Stargazey Point Page 22

  Abbie almost forgot what they were talking about.

  “It doesn’t matter whether they sell to individuals or developers, the tax base will go up again. The Crispins would be able to pay their taxes, but everyone else would be out of luck. There would be a mass migration. We’ve lost enough of the local populace already.”

  Abbie sighed. It wasn’t a future that she wanted for Stargazey Point, and she’d only known it for a short time. But now she understood Cab’s initial hostility to her. He’d given up everything not to be a part of the land grab monster, and now he might become its victim.

  “What do the Crispins want to do?”

  Cab took a swallow of beer. “I think Marnie would be glad to be rid of the responsibility. But she’s loyal to the town. And to the family in her own way.”

  “Millie?”

  “I think we both know she won’t go down without a fight.”

  “And Beau?”

  “I don’t know about Beau. You never really know what he thinks about anything that touches his own life. But he’s pretty astute. He gave you that necklace.”

  Abbie touched the tiny star. Just knowing that it was there made her feel at peace.

  When they finally left the restaurant, there were only a few patrons left. The table where George Erickson had sat was now occupied by a young couple with a sleeping baby.

  “You know,” Abbie said, watching the lights of Myrtle Beach blur by as they drove toward home, “Bethanne came out to the house the other day while we were painting the gazebo. Well, while the kids were painting the gazebo.”

  “Ha. So that’s how Sarah lassoed you into working at the center.”

  “Bethanne told me about her idea for a business called Weddings by the Sea.”

  Cab nodded. “She and Jim planned to expand into the building next door, but then Jim got sick and the owners sold to an antiques dealer from Beaufort.”

  “It sounds like a good idea. She said she would have done that big wedding that Penny was making cheese straws for, but the inn was too small. She thought the gazebo would be a perfect wedding venue, and I have to admit, looking through her eyes it was pretty romantic.”

  “What about your eyes?” He glanced over long enough to give her a provocative smile then went back to watching the road.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Abbie said, slightly flustered. “Are there enough rich people having weddings to make any money?”

  “Yeah. The venue would be great. And the ballroom would be perfect for large receptions, but she’d have to advertise, hire a large staff, waitpeople, ushers, caterers, bartenders. She’d have to do all the rentals, tables and chairs and whatever else. She’d need dressing rooms and bathrooms for the guests; you can’t have a wedding with porta-sans lined up across the lawn. Landscapers. The house itself would have to be spruced up—”

  “Okay. I get it. A money pit. But I hear they know a pretty good architect who might be able to advise them.”

  “Sure, but it would cost, and it takes time to build a business. Bethanne would eventually make money probably. But not in time to save the Crispins.”

  Abbie frowned. “You sure know an awful lot about catering weddings.”

  “Not me, but Bethanne has been talking about this so long, it just kind of rubbed off on me.”

  “I like that.”

  “What. Talking about weddings?”

  “No. That everyone is trying to figure out how to save the Crispins.”

  “And themselves,” Cab said.

  “And themselves.”

  It was only ten o’clock when they drove through Stargazey. The Silver Surfer was still lit up, though most of the cars had left. The rest of the town was dark. Even the moon had shrunk to a sliver, and the night was black.

  Cab slowed down near the carousel, checking to make sure it was safe, Abbie supposed. But when he got to the entrance of Crispin House drive, he stopped.

  “Does this mean I have to walk the rest of the way?”

  “It means—” She heard him take a deep breath. “It means I’m not ready to take you home yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “And since there’s no place open to have coffee or a nightcap, and I don’t want to scare you away by asking you if you wanted to stop by my house, and I’m not really up for visiting with Millie and Marnie, I’m kind of stuck for an idea.”

  “How about a walk on the beach?” She heard herself say it and couldn’t stop. She knew she should just get back to the Crispins’ where life was safe. But she didn’t want the evening to end either, and that scared her.

  Everything was churning around inside her, the relief of being able to talk to someone who didn’t feel sorry for her or judge her in any way. She was also feeling a little attracted to him—a lot attracted. She didn’t want to; she didn’t trust it. As Marnie said, he was the only act in town, and she didn’t need to have anything like that going on in her life right now.

  Hell, she couldn’t even say it. She was turned on; she knew he was, too. It was the beer, the food, the dark night. She wasn’t sure about Cab, but she was afraid she wasn’t ready. And she didn’t want to risk it.

  “Good idea.” Cab made a U-turn and parked near the pier.

  They climbed down the old seawall, and Cab took Abbie’s hand to guide her over the broken concrete. She didn’t really need help, but she appreciated the gesture. They walked side by side to the water where the sand was packed and easier to walk on.

  They stopped to look out at the sea. The forlorn pavilion, the deserted stilt houses, the dark businesses. Far off in the distance the lights of Myrtle Beach glowed along the shoreline, a beacon or a mockery.

  It was a clear night, crisp and invigorating. Abbie zipped up her hoodie.

  “Cold?”

  “No. Not much.”

  “Would you admit it if you were?”

  “Of course.” Wouldn’t she? She was used to carrying her own weight . . . plus equipment. She didn’t complain about the heat or the cold, the rain or the drought because it was part of her job. Part of what she was. Or so she had thought. “Are there plans to rebuild the pier?”

  Cab accepted the change of subject gracefully. “I don’t think so. Every now and then someone mentions it, but as you’ve undoubtedly noticed, the town is barely making it; there’s no money for improvements.”

  “It’s a shame.”

  “It’s life.”

  She looked sharply at him, but his face was calm, and there was no rancor in his words.

  “I just mean, sometimes you have to roll with the punches. Stargazey was once a thriving little beach town. Family oriented. An arcade and the carousel and miniature golf along the main drag. A few stores, cafés, the old hotel and another motel that didn’t survive Hugo.”

  “Hugo was twenty years ago.”

  “Yeah, it tore away the beach and a lot of the oceanfront property. A lot of damage in town, too.”

  “But the carousel was saved.”

  “Miraculously. The building was flooded, and we lost part of the roof. That was the last summer I spent here. I’d left to go back to school two weeks before it hit, and when I learned that Ned wasn’t rebuilding, I thought that the damage was worse than it actually was.”

  “But you came back to fix all that.”

  Cab laughed, the sound snatched away by a sudden gust. “Twenty years later. I went to school at Virginia Tech and he’d come to see me, but I never came back here until he died. Too busy, too involved with my career and my future. Too busy to care about the man who cared about me.”

  “So you feel like you’re carrying on his legacy?”

  Cab looked at her, smiled slightly. “Hell, it was the furthest thing from my mind. But he named me executor, and I had to come to settle the estate, such that it was. The house was neglected, the carousel building a di
sgrace. Not one character was left on the carousel. I figured he must have sold them off.”

  “And did he?”

  “No. He’d managed to move them inland to a friend’s shed. And they were still there, covered and protected. It was amazing. I saw Midnight Lady and my fate was sealed.”

  “Can you make a living running a carousel?”

  “No. But that’s not the point. Ned was my anchor growing up. He taught me what was important in life. I’d come work for him all summer long. I’d do odd jobs, take up the tickets. I think it was maybe fifty cents. I kept noticing that he would give tickets out even when the kid didn’t have enough money. He’d take buttons and bottle caps, marbles. It was crazy.

  “I told him he should raise the fare and not let any of the freeloaders keep riding. That the carousel in Myrtle Beach was charging twice as much and he could make a lot more money. He said he’d never turn away a kid who didn’t have the money for a ticket.

  “He told me about the Stargazey Carousel when he was a boy. The rich summer kids would come every afternoon and night to ride the carousel, sometimes three or four times. He and his buddies didn’t have enough money for tickets, so they just sat outside and watched the others ride.

  “When he made his money, the first thing he did was buy the carousel. Put it back together after years of neglect. Saved it from more than one storm. And all that time he never turned a kid away because he couldn’t pay.

  “So I guess you could say this is part of his legacy. But it’s also part of mine.”

  She smiled. “It’s wonderful. Will you tell it again for the twins to tape?”

  “I guess.” He shook his head. “Why?”

  “I think people would love to hear that story. But if you can’t support yourself following in your uncle’s footsteps, what will you do?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll set up an office in town and take on some restorations. That’s the part of architecture I really love. It’s what I always intended to do. I don’t know how I got sucked into that other—And you’ve done it again.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Got me talking about myself. While I still don’t know that much about you.”

  She shrugged. He knew more about her than she liked. “I just have a natural facility for drawing people out, I guess. I was pretty good at getting interviews.”

  Cab stopped and turned toward her. “Is that what you’re doing? Interviewing me?” His eyes glistened in the starlight.

  Against her will, she leaned toward him, drawn by a mutual energy that she refused to name. She was vaguely aware of his hand moving toward her, and she knew if she stayed, he would pull her into him and she would go willingly.

  She laughed and stepped back, breaking the connection. “Of course I wasn’t. I’m just interested, that’s all.”

  He started walking again. “You think that running a carousel is interesting?”

  “Yes. I think anything that a person is passionate about is interesting.”

  “Huh, I never thought of it like that, but you’re right. This carousel is my passion. I liked architecture, too. I was really good at it. But the moment I unwrapped that first horse, I knew where my future lay.”

  “I’m envious.”

  “Get out.” Cab laughed and gave her a little push. It was playful, almost boyish, a side of him she hadn’t seen before but had guessed existed.

  “Really. I never knew what I wanted to do. My family traveled all over the world, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Nothing throws them off their game. They’re caring, loving people, and every single one of them had a plan. Except me.”

  “What about Guatemala and Habitat for Humanity?”

  “A graduation present from my parents.”

  “What?” Cabot laughed. “I’m sorry. But . . .”

  “I know. Whose parents give manual labor in a third world country for a graduation present? A car, a trip, a new condo. Hell, a gift certificate.”

  “Not any that I know of.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I loved working on those houses.”

  “I’d like to meet your family. They sound fascinating.”

  “Well, good luck getting them all in one place.”

  “They never have family reunions?”

  “Hardly ever. It’s part of the territory when you’re a member of Do-Gooders Without Borders. But when they are together, it’s pretty amazing.”

  Cab smiled, a brief flash of white teeth.

  They walked on in silence, closer than before, almost touching, but not quite. Occasionally their shoulders bumped, but neither moved away. The only sound on the beach was the waves and their breathing.

  They were nearing the walkway to Crispin House, when Cab stopped and grasped her shoulder. “Wait,” he said, but he didn’t have to warn her. She’d seen him, too.

  A solitary figure, tall and lanky, standing feet apart in the gazebo. He was facing the ocean, and he didn’t move.

  For a moment they, too, stood still, then Cab touched Abbie’s arm. “Let’s not disturb him,” he whispered and motioned her away. They walked back the way they had come, this time hugging the dunes.

  When they were out of sight of the gazebo, Abbie said, “Millie said no one ever went out there.”

  “Looks like Millie was wrong.”

  “I thought it would be good to fix it up, but I wonder—”

  Cab turned and took her by both shoulders. “You are not responsible for other people’s lives or how they choose to live them.”

  For a minute they stood locked eye to eye and then his grasp loosened; instead of pulling away, Abbie swayed toward him. His arms came around her, gently finishing the movement she’d begun. And they swayed together in the night ocean breeze. Hearts pounding much faster than the waves.

  Abbie didn’t want to look up, break the sense of peace that cartwheeled along with awakening desire. So she stood taking it all in, feeling every sensation. Then she pulled away.

  “I guess you know I was about to kiss you,” Cab said, his voice breathy and rough.

  She shook her head.

  “Isn’t that why you pulled away?”

  Again she shook her head.

  He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “It wouldn’t be so bad. Actually I’m pretty good at it.”

  A laugh breathed out of her. “Can I take a rain check?”

  “Sure thing. Just say the word.”

  They veered off the beach along a path through the dunes, and Abbie was surprised when they came out near the side of Crispin House. The porch light was on, and he walked her up the steps and to the door.

  Abbie stood indecisive.

  Cab reached across her and opened the door. “Go on now.” He smiled at her. “And if anybody asks, I was a perfect gentleman. Much against my wishes. But don’t tell them that.” He pushed her in the door. “Good night, Abbie.”

  “Thanks. I had a lovely time.”

  “So did I.”

  “Don’t forget about the twins tomorrow.”

  “How could I,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Bye.”

  “Shut the door, Abbie. We’re still friends.”

  She closed the door. Heard the soft tread of his feet as he jogged down the front steps. Friends. She was afraid if she didn’t pay attention, they might become more than friends.

  Chapter 19

  Marnie and Millie were both at the kitchen table when Abbie came downstairs the next morning. Neither of the sisters looked as if they had slept much the night before.

  Abbie immediately felt contrite. She should have come back to keep them company after the assessor’s visit. Instead she was out having fun.

  She poured herself coffee, asked if either of them wanted more.

&n
bsp; “No, thank you, dear,” Millie said in a tight, resigned voice.

  “I’ve had my quota,” Marnie said, but she made no move to stand up.

  Abbie deliberated whether to take her coffee outside and leave the sisters their privacy or to jump in with both feet.

  She chose the latter, though she knew she had to be subtle.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked looking from Marnie to Millie.

  “Yes, dear. Everything is just fine,” Millie said. “Would you like some toast and eggs?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Millie. The girl doesn’t want toast. She wants to be informed. She’d have to be blind not to see what’s happening here.”

  “Sister, the idea.” Millie’s lips trembled, and she pleated her paper napkin.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Abbie said quickly. “ ‘I just thought maybe I could help.”

  “You’re our guest.”

  Abbie cut her eyes toward Marnie, who rolled hers in return.

  “You’re sweet, but what I really am is a refugee. I had no place else to go.”

  Millie’s eyes widened. “Why, sugar, how horrible. Well, you have a place here as long as you want.”

  “Thank you, but what I mean is . . .”

  Marnie sat back in her chair watching the two of them dance around the real issue.

  “I saw the tax assessor yesterday when I was in town. I saw him come here.”

  Millie sighed and deflated like a forgotten balloon. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Millie.” Marnie stood up; the chair skittered across the linoleum. “You’re a pain in my butt, but it’s not all your fault.” She leaned on the table and peered at Abbie. “Here’s the long and the short of it. We can’t pay our taxes—or next year’s taxes—we can never pay our taxes. We live on Social Security. Though that’s a misnomer if there ever was one. Beau doesn’t even get a pension because he was in the merchant marines instead of the navy.”

  “Daddy wanted—”

  Marnie rounded on her sister. “I don’t want to hear about what Daddy wanted. If he wanted us to be able to keep this white elephant, he shouldn’t have squandered the family fortune by trying to out-Rockefeller everyone around him.”