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Mendo sniffs. “It’s an interesting coincidence that Tillie’s from the same place, that’s all.”
My feet sink into the sand as we get to the damper part of the beach, closer to the marsh where the crabs live and breed.
“I’m sure a thousand tourists from Atlanta come through here, and I never know it.”
“But this time you do.”
“Irrelevant.” My tone is harsh. I’m done with this line of talk.
We arrive at the lot, Mendo’s junker Jeep and my motorcycle the only vehicles taking up spaces. I have a car for when I need to move inventory into the hut, but I prefer the freedom of the motorcycle for most things.
“See you tomorrow,” Mendo says. “I have bookings all afternoon, but I’ll head to the booze brawl the moment I get in.”
I stop walking. “You aren’t going to be there?”
He waves a hand at me. “You didn’t consult me on the time. But I’ll send judges, like I said. Morrie will do it. Chuck too. I’ll find a third.”
“We should get a girl. Otherwise, she’ll think it’s biased.”
“I’ll get two girls then. Anya and June.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll put up flyers. I bet I can get Trubido to mention it on the radio.”
“It’s not going to be that big of a deal.”
“It might.”
“It’s a beach hut. I can’t even handle a big crowd.”
“You’ll have her to help. Don’t knock it.” He steps up into his Jeep with a wave.
I shove my helmet on while Mendo goes through his routine to get the engine to fire up. Then we’re both circling out of the lot, Mendo heading to his house off the highway. I aim my bike toward my apartment on the edge of town.
Normally I take Saturday mornings to work out, run numbers, and check on my investments. I’ve been saving, but I’m not sure what for. The future seems a nebulous thing, fuzzy and far away.
But apparently, tomorrow morning I’m meeting up with a blue-eyed tourist from Atlanta, Georgia.
And there’s no accounting for why the very thought of it makes my pulse race.
Chapter 5
TILLIE
Lila and Rosie are already up when I slide out of bed and start the coffee. My sister is one of those annoying morning people who begins the day with a bright, shiny personality and no need to slam caffeine to get there.
Little Rosie gets up at the butt-crack of dawn, as cherubic and giggly as a cartoon baby. The two of them have their routine, flowing in and out of cuddles, meals, diaper changes, and toy appreciation with a silent communication I envy.
Ensley and I have marveled at how Lila took so easily to motherhood, given our lack of a mother ourselves. Mom died only a few months after giving birth to me, and with Lila barely two years older, we don’t have much example between the two of us.
We all have helped Lila with Rosie since she can’t afford day care while working at a pizza joint. My role was critical back when Rosie was an infant. I could easily manage the three to six a.m. shift because I got home around then anyway.
But now she’s sixteen months and sleeps through the night. And Ensley will be gone. We’ve been practicing a new pattern of work and childcare for the last month in preparation. Ensley’s new house with Drew is deep in Atlanta, a good hour drive in traffic.
We’re on our own, but Lila and I are firmly together on this. She’s been through enough letdown and abandonment. We all have. Nothing would make me leave her while she needs me.
Lila pours juice into a sippy cup, Rosie on her hip. The baby has wrapped Lila’s long pale hair around both fists. “I’d say I’m jealous of your snorkeling trip, but we both know it’s a lie.”
