Chapter 2
Between my rusty driving skills and worrying about being pulled over, the trip to Sullivan’s Island turned out to be a slow one.
While on the interstate, I wondered about the traffic going the opposite direction.
Were they on the way out of our little state, going on vacation, a new adventure?
My probation prohibited me from leaving South Carolina.
Funny how I’d never left this state before but really wanted to now that I’d been told I couldn’t.
Just like a young’un, I heard my grandmother say in my thoughts. Always wanting what you can’t have.
As soon as I spotted the Ben Sawyer swing bridge, thoughts of going elsewhere faded.
I rolled the window down and breathed in the savory humid air, so thick the flavor settled on the back of my tongue.
It tasted like home. I’d spent more time here with Olla than with my own parents in all the places they’d lived over the years.
My parents could be best described as nomads.
Although their passion in life dealt with maintaining healthy root systems in the world of botany, they had no desire to lay down roots of their own anywhere in particular.
I took a right at the stop sign and slowly passed the short stretch of quaint shops and restaurants in the heart of the island’s business district.
On the right, one of the most popular places to eat, Poe’s Tavern, already had a line out the door.
I continued down Middle Street, edging slowly in the heavy traffic, until reaching Grandma’s house.
Even though she’d been gone for close to three years now, it would always be Olla’s place. Not mine. Not my brother’s.
Parking in the driveway, I began smoothing my thumb along each fingernail while taking a moment to just look at the three-story home on stilts named Lady Indigo.
Most every home had a unique name showcased on a plaque, either on the porch rail or by the front door.
Oleander Cottage, Crossed Fish, Willie’s Whistle Stop, and Brady’s Bungalow were a few I could recall right off the top of my head.
Grandma told me once that in the early days of Sullivan’s Island, mail was typically addressed by the name of the house instead of the address.
I’d always found that tidbit quite charming.
The shaker siding had a fresh coat of navy-blue paint with a gray tin roof. Two shaggy palmetto trees bookended either side of the house in the front yard, swaying to the rhythm of the ocean breeze.
I exited the car and the coast embraced me like an old friend.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head, letting the sun kiss my face and the breeze wash over me until the sound of movement next door interrupted.
Glancing to the right at the large white house, I noticed a man sitting hunched in the shade of its deep porch.
He wore a ball cap shrouding most of his face, which was buried in a book.
Thank goodness he didn’t seem the social type, not even raising his head when I shut the car door.
We were close enough that I heard him cough, so he had to have heard me also.
I moved to the trunk of my car to start unloading it just as a shiny black Corvette pulled in behind me. A white-headed man, more fit than most men half his age, exited the low-slung car with very little effort.
I shook my head. “You know you look ridiculous in that thing.”
“Do I look like I care?” Gilbert pulled off his aviators and huffed. “And you’re a fine one to talk, Miss Mercedes.”
Touché.
“I’m not ready to deal with you. I haven’t even gone inside yet.” I gestured toward the house, widening my eyes. “And I have to pee.”
“Sounds like perfect timing to me.” Gilbert leaned into the car and came back with a brown paper bag. “Let’s get you tested.” He held the bag out but I crossed my arms.
“I took one before I left the”—remembering the neighbor, I lowered my voice—“facility.”
“That was hours ago. Plenty of time to get high or down a bottle of booze.” Gilbert shoved the drug test into my grasp and waved a hand. “Lead the way.”
I snuck another peek next door, disappointed to find the guy still there on his porch.
He didn’t look my way, but I was pretty sure he’d heard every word just now.
Humiliated, I stomped up the stairs and punched in the code for the door.
I rushed to get inside and plowed into the faint scent of patchouli, an essential oil my grandmother swore by, saying it had calm-inducing properties.
Needing as much of that as possible, I took a deep inhale and made my way to the guest bathroom to handle this first order of business.
I wondered how disappointed Olla would be in me over the awful mess I’d made of my life.
What would she say if she could see me unscrewing a plastic cup with barcodes on the side?
Face heated and tears threatening, I turned to the toilet and went on autopilot.
Finishing up, I washed my hands and opened the door. Gilbert stood there waiting. “Have at it, sir.” I stepped aside and left him to do the testing.
I’m not sure how I ended up with this seventy-three-year-old man as my probation officer and sponsor.
He retired a while back, but he claimed his friend and judge asked him to come out of retirement to help me stay on the straight and narrow.
And darned if the man hadn’t made that his mission.
He’d visited me once, sometimes twice, a week since I met him eight months ago.
We had a love/hate relationship and had made a game out of razzing each other.
“You passed!” Gilbert declared, striding into the living room while stripping off a pair of latex gloves.
“What a wonderful surprise! I didn’t even study!” I did a silly little clap.
Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a smart aleck.”
“I’m afraid I know no other way to be.” I flipped the overhead light on even though enough sunshine poured through the giant windows without it. “Now that the fun is over, you can head on out, sir. I need to unpack and—”
“You have plenty of time for that.” Gilbert returned to the bathroom and I listened to the sink turn on as he called out, “I heard that Mexican place down the street is popular.”
“I’m sure you’ll like it.” I moved to the front door, ready to send him on his merry way.
Gilbert came out of the bathroom. “You’re going too.”
I crossed my arms and took in the large yet quaint living room, dressed in vibrant teal, coral, and dark navy tones. I got my love of color from my grandmother, for sure. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“I didn’t ask. I’m telling.” He swept a hand in an ushering motion.
“Look, I haven’t been out in public in like forever. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“No time like the present to get it over with and I’ll be with you, so that’s a bonus.” Gilbert frowned. “If it’s too much, just say so, and we’ll leave.”
“Fine.” I stomped past him. “But you’re paying.”
*
We ended up at a table smack-dab in the middle of the busy cantina.
After being locked away for the better part of the last year, this place was sensory overload with its colorful décor, lots of people talking and laughing, and lively music playing over the speakers.
I felt itchy inside and out, but I tried not to show it.
A young guy sidled up to the table with an offering of chips and salsa. “I’m Derrick. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Can I have a frozen strawberry margarita?”
Gilbert choked on his chip.
The waiter said, “Sure,” like it was no big deal. In the normal world with normal folks, I guess that should have been the truth but not with me.
“A nonalcoholic one,” I clarified, ignoring the huffing sounds coming from Gilbert. “We’re both alcoholics, so please make sure it’s a mocktail.”
Derrick managed to hide his reaction rather well, even though his cheeks reddened. “Sure thing. And you, sir?”
“Just water.” Tapping a finger on the table, Gilbert waited until the guy moved away. “You don’t just go around blurtin’ that mess out to just anybody.”
“Why not? I bet he’ll make sure to get my drink order correct.”
Gilbert grumbled incoherently, apparently out of patience with me. Good. Hopefully, he’d dump me out in my driveway after lunch.
“Lighten up, Gilly.” I searched the basket for a folded chip, my favorite, and dunked it in the salsa.
“You make me sound like a dang fish. Gilly.” He made a face.
I angled my head and studied him. “You kinda look like a catfish, now that you’ve mentioned it.”
Gilbert didn’t dignify my lie with a response. Truthfully, he was a good-looking man and a sharp dresser. Today, he wore a navy sports coat with a crisp white button-down and dark-wash jeans. If Grandma Olla was still alive, I’d encourage her to flirt with him.
“Here ya go.” Derrick placed the hot-pink beverage in front of me.
I gave it a sniff, not detecting any booze, just strawberries. “You sure this is a mocktail, right?” My joke now had me a little nervous.
He nodded. “Yes.”
I took a cautious sip of the super-sweet slushie and wrinkled my nose. “Something’s . . . something’s not right with this . . .” I tested it again, almost giving myself a brain freeze.
Derrick’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s missing the tequila.”
“Good grief.” Gilbert kicked me under the table.
The waiter’s brow furrowed. “But I thought you said . . .”
I held a palm up. “I’m just joking. It’s fine. I’d like the carnitas, please. With a side of guacamole.” An overly sweet smile stretched my face to full capacity, almost painfully so, reminding me I’d not used that expression in quite a long time.
“Oh. Okay.” Derrick took our orders and wasted no time getting away from our table.
Gilbert swiped another chip and aggressively dunked it in the salsa. It’s a wonder the poor chip didn’t break. “Your joke sucked.”
“Gotta keep ya on your toes, ole Gilly.” I winked just to annoy him, even though my heart wasn’t really into it.