Chapter Twenty-One
N ana in a bathing suit was a sight to see. She was fearless, standing on the half-sunk dock like she was sixteen, gorgeous, and invincible. Cornelia sat beside her in a pair of shorts and her grungiest blue-and-white-striped puff-sleeved blouse, which wasn’t grungy at all. They looked like friends instead of in-laws. Brooke couldn’t hear what they were saying from the top of the hill near The Doghouse, but it appeared as if Nana was performing a comedy act given the way Cornelia had her head thrown back with laughter.
The place was a mess. Brooke, Jessa, and Libby moved from rotting buildings, over downed limbs, and across rain-soaked ground covered with layers of pine needles thicker than a shag carpet. They were all trying to stay positive when the fact was, not only did a month seem 365 days too short to pull off a wedding in a disaster area, but they had no idea from whom to get permission. Did the former proprietors of Camp Dogwood still own it, or did it now belong to a bank?
Brooke checked her phone for a text from Nate. There’d been a good-morning text at six A.M. but nothing since. She barely had service out here, so that was probably why. She stuffed her phone into the pocket of her sundress and forced her brain back to imagining Libby’s wedding. Libby had just as much claim to Camp Dogwood as Brooke did. So why she felt like she didn’t want to share it made no sense. How could she feel so possessive about something that wasn’t hers? Something that had never been hers? Like Nate. He’d never been hers either, yet she felt like she alone had dibs on him. Every potentially interested person in all seven continents, and heck, in all of the infinite universes, had better back off.
To her surprise, Libby hadn’t made one passive-aggressive comment for the entire hour they’d been together. Not only was she strangely quiet, she was downright nice. The chances that her tears from the day before had actually been genuine were increasing.
“So, if we can get permission, we’ll have to figure out electricity. Can you imagine twinkle lights all around the woods leading the swimmin’ hole?” Jessa asked, much more enthusiastic about planning a wedding than Brooke would have ever guessed she would be.
“And if we can get the dock fixed, you could walk down the hill from The Doghouse,” Brooke said. “Maybe have an arch of flowers at the end by the water? It would be so pretty. Or, if it rains, we could always do up the inside of The Doghouse. Remember the dance?” The last part gave her a pang of regret. The dance that happened right after Nate left. The one where Gates spun her around and claimed her as his own. His classic good looks—tall and dark with perfectly straight white teeth, and dark-lashed eyes that held both blind entitlement and a crinkly sort of appreciation always surprised her. She should have had shivers all over her body. She should have been dizzy with excitement. But as a fifteen-year-old girl dancing with the Prince Charming of Camp Dogwood, she’d felt nothing. She remembered his arms heavy on her shoulders as he swayed to the music. “Hey, can you do something for me?” he’d asked, leaning down and speaking directly into her ear.
Brooke stayed silent.
“Say whisper .”
It was a strange thing to ask. “Did you say whisper ?”
As soon as her lips were in the “R” shape, Gates abruptly kissed her. She was so caught off guard that she just held still and let him. So he kissed her again. That time, she partially kissed him back, mostly as a reflex. He would never need to know that her heart had plummeted to her feet and her neck became hot with embarrassment because everyone in the room had seen them. Her first kiss with Nate had been just two days earlier and already she was kissing someone else. Every eye watched them pressed together in a slow dance, and she hid her face in his chest. She hated herself. Yes, the hottest guy at camp had chosen her, and that should feel good, but she didn’t want the attention, and she didn’t want him. There was no victory for a two-timing, weak, selfish, tramp. She wished to God that Gates was Nate.
Details. Timing. So many things had to go right in order for a couple to get together. And even more for them to stay together. Nate was the right person at the wrong time back then. But who was he now? The right person at the right time? Could she possibly be so lucky?
Brooke tried hard to stay focused on wedding ideas, but the truth was, it was impossible to be anywhere near Camp Dogwood without thinking about Nate. It was hard to think about where to set up the cake table when all she wanted to do was run to the lighthouse and sit on its concrete platform, alone with her hopes and fantasies. Alone with her what-ifs and could-bes.
Cornelia let out a yelp, and all three girls turned to look as Nana managed to both tread water and yank Cornelia by the ankle.
“No, Grace! I am not coming in the water! I’m not wearing a swimmin’ suit!”
The girls walked closer to the scene as Nana yanked harder and Cornelia began to lose precious dock space for her behind. Nana’s cackle reverberated off the trees, soon joined by the piercing sound of Cornelia’s scream and a subsequent splash. When Cornelia came up for air, she sputtered, “Grace Warter, Trig is going to think I look like a drowned rat.”
“Good,” Nana said. “He’s probably sick and tired of you always looking like you just came off the floor of a wax museum anyhow.”
Cornelia ducked under the water to slick the hair back from her face. “Lord, it’s been a long time since I’ve been swimming.”
“You’re welcome,” Nana said.
“It’s freezing.” Cornelia breast-stroked her way toward shore.
“Not if you stay in longer!”
“Did you bring a towel?” Cornelia shouted back.
“I’ll get it,” Brooke called out, jogging back toward Jessa’s car. She hadn’t failed to notice that Nana had brought a beach bag the size of a large cooler. She checked her phone again along the way. Nothing from Nate. But why would there be? He was surely in Charleston, back at work, and very busy. Anyway, he’d texted good morning and she replied by wishing him a nice day. She hadn’t asked a question. He wasn’t leaving her hanging. How much more did she want?
She grabbed the bag, which felt like it weighed as much as a medium-sized pig. No wonder Nana left it in the car. She hauled it down to the dock and plunked it on a freshly sun-dried wooden picnic table and pulled a towel out from the top. “Here you go, Mother,” Brooke said.
Cornelia, sopping wet, her bra visible beneath her now see-through blouse, reached for it. Nana stayed in the water, happily doing the backstroke like she was a teenager instead of an eighty-year-old grandmother.
“What’s in here, Nan?”
Nana flipped over and breast-stroked closer. “One call to Fred last night and we have ourselves a traditional lunch today.”
Traditional lunch? It was only eleven, not quite time to eat. But Brooke hadn’t intended to spend the whole day here, or even half of the day. What if Nate wanted to see her? “Is anybody hungry? Should we eat now?”
Nana was already exiting the lake. Brooke couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Nana without her painted-on eyebrows. She was really quite pretty. Her body was a testament to the effects of age and gravity, but also to a lifetime of active living. Cornelia handed her the towel, and Nana bent easily to dry her feet, wiping her way up to her head, where she carefully patted her face, even though her eyebrows had long since washed off.
“Now,” she began, “back when we’d come here in the summers, we would always pack egg salad. Your granddaddy would be so disappointed if we didn’t have the egg salad. Sometimes I think they were just trying to be difficult what with asking for mayonnaise-type sandwiches in the summertime. Back then it wasn’t as easy to keep things cold. Anyhow, I’d always add a side of those little sweet pickles. They were his favorite.” She dug through the bag. “Fred said he had some.” A minute later, she victoriously pulled out a jar of sweet gherkins. “We’ve got the fried chicken, and the—”
“Nana, did you just say you used to vacation here?” Brooke was stunned. Was it just another made-up story?
“Oh, yes. Our friends owned this place. We spent weekends swimming all day and sleeping in the lighthouse. Isn’t that just the end-all be-all?”
“Nana, are you talking about Nate’s grandfather?”
Nana waved the conversation away like a bothersome fly. “His son and daughter-in-law died in a plane crash, so the topic was not to be discussed.”
“Those were Nate’s parents.”
A flash of compassion came over her face, and she looked like she was trying to remember. “What were their names? David and Stella? Yes, David and Stella Daugherty.” Brooke watched as Nana’s face darkened, her emotions stuffed back down where they’d been before. “And why does it matter?”
“Because of Nate, Nana! You knew his family!”
“And the next time I see him, I will tell him that I once knew his family. I’m sure there are hundreds of other folks who also knew them.”
Nana acted like it was no big deal. But for Brooke, it was a clear sign that Nate was supposed to be in their lives. At least in hers . Their families were connected in ways that should mean something. Brooke looked around for Libby and saw that she was heavy in conversation with Jessa, far enough away that she wouldn’t hear.
“Is it a coincidence that he has come back into my life, that Mother had him in her eighth-grade class, and that you knew his grandparents? Doesn’t that seem unlikely?”
“Oh.” Nana chuckled with a wicked smile. “I see where you’re going with all of this. You’re talking about the fishing line—those invisible strings that reel us in.”
“Right. We’re attached somehow. I knew it from the first time I saw him.”
“You did not have this same sort of attachment with Gates?”
“No, Nan. I questioned it all the time. There was nothing wrong with him, but I kept wondering if he was right for me and if I was right for him. I was never comfortable. Does that make sense?”
“Darlin’, if you’re wondering if it’s right, then it’s probably wrong.”
“I need to talk to Dottie about the fishing lines,” Brooke said. “They’re reeling us all in. I can feel it.”
“If you talk to that woman,” Nana said, “I want the full story.”
Brooke appreciated Nana’s interest, considering Cornelia thought Dottie was full of hot air.
Nana’s eyes twinkled, and she flashed a knowing smile. “So, you’re in love with this boy.”
“I never said that. It’s too soon. But I’ve always felt love for him.”
“And you met him here.”
“Yes, years ago. And we were just at the lighthouse yesterday.”
“He knew how to work the door?” she asked, with a clear appreciation for the magnitude of the spinning and pulling required.
“He did.” Brooke wanted to go back there with him, have him open the door again.
“That lighthouse was once my favorite place in the world,” Nana said. “You know I have never been a morning person, but I’d get up early just to watch the sunrise from up top near the beacon.” She shook her head at the memory, like it was hard to believe it actually happened. “Oh, dear. What a time we had. It was just a couple of summers that we had here. Our kids had gone off into the world and our little group was having a renaissance. It was like we were young again. Your granddaddy and Caleb Daugherty were good friends. I was fond of his wife as well, but she died early on.”
So that was the Caleb she’d mentioned a while back. Nate’s grandfather. Brooke felt closer to her grandmother in that moment than she had in a long time.
“What are y’all talking about?” Cornelia sat on the bench near them, her hair towel-dried and recently fluffed.
“Just this place,” Nana said. “How magical it is.”
“I do like it here,” Cornelia said. “It’s a mess, but there is quite a bit of potential.”
“It only takes about fifteen minutes to get over to Goose Island on Duke’s boat,” Nana said. “But you might as well drive to New York City for the time it takes to drive a car over here.”
“It’s only forty-five minutes,” Cornelia said.
“Only.” Nana smirked. “That’s like half the time I have left on this earth.”
“Oh, stop it, Grace. You’ve got a long time left.”
“Speaking of time,” Nana said, digging through her bag again. “I believe it is time to have us some lunch. I see that Fred added in some of his homemade Moon Pies, bless that man’s sweet soul.”
Brooke brushed dirt and pine needles from the table with a napkin, then helped set out the food. She hadn’t planned to stay long enough to need a meal but thank goodness Nana had. Something about Camp Dogwood made her want to slow down and stay as long as possible.
Libby and Jessa joined them at the table. Jessa chowed like a grown man with a bodybuilder’s metabolism, and Libby pulled the crispy skin from a chicken leg and ate only the meat before claiming she was full. Nobody questioned her. In one month, she would need to fit into a bridal gown.
Nana and Cornelia went off to check the creek for watercress. There was nothing like the delicate pepperiness it added to salads, and it was hard to find in the grocery stores. Brooke left Jessa and Libby to brainstorm wedding ideas and took a hike to the lighthouse. She wanted to see it again, and was also hoping to find some cell reception. She sat on the weathered concrete steps and texted Nate. “ You’re not going to believe this. My nana and your grandfather knew each other. She used to come here and stay in the lighthouse!”
She waited for a response, but none came. The sound of the waves lapping the shore and her full belly made her tired, so she climbed up onto the gray square platform of the lighthouse and stretched out in a particularly shady spot. It was crazy how just the day before there had been a ferocious storm, and today the sun shone sweet and hot like it’d been napping and was happy to be refreshed and awake again.
Brooke didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when her phone rang. She answered it while still lying down. It was Cornelia asking where she was; the group was ready to go. The sun had moved, beaming heat onto Brooke’s spot. For the first time, she looked up, and noticed a small white canvas bag hanging from a hook underneath the rounded edge of the second level. She stood on her tiptoes to get a better look. Could it be a wasp’s nest? No, the strings were evident. It was definitely a bag of some sort. Maybe it held pennies to keep the flies away? But those were usually hung in plastic bags filled with water. It made no sense.
She would need a small ladder to reach it. She tried jumping. If someone was around to give her a boost, she could get it. As it was, she kept missing by about a foot. There was nothing she could use to step on. And, truth be told, she didn’t want to share her find with her mother or Nana, and certainly not Libby. Jessa was with all of them, so the best bet would be to leave the bag here and come back for it another time. It looked grungy, like it’d been weathered for years. Hopefully, no one else would find it between now and when she had a chance to return.
It would be a great excuse to bring Nate. If he would ever text her back.