Chapter Nine
B rooke was grateful for the weekend. She had survived her first week of work and wasn’t scheduled again until Monday. Gates had gone back to Savannah, and Nana offered for Brooke to keep her things in the cottage’s tiny office so that her car would no longer be such an embarrassment .
The weekend crew was taking over the winery, so Brooke had plans with Jessa to visit the little house she’d bought. That would get both of them out of their mothers’ hair for a while.
According to Jessa, it was going to take more years and more money than it was worth to fix up the tiny Lowcountry cottage, but something about it resonated with her. She simply had to buy it.
Built back in the early 1900s, the house needed work on everything. Even Brooke, who knew the island well, was glad that Jessa had picked her up because weeds had grown up over the street sign, making it hard to find. The two-acre plot was like a jungle, but Jessa had cleared enough of it back to appreciate what a cute little bungalow it was. White with black trim and a wrap-around porch—it suited Jessa perfectly. The roof appeared brand-new, but it was clear that the old brick and tabby walls once had Virginia creeper vines holding on so intently with their tendrils and adhesive pads that even though they’d been removed, their remnants still stuck to the house. Somehow, the whole effect was sweet and charming, just like Jessa. Even the black front door had a happy little wreath with large fake white flowers poking out of a circle of magnolia leaves.
“Jess! This is yours? It’s gorgeous!”
“It’s not much,” Jessa said. Every good Southern girl was taught to turn down compliments, so it was gratifying when she added, “But I really like it. It has a history.”
Leave it to Jessa to have accomplished more than she let on. The plumbing and roof had all been redone. Most of the inside had been taken down to the studs, but the electrical was to be done next, and it was clear that her home was well on its way to completion. She even had an old couch in the screened-in sleeping porch with a view of the marsh.
Jessa and Brooke lugged in the new outdoor rug and a coffee table from Fred’s borrowed pickup truck.
Once the items were placed, they plopped onto the couch, giggling. It was another life transition they were doing together—Jessa creating a new home and Brooke moving back to her old one. There was nothing like spending time with a friend who knew every major event in her life, most of her faults, had witnessed countless mistakes, and loved her anyway.
They were ready to go before lunch. “Is your mama home today?” Brooke had been hoping that Dottie was at home so that she could swing by with Jessa for lunch like she used to as a kid.
“No, she took Tulip and the truck out to Summerville for some kind of festival. Can I treat you to lunch?” Jessa asked. “Maybe we can go into Charleston.”
Usually, Brooke didn’t like going into Charleston on hot summer days. There wasn’t the shade of all of the trees like on the island, and she would swear the concrete both collected the heat and reflected it right back up onto her. But she was so happy to be spending time with her best friend outside of work that she agreed.
Jessa drove Brooke to the Warters’ house and waited in the car for her as she ran upstairs to quickly gussy up for the city. Locals would never allow themselves to be seen anywhere near the historic district in grungy shorts and T-shirts. Brooke was almost to the top of the stairs when she overheard Cornelia and Trig having a heated discussion in the kitchen.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Cornelia cried.
Brooke froze. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, but what if her parents were actually breaking up?
“I will not be responsible for a woman I cannot find!” Her voice shook. “We have got to put her somewhere with locks on the doors. I am putting my foot down, Trigger.”
“My mother is not leaving,” Trig said in his I’m the boss voice. “This is what we do in this family. We take care of each other.”
“Oh? This is what we do?” The sarcasm dripped from her tongue. “You have no idea what we do. You have barely been present for twenty years.”
“Don’t be like that, Cornelia.”
“Like what? Like I do everything around here? Like I am the one caring for everyone while you’re off in your own world? Is that what we’re talking about?”
There was a moment of silence before her mother spoke again. “Trigger Warter, if you’re so much as thinking of reminding me that you’re the one who pays the mortgage, God help me, I will—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “My schoolteacher salary got us both started. And don’t you forget it!”
Before Brooke could move, her father stomped past her like she wasn’t there and disappeared up the stairs. Cornelia yelled after him, “You either find that woman a place that is not my home, or I will find one for you. Do you understand?”
Brooke turned the corner and made her presence known. “Is Nana missing again?” Ever since that first day at the winery, not only had Nana been working with her, she’d been disappearing every afternoon as well.
“She was out until two A.M. ” Cornelia slapped her hand onto the marble countertop, exasperated. “What does an eighty-year-old woman have to do until two A.M. ? I tell you, I am not having this anymore!”
So, Nana was stirring things up as usual. Normally, Brooke wouldn’t worry, but this time felt different. Nana might be pushing things too far. Brooke changed quickly and was happy to have Jessa waiting like a getaway driver.
Jessa wanted fried green tomatoes and pimiento cheese, so they found a parking spot on King Street and walked over to Poogan’s Porch. By the time they arrived, sweat dripped down their backs and they were more than ready for some strong air-conditioning. Their table for two was in the back of the restaurant—an old home built back in 1891. As always, people in the restaurant watched as they walked in—most eyes were on Jessa, but there were appraising looks for Brooke too. She was grateful that she put on her white silky top with flowy Lilly Pulitzer pants. She felt summery and classy.
They each ordered a mimosa and clinked to Jessa’s new home, to their lifelong friendship, and to the fact that they were finally back in the same place again. Brooke was halfway through her drink when she nearly spat orange juice and champagne all over the table. Jessa took her napkin and held it at the ready, but her attention was soon diverted when she noticed Brooke’s attention firmly fixed on two people walking into the room. One was a beautiful brunette wearing an elegant white sundress.
The other was Nathan Daugherty.
“Oh my God,” Jessa said under her breath. “That’s—”
Brooke nodded, unable to speak. Nate was alive. After all of the times she’d tried to find him online, there he was. He was okay. As a matter of fact, he looked great. His shoes alone probably cost more than her entire outfit. And Poogan’s Porch wasn’t a cheap place for a meal.
Nate and the woman were seated on the opposite side of the room. Brooke turned her back to him as much as possible. “Pretend like we’re deep in conversation,” she whispered, faking laughter.
Jessa caught on quickly and forced out a giggle.
“Isn’t this just hilarious?” Brooke chuckled. “We are so funny. Oh my Lord. That thing you said just a second ago. You are sooooo funny. You always crack me up.”
“No, you’re the funny one, Brooke.” Jessa threw back her head to laugh. “Remember that time you did something that made us both laugh so hard? And that other time when something happened and we just laughed and laughed?”
“Oh, yes. I remember that. I was absolutely dying! It was so funny. So, so funny.” Brooke shuddered, every nerve alive and screaming. She leaned in and whispered, “He just noticed us. I saw it out of the corner of my eye.” Then as she pulled back, she said louder, “Your mother is going to laugh so hard when we tell her.”
Jessa’s eyes kept cutting to Nate’s table, but she kept up the laughing farce. Then she stopped as quickly as she’d started. Her eyes grew wide. “He’s coming.”
Brooke couldn’t breathe.
“Hi,” Nate said to Jessa.
“Hey, Nate! So good to see you!” she replied.
Brooke turned toward him and looked up.
“Hi, Brooke,” he said. His hair was shorter, his face mature and angular yet somehow the same. His dark eyes held that sorrowful magnetic depth that still drew her in. The way he looked at her made her pulse quicken—like he saw through the makeup and the outfit and societal expectations and trauma responses and hopes and failures and regrets and long absence and fake laughter to the person she was in her core. A person he liked very much. It was the same way he used to look at her back at camp.
“Hi” was all she could squeak out. There was so much she wanted to say. So many explanations to give. He looked happy. Who was she to assume that he needed or wanted anything from her?
“Do you live in Charleston now?” Jessa asked. Where he lived was the question he would never answer all of those years ago, one of the reasons she could never find him.
Brooke held her breath and he smiled at her before nodding. He lived in Charleston. She felt lightheaded. How long had he been living so close to Goose Island? How many chances to see each other again had they missed? Her eyes went to the girl waiting for him at the table. None of it mattered. It was too late.
“Have you been to the Saltwater Winery over on Goose?” Jessa asked. “Brooke and I work there now.”
Brooke didn’t know if she wanted to hug Jessa’s neck or kick her under the table—hard.
“Maybe I’ll stop by sometime,” he said. “You doing okay?” He asked the question directly to Brooke. She could only nod.
“Good. Well, nice seeing you both.” As he walked away, his left leg was stiff, causing his stride to be shorter on that side and resulting in a limp. Something about it made Brooke’s face heat up and her blood boil. She’d never felt more fiercely like she’d been robbed. Like Libby Trotter had broken into her life and stolen something precious. Nate should have been in her life, somehow, in some capacity, even if they were just friends, for all of those years.
But he’d been taken from her by a lie spat from the mouth of a jealous teenager.