Chapter Eight
B rooke never did get to introduce Nana to Duke. It was the strangest thing. It was like he was hiding from them. They’d gone straight to Amelia’s garden to find him. Brooke knew he’d been there from the freshly turned dirt and the hose still flowing. She’d even called his name but didn’t get an answer.
Nana walked around the pink crepe myrtles, through the wide-open rose garden and the shaded wall of hydrangeas to the area where the tomato plants climbed metal towers, all the while calling, “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Braaaaaadley.” Brooke followed her to make sure she didn’t step on a snake. Soon enough, Salty Dot’s food truck rumbled up the road, and Brooke dragged Nana out of the garden in time to see Jessa set up the chalkboard sign by the serving window. The workday was beginning, Duke or not.
Grace “Nana” Sharon Beauregard Warter had indeed gone to work. She ushered guests into the Saltwater Winery in her sequined gown and stuck-up hair, taking it upon herself to occasionally sing “Fly Me to the Moon” or the more popular “Poker Face” from a corner in the gift shop. To make things worse, Gates arrived just before Brooke’s one o’clock lunch break. She was secretly hoping he had already left without saying goodbye. The whole scenario made her question how much she really wanted the winery job. Maybe she should work in a nuclear power plant or someplace where people couldn’t just waltz on in.
It was hard to give customers her attention and pretend to be enthusiastic about floral notes and malolactic fermentation while Gates hovered outside of the building. Every now and then he would wander by and look in to see if she was still working before going back to a picnic table and sitting hunched over, staring at his phone.
At least Brooke could be grateful that it was one of Libby’s work-from-home days. Jessa flitted around, making sure all the guests were happy and reminding them that the food truck special that day was a meatball sandwich, which paired well with a red blend. She looked especially good today, her light yellow sundress adding a sweet little glow to her already-stunning beauty. It was never hard for Jessa to get a person’s attention.
As soon as the customers left, Brooke made her way outside, expecting Gates to jump up and greet her. But he was leaned over, completely engrossed in conversation with Jessa. It occurred to Brooke in that moment that although she’d lived her entire adult life with both Gates and Jessa, she’d rarely seen them in conversation. At least not one that serious. What could they possibly be talking about, aside from her?
“Hey,” Brooke said, sitting next to Jessa. They stopped talking as soon as they saw her. “Y’all talking about me?”
Jessa flushed, but Gates came right out with it. “I was asking Jessa for her opinion.”
Brooke and Jessa had talked about Gates so many times over the years, she knew exactly what Jessa would say. She smiled at her friend. “Pretty sure Jess just wants me to be happy.”
Gates seemed pleased with her answer. Almost too pleased. Jessa piped up quickly, “I told him that he had everything a guy needs to make a girl happy. And if that girl isn’t you, there are plenty of others who would be thrilled to date him.” Gates watched Jessa carefully as she spoke. “The same goes for you, Brookie. Let’s be real—both of you are catches. The best of the best.”
“One meatball special for Brooke,” Dottie announced, walking up with an overflowing paper plate. “Your nana wanted to take some orders, so I thought I’d deliver it myself.” She placed the food in front of her. Judging from the way Dottie’s eyes washed over Gates like a scrub brush, Brooke knew the visit wasn’t social.
“You remember Gates?” Brooke asked by way of introduction.
“You bet I do.” It was like Dottie’s eyes were X-ray-enabled, looking past his skin and assessing his innards. “How long do you plan to stay here on Goose Island?” she asked him.
“Well, that depends.” He shot a look at Brooke.
Brooke was a little shocked at herself when she realized she was vigorously shaking her head. She almost said sorry , then didn’t. She’d made her choice and was going to stick with it. Her fresh start, her new sweet personality, it was all going to help her grow and flourish. She didn’t need to be Gates Lancaster’s chosen one. She needed to choose herself.
She watched Gates, his dark hair newly cut, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth. Dottie peppered him with questions, which Brooke actively tuned out as she stared. Was there such a thing as The One? Or did people simply find a partner—someone they could work with and tolerate? How was a person supposed to know? Gates was a decent guy. They would have beautiful kids. He would be a good dad. She might be making the biggest mistake of her life by cutting him loose—one that could very well mean spending the rest of it alone.
Gates stayed at the winery until the last guest left. He watched Brooke give wine tastings all afternoon while Jessa revolved around the place like a satellite, and Nana performed whatever function crossed her mind for whatever audience would pay her some attention. Jessa gave him a sweet goodbye hug before locking the door and heading to her mother’s food truck.
Nana was nowhere to be found.
Brooke called her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. Then she called her mother, inadvertently flipping on Cornelia’s panic switch when the woman realized her mother-in-law was not at home and might actually have gone missing. “You stay there and keep looking,” Cornelia said, immediately defaulting to what she did best—giving orders. “I will take the Cadillac and see if she’s out walking.” She hesitated before she added, “Check down by the water.”
The last instruction gave Brooke chills.
Gates followed her as she led the way down to the pluff-muddy shore where oysters sat like razors among the cordgrass.
“Nana!” she called. There was no answer.
“Nana!” Brooke heard the fear in her own voice as it carried across the water. Just recently, an elderly woman in Beaufort had been taken in a death roll by an alligator. Nana could be anywhere, doing anything. Ever since Papa died, no one knew what Nana might say or do. She’d become a wild card, a lunatic, and a flight risk.
“Grace!” Gates kept yelling her name from behind Brooke. “I hope she’s just walking home.”
Brooke nodded. She’d been silently praying the same thing. “Nana!”
They heard tires crunch their way into the parking lot, and jogged up to Cornelia’s car. “Did you find her?” Brooke asked, squinting to see if someone was in the passenger seat as her mother rolled down the window. Even in the midst of a crisis, Cornelia had remembered to touch up her lipstick.
The answer was obvious. “No.”
“Crap.”
“We still have a couple of hours before it gets dark,” Gates said. “We should call the sheriff.”
“First, I had better call Trigger,” Cornelia said. “I was hoping to avoid his involvement, but I can see now that we have got to alert him to the situation.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gates agreed.
Brooke racked her brain about where Nana might be as Cornelia explained the situation to Trig. That morning, when Nana showed up, Duke had mysteriously gone missing. Nana had walked the property, calling for him. She’d been determined to inform the man that she was now one of his employees—like it or not.
As soon as she hung up, Brooke asked, “Duke Bradley’s house—it’s on the property, right?”
“Well, yes, it is on this acreage,” Cornelia said. “Of course, I have never been there because, as you know, not one person on the island has ever been invited over. When the Bradleys moved out our way and planted all of the vines, they were not considered friendly.”
Everyone on the island had been to each other’s homes at some point, but outsiders were not embraced in the same way. Outsiders, meaning they weren’t second or third or fifteenth generation natives of Goose Island. The islanders were mad about the winery and probably would be for at least fifty years.
“How do we get there?” Gates asked.
“Well, I am quite sure we take the dirt road off Blue Heron Drive. The one that swings around behind the vines and ends at the Atlantic?” Cornelia must’ve calmed a bit thanks to the Duke theory, because she went back to phrasing things as questions rather than demands. “My husband once drove by the house and said it is in a different style than most of the homes here on the island. I believe he said it was a Craftsman? Like the tool box? Quite the monstrosity if you ask me.”
“I guess we should check there,” Brooke said, reluctant to show up without notice to her boss’s house.
“Join me in the car,” Cornelia said. “I’ll drive us.”
Just as Gates stepped one foot in, Cornelia received a phone call. It was Trig telling them that Nana had made it home safely. She refused to say one word about where she’d been, but appeared to be happier than a teenager on prom night.
“Good Lord,” Cornelia said. “I swear that woman has it out for me. Probably hid in the bushes awaiting my departure so that she could get her son all to herself.” Her painted lips thinned. “I declare. She will be the death of me.” She took a deep, centering breath. “Now, y’all come on back to the house, and I’ll fix us all some supper.”
They said their goodbyes and promised to get home soon. Brooke led Gates back down to a table by the water. There was still more to talk about. No relationship was ever over until it had been hashed out six ways to Sunday. Now that she wasn’t searching for her grandmother’s drowned, half-eaten body, she could concentrate. She sat, but Gates paced like a caged cat.
“What are you doing back on this island, Brooke? You’re serving wine?”
“I had to do something.”
“So, you did it, huh? You quit your job at the PR agency.” He kicked at a small rock, sending it skipping along the ground. “You really weren’t planning to come back to Savannah, were you? You left permanently because of one little incident.”
“I thought you were fine with this,” she said. “You even deleted me off your Instagram.”
“I was mad!”
“Wait, stop. It’s not about that.” She reached for him, and he stopped pacing. “Sit, please.”
He did as he was told. She held his hands in hers; all four of their palms were sweaty.
“Do you like who you are when you’re with me?” she asked.
“Of course I do. I’m the same person I always am.”
“Do you see that as a problem at all? Don’t you want someone who makes you better?”
“You do make me better.”
“How? By being your plus-one at your work parties? By keeping our house clean and doing the shopping and cooking you dinner?”
“Yes! You make my life better.”
“But, Gates, I feel like I have to earn you every day. Like I’m not enough as just me. And let’s not forget, I planned a whole party and you did not come home.” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but she was definitely getting louder. “And you’re saying I make your life better? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’ve been watching too many videos. They’re making you selfish.” He dropped her hand and stood again. “What about me, huh? We’ve spent seven years together. I have invested in you.” He met her volume and increased it. “I don’t like living alone.”
“I’m not a bank, Gates. And we shouldn’t spend seven more if we’re not happy.” She tried to calm the conversation, but she couldn’t help asking, “Honestly, why did you choose me in the first place?”
“Stop asking me that question. I am so tired of it! People don’t have to have a reason. Sometimes things just happen.” He stomped up the hill toward the winery building like a child. She followed slowly several yards behind him.
She was nearly to the top when she noticed another car in the parking lot. Gates was standing next to it, smiling and chatting with the driver like he hadn’t just had a fight with his ex-girlfriend. She knew immediately who it was: Libby. There was no way she was going to walk over there and join them, so she took a hard right, quietly opened the gate to Amelia’s Patch of Happiness, and walked inside. What was stupid Libby Trotter doing here after hours? The place was closed, dammit.
There was a bench underneath an arch covered with jasmine vines, so Brooke checked for snakes, then sat down. The sweet smell helped to calm her. She didn’t have to convince Gates. It was enough that she alone knew what needed to be done. Even though it would be easier to stay with him, the fact was, she wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t growing, he barely ever smiled. They were both stuck. Just because it was easy and familiar wasn’t reason enough to stay. They didn’t have kids, they didn’t have a mortgage—the only people they’d be letting down was themselves.
She remembered Trig once saying that you had to sell a car before it broke down on the highway. Well, that’s what she needed to do with Gates. She had to get out of their deal before they completely broke down in the middle of nowhere. Already, they had too many miles, bald tires, and were leaking radiator fluid.
She’d been sitting there for at least twenty minutes by the time Gates called her name. She wasn’t sure she wanted to respond. But the sun was getting lower in the sky, and she couldn’t stay in the garden forever, so she answered him and got up to open the gate.
“Why didn’t you come say hi to Libby?” he asked as soon as he saw her. He was right back to his earlier mood: highly annoyed with her.
She walked past him toward her car, which was parked near his. “You coming? Cornelia’s probably holding supper for us.”
“Libby knew you were hiding from her.”
Brooke kept walking. She really didn’t care what Libby knew.
“I will never understand you,” he said, catching up to her.
“Exactly,” Brooke replied.