennis courts all looked occupied.
The shrubbery seemed more abundant, and the ponds appeared smaller.
J.P. did two loops around the parking lot before he pulled the old Jeep into the overflow area near the Harbour Town Bakery and Café.
He hadn’t realized it was so close to dinnertime and, judging by the parking areas, assumed wait times at The Quarterdeck and The Crazy Crab were peak summer tourist kind of long.
J.P. hooked Cliff’s leash to his collar and the two walked toward the red brick walkway that lined the perimeter of the famous yacht basin.
J.P. and Cliff walked past the playground, where strollers and bikes with training wheels lined the short wooden fence that kept rambunctious children at bay.
Inside of the fortress, older children climbed trees, and younger children were pushed on swings by the parent who drew the short straw that day.
The other parent was undoubtedly sipping a cocktail while waiting for the family’s name to be called by a ma?tre d’, indicating their dinner reservation was ready.
J.P. and Cliff continued down the strip of covered walkway that was home to a toy store, women’s luxury pajama store and antique store.
The two reached a small deck that was outfitted with the iconic red, wooden rocking chairs that were symbolic of Harbour Town and abundant around the waterfront community.
J.P. took a seat, and Cliff calmly laid down next to him, seemingly oblivious to the activity around him, his gaze fixed toward the water.
Subconsciously and slowly, he pumped his feet back and forth, from toes to heels, and back again.
It was a sight, an experience, he couldn’t get enough of.
Growing up, he anxiously paced this deck waiting for Gregg Rusell, the infamous child entertainer who had as much acclaim and notoriety among his young audiences’ parents and grandparents as the kids who flocked his stage, to begin his nightly set under the stars and majestic Liberty Oak Tree.
In his teen years, he’d sit on this deck with a Coke while his dad enjoyed a cold beer and the two would make small talk with the other men and their sons who had lost their daughters, wives, and wallets to the boutiques.
As an adult, J.P. sat on this deck for hours listening to the live music from the acoustic guitarist singing his best James Taylor at the Harbourside café and admire the yachts and sailboats parked in the basin against the backdrop of the Harbour Town Golf Links course and distinctive red and white peppermint striped lighthouse.
The blue sky gave way to hues of pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows.
The combination of the varied palettes and the glare that reflected off the water turned the white cumulus and stratus clouds to puffs of aqua and magenta.
Harbour Town was one of the most coveted spots on the island to see a sunset and observers were always guaranteed a spectacular light show.
But J.P. could feel that the marina was in for a real treat tonight.
“What do you say, Cliff? It’s been a while. Want to go up?” J.P. patted the dog on the head and pointed to the lighthouse.
The dog jumped to his four paws and tugged on his leash before J.P.
rocked out of his chair. The two walked down the crushed shell path, along the wall of boats that docked in the circular marina, and he hoped he knew whoever was working the door.
Dogs weren’t permitted to climb the 114 steps of the historical landmark, but he was confident he could pass off Cliff as a service animal.
J.P. wasn’t one to pull strings or use his minor notoriety to his advantage, but this was a case where he was willing to bend the rules.
He gingerly opened the door and recognized the teen collecting money from one of the booths at the farmers market.
“Hey man! Service dog.” He glanced down at Cliff and slid the young man a twenty-dollar bill, despite the admission being seven dollars. “I don’t need change.”
“There’s hardly anyone up there.” The kid grinned wide and gave a reassuring nod toward the steps, to be interpreted as neither party would be in trouble for allowing Cliff to be in the lighthouse.
Despite the warning, J.P. was surprised, but relieved, he didn’t pass a single person on his trek up the narrow, steep steps that were marked every eight feet.
He ran more miles in the last two days than he logged in the last year and his body was feeling the effects of being out of condition.
When he reached the forty-two feet marker, he was ready to turn around.
By the time he reached the top of the ninety-three-foot octagonal stucco tower, his legs felt like Jell-O, and he was ready to sit down.
He regretted not staying reclined in his rocking chair closer to sea level.
“Remember, you’re not supposed to be up here, so behave,” J.P. gave Cliff a stern warning before going to the observation deck.
Once he regained steadiness in his feet and caught his breath, he opened the door. His instinct was to walk to the right, but Cliff pulled unexpectedly hard in the opposite direction and J.P. lost the loose grip he had on the leash, and sight of the dog.
“Hi, Cliff! What are you doing, boy?” J.P. heard a female voice say to the mildly disobedient canine.
He paused for a moment. It sounded like Kenny. Deep down he hoped it was.
“Does J.P. know you’re up here?” the sweet voice asked.
Confirmed. It’s Kenny.
For a split second, he felt nervous. Aside from admiring beach weddings from afar, he didn’t consider himself a romantic by any stretch of the imagination. But the thought of being on top of the lighthouse with Kenny during this magnificent sunset intrigued him.
“J.P. does know he’s up here,” J.P. said as he turned the corner. “He’s a service dog tonight.” He winked as he bent over and picked up the dog’s leash.
“I see the emotional support he provides you. He seems to know what you need,” Kenny lightheartedly laughed.
J.P. laughed because he thought it was the appropriate reaction but in the back of his mind found immense irony in what Kenny said. Since she had arrived on the plantation, Cliff led J.P. directly to her whenever the opportunity arose.
“How about this view?” He spread his arms wide, placed his hands on the ledge, and peered out over the water.
“It’s breathtaking. I’ve been wanting to come up here around sunset and can’t imagine I could have picked a more perfect night.
” Kenny situated herself next to J.P. trying to find the right balance between not being too close but not leaving too much space between them.
It was no longer just the view creating circumstances for a perfect evening.
“Catching a sunset from up here is one of my favorite things to do,” J.P. said. “There’s something so peaceful about it all, especially when it’s a sparse crowd,” he said, alluding to the fact that they were alone on top of this tower.
“When I’m having a bad or busy day, I try to get to the running path along the Hudson River at dusk.
I’ve seen some beautiful sunsets. But, at the end of it, you’re still looking across the water to the chaos and bright lights of northeastern New Jersey.
There’s something about the tranquility behind this vast view that is overwhelmingly serene. ”
“It’s something else,” J.P. replied. “It’s not quite the pandemonium of the Garden State but you can get glimpses of life in other parts of the Lowcountry from up here.
This body of water is Calibogue Sound.” He leaned over the railing and looked down.
“Across the Sound is Daufuskie Island. You can only get there by boat and the population is less than a thousand.”
“Wow. There aren’t many city blocks in Manhattan that house less than one thousand people.” Kenny laughed.