Destiny Lingers (7 page)

Chapter
Eight

T
he two-hour jet flight between New York and Greensboro, North Carolina, goes without a hitch this early Saturday morning. It’s the little puddle-jumper between Greensboro and Wilmington that’s now got my stomach churning. The sniffling toddler behind us, kicking my seat, doesn’t help. Nor does Garrett’s constant complaining about the high cost of our last-minute tickets from New York to North Carolina.

“Fasten your seatbelts, please. We are about to take off,” chirps the perky blonde flight attendant standing in the aisle in front of us and the other dozen or so passengers at God’s mercy aboard this tiny, toy-like plane. The young woman standing there in the position of saving our lives looks more like a college cheerleader than someone with in-air crisis training.

“We should arrive in Wilmington in … oh …” She checks her dainty gold bracelet watch with a happy smile. “I’d say about forty-five minutes.” She pops her head sideways with a bounce of one of her shoulder-length curls. She’s beaming with pride, as if she’s just guessed the right answer on a TV game show. I almost want to jump up and pin a gold star on her pumped-up chest, which I notice Garrett is admiring.

“Can I get y’all something?”

Well, okay. I forgive her. At least she’s attentive.

“Sure. Some water, please.”

“I’ll have a stiff Bloody Mary,” Garrett interjects.

“Honey, are you sure? This early in the morning?” I whisper. But Garrett seems convinced that a strong drink will help calm his nerves. It’s Garrett’s dang nerve after a few drinks that concerns me right now, especially fearing how he might react if provoked by my parents.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” Garrett motions to the flight attendant. “Make it a double.” He then turns his eyes out the small plastic window of the tiny plane.

“O-kay …” The happy hostess smiles brightly. I take a second look at this cheery young lady with the big smile stretched across her face, who just moments ago was simply a southern belle waitress in the sky. But somehow, all of a sudden, as she smiles down at me, with Garrett’s back to us both, she feels like an ally. It’s as if she knows my story, senses my sadness, and feels my confusion, my pain, and my desperation for everything in my world to be back to what it used to be when everything was good, and I felt loved. She may forever hold my secret, as she has probably sensed and seen so many times before on this short and bumpy flight.

“How ’bout some
peanu
-uts
?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” I smile.

“You suuure?” she drawls.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks so much.”

Garrett shoots me an incredulous look.

“You turning into a little southern belle too now?”

“What?” I shoot him back a menacing look that says, “Do not even try.”

But things certainly have changed from the bustling streets and hustling lives we share in New York City. Here, in the not so bustling South, there are men on this plane wearing checkered shirts and polyester pants. One old man even wears overalls.

“Hey, baby.” Garrett nudges me with his elbow. “You think ol’ grandpa over there might be married to one of those gals who wears a housecoat and curlers to the grocery store?” He cracks up at his own joke. “Welcome back to backcountry USA!”

I try to defend my home state. “Well, at least most people are sweet and hospitable down here. I mean, down here, a smile really does mean a smile.”

“Yeah,
right
,” Garrett says with a smirk. “They smile when they cut you! Then they come visit you in the hospital, bring you a pie, and ask how your mama and ’nem is. And that big ol’ smile never leaves their southern faces. Yeah, welcome back to the South, baby! Come
hang
with us!” Garrett laughs at his own joke.

Nuthin’ could be finer than to be in Carolina in the mo-or-or-ning,
is all my heart sings.

The little plane suddenly dips and swerves a bit, caught momentarily in a strong gust of wind. I instinctively grab Garrett’s arm, and he comforts me, even though the concerned look on his face lets me know he is as startled and caught off guard as I am. My heart is skipping as I pray we’ll reach home safely. I take a long sip of my cool water, hoping it will help me chill. I am comforted by the lush green fields and miles of pine trees down below.

On the horizon, the deep green fades into an even deeper blue, and I know it is Mother Ocean not far away. The little houses dotting the fields of crops on the farms below make the land look like a Monopoly game board. The plane’s motor continues its loud humming as we glide over the miles and miles of pine trees and fertile earth toward the deep blue Atlantic Ocean. I can’t help but admire God and His works as I marvel at this bird’s-eye view of my rich Tar Heel state. It’s hard to believe that I spent so much time and energy trying to run away from this southern land. I was the only one of all the generations of my family to ever “flee North.” Now, oddly enough, I find myself fleeing right back home again to find tranquility—not only a safe, calm, and peaceful feeling, but Tranquility is also the name my grandfather gave our family beach house three generations ago. It was one of the very first black-owned beachfront properties in North Carolina. Before it was built in 1948, establishing the Ocean City section of the island, blacks weren’t allowed on the beach. The oceanfront was reserved by the law just for whites. But my grandparents joined some other wealthy black families in helping change that.

Garrett and I finally arrive in Wilmington, where we grab our luggage and rent a car to make the thirty-mile trek to the island, where I cannot wait to see my parents and Aunt Joy, who I know is going to be, as she calls it, “tickled brown” to see us. I smile to myself as we make the turn out of the airport driveway and hit the old familiar Route 50 East, the little two-lane highway to Topsail Island.

Garrett is still grumpy, despite his double Bloody Mary. “I hate that you guys live so far from the airport,” he whines.

“Aw, c’mon, G,” I tease. “Hell, getting to the Hamptons in all that New York traffic is a lot worse. Here, you get to enjoy the quaint uniqueness of the southern countryside along the way. Honey, just look out the window, please, and try to relax.” I gently rub Garrett’s hand.

The southern scenes are serene and beautiful. I get a big rush as we drive past some fruit-and-vegetable stands. Most of the hand-built wooden structures are set up on the very land on which the fruit and vegetables are grown, manned by farmers and their families right there in their own front yards. I am comforted by the gentleness of humanity down here as I watch barefooted children bagging fruit and helping old ladies to their cars. Country kids can run across anything barefooted—tobacco fields, gravel driveways, hot asphalt, and seashelled beaches, just as I did as a kid growing up here, at the beach and in the country in the summertime.

“Oh, Garrett, let’s stop at one of those stands. We can bring home some fresh fruit and vegetables for the house.”

“Now, Dest, you know good and well that your mother has already packed that fridge with enough food to feed an army.”

“I know, but it’s tradition—we have to stop and shop.
Pl
ease
?”

Garrett finally surrenders, continuing down the little country road until he spots another fruit-and-vegetable stand, this one situated in the parking lot of an antiquated gas station. He pulls over and parks under a shady tree in the gravel drive.

“Okay, southern belle. Here’re your plantation fruits and veggies. Shop till you drop.”

“C’mon, sweetie, we won’t be long,” I say as I get out of the car. I can already smell the sticky sweetness of fresh cantaloupe, ripe peaches, and watermelon.

“Get some of those big-ass tomatoes too, babe,” Garrett calls to me.

“You got it,” I call back in my excitement and the hope that maybe Garrett is finally coming around.

“And how about a bunch of those wildflowers for Aunt Joy too.”

“I will!” I blow a great big kiss to my thoughtful man and then busy myself with the produce, enraptured by this beautiful display of God’s natural glory. I will do everything I can to make Garrett feel at home and loved and not like a fish out of water this weekend.

I fill my brown paper bags with peaches, okra, string beans, and corn, which will all go perfectly with one of these huge, beefy tomatoes. A gigantic one catches my eye, and I know it will make Garrett’s mouth water. I can’t remember when I last saw a fresh tomato this humongous, certainly not in Harlem.

“Take a look at this one, Garrett,” I squeal, turning slowly to reveal the enormous red tomato cradled in the palm of my hand. “How’d you like me to slice this one up on your fresh little salad, Big Daddy?”

But Garrett is not there. Instead, there stands an old, snaggletoothed white man, grinning at me as he picks through the plump peaches.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. Please forgive me,” I say, totally embarrassed. “I thought you were my husband. He was just standing here—I thought.”

“If you’re talking about that young colored fellow, I seen him over there by the station on the pay phone.” The old man nudges his head in that direction.

“Thank you, sir,” I say. Why in the world would Garrett be using the pay phone way out here in the middle of nowhere? After adding a few more tomatoes to our basket, I realize my purse is locked in the car, and Garrett is still nowhere to be found. Who could Garrett be talking to all this time?

Worried, I make my way over to the station, and I finally spot Garrett on the pay phone, waving his hands emphatically as he carries on in a heated conversation. My poor husband never stops working, even on a Saturday during a holiday weekend. But enough already—we promised we’d leave our jobs in New York and enjoy this free time together. So I march across the gravel drive, determined to hold my precious press prince to that promise if it’s the last thing I do.

As I get closer, Garrett’s voice gets louder. He does not notice me, as he is in deep conversation and his back is turned.

“I’m sorry … Look, I said I’m
sorry
.” I hear him pleading into the phone. “I know. I
know,
but it was a last-minute thing … I didn’t have a choice … No! I
couldn’t
get out of it. … I know you’re upset, but Evie, please!” Garrett slaps his forehead and runs his thick fingers through his freshly cut hair. He suddenly spins around in midsentence. Garrett locks his eyes with mine, with a look of complete shock on his face.

“
Stevie
,” he says into the phone but in a much-different tone this time and still not taking his eyes off mine. “Stevie, let me call you back later, man. But as I said, I’m sorry. I’m not available this weekend.” Garrett places the receiver back on the hook. “Can you believe those bastards? They actually thought I would work today. I tell ya—that Stevie!”

I look at Garrett with a blank stare. I could have sworn I just heard him say “Evie,” not “Stevie.”

“Who’s Stevie?” I ask. “I’ve never heard you mention that name before.”

“Aw, he’s the new guy,” Garrett explains. “A real punk on the assignment desk. Always trying to get me to work overtime and weekends. And now, the holiday.”

“Ah, I see,” I say, but I don’t.

“C’mon, babe, let’s grab our stuff and get out of here. Everybody’s waiting for us, and we don’t want to be late for Barbara’s
big brunch
,” Garrett teases.

I smile. “You’re right about that.”

Maybe I did mishear Garrett. Maybe I am mistaken. Maybe I’m just too sensitive right now, overwhelmed with stress and jumping too quickly to an unfair conclusion. But I swear I’m not mistaken about the name I heard Garrett say. Still, all I know is that whoever was on the other end of that phone is very clear that my husband is with me this weekend, and that makes me glad. This long weekend on Topsail may very well change everything.

Just a few miles away from the little drawbridge that takes us across the intercoastal waterway and onto Topsail Island, I get a whiff of the fresh salt air as it boldly eases its way through the dank scent of the dark Tar Heel soil. The sides of the road have now given way to sandy banks, dunes, and tall blades of sea grass swaying in the gentle ocean breeze.

I roll down the windows as I did as a child. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, with the wind and afternoon sun in my face. I thank God for this feeling of freedom. Garrett takes my hand and squeezes it tightly.

“We’re here,” he says with a smile. The lines in his face seem to have relaxed a bit. Perhaps peace is beginning to find us here. At least, that’s what I hope comes out of our dream vacation as I pray we also come out of our nightmare and finally find tranquility.

Chapter
Nine

T
he beach house is just as I remember it, looking like a little white matchbox with a black shingle hat atop four long toothpick-like legs. But there she is—Tranquility, standing tall, simple, and proud against the baby-blue sky and Mother Ocean’s deep blue-green. My eyes sting with tears, engulfed by this sudden rush of emotions. How could I possibly have been away from Tranquility and Topsail for this long?

“Well, here we are.” Garrett tries to sound as if he’s not tense as we pull into the cracked-shell driveway, but I know he is. I lean over and give my husband a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, baby,” I say tenderly. “You know this means the world to me. We’ll have fun—you’ll see. Just try not to fall into Mother’s old traps, okay?”

“Okay, baby.” Garrett smirks. “Let’s go.”

Excited, I honk the horn in our traditional way of letting family know we’re home.

Da-da-da-dada-
dada.

The first thing I hear is a big squeal from inside and suddenly, Aunt Joy comes bursting out of the screen porch door at the top of the beach house steps. She has a huge smile on her plump face and a red plastic shrimp deveiner in her hand.

“Praise God, you got here in one piece!” she exclaims to the heavens with her arms raised in the air. “Come here, kiddos. Let me get a good look at you! Praise God!”

I dash out of the car, up the steps, and into my aunt Joy’s big open arms. I love her so much, and she still smells as fresh as the ocean breeze, with a hint of lavender—and of course, shrimp. In fact, whenever I see my aunt Joy, there’s probably a plump shrimp around somewhere. If she’s not baiting one on a fishing hook, she’s deveining a couple dozen for a family feast.

“I love you, Aunt Joy.” I hug her again tightly, just so I can inhale her scent one more time.

“Well, kiddo, I love you too.” Aunt Joy giggles and squeezes me back. “And I am so happy you and Garrett have finally come home. It’s been way too long, my dear.”

“I know, Aunt Joy, I know.” I feel ashamed for having been away from Topsail for so long. I’ve always blamed that on my busy career, but I know it’s also been because of Garrett’s disdain for sand, sea, and family friction. It’s a shame he doesn’t enjoy that big beautiful beach out there. I can see in my aunt Joy’s dewy eyes that she has missed me. And I promise myself never to be away from this special place and this special lady for as long as I have been.

“Whatcha got cooking, Aunt Joy?” I ask as we move into the house, arms still wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. “It’s smelling mighty good in here.”

“Oh, just a little of this and a little of that,” she replies with a wink and a squeeze. “Your mother’s in there cooking up a big ol’ batch of salmon croquettes, but as I recall, your hubby doesn’t eat salmon croquettes, does he?”

“No, Aunt Joy, he doesn’t,” I whisper.

Aunt Joy chuckles and shakes her head. “Your mama is somthin’ else, I tell ya, somthin’ else. That’s why I’m fixing up some of my famous shrimp salad so the poor boy doesn’t go hungry.”

“Oh, we love your shrimp salad, and that’s awfully thoughtful of you, but, Aunt Joy, Garrett can take care of himself.”

“Well, we might have to help the poor boy out every now and then.” Aunt Joy nudges me. “Now, go on in there and speak to your mother and daddy. They’re worried sick about you. We all are.”

“Hey, who’s that fine lady?” Garrett teases Aunt Joy as he enters the house with our weekend duffel bags slung over his shoulders.

“Aw, Garrett, you are too many things!” Aunt Joy giggles, arms outstretched. “Get in here and let me look atcha, boy!”

Garrett kisses Aunt Joy on the cheek as she pats and gently rubs his cheek.

“So good to see you, Garrett,” she coos. “Where’ve you been?”

“We’ve been really busy, Auntie JoyJoy,” Garrett says. “But we’re here now.”

“And I’m so glad!” Aunt Joy beams. “Now, I know you two must be hungry. Garrett, put your bags down in the back bedroom and wash up for brunch, honey.”

“You got it, Aunt Joy!” Garrett happily moves on.

I am overwhelmed by all of the happy memories in this house—the tall wooden hallway shelf my late grandfather made to hold our newfound beach treasures of sand dollars, driftwood, and exotic seashells. I still hold precious memories of the screened-in back porch that kept the hungry mosquitoes out and our good times with friends and family in as we marveled at the sun setting over the sound while enjoying grilled oysters and cold beers and lots of good old stories.

“Well, you made it in time for brunch!” I hear Mother calling out from the kitchen.

“Hey, where’s my Diddle-Dee?” Daddy walks into the room, arms outstretched. I rush to him and hug him tightly. “How was your trip, baby girl?”

“Oh, it was fine, Daddy. Nice to be home.”

“Well, we’re glad you made it,” Mother says as she enters, wiping her hands on her apron. She gives me an air kiss while pitter-pattering her long bejeweled fingers on my back, never daring to get to close. “I’m glad you two got here in one piece.”

I find it interesting how I hug and kiss my dad and air kiss and pitter-patter with Mother. She has never been the warm and fuzzy type. Never a hugger. In fact, Mother has never kissed me. I feel she’s more concerned about catching germs than giving affection, even to her own child. Mother seems to believe that providing strict rules, private education, social status, and special privilege is enough love for one girl. She doesn’t need to be touched too.

“So, now tell me, Dee, do you think that exclusive hostage report will get you a better job or an Emmy?” Mother probes. “I mean, that’s the least they could do after putting your life on the line like that, don’t you think?”

“Yes, DeeDee.” Daddy rubs my back. “We were very worried about you, but we are very proud of you too. We know you have the right stuff to shine. And you did.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” I blush. Nothing makes me happier than hearing my daddy’s praises.

“Yes, but are you okay?” Aunt Joy’s soft eyes are full of concern. “I mean, what in the world happened up there in Harlem with that man getting shot, right there in front of you and that poor little boy, for God’s sake. What in the world was he thinking?”

“He just wanted his kids back,” I reply.

“Mm-mm-mm.” Aunt Joy shakes her head. “What’s this world coming to? I sure wish you didn’t live in such a dangerous city.”

“I’m all right, Aunt Joy. I love New York, and I hope my stories’ll help make our city better. I’m still a little shaken up, but I’ll be okay. I really do care about what happens to Thomas, though.”

“Care what
happens
to him?” Mother snaps. “Why in the world would you care about what happens to him? Let him rot in jail with the rest of the insane criminals of New York.”

“He’s not a criminal.”

“Destiny, he held a machete to a three-year-old’s throat!” Mother argues. “What part of being a ‘criminal’ don’t you understand?”

Daddy frowns. “And it could have been you shot, DeeDee, if not killed.”

“Oh, leave her alone, you two!” Aunt Joy interrupts. “The poor child’s exhausted. She’s been negotiating for hostages and traveling for hours. Give her a break. Come on; let’s eat.”

“I’ll be okay, you guys. It’s my job.”

“That’s right. And you are destined to win that Emmy and move on to be a big network news correspondent one day, just like Carol Simpson. I can just feel it. Don’t forget; you are pedigreed. You come from something. You were groomed for success, young lady!”

“Did somebody say ‘groom’?” Garrett stands at the door, holding a bouquet of flowers and two big brown bags full of produce, like a shield and armor.

“
Hey!”
Everybody resounds a warm welcome to Garrett.

“Hello, Garrett. Ready for brunch?” Mother is wearing her smile like an apron. “You got my daughter home just in time for some delicious, golden-brown salmon croquettes!” Mother is obviously proud of herself—and her ploy.

“
And
your choice of a scrumptious ‘Full of Joy’ shrimp salad too!” Aunt Joy giggles at her quick save and catchy impromptu name and then darts a sharp look at Mother. “Why, I even whipped up some southern-fried hot-water corn bread and fresh butter.”

“And we bought some delicious fruits and vegetables.” Garrett smiles as he places the bags on the kitchen counter in front of Mother.

“How thoughtful of you,” Mother remarks.

“I bet you brought some asparagus too.” Daddy chuckles as he shakes Garrett’s hand in welcome. “I’ve never seen anybody eat more asparagus than you, Garrett.” Daddy dislikes asparagus as much as he dislikes Garrett.

“What’s wrong with asparagus?” Garrett asks in a playful yet defensive way.

Daddy just shakes his head.

We sit down and enjoy our brunch, chitchatting about what we’ve been up to and the latest news about the neighbors. Mother’s salmon croquettes are delicious, as usual. It’s one of my favorite recipes. I’ve forgotten how delicious they are. I realize that because Garrett doesn’t like them, he and I never eat them, like the beaches we never see. Instead of the croquettes, he’s busy gobbling up Auntie’s “Full of Joy” shrimp salad atop a piece of hot-water corn bread. He seems satisfied just being satisfied, munching away.

I can’t wait to take a long walk on the beach and dip my big toe in the warm waters of the Atlantic. It’s my special ritual to say hello to Mother Ocean. Perhaps this will also be a good time for Garrett and me to rebond. Maybe we’ll enjoy a romantic Topsail sunset later in the day and finally unwind from our incredibly busy and separate lives.

Mother insists on doing the dishes and sprucing up the kitchen for the summer season, while Daddy settles in front of the TV for a long afternoon of old western movies. Aunt Joy grabs her favorite Sidney Sheldon novel and looks ready for a long stint of heavy reading on the porch. Garrett goes to our bedroom and starts to unpack. I enjoy flipping through an old family photo album filled with snapshots of days gone by, when I was a little girl who dreamed of mermaids and played with porpoises and passing schools of fish in the sea.

After a bit, I go find Garrett, who seems to be hiding out in our bedroom, watching a game on TV. I crawl into bed and lie next to him, nestling up against his big body, my head on his chest. His arms remain behind his head as he is totally engrossed in sports and seems not at all interested in me. I try to warm things up.

“Hey, baby …” I start. “Wouldn’t it be nice to take a long walk on the beach together?”

“Aw, c’mon, Dee.” Garrett rubs his head and sighs. “I’m tired. Damn! We’ve been traveling all day.”

“I know, but, honey, we’re at the beach, and it’s so beautiful. Don’t you want to watch the sunset?”

“There’ll be another one tomorrow.”

“
Please
? C’mon, Garrett, we can relax on the beach … and … maybe …” I look up at Garrett, giving my husband a coy look.

“Oh, hell naw, baby. You know I ain’t gettin’ down in no sand! No way; plus, I’m just tired, Dee. Maybe tomorrow.” Garrett gives me his puppy-dog look.

I lie here wishing I had a husband, not a puppy, who would enjoy long walks on the beach with me in the sunshine and the sunsets of Topsail Island as we share long romantic talks about our promising future together and all the dreams we will build as one. But I don’t. I instead have a husband who despises the beach. He hates his feet touching sand and has apparently lost his appetite for conversation, sex, and me as well. So I decide to take my long walk anyway. When Aunt Joy gathers that I’m walking alone, she puts down her novel and insists on joining me.

“I can’t go as far as I used to, kiddo,” she says, “but I’ll walk with you just a bit to feel the warm sand beneath my feet.”

“Wonderful.” I smile, remembering the many long walks and talks Aunt Joy and I have shared. We head down the beach, as we have done hundreds of times before, and I am startled by how much our little island has grown. New, modern homes seem to be popping up everywhere. Our little Topsail Island is indeed changing.

“Now, Dee, you are just going to have to tell me why you haven’t been back to Topsail in so long. That’s not like you.” Aunt Joy keeps a close sideways watch on me as we slowly stroll down the long stretch of beach.

“Oh, I don’t know, Aunt Joy. I guess it’s mainly because Garrett has never really been into the ‘North Carolina beach thing,’ as he calls it. He says he wants to try more exotic places in the world, like Jamaica, St. Bart’s, or Puerto Rico.”

“Well, what do they have that we don’t have, Destiny?” Aunt Joy looks incredulous. “What? What do they have?”

“Golf courses,” I reply.

I feel a sudden rush of shame, feeling that, like a fool, I gave up one of my favorite places on earth—a most sacred gift from my family—and for what? Love in a concrete jungle? Love that I now find myself suspicious of and fighting for? How could I have given up so much of myself and what means so much to me for a love I’m not even sure of? Love is not giving your family, friends, and foundation away.

I look up and down the shore, and as far as I can see, there is not another soul around. I don’t want Aunt Joy to sense my sadness or witness my tears, so I suggest we walk with our faces to the sun, and we turn right, toward the pier—one bare foot after the other in the warm, powdery white sand beneath, as we have done time and time again. Except this time, only halfway down the beach, Aunt Joy appears exhausted. Her breathing is heavy and labored.