Seven
Last call at the Lusty Oyster, and Landon Kane stood outside the bar. Hands in his pockets. Face to the sky. Breathing deeply. He was in need of fresh air. He had a major buzz going, and hoped to clear his head. Even a little. Two of his teammates were stumble drunk. His own eyes were blurry. He blinked to bring the street into focus.
The morning hour would take him to Boner’s. A bar beyond the city limits that tipped the scale on cheap booze and loose morals. He decided to loop in, loop out. Sleep was suddenly more important than another six-pack.
He crossed his arms over his chest, wrinkling his blue button-down. Then scuffed his short boots on the sidewalk. Where was their limousine? he wondered, scanning the street. One vehicle had already left. A second should be parked in the general vicinity. He just couldn’t locate it. Shit.
The bar door swung wide, and stayed open as after-hour singles became couples. Despite being paired up, women still winked, grinned, and openly flirted with him as they walked by. A brunette took his hand, raised her eyebrows, willing to dump the guy she was with for him. Land shook his head. It wasn’t going to happen. There would be no woman in his life tonight.
Or so he thought, until a black Porsche stopped at the red light on the corner. It was an eye-catcher. Everyone on the sidewalk stared. Including him.
Land knew his classics; he was a collector. The 1965 coupe 911 was undeniably one of his favorites. Moonlight shimmered on its polished surface. Reflected off the windshield. The sunroof was open, and Jon Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” rose on the night air.
He looked closer, checked out the driver. Damn if he didn’t know her. It was Eden Cates, with her wild hair and quirky glasses. He wondered why she was out at this hour. Alone. Driving a hot car on a main party strip.
The traffic light turned green, and she crossed through the intersection, cruising slowly, toward him. Her window rolled down, and she lowered the radio. She blocked traffic. Her glasses sat low on her nose, and she stared at him over the rainbow rims. “O’Rourke, is that you?”
He couldn’t help but grin. She’d called him by his cardboard cutout. “It’s me, Marilyn,” he responded in kind, unreasonably glad to see her. He stepped into the street, and approached her vehicle. “I missed my ride to Boner’s.” He held out his thumb, as if hitchhiking. “Going my way?”
“Not to Boner’s.”
“Where then?”
“Home.”
Her place, why not? “Works for me.” Anywhere was better than standing on the street corner. “Offer me a cup of coffee and I’ll be your best friend.”
“I already have a best friend.”
“Just coffee then?”
How much thought had to go into his question? Yet she took her sweet time responding. Behind them now, a man in a mini-van lay on his horn. Eden needed to move. “Okay, fine,” she finally agreed. “Hop in.”
He was inside before she could change her mind. He dropped on the seat, placed his feet on the floor mat. He inhaled the scent of aging leather and appreciated the original wood of the dash and rimmed steering wheel. He hand-rolled down his window, rested his elbow on the edge. “Nice ride. Yours?” he asked her.
She drove barefoot, he noticed. A gold ankle bracelet flashed when she pushed in the clutch and shifted gears. Her black dress slid above her knee when she released it. Her thighs were toned, lightly tanned. Easy on his eyes.
She rounded the block before answering, “My cousin Zane restores vintage cars in his spare time.”
“Zane, the hurricane hunter?” Rylan spoke of his brother often. Zane was with the Air Force Reserve 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, based at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.
She nodded. “He worked on Geddes for a year. The car was a rusted, dented frame pulled from the junkyard. She’s all original parts. A true beauty now.”
Eden had christened her car. Somehow that didn’t surprise him. It took him a moment to place the name. Anne Geddes. He was disbelieving when he asked, “You named your Porsche after a baby photographer?” Her sports car was high-end luxury. He owned one himself. A later model. Geddes was not a fitting name. Or so he thought. “The woman takes pictures of babies in flowerpots and chocolate Easter eggs. Wrapped in lettuce.”
Her chin went up and her words were clipped. “I admire her talent. She takes emotional photos that go beyond their individual elements.”
Great. He’d ticked her off. He made amends. “My sister has an Anne Geddes calendar.” Twelve months of vegetable infants hung next to the refrigerator. “I got choked up over the baby peas in a pod.”
“No, you didn’t.”
She would be right. “Photography’s subjective,” he said. “I like action shots. Especially in sports. A runner taking a hurdle. A swimmer off the starting block. A basketball player making a jump shot. A hockey player shooting the puck. A race car burnout. A perfect click of the camera stops time.”
She glanced his way. “Sounds intense. Do you shoot?”
“I’ve taken a few photos, now and again.” Quite often, actually. Becoming a professional ballplayer had topped his list of ambitions as a kid. Sports photography came in a close second. Preserving athletes and events on film fascinated him. Their expressions, musculature, told a story. An underdog’s struggle to become success. A star’s tragic moment of defeat. The ultimate win.
Landon drifted with the night. He relaxed deeper in the seat as they cruised the main beach road. The sunroof opened to a partial moon. Numerous stars. The occasional streetlight. He was a day person who found nighttime challenging. His teammates came alive after midnight. Land functioned best on eight hours of sleep.
He turned slightly, asked Eden, “Why are you out so late?”
“I was at a wedding shower for one of my girlfriends. Time got away from us.”
“Partying?”
“Not in the way you were tonight.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You’ve never spoken more than a few words to me on your own. I think Land Shark’s talking for you.”
Whoa. “You know my brand of beer?”
“You and Halo Todd were drinking Land Shark at Rylan’s backyard picnic last year.”
Lady had one hell of a memory or perhaps she’d been more into him than he’d initially imagined. “You were watching me?” he asked.
“I was seated on a lawn chair near the metal ice bucket. You and Halo Todd were discussing fast cars and superheroes. You hit the watering hole hard.”
They’d drunk their fair share of beer. He’d noticed her, too, from the corner of his eye. Wild ponytail, big sunglasses, and a continual smile. Sipping pink lemonade. He remembered her graphic T-shirt designed with small puzzle pieces. His teammate Jake Packer had stood before her overly long, staring at her chest, trying to fit the parts together. Jake never had figured it out. Landon immediately recognized the image as the Eiffel Tower. The observation deck rounded her right nipple.
He hadn’t spoken a single word to her at the picnic. Their second meeting at the boardwalk flower show hadn’t gone much better. She put him on edge. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage.
He yawned, rested his eyes, and she tapped the brake. Jarring him. “No passing out,” she said.
“Not even close.” He was wide-eyed now. He concentrated on the street signs. He knew the basic layout of the town. But didn’t recognize Sandpiper Boulevard or Starfish Way. She turned off the main road, heading east, away from the beach. Driving rural. The two-lane road was paved, but bumpy. Palm and cypress trees flanked the sides. Low-hanging branches made a grab for the Porsche. She eluded them.
“Where to?” They’d been on the back road for fifteen minutes now.
“You’ll see.”
He soon did. Another five, and the woods parted to a small clearing, stalked by vegetation. The Porsche tripped a security system, and flood lights pushed back the darkness at the front of the property. She pulled in, and parked. Killed the engine. Hopped out. Motioned for him to follow her.
He sat tight. For the moment, anyway. He stuck his head out the window, looked around. There was no sign of a house or trailer. Not even a tent. Only the beginning of a stone walkway. Eden had already disappeared down the path.
Where had she gone? Alone in the woods didn’t sit well with him. She might be Rylan’s cousin, but Landon barely knew her. He hadn’t taken her for psycho, but she was quirky. Did she like to scare people? This was the perfect setup for her to jump out of the bushes or sneak up behind him. He was big and strong, and basically fearless. Still, he didn’t like being fooled or played. Not when he could avoid it.
He got out of the Porsche, stretched. Then followed the trail of stones, listening for sounds. Crickets. Frogs. A creepy bird. The change in his pocket jingled. Quarters to feed the jukebox at Blue Coconut. Maybe he should drop a few coins to find his way back. He let two dollars’ worth slip.
The path curved, and dim spotlights brought a tall, latticework arch into view, one woven with vines. When he ducked under, dead leaves crunched beneath his shoes. A small wooden cottage with a steeply-pitched roof was dead ahead. A heavy, scrolled metal sign hung to the left of the entrance: WEDDING CHAPEL.
What the—? It took a minute for his destination to soak in. Why would she bring him here? he wondered. Weird as hell.
The door creaked, and Eden appeared. “Coffee’s made,” she told him. The scent of dark roast crooked a finger and drew him inside. “Welcome to my home.” She stepped back, let him enter.
“You live in a wedding chapel?” His surprise was evident.
“People no longer get married here,” she explained, “not for a long time anyway. William Cates founded Barefoot William in 1906. He met his wife in southwest Florida, and had the chapel built for their ceremony. Many Cateses and future townspeople followed in his footsteps. Eventually, the town outgrew the tiny church, and a larger one was built.”
He appreciated the history. She continued with, “Sophie Cates, Dune’s wife, is the local historian and museum curator. We came across the chapel a few years ago when we were documenting old buildings. Weathered and dilapidated, the church had long since witnessed its last wedding and heard its last sermon. Still”—she gave a soft sigh—“I fell in love with the place. I asked Shaye if I could renovate it as a home. She agreed, but only after I took countless photos for posterity. My cousin Aidan’s a contractor. He did the work, leaving as many original boards and beams as possible.”
Land took it all in. The chapel wrapped him in days gone by. Impressive high ceilings and soaring white walls were balanced by worn, wood floors. Stained-glass windows surrounded the small raised sanctuary. Wall sconces shed light. An ancient upright piano pressed against one wall.
The old and the new. Pretty cool. He followed Eden down a narrow center aisle between several rows of refurbished pews. She ran her hand over the smooth wood. “We were able to save six.”
Just beyond, a modern black leather sofa and glass oval coffee table angled toward an entertainment center and computer pull-out desk. A compact combination.
Then there were the framed photographs. Hundreds of them. Floor to ceiling, they covered every inch of wall space. Eden saw his eyes widen and said, “I shoot more than cutout portraits. I’ve also restored old pictures of William Cates and early family members. The growth of the town, past to present day.”
Landon moved closer to one wall. He didn’t recognize anyone in the black-and-white photos. They dated back to the Model-T and railroads. To a time when the boardwalk had only three stores and industry centered on commercial fishing.
Moving farther along the wall, he came across a picture of Rylan as a boy, playing tee-ball. Then Shaye and her grandfather Frank on the pier. Aidan building a tree house showed his childhood skills as a contractor. The photographs brought a warmth to the chapel. Told the story of lives intertwined, and the way the Cateses had prospered.
He scratched his jaw; there was someone missing here. He cut Eden a look. “Who takes your picture?” he asked her.
“I don’t photograph well.”
“You looked good as Marilyn Monroe.”
“My hair was in my eyes and I was behind a cardboard cutout.”
“I liked it.”
Her brow creased. Color rose in her cheeks. His words seemed to confuse her. “Beer goggles.”
“I’m not drunk, Eden,” he told her straight. “I’ve never used booze as an excuse for my words or actions.”
Their eyes met, and she drew a deep breath. “Me, either.”
“You don’t drink at all, do you?” He had her figured out.
“I enjoy a glass of champagne on special occasions.”
“There’s lots of joy and happiness within these walls. You have an unusual home,” he admired as they crossed the sanctuary and entered the kitchen. A square, two-person space at best.
“This used to be the chaplain’s office,” she informed him. “Aidan constructed a small kitchen.”
Miniscule, actually. He noted the slim-line refrigerator and compact two-burner stove. There was very little counter space. Barely room for the toaster, electric can opener, and Mr. Coffee. No microwave, trash compactor, or dishwasher. The closet door was cracked, and he caught sight of a stackable washer-dryer.
The peaked window over the sink was dotted with pastel Mason jars and vintage glass. She’d planted herbs in tiny galvanized pots. None of her cupboards had doors. Everything was visible at a glance. She kept things neat. She poured his coffee into a ceramic photo mug. Passed it to him. Land studied the action shot. It showcased Rylan scaling the center field wall in order to catch a fly ball.
“I remember that game.” Ry’s heroics were legendary. “We played Tampa Bay in late July. It was a hundred-ten degrees on the field, and the heat beat us down. We felt fried. Bottom of the ninth, and Rogues led by one. Rays took their bat, landed two men on base. Two outs followed. Then their third baseman drilled a fastball to center. It appeared over the wall to those of us in the dugout. Rylan jumped blind against the sun’s glare. So high, we swore he had jet packs in his shoes. He caught the ball. Saved our win.”
“I was at the game,” she said. “I was in Tampa looking at new camera equipment. Ry got me a ticket. I screamed so loud, I was hoarse the next day.” She filled her mug with coffee. A mug with a photograph of Atlas, Ry’s Great Dane. The big dog had a large branch in his mouth. “Atlas helped a tree removal service take out a cypress hit by lightning,” she explained. “Cream or sugar?” she next asked.
“Black’s fine.”
She added a few drops of low-fat milk to her own.
“Stand or sit?” she questioned.
“I’m fine standing.” She didn’t have a table or chairs. There was no need to return to the living room and get comfortable. He wouldn’t be here that long. He did have a question for her though, “Where do you eat?”
“I have TV trays.”
Interesting life style, he thought. He liked different. She was definitely unique. He kept their conversation light. “Rogues have several events coming up. Bonfire tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be taking pictures.”
“I’m looking forward to the charity Dog Jog next weekend. Proceeds benefit the no-kill animal shelter.”
“I’m participating.”
“So is the team. Not all of us have dogs, so we’ll choose from the shelter. Hopefully, once they’re presented in the race, they’ll get adopted.”
“Rylan mentioned entering Atlas.”
“The Dane could win a horse race.”
Eden smiled. “Ry will be fair. He’ll hold him back, give everyone a chance.”
“Dog or cat person?” Land was curious.
The corners of her mouth turned down. “I had one of each. Old age took them. Animals never live long enough.”
“I agree. My parents have a geriatric black Lab, Leopold. Leo gets around, but there are times he sleeps the day away.”
He sipped his coffee, remembered, “I can’t forget Media Day on Monday. We introduce our contest winners to the press. Reporters want us to predict our upcoming season. Then a few personal questions.”
“Personal . . .” The corners of her mouth twitched. “I have a couple.”
He shrugged. “Float your boat, sweetheart. Ask away.”
She immediately questioned his intellect. “What was the last novel, picture, or comic book you’ve read?”
She took him for a dumb jock. “The Martian, by Andy Weir,” he said. “A dust storm, an astronaut left for dead who actually lives—great science fiction.”
Her eyes rounded. “It was a New York Times bestseller.”
“I’m not allowed to read bestsellers?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she assured him. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I’ve read it, too. I’m a fan of survival.”
“For the record, the only comics I read are Sunday funnies.”
“I like Dilbert.”
“Doonesbury.”
She topped off their coffee mugs before asking, “Is your world more free-wheeling or frustrating?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Frustrating tonight,” was damn sure. “Rylan supplied us with two limousines, for safety’s sake. I caught the limo from Blue Coconut to Lusty Oyster. Then a girl grabbed me at the door as I was leaving the Oyster and wouldn’t let go. Woman had a grip. She swore we dated last spring and wanted to start up where we left off. I remember the ladies I’ve been with, and she wasn’t one of them. By the time I cut her loose, the limo was gone.”
“I can’t believe the guys forgot you.”
“I can. They were having too good a time and weren’t keeping count of who was with them, who was not.” He grinned at her then. “I’m glad you came along.”
“Someone would’ve offered you a ride.”
“But not to a wedding chapel.”
“It’s quiet out here. Perfect for one.”
“What about a second person?”
She looked amused. “You asking to move in?”
“Not today,” was his elusive response. He let it hang.
“Give me some notice so I can make room for you.”
She thought he was teasing. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. He honestly didn’t know. He left the door open. For some unknown reason.
She drank her coffee; eyed him over the rim of the mug. Went on to ask, “What fascinates you most?”
No hesitation. “The universe.”
“Vast, Landon.”
“A simple sunrise.”
Artistically, she understood. “The promise of a new day, all painted in red, orange, pink, and gold. There’s no place like the beach at dawn. The colors reflect on the water, and you get a dual-image photograph.”
“I’ll head to the boardwalk one morning.”
“The boardwalk stirs early. Brews Brothers has a strong, dark, wake-up blend. Bakehouse makes the best doughnuts. They have a fresh fruit-filled breakfast pastry that’s amazing. Strawberry’s the best. I buy them by the bakery box.”
“Motivation to get up.”
“Locals know to arrive early.”
She offered him a drop more coffee, but he waved her off. He was clearheaded now. He was having a decent time. Which he’d only admit to himself. Perhaps he’d stay a few more minutes. No longer.
She fidgeted a little with a drawer near the sink that was slightly ajar, opening and reclosing it. Surely she wasn’t nervous around him. At least no more than he was with her. She kept his pulse up. Left his stomach tight. In a good way.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Last time you were inspired?”
He didn’t have to think long. “I’m inspired by people who pull their lives together after injury or illness. I do hospital visits on non-game days. Last fall, an orthopedist at Richmond Memorial asked me to stop by the rehabilitation center and meet a boy named Noah, an eighteen-year-old high school wrestler with both collegiate and Olympic potential. Until he went on his senior trip to Cabo San Lucas.”
“A Mexican playground for graduates.”
“Been there. Done it all. It can get wild. According to his doctor, Noah partied, but he was also responsible. One afternoon he and a couple friends rented WaveRunners at the marina. Noah sat second on the watercraft. His driver was cautious. However his buddies on the second Jet Ski raced around, raising hell, taking chances. An accidental sharp turn, and the two collided. Hard. Noah’s watercraft flipped; came down on him. He nearly died.”
Eden put her palm over her heart. “Oh . . . no.”
“Noah’s father is CEO at the hospital. He’s well-connected. He chartered a plane with medical staff and flew his son back to the States in record time. Concussion, dislocated shoulders, broken arm, ribs, and both legs. After several major surgeries, he started to mend. He’s slowly regained his memory. His speech is improving.”
Her eyes welled and she swallowed hard. “Thank goodness.”
“The day I dropped by the center, Noah recognized me. He follows the Rogues. He was about to take his first steps, using short parallel bars. The physical therapist positioned me at the opposite end. I encouraged Noah to go the distance. I gave him incentive.”
“A bribe?” Eden was curious.
“More or less. I bargained my Rogues baseball cap and jersey if he got halfway through the bars. Then tossed in six home-game tickets if he made it to me.”
She held her breath. “He did, didn’t he?”
“A super struggle that took him nearly an hour, but he got there. With clenched jaw and white knuckles. Some swearing.” He finished off his coffee, set the mug in the sink. “We went to lunch in the cafeteria that day, celebrating. I pushed his wheelchair, and he wore my cap and jersey. One of the therapists lent me a medical scrub top. Noah ate two cheeseburgers and fries. I’ve returned twice to catch his progress. He uses a cane, but can walk on his own now. We stay in touch. He once wanted to become part of the World Wrestling Federation. Doubtful now. He starts college soon. He’s smart, and eyeing a business major.”
“I’m so glad he recovered. I had a close friend in a similar situation. A water skiing accident. He didn’t fare as well. His funeral was last week.” She sighed, her expression sad, right before she hugged him spontaneously. Coffee splashed from her mug onto his shirt. A minor stain. His story touched her. His had a happy ending. Hers had not.
He widened his stance, and she stepped even closer. She fit him. He held her gently; stroked her hair, her back. Until she calmed. He had the strange urge to comfort her. To kiss the top of her head, her brow, the tip of her nose. While his intent was honest, he instinctively knew those kisses would lead to something more. They’d just started a dialogue. He hoped to keep it going. Slow worked best for him.
For her, too, apparently. He curved his hand about her neck, tipped up her chin with his thumb, and felt her skin warm against his palm. She was embarrassed by her show of emotion. “You okay?” he asked. Wiping away her tears with his shirt sleeve.
“Dreams and bodies broken.” Her words were watery. “The world can be harsh.” She eased back, noticed the splatter. “Sorry about that.”
“Coffee stains come out. No big deal.”
She stifled a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You tired of me?”
“It’s not you. I’m sleep deprived.”
“I’m keeping you up.” He glanced at his watch, couldn’t believe it was four a.m. “What time do you get up?”
“Five.”
“An hour’s sleep isn’t much.”
“I manage on very little.”
He reached for his smartphone, and immediately noticed there were a dozen texts from Halo. All asking where he was and who he was with. He sent a quick message. Headed home, and left it at that.
“Name of a cab company I can call?” he asked her.
“Where are you staying?”
“Driftwood Inn.” He’d moved his clothes and important items into the team’s hotel near the stadium. The inn was comfortable, with all amenities. Meals, housekeeping, laundry, spa, anything the men required. Landon appreciated the masseuse the most. He’d scheduled a standing appointment every afternoon following practice. Wind-down time.
“I can take you,” she offered.
“And miss your hour’s sleep? No way,” he teased her. “I don’t want you dropping me off and driving back alone.”
“I drive alone a lot.”
“You need a mannequin or Teddy bear in the passenger seat so it looks like someone’s with you. Much safer.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She scrunched her nose, said, “Try Shoreline Taxi, owned and operated by my cousin Brent.”
“Cateses are everywhere.”
“It is our town.”
Landon made the call. He was told a cab was in the vicinity and to be outside the wedding chapel in five minutes. “Will my coming out of your cottage have people talking?” he asked.
“Who’s up at this hour to gossip?”
“What about the taxi driver?”
“He’ll want to talk baseball, not about me.”
He turned to leave, and she was right behind him. Following him down the aisle and to the door. He glanced over his shoulder, then said, “I have a question for you. When were you last wrong?”
“Tonight. About you.” The words seemed difficult for her to say. “You’re different than I expected.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I’ll let you know at the bonfire,” was all she would give him. “Don’t stand too close to the flames.”
He didn’t need his marshmallows roasted.
* * *
“I see you made it home all right last night,” Eden said to Landon as they stood a good distance from the bonfire that was burning north of the pier. This was no small campfire. More a significant signal fire that could be seen miles out in the Gulf. Firemen and a truck monitored the blaze.
“Halo met me in the parking lot,” Landon relayed. “He’d been out looking, and couldn’t find me. He read me the riot act. Worse than a father.”
“It’s good to have a friend who cares about you.”
“You’re right about that.”
“Where’s your contest winner?” she asked.
“Eleanor Norris needed to use the ladies room. Shaye walked her to the boardwalk facilities.” He ran one hand down his face. “For ninety, she sure is chatty. She informed me of all her ailments and medications and gave me emergency contact numbers should something happen to her.”
“Did she travel alone?”
“She came with her walking cane, Herman. Named after her late husband. She talks to the cane, as if it was a person.”
“I talk to my Porsche.”
“Does Geddes talk back?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“The cane speaks only to Eleanor and she responds.”
“So you can’t hear it?”
“Not yet, but maybe by the end of the week.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks.”
Eden took a moment and looked around, absorbing the atmosphere. She made mental notes on lighting and angles. The types of shots she wanted to take. The bonfire was as private an activity as could occur on a public beach. Yellow tape circled the area. Her cousin Rylan had introduced her to everyone, even those she already knew. He was considerate. Wanting her to feel comfortable at the event. She’d exhaled. Relaxed.
The Rogues starting lineup was out in force. All except Sam Matthews. Apparently the cat whiskers drawn on his face with permanent marker at Boner’s were still visible, even after a hard scrubbing. He refused to draw attention to himself. His winner didn’t mind. The sixty year old elementary school crossing guard from small town Wytheville, Virginia, took Sam’s absence in stride, and hung out with pitcher Will Ridgeway and the disabled veteran.
The attending ballplayers were personable and accommodating to their contest winners. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. Smiles and laughter. Lots of interaction.
The flames danced against the twilight, casting fiery color on the people, across the sand, and into the Gulf. “Your community liaison asked me to take some pictures,” she said to Land. “I need to mingle.”
“Jillian likes to mark the moment. Stop back when you’re done,” he requested. “We need to continue our conversation from last night.”
The fact he wanted to talk with her further made her smile. “Will do, but it could be a while.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Camera bag hooked over her shoulder, Nikon in hand, she walked away from the best-looking man at the bonfire. His freshly creased Florida print shirt and board shorts did him justice. He was pure beach heat.
Over the next hour, she strolled around the fire, capturing the event. She avoided the posers, Zoo in particular, preferring honest, unguarded shots when people weren’t looking.
She moved toward the turquoise lifeguard stand, focusing on Halo Todd and the Jaynes. They gathered beneath the structure, at the cement base. Halo rested one hand on the young boy’s shoulder, brushed arms with his sister, and conversed at length with their mother.
He hunkered down every so often to pet Alyn’s disabled pug in his handicap cart. No dogs were allowed on the beach. But diapered Quigley wasn’t an issue. Quigs barked whenever Halo scratched his ears.
Eden knew Halo only by reputation. The man was hard-edged handsome, and impatient to a fault. Rumors said his relationships were quick and easy. His women, replaceable.
What a difference a year made. The right fielder had acted crazy and immature the previous season. Had thought only of himself. He was calm at the moment. Not the outrageous jerk who’d once made Rylan cringe.
Halo concentrated on the boy, yet his gaze strayed to Alyn. Repeatedly. The camera lens didn’t lie. Eden photographed their souls. Halo showed more than a casual regard. Family man crossed her mind, as she shot several frames. She believed Halo’s interest in the pretty brunette was genuine.
Only time would tell how long it would last. Perhaps Alyn would bring out the best in him. Eden could only hope so. Even from a distance, she sensed Alyn’s vulnerability. Her body language spoke volumes, in the way she dipped her head, half-smiled, and didn’t fully commit to the conversation. It was obvious she had been burned by someone or some situation. Surely Halo was smart enough not to let her down. Not to break her heart.
Eden went on to photograph the catering cart, rolled onto the sand by several husky guys. The opportunity to roast hot dogs and toast marshmallows had arrived. The person in charge passed out long, forked metal skewers. Those wanting to eat gathered near the lower flames.
An hour passed, and she slowly worked her way toward Landon. His back was to her. She watched Eleanor tuck her arm through his, wink, and say, “If only I was sixty years younger.”
To which Land replied, “Or I was sixty years older.”
The older woman sighed. “You’re kind, Landon.”
“And truthful. You’re still a looker.”
Her wrinkles faded into her smile. “How do you like my new T-shirt?” she asked. “I used the restroom at Three Shirts to the Wind, and saw the tee on my way out.” She’d pulled on the red shirt over her white collared blouse. “My new mantra,” she said of the gold script lettering: I WILL NEVER BE OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER.
“Definitely you,” said Landon.
“Herman liked it. He encouraged me to buy it.” Her cane. The shirt was bright, youthful. Eleanor was pleased by her purchase. That’s all that mattered.
Eden focused on the two of them, and took a profile photo. An interesting composition. Darkness backed them, while a mirage of flame crept toward them. It was surreal.
The click of the camera caught Land’s attention. And drew his grin. “You’re back.”
“I’ve made my rounds.” She was glad to return to him.
He seemed happy to see her, too. He gave her a slow wink, and his smile tipped up, sexy and appreciative.
Eleanor looked her over. “I met you earlier. You’re a gypsy.”
Not quite the look Eden was going for, but close to it, she guessed. Free and flirty was the image she’d had in mind when she’d wrapped her hair in a gray-and-silver paisley bandana. A gauzy pink blouse tucked into a pastel, ankle-length, tiered skirt. She carried her orange flip-flops. A coat of raspberry polish on her toenails.
Eleanor eyed her still. “You snapped my picture as I came down the boardwalk stairs, holding on to Landon’s arm. Landon was great support. Both he and Herman.”
“Would you like a copy?” Eden asked. “I print duplicates.”
“Yes, I would.” Eleanor extended her hand, touched Eden on the arm. “I like you, dear. You’re most kind.” She looked toward the caterer’s cart. “What’s it take to get a weenie?” she requested. “Do I have to roast my own?”
“I’ll roast you one,” Land offered. “Hot dog buns are available at the cart. What would you like? Ketchup, mustard?”
“The works,” Eleanor replied. “I took an antacid earlier today. So lots of relish and pile on the onions.” She nudged Eden with her cane. “You go with him. Make sure he gets it right. I’m going to wander over and meet that handicapped dog. Cute little pug. I hope he doesn’t bite.”
“Quigley is gentle,” Landon assured her. “The back half of his body is paralyzed, and he has an occasional twitch. Don’t let that scare you.”
“Poor little guy. I’ll try not to frighten him with my own aches, pains, pops, and twitches. Old age is challenging,” she said. “I still get around. Thanks to Herman.” She shuffled through the sand toward the lifeguard stand.
“She’s a neat lady,” Eden said as they headed toward the big metal cart. “Spunky.”
“Eleanor’s adventurous,” said Land. “She’s traveling with a friend to Peru and China next year. They want to climb Machu Picchu and walk the Great Wall, which could take some time.”
“How old is her friend?”
“Ninety-five.”
“Good for them,” Eden admired. “I hope I never slow down.”
“You have too many pictures to take to ever retire.”
“I capture life on film,” she slowly said. “I need to get out and live it more.”
“Where would you start?”
“I’ve lived in Barefoot William all my life. There’s no place like it.” She loved her home, but she also dreamed. “I’d love to photograph Europe. From the cities to the countryside. Soak in the culture and history.”
“Richmond has history. Old mansions and Civil War battlefields. Cemeteries,” he noted. “Museums and monuments.”
“I want to travel outside the States.”
“Why? When there’s so much to see here.”
Her heart was set on going abroad. “Where are you from, Landon?”
“Milwaukee.”
“Cheese,” she murmured. “I always associate cheese with Wisconsin.”
“We’re more than dairy land,” he said. “Wisconsin Dells, Lake Geneva, Green Bay, an incredible place.”
“I believe you,” she said, then had to add, “every time I make a grilled cheese, I’ll think of you.”
“You eat the sandwich often?”
“Several times a week.”
“I’ll be on your mind a lot.”
Yes, he would.
They reached the caterer’s cart, and stood in line for their hot dogs and long, metal roasting skewers. Eden scanned the boardwalk and shops while they waited. Loud voices and merriment rose on the night air. A huge crowd hovered at the railing, catching the activity of the bonfire below. The Rogues dominated the town during spring training. Wherever they were, people wanted to be. Once the event ended, those watching would swarm the ballplayers.
Nighttime entertainers emerged, visible beneath the neon signs and pole lights. Slow-moving stilt walkers towered over the crowd. Unicyclists maneuvered in tight circles. Pedicab service stalled. The rickshaws were swallowed in the crush.
“Six inch or foot-long?” Landon asked, nudging her arm.
The line had progressively moved forward, and they were next to order. She was hungry, but wasn’t certain she could manage the larger of the two. “Six,” she decided.
Landon gave the caterer their order. “One six and two foot-long.”
Eden couldn’t help but grin. “You’re getting Eleanor a big one?”
“And you’re going to take her picture when she eats it.”
Eden liked his idea. “A Kodak moment. A photo worth framing.”
The food server skewered their hot dogs. They crossed back to the bonfire to roast them. Once cooked, they would return to the cart for buns and condiments.
They stood on the edge of the flames, had their own techniques for roasting. Eden had campfire days behind her, and she cooked her hot dog evenly.
Even though Landon turned his skewers, the meal caught fire. He shook the skewers to put out the flame. “Crispy but not completely burnt,” he muttered.
“Eleanor will appreciate whatever you bring her,” Eden assured him. “You’re covering it with the works.”
Land blew out a breath. “You’re right. She’ll barely be able to taste the hot dog with mounds of relish and onions.”
They soon walked back to the cart. “You can toast the marshmallows,” he suggested. “Eleanor likes them golden brown.”
She took his mention of the marshmallows as an invitation to stick around. She would hang out for a while. Take a few more pictures.
Juggling paper plates, napkins, and sodas, they located Eleanor. She saw them coming, and met them halfway. The older woman’s eyes popped when Landon passed her the food. “A foot-long! I haven’t had one since 1937,” she reminisced. “Virginia State Fair, I was twelve.”
“Did you eat the whole thing back then?” asked Land.
“Hot dog and a basket of onion rings.” She sighed. “I’ll be lucky to get through a third of it now.”
It became a balancing act to hold the sodas and plates, and eat all at the same time. Land was considerate. “There are beach chairs, if you’d rather sit.”
“I sit so much of the day, it’s good to stand tonight.” Eleanor dug in.
“Hold my plate?” Eden asked Landon. She side-eyed Eleanor. “Photo op.”
Eden took a series of six pictures. They were priceless. Her favorite was Landon taking a napkin to Eleanor’s cheek when she smeared mustard. The older woman surprised them both, and even herself, when she polished off the foot-long. She grinned. “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.”
Landon had accomplished the same feat. He was a big guy, Eden thought, and could’ve gone for seconds. He didn’t. Instead he winked at Eleanor and asked, “Did you save room for marshmallows?”
“Maybe one, but only after I walk around a bit and my food settles. Don’t wait for me to enjoy your own.” She handed Landon her empty plate, then took a final sip of her soda. Land took the empty can from her. She then looked around, came to a decision. “I’ve chatted with Danny, Halo’s contest winner. I’ve not spent any time with the war veteran. I need to express my gratitude to him for serving our country.” She was gone. Which left Eden and Landon alone.
“I love her spirit,” said Eden.
“I immediately knew when I read her letter that she was my front-runner.”
“A man fast to judgment.”
“Not often. I always weigh my options. Decide what’s best for me. For the long run.”
“I tend to be cautious, too.”
“Even with me?”
“Especially with you.”
“You mentioned last night I was different than you expected. How so?”
She finished off her hot dog before responding. What should have been one bite, became three.
Landon eyed her, amused. “You’re stalling.”
She delayed further by taking slow sips of her soda. She stretched out the last swallow as long as she could.
“Good to the last drop,” said Landon.
She’d drained the can, and her throat was again dry. It was difficult to speak. “I didn’t like you when we first met,” she forced out. “You blew me off.”
His brow creased. “Time and place?”
“Last season. Flower show on the boardwalk.”
His gaze narrowed and his jaw worked. Momentarily confused. “That’s not how I remember it,” he talked it out. “I saw you seconds before your cousin Shaye introduced us. You were hyped, happy, and dancing down the boardwalk. To the music in your head. No partner, just you.”
Sheryl Crowe’s “Soak Up the Sun” was her go-to beach song.
“You had a big pink flower in your hair—”
“A gerbera daisy,” she remembered.
“You wore dark blue wraparound Ray-Bans. I couldn’t see your eyes. I had no idea if you were looking at me or at someone else on the boardwalk. I kept glancing over my shoulder to see who’d caught your attention. You barely said two words, so I looked away.”
She’d been staring at him. Intently. Her heart racing. The man was gorgeous. Blindingly so. When she hadn’t held his attention, she’d danced herself away. Two-stepping and twirling to the mental beat of “No Time Left” by The Guess Who. He hadn’t been on her list of repeat performances. Not for a year anyway. Here they stood now. Discussing a misunderstanding on both their parts. It felt good to air it out.
“So . . .” he released on a long breath. Scrubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “Are you interested in knowing me now?”
“I’ll let you know after you toast me a marshmallow.”
“You saw what I did to the foot-longs.”
“You’re in luck, Landon. I happen to like them burnt.”